Windrush- Jayanti's Pawns

by Malcolm Archibald

'I am, sir.' Jack knew it was highly unusual for an officer to associate so closely with the men and wondered if the colonel would comment.

  'I am Charles Hook, Lieutenant-Colonel Charles Hook.'

  Jack nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

  'You knew my brother, Lieutenant Hook. You served together in Burma.' Hook held Jack's gaze. 'He mentioned you in the last letter he ever wrote to me.'

  'He was a good man.' Jack couldn't think what else to say. He'd been a very young and inexperienced griffin when he fought beside Lieutenant Hook.

  'Come with me, Windrush. Your men will be all right without you for a few moments.' Hook nodded to the Dilkusha palace which was still magnificent, despite the battering it had received during this final assault on Lucknow. 'I've found a modest apartment in the Dilky.'

  Hook's idea of modest differed from Jack's. Two burly Sikhs stiffened to attention as Hook approached the studded doorway to his requisitioned apartment. He entered with a nod, and Jack followed him into a room lit by pointed latticed windows and cooled by an invisible punkah-wallah.

  'Some minor prince or other lived here,' Hook said casually. 'I sent in my lads to ensure it was untouched during the general looting.'

  'They did a good job.' Jack looked around him. He had been in half a dozen Indian palaces and forts during the present conflict, but only during the attack, or after the British had captured them from their previous owners. This room had the furnishings undamaged and the drapery intact. Jack stared at the silks and satins, the inlaid furniture and the exquisite wall hangings, with carpets from Afghanistan and Bokhara and a display of jewelled weapons on the wall. The two chairs appeared like thrones, broad and semi-circular with deeply padded seats and arm-rests carved into the likeness of snarling tigers.

  'It will do for now.' Hook sounded nonchalant. 'Take a seat, Windrush.'

  Jack sat on the smaller of the two thrones, sinking into the luxurious cushion.

  'Now, Windrush,' Hook remained on his feet, pacing back and forth from one of the windows to the door, 'I believe that you've seen quite a bit of action in India.'

  'A bit, sir. I was with General Havelock's column in the relief of Cawnpore and Lucknow, and then with Sir Colin Campbell.'

  'You participated in both of Campbell's campaigns against Lucknow,' Hook said. 'And before the Mutiny, you were in the Crimea and Burma.'

  'That's correct, sir.' Jack wondered how Hook knew so much about him.

  'Colonel Maxwell told me you were a useful man.' Hook answered Jack's unspoken question. 'He suggested that you were a little unorthodox and less regimental than most officers. When I saw you playing cards with your men, I knew that to be correct.'

  Jack was unsure how to reply.

  'Would you agree with our assessment, Windrush?' Hook didn't halt his pacing, yet his gaze never strayed from Jack's face.

  'Colonel Maxwell knew me well, sir,' Jack said.

  'I heard you were involved in some interesting escapades against the Plastun Cossacks around Sevastopol,' Hook said.

  'Yes, sir.' Jack remembered the biting cold and nervous strain when he had led his men against the best irregular infantry in the Russian army.

  Hook's sudden stop took Jack by surprise. 'You were successful.'

  'Some we won and some we lost, sir, like the campaign itself.'

  'You killed your adversary,' Hook said. 'The object of war is to outmanoeuvre and destroy the enemy, which is what you did. You are a soldier, Windrush.' His smile was genuine. 'And I am looking for a soldier who is not hide-bound by tradition and regulations.'

  'There are many more experienced soldiers than me in the army.' Jack avoided Hook's last statement. 'Lieutenant Elliot was with me most of the time, and he is a fine officer and a gentleman.'

  'I am fully aware of Lieutenant Arthur Elliot's abilities,' Hook said. 'As I am aware you have acted the spy on occasion.'

  'I had no choice, sir.' Jack knew that most officers thought spying was dishonourable. He decided to end the colonel's game. 'What do you wish me to do, sir?'

  'Good man. Take the direct approach and hang the consequences, eh?' Hook sat on the larger throne. 'I want you to work for me.'

  Jack felt the increased patter of his heart. 'Doing what, sir?'

  'Whatever I wish you to do.' Hook's gaze was level. 'Well? I could make it an order, captain Windrush.'

  'You'll have to, sir. My duty is with the 113th, beside my men.' Jack knew it was foolish to argue with a superior officer.

  'Maxwell was right about you. He said that as well as being unorthodox and less regimental than most officers, you have loyalty to your men.'

  'We've been through a lot together,' Jack said.

  Hook's smile faded slightly. 'I suspect that you have more to go through before this war is over.' He sat on the larger throne. 'You saw the well at Cawnpore.'

  'Yes, sir.' Jack would never forget the horror of the well at Cawnpore. Heads, torsos, arms and legs of women and children had filled the well in a sickening scene that still haunted him. The massacre at Cawnpore had put new savagery to an already terrible war, with atrocities and retaliation on both sides.

  'Do you know who was responsible?'

  'I heard it was Nana Sahib, sir, or his lover, Hussaini Khanum.'

  'Hussaini Khanum is a fascinating woman.' Hook took a long cheroot from an inside pocket and tapped the end on the arm of his chair. 'Do you think that women can be as ruthless in war as men?'

  Not expecting the question, Jack had no ready answer. 'I haven't thought about it, sir. I suppose I always think of women as the gentler sex.'

  Hook lit the cheroot, leaned back in his throne and exhaled blue smoke. 'That is what most people seem to think,' he said. 'Have you heard of Uda Devi?'

  'No, sir.' Jack shook his head, wondering where Hook was leading him with these seemingly disassociated questions.

  'No? That surprises me, considering you were involved in the battle where we killed her.' Hook drew on his cheroot. 'You must remember the affair at Sikandrabagh when the Highlanders shot a female in a papal tree?'

  'I do, sir,' Jack said. 'The woman had killed some of our men.'

  'That woman was Uda Devi.' Hook paused for effect. 'She was not the only woman warrior, but allegedly the leader of a company of female fighters, many of whom died in the battle for Lucknow.'

  'I see, sir. She was a brave woman, whoever she was.'

  'Our intelligence informs us that she was trained in guerrilla tactics, martial arts and espionage. She was much more than an angry woman killing British soldiers but… we don't know what she was.'

  Jack waited. It was not politic to rush a senior officer.

  'You are wondering what the connection is between Uda Devi and you.' A slow smile spread across Hook's face.

  'I am, sir,' Jack said.

  'We believe that another woman has taken Uda Devi's place,' Hook said. 'Our informants are very vague. They tell us that they have heard the name “Jayanti”.'

  'Jayanti.' Jack ran the name around his mouth. 'That's evocative.'

  'The name is interesting,' Hook said. 'It means “victorious”.'

  'Victorious?' Jack raised his eyebrows. 'We have defeated the mutineers wherever they have made a stand.'

  'Orientals don't view time as we do,' Hook said. 'They may view this war as only the first round in a prolonged struggle.' He shrugged. 'Now that they've given us fair warning, we'll take the appropriate action. More important for the present, this Jayanti may be planning to raise another army of women.' He exhaled blue smoke. 'If they are as skilled as Uda Devi, or as ruthless as Hussaini, then they could cause us a devil of a lot of trouble.'

  'The Mutiny is all but over now, sir, is it not?' Jack suffered a prickle of unease. 'We've recaptured Delhi, defeated every army they raised and taken Cawnpore and Lucknow. There is only Central India to pacify and the ragtag and bobtail to mop up.'

  'If only it were that easy.' Hook's laughter lacked any mirth. 'This is India, Windrush. We are sitting on th
e lid of a cauldron while the devil stokes the fire. You know what happens when a boiler has no outlet, don't you? It explodes. This mutiny was an outlet, and now we must ensure any future outbreaks are small and quickly subdued. We might not find Jayanti easy to control if we don't stop her soon.'

  'By we, do you mean me, sir?'

  Hook nodded. 'Why else would I be telling you all this? I want you to find Jayanti, and either capture her and bring her to trial, or kill her.' He stretched out on his chair. 'If she even exists. All we have is rumour and speculation.'

  Nausea rose in Jack's gut. The army was once again using him for the unorthodox. 'I'm sure other officers know India better than I do, sir. Perhaps somebody from John Company with a more intimate knowledge of the native peoples would be more suitable.'

  'Maxwell told me you were an argumentative sort of fellow, Windrush.' Hook examined the end of his cheroot. 'In case you have forgotten, John Company's sepoys have just mutinied. How can I trust one of their officers after that? You are Indian-born and have more experience than most in irregular warfare.'

  Jack knew there was no point in arguing further. 'How many men can I have, sir?'

  'I leave that up to you, Windrush. You know what is best. Remember that too many men will make you conspicuous and too few and you'll be vulnerable to every band of badmashes and broken pandy unit in India.'

  'Yes, sir,' Jack said.

  Hook's grin was as reassuring as a tiger stalking its prey. 'Here is what you are going to do, Windrush. Have you heard of the Rohilkhand Field Force?'

  'I've heard the name included in a hundred shaves, sir.'

  'Well, here is what is happening. Rohilkhand, as you know, is a large province northeast of Delhi, and near Meerut, where this entire horrible business began.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'It appears that Rohilkhand is a rallying place. The survivors from Delhi have fled there, and the local Rohillas joined them. The Rohillas are a tough crowd, descended from Afghans. Their leader, Khan Bahadur Khan is a formidable presence. As if that was not sufficient, the Nawab of Farukhabad has raised the standard of rebellion as has the Maulvi of Faizabad.'

  'All the disaffected clans,' Jack murmured. 'All we need is Bonny Prince Charlie.'

  'Or Bonnie Princess Jayanti,' Hook said. 'I think you are beginning to understand. The Mutiny is not yet over; it has assumed a new form, that's all.'

  'Yes, sir.' Jack resigned himself to another summer's campaigning in the heat of India.

  'Sir Colin is sending four columns against Rohilkhand. General Penny is marching from Meerut; Brigadier Coke is leading a division from Rurki, Seaton will advance from Fatehgarh and Brigadier-General Robert Walpole from Lucknow.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'You will join Walpole's column until you hear news of Jayanti. After that, you either strike out on your own or report your intelligence to me, if I am available.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Oh, and Windrush; keep an ear and eye open for Nana Sahib and Major Snodgrass, would you? You know that Snodgrass and his entire command vanished.'

  'I'll do that, sir.' The senior major of the 113th, Snodgrass had been in charge of an escort for the regiment's women and children when the Mutiny began the previous year. He and the escort had disappeared one night, leaving the women to find their own way to safety.

  'I know you didn't always see eye-to-eye with Major Snodgrass,' Hook again revealed his thorough knowledge of Jack, 'but he is a British officer.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'After all this time, I doubt you'll find him alive,' Hook said. 'The mutineers probably ambushed the poor fellow.' Hook finished his cheroot and immediately lit another. 'However, I'm telling all the searching columns to look out for him, and I'll tell you too.'

  'Is there anything else, sir?'

  'Yes, Windrush. At present, we don't know much about Jayanti, and we don't want any false rumours to spread across the army. God knows there are sufficient lies and exaggerations already. Keep the object of your search between yourself and Elliot.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'I think that's all, Windrush. You have your orders. Find this Jayanti woman and look out for poor Major Snodgrass. Good luck.' He held out his hand.

  'Thank you, sir.'

  Hook's hand was as hard and cool as his eyes.

  Chapter Two

  'You know Jack', Elliot uncorked his silver hip flask. 'We've been in India for centuries, yet we're less part of it now than we ever were. We exist in a regimental cocoon while India lives outside us.'

  'We're not in a regimental cocoon for much longer, Arthur, we're on the road again.' Jack leaned against the wall of their shared quarters.

  Elliot held out the flask. 'I guessed that when Hooky wanted you.'

  'Do you know him?'

  Elliot shook the flask to attract Jack's attention. 'I know that he's a man best avoided. Where is he sending us?'

  Jack took the flask and sipped at the contents. 'God that's rough! What's it meant to be?'

  'Whisky. Campbell's 79th make their own.'

  'What do they make it from? Dead horses?' Jack choked down the fiery liquid. 'Thanks Arthur, I needed that, and you'll need the rest when you hear what Colonel Hook wants us to do.' He looked around their bare chamber, comparing it to Hook's luxurious quarters and sighed. 'We're after a woman named Jayanti. She's said to be the head of a regiment of female warriors.'

  'Amazons by Jove.' Elliot swallowed more of his whisky, coughed and wiped a hand across his mouth. 'And where does Jayanti live when she's at home?'

  'That's the interesting part,' Jack retrieved the flask for another swallow. 'We don't know.' He explained the situation.

  'I had thought the 113th had redeemed its reputation after Inkerman and Lucknow,' Elliot said. 'Apparently not. It seems that the powers-that-be still use us for the dirty jobs that other units don't want.' He shook his head. 'A British regiment hunting down a woman. What would Wellington have said?'

  'He would have said, “do your duty”.'

  'Probably.' Elliot downed some more whisky. 'So we wander about India knocking on doors and enquiring politely if a woman named Jayanti is inside?'

  'We are part of a large column,' Jack said. 'We march and fight, gather intelligence and listen.'

  'You'll have to say your goodbyes to Mary.' Elliot eyed Jack over the mouth of his flask. 'What are your intentions with that woman, Jack?'

  'Honourable.' Jack kept his voice neutral. He'd met Mary when the mutineers attacked the 113th cantonment at Gondabad the previous year. They'd forged a close friendship despite the fact that Mary was Anglo-Indian, with a British father and an Indian mother, and therefore not a woman that a respectable British officer should know.

  'How honourable?' Elliot didn't allow Jack to wriggle off his hook.

  'I will not dishonour her,' Jack said. 'I'm not my father.'

  Elliot passed across the flask. 'I remember that your father had a friendship with a Eurasian woman.'

  'He fathered me to a native of the country,' Jack said. 'I'm a half-breed.'

  'Your mother was only half-Indian,' Elliot said, 'making you three-quarters white and anyway, you are a British officer.' He kept his voice quiet.

  'If the queen learned of my antecedents, she would revoke my commission.' Jack held Elliot's gaze.

  'Not our Victoria.' Elliot said. 'If the queen did such a thing, and it's a big if, Her Majesty would be losing one of her finest officers. However, that is not likely to happen, and you are avoiding my question. What are your intentions with the delightful Mary?'

  'I don't know,' Jack said. 'I like her.'

  'The whole regiment knows that you like her.' Elliot couldn't hide his smile. 'And also, that she likes you. The question is, how much do you like her?'

  'I don't know,' Jack said again.

  'For your sake, Jack, find out,' Elliot said. 'I'm your friend, I hope, so when I speak, I'm only thinking of your happiness. Keep Mary as a friend, by all means, but no more than that. Do
n't, for God's sake, contemplate matrimony.'

  Until that moment, Jack hadn't seriously considered marrying Mary. However, as soon as Elliot gave his advice, Jack frowned. 'I'll do as I damn well please, Arthur.'

  'Will you?' Elliot said. 'Best consider the future, Jack. Jack!' He raised his voice as Jack rose from the chair and stormed away.

  'Damned cheek,' Jack grumbled to himself as he lit a cheroot. 'Telling me what I can and can't do and who I can and can't marry. Bloody cheek of the man.'

  Mary had found lodgings in a small chamber near the Dilkusha palace. She looked up from her small charpoy when Jack tapped on the door.

  'Come in.'

  'You look tired.' Jack stepped inside the bleak chamber.

  'I'm a lot better than most in here.' Mary sat up and ran her hands through her thick black hair.

  'You're acting as a nurse, aren't you?' Jack sat on the woven mooda stool that was one of the few pieces of furniture in the room.

  'No.' Mary shook her head. 'I'm not acting as anything. I am a nurse. There are a lot of badly injured men who need help.'

  'I've heard,' Jack said. 'The pandies have left powder stores all over the city, and our men light their pipes and throw away the Lucifers.'

  'Exactly so.' Mary reached for the chapatti that lay on the small table beside her charpoy. Tearing it in half, she passed one piece to Jack and bit into the other. 'Some of the poor devils lie there and pray for death, and no wonder with most of their bodies burned to a crisp. All we can do is try to soothe their pain.'

  'You're a good woman, Mary Lambert,' Jack said.

  Mary washed down the chapatti with a drink of water from a brass bowl. 'No, Jack, I'm only a woman.'

  'You're one of the best,' Jack told her.

  'What can I do for you?' Mary's smile only highlighted the tired lines around her eyes.

  'I've come to tell you that I'll be leaving Lucknow shortly,' Jack said.

  'Are you allowed to tell me where you are heading?'

  'Into Rohilkhand,' Jack said.

  'Rebel territory.' Mary put out a hand. 'Be careful, Jack, please be careful.'

  'I will,' Jack said.

  'No.' Mary shook her head. 'I know you. You will charge into whatever danger there is and end up with more wounds and more scars, or worse.'