‘Yes, but Hastings is still alive,’ Rama pointed out sullenly.
‘Rama, it’s not worth it,’ Mohan repeated wearily. ‘Hastings is too powerful and much too well-guarded for us to be able to get to him.’
‘But Mohan, I know Fort St. George well,’ Rama exclaimed petulantly.
‘So what, Rama? We are still just two people going up against the entire might of the British forces in Madras. I realized what a stupid scheme it was after I saw what happened in Haider Ali’s camp. We had no plan, and no way to get out.’
‘If Haider had not shouted …’ Rama began.
‘What did you want him to do? Welcome us? Come on Rama, we can’t succeed.’
Rama said nothing for a while. It seemed as though he was meditating on Mohan’s words. Finally he said, ‘I guess you’re right Mohan. Come on, let’s go back home.’
The drive back to Chitoor was uneventful. It was almost evening when they reached the gates of Chitoor, and though Rama begged Mohan to stay the night, before leaving, Mohan refused. He knew he would not be welcome in Rama’s in-laws’ house. In any case, his own parents would be missing him very much, he pointed out.
‘At least take the carriage,’ Rama begged.
‘No, thank you,’ Mohan replied. ‘I would get rid of it if I were you.’
‘How will you go back home?’
‘I’ll get a ride.’
Rama sat with his friend till a cart arrived that was going to Kanchipuram. The driver, a friendly, toothless old gentleman, seemed delighted to have company. Especially when the first thing Mohan did upon getting onto the cart was offer to drive. The driver thrust the reins into his hand gratefully, and kept muttering about how famously they would get along.
Rama went to a little food stall that stood by the city gates. He hadn’t eaten anything since the previous afternoon and he would need a lot of strength for his next task. He didn’t want to meet his wife right now. Better it be presumed he was with Mohan rather than that he was alone.
Rama climbed back into the carriage and whipped the horses. He was off, headed to Madras and Hastings. He couldn’t be satisfied until he had completed his revenge. Rama drove all night, only taking breaks to rest the horses, till he reached the city of Madras. He abandoned the carriage some distance outside the city and rode in on horseback, leading the other horse. He let the horses go on the outskirts, stripping off their gear and hiding it; if a native rode up on an Arabian steed it would surely excite remark. He then went to an inn for breakfast and decided to rest there—he was dead tired. After breakfast, Rama paid the advance on a room, lay on the cot and was asleep in an instant.
He awoke early the next morning, disoriented and in a state of panic; he had slept almost twenty-four straight hours. It took him a few minutes to recollect where he was and what he was doing there. As his memory returned slowly, Rama tried to make an inventory of his weapons. He would need them that night. He emptied Mohan’s bag onto the cot and examined the contents. There was a crossbow, two daggers, two swords and a quiver full of bolts. There were also about twenty feet of rope, and a shirt. Just then, Rama heard a loud commotion from the street. Looking out of the window, he could see law enforcers clearing the street, as if to make way for a procession. There was a knock on the door. Rama hurriedly packed up his weapons and shoved the bag under the cot. It was the innkeeper’s son.
‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘You sleep heavily. I knocked for lunch and dinner yesterday; you didn’t respond. I must tell you, you have two hours to leave if you want to avoid paying for one more day.’
‘I’ll stay one more day,’ Rama said. ‘Can I pay later?’
‘Sure. Would you like some hot water?’
‘Yes, please. I’ll come down for my bath in an hour. What was all the noise in the street about?’
‘Oh, it was nothing,’ the boy said, as he turned to go. ‘Just the governor general returning to Calcutta.’
‘What?’ Rama shouted, grabbing the boy’s arm.
The attendant looked down at Rama’s hand, surprised. Hastily, Rama let go and apologized. ‘Did you say Hastings was going back to Calcutta?’
‘Yes,’ the boy replied. ‘He has been here for over a month now, you know. So, you are going to come down for your bath in an hour?’
‘No,’ Rama replied. ‘I shall come down now. I have to leave town immediately.’
twenty
Warren Hastings had gone back to Calcutta, and had taken with him Rama’s peace of mind. His desire for revenge burned in him. He would go to Calcutta. But first, Rama had to go home. He would need money for the journey and he also had to see his wife and son. After his bath, Rama cadged a lift on a cart to Chitoor. It was evening when he rode into the city. He was completely unprepared for what happened next. Sitting in the garden outside his in-laws’ house, was Mohan.
‘I thought you were going to stay with your family?’ was the first thing he said as Rama came through the gate.
‘Yes. Um … why did you return?’ Rama asked, embarrassed.
‘I came back for my crossbow. Rama, why did you lie to me?’
‘Because I knew you would never let me go alone,’ Rama said.
‘So I take it you have finally finished?’ Mohan asked Rama.
‘No. He has gone back to Calcutta. That’s where I’m going.’
‘When are we leaving?’ Mohan asked him.
Rama smiled. Some things would never change.
The next morning, Rama awoke and asked his wife to go for a walk with him. Sita was a little apprehensive; he had never made such a request before.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked him. ‘You’re going away again, aren’t you?’
Rama had told her last night that Haider Ali was dead and then shown her his father’s letter.
‘Yes, I am,’ he replied.
‘Where to this time?’
Rama hesitated, ‘Calcutta. Hastings has left Madras.’
‘How long will you be gone?’
‘I don’t know, Sita. It might be a while.’
Sita walked on for many minutes in silence, assimilating all this information. As her parents’ house came into view, she turned to her husband. ‘You have a family. If something should happen to you, my life will be over. And your son will grow up an orphan. Have you thought about this?’
‘I have to do this, Sita,’ Rama replied simply. ‘I’ll be fine. Nothing’s going to happen to me.’
‘I’m just scared for you.’
‘Don’t be. I will come back to you, I promise.’
Rama and Mohan began their journey the next morning. They had decided to ride to Madras and then take a ship to Calcutta. It was late night when they reached Madras, too late to find any ship. They rode down Clive Street towards the harbour. It was filthy, with rats scurrying everywhere and the smell of stale sweat and dead fish. On the dock, they found a little inn where they took a room. They spent the night there and the next morning, after breakfast, they went out in search of a ship that would take them to Calcutta.
It took them a while. Most of the ships they approached were heading eastward. Finally, they found a tiny cargo boat that was carrying rice to Calcutta. The captain was willing to take them for one gold piece each. They bargained hard and at the end, settled on one gold piece for both of them and their horses. The boat was sailing in the afternoon, so they had time to go back to their inn and get their belongings.
The tide came in at two-thirty, and they set sail. Rama was determined to write the final chapter in Warren Hastings’ life.
twenty-one
The voyage to Calcutta took almost a fortnight. The city lay on the east bank of the Hoogly; the newly built Fort William gave the place a distinguished air. It was a warm Calcutta evening when Rama and Mohan got down at Tolly’s Nala, from where the fort was less than half an hour’s ride. As they drew closer and the walls grew larger, a feeling of disquiet grew within both of them. The massive structure in front of them looked pract
ically impregnable.
They had barely got within a hundred yards of the fort when Mohan stopped.
‘What is it?’ Rama asked his companion.
‘Rama, there is no way we can get inside.’
Rama looked at the fort and paused, taking it all in. It was an awesome sight, especially if one was planning to break in. Standing almost two hundred feet tall, the lotus-shaped structure dominated the view. It was surrounded by a deep, wide moat that was, at present, mercifully empty.
They rode alongside for a while, discreetly, and discussed what they could do about getting in.
‘We could do what I did at Fort St. George,’ Rama suggested. ‘You could stay back and I could do it alone. That way, if I got caught, you could come in and get me.’
Mohan looked at his friend wordlessly for a moment. ‘Are you out of your mind? I’m not letting that happen again.’
They stood in silence for a while, watching the traffic that went in and out of the six gates. Suddenly, a thought struck Rama. ‘Let us follow that cart,’ he said, pointing to a large bullock cart that had just come out of one of the gates. ‘I have an idea.’
The cart weaved in and out of the traffic, down the road that led away from the eastern gate, and turned left onto the much larger Chowringee road. Rama and Mohan followed discreetly, without arousing any curiosity. The cart went past the old Fort William, down the Strand Road, turned into Cotton Street and stopped at a public house. The driver tied the bullocks up to a tree before going in, and Rama and Mohan followed him.
They entered a big round room, with a counter serving alcohol across the room. There were several tables arranged all over, and it took them a while before they found the driver in the crowd. Rama approached his table and stood there with Mohan behind him. The driver and his companion looked up, and Rama and Mohan immediately smiled at them. They smiled back, so the two friends sat at the table. Rama nudged Mohan and whispered in his ear, ‘Let me do the talking.’
‘Sure,’ Mohan said. ‘But what language will you speak to them in?’
‘I think my best bet is Sanskrit. I’m sure they will understand at least some of it.’
The driver and his friend were talking animatedly among themselves, and ignoring Rama and Mohan. They had no drinks before them, so when the waiter arrived Rama ordered himself and Mohan a rice beer each before he turned to the other two and asked in his most chaste Sanskrit, ‘Excuse me, have the two of you ordered drinks?’
The two stared uncomprehendingly at Rama, who indicated with signs that they should order drinks. The driver replied in barely intelligible Sanskrit that he would be happy to.
Rama asked, ‘Do you both drink rice beer?’
‘Yes.’
‘Four rice beers please,’ Rama told the waiter. He then turned to the driver and his companion and informed them, ‘My wife just gave birth to a boy. This is my treat.’
‘Thank you,’ they said simultaneously, smiling. ‘My name is Ashutosh,’ the driver continued, ‘and this is Rabindra.’
‘Rama, and this is my friend Mohan.’
‘Where are you from?’ Rabindra asked him.
Rama paused for an instant. He realized that even with his clear Sanskrit there was no doubt that his companions knew they were foreigners. He cleared his throat and responded, ‘We are from Madras.’
‘Have you moved here?’ asked Rabindra.
‘Oh no,’ Rama replied. ‘We are weapons’ salesmen. See,’ he continued. ‘These are samples of our work.’ And so saying, he took out a sword and a dagger from the bag.
Ashutosh examined the blades with the trained eye of an expert. ‘Did you make these?’ He asked.
‘Yes. Would you like to buy one?’
Ashutosh handed them back, smiling, ‘No, thank you.’
‘Genuine Telenga steel,’ Rama explained. ‘The blade will never rust.’
They had found common ground. The four men discussed blades and battles animatedly and drank late into the night. Rama learnt that Ashutosh plied on two routes daily. One was at six every morning carrying fish to the market, and the other was at four every evening carrying oats to Fort William. He collected the oats at eight in the morning from the marketplace and kept them in his cart till he left at two-thirty in the afternoon.
When it was finally time to close down the place, Rama and Mohan managed to convince an inebriated Ashutosh to let them stay at his house for the night. Stewed to the gills, he agreed readily. He was a bachelor and saw no reason why they couldn’t sleep on his floor. He apologized that he had nothing better, but he would provide them with pillows and sheets.
Rama and Mohan got into the cart with Ashutosh and Rabindra who got down on Amherst Street. Ashutosh gave directions to his house, a one-room establishment with a kitchen. He informed his guests that the toilet and wash area were at the back. He then opened up a large trunk that stood next to the kitchen door and took out two sheets and two pillows which he tossed to Rama and Mohan before taking out a large roll of bedding and spreading it out on the floor. He then lay down and promptly went to sleep.
The friends stayed up late that night, planning their next move. By the time they fell asleep, they felt a lot better than they had after their first glimpse of the fort—they had a plan.
The next morning, they awoke with their host, and were ready to leave before he was. After thanking him profusely for his hospitality and steadfastly refusing his offer of a ride to the docks, they went off in search of breakfast.
twenty-two
‘Cummins, could you please come in?’ Hastings summoned his secretary.
‘You called, sir?’ the secretary asked, as he appeared around the door.
‘Yes, Cummins. Do you still have the file containing all our correspondence with Haider Ali?’
The aide bowed his head. If he saw the irony in Hastings’ use of the plural form, he gave no sign. ‘Yes, I do, sir.’
‘I don’t believe we require that sort of paperwork,’ the governor general said, with a meaningful bow of his head.
‘Very good, sir.’
‘Oh, and Cummins …’
‘This matter shall, of course, like all other matters, be kept strictly between us.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the little man said, as he turned back to face his employer with a smile.
twenty-three
At about four o’ clock that afternoon, a bullock cart heavily laden with oats could be seen pulling up at the eastern gate of Fort William. The soldiers on duty waved it through. Ashutosh went straight to the stables as he always did. After unhitching his cart, he tipped it over into the trough that was provided for the oats before shutting the gate to the little enclosure and leaving. The stable hands would feed the horses the next morning.
Night fell over Fort William. The grey walls of the fort glowed in the light of the moon. Inside the fort, movement was minimal. There were two tiers on the ramparts, but only the first tier had any guards. A few guards were stationed around the governor’s mansion, which stood proudly on the west end of the fort, looking out on the Hoogly.
The clock-tower tolled the eleventh hour and as the echoes of the bell faded away into the night, the freshly delivered pile of oats within the stables seemed to acquire a life of its own. Moments later, Rama climbed out of the pile, followed by Mohan.
A horse nearby grunted in annoyance. Mohan looked towards the sound nervously and turned back to Rama. ‘We’d better keep quiet. There are probably guards outside.’
‘Stay here,’ Rama told him, as he dusted himself off. ‘I am going to check.’
There was a huge loft over the stable, the ladder to which was on the other side of the trough they had just climbed out of. The loft had a set of windows on all four sides and through these, Rama was able to see the layout of the fort and the brightly lit and well-guarded governor general’s mansion. There seemed to be four or five guards who constantly moved about. Right in front of him was a large building which looked like the soldiers’ qua
rters.
After staring at the governor general’s mansion for some more time, Rama realized that the perimeter was under constant surveillance. He slipped back down the ladder to where Mohan was waiting for him anxiously.
‘Well?’ he hissed, as Rama got closer. ‘How does it look?’
‘Pretty bad,’ Rama replied gravely. ‘The governor’s mansion is the large, well-lit building at the other end of the fort. The soldiers’ quarters are about forty yards from here; if we can break into the building, we can steal a couple of muskets. We’ll have the crossbows of course, and the swords and daggers.’
‘Sure, so we try to steal guns. Then what?’ Mohan asked.
‘Then, running as close as we can to the fort wall, we make it to the western side. We’ll have to choose a good spot when we get there, since I could not see too much from here.’
Mohan nodded.
‘From there, we get rid of the man guarding the door and make our way up the stairs and find the governor general’s room. It’s probably in the western wing of the building, overlooking the river. We enter his room, kill him, and get out as quietly as we can. We need to limit the casualties to avoid being noticed. All right, are you ready to go?’
‘Let’s go.’
They opened the sack and took out their weapons. Rama slung the crossbow across his back, tied the scabbard of the sword around his waist along with the quiver of arrows, and tucked the dagger carefully into his waistband. Mohan, as Rama had suggested, only took his sword and dagger, and hid the crossbow at the bottom of the pile of oats. Once they were armed, they opened the door to the stable carefully, and after a peek outside to ensure that there were no guards in the immediate vicinity, sprinted in the direction of the building that lay ahead.
There was a set of double doors on the side that was wide open, and it was through these that Rama and Mohan entered the building. As soon as they entered, Rama knew he had visualized the layout accurately; this was undoubtedly the soldiers’ quarters. They entered a long hallway with doors every fifteen yards or so. The doors had little windows in them, and Rama and Mohan peeped through each as they went by. The first five rooms were dormitories lined with beds on both sides. All of these beds were occupied by the sleeping soldiers.
The Onus of Karma Page 17
