The Ravi Lancers (11 page)

The colonel said, ‘Rest, lads.’ The men again squatted and made themselves comfortable, while the officers and VCOs leaned against trees or sat on chairs that had been brought from the
dak
bungalow. Shikari lay down at Warren’s feet and rested his head on his paws.

Colonel Hanbury began to speak in slow accurate Hindustani, with little feeling for the language, but perfectly plainly: ‘
Jawan-log
, I will introduce to you the new officers who have come to join us for the war. Major Bateman ...’ he glanced at Warren, who took a few paces forward. ‘Major Bateman has come to us from the 44th Bengal Lancers, to be our second-in-command. He is a very good polo player, and has served in Burma and on the North West Frontier. Do you want to say a word?’

Warren said, ‘I am proud to have been chosen to serve with this regiment, and look forward to going into action with you.’

The colonel said, ‘Captain Ramaswami, IMS, is our RMO. He is from Madras, but trained in England to become a doctor.’

The captain said in English, ‘I do not speak Hindustani. My native language is Tamil which none of you here will understand. I did not ask to be sent here, as I am a specialist in the diseases of women. However, now that I am here I will look after you as best I can. My second specialty is the study of Vedic medicine, and if anyone wishes to be treated in the ancient ways, I will do so in order to continue my researches.’

Warren noticed the colonel’s frown, and thought, well, why not? If a man wants Vedic treatment, why should he not have it? Why should western ways be forced on him against his will?

The colonel said, ‘Here is our new rissaldar-major. Rissaldar-Major Baldev Singh, IOM, from the Guides. He lives at Mirthal on the banks of the Beas. Like you, he is a Dogra Rajput.’

The RM stepped forward. ‘I am the rissaldar-major,’ he said in a quiet voice, that yet carried. ‘I have twenty-six years’ service with the Sirkar. I have been wounded once and awarded the Indian Order of Merit. I am
your
rissaldar-major. You will uphold my honour before the
sahib log
, and I will uphold your caste and faith and honour before the world. Any man may speak to me of a cause affecting his honour at any hour of the day or night, but if it touches upon any other man of the regiment he who wishes to speak shall first tell that other that he intends to speak to me. Such is my word.’

He stepped back. The men had hung on his words intently, Warren noticed. The old RM, who had been replaced, had apparently been a tremendous character, and there was nothing harder than to follow such a figurehead at a time of stress, such as now. But this man had a calm confidence, a power that compelled without domineering, that were most impressive. They had been lucky after all, for there was no more important post in the regiment than rissaldar-major.

The colonel said, ‘Now ... who wishes to speak? ... You. It is Darshan Ram, is it not?’

‘Yes, sahib. Of B Squadron. I have served the Rajah faithfully for thirteen years. I am a marksman and have no punishment on my record. Yet for six years now I have been passed over for promotion. Yesterday my nephew was promoted lance dafadar in A Squadron. My face is blackened.’

The colonel glanced at Himat Singh, who said, ‘There is no disgrace ... we cannot all be promoted ...’ He seemed nervous, Warren thought. He would do better to say outright that the man did not have the temperament for command, or whatever was the reason. ‘Your chance has not gone. You may still be promoted. You are considered whenever there is a vacancy, as is everyone.’

A man in the crowd said, ‘It is right that a man’s years should be taken into account. We are not babes, to be commanded by boys.’

‘Nor by ancient blockheads,’ Krishna Ram cut in. The men shuffled and hissed approval, and the colonel said, ‘Next... Gopal.’

‘I am Dafadar Gopal of the Signal Section. We are going to Fer-rans to fight for the Sirkar and the King-Emperor. That is good. But we will be among heathen, who know not our gods, and might have no respect for our ways. It is in my heart that we might be given improper food, and there will be no redress. Also that we will be unable to perform prayers and ceremonies in the appointed manner. We are Rajputs, Kshatriyas all, and it lies heavy on my heart that we may return unclean, though we go now pure in our faith.’

There was a murmur of agreement, and Warren said, ‘Sir, if I may ... We will be in a division with Sikhs, Mahrattas, Gurkhas, even Brahmins, we shall not be treated differently from them.’

The rissaldar-major stood forward. ‘My sons, I have told you, your honour is in my hands, and mine in yours. Save in one matter only, nothing of our law and customs shall be transgressed without agreement in durbar. That matter is--victory. We are soldiers. Our
Pandit-ji
will agree that when it is victory or defeat that lie in the balance, then no law or custom shall prevail except that which leads to victory. For we have eaten the Sirkar’s salt.’

Again the crowd of men murmured, but this time as though chanting a low
Amen
to the RM’s words.

Next a tall man stood up, palms joined, and said, ‘Sowar Daulat Ram, C Squadron. The Lord Vishnu came to me in the night, and bade me give away all that I own and meditate by the banks of Holy Ganga for the next twenty years. I have spoken to the major-sahib asking for my release.’

Old Major Bholanath said, ‘And I bade you speak up in durbar that we may all know whether it is the god that calls you, or the war that affrights you.’

Warren listened intently. This you would hardly hear in a regular regiment, and certainly not when the regiment was actually on its way overseas.

Daulat Ram spoke earnestly to the men around him, his hands spread beseechingly: ‘I am not afraid, friends. You know me. I was happy as a sowar. My wife and children know nothing of this. But the god has spoken and I must obey.’

‘Let him go,’ one called, and another, ‘He is giving up his pay,’ and another, ‘Even if it be that he has no stomach for the war, let him go. We would not want his comradeship.’

The colonel listened a few moments longer and then held up his hand. ‘You may go, Daulat Ram. See the adjutant tomorrow ...’

Another man stood up. He had just received word that his father had died in the hills and he must go back at once for the burning, and to look after the land, but he would send his brother, who had served five years in the regiment, to take his place ...

Next, there was a rumour that the regiment would not receive
batta
as they were not Sirkar’s troops. Was this so?

Could the sowars be allowed to go barefoot when on stable sentry at night as they were much more comfortable that way than in army boots?

‘Also,’ the fat Quartermaster broke in seriously, ‘it will save wear and tear on the boots, which will last longer.’

The men chuckled at that one, and the colonel said, ‘Stable sentries may go barefoot as long as we are in India. But not once we land in France. You must remember that there it will be cold and wet much of the time. Also, we will be wearing thick serge uniforms, that are to be issued us when we reach Bombay, together with all our other war equipment... Next?’

It was over at last, and the sun had set as Warren walked back to the
dak
bungalow at Colonel Hanbury’s side. The colonel said, ‘A good durbar on the whole. These men need to be handled differently from ours, Bateman. They see no British police, commissioners, soldiers, and of course our law does not run here.’ He shook his head, ‘I hope General Glover does not insist on too much ...’ He did not finish his sentence. He went on, ‘As soon as you have had dinner, please get all the particulars of our entraining strengths, baggage weights, and so on. Tomorrow, early, ride to Pathankot to prepare for our entrainment, with the railway authorities. We shall arrive the day after tomorrow.’

He turned into his room, looking tired and old, as Warren saluted.

Warren looked down the row of officers seated at a long table in the officers’ dining saloon, nodded at Krishna at the other end, and began his talk. ‘Very well, gentlemen. This is the ordinary way a table is laid for dinner. Take the glasses first. The small glass--this one--is for sherry, which is served with the soup. Then this ...’

The troopship rolled steadily north westward. Warren spoke on, thinking, most of them know all this already and even if they don’t, why should they be forced to comply with our customs? They were grown men, part of a civilization considerably older than the European. But yesterday, Brigadier-General ‘Rainbow’ Rogers, the senior officer on board, had seen Lieutenant Mahadeo, the ex-rissaldar, eating rice with his hand, and had told Colonel Hanbury to get his officers house-trained without delay. They were taking it very well, thanks mainly to Krishna Ram’s attitude--all except Flaherty, the Anglo-Indian, who was staring with a surly mien at the empty plate before him, his head bowed.

‘.. Take up knife and fork, like this ... Not like a dagger, Ishar Lall, more like a pencil... Try it, Flaherty.’

‘I’m not a
desi
, sir,’ the big man said sullenly. ‘I know how to use knives and forks.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ Warren said, ‘and so do other officers here. Now please join us in our little exercise.’

He smiled slightly and Flaherty picked up his knife and fork with an ill grace. Warren thought, why is it not possible to work out behaviour proper to
Indian
gentlemen and see that the officers conform to that? Old Bholanath was muttering in Hindi, ‘This is a silly way to eat ...’

The prince broke in sharply, ‘You must not speak Hindi at table, uncle. Otherwise those of us who are not fluent in English will never become so.’

‘I’m sorry, Yuvraj,’ the old major said sweeping up his moustaches. ‘I am as stupid as a water buffalo.’ He spoke in Hindi.

Captain Sher Singh leaned across the table and said officiously to Puran Lall, ‘You should eat, even
pretending
, with the mouth closed, like Major Bateman-sahib showed us.’

‘Yes,’ Krishna Ram said, ‘but although the VCOs and men use the word “sahib” of us, we do not use it of ourselves.’

‘Very good, sir,’ Sher Singh said obsequiously, half bowing. Warren had noticed the slip and decided to speak to Sher Singh about it privately; but Krishna couldn’t stand the fellow, and now that Warren had known him for three weeks he could see why. Sher Singh, besides being effeminate, was a man who said yes sir, no sir, you’re marvellous sir, to your face, and the opposite behind your back. He and Pahlwan Ram were the problem officers of the regiment.

The SS Nerbudda ploughed on up the Red Sea. The temperature was 105 in the shade and the humidity 99 per cent. The Nerbudda’s speed through the water was eleven knots, which was precisely the speed of the following wind. The black smoke from the single funnel hung in a dense pall over the ship, cutting out the sun without reducing the heat. The hot-weather drill uniforms had been handed in at Bombay, and cold-weather serge issued. The results were so intolerable that even General Rogers, however grudgingly, had had to give permission for all ranks to appear in shirt sleeves at all meals and parades except officers’ dinner at night. Even so, large dark stains showed where everyone round the table was sweating, though the fans whirled noisily overhead.

The lesson in table etiquette finished, Warren said, ‘Now, gentlemen, we have a more delicate subject to go into ... how to use the WC. If you’ll follow Major Krishna Ram to the officers’ bathroom section on the main deck he’ll explain why. Carry on, Yuvraj.’

The officers filed out, Flaherty frowning and Mahadeo looking guilty. Warren lit his pipe and sat back, wiping his forehead. The reason for this embarrassing and insulting interlude was that an officer of the Royal Oxford Fusiliers, who were also on board, had complained that he had found one of the lavatory seats covered with shit. It was assumed that a Ravi officer was responsible, for were they not used to squatters? Was it not known that in first-class trains even educated Indians climbed up on to the seat and squatted there, often missing the bowl in consequence? After receiving the general’s order, Colonel Hanbury had talked it over with Warren and Krishna and decided to leave the explanations to the latter, as it would come better from him. It probably was Mahadeo, Warren thought, who had perhaps never even seen a seat-type lavatory, for Krishna had told him there were none in Ravi, not even in the palace, because his grandfather would not permit it. So now the officers were being shown how to defecate, and even to urinate, like Europeans. He prayed that none of the Fusilier officers would chance to go to the bathroom section while the lesson was going on. They found the ‘black sahibs’ funny enough without giving them more fuel for their prejudices.

Shikari stuck his head round the open door of the saloon. Warren pointed the stem of his pipe at him and said, ‘Out!’ The head quickly withdrew. He’s just trying it on, Warren thought. He’s intelligent enough to know that this is the dining room, where he’s never allowed. He was a bit of a nuisance on board, to tell the truth, what with the little special kennel that had to be made for him, the arrangements for his litter, the difficulty of exercising him.

Warren got up and went out, where Shikari was waiting for him. Krishna ought to be finished in the bathroom now, and then there was to be a class in English.

The colonel of the Royal Oxford Fusiliers was walking up and down the deck, his hands behind his back. He saw Warren and called him over. ‘No, don’t put away your pipe ... You have some playful young officers in your regiment, don’t you, Bateman?’

Warren said carefully, ‘What do you mean, sir?’ Privately he thought, what have the Terrible Twins been doing now? The day after the troopship left Bombay they had managed to sound a false-alarm boat drill, and yesterday they had climbed the foremast and spent an hour jammed in the crow’s nest with the seaman on watch, to the immense rage of the captain.

The colonel said, ‘One of my officers went to sit down in his deck chair this morning, and it collapsed under him. He heard giggling nearby, and thought it was one or two of your people.’