Ram; being the tale of one Ramillies Anstruther, 1704-55 ..

by Taylor, Winchcombe

  Unused to such rich fare, they both felt a little sick as they plodded on, drawing closer to the jungle. At a second village they begged more rice; then, with the few pice they had collected, Baja bought two stout jute bags. He also wheedled an old water jug from a farmer and filled it at the village tank.

  They reached the jungle road. Were troopers still billeted in Chairawali, Ram wondered, and had any of the villagers been brave enough to find the dead tiger? He became fearful that some might have entered the cave and discovered the inner door.

  Their weakened bodies torn by thorns, they halted at last to eat

  and drink. Baja pointed to a peepul tree. "Not a palace, bhaee, but better than a cell. I've slept in many in my Thug days."

  They climbed the tree, driving away indignant monkeys and birds, and chose a suitable crotch, above the reach of prowling beasts. As the jungle sounds died away Ram, drowsing, fancied he was again up upon the machan with Nur Mohammed, waiting for the Evil One.

  They went on again at dawn and as they neared Chirawali, Ram proposed they skirt it, lest he be recognized.

  "Even if all our men were there, do ou think they'd recognize their fine Feringi officer as so filthy a gossein?" Baja scoffed. "And am I the only one-eyed Maratha in the world? Come, we need water and food."

  A few troopers were there, lounging idly in the shade. Ram scowled. Damme, they'd reverted to mere Pindarees; slovenly, caring only for filling their bellies! Avoiding them, the two mendicants went to the tank, where Baja performed ceremonial ablutions. Ram dared not imitate him. Apart from religious ignorance, already much of the ghee mixture had gone and his white skin showed spottily. He was trulv piebald.

  "Holy One, I'll now lead you to the panchayat tree, where you mav contemplate the Infinite," Baja grinned, "I'll then steal some tools to cut up the god."

  Head bent and embarrassed by his nudity. Ram followed him to the great tree, under which the village's five elders usually held their meetings. Squatting cross-legged and with arms folded, he chanted the hymn. Baja placed the bowl and a flat earthenware plate before him, whispered, "Ignore everyone," and disappeared.

  Soon a nursing mother sidled up shyly, put some ripe fruit on the plate, giggled nervously and backed away. She was succeeded by an old crone, who contributed a measure of millet. "Give my aching bones blessing. Holy One," she begged. He chanted more loudly.

  As an insurance against other holy ones turning into tigers, the villagers were liberal. Old and young brought gifts of food or small coins, and Ram acknowledged each donation by chanting more vigorously. He kept staring down at his concave belly, which runnels of sweat had left conspicuously white. He prayed for Baja's return.

  Round-bellied babies, bold because of his impassivity, stared

  greedily at the pile of fruit, grain and spices that was growing before him. Only when his screaming nerves seemed ready to snap did a satirical voice murmur: "Salaam, Profound Thinker!"

  He sagged with relief as Baja squatted beside him. One jute bag was no longer empty, and soon its mate bulged with the donations. Wordlessly, Ram took up the bowl, saw that in it were several coins, handed it to his "disciple" and strode out of the village, still mumbling the now maddening chant.

  They halted at the path that led to the cave. "You'd grow rich as a gossein," Baja laughed. "Seven annas, three pice; just for contemplating your navel—and enough food for days." He ate avidly.

  Eating also, Ram thought wryly that as a holy beggar he had made barely half a rupee; yet in a few hours he might be worth many lakhs of rupees. He asked what luck the other had had.

  Baja produced a short-handled ax. "Behold! But I had to wait hidden for hours—the boy wouldn't leave it. Because of him, I had no time to get anything else save a dhoti for you."

  Ram snatched the cloth and wound it around his loins, his self-respect returning. "Come!" He led forward and they soon passed where Nur Mohammed had died. With darkness they again took to a tree.

  They went on at first light. But when they came to where Ram thought he had turned off from the jungle he stopped, bewildered. The rains had shot up a tangle of vegetation as high as a man's head. At last, trusting to instinct and chopping a way with the ax, he plunged blindly into the mass. Once he yelled and sprang back as a hissing krait slid before his feet. But at last the ground was rising, with cacti and thinning grass predominating. Drenched with sweat, their bodies a network of scratches, they at length gained the ridge; but it was two hours more and well to the south before Ram found the cave's entrance. Even then he would have missed it but for the tiger's jackal-scattered bones.

  Exhausted, they flung themselves down. Soon Ram stirred painfully. "We must make torches and—"

  "Torches?" Baja almost screeched. "But we have no flints-nothing! Wah, why didn't I steal a few live coals from the village?" He swung the ax hopefully at a rock, but it was only soft sandstone and gave no spark. Frantic, they spent half the day on the ridge

  before Baja found a half-buried stone which did produce a spark. They carried it to the entrance and, while Baja shredded dried grass into a fluffy nest, Ram prepared several grass torches. It seemed like a miracle when the ax struck a spark which caught the fluff and he nursed a torch into a blaze. Then, shaking, he stooped and entered the cave, with Baja at his heels.

  In his anxiety lest anyone discover the door. Ram had pushed it closed and now, though they found where it fitted into the rock, they could not open it. "Fool! Fool!" Baja accused.

  "It closed, it must open!" Snatching up the ax. Ram began tapping down both sides of the doorway, sure there must be some sort of lock. There was; a small projection of alien rock almost at floor level. When he pushed it inward, the door swung open noiselessly, revealing the Ganesha with its empty eye sockets.

  The two intruders stared at it; then, screaming, Baja snatched back the ax, darted within and hacked at the foremost of the god's right wrists. With a madman's strength he chopped and smashed until the hand was severed, scooped it up and scurried into the daylight.

  "Gold! Gold all through!" He waved it aloft. "Enough to buy armies! Enough to buy kingdoms! Enough to conquer all Hind!"

  He raced within to continue the mutilation, hacking off the other right hand and one of the wide ears. Ram, having no tool, stuffed the severed chunks into a bag until the fabric began to give under the weight. Soon only the fat-bellied torso and legs remained.

  Baja tried to lift the bulk from the ledge, but it was so heavy he dropped it and it rolled across the floor; to crash against the long-dead hermit's body, shattering it to dust. "We can't carry it all," Ram regretted. "We must hide part of it." "Not here! Never! Someone might find it!" So they slept where they were until dawn when, carrying all the bags could stand, they regained the path and eventually buried their loads beneath the very tree where Nur Mohammed had died. They spent all that day on return trips until the heavier pieces were buried. Then, heavily burdened, they trudged toward Chirawali. But, in terror now because of their wealth, Ram remained with the bags while Baja went to refill their jar at the village tank.

  Later, they took the road back toward Ahmedpur, which they knew they must not re-enter, though both were desperate for news; Ram of Chanda, Baja of the scouts.

  "Uzoor Singh!" the latter exclaimed. "Next to you, and the Brotherhood, I trust him most. His jaghir was near here and, since troopers were idle at Chirawali, perhaps he also awaits orders from Khafi Khan. Wah, the grass is already high, yet the fool sits in sloth!"

  But when they came to the village where the Sikh had been quartered, there were no signs of troops. Disappointed, they hid in the undergrowth pondering their next move.

  "Look!" Ram pointed to approaching horsemen, Uzoor Singh himself at their head. Behind him rode two of his troopers and five nondescript fellows who were, however, obvious Sikhs.

  "Recruits, probably from his own village," Baja decided. "Good! Their loyalty will be to him, not to Khafi Khan."

  They watched the party dismount o
utside a bungalow, but not until darkness did they stir. Baja covered his precious bag carefully with grass, signing for Ram to do likewise; then they moved toward the bungalow's rear and hid behind some bushes, planning how to deal with their quarry.

  At last Uzoor Singh came out to relieve himself. As he was about to return inside, Ram raced to intercept him.

  "Uzoor Singh Subahdar, why have you not reported to me on your return?" he demanded, as if still the immaculate European commander.

  "By Arjuna!" the Sikh gasped, staring bewildered at the emaciated apparition. "It's the voice of Ramji Sahib! Who are you?"

  "Ramji Sahib himself." Baja, he saw, was behind the officer, with roomal ready. "Escaped from my enemies to resume command."

  Uzoor Singh continued to stare. "Wah, my eyes see a strange sight, but my heart is glad." Unaware how close to death he was, he dropped on one knee and took Ram's hand. "Now shall we be soldiers again, planning stratagems and making swift attacks. Arre, those fools dream they are generals, but have no more wits than parrots."

  "Yet you bring them recruits." Baja came from behind him.

  When recognition was over, the Sikh agreed. "Had I known Ramji Sahib would again lead us, I'd have brought many more." He laughed.

  "Khafi Khan bade me bring only a few; fearing perhaps if I had too many I might slit his throat and become a general myself."

  Being gone since before the rains, he knew nothing of Chanda, save that she was then alive and Jakes's slave. He knew nothing of the scouts. Ram felt sure he would be utterly loyal again. To cement that loyalty, Baja gave him one of the Ganesha's hands.

  Ram lay in the shrubbery, watching. Though the sun was already high no one had emerged. Was Jakes away? The gun park was here, each piece under its thatched shelter, a sentinel pacing before them —when he wasn't squatting with his back against a convenient tree.

  Two servants came from their quarters across the compound and began to sweep listlessly. Later, a girl in a bright sari appeared on the eranda, stretched sleepily and returned within. Ram's heart leaped, until he saw she was dark-skinned and fat.

  The sun burned his bare back. Once he gritted his teeth audibly, thinking of Jakes.

  Soon a village girl approached the shrine, carrying a small pot of milk on her head. Devoutly she placed it before the monkey god. Ram flattened lower under the shrubbery until she had gone.

  At last a woman, old, from the way she moved, came from the bungalow and shuffled toward the shrine. She'd know if Jakes were there. Dared he ask her? As she began to pra}-, he saw her face.

  "Chandaf He almost screamed her name. This was incredible, monstrous! "O Chanda, it is I!"

  A half moan, half prayer, broke from her as she stared around wildly, as if doubting her own ears. He was dizzy with relief, yet had wits enough not to stir. "Come, but don't look down at me."

  Her shoulders straightened and her head went up as she obeyed. "Lord, lord, do I dream?"

  He ached to spring up and hold her close, but he was on a campaign, with no mercy for the loser. "Come closer. Is Jakes within?"

  She started as if bitten by a cobra, but did come closer until the fringe of her sari was almost brushing his matted hair.

  "Yes, and soon he'll stir," she shuddered. "O my heart, this is a miracle! But you must leave swiftly, for he knows of your escape and swears when you're recaptured he himself \i\ put you to death with

  many tortures." A moan escaped her in realization that her Feringi lord had become this naked, filthy starveling at her feet.

  "Lotus Bud!" Her pressed her sari's fringe to his lips, the magic of her presence enveloping him. Then he was calm again; hard, remorseless. "What has this outcaste of my race done to you?"

  "He's a fiend! One girl already has died under his handling. He drinks strong liquor until he's crazed. One of us is not enough for him then. Two—sometimes three—of us must lie with him."

  Chanda defiled by that whoreson! He began to shake. "The baby?"

  "He hurt me," she whimpered. "After they'd dragged you off, he kicked me. I bled and the little thing came away, even before it had been formed in thy likeness."

  He beat the ground in his rage. "Tonight? Who'll be with him tonight?"

  "I, lord. Often I am ill of women's sickness since I lost the babe and he must let me rest. But tonight he orders my attendance."

  "Tonight he'll die. My Heart, have you the strength to watch?"

  "Often have I prayed for courage to kill him myself, but my spirit is broken." She spoke with a terrible intensity. "Before you blessed me by making me your slave, lord, I had been known by many men. Yet never did I feel unclean as now, since this white devil has taken me—he who should have been a trusted brother to you! Yes, I'll watch with joy. But beware! In his heart is fear and he keeps two loaded pistols beside his sleeping place."

  He laughed then, fiercely, gladly. No pistols would stop him!

  "I'll remove the flints," she said eagerly. "Kill him, lord, and then fly, for near by are the men he has trained to fire the guns."

  He smiled up at her. With Jakes dead, the Ganesha would buy the cannoneers. "Now, go. Keep from him when I come, lest he again use you as a shield."

  For a little she lingered, her fingers fluttering as if to caress his upturned face. Before she turned away a tiny splash had fallen upon the back of his hand—a tear. Slowly he raised it to his lips, tasting its saltiness until, in turn, it brought his own tears. Then he wormed his way back through the shrubbery until he could stand and walk to where he had hidden his weapons and food.

  Tonight!

  "Chanda, where the hell are ye?" Jakes took a long swig of arrack. "Go bring the others. I'm right randy tonight, I am." He was too drunk to realize he was speaking English. "God rot the barstard for breakin' out! Him tryin' to quarterdeck me, the bleeder! I'll—" He took another gulp. "Chanda!"

  "Here, Great One." She came softly through the doorway.

  "Where's Jumli? I want a bit o' fun tonight. You, blast yer choot, ye're like a bit o' codfish in bed these days. Where's Jumli?"

  "She has her sickness, lord." She guessed rather than understood. "Does my lord desire some other girl?"

  "Yes, the one Khafi Khan sent me." He used broken Hindustani now. "It's time she learned to please a man. You're no use alone any more."

  "Does the Mighty One not recall he sent her back to Khafi Khan, saying she was as yet too young for his vigor?" Actually, she had sent the others away, not daring to risk another girl becoming terrified when her lord came to exact vengeance. She forced herself to approach the divan. "If it is your will. Great One, I the lowest of your slaves, promise new and strange pleasures to entertain you."

  He scowled. "See they are or I'll flay the—" He dragged her down, pawing her brutishly. She cringed, her humiliation the greater because already Ram might be watching. But servants were still in the bungalow and the cannoneers would be awake in their nearby huts. She must play for time. She began variations of the love play she had been taught by the priests, her ears strained for the least external sounds. Had the servants gone yet? Was the sentinel snoring at his post? Great Siva, bring my lord soon! she implored.

  "Now! Now!" His voice thick, he pulled her upon him. She moaned involuntarily as his hairy arms locked her fast.

  "You unspeakable bastard." The voice was soft, almost pleasant.

  "Huh?" He shoved her aside. She rolled to reach the pillow under which she had hidden a gold-hilted dagger, lest Kali were cruel and some mischance occur.

  The English words at last penetrating his fuddled brain, he swore and grabbed the twin pistols from beside a nearby lamp.

  "Anstruther!" He looked around wildly. "In hell's name where are ye, ye stinkin' son of a drab?"

  "Here, Jakes." Ram came farther into the room, edging a little sideways to take advantage of the uncertain light.

  "Gord strike me, where are ye?" Jakes sprang up, bewildered because, instead of the European he feared, here was only a gaunt, bearded nativ
e.

  "I'm about to kill you!"

  Snarling, the seaman triggered one pistol, but there came only the empty click. Chanda, crouching in a corner, thanked Vishnu for having given her opportunity earlier to disarm the weapons.

  Damning the misfire, Jakes raised the other. When it too clicked uselessly, he roared and flung both at the motionless figure who carried pistols of his own. Now the ex-gunner cringed back, his nude, sweat-glistening body a perfect target in the lamplight. Slowly Ram's right pistol rose until it covered the cowering man's heart.

  Thus far. Ram had been icy, but now remembrance of all this beast had done to him and Chanda twisted through his brain. With terrible deliberateness he lowered his muzzle until it pointed at the black hair between his enemy's thighs. He fired.

  An inhuman howl, and the deserter fell, thrashing. "Christ! Ow Jesus Almighty save me! Keep off! . . . Don't 'urt me again!"

  Slowly, slowly Ram approached this screeching Thing that was no longer a man. When he was within a yard, he raised his left pistol.

  "Traitor!"

  He waited until the rolling, jerking head had stopped and Jakes was staring up at him imploringly. Then he put a ball through his brain.

  How different, he thought wryly as he rode under the gate's arch, from that dawn a week before when he had passed out of here, a naked starved gosseinl He glanced back at his troopers. Kick a bit of discipline into 'em again, and they'd be as soldierly as ever.

  He spurred Battle, and the whole troop swept along the street, scattering people like frightened chickens. Then the market place.

  "Bajaji won't come till we're ready," he reminded Uzoor Singh. "So make sure the prison party moves swiftly." He wriggled distastefully in his uniform. It still stank of Jakes.

  Henchmen and supplicants crowded the courtsward. Riding through them. Ram dismounted at the wide marble steps, while Uzoor

  Singh barked orders for men to guard the gates, the palace and the treasury. Others trotted toward the prison. Ram kept his face hidden behind Battle's flank, lest someone see he wasn't Jakes.