A Good Soldier

by Richard Townsend Bickers

  “That reputation belongs to Shakuntala, daughter of the old Nawab’s chief steward, widow of one Pratap Mahindra, whose dancing was acclaimed by the King of Oudh. And more than acclaimed, men say. Who is this nach girl?”

  “Wait and see. You will be surprised.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Nawabzada travelled north alternately riding one of the two horses he took with him or in a carriage drawn by two bay mares. Two spare carriage horses were attached behind the phaeton by head ropes. Thus he was able to cover the distance fast. A cavalry escort, each trooper provided with an extra mount, accompanied him. The servants had started out a day ahead in a train of bullock carts, in two parties. He would spend two nights on the road and a camp would already be set up at each halting place before he arrived there.

  He was pensive and morose from the moment the cavalcade set out.

  He was reluctant to go on the mission on which his father had sent him and insulted by Major Owthwaite’s attitude to it.

  He had endured an uncomfortable ten minutes in their presence.

  The Nawab had spent an hour explaining to him what he planned. Murtaza had argued vehemently at first but his father had become furious and threatening. The next morning his father had summoned first him and then the Major. The Nawab had assumed a cordial manner.

  “I have decided, Major Sahib, that, as the Nawabzada is the Deputy Commander-in-Chief of the Army...”

  Owthwaite had made his immediate objection to whatever might follow. “In theory, Your Highness. Just as you are Commander-in-Chief in title, but I shall be in command if the Army goes to war.”

  “You will be in command of the battle. I shall still command the Army.”

  “Very well. But it is I who will give the orders.”

  “You know how to win battles better than I do. My son needs experience. He has to be seen to be exercising authority. I am sending him to Girbad to command the fort. He will ensure that the work I have ordered on block houses is properly done.”

  “Building and repairing block houses is unnecessary, as I have repeatedly told you. And if you must do it, why not use local labour?” The Nawab gave Owthwaite a sullen glare and he knew he would get no answer. The Nawab had given an order. It was to be obeyed. “All right, an inexperienced young officer calling himself Deputy Commander-in-Chief, and unnecessary labour on superfluous work. Let the Nawabzada go to Girbad with my good wishes.” The expression on Owthwaite’s face betokened anything but well-wishing.

  Owthwaite pointed out that he had offered to give Murtaza military training when he had attained the age of sixteen. He had shown no interest then or in the nearly two years since. If he wished to take the Army seriously now — and to be taken seriously himself — he should undergo a proper course of instruction. It was not right for him to be put in command of officers and troops at Girbad who all knew a great deal more than he did.

  Despite the denigration, it was the original reason for his having to go to Girbad which upset Murtaza most. He had withdrawn to his quarters and sent for two of his girls to amuse him. He had made himself drunk. He had taken bhang. Whatever means he sought to distort his judgment and to palliate his conscience, he remained aghast at what his father demanded of him.

  *

  “The fellow has the cheek of the devil.” Ramsey showed Whittaker the sheet of paper which had just been delivered.

  “I don’t read Urdu. What does he say?”

  “‘Greetings to the Bara Sahib Bahadur’ and so on... all the usual courtesies and flattery. ‘Anwar Ali presents his humble compliments and apologises for his inability to call in person to pay homage. However, as the Sahib is no doubt aware, it is a matter of some difficulty for him to venture beyond the safety of his own estate at present, owing to the Nawab’s fierce resentment of his justified resistance to the rapacious demands of the tax-gatherer.’ He says he has heard of my sickness, thanks Allah for my recovery, and has heard of my sad loss by fire; for which he prays Allah will see fit soon to compensate me. He assures me of his loyalty, as a friend of his honoured friend MacLean Sahib, and offers whatever help he can render. He invites me to be his guest at the earliest opportunity and for as long as I wish. He believes he can offer humble suggestions about how I could restore my fortunes. The invitation is useful. I had intended to go and see him tomorrow. I thought he might have me barred by armed retainers, thinking that I might have heard or suspected something against him.”

  “You didn’t discuss the cause of the fire with Dhala Rao or hint that Anwar Ali was implicated?”

  “Certainly not. I believe Dhala Rao to be a sincere man, but why be indiscreet?”

  “What do you propose to do when you see Anwar Ali?”

  “Accuse him of having my warehouse burned down and tell him why I suspect him and why it was done.”

  “He will deny it.”

  “And I shall force an admission out of him.”

  “I do not doubt you are capable of it, Hugh. But what use will the admission be to you if you can’t get away to make use of it?”

  “I shall take Sher Mahommed Khan and Karim Baksh with me. The three of us together have fought stronger opposition than Anwar Ali and his armed peasants can offer.”

  Sher Mahommed Khan, dutifully hovering near his master and straining his ears, heard his name mentioned.

  “What does the Sahib require of me?”

  “Oh, go away, you silly fellow and watch out for Dhala Rao’s arrival.”

  Sher Mahommed Khan sniffed and looked hurt. “The Sahib knows that Karim Baksh is doing that. I heard the Sahib mention my name, that is all. If a Pathan of the Orakzai and of the Sixty-Ninth Regiment cannot ask his platoon commander a civil question...”

  “The Orakzai are renowned for the bigness of their ears. Yours I shall personally amputate with my sword if you do not learn...” Ramsey could not continue. He burst out laughing. The exchange had been in Pashtu and Whittaker was looking puzzled. Sher Mahommed Khan marched half a dozen paces away and stood looking to his front. Every line of his face and bearing depicted high dudgeon.

  “What was all that about, Hugh?”

  “The silly ass got up on his high horse because I rebuked him for sticking that great beak of his into every conversation if he gets the chance. There isn’t a man breathing for whom I have a greater regard, and he knows it.”

  “Something tells me he would relish getting his hands on Anwar Ali.”

  “I have not told him yet that Anwar Ali was responsible for the arson: if I had, he and Karim Baksh would already have gone to lay waste to Anwar Ali’s house and estate by fire and sword, believe me. And to ravish every comely woman on the place.”

  “I don’t think we need to go to all the trouble of indigo, cotton and tanning hides. I reckon we could make a tidy fortune just by shipping out Pathans to fight the Redskins and cattle rustlers out West, and help the sheriffs and marshals keep law and order. We could charge high for their services.”

  “The trouble with that theory is that the only time they are on the side of law and order is when they enlist in the Sepoy Army.”

  “Looks like dreary old commerce, then.”

  “I fear so. Here’s Dhala Rao.”

  When Dhala Rao was seated and the cold sherbet and sweetmeats had been brought, Dhala Rao said quietly “There is much speculation in the serai this morning, Sahib. The Nawabzada rode out an hour after sunrise with a troop of cavalry, bound for Girbad. It is said he goes to take command of the fort.”

  Ramsey looked at Whittaker. “I wonder what the Resident makes of this? Word must have reached him at once.” Then, in Urdu, to Dhala Rao: “Like the Nawab, the boy is only a figurehead. Major Owthwaite Sahib is the real leader of the Army. If the Nawabzada has been sent to the frontier, it surely means that peace will continue.”

  “That is what everyone thinks, Sahib. But I doubt it.”

  *

  When darkness fell, Prithvi crept away from his quarters near the harem and
out into the lanes and alleys which would lead him to the broad avenue where Unwin lived. He trembled with fear of the knowledge he carried and of the terrible consequences that could follow its betrayal. He had not dared to confide it in the Chamberlain and he feared also that the Chamberlain suspected him of concealing something.

  He made his way through the shadows to the back of Unwin’s house. One of the servants jeered at him. “What are you doing here? You were not invited. The Sahib is going out tonight.”

  Prithvi’s teeth were chattering from the effort of screwing up his scanty courage to force himself to come here. He could not do it again. It had to be now. “This is life and death. Tell the Sahib I am here or I shall rush in at the front door.”

  The bearer grinned. “Why didn’t you in the first place?”

  “Because I am trying to be discreet.”

  “Go on in and knock on his door. It will not be the first time he has let you into his room.”

  When he tapped on the bedroom door, Prithvi heard Unwin call “What do you want? Why are you knocking? Come in.” When he saw that it was not a servant and who his caller was, he gave him first a welcoming smile and then a look of concern. “What is the matter, Prithvi, my friend? Are you sick? By God, you are frightened out of your wits. What is the matter?”

  Prithvi’s eyes filled with tears, his lips trembled, his body shivered as though he had ague.

  Unwin patted his shoulder and kissed his cheek. “Come, it can’t be as bad as all that.” He led him to a chair, pushed him into it and poured two tots of brandy from a bottle on the chest of drawers. “Drink this. It will make you feel better at once.” He smiled but there was no response.

  Prithvi gulped the brandy, dried his tears, took hold of Unwin’s hand for reassurance and began to unburden himself to the only sympathetic and always kindly friend he had ever had.

  *

  Unwin drove immediately to the Residency, calling for Thorn on the way. All three houses stood on the same 200-yard stretch of road, side by side.

  Carter took them into his office.

  “What is this urgent news, Unwin?” He tolerated his junior assistant because of his astuteness, the “unusual sources of information” that Unwin had and because he was well connected. But he could never quite dissemble his basic contempt for him. His deviant habits could not be wondered at, the Resident often told himself. An Eton and Cambridge man himself, he put Unwin’s aberrations down to the fact that he had been to Harrow, where that damned flamboyant fellow Byron had preceded him; and then to Oxford; which the Resident pictured as a squalid, inferior institution for the academically retarded.

  “As it is a military matter, sir, I thought it well to fetch Thorn.”

  “Yes, yes, get on with it man. We are all due at the Whittakers’ in half an hour.” Whatever authority he exercised elsewhere, Carter was ruled by a gynarchy at home and his acicular wife and daughters were all agog to get to this new-fangled American style entertainment to which they had been invited.

  “My informant from the Nawab’s zenana has just come in great haste to tell me of a conversation he overheard between the Nawab, the head Brahmin and the notorious swami a week ago. He has not dared reveal it until now. But with the Nawabzada’s departure for Girbad, he could not retain it any longer.”

  The Resident and Thorn tapped their feet impatiently.

  Thorn said gruffly “By God, Unwin, you are as long-winded as a gossipy beldame.”

  Unwin was unperturbed. He was enjoying himself.

  “The Nawab propounded an infamous plot to the two Brahmins and asked them to cast a horoscope and give him a propitious day for carrying it out. He is so determined to recover from Karampur the territory that was lost in 1774, and so confident in his Army, that he is determined on a war which he will swiftly win. But he does not wish to put himself in the wrong in the eyes of the Governor General and find a peace-keeping force of the Sepoy Army sent here. He has evolved a plan to give him the excuse to invade Karampur. He is going to dress a number of his own men in Karampur uniforms and they will make a mock raid on the frontier from the Karampur side. This will be done while Owthwaite and the main body of his troops are still a day’s march away from the frontier. He dare not put on this charade while Owthwaite is present: Owthwaite being heartily opposed to a war with Karampur. As soon as the main body of the Army arrives, it will be thrown into a ‘retaliatory’ attack on Karampur.”

  “You are utterly sure this diabolical notion is not the fabrication of a hysterical imagination?”

  “My informant was entirely convincing, sir.”

  Thorn looked sceptical. “Where would he obtain the Karampur uniforms?” These consisted of yellow tunics and turbans with dark brown breeches.

  “He is having them made in the prisons.”

  “What date did the Brahmins suggest?”

  “Five days from now, sir.”

  “Owthwaite and his regiments are on manoeuvres in the south of the state. I cannot inform him of this. It would immediately be reported to the Nawab that I had sent a messenger to his Military Adviser. It would put both Owthwaite and your informant in an embarrassing position. This absurd review the Nawab insists on holding... it will delay Owthwaite and the main body of the Army... they cannot reach the frontier in under six days. If I could find some means of warning Owthwaite and persuading him to ignore the Nawab’s orders and go straight to the frontier, the Nawab would execute his plan immediately.”

  “Against the Brahmins’ choice of date, sir?” Unwin queried.

  “In an emergency he would take the chance rather than be frustrated. Thorn, you will leave as soon as I have written a chit to Colonel Howell. You can amplify verbally what I tell him. I shall also send a despatch to the Governor-General.”

  The Resident rang the hand bell on his desk and a chaprasi answered it. “Tell a hurkara to prepare to leave immediately with a letter for Calcutta.”

  The chaprasi salaamed and went.

  “You are sending to Colonel Howell asking for the support of the Sixty-Ninth, sir?” Asked Thorn.

  “Yes. By forced marches they also should reach the Zafarala-Karampur frontier in six days. I am allowing a day and a half for you to deliver my letter. They will be too late to frustrate the Nawab’s infamous plot, but it is the only action open to me.”

  Ramsey’s old regiment had been sent, as part of its punishment and regeneration, to Ajibnagar, east of Zafarala, whence it could move instantly as reinforcement. It was on constant alert. The officers’ families were living in temporary buildings of bamboo and palm thatch, rather than endure at least two years of separation.

  “Thorn, go and make your preparations while I am writing to the Governor-General. Unwin, you had better show yourself at the Whittakers’ punctually. I shall send my wife and daughters ahead of me. As soon as I have despatched the mail runner I shall come along myself. We must not give any hint of something amiss. I shall make appropriate excuses for your absence, Thorn. There is just one more point, Unwin. Why did this informant of yours decide to come and tell you what he overheard after so long a delay? There is a whiff of suspicion about that, do you not think?”

  “He lives in fear of another outbreak of religious persecution, sir. A fear instilled by the Chamberlain. A war against Karampur, even if Owthwaite’s troops quickly won it, would mean loss of life: not only among the Army but also the civilian population in the frontier zone. There would be resentment against the Nawab, who is already so much distrusted by the Mahommedans for his dealings with the Brahmins. The Chamberlain fears, and has frightened my informant into fearing, that the Mahommedans would turn on the Hindus, as they have done before, and massacre them.”

  “I share their fears. It is certainly adequate grounds for confiding in you.”

  *

  Prithvi had turned off the avenue on which the Residency stood, into a narrower, rutted road across fields which separated the residential area from the native city.

  The sh
adow of a tree moved, a portion split off and took the shape of a man, cast by, the moonlight on the pale ground. The man himself loomed in front of Prithvi with a stout stick upraised.

  “You lied to me.” The Chamberlain’s voice was choked with anger.

  Prithvi cringed back and raised a protective arm across his face. He felt a cruel stab of pain in the shins as the Chamberlain struck him with the lathi.

  “No! Don’t hit me... I told you the truth...” He spluttered as the end of the lathi caught him hard in the ribs.

  “Liar. What tale have you borne to your friend Unwin that you concealed from me?”

  “None, Muhtamim-ji... none, I swear...”

  “Tell me before I thrash the truth out of you... or kill you.”

  The lathi came down hard on the skinny left forearm with which Prithvi was guarding his head. He cried out. The lathi landed on his left shoulder, numbing his whole arm. He dropped his guard.

  Prithvi remembered the knife the Chamberlain had given him the other night, with which to cut the throat of any beggar he found sleeping in the lane behind the harem. He had carried it ever since. He snatched at the hilt and drew the dagger from its sheath. He lunged at the Chamberlain as the stick went up for another blow. He felt the blade sink into the Chamberlain’s stomach and heard him scream. He ripped the knife upwards and felt warm blood spurt over him. He pulled the knife out and watched the Chamberlain fall, moaning and writhing. He turned him over with his foot, bent and drew the sharp blade across his throat.

  Prithvi dragged the corpse back into the shadow under the trees and began to run. There was a tank nearby where he could bathe and wash his dhoti. By the time he had run fifty yards he could hear the jackals already tearing at the body. There would be nothing but chewed bones left by morning.

  *

  Lights shone all over the Whittakers’ house and around the curving drive. The strains of music came from the drawing-room, with the sounds of rhythmically clapping hands, dancing feet and Henry Whittaker’s voice calling the movements of a square dance.