Zemindar

by Valerie Fitzgerald

  ‘Probably,’ concurred Oliver, ‘but it will cure him of the sun. I don’t know how or why, but I know it does. My grandmother used this remedy on me more than once, and I’ve seen the villagers use it too. Stop clucking and stick it in his mouth!’

  Knowing better than to quarrel with the nostrums of Oliver’s grandmother, I did as I was told.

  ‘He’ll be up in a couple of days, which is more than he deserves for his lack of sense,’ said the elder brother, while the younger groaned piteously through the lump of pinkish salt, unable to open his eyes because of the swollen state of the lids.

  ‘Poor Charles!’ I whispered.

  ‘Silly fool!’ said Oliver, and we withdrew to let him sleep.

  That same evening, Toddy-Bob brought us the news of Meerut. He had been sent into Lucknow for some much-needed articles for the baby and Emily, although I knew that Oliver had been reluctant to let him go. Covered with dust and sweat, he burst into the drawing-room where Oliver and I were sitting together in uneasy domesticity after dinner, and before even pulling his tall hat from his head, blurted out: ‘It’s happened, guv’nor! They’re up! They turned on their h’officers and slaughtered the lot of ’em—women and nippers too! Word come of it on Wednesday, and I rode back like ’ell’s blazes as soon as I’d foraged things out!’

  ‘No doubt, Toddy?’

  Oliver had got to his feet, and the two of us had our attention riveted on the small dirty man, his eyes popping in excitement and his hands clawing convulsively at his ridiculous headgear.

  ‘No doubt, guv!’

  ‘Sure it’s not just a bazaar rumour?’ Oliver repeated as Toddy-Bob strove to collect sufficient saliva in his mouth to enunciate his words.

  ‘No, no rumour, guv’nor, s’elp me! It’s Gawd’s own truth! Massacred the lot of ’em, the dirty ’eathen bastards, shot their h’officers on the parade ground, fired the ’ouses in cantonments, and set free the prisoners.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Last Sunday. On a Sunday, guv’nor!’ He was as shocked as if he were a devout Christian and believed the world contained only others like himself.

  ‘What else?’ Oliver’s lack of excitement made me want to shake him. Surely this was not the time to be so clinical, so detached.

  ‘There’s been trouble in the lines in Lucknow, already, and they say as ’ow the women, ladies that is, ’as all to go and get theirselves shut up in the Baillie Guard. S’truth, guv’nor.’ Toddy wiped his forehead with his sleeve. ‘The chowks are like all ’ell broke loose with people sayin’ this and that and the other, but there’s big trouble already, and what they say in the bazaars is only the beginning! They say—in the bazaars—that the ’eathen soldiers from Meerut ’ave gone on to Delhi, guv’nor!’

  Toddy’s boot-button eyes almost left their sockets as he imparted this intelligence.

  ‘That’s unlikely, anyway. They’d have been stopped before they got to Delhi. Meerut has more white troops than any other cantonment in the province.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Toddy was entirely unconvinced. ‘But that’s what they say!’

  ‘Well, if that’s all, Tod, you’d better go and get something to eat.’

  ‘All!’ muttered Toddy bitterly, as he moved to the door.

  ‘Ah! And Tod …’

  ‘Guv’nor?’

  ‘I think you had better have a dram or two tonight. For your health’s sake.’

  ‘Gawd bless you, guv’nor!’ said Toddy fervently, and closed the door. The ecstasy on his face at receiving permission to drink was more than even the gravity of his news could counter, and I was smiling as Oliver came back to his chair.

  ‘I trust we will not have to call on him for help tonight,’ he said, ‘for he’ll take my dram or two to mean a bottle or two.’ Then, more soberly, ‘Well it’s come then, Laura. Here is the alarming incident you were talking about, and if even half of what Tod has heard is true, it is very alarming indeed.’

  ‘Meerut is an important place then?’

  ‘The main depot of several of the Queen’s regiments, and also of some native regiments. If officers have actually been killed, and I think that much is true, then it is mutiny of the Army. All the Army, I expect. At least in this province. And from there, it must spread.’

  He sounded tired and depressed, and for the first time I actually believed that he was in danger of losing his home, his estates, all that made his life worth living.

  ‘You’ll have to stay now willy nilly,’ he said. ‘If you could get away tomorrow, there might be a chance for you to reach Mussoorie before the thing spreads. But with Emily, and now Charles, laid up, damn him, I suppose that’s out of the question?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Oh, Oliver … I know we must be a wretched burden on you at such a time. I wish it had happened otherwise.’

  ‘Can’t be helped. We must just make the best of it.’

  Though Toddy-Bob had been emphatic that his intelligence was correct, it was still possible for me to withhold belief that British women and children had been slaughtered along with their menfolk. It was not that I was sufficiently sentimental to think that sex or age could materially alter the gravity of murder; it was just that nothing in my admittedly limited dealings with the natives had borne even a shadow of suspicion or animosity, and I hesitated to think them capable of deeds which I would have been reluctant to ascribe to my own race. So I was not frightened for myself, or indeed for the Floods. More cogent was the fact that Oliver Erskine, a white man, was in possession of a large tract of India which would most understandably be coveted by Indians, should the mutiny of the Army spread to the civilian population.

  ‘What will you do now, Oliver?’ I asked. ‘Or, rather, what would you do if we weren’t here?’

  ‘Nothing to do. Except wait. Make plans, I suppose, in case the worst comes to the worst and we have to run for it. But that won’t be for some time yet. Perhaps never. Henry Lawrence is a good man, you know. And he’s still in control of Oudh.’

  ‘Will he be able to handle the talukhdars?’

  ‘God knows. I don’t. I couldn’t handle them myself, that much I know. But that’s because I sympathize with them. Very soon perhaps I’ll be in a position to sympathize with them even more deeply. Funny, isn’t it? And they’ll never realize it because of the accident of my white skin! Have you ever thought, Laura, that almost all the things that divide people from each other are accidental? Colour, race, religion. Which of us can influence how or what we are born? Yet we judge each other by these accidents. If it were not so, if my affections, my understanding, my deepest loyalties, were taken into account, I would be as much an Indian as the Maulvi of Fyzabad himself. But because I have a white skin, they’ll cut my throat with pleasure. And I’m too much of an Indian to blame them for wanting to!’

  ‘You do really associate yourself with them, don’t you? I mean, haven’t you any loyalty to England?’

  ‘Some. But I could forget it much more easily than I could forget my affection for Hassanganj. My land, my people, my life are all here. England isn’t important to me. Nor France. But this … this is! This is where I belong, you see, Laura. And no one, neither the white man nor the brown, for very different reasons, can believe that I am honest in saying so.’

  I found it difficult to believe him myself. No one could grudge his affection for Hassanganj, nor his pride in it; no doubt the satisfactions he discovered in his isolated life among the Oudh peasantry were, bearing in mind his temperament, more rewarding than anything he could have had in England. But yet? When the moment of severance came, should he ever have to make a final decision one way or the other, would he really find it easy to deny his birth? I did not think he would find it easy; but neither did I think he would find it impossible, as for instance, Charles or any of the other men I had met in India would find it impossible.

  ‘What are you brooding about now?’ he asked, noticing my silence.

  I laughed. ‘As a matter of fact I was thinking about you,�
� I answered him. ‘I was wondering what you would really do if it came to the pinch and you had to choose between Hassanganj and your life, perhaps. Or your future anyway.’

  ‘It is a choice I will never have to make, never fear. Hassanganj is mine, and here I stay.’

  ‘Even if the talukhdars think otherwise; if they run you off the place?’

  ‘I would very sensibly remove myself for the moment. But I would be back in due course. I have a better title to my land than most of my neighbours have to theirs. They might want it; they’ll probably try to take it, but don’t you see, Laura, whatever is going to happen, whatever form this trouble takes, it can only be temporary? The British have gone too far to withdraw. They are more now, have been more for a couple of generations, than just a parcel of traders defending their right to barter; they have put too much into this country. They have too much to lose to allow themselves to be pushed out. We are the real rulers of the entire peninsula. Alien, bungling, often unsympathetic, we may be, but the thing is a fait accompli. In time, the situation will right itself and the British will regain control of Oudh and all India; meanwhile, we all have to suffer the consequences of the apathy, ignorance and stupidity of our people at home. That’s about what it amounts to; let us hope that the lesson we have to learn will not be too hard bought.’

  ‘I would hate to think of Hassanganj abandoned by the Erskines,’ I said, trying to imagine the contingency.

  ‘There is only one Erskine,’ he reminded me. ‘There’s the rub! But now, we are wasting time in thinking of imponderables. I don’t want to alarm you, but as you know what you do, I would be glad if you would help me by making some small preparation yourself—as a possible safeguard. No more.’

  ‘Of course. What can I do?’

  ‘Some time, sooner rather than later, get together a bundle of clothes and so on, toilet things—I leave it to you—the sort of things you might need if we had to leave hurriedly and you hadn’t time to pack. And do the same for Emily, but don’t let her know it. And don’t let the ayahs know either; they’re curious old harpies. I take it you have a wardrobe or a drawer you can lock?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Good! That’s all. Take as little as you can, and don’t worry, it is most unlikely that you will need any of it, after all. What about money? Have you any cash?’

  ‘Enough.’

  ‘Good. Sew it into whatever … er … garment you wear next to your skin.’

  I got up, thinking I would prefer to be employed in these matters than worrying about what might come, and went to the door. But Oliver stopped me.

  ‘One moment. Have you ever used a gun? A pistol?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t matter. If you have to, you’ll find you can shoot a man with the most practised. Come to the library a moment, will you?’

  He made his way down the dimly lit, horn-hung corridor. I followed him apprehensively. He lit the lamp on his desk, unlocked a drawer and took out a pistol, which he opened and examined carefully. He clicked it shut and held the weapon out to me.

  I took it with reluctance. It was a clumsy thing and heavy in my hands.

  ‘Don’t be scared. It’s not loaded,’ he said, smiling. ‘Hold it like this, see …’ He demonstrated, and then gave me a course of instruction on how the thing worked, and how to work it. Again and again I practised cocking it, firing it, loading it and unloading it, cocking it again, firing, unloading and so on. At the end of three-quarters of an hour, I was handling the weapon with confidence, if not affection.

  ‘Good!’ said my instructor. ‘I believe you have the makings of an accomplished assassin. Now, I am going to load it, so don’t fiddle with the damn thing more than you can help. Hide it, but in an accessible place, and don’t forget you have it. If we have the opportunity, I’ll take you out to practise firing it.’

  He loaded the weapon and handed it over, butt first.

  ‘Don’t point it at anyone,’ he said, quite unnecessarily, ‘unless you intend to kill them, and if you intend to, make a good job of it! By the way,’ he added as an afterthought, ‘you won’t need it if I am in the immediate vicinity. I shall be only too happy to put a bullet in your head to save you from … ah … the ultimate outrage.’

  ‘Good heavens! Is that what all this is for?’ I asked, genuinely astonished.

  ‘Certainly? What else?’

  ‘I thought it was to protect my life,’ I answered him, whereupon he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  ‘An indomitable realist,’ he chuckled, fixing me with an appreciative eye. ‘Don’t let my old-fashioned notions deter you, m’dear. If your life is of more value to you than your virtue, by all means relinquish the latter for the sake of the former, and accept my congratulations on your common sense!’

  He laughed again, as I cast round furiously for something withering to say; but before I could speak, he went on: ‘As a matter of fact, you are nearer the mark than you realize. I have armed you because I took it for granted that you would share the misconception of most young Englishwomen in India. But if we do run into trouble, it’s much more likely that they will want your life rather than your person. Whatever your own opinion of your attractions, most Indians, bar the very lowest, would consider any, ah—commerce—with a white woman a defilement. Though of course, in time of war …’

  ‘Thank you. I will know now what to expect!’

  He came round the great leather-topped desk to where I stood with the pistol in my hands. At the other end of the book-lined room, I could make out Old Adam’s chair in the shadowed window alcove, and the lamplight just sufficed to glow dimly on the copper and silver-chased bowl of the hubble-bubble beside it.

  ‘Laura, I don’t want to frighten you, but it’s best to be warned, isn’t it? At least, I believe you would wish to know the worst.’

  ‘Naturally. Though I wish things were rather more definite. It’s the uncertainty, not knowing what will happen, or when, that I find wearing.’

  ‘And I, believe me! I’m sorry that … that your stay in Hassanganj has not been pleasanter. You’ve had more than your share of alarms to contend with.’

  ‘Oh, there is no need for you to say so. Indeed, we have been most comfortable and … and happy,’ I said, but not with entire truth.

  ‘I have been trying to see all this as it must appear to you, a young girl from a sheltered home, straight out from England, but I’m afraid the exercise of imagination is beyond me. Except, of course, that you must have cause to be more alarmed and agitated than you have allowed yourself to appear—by many things.’

  ‘You are wrong,’ I corrected him. ‘I am not a young girl, and I am only indirectly straight out from England. Nor was my childhood particularly sheltered. You are trying to make me see with Emily’s eyes. We are totally different people, with very different backgrounds. There is no need for you to worry about me, I assure you. I learnt early to take life as it comes.’

  ‘Yes? Well, perhaps that is why I find you so …’ Then he stopped, laughed, and shook his head. ‘Never mind! Not now. Perhaps it’s too late. Or perhaps it’s too early.’

  ‘What is?’ I asked, puzzled, but he just shook his head again, smiling.

  ‘Go on. Off to bed with you now. Pack up your duds. It will give you something to think of. And don’t … don’t be frightened, Laura. The worst might never happen.’

  CHAPTER 4

  My memories of the following weeks are blurred and confused. So much happened in other parts of India, even involving people we knew, but nothing touched us directly. Life in Hassanganj continued as it had always done, and perhaps the very fact that we had lived in such isolation for the past five months, cocooned in self-sufficiency, made it harder for us to believe that the tempo of our placid days could change and be engulfed by violence.

  I had made up two neat packs of clothes and other necessaries for Emily and myself, and locked them away together with the pistol, trying to realize that t
hese precautions were indeed necessary, not merely the sort of action taken by a character in a schoolboy’s story. But as I worked in my big white bedroom under the swaying punkah, I found I lacked the imagination, or perhaps the experience, to envisage what circumstances would ever make them necessary. I was trying to anticipate seriously what seemed to me manifestly absurd, and this feeling that we were play-acting, that nothing was quite real, continued with me to the end. God knows why, for the following days brought us enough authenticated news to disquiet us to the point of alarm. I suppose Hassanganj’s characteristic, if somewhat bizarre, atmosphere of stability had something to do with it.

  At the end of the week, we heard that the bazaar rumours reported by Toddy-Bob were only too true, and that the mutinous sepoys from Meerut, having murdered their officers, set fire to the cantonment and freed eighty-five of their fellows from the cantonment jail, marched that same night to Delhi and placed themselves under the banner of the last of the Mogul kings. Then the telegraph wires had been cut and no further news had come, but few could doubt that, incited by the Meerut rebels, Delhi, the last stronghold of the ancient glory, would also rise in arms.

  Hardly a day passed now without someone—a lone officer, perhaps, or a whole family—stopping at Hassanganj for a hasty meal and to disburden themselves of their news; but, even if this had not been the case, information would have reached us, more mysteriously perhaps, but none the less speedily. For one thing, Ungud was now fully recovered, and I often caught a glimpse of his meagre form edging away from the direction of Oliver’s library. But more potent than any single source was the age-old system of communication that operates throughout India: the wells where the women gossip; the village tanks and groves where people gather in the dusk; the serais or halting places where travellers tell their tales all along the dusty ways that snake across the country; the roads themselves, always, however far from habitation, busy and alive; and the natural communicativeness of a people reared on curiosity and seeing no virtue in reserve.