Far Pavilions (65 page)

Ash said: ‘But there is a guard on the boy's tent. How could anyone –’ and stopped, recalling that there had been a guard on his own tent, yet it had twice been entered without anyone having been seen. He pushed a hand through his hair, looking harassed and angry, and said: ‘I told you we should have spoken out about that first attempt to kill the boy, so that whoever was responsible for it would know that we knew and be afraid to try again. But you wouldn't have it, and now look what has happened. It's been tried again. This time you should have told everyone.’

‘I told
you
, Sahib,’ observed Mulraj dryly. ‘But it seems that you had other things on your mind, and did not hear.’

Ash said nothing, for he knew that there had been too many occasions of late when, drunk with tiredness, he had only made a pretence of listening without taking in a single world that was being said. He had not let this disturb him overmuch, because he had been sure that if anything of real importance had been mentioned he would certainly remember it, and if he did not, it would only mean that the subject had been of no interest; yet Mulraj had spoken to him about Jhoti and he had not listened to a word. How much more had he missed?… how many other people had told him things that he had not listened to as he went about his duties in a daze, attempting not to think of his own troubles and thinking of nothing at all, and imagining himself to be doing useful work?

Mulraj, watching him, noticed for the first time how much thinner he seemed to have become; not only thinner, but older – which was something that Kaka-ji had noticed even earlier, and remarked on. But then Mulraj, like Ash, had had other things on his mind.

‘I am sorry,’ said Mulraj contritely, regretting his last remark. ‘That was unkind.’

‘It was deserved!’ admitted Ash ruefully. ‘I am the one who should apologize. I have been behaving like… like George!’

‘George?’ Mulraj looked puzzled. ‘Who is George?’

‘Oh… just someone I once knew. He used to dramatize himself. It's a bad habit. Now, what are we going to do about Jhoti?’

23

There was, when they came to discuss it, very little they could do towards protecting Jhoti from assassination, beyond what they had done already; which was not much.

It was not possible to police the boy for every minute of every hour, unless he was to be followed everywhere by a guard of picked men from the State Forces, and though Mulraj would not have admitted it, he could not be wholly certain that even among his own best men there might not be one or two who were untrustworthy. Nandu was, after all, their hereditary overlord and ruler of their state and their destinies, and their duty was to obey his orders. Besides, there would also be large rewards, for he would not be niggardly when it came to paying for something he desired – such as the death of his heir-presumptive.

Mulraj was no cynic, but he had few illusions on the subject of human nature. He knew that most men can be bought if the price is high enough, and had therefore decided to say nothing about that first attempt to kill the little Rajkumar, but instead to pray to the gods and hope that vigilance and fore-knowledge would be able to foil a second one.

But it seemed that the gods had not listened to him, and as it was no thanks to him, or to Ash either, that the second attempt had failed, this time they would have to speak out. There was obviously nothing to be gained by keeping silence, and though they had little to offer in the way of proof, the boy would at least be warned of his danger and would never again be careless as to what he ate or drank. It was the course that Ash had originally favoured; yet now that it came to the point, he opposed it. Because once again he remembered a face from the past, not George's this time, but the face of the frightened boy who had been Jhoti's half-brother and Yuveraj of Gulkote…

Lalji too had been threatened with assassination, and had lived in terror of it – starting at shadows and never knowing who if anyone he could trust. And though he had been warned (his old nurse, Dunmaya, had never ceased warning him) it had not saved his life. All that it had done was to make a hell of his short life, and his rages and cruelty and vindictiveness were a not unnatural reaction to a burden of fear that was too great for a child to bear.

Jhoti too was no stranger to fear. He had been afraid on the night when Ash had first seen him and been struck by his resemblance to another plump and pallid little boy. He had good reason to shake in his shoes, for he had just defied Nandu and run away, and he knew enough of his brother to be frightened – though not, Ash thought, of being murdered; only of being punished. But if he knew…

‘It's no good. We can't do it,’ said Ash harshly. ‘It would be too cruel. He's only a child and it would scare him out of his wits to learn that there is someone here in this camp who means to kill him and who has not only nearly done so twice, but will certainly try again. He'll grow afraid of everything and everyone. Afraid of trusting anyone, or eating anything, or drinking or sleeping or riding. It's too much to expect any child to bear. But there's no reason why we shouldn't tell his sisters and Kaka-ji. They can see to it that his food is tasted by someone else before he touches it. And we'll get Gobind to tell him not to eat sweets, or anything else he finds lying around, because the ones that made him sick must have been stale, or fried in bad
ghee
or something like that. Gobind will know what to say, and he and the girls and Kaka-ji can all help to keep an eye on the boy. It's the best we can do.’

Mulraj frowned and pulled at his lip, and agreed that it would be kinder not to frighten the child, but that if they wished to keep him in ignorance they would not be able to tell either Kaka-ji or Shushila-Bai – particularly Shushila, who would never be able to keep it to herself. She would only work herself into a state of hysteria over it, and the tale would be all over the camp within a matter of hours. As for Kaka-ji, he was too old and frail to be worried by such violent matters, as well as being far too talkative – and too transparent. Which left only Anjuli-Bai…

‘Jhoti is fond of her, and she of him,’ said Mulraj. ‘Also I know her to be a sensible woman and one who does not lose her head and become distracted by danger. I have not forgotten her behaviour on the night that the
ruth
foundered in the river and the driver of the bullocks was drowned. She did not shriek or show fear, but saw to it that her sister was saved; and I am very sure that she would do no less for her brother. It is a heavy responsibility to lay on one woman's shoulders, but we need help, and Anjuli-Bai is perhaps the best person to give it. At least we know that we can trust her. Which is more,’ added Mulraj grimly, ‘than can be said of very few others in this camp.’

Yes, Juli could be trusted, thought Ash. She would do everything in her power to protect her little half-brother from harm, and she would neither panic nor talk unwisely – or lose her head in a crisis. She was the obvious person to turn to for help, and it had been a mistake not to tell her the truth about Jhoti long ago, after that near-fatal riding accident. He had fully intended to do so, yet somehow he had not. He could not remember why.

Another thought struck him, and he said abruptly: ‘But Anjuli-Bai is never alone, so how are you going to tell her?’

‘
I
?’ Mulraj sounded surprised. ‘
Nahin,
Sahib. It is you who will have to do that; if I did I would surely be overheard. But on our evening rides, which have lately ceased, it was your custom to gallop on ahead with the Rajkumari Anjuli, and if the rides are resumed you could do so again without occasioning any remark. It is the only way.’

Which is why Ash, despite all his good intentions, came to be riding beside Juli on the following evening…

He had, in point of fact, seen her on the previous day, as after speaking to Mulraj he had asked if he might see Jhoti, who was still convalescent and in his sister's care. The tent had been crowded with people, for the East has never believed in the theory that segregation and quiet are necessary to the sick, and in addition to the princesses and their women, both Kaka-ji and Muldeo Rai were present.

Jhoti was looking better than expected, and well on the way to recovery. But his greeting had contained a strong suggestion of reproach. He had obviously been hurt by Ash's failure to visit him earlier, and only forgave it when Ash cravenly put the blame on Gobind, who, he said, had forbidden him to do so until the patient was in better health. He had not stayed long, and there had been no opportunity to speak to Juli beyond the usual polite greetings. He thought she looked pale and tired, and when he met her gaze it was puzzled, and like Jhoti's, a little reproachful, and his heart contracted.

He did not look at her again, because he was afraid that if he did he would not be able to stop himself from reaching out in front of them all to smooth away that faint, bewildered frown, and tell her that he loved her and had only stayed away because he could not bear to endanger her. Turning away quickly he spoke instead to Shushila, and afterwards he could not remember who had brought up the subject of a riding party on the following evening, or what arrangements had been made. He remembered only that he had agreed to go. And as he walked back to his tent, he realized that he should not have done so.

‘But it is for Jhoti's sake,’ thought Ash, arguing with himself. There were so many ways in which Juli could help – she
had
to be told about Jhoti, and because he, Ash, was the only one who could do it, he had no choice in the matter.

But there was a flaw in that argument, and he knew it. It was not that Juli could not help, because she could and would do more than anyone else to protect her young brother from harm, and her help would be invaluable; but there was a time limit to any help she could give, and it was a very short one. In a few days they would reach Bhithor, and then there would be the wedding; and once that was over she would not be able to help Jhoti any more, so there was not much point in telling her anything for the sake of what little she could do in the few days that were left…

‘I should have told her long ago,’ thought Ash. But he had not, and it was no good telling her now. It was too late… He ought to send word that he could not join the riding party tomorrow. He ought not to see her again… it would only make matters worse. He would not go.

But he knew that he would, because he could not resist seeing her and talking to her just once more. After all, it would be for the last time. The very last…

That night he fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow and awoke next morning feeling enormously refreshed; and though the future, when analysed, remained as bleak as before, the fog of fatigue and despair that had enveloped him had lifted, and life did not seem so intolerable after all.

Even the weather had improved. As the sun moved up the sky and the temperature rose, the tents did not flap maddeningly or the trees and grass whine in the wind, and today there were no veils of sand hissing along the river-bed. For once, the
louh
was not blowing, and the relief of being free from its hot, fretting breath was as great as though a persistent drum had suddenly stopped beating. Men's nerves relaxed and the whole atmosphere of the camp changed and lightened, for the cessation of the wind was almost as great a boon as the prospect of a few days' rest in a spot where there was both shade and water. The camp settled down to enjoy both, and although by the afternoon the day had become airless and stifling and the hordes of flies that the wind had previously kept at bay were back in force, these were considered a small price to pay for rest and quiet.

The late afternoon continued breathlessly still, but as the shadows lengthened and the shimmering heat-haze that had danced all day above the sandbanks died away, a faint current of air stirred along the river and crept between the tents. ‘It will be cooler out on the plain,’ said Kaka-ji.

But it had not been cooler. If anything, it had been hotter, because apart from the belt of trees and the cultivated land that bordered the river, the plain beyond was dry and stony, and the low hills that surrounded it had been absorbing heat all day and were now giving it off again in the manner of a flat-iron that has just been removed from the stove.

To the riding party it felt as though they were moving towards an open furnace and away from what little there was of coolness and shade, and even the horses and the trotting bullocks that drew the
ruth
appeared reluctant to go forward. A sudden gust of wind, the first that had blown all that day, whipped up a small whirlwind of dust and dead leaves and sent it spinning across the plain like some fantastic ghostly top, and presently others arose, twirled briefly among the stones and died again. But otherwise the evening was very still, and except for the dust-devils nothing moved on the plain.

The spot chosen as a starting place for the ride lay over a mile from the camp and had been selected by Mulraj, who had ridden out at dawn accompanied by some of his officers and a local
shikari
to shoot black-buck for the pot, and had decided that it would suit them very well. It was out of sight of the camp and the villages and well away from any beaten track, and the
shikari
had told him that although men had once lived among the hills, that was long ago, before the river changed its course and left them waterless. No one now came this way except to shoot; and there would be no game to shoot of an evening, for as the day waned the black-buck moved off towards the river and the croplands and did not stay out on the plain.