Sandokan: Quest for a Throne (The Sandokan Series Book 6)

by Emilio Salgari

  “What shall we do with her, sir?” asked the khansama.

  “Let her sleep and when she awakens treat her with all the respect due her rank. She may be under the governor of Bengal’s protection and the rajah has no desire to bring the British into this affair. Can you come to court tomorrow?”

  “Yes, my lord. I have a brother who is a khansama there.”

  “Keep a close eye on her.”

  “I’ll inform the servants. She’ll never leave our sight.”

  The minister and the khansama walked down into the garden behind the house. Eight armed men and two torchbearers stood about a palanquin.

  “To the rajah’s palace,” commanded the minister. “Hurry!”

  Chapter 14

  Sandokan to the Rescue

  LESS THAN HALF an hour after Surama had been abducted, one of her servants entered the room to announce that Kechik had returned bearing an urgent letter from the Tiger of Malaysia.

  Although it was well past midnight, the loyal servant had not hesitated to dress and enter her mistress’ room, having been ordered to awaken her whenever a messenger came to her villa.

  Kechik had stopped before the door and waited to be summoned, but hearing the woman cry out in alarm, he rushed into the room, fearing something terrible had befallen Surama.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his hand running to the hilt of his scimitar.

  “She’s gone!”

  “What?”

  “The mistress! She’s gone!”

  “Impossible!”

  “Look! The bed is empty!”

  The Malay’s face turned ashen as his eyes scanned the bedclothes: the sheets were in disarray, a pillow was on the floor and he could not spy a blanket. There could be no doubt as to what had happened.

  “She’s been abducted!” he exclaimed.

  “What do we do, sir?”

  “Summon everyone here immediately and have two horses readied for me, the fastest in your stable.”

  As the servant ran out, the Malay began to examine the room. The open shutters immediately drew his attention.

  “They lowered her out the window,” he muttered.

  He leaned over the windowsill and spied a rope hanging from the window in the adjoining room.

  “The wretches!” he murmured. “How did they get this close without being spotted? Why didn’t Surama cry out when…”

  His voice trailed off and he put a hand to his forehead; his eyelids were suddenly starting to feel heavy.

  “What’s happening?” he murmured, looking about quickly.

  The servants and the four Malays rushed into the room.

  “Where’s the mistress? Where’s the mistress?” they shouted anxiously.

  “Quiet!” commanded Kechik. “Does anyone smell anything strange?”

  Everyone fell silent and sniffed the air.

  “Kashash!” exclaimed one of the servants.

  “What’s that?” asked Kechik.

  “Flowers that cause sleep.”

  “Find them!”

  The servants quickly searched the room and soon found the flower petals and the remnants of the glass globe the fakir had swept beneath the bed.

  “Get rid of them,” said Kechik, “before we all fall asleep.”

  The man who had found the flower petals quickly gathered them up and cast them out the open window.

  “Did any of you see someone enter this room?” asked Kechik.

  “No,” they all replied in unison.

  “No suspicious noises?”

  “All was quiet, sir,” replied a servant.

  “Do you have any suspects?”

  “No.”

  Suddenly one of the servants cried out:

  “The gosain!”

  The door to the drawing room was immediately opened: the fakir was gone.

  The servants were stunned.

  “Who is this gosain?” asked Kechik.

  “A fakir,” replied one of the Malays.

  “You saw him?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are the horses ready?”

  “They’re waiting in front of the door,” replied one of the servants.

  “Loy,” said Kechik. “You’ll ride with me. Come.”

  The two men ran down the stairs and found the horses a few steps from the entrance, pawing the ground anxiously, a pair of servants struggling to keep them still.

  “Where to?” asked Loy, mounting into the saddle.

  “The Kariya temple. The Tiger of Malaysia must know of this immediately.”

  “What about Captain Yanez?”

  “We won’t be allowed into the rajah’s palace at this time of night. Besides, there’s little he could do. Sandokan and the others may have a better chance of finding her. Load your carbine and keep your eyes peeled; last night I was forced to kill a spy.”

  “He followed you?”

  “For several hours; I couldn’t shake him. I hid behind a banyan tree and waited for him to walk past me; one bullet was all it took. Hurry, now, there’s no time to waste. This will be a terrible blow to the Tiger of Malaysia; Surama is like a daughter to him.”

  The two horses, a pair of beautiful Gujarati steeds, ran like the wind, raising a thick cloud of dust behind them. The streets were deserted and the riders reached the outskirts of the city fifteen minutes later without encountering a soul.

  They veered away from the Brahmaputra, raced into open country, and in less than a quarter of an hour were galloping through the groves of banyan trees, tara palms and mango trees that grew near the temple.

  “We’re here,” said, Kechik, as they rode into the clearing opposite the entrance. “Tell the captain everything that happened. Leave out no detail.”

  But before they could dismount, four men leapt from the bushes and immediately levelled their carbines.

  “Friends!” shouted Kechik. “Wake Sandokan immediately! It’s urgent!”

  A man immediately ran to awaken the pirate while the three sentries returned to their posts. Minutes later the two Malays were led into the temple by a pair of Dyaks with torches. When they stepped into the main chamber, they found Sandokan, Tremal-Naik, Kammamuri and Bindar anxiously awaiting them.

  “What’s happened?” asked Sandokan, a note of alarm in his voice.

  “Terrible news, Captain! Surama has been abducted!”

  Silence fell over the room; the four men struck dumb by those words.

  “Abducted!” the Tiger of Malaysia exclaimed hoarsely. “Who would dare… ? Does Yanez know?”

  “No, sir,” replied the Malay. “She was abducted a couple of hours ago.”

  “By whom?” asked Tremal-Naik and Kammamuri in unison.

  “Loy was there, he’ll tell you.”

  Surama’s servant quickly recounted all that had happened, from the gosain’s visit to the discovery of the rope hanging from the window.

  “There’s only one fakir in Guwahati who matches that description,” said Bindar, once the Malay had finished. “Tantia.”

  “Do you know him?” asked the Tiger of Malaysia.

  “By sight, sahib,” replied the Indian.

  “What kind of man is he?”

  “Not many trust him. It’s rumoured he’s a spy for the rajah or one of his ministers.”

  “Do you know where he lives?” asked Tremal-Naik.

  “He sleeps on the steps of whichever pagoda he’s at come nightfall… tomorrow is Friday, is it not?”

  “Yes,” said Kammamuri.

  “We’ll find him on the steps of the Umananda Temple. He goes there every Friday to play the flower game with several sannyasis.”

  “That’s where we’ll start then,” said Sandokan, not missing a syllable. “Provided there aren’t two of those rascals!”

  “No, sahib,” said Bindar. “I’ve lived in this city for eleven years; there is no other gosain with a withered arm.”

  “Did you notice anything else about the fakir?” asked Tremal-Naik.

&n
bsp; “He had a large scar on his forehead that looked like it might have been made by a whip.”

  “That’s Tantia!” exclaimed Bindar. “I’ve seen that scar.”

  “What time does he usually go to the temple?” asked Sandokan.

  “He’s always there early. In the afternoon he finds a place to sleep beneath a banyan tree.”

  “And those sannyasis are always with him?”

  “Yes, sahib.”

  “Is the bagla ready?”

  “It’s hidden among the reeds nearby.”

  “We’ll set off at once. It’s only three hours until dawn.”

  “How many men shall we take?” asked the Bengali.

  “A dozen should suffice. The others will remain behind to guard Kaksa Pharaum.”

  “Should I inform Captain Yanez?” asked Kechik.

  “Not until you receive word from me. Go back to the palace and make sure that he’s safe. Come my, friends. There’s no time to waste.”

  Kammamuri immediately went out to select the men who were to accompany them, while Sandokan and Tremal-Naik grabbed their weapons.

  Minutes later the two men emerged from the Krishna pagoda and found Bindar, Kammamuri, Loy and eight Malays ready to depart.

  The Tiger of Malaysia whistled and the sentries hiding in the nearby bushes quickly rushed before him.

  “Anything to report?” asked Tremal-Naik.

  “No, sir,” they replied in unison.

  “We’ll go then,” commanded Sandokan.

  The fourteen men disappeared into the thickets that covered the rock, and set off towards the Brahmaputra. Bindar led the way, followed by Sandokan and Tremal-Naik who kept their carbines level, ready to fire at the first sign of danger.

  The river roared dully a short distance from them, all kept their eyes open and strained their ears to catch the slightest sound, knowing that Kechik had killed a spy the night before.

  When they were two hundred paces from the river, they entered a grove of nahor trees[22], graceful trees with hard heavy red wood. They bear large fragrant white flowers that Indian women often wear in their hair and their fruits, leaves, and roots are used in traditional medicine.

  “The boat is just a few paces that way,” said Bindar, turning to Sandokan and Tremal-Naik.

  “Are you sure it’s still there?”

  “I checked on it yesterday morning, sahib.”

  They advanced through the grove, slicing through the tangles of calamus vines that at times would bar the path before them, and soon reached the shore.

  The men halted while Bindar went in among the reeds. Moments later the bagla’s keel split through the reeds and stopped along the shore before them.

  “Head for the island!” commanded Sandokan once everyone was aboard. “Full speed; we need to reach the temple before dawn.”

  The boat quickly pulled away and was soon advancing across the Brahmaputra. The night was calm and quiet. Silence reigned over the river, broken only by the odd cry from a goose or Brahmin duck and the murmur of water lapping against the reeds along the shore.

  Sandokan and Tremal-Naik, stretched out upon the bagla’s bow, carefully scanned the riverbanks and the small island upon which loomed the famous temple that once again housed the Shaligram in its cellars. Although they were certain no one had seen them pull away from shore, they did not feel at ease. Surama’s abduction had surprised them both; someone at the rajah’s court must have grown suspicious, there could be no other explanation.

  “They’ve either learned who she is, or abducted her to find out,” Sandokan said to Tremal-Naik.

  “It’s probably the latter,” said the Bengali. “I doubt there’s anyone in Guwahati who could recognize Mahur’s daughter after all this time. Most people may not even remember her.”

  “You saw Yanez’ note. The Greek had learned he paid her visits, but he… that’s it!”

  Tremal-Naik started.

  “The Greek?” he said.

  “It must be him. Who else would have a reason? Kechik said that Yanez almost killed him in the duel; I’d wager he had her abducted to avenge his defeat. He may not know or even suspect who she is, but that doesn’t mean he may not try to question her.”

  “It’s even more vital that we rescue her immediately,” said Tremal-Naik. “If the Greek learns—”

  “Wait until I have that fakir in my hands! I’ll make him sing! He’ll tell me where they’ve hidden her and then we’ll go free her even if we have to fight off every man, woman, and child in Guwahati. Nothing will stop us from freeing her, not the rajah or even his Sikh soldiers … if they’re still in his employ.”

  “You’ve mentioned the Sikhs several times now,” said Tremal-Naik. “Are you planning something?”

  “We’ll need more than thirty bold Tigers to take the throne,” said Sandokan. “You told me that those mercenaries sell their services to the highest bidder.”

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “What’s a hundred thousand rupees to us? The crown is worth far more than that. Once we’ve freed Surama, I’ll approach their leader and make an offer. We’re here! Prepare to go ashore.”

  “Just in time,” said Tremal-Naik. “Dawn’s about to break.”

  The bagla slowed as it approached the tiny island’s southern shore, the Malays letting it coast in for the remainder of the distance.

  “We’ll pretend to be hunters,” Sandokan said to his men once they had dropped anchor. “There’s no shortage of birds here. Shoot as many as you can, then when the pagoda opens we’ll…”

  A nagara had begun to sound in the temple, a large gilded kettledrum employed in religious festivals, cutting off his words.

  “Drums this early?” said the pirate.

  “I forgot,” replied Bindar. “Today is the nag panchami.”

  “The what?” asked Sandokan.

  “The serpent festival,” replied the Indian. “Women come to worship the Snake Goddess Manasa and ask for her blessing. There will be many of them on the island today. Not many men though.”

  “This may favour our plans. How long before they arrive?”

  “Thirty minutes, maybe an hour.”

  “Ample time.”

  The sky was brightening quickly. He ordered three Malays to stay behind and guard the bagla, then gestured for his men to follow him ashore.

  The reeds before them teemed with fowl: crows, geese, ducks, doves, snipes, partridges, Bengal Green pigeons, and even a few buzzards and white-rumped vultures. The sound of approaching steps, however, sent many fleeing to the skies or deeper into the vegetation, crying and squawking as they scrambled to safety.

  Sandokan, Tremal-Naik and the Malays immediately opened fire, but armed only with carbines they did not have much success, that first round of shots only bringing down a duck.

  Fortunately it mattered not how many birds they felled, they merely had to appear to be hunters; the small band of men fired their carbines for about thirty minutes more, then as women began to come ashore to celebrate the nag panchami, Sandokan brought the hunt to an end.

  This ancient festival is celebrated throughout India in a variety of manners. However, in Assam, though the day is dedicated to the worship of snakes, there are no cobras, najas, kraits or vipers not even a sampwallah – snake charmer – present at the festival.

  To begin the ritual, women take a twig from a manasa plant and insert it into a small raised mound of earth. That twig symbolizes the Snake Goddess Manasa; the women pray to it and ask the goddess to protect their families from deadly snake bites.

  Once they have completed their prayers they take a lingam stone and wash it in a pond or river. Then they dry it, place it beneath a peepal tree and pour milk over it. They also pour milk over the ant hills at the root of the tree, believing that it will flow down to the snakes living underground. Lastly, they burn the manasa twig, lay flowers about the stone and pray to the goddess for wealth, children and a long life for their husbands.

  Once th
e women were out of sight, Bindar approached Sandokan.

  “The fakir will likely be at the temple now; he sells women milk for the ritual.”

  “Lead the way,” replied Sandokan.

  They crossed through a few small groves of banyan trees and Indian Laburnum trees, one of the most beautiful of all tropical trees for when it blooms it is covered in grape-like clusters of golden yellow flowers, and several minutes later, reached the edge of the large square before the pagoda’s entrance.

  Bindar, always at the head of that small band of men, immediately stepped back.

  “What is it?” asked Sandokan.

  “The gosain!”

  Sandokan turned to Loy and pointed to the fakir.

  “Is that the man who visited your mistress?” he asked.

  “That’s him!” replied the Malay.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, sir, it’s him. I can see the scar on his face from here.”

  “So far so good then.”

  The gosain was sitting on the steps before the temple’s main entrance with a large pot filled with milk at his side and a shell in his hand that he used as a ladle. Ten or twelve sannyasis were stretched out in the shade nearby, fakirs who renounce the world and generally wander the land alone. They were an unkempt looking bunch; their beards came down to their waists, their long hair, which had likely not felt the touch of a comb in years, fell to their shoulders and was matted with red mud. Each was dressed in simple orange cloth and had a long knotted staff by his side.

  “Those are his men?” Sandokan asked disdainfully, turning to Bindar.

  “Yes, sahib.”

  “Not much of an escort!”

  “Be careful, sir, they’re ruthless and highly respected.”

  “We could scatter them with a few swift kicks. Men like that are not worthy of battle; I wouldn’t honour them by unsheathing my scimitar. We’ll set up camp under this peepal tree. Loy, make sure you stay out of sight, the fakir may recognize you.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the servant, as he stretched out behind his companions.

  “A perfect time for breakfast,” said Tremal-Naik.

  A few Malays began to unpack the cloth sacks they had brought ashore and quickly prepared a meal of cold meat, biscuits, and arrack. The fakir appeared not to pay them any heed; he continued to sell his milk, pouring a few drops into the jars that the women held out to him, the sannyasis sleeping peacefully nearby, certain the day would pass uneventfully. Once they had finished eating, the pirates began to smoke, waiting impatiently for the moment to strike.