Ram; being the tale of one Ramillies Anstruther, 1704-55 ..
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Baja arrived. He wore a pearl-decorated turban, a yellow silk coat with flowing sleeves, his scrawny legs encased in bright scarlet paejamas. He wore no arms, but he had recovered his glass eye.
"Khafi Khan—is it done?" Ram demanded softly.
"He still lives," was the brief reply as the scouts arrived, also richly dressed and escorting a palanquin carried by eight porters.
"It is time." Baja started up the steps with Ram. Uzoor Singh followed with his remaining men, the scouts and the palanquin bringing up the rear.
Within, Dadaji sat upon the daised throne, surrounded by officials, guards, sycophants and petitioners. He glanced up as Ram and Baja came slowly along the durbar's length toward him. Gasping, he stared at Baja, though evidently he took Ram for Jakes.
"Highness!" Baja salaamed. "Jakes Sahib was detained and Ramji Sahib replaces him. Khafi Khan is also here to make his obeisance."
Thick lips quivering, Dadaji looked around wildly at his guards.
"Let no one move!" Ram snapped, and the troopers covered the stunned crowd with their muskets. He was wondering what Baja had meant by saying that Khafi Khan was here. Where?
He understood, after the porters had put down the palanquin before the dais and Suraya Rao had flung it open.
The Pathan had been impaled alive.
An eight-foot stake had been forced up his fundament and through his whole body, to project between his broken, bloody jaws, so that he resembled a woodcock on a spit! Yet his eyes were open and his lips twitched feebly.
"Yes, Highness," Baja went on, "Khafi Khan salutes you, for your end will be mercifully swifter than his!"
Perfectly timed, the prison rescue party arrived, an emaciated, ragged woman in their midst.
"Dadaji Rao Bahadur, behold the ranee of him you murdered!" Baja cried. "She is the rightful ruler of Rakosawan. Give place to her!"
But the cringing rajah could only stare in horror at Khafl Khan.
"Long ago, Highness, my grandfather, Sivaji, was brought captive
before the King of Bejapoor." Baja's voice rose. "Have you heard of the Tiger's Claws, O Prince? It was with them that Sivaji slew that king—as now I slay you!"
He flung back the flowing sleeve from his right arm and raised his clenched fist, from between each finger of which projected a razor-like "claw." Then, with the speed of a real tiger, he sprang at his cowering enemy and with his left hand tore open his silk jacket, while his right raked the length of the fat torso once, twice, thrice. A dreadful screech arose and blood spurted as Dadaji Rao rose from his throne and crashed into the floor—disemboweled.
In the numbed silence, Baja stared down at Khafi Khan.
"Breaker of vows, I promised you'd outlive your master," he said terribly, taking a pistol from Suraya Rao with his left hand. "May Bhowani herself receive you!" He shot him between the eyes.
Dropping the smoking weapon and the small steel bar with its three dripping claws, he took the trembling ranee by the hand and seated her on the throne.
"Pay homage, O men of Rakosawan, to your rightful princess. I, Bajaji Rao Bhonsla, her dewan and chief councilor, command you!"
CHAPTER 10 PORTUGUESE GOA, 1729
It had been so incredibly easy that Ram felt perturbed. To march over a hundred miles across semihostile territories and kidnap Rajah Prasad from his very palace had been daring indeed; but that not a shot had been exchanged in the process was worrying.
And now Ram was returning northward across Panmali State, with the rajah well guarded in a horse-drawn ekka. But the prince
looked far too complaisant for one who had broken his alliance with Baja and joined his enemies. Did he hope for a rescue?
Yet, moving down the wide valley, with two squadrons acting as advance and flank guards, Ram permitted himself a moment of vanity. Even in India there were few generals, with several successful campaigns behind them, at the age of twenty-five. The realization made him straighten in his saddle and set Battle to curvet like a colt. That his present command consisted of only his First Dragoon Regiment and a horse battery had been his own choice, since he had counted upon speed, audacity and discipline for the swift dash in and a swifter one out.
A jamadar came galloping back from the advance. "Huzoor, the Kumail Sahib says many enemies are gathering across our front," he reported. "They seem only local levies, but there are horse and foot and even some great guns."
So that was it! Ram felt positive relief. Small wonder the rajah was so unruffled. Somehow, the alarm had been spread and now it was planned to trap the invaders! Well, one would see.
"Guard our princely guest well," he ordered the escort's captain and cantered to the column's head. Yes, the road was barred by a mass of men and horse, with straggling knots of more streaming down from the hills on either side. But more important were the three huge guns being moved into position, each with fifty or more men hauling on the drag ropes.
His lips tightened. His trained squadrons could soon crash through the horde, but he had no relish for risking great stone cannon balls tearing grisly lanes through their close-packed ranks.
He reined in beside the regiment's colonel, Gian Singh, a kinsman of Uzoor Singh, and a leader of great promise.
"Kurnail Sahib, entertain this mob with two squadrons, but keep open formation so the guns can do you little harm," he ordered. "I'll take the rest and fall on the enemy from the rear."
The Sikh's eyes flashed. "Excellent, Huzoor! Yet already our horses are weary. What if later the Panmali cavalry pursue us?"
"Opium!" Ram decided. "A pellet for each animal at once." It was not for the first time he'd used the old Pindaree trick of using the drug on horses. The amazing extra endurance it gave them should bring them almost back to Rakosawan before its effects died.
While each trooper was giving his mount an opium pellet, Ram studied the terrain ahead. Then all was ready and trumpets blared. Gian Singh deployed the advance out of range of the massed foemen and Ram took command of the main body. At a hand gallop he led his squadrons forward, straight at the enemy's center, then swerved them right to begin a turning movement around the left of the horde.
Already affected by the opium, Battle developed tremendous energy and became hard to manage. Ram stood in his stirrups, waving his jeweled saber. "Dragoons—charge!"
"Kai jai!" came the answering roar as he led around the enemy flank, intending to crash home from the rear.
But then he had to fight Battle back on its haunches. For, debouching from the village just behind his objective was a regiment of redcoated sepoys, the colors of the H.E.I.C. at its head. Ram realized then why Rajah Prasad was so confident; he was an ally of the John Company!
"Humla-kuru!" he yelled, pointing his saber in the new direction, knowing it futile to smash the mob if the Company troops had time to deploy and open disciplined fire.
Giing Battle full rein, he charged. He had a blurred sight of a European on a big bay, of the leading company halting and forming to receive cavalry, of muskets coming down to the fire position. Then he crashed into it, his troopers at his heels.
The company disintegrated under the onrush; the second one had halted in confusion, its European officers shouting conflicting orders. "Give them no time!" he yelled and charged its front files. A moment more and he was through them and was in the village.
It was an utter rout. Taken by surprise, even these well-disciplined sepo}s had no chance. As for the levies, now the regulars were beaten, they swarmed back into the protecting hills.
A bay horse was overtaking Ram on the right and, thinking its rider was one of the dragoons, he was about to warn him to keep back when he saw that the rider wore red and had a red-mottled face.
"Rale!" he gaped incredulously.
If the major heard him he paid no attention, being too intent upon reaching his regiment's rear and in throwing off some of Ram's
troopers who, delighted to be chasing an Ungresi officer, clearly intended to have his head.
Ram knew he must save him, particularly since he was showing such arrant cowardice. The tale would spread like wildfire that one of the feared Company's officers had deserted his men under fire. Every European in India would suffer from the disgrace, Ram himself included,
"Meraj ud Din and you, Feroz Khan, rejoin your squadron this instant!" he bellowed, but had to overtake one of them and beat him with the flat of his saber to make him obey.
"Wah, Jernail Sahib, why can't I give him a taste of my steel?" the man protested. "I would look very fine in his red coat!"
"Back!" Ram growled. Looking rearward, he saw the battleground almost deserted, the three great guns deserted and their muzzles pointed toward the front from which no attack had come.
When Gian Singh brought up the remaining squadrons and the captive rajah, who seemed stunned by the disaster. Ram ordered him to re-form the regiment and continue the march. "Other states may have been raised against us too, so we must move at top speed."
Having leisure now, he thought once more of Rale. Cantering around the tank, he received the surrender of several dejected sepoys, but told them merely to drop their weapons and rejoin their companies. Then he saw his man, panting heavily and leaning upon a well's top.
Ram rode toward him slowly. He had never intended to fight Company troops, but this had been an accident and, much as he disliked Rale, he felt that he owed him an apology.
"Quarter! I surrender!" Rale panted in Hindustani and proffered his sword, hilt first.
Ram was incredulous. The commander of a sepoy regiment, that
had merely been scattered but not beaten, was abjectly surrendering.
"Damme, Major, I don't want your sword," he returned in English. I'd no idea there were Company troops here or why they are."
Rale stared at him blankly, for Ram was no longer a beardless boy, but a turbaned, mustached centaur in a white coat with red facings, a gold sash and the air of a great Hindu conqueror.
Then recognition came. "You! God damn ye for a traitorous bastard! Begod, you'll hang for this!"
"Now, now," Ram chided. "How can I be a traitor, since I've never served the H.E.I.C? I'm commander in chief of the Rajah Bajaji Rao Bhonsla's armies, and I'm merely escorting the Rajah of Panmali to a conference with my prince regarding their alliance."
"Panmali's allied to the Company, and by capturing him you've become a traitor!" Rale blustered, then, remembering his recent less-than-heroic conduct: "Begod, if ye so much as breathe a word you saw me somewhat nonplussed, I'll have you killed!"
"Sir, 'tis pleasant to know that one so portly as yourself is so swift of foot," Ram chuckled. "To outrun mounted men like that was prodigious. How the governors in London would enjoy learning that you can outrun all your men toward the rear!"
But later, on the swift march homeward. Ram's anger grew; not against craven Rale, but that Baja had assured him that Rajah Prasad's only allies were other small princelings. Or was it that Baja, in his pride, knew that Prasad's ally was the H.E.I.C, yet was willing to make war on it, using Ram to do the making?
You're not going to make me the scapegoat, he fumed silently. I'm Enghsh, damme, and I don't fight my own, not even for you!
"It's time to part." He paced the chamber irritably. "I weary for my homeland. Also, I'm no longer necessary."
"Don't you lead my armies, doesn't your fame ring throughout all Hind and the Great Mogul himself curse your name?" Baja's good eye sparkled maliciously. "What more can hold you to me; gold, jewels or perhaps some slave girls of great beauty and skill?"
Ram halted. "I want leave to depart. You knew Rajah Prasad was allied with the John Company, yet you let me blunder without warning upon Company troops. I never bargained to fight the English."
"I fight Marathas when necessary," Baja shrugged. "Arre, this Rale Sahib is of no importance and can do you no harm."
"He can't, but the Company's now proclaimed me a renegade, Hume Sahib's letter tells me. I'm also accused of seducing Jakes from his ship. Should I ever be caught in the territory of the Company or its allies, I'm liable to be executed."
"Then remain with me," Baja countered. "Think, bhaee, how we've prospered. I am Rajah of Rakosawan-Talkrir, with a son of my blood and, Bhowani willing, another to brother him soon. Half a score states pay me tribute, and Narinian Prasad will pay me five lakhs for his mistake, before I let him return to his paltry Panmali. Wah, with your help I've rekindled the courage of the Marathas! Men from my loins will some day drive the Moslem usurper from all India. Think of how renowned generals flock to serve me!"
"And how they plot against me! No, Bajaji, for your sake and mine, let me go lest you must take sides with or against me."
"Arre, could anything turn me from you, bhaee?"
"Matters of policy could. My regiments are now in fine state. Bring Uzoor Singh back from his governorship to command them. The generals won't envy him, but they distrust a Feringi."
The years had lined Baja's face and turned his mustaches white, yet now when he looked up there was a flash of his old smile.
"Wah, chota bhaee, then let it be as you wish. The lure of your own land is upon you. How do you think to go?"
Tension draining from him, Ram returned the grin. "From Goa. The Company ports and even Bankipur and the French and Dutch ones are too dangerous for me. But the Portuguese are no longer a power, so Goa will be safest."
"When, bhaee?"
"At the time of the northeast monsoon, when the winds are favorable. I've talked with merchants who know of these things."
Rising, Baja placed his hands on Ram's taller shoulders. "Till the coming of my son, you were my son," he said quietly. "Now go. I must hold durbar for some Pindaree chiefs who seek to enter my service."
Ram left with a sense of emptiness. Yes, they had been close; it would seem strange to go back in England, away from all this. Yet as he mounted Chota—now sire of many of his strain—his mind
whirled with plans. Thank God Hume had managed to get Gammer's letter to him. Her plea had been that she lived only for his return. Captain Villebonne already lay in Bowes churchyard, and her own old bones ached for the same rest. "Come, even though ye haven't a gowld guinea to thy name," she had ended. But the letter was two years old. Perhaps already she was—at peace.
As for Hume's own news, apart from warning Ram about the H.E.I.C., he admitted the Ostend Company was in bad straits and might not last much longer. But his big surprise was that Bea had married an Austrian lieutenant who would one day become a baron, while Annie had married Fred Morgan!
Both girls had grown dim in his memory, and now his concern was about Chanda. Would she turn Christian, at least in appearance? How would she take to crossing Kali Pani—the Black Water? Damme, she'd do as he willed and forget her superstitions!
On reaching his house—actually a small palace fitting for "J^rnail Ramji Anster Sahib"—servants swarmed to lead Chota away, to relieve him of his hot uniform and to see to his comfort.
"Advise the Lady Chanda I would consult with her," he told his khansaman, and relaxed in loose native dress to sip cooling sherbet. With western India seething with revolt, I'll best take a squadron as escort, he decided. There's many who'd gladly slit my throat for being Baja's chief general; besides, there's the loot. How Gammer's eyes will shine when I deck her in jewels and silks!
One of Chanda's slaves glided in to say her lady awaited him eagerly. Bounding up, he followed her to the zenana, where Chanda hurried to him, her lustrous eyes as alight as ever.
"Lord, my heart
is glad," she welcomed. "Is all well?"
"Dear one." He regarded her fondly. There had been a time, after Jakes, when he feared she would never again be young; yet today she was even more lovely, as comforting as a dream, as staunch as a trusted blade.
"I'm free at last," he told her gaily. "My service is over and we cross the Black Water. We must make instant preparation."
The light in her eyes died. "You return to your home, lord?"
"We do," he corrected. "My grandmother fails and we must go to her. Even so, it will take almost a year of travel."
For a little she seemed not to understand, then she fell at his
feet. "Nuheen, nuheen, it cannot be!" she moaned. "The august grandmother would not receive a barren woman. I'm unworthy, unworthy!"
"Enough, she'll receive you with joy." He raised her and she clung to him, weeping piteously. "At Goa are Christian priests. One will perform the marriage rites and you'll sail as my wife."
"A wife bears sons!" she wailed. "You must wed one of your own race, one who'll yield bountifully. Countless times have I prayed before the lingam at the Temple of Siva that my womb may be blessed again, but since—since my hurting, it's been fruitless. No, lord, I'm but the most worthless of your slaves."
"God damn the bastard!" he snarled in English, regretting he had killed Jakes only once. Poor lass, no, she'll likely never bear again. Perhaps I'd best turn Moslem and wed an English girl for heirs but still keep Chanda. Damme, I'll not leave without her!
Leading her to a divan, he made her lie beside him. "We must consider plans. Goa is far, through many hostile states. So away with tears, Lotus Bud, and I'll tell you what I intend. . . ."
He ran up the veranda steps, humming an English air. Ecod, it was good to get a whiff of the sea again! Strange folk, these Goans. Now it was easy to understand about Madam Hume and her pride in Portuguese blood, even her dark hue. Why, half the seamen hereabouts were coal-black Abyssinians who had intermarried with the Portuguese, giving them their color in exchange for their tongue.