Windrush- Jayanti's Pawns

by Malcolm Archibald

  'Lead on, MacDuff,' Jack said. 'I suppose there's no help for it.'

  'There is no help at all, Windrush, sahib,' Doctor Khitab said.

  With an armed Rajput warrior a few yards in front and another at his back, Jack knew that escape would be impossible as the doctor led him through a succession of corridors. From his impressions of the exterior, he had expected the fort to be a bare, bleak place of stone walls and austerity. Instead, the interior was more luxurious than anything he had seen in his life. Silk hangings decorated the painted walls, sticks of incense wafted perfume through the air, oil lamps provided light between the ornate windows, and he walked on Afghan and Persian carpets that would cost more than a humble captain earned in five years. There were cushions of Bokhara silk, bed covers of Sind cotton and decorations of the Tree of Life with capering monkeys. All was light, gaiety, and colour.

  'In here, Windrush, sahib.'

  After the splendour of the corridor, the chamber was surprisingly bare, with a small drain in the middle of a stone-flagged floor and arched glazed windows with little décor. Three wiry old men stood beside three tubs of water.

  'What's this?' Jack asked. 'Some form of torture?'

  'No, Sahib. It is some form of washing.'

  As the Rajput warriors took up positions on either side of the door, the elderly men stepped forward and gently removed Jack's clothes. Smiling, they led him to the centre of the room.

  'What's to do?'

  'We don't sit in a tub to bathe, Captain Windrush sahib.' The doctor shook his head. 'We think that is strange, having one's dirt splashing all around us. Stand still.'

  One by one, the three elderly men dipped beakers of water into the tubs and emptied cool water over Jack. He stood there, determined not to admit that this Indian bathing method was superior to the British.

  'Now you are cleansed for the day. Do you wish to pray?' Doctor Khitab asked. 'It is an Indian custom.'

  'Maybe later.' Jack looked for his clothes. A white-coated servant presented him with a new set, with white cotton trousers and jacket and a simple yellow turban.

  'Put them on, Windrush sahib,' Doctor Khitab said. 'When the Angrez first came to this land, they adopted our dress and our customs, and many married our women. We were like one people. Now there is a gulf between us.'

  The clothes were soft, clean and very comfortable compared to Jack's habitual stiff uniform.

  'Good, Windrush sahib. Now follow me.'

  Once more into the corridor with the silent Rajput escort, the doctor led Jack down a flight of marble stairs into a large room. Brought up believing that England was the pinnacle of civilisation and that his family home of Wychwood Manor compared to anywhere in the world, Jack could only stare at the majesty of the room. He had been in a few Indian palaces and forts during this war, but only in the aftermath of cannon fire and siege. The shambles of a palace during wartime could not remotely compare to the splendour of this room.

  'This is the minor Durbar room,' the doctor said. 'You may know that the name durbar can mean a state reception, or the hall in which such events take place.'

  Jack ignored the lecture as he gazed at the Durbar room. Ornate plasterwork embellished every surface of the walls and ceiling, dominated by symbols of Ganesha, the elephant god that brought good fortune. One wall carried three depictions of peacocks while sticks of incense and masses of flowers sweetened the air. As with the corridor, a carpet covered the floor, so luxurious that Jack felt his slippered feet sinking into it. An ivory screen hid the furthest corner of the room, behind which an orchestra played evocative Indian music.

  These details barely distracted from the two people who sat at the head of the room, watching Jack as he walked in. Five marble steps led to their ornate thrones, with their armrests carved into the likeness of leopards, whose snarling faces intimidated those who approached. The seat and back were of padded silk, while on either side sat marble tigers, so realistic that Jack wondered at the skill of the sculptor.

  'The Rajah and Rani of Gondabad,' the doctor spoke in hushed tones.

  The Rajah sat upright, with long robes from neck to ankles and a sarpech set with diamonds and emeralds in his turban. His fourteen-strand necklace of natural pearls must have weighed ten pounds while his clothes glittered with gold, and rings gleamed on his fingers. His face was serene, with a neat white beard and mobile brown eyes that never strayed from Jack.

  Beside him, the Rani was quieter and much plainer in a simple white silk sari, while a plain muslin dupatta covered her head. Jack guessed her age at about twenty-eight, much younger than her husband, and she stared at Windrush without expression. Smoke from the incense created a slight haze around the thrones, so the faces and persons of the Rajah and Rani were blurred, nearly ethereal as if lesser mortals should not view them.

  Jack hesitated, feeling very much out of place. If he had been in uniform, he would have known how to act. In his Indian clothes, he was a stranger, a part-Indian foreigner, an interloper in a world about which he knew nothing.

  'Approach.' The Rani spoke in a low clear tone.

  As Jack walked forward, he became aware of the guards. The opulence of this Durbar room had astonished him, so he had not seen the dozen or so stalwart men in chain mail and steel helmets that stood against the walls.

  'I am Captain Jack Windrush of the 113th Foot.' Jack announced. He bowed, straightened up and waited to see what would happen next. If what he had heard of Indian royalty was correct, they could order him trampled by elephants, immured forever in a dungeon or any other sort of horror.

  'Why are you here, Captain Windrush?' The Rani spoke in English, with an attractive singsong accent.

  'I am searching for a murderer.' Jack decided to speak the truth. These people already knew all about him so it would be foolish to lie. He straightened his back. Whatever clothes he happened to be wearing, he was a British officer and gentleman, and he was damned if any foreign princeling would intimidate him. 'Her name is Jayanti, and she has murdered British soldiers.'

  'Why did you not come through official channels?' the Rani asked. 'Why did you choose to come sneaking into our home like a thief?'

  'I did not think you would see me,' Jack said. 'India is disturbed at present with the misguided actions of some of our sepoy regiments. I was unsure whether you wished to compromise your security by accepting a message from a junior British officer.'

  The Rajah and Rani exchanged a private conversation for a few moments before the Rani spoke again. 'Where should our loyalties lie, Captain Windrush?'

  'Your loyalties should lie with the British,' Jack said.

  'Why?' Although the Rani's voice was gentle, there was no mistaking the steel behind her question.

  'To ensure peace and stability and a fair system of justice.' Jack couldn't think of any other answer. He wished that Elliot were here, with his quick mind and capacity for more profound thought.

  'The British have been in India for two hundred and fifty years,' the Rani said. 'During that time there have been wars and conquest and a lack of stability.'

  Jack thought quickly. 'There was warfare and conquest and instability before the British arrived,' he said. 'And beyond the British frontier, there is still warfare and conquest and instability. Better to retain British protection than to return to anarchy, where states fought states, Muslim fought Sikh and Hindus and the law depended on bribery rather than legality.'

  The Rajah and Rani conferred again, both glancing at Jack from time to time before the Rani spoke again. 'Then why is there war again within the British area of peace, stability and justice?'

  'The sepoys, the Indian soldiers of Britain, have broken their oath,' Jack said. 'They have believed lies told against their masters and have attacked the hand that fed them. Others have joined in, the malcontents, evil men and women.' He paused. 'I believe that Jayanti, one of those evil women, a murderess of the worst kind, is within your Majesty's dominions now. I think she is hiding, ready to cause trouble
and spread violence among your loyal subjects.'

  Are these two playing with me? Jack wondered. Are they teasing me, before they kill me? Or are these questions genuine? The scent of the incense was more powerful now, making Jack's head swim so that he saw the Rajah and Rani through a thickening haze, while the Indian music was a distraction.

  'If we help the British, how will the British reward us?' the Rani asked.

  'You will have done your duty.' Jack gave the answer that would most appeal to a British officer and then paused to consider what an Indian prince most wished. 'The British would ensure that you maintain your position as Rajah and Rani of Gondabad.'

  What more can I say?

  'If we help the enemies of the British, what will happen?' The Rani's voice was unemotional, as if she was discussing a menu with her servants.

  'The British will surely quell this mutiny,' Jack said what he believed. 'The British have already reconquered Delhi and put the rebels to the sword. Sir Colin Campbell has recaptured Lucknow and wreaked vengeance on the mutineers and rebels there. The British know that your majesties are loyal and that the troubles in Gondabad were against your wishes. They will not blame you for what has happened. However, if your majesties join the forces of evil and discontent, Sir Colin Campbell or Hugh Rose will surely capture your city and lay siege to your fort. There will be death and disaster and much slaughter, as there was in Delhi and Lucknow.'

  Jack took a deep breath. He hadn't spoken so much in his life. Am I too forceful with my threats?

  The Rajah and Rani conferred again, and the Rani flicked her finger. 'You may go now, Captain Windrush.'

  Doctor Khitab took hold of Jack's arm and ushered him to a side door, with the two Rajputs a few steps behind him. The Rani's voice followed him. 'Take him to the other one.'

  'The other one? Who is the other one? Is that Mary? Do you have Mary here?' When Jack tried to ask questions, one of the Rajputs shoved him onward.

  'Keep quiet, Captain Windrush, sahib. It is rude to question royalty,' Doctor Khitab said. 'All will be revealed for he who is patient.'

  'What is this all about?'

  'Have patience, Captain Windrush sahib.' Doctor Khitab patted his shoulder. 'Everything is as it should be; you are a guest among friends.'

  Leaving the Durbar room, they marched along what seemed like miles of passages, along which an army of servants hurried without a word or a sound. The luxury gradually faded until Jack's surroundings were merely lavish and there were warriors among the servants. There was no mistaking the two different types of people, with men carrying swords and shields, spears and muskets. One or two were bandaged or scarred, veterans of skirmish, siege or battle.

  'In here, Captain Windrush, sahib.' Doctor Khitab stopped before a massive door studded with iron. 'I hope your mind is clear.'

  'My mind? What do you mean?'

  The doctor didn't respond to Jack's questions as one Rajput opened the door and the other propelled Jack inside the chamber.

  Chapter Eleven

  While the Durbar room had been about opulence and luxury, only warriors occupied this room. The floor was stone-flagged and the walls bereft of any decoration except an array of spears and fearsome looking daggers. A rack of tulwars sat beneath unglazed windows while another of long jezzails stretched to a plain wooden table around which sat a group of men.

  They watched Jack step in.

  They were warriors with quick movements and smooth muscles, hard eyes and the direct stare of men who were not afraid to act. Three reached for swords, and another with a spiked helmet lifted a long pistol that he had been loading.

  'Ram ram,' Jack said and waited for a response. Alone and unarmed, he knew he would not stand a chance if these men attacked him. He also knew that he would fight and neither run nor surrender.

  The warriors spoke quietly as the man with the spiked helmet pointed his pistol at Jack. Suspecting that they were discussing his immediate death, Jack marched toward them.

  One man stood up. In his early thirties, he was round-faced and black haired, slightly overweight with a small beard and sharp, round eyes. Shaking his head, he pushed the pistol back on the table and turned over a large hourglass. Sand began to trickle from the upper to the lower container. The man's smile was friendlier than Jack had expected as he spoke in perfect English.

  'You are welcome, Captain Jack Baird Windrush of Her Majesty's 113th Foot.'

  Jack nodded. 'Thank you. You have the advantage of me. I do not know to whom I am speaking.'

  'I am Dhondu Pant, a Peshwa of the old Maratha Empire. You may know me better as Nana Sahib.'

  'Dear God!' Jack reached for the sword he no longer had. 'Nana Sahib!'

  Nana Sahib was the warrior and aristocrat who had fostered and led the rebellion in Cawnpore, the man ultimately responsible for the murder of hundreds of British men, women and children. This smiling, urbane man was the arch-enemy of British rule in India.

  The others at the table jumped to their feet, most reaching for swords or pistols.

  'Peace, bhaiyas, peace, brothers,' Nana Sahib calmed them down in Urdu and English. 'Captain Windrush is no threat to me or you. He has no weapons and has even adopted our way of dress.'

  The warriors sat back down, with only the man in the spiked helmet continuing to glare at Jack. 'Barnshoot Firinghi' – “incestuous foreigner”, he said, until Nana Sahib waved him to silence.

  'You seem surprised to see me, Captain Windrush, and I do not know why. After all, this is my land, and these are my people.'

  'Gondabad is not part of the old Maratha Empire.' Jack forced aside his hatred.

  'It was once,' Nana Sahib said.

  'You are a traitor, a rebel and a murderer.' Jack wondered if he could jump across and strangle Nana Sahib before his followers chopped him to pieces. No, these warriors are alert and experienced. I would merely throw away my life.

  Nana Sahib smiled. 'Insults from an enemy are as sweet as compliments from a friend. Are you an enemy, Captain Windrush?'

  'You became the enemy of my people the moment you turned against us.' Jack tried to remain calm. He watched the slowly emptying hourglass and wondered what its function might be.

  'I could say that your people became my enemy the moment they turned against me,' Nana Sahib countered.

  'Why am I here?' Jack asked.

  'To learn.' Nana Sahib's smile faded. 'Sit down, captain,' he indicated a chair opposite him at the table.

  'Why me?'

  'There are reasons,' Nana Sahib said. 'Now listen.'

  Jack sat down, acutely aware that the man in the spiked helmet moved the position of his pistol so that the muzzle pointed directly at his chest.

  'I'm listening.'

  'You think I am a monster,' Nana Sahib said.

  'I think you are a treasonous murdering traitor.' Jack guessed that Nana Sahib would shortly order his death. He had nothing to gain by attempting to be pleasant.

  'Listen to my story.' Nana Sahib did not appear in the slightest annoyed by Jack's reaction. 'You will know about Badgee Rao, the old Peshwa of the Mahrattas?'

  'I know the name,' Jack admitted. 'He was a good man and a loyal friend of the British.'

  'And how did the British repay that loyalty?' Nana Sahib's voice remained calm and smooth. 'They repaid it with deceit and robbery. Badgee Rao gave his assistance to the East India Company when they warred with Tippoo Sahib, the Tiger of Serangipatam in 1799. The East India Company won that war, and how did they reward Badgee Rao?'

  'I do not know,' Jack admitted.

  'Then allow me to educate you.' Nana Sahib's voice remained calm. 'The Company made treaties with Badgee Rao, broke their word on many occasions and in 1817, they grabbed his lands. After fighting against the might of the Company, Badgee Rao eventually led his army to face General Sir John Malcolm's force, with the Deccan as the prize. Malcolm sent in a flag of truce and proposed that Badgee Rao should renounce his sovereignty and surrender with his family and so
me adherents and attendants.'

  'That would save needless slaughter.' Jack defended the British general.

  'The British offered to respect Badgee Rao and his people and locate them in Benares or any other holy city. They offered a pension to Badgee Rao and his family and promised to provide for his attached adherents. The pension for Badgee and his family was to be at least eight lacs of rupees a year.'

  Jack did a rapid calculation. 'That's about £80,000, a very fair offer.'

  'Quite a sizeable sum,' Nana Sahib agreed. 'However, when he was an old man, Badgee Rao was still childless.' He stopped. 'Badgee Rao adopted me as his son and heir. He died in 1851 and immediately the Governor-General, Lord Dalhousie cancelled the pension the Honourable East India Company had guaranteed. My family and I were reduced to poverty.'

  'I see.' Jack wondered how a man reduced to poverty could be as plump and sleek as Nana Sahib. 'So your revolt and all the deaths and suffering are due to your desire for more British money.'

  For the first time, Nana Sahib showed some emotion. A flicker of anger crossed his face. He continued.

  'I asked the Lieutenant Governor of the North West Provinces to reconsider Lord Dalhousie's judgement. In return, the Company granted me a few acres of land for life. The British Commissioner of Bithoor, an honest man, issued an urgent appeal on my behalf and the Company severely reprimanded him. I contacted the Court of Directors in Leadenhall Street. They issued a reply a year later, telling me to try the Indian government. I did that with no response.'

  Jack said nothing. Having lost any title to his lands in England through illegitimacy, he could understand some of Nana Sahib's sense of injustice. The lower section of the hourglass was now three-quarters full.

  'The lands that Badgee Rao ceded in 1802, 1817 and 1818 gave the East India Company a million pounds a year in revenue.' Nana Sahib continued. 'I have a few paltry rupees.'

  'So your rebellion is about money, then,' Jack said. 'It isn't about religion or Indian nationalism or race.'