They stood there for a moment and listened, but the jungle remained silent.
“Should we send some men to scout the bamboo?” Sandokan asked Tremal-Naik.
“It smells like a trap,” replied the Bengali. “They’d probably get ambushed. I suggest we break camp and head for the mountains as fast as the elephants can carry us.”
“Fine. We’ll set off at once,” said Sandokan. Then, raising his voice, he commanded, “Mahout! Ready the elephants. We’ll leave immediately. Men, you have five minutes to take down the tents.”
Malays and Dyaks quickly began to tear down the camp, dismantling the tents and rolling up rugs, mats, and blankets with lightning speed while Sandokan, Tremal-Naik, and Kammamuri walked a few hundred paces into the jungle, hoping to spot the source of that gunshot.
Less than five minutes later the elephants were ready to depart, the great beasts trumpeting loudly and flapping their ears in displeasure at having been awakened. The Dyaks, Malays and prisoners had all taken their places, some in the howdahs, others sitting on the elephants’ backs, holding tightly onto ropes.
Sandokan and his friends emerged from the jungle a moment later but had nothing to report, whoever had fired that shot had vanished.
“Is everyone ready?” asked Sandokan, once he had climbed aboard the lead elephant and sat down in the howdah beside Surama.
“Yes!” the Malays and Dyaks replied in unison.
“Onward then!”
Realizing perhaps that their passengers were in grave danger, the elephants set off at a run without further complaint. They had just reached full speed, when suddenly flames shot up among the grass on either side of them.
“Faster!” shouted Sandokan. “Or we’ll all be roasted alive!”
The mahouts immediately began to strike the elephants’ with their ankuses, whistling sharply. The fire quickly spread about them in an arc on either side, threatening to enclose the pirates in a ring of flames.
Malays and Dyaks fired blindly in all directions, while the elephants, terrified, doubled their speed, bellowing loudly as they trampled through the bamboo thickets before them.
As sparks began to rain down upon the elephants and their passengers, Sandokan took out a blanket and wrapped it about Surama, while Tremal-Naik shouted to the others:
“Unroll the tents and mats! Cover yourselves and cover the elephants’ backs!”
The order was executed immediately, and just in time, because the two curtains of flame had swelled to enormous size and where about to seal off their retreat.
“Head towards the river, mahout!” commanded Sandokan. “It’s our only chance! Here! Take this blanket and cover its eyes! The rest of you do the same! Hurry! Through the flames!”
The elephants, frightened by the fire spreading before them, hesitated a moment, but when the blindfolds descended over their eyes, their fear increased and they charged forward wildly.
The ring of flames was rapidly closing, the gap before them narrowing quickly. A half minute more and they would be trapped inside, easy prey for the rajah’s soldiers.
Sparks, embers, and burning leaves rained down from all directions, the air now thick and hot. The elephants ran on, and, just as it seemed that all would be lost, they stormed through the gap, trumpeting loudly, their heavy legs trampling the bamboo into the dirt. Four or five rifle shots thundered as they passed, but did little more than scratch them.
Once outside the burning ring, the mahouts quickly removed the blankets from about the beasts’ heads, while the Malays and Dyaks threw away the mats and tents which had caught fire during their run.
“That went better than I expected,” said Sandokan who appeared in good spirits. “If the elephants can maintain this pace for three or four hours, we’ll leave the Assamese far behind us.”
“How far to Sadiya?” asked Tremal-Naik.
“We’ll reach the mountains in two days or so,” said Bindar, “and the village shortly after that.”
“Home again after all these years,” sighed the future Rani of Assam. “I hope they still remember my father.”
“They do,” said Bindar. “And he’s still highly revered. The people will rally behind you, Khampur will see to that.”
“Who is that?”
“The headman and your father’s closest friend. When he learns of your intentions, he’ll rally his warriors to your cause. He hates Sindhia and would love to see him toppled from his throne.”
“At this point,” said Surama, “I’d be happy just to free Yanez.”
“We will,” said Sandokan. “And the crown will be yours as well. Do you think I’d leave that drunken fool and his wretched Greek to rule this land after all that we’ve been through? Within a couple of weeks you’ll be on your throne and my men and I will be sailing back to Pulo Gaya.”
“You don’t intend to stay at court once I become Rani of Assam?”
“I’ll stay for a short while,” replied Sandokan, “but then I must set sail for Borneo. I also have a crown to reclaim, as you all know, and the time has come to take it back. For thirty years I’ve allowed that wretched Englishman to sit upon my father’s throne, thirty years since he slew my mother, brothers and sisters!”
“Sandokan!” exclaimed Tremal-Naik and Surama.
The pirate had shot to his feet, his eyes blazing darkly, his face twisted in rage. That flash of anger, however, vanished as quickly as it had come.
“The day of reckoning will soon be at hand,” he said hoarsely, taking his seat once again. “Vengeance is long overdue.”
He filled his pipe, lit it, and began to smoke, casting his eyes back towards the burning jungle.
Tremal-Naik put a hand on his shoulder.
“On that day,” he said, “I hope you’ll allow me to fight by your side.”
“Of course,” said the Tiger of Malaysia.
“And I’ll provide anything else you need,” said Surama, “all the money in my treasury, my army, ask and it’s yours.”
“Thank you, my friend, but I just need Yanez, his genius will suffice. Could you make do without him for a couple of months?”
“For as long as you need.”
The elephants, still frightened by the glow of flames, continued on their wild run, panting and breathing heavily, their howdahs shaking so violently at times their passengers were almost cast over the side.
The jungle along the right bank of the Brahmaputra gradually began to change. Bamboo disappeared and gave way to tall grass, thick bushes and groves of mango trees, tara and latan palms. Villages, however, had yet to appear, the natives preferring perhaps not to live too close to the tigers, rhinos, panthers and serpents that dwelled among the tangle of vegetation.
That wild run lasted until ten o’clock in the morning, then Sandokan, noticing that the elephants were beginning to slow, gave the signal to stop. The Assamese were long behind them; even if they had been equipped with prize horses, they would not have been able to keep up with those giants, the elephants having maintained a furious pace for the past six hours.
They rested until four in the afternoon, the great beasts feasting on elephant grass that the mahouts had found nearby then set off again at a run.
After a few hours the last of the jungle gave way to rolling plains covered with thick groves of trees. By midnight they had spied the first villages, a cluster of thatched huts surrounded by rice fields glistening in the moonlight.
They stopped again and rested until seven, then the tireless elephants resumed their march, heading northeast towards a chain of mountains covered with thick forests.
The next day, after two more stops, the elephants gradually began to climb those verdant slopes, their passengers occasionally spying tiny villages between the groves of mango and tamarind trees.
“It’s as beautiful as I remember,” said Surama.
“And it soon will be yours to rule,” replied Sandokan.
That night they set up camp in the middle of a thick forest. The evening passed uneventful
ly, there being no wild dogs, jackals or tigers in those mountains, the beasts preferring to roam about in hot and humid jungles.
Bindar awakened them at four in the morning with a blare of his ramsinga to commence the final leg towards Sadiya. The elephants, well rested and well fed, having plundered a banyan tree of many of its leaves, cheerfully resumed their march. A few hours into their journey the land dropped steeply off into a gorge, the Brahmaputra rumbling past along its base as it flowed towards the Ganges and into the Bay of Bengal.
The elephants, undaunted, continued on their way, as sure-footed as any mountain goat. Towards sunset, the small caravan finally came within sight of Sadiya, the capital of the province of the same name, home to the bravest warriors in Assam.
Bindar led his friends to a large hut surrounded by a garden, just outside the village ramparts. As it was close to nightfall, the streets were almost deserted; most of the villagers had retired for their evening meal and the small caravan drew up to the house unnoticed.
“My aunt and uncle live here,” said Bindar. “They’ll take good care of you.”
Two elderly Indians politely greeted their nephew’s guests and invited them in to dinner.
“Consider yourselves at home,” said Bindar. “I’m going to inform Khampur of your arrival, I’ll be back shortly.”
He picked up his rifle and left for the village.
Sandokan turned to the Sikh captain who sat opposite him.
“You’re certain I can count on the loyalty of your men?” he asked.
“Absolutely, sahib,” said the jemadar. “We’ll fight under your flag if you have one, and fly it atop the palace once we’ve taken it.”
“It’s in my luggage,” smiled Sandokan. “A red banner emblazoned with the head of tiger. I’ll give it to you before we attack the city; Surama intends to make it the new flag of Assam.”
“One of my first acts as rani,” said the young princess. “So I’ll always remember that I owe my crown to the Tigers of Mompracem.”
They had just finished dinner when Bindar entered, followed by a handsome Indian in his forties dressed like a wealthy Kalita hillman: a white dhoti with matching turban and a broad red silk sash full of pistols and edged weapons. He was tall, well built, with dark piercing eyes and energetic features; his face was framed by a thick beard. One could tell at a glance that he was a great warrior accustomed to command.
Before Sandokan and his companions could rise to their feet, he rushed forward and knelt before the young Assamese.
“Surama!” he said, his voice filled with emotion. “Surama! After all these years!”
The young princess quickly drew him up.
“My Prime Minister should not remain at my feet,” she said.
“Your Prime Minister, rani!” exclaimed the hillman, amazed.
“Provided we can take the crown of course; I only have a handful of men with me but their skill in battle is unsurpassed.”
Khampur cast his eyes at the Malays and Dyaks and came to rest on the Tiger of Malaysia.
“This is their leader, is he not?” he asked.
“An invincible man.”
“He looks it,” said the Assamese. “I know a warrior when I see one. He has fire in his eyes.”
“And a strong arm,” said Sandokan, smiling as he advanced toward the headman.
“You’re a man of honour, sahib,” said the hillman, shaking the Tiger’s hand. “Bindar told me all you’ve done for Surama. I thank you on her father’s behalf; Mahur would have been proud she had found such friends. I promised him long ago that I would always look after her. Had I known she was still alive… How may I be of help? Ask and it shall be granted. I’ll give my very life, if necessary, for Surama’s happiness.”
“I need a thousand brave warriors and enough ships to carry them to Goalpara,” said Sandokan. “Can you provide me with that?”
“Even two thousand if you like,” said the hillman. “When my subjects learn that Mahur’s daughter has returned, they’ll flock to fight for her.”
“A thousand of your bravest and strongest will suffice,” said Sandokan. “Once we reach the city, the rajah’s guard, all battle-hardened Sikhs, will join our ranks.”
“They’ll come at your command, sahib,” confirmed the Sikh captain. “I have but to relay your offer.”
Khampur studied the Sikh carefully for a moment.
“Another warrior,” he said with visible satisfaction. “With such men Sindhia’s days are numbered.”
“When will the ships be ready?” asked Sandokan.
“I’ll have my men ready them now so we can set off tomorrow morning.”
“How many do you have?”
“Twenty pulwars and baglas that can carry about fifty men each,” said Khampur.
“How long will it take us to reach Guwahati?”
“No more than two days, provided there are no surprises. The rajah keeps a flotilla on the river.”
“What kind of arms do you have?”
“Fifty small cannons, falconets with a range of about fifteen hundred metres.”
“They’ll serve us well if the rajah’s boats try to block our path,” said Sandokan. “We’ll advance towards the city with caution and try not to arouse suspicion. We must swoop into the capital and take it by storm before they can mount a strong defence.”
“My men will follow wherever you lead, sahib, even the Bay of Bengal if need be,” said Khampur. “I’ll have the drums sounded this very night to summon them all here.”
He knelt before Surama and kissed the hem of her robe, a gesture of homage reserved for those of royal blood, and after bidding everyone good night, departed for the village.
Chapter 29
On the Brahmaputra
FEW PEOPLE SLEPT in Sadiya that night; enormous war drums thundered without pause from the citadel’s square, summoning all warriors to battle. Every village within hearing, in every gorge and on every mountain slope, replied with a roll of drums, a trumpet blare, and a volley of gunfire.
Called to action, the brave hillmen left for Sadiya in great number, grabbing every weapon they had at hand: carbines, pistols, sabers, talwars, and shields of buffalo or rhinoceros hide. Many feared the Burmese army had crossed the border and threatened to sack the village as it had done a few times in the past. No one would have imagined that Mahur’s daughter had returned to lead them in rebellion.
Bindar led Sandokan, Tremal-Naik, Surama and their men into the village shortly after dawn the next morning. More than fifteen hundred hillmen awaited them in the square, arrayed in squads from every village, their headman standing before them. All were dressed in battle garb: a dark tunic with yellow or blue frogging, a coloured dhoti, a thick red sash filled with guns and blades, and a large turban with feathered aigrette to mark their rank.
At the sight of Surama, Khampur, who was mounted upon a mighty charger caparisoned with a long red saddlecloth, drew his scimitar, and waved it in the air.
“All hail Princess Surama, the daughter of our beloved Mahur!”
A great cry, like the roar of an avalanche, rose from those legions of men, echoing through the mountains and valleys.
“Greetings to the Rani of Sadiya!”
Fifteen hundred rifles were pointed to the heavens and fired in salute, the thunderous volley resounding off the walls of the surrounding houses as Surama stepped onto the platform at the head of the square.
“Greetings, my friends!” she said, once the sound of the blast had faded. “Some of you may remember me as the little girl who accompanied my father on trips to your villages. It’s been almost twenty years since he was slain, twenty years since the rajah sold me into slavery. The friends you see with me freed me from my captors and brought me home to reclaim my birthright. I see many among you who fought alongside my father and loved him dearly, and beside you, your children who have grown into fine warriors. I ask you now, in Mahur’s name, will you help me avenge him?”
A great cry
went up from every throat, the warriors all pledging their swords in service.
“Thank you, my friends! On to Guwahati and the throne!”
The warriors cheered once more as Surama stepped off the platform.
Khampur rode towards them, stopped and dismounted.
“Well spoken,” said Khamphur. “I heard echoes of your father in your words; you’ll make a fine ruler. Now then, you have but to select your thousand.”
“Select them for us,” said Sandokan. “You know them better than we do.”
“As you wish, sahib.”
“Are the boats ready?”
“Since early this morning.”
“And the cannons?”
“Mounted with a good supply of shot.”
“We’ll go inspect them while you choose your warriors. Lead the way, Bindar.”
“Yes, sir,” said the young Indian.
While Khampur chose the warriors who would accompany them, Sandokan, Tremal-Naik and Surama walked down to the river, Malays and Dyaks following behind them. Outside the citadel, steps had been cut into the rock that led to the Brahmaputra three hundred metres below.
Twenty ships sat at anchor, pulwars and baglas of fifty to eighty tons each, aged and worn, but more than able to undertake the journey.
“These will do nicely,” said Sandokan, after quickly scanning the vessels. “The majority of the men will be able to hide below deck.”
“Why below deck?” asked Tremal-Naik.
“To better conceal our plans. A thousand warriors sailing down the Brahmaputra would immediately raise suspicions. Someone would warn the Greek or the rajah and by the time we reached the capital they would have summoned reinforcements from all over Assam. We’ll try to pass as merchants; if we can reach Guwahati without drawing much attention, the city will quickly fall into our hands. Once the rajah has surrendered, I doubt anyone will come to his defense. The people will accept the young rani and rush to proclaim their loyalty. That’s how politics works in India, is it not?”
“You were destined to become a great statesman,” said Tremal-Naik.
“Yanez used to say the same thing,” laughed Sandokan.
The first squads of hillmen arrived at the ships, their captains at their head. Sandokan quickly issued his orders and bid them all to embark.
Sandokan: Quest for a Throne (The Sandokan Series Book 6) Page 30
