The women screamed and struggled to protect their children from the shots which churned the river to foam while the sweating frantic men tried to push the boats forward, but they were cut down to fall into the blood-flecked water.
Lighted braids were thrust against the clothing of the women and children were smashed to the ground, their brains dashed out by iron-tipped clubs.
Of those left behind in Cawnpore, the men were all killed and two hundred and six women and children imprisoned under ghastly conditions.
Finally, when Nana Sahib’s Armies were defeated by the releasing forces, five out of nine hundred men, women and children were left alive.
The severed heads, limbs and mutilated bodies had been thrown into a well close by.
“I have faced death in every form,” one man wrote, “but I could never look down that well again.”
It was this treachery that had turned the British Army, when they heard of it, into avengers inspired by a fiery crusade.
“Yes, of course, I remember hearing of Nana Sahib,” Chandra said.
“When the relief forces reached Cawnpore,” the Lama went on, “many thousands had to flee to save their lives and the nearest place of refuge was Nepal.”
Chandra looked up at the Lama intently.
She was beginning to see where the conversation was leading.
“Among the refugees was Nana Sahib,” he whispered.
“He hid in Nepal?” Chandra exclaimed, “but I thought that Nepal had favoured England during the mutiny and had offered soldiers to fight for the British.”
“That is true,” the Lama said, “and the Prime Minister at the time, Jang Bahadur, had a warm friendship for Britain. All the same he allowed Nana Sahib to shelter unofficially in his country.”
“But he must now have been dead for a long time?”
“There were many reports of his death,” the Lama said quietly, “but they were untrue.”
Chandra looked surprised and he carried on,
“His wife or the woman believed to be the widow of Nana Sahib lived on the outskirts of Kathmandu for over forty years. She was beautiful but also pious and every year on a specific date she fed many religious mendicants.”
Chandra wondered what bearing this had on the story, but she did not speak and the Lama went on,
“Hundreds of pilgrims came every year and it is believed that on this occasion her husband would always visit her.”
“And she is still alive?”
“She died a few months ago, but it is known by those who know such things that her husband, Nana Sahib, died only three years ago.”
“So he is dead,” Chandra said. “I am glad! His was a cruel and wicked act!”
“For which he will pay the penalty in many lives,” the Lama said quietly. “We can never escape from our deeds whether they be good or bad.”
He lapsed for a moment into silence and Chandra wondered if this was the end of the story.
Then he continued,
“While he was alive, it was an open secret in Nepal that Nana Sahib sold the valuable jewels which he had brought with him from India to the Prime Minister, Jang Bahadur. He bought them one after another. Amongst them was an emerald seven-and-a-half centimetres long which went into the official regalia.”
The Lama’s voice altered,
“These jewels were of no importance, except for one that he was not entitled to and which should be returned to where it belongs.”
“And where is that?” Chandra asked knowing the answer.
“The Sakya-Cho Monastery,” the Lama answered, “where it had lain in the forehead of the Lord Buddha for a thousand years before it was stolen.”
“Stolen?” she exclaimed in surprise.
“Nana Sahib was insatiable for fine gems,” the Lama replied. “He must have been told by one of his spies of our precious emerald and one day it was gone.”
“It is what one might expect of a man like that,” Chandra said scornfully, “to steal what was sacred.”
“I understand that he would never sell the emerald,” the Lama said, “because he considered it to be lucky, but now he is dead it must be returned to where it belongs.”
“I can understand your feelings,” Chandra said, “but how can I help you?”
“When you are in Kathmandu, the emerald will be handed to you.”
“By whom?” Chandra enquired.
“That is not for me to say or for you to know,” the Lama replied. “Sufficient that you will find it in your possession. All I ask is that, as your father’s daughter, you will bring it safely to me when you cross the border back into India.”
Chandra looked at him with a worried expression on her face.
“Surely, if you know who has the stone, it will be easy for you to get it back?”
The Lama smiled as if she was being very stupid.
“There are always those who want jewels for their material value,” he said, “and now that Nana Sahib is dead, and his wife, there will be vultures who would strip them of what is valuable just for their own needs.”
“Of course, I understand,” Chandra said, “but will it be – dangerous for me to carry the stone?”
“If you will be gracious enough to do so, you will be protected by our prayers,” the Lama said, “and I do not need to tell you that where a European would be safe, the same would not apply to a Tibetan.”
Chandra could understand only too well what he was saying. At the same time she felt herself shrink from being involved in what she was quite sure was a dangerous game of theft and counter-theft.
She knew that there were thieves in India who would not stop at murder to get their hands on some of the magnificent jewels belonging to the Temples or to the Maharajahs.
But the Temples would have priests to guard them and the Maharajahs soldiers, whilst she would be alone.
Then she asked herself what could be a better protection than the prayers of men who were Holy and who had spiritual powers that were not understood by those who only knew the West.
She made up her mind impulsively as she said to the Lama,
“I will do as you ask, but protect me, for I feel I shall – need it.”
“You will be protected, my daughter, and the merits you will acquire will bring you the happiness you seek.”
Chandra looked at him in surprise, thinking that she was not conscious of seeking happiness in any particular sort of way.
“One thing more, my daughter – if it is possible, as I believe it will be, for you to right a wrong and to restore to us what is ours, then my Monastery will not be ungrateful and I know that what we will offer you will be of assistance to your father.”
Chandra knew that he meant money. While she would have liked to say that was completely immaterial, she thought swiftly that anything that helped her father in the future she would be foolish to refuse.
“Thank you,” she said, “and I know that if my father was here he would thank you too.”
“It is we who will thank you,” the Lama said with dignity.
Feeling that the conversation was at an end, Chandra rose to her feet.
“You will pray for me?” she asked, “and pray also for Papa. He is not well and I worry about him.”
“I have told you that his time is not yet come,” the Lama said. “There is still work for him to do – work which, though you do not think so, will prove of great benefit to those who have ears to hear.”
Chandra put her fingers together and made the obeisance and the Lama raised his hand and blessed her.
Then, as if he had no more to say, he closed his eyes and his fingers went to his rosary.
Just for a moment Chandra stood looking at him, then she turned and ran back towards the bungalow.
As she reached it, her thoughts were so full with the story that the Lama had told her and what had happened so unexpectedly that she opened the back door and walked in without thinking there was any need for secrecy.
Only as
she entered the passage was she aware that coming through the other door from the verandah was Lord Frome.
He looked at her in surprise, then as she shut the back door behind her and walked towards him, he asked aggressively,
“Where have you been, Miss Wardell?”
Just for a moment she contemplated telling him the truth. Then she knew that what she had heard must be secret, completely and absolutely secret from everyone including him.
She smiled at him and it was quite an impertinent twist of her lips.
“That, my Lord, is my business!” she said and, entering her bedroom, closed the door in his face.
CHAPTER FOUR
Chandra was up early and had finished her packing before she went to look for breakfast at about six o’clock.
She was surprised to find that Lord Frome had already eaten and the servant was waiting to serve her alone.
It was an English breakfast with small eggs, which were characteristic of the East and bacon, which no Muslim would eat, was delicious.
There was also coffee of an excellent quality which she guessed Lord Frome had brought with him.
As soon as she had finished, she went outside and found, as she expected, that there was a large cavalcade of ponies already loaded with their baggage and what seemed a strange assortment of boxes, guns and many indistinguishable objects which she felt sure Lord Frome thought were necessary to his comfort.
The thickset, thick-necked Bhutan ponies were, as Chandra knew of old, very sure-footed.
Lord Frome, who was supervising everything, greeted her in a perfunctory manner and she had a feeling that he was slightly embarrassed, although she could not be sure.
What she noticed immediately was that his servants addressed her as “Lady Sahib”, which meant he had already informed them that she was his wife.
Each of the ponies had a syce or groom in attendance and Chandra was helped onto the one she was to ride, which to her relief, she saw had a side saddle.
She could not help wondering how Lord Frome had managed to procure one so quickly when it was obvious that it would not have been included in his equipment before she arrived.
They started off almost at once and the syce who was in charge of Chandra’s pony told her that they had to travel a long distance first through the forests and valleys of a lower range of hills where the road was better than it would be later.
It was a fresh morning with just a hint of snow in the air before the sun dispersed it and Chandra was thrilled with the beauty of everything she saw.
In the books she had read with her father immediately after Lord Frome’s arrival at The Manor, she had learnt that on the low and level lands of Nepal there were elephants, tigers, rhinoceros and in the higher parts bears and deer of every variety.
She hoped that they would not encounter any tigers, which she knew from her knowledge of India could be extremely dangerous and if they were hungry would even attack travellers.
It was, however, difficult to think of anything but the loveliness of the flowers which grew on every available piece of open ground and the wild orchids and convolvulus which made great patches of vivid colour as they climbed up the trees.
She remembered how Sir Brian Hodgson had catalogued the flora and fauna of Nepal and she wished now that she had had time to read his books before she left England.
Alternatively she would have much preferred to be with her father.
His travels in the East, especially in Tibet, had made him very knowledgeable on rare plants and she felt certain that they were a subject that would not interest Lord Frome.
As soon as the path narrowed, he had ridden ahead rather like a Commander-in-Chief while she followed directly behind him with a long cavalcade of burdened ponies with his Lordship’s personal servants bringing up the rear.
She wondered if he was still resenting the fact that she was here and she was certain that he was.
At the same time, although she disliked him, she could not help thinking he was a fine-looking man and the way he rode, even though it was only on one of the mountain ponies, told her that he was in fact a horseman.
She had realised that the long years at The Manor when they had not been able to afford to keep horses and she would only occasionally be offered a ride by one of their neighbours had made her muscles sadly out of practice,
This meant, of course, that she could expect to be very stiff after a long day’s riding and she would certainly be in what might prove to be a lamentable condition by the time they reached Kathmandu.
She had therefore exercised herself very strenuously every day on board ship.
It was not the same as riding a horse, but at least she loosened up her body and she also practised the Yoga breathing that her father had said helped him so enormously amongst the high mountains when he was in Tibet.
They were quite simple breathing exercises and yet Chandra felt that they would help her to endure what she knew would be a severe test of her strength.
She was aware of how angry and contemptuous Lord Frome would be if she collapsed. It was exactly what he would expect of a woman and she told herself that whatever she suffered on the trip, she would never complain or let him think that she was unable to do anything that a man might be able to do.
They had gone quite a distance before they stopped at midday for a meal. It was not a very exciting one, but Chandra was glad to rest and she was feeling very thirsty.
While they had been sheltered for this part of the journey by the trees, the sun, when it percolated through them, was very strong and she was glad she had brought with her a broad-brimmed hat to protect her face.
While they were eating their luncheon, Lord Frome being surly and monosyllabic, she noticed the butterflies hovering over the blue Himalayan poppies, primulas and edelweiss.
They were so beautiful that she would have liked to sketch them as she sometimes had done when she was with her father.
But she felt it was not something she could ask Lord Frome for permission to do. Besides she was quite certain that he was in a hurry to move on.
When they did so, there were more wild orchids climbing up the trees than she had ever seen before.
The books she and her father had read had told her there were six hundred species of orchids in the foothills of the Himalayas and she wished that she knew the names of those she saw.
By the afternoon Chandra was beginning to feel very tired, but she would rather have died than admit it to the man riding ahead of her.
He had made no effort to converse with her when they had luncheon together and she could feel an aura of resentment emanating from him which was inescapable.
‘One thing is quite obvious,’ she told herself, ‘that I will certainly earn the six hundred pounds he gave to Papa, if only in putting up with his disagreeableness!’
It was growing late in the afternoon and Chandra thought not only was she tired but so were the ponies, when her syce pointed ahead.
“Síságarhi Hill,” he said.
Chandra looked to see a sharp and what appeared to be an almost impassable incline and on the crest of it, she could see what looked like a fortification.
“Stay night,” the syce added with relish.
Twenty minutes later they started up the hill.
Chandra had been told that the road to Nepal was rough and difficult and now she knew that the description had not been exaggerated.
Although she was riding, by the time they reached the top she was as breathless as her pony and, when she dismounted, she found herself staggering and thought her legs would not carry her.
Fortunately Lord Frome was too preoccupied and intent to notice her and they moved into what had originally been a quite small fortified town.
There were only a few peasants living in it now and there was a Dak bungalow provided for travellers. It was not as well built or as comfortable as the one at Bairagnia, but Chandra was too tired to care.
When Mehan Lall had carr
ied in her luggage, unpacked her pillow and arranged the padded quilt on the bed, all she wanted to do was to lie down and rest.
She was informed that her meal would be ready in half-an-hour and she forced herself to find the sluice which was very primitive. Having washed, she changed into the same simple gown she had worn the night before.
Lord Frome was already in the dining room, if it could be given such a pretentious name, when she entered it.
Tonight there was no tablecloth, only a rough wooden table and chairs which had obviously been made locally.
There was, however, the same choice of drinks that there had been the night before and because she felt so tired, Chandra asked if she could have a whisky.
She thought Lord Frome raised his eyebrows and, although she hated whisky and it was something she never drank as a rule, she was too exhausted to care what he or anyone else thought of a woman asking for what was considered exclusively a man’s drink.
She saw that there were some oranges on a side table and, because she disliked the taste, she cut one in half and began to squeeze it into the whisky.
“The servant can do that for you,” Lord Frome said.
“I can manage,” Chandra answered.
“I presume, as you obviously dislike the taste of whisky, that you are drinking it because you are tired.”
Lord Frome spoke as if he had scored a point over her and she replied,
“Not entirely. As you well know, alcohol in the tropics is considered a prevention against fever and other types of diseases. One could also consider it an antiseptic.”
There was a faint smile on Lord Frome’s lips as if he knew that she was evading the real reason for her choice, but he said nothing more and a servant brought in the inevitable bowl of hot soup.
The menu differed little from what it had been the night before except, Chandra thought, the chicken was tougher.
She refused the pudding, which looked to her very much like Queen’s pudding that she had always disliked as a child and instead helped herself to some fruit.
“Tomorrow,” Lord Frome said, breaking a long silence, “after we have crossed the valley beyond this range, we shall then ascend the Chandragiri Mountains from which we can have an excellent view of the valley of Nepal.”
Love in the Clouds Page 8
