Far Pavilions (49 page)

‘That is plain – you have already missed a chance at three birds because of it.
Ohé
! – there goes another. A fine, fat pigeon. No… you are too late. The prince is before you.’

Jhoti had in fact been the first to see the pigeon, and before Mulraj had finished speaking his hawk was in the air and he himself spurring excitedly in pursuit.

‘He has been well taught,’ approved Mulraj, watching the child race away; ‘and he rides like a Rajput. But I do not like the look of his saddle. It seems to me… Forgive me, Sahib.’

He set spurs to his horse and left at a gallop, abandoning Ash, who, left alone with his thoughts, was not ungrateful for a period of silence. He was not feeling at all sociable that morning; or particularly interested in the day's sport either, though he too had been well taught and the falcon on his wrist was a gift from Kaka-ji Rao. Normally he would have enjoyed nothing better than a day's hawking in such country, but today his mind was on other things.

The younger princess appeared to have shed a large part of her previous shyness, for she had talked gaily to him and obviously accepted him as a friend, but Anjuli had not spoken, and this time her silence was one of withdrawal and Ash discovered that he could not even make her look at him. He had tried to force her into conversation, only to find his questions answered with a slight gesture of the head or at best a faint polite smile, while her eyes continued to look past him as though he were not there. And she was not looking well. Her face was swollen and colourless and he suspected that she had not had enough sleep, which was not surprising considering that it was after three when she had left his tent. He did not think it would be possible for her to look ugly, for her beauty was bone deep, and the way her small square face was set on the column of her throat, the shortness of her upper lip and the width between her eyes, would always be there. But today, riding beside her little sister, she appeared almost plain, and he wondered why that should make no difference at all to the way she looked to him.

Months ago he had told Wally that he could never fall in love again because he was cured of love for ever – immunized to the disease like a man who has recovered from smallpox. And only a few hours ago, eight at most, he would have repeated that statement and been confident that it was true. He still could not understand why it should no longer be so, or how it had come about. His feelings for the child Juli, though protective, had certainly never been either fond or sentimental (small boys being seldom interested in, let alone deeply attached to little girls much younger than themselves) and given the choice he would undoubtedly have preferred a playmate of his own age and sex. Besides, he had known who she was when he carried her through the river and stood holding her for an unconscionably long time in the dusk; yet his only emotion then had been impatience…

Two nights later, staring at her in the durbar tent and discovering with amazement that she was beautiful, his pulses had not quickened or his emotions been stirred; and when she came to his tent he had been suspicious, irritated and vaguely sentimental by turn, and ended up feeling angry and embarrassed. So why on earth should a few minutes in which she had sobbed in his arms, and the sight of her wet, distorted face, change the world for him? It did not make sense – yet it had happened, all the same.

One minute he had been furious with her for coming and wishing angrily that she would stop crying and go away – quickly. And thirty seconds later, holding her, he had known without a shadow of doubt that he had found the answer to that nagging feeling of emptiness that had bedevilled him for so long. It had gone for ever, and he had been made whole again, because he had found the thing that was lacking – it was here in his arms: Juli… his own Juli. Not part of his past, but quite suddenly, and for always, a part of his heart.

As yet he had no idea what, if anything, he intended to do about this. Prudence told him that he must put her out of his mind and do his best to avoid seeing or speaking to her ever again, because to do so could only end in disaster for them both: a point he had seen clearly enough last night and that was still as clear, if not clearer, in the harsh light of morning. The Rajkumari Anjuli was the daughter of a ruling prince, the half-sister of another, and soon to become the wife of a third. Nothing could alter that, so his wisest course – the only course – was to forget last night and be thankful that something he had said or done had succeeded in offending her so deeply that she obviously did not intend to have anything further to do with him.

But then prudence had never been Ash's long suit; nor, for that matter, had caution. All he could think of at the moment was that he must and would talk to her, though that was going to be difficult enough to do even with her co-operation, and almost impossible without it. But he would manage it somehow. He must. There were still weeks of journeying ahead of them, and though up to the present he had done his best to hurry the camp forward and keep it on the move, this was something that could be altered.

From now on he would let the pace slow down, and stay longer at each stopping place – a day or two at least, which alone would add several weeks to the journey. And in order to ensure that Juli should not avoid him he would take special care to make friends with Shushila, Jhoti and Kaka-ji, who would invite him to the durbar tent, where Juli would have to join them. For judging from her little sister's dependence upon her, she would find it hard to refuse – and harder still to find a valid reason for doing so, as somehow he did not think she would be prepared to explain the true circumstances to her sister, or anyone else.

‘
Hai mai
!’ sighed Ash, and he did not know that he had spoken aloud until Kaka-ji, who had drawn rein beside him, said: ‘What is it that troubles you?’

‘Nothing of any importance, Rao-Sahib,’ said Ash, flushing.

‘No? Kaka-ji's tone was gently teasing. ‘Now I would have said, from the signs, that you were in love and had left your heart behind in Rawalpindi. For thus do young men look and speak and sigh when they think of the beloved.’

‘You are too acute, Rao-Sahib,’ said Ash lightly.

‘Ah, but then I too have been young; though to look at me now, you might not believe that.’

Ash laughed and said: ‘Did you ever marry, Rao-Sahib? ’

‘Assuredly – and when I was far younger than you. But she died of the cholera five years later, having given me two daughters; and now I have seven grandchildren – all girls, alas; though doubtless they will in time give me many great-grandsons. I must hope so.’

‘You should have married again,’ said Ash severely.

‘So my friends said; and my family also. But at the time I was in no haste to add yet another woman to a household that seemed over-full of them. Then, later – much later – I fell in love…’

The last words had been spoken in such a lugubrious tone that Ash laughed again and said: ‘To hear you speak, anyone would think that was the greatest of misfortunes.’

‘To me, it was indeed so,’ sighed Kaka-ji, ‘for as she was not of my caste I knew that I should not think of her, and that my priests and my family would oppose it. But while I hesitated her father gave her in marriage to another man, who cared less for such matters than I; and afterwards… Afterwards I found that no other woman could take her place in my heart, or blot out her face from my mind. Therefore I could not bring myself to marry again, which was perhaps as well, for women can cause a great deal of trouble and noise, and when one is old, as I am, one requires peace and quiet.’

‘And leisure to go hawking,’ grinned Ash.

‘True, true. Though with age one's skill at such pursuits grows less. Let me see now how you shape, Sahib…’

They talked no more of love, and Ash turned his attention to hawking, and during the next hour or so won golden opinions from Kaka-ji for his handling of the merlin-falcon. The mid-day meal was served in a large grove of trees near the edge of a
jheel
, and when it was over the brides and their women retired to take an afternoon siesta in a makeshift tent, while the men disposed themselves comfortably in the shade and prepared to sleep away the hottest part of the day.

By now the fresh breeze of the morning had dwindled to a mere breath of air that whispered among the branches but did not stir the dust below, and the chattering of the
saht-bai
and the little striped squirrels was stilled. Somewhere out of sight a pair of ring-doves kept up a soft, monotonous cooing that blended pleasantly with the drowsy rustle of the leaves and an occasional tinkle of bells as a hawk stirred and shook itself in the shadows. The soft combination of sounds was soothing enough to lull any average adult to sleep, and only Jhoti – who like most ten-year-olds considered sleeping in the afternoon a shocking waste of time – was alert and restless. Though not all his elders were asleep: Captain Pelham-Martyn, for one, was awake.

Comfortably settled between the roots of an ancient neem tree, his shoulders fitting snugly into a deep groove in the trunk, Ash was once again engaged in pondering the problems presented by Juli, while at the same time listening with one ear to a low-pitched conversation between two people whom he could not see, and who were presumably unaware that there was anyone else on the far side of the tree – unless they imagined him to be asleep. It was a singularly uninteresting conversation and only its content told him that one of the speakers was Jhoti, who apparently wished to go off on his own to try his hawk on the far side of the
jheel
, and was being discouraged from doing so by some un-cooperative adult. As Ash saw no reason to make his presence known and thereby be drawn into an argument in which both sides would appeal to him for support, he stayed where he was and kept silent, hoping that the two would soon go away and leave him in peace. The low-pitched voices interfered with his thoughts and made it impossible for him to concentrate, and he listened to them with increasing irritation.

‘But I want to go,’ said Jhoti. ‘Why should I waste the whole afternoon snoring? If you don't want to come with me, you need not. I don't want you, anyway. I'd much rather go alone. I'm tired of being followed about as though I were a baby and never being allowed to do anything by myself. And I won't take Gian Chand, either. I can fly a hawk just as well as he can, and I don't need
him
to tell me how to do it.’

‘Yes, yes, my Prince. Of course.’ The whispering voice was soothing and placatory: ‘Everyone knows it. But you cannot go about unattended. It is not fitting, and His Highness your brother would never permit it. Perhaps when you are older –’

‘I am old enough now,’ interrupted Jhoti hotly. ‘And as for my brother, you know quite well that he would do anything to prevent me enjoying myself. He always has. He knew how much I wished to accompany my sisters to Bhithor, so of course he said I could not go just to spite me. But I tricked him finely and came after all.’

‘You did, my Prince. But as I warned you then, it was a rash deed and one we may all live to regret, as he may yet send to fetch you back and revenge himself upon those of us who came with you. This escapade of yours has already put me in grave jeopardy, and were any harm to befall you on the journey, my head would surely pay for it.’

‘Bah! That is child's talk. You said yourself that he would never have me dragged back for fear that it would create too much talk, and make him look foolish because I had out-witted him. Besides, you were in his service before you were in mine, so –’

‘Nay, Prince, I was in your mother the Maharani's service. It was only by her orders that I served him; and by her order that I left his service for yours. Ah, she was a very great lady, the Maharani.’

‘You do not need to tell
me
that,’ said Jhoti jealously, ‘she was my mother. And she loved me best – that I know. But because you were once in Nandu's household, you can always pretend that you only came away with me in order to see that I came to no harm.’

The reply was a curious giggling laugh that instantly identified the boy's companion and jerked Ash to sudden attention, for even after all these years he remembered that sound. Biju Ram had always giggled like that at Lalji's jokes and his own obscenities, or at the sight of any creature, human or animal, being tormented.

‘Why do you laugh?’ demanded Jhoti resentfully, his voice rising.

‘Hush, Prince – you will wake the sleepers. I laughed because I was thinking of how your brother would look if I said any such thing to him. He would not believe it, though the gods know it is true. Yet you have shown him that you can think and act for yourself, and cannot be tied by the leg like one of his tame macaws, or followed about by women and old men crying “Take care”, “Be careful”, “Do not tire yourself”, “Do not touch”.
Hi-ya
! you are a true son of your mother. She ever took her own path and no one had the courage to gainsay her – not even your father.’

‘They will not gainsay me either,’ boasted Jhoti. ‘And I am not going to be followed about any longer. I'm going to go out by myself and fly my own hawk; now, this minute, instead of lying around snoring. And you can't stop me.’

‘But I can arouse your syce, and Gian Chand also. They will see that you come to no harm.’

‘Don't you
dare
!’ whispered Jhoti fiercely. ‘I thought you were my friend. Why did you help me escape from my brother if you were going to behave just as he does and stop me from doing anything I want to do? You are just like everyone else. “Don't do this – don't do that. Take care. Be careful.” ’

‘My Prince, I
beg
of you -’

‘No! I will go. And I will go alone.’

‘
Hazrat
*
,’ sighed Biju Ram, capitulating. ‘Well, if you will not let me go with you or take Gian Chand, at least do not ride Bulbul; he is too fresh today and may be hard to manage. Take Mela, who is quieter and will give you no trouble, and do not, I beg you, ride too far or too fast. Keep to a trot only and stay within sight of us, for if you were to fall -’