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Authors: Valerie Fitzgerald

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BOOK: Zemindar
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Fortunately Charles had taken Emily into the courtyard for a breath of fresh air. There was a ring of conviction in the girl’s words, so that I could not delude myself that she was merely repeating bazaar gossip.

‘Well,’ I said gravely, trying to give the impression that I was suddenly cast down, ‘that will be a pity because we were going to reward you handsomely for your services to us—when we got to the Residency. Now perhaps you will have to do without your reward as well as your dowry.’

I turned away, but from the corner of my eye saw her stiffen, and a look of cunning come into the meagre yellow face. I continued out of the room, satisfied that if there were any hope in that direction, the next move must come from her. I said nothing of this conversation to the others, beyond telling them that the
Begum
was dead.

Sleep eluded me that night. I lay in the oppressive darkness of the empty room and listened to the distant stir of countless human beings pursuing their secret lives by flickering lamplight in the malodorous lanes and crowded bazaars beyond the wall. Sometimes the thin notes of a bamboo flute would rise above the murmur of movement; sometimes a woman would shriek, or a child cry, or a dog yelp as it was kicked out of the way, and the throb of drums rose and fell in incessant accompaniment. The dull unceasing mutter should have been soporific but my mind was too active to allow me to sleep.

Endlessly I turned over all the implications of our presence in the house of Wajid Khan, in an effort to anticipate what was to come. Would he ever let us go? Could he afford to? I tried to put myself in his position, to understand him without emotion and without judgement, and remembered every word he had spoken in an effort to determine his motives. He was not a cruel man, of that I was sure. He had a gentle nature, was indolent and anxious always for the easy way out. But he was not very intelligent either, and his silliness, coupled with his love of ease and his fear, would make him an easy target for a stronger character. I recalled uneasily the disquieting interest of the fat man, scratching his belly on the courtyard verandah, and the smart, over-confident young servant with his impudent curiosity. How many more were there like them in the household, men, and women perhaps, much more capable than Wajid of strong feeling, of single-minded passion, of long-suppressed hatred, relatives jealous of his position, retainers harbouring a grievance, ready to threaten him if he did not dispose of the
feringhi
? So long as the
Burra-begum
had been alive, we were safe, even if imprisoned. But with her death, our lives were jeopardized. Little by little, our presence, already an affront to his relations, as he had himself admitted, would become an affront to him too, as they worked on him for our undoing. He would hesitate, demur, argue, complain querulously at not being master of his own house; he would storm and swear, probably even shed tears of self-pity because his family could not appreciate the dilemma in which he found himself. But slowly he would be worn down. One night, some hot night such as this, he would throw his hands to heaven, shout so that all could hear that he never wished us to be mentioned in his presence again, and someone would interpret this as Wajid in his shrinking soul wished it to be interpreted. I had learned myself that for most of us it is not the deed but the witnessing of it that really strikes home. He would know nothing of what followed, of course. Had he not commanded that we were never to be mentioned again? But on some breathless night, or on an afternoon when all the household slept the sleep of great heat, a handful of men would come in, lead us out of the house, and then … well then, as Ajeeba had expressed it, ‘Zut!’ All would be over.

At dawn I rose, red-eyed but alert, convinced that our only help lay in arousing the avarice of shifty little Ajeeba. It was not a hope of robust proportions.

Some cat-and-mouse instinct made me take care to be unavailable when Ajeeba was in our rooms, but that night she hung about busying herself with trifles until she could speak to me alone. She came to the point with admirable bluntness, and I was hard put to it to disguise my relief that she had brought up the subject.

‘I cannot take you to the
bilaiti
Residency,’ she muttered, half an eye cocked at the door, behind which the eunuch stood. ‘But I could help you if you give me money. Here. Now.’

I was so nervous I was almost taken in. Later, I was to thank God for the sudden flash of wit that made me reply, ‘How would that be possible? We have no money here. We would first have to get it from our friends in the Residency.’

‘You have none?’ She didn’t believe me.

‘None,’ I answered shortly. ‘Did you not see how we came, in borrowed clothes and borrowed palanquins?’

‘Your friends would surely give you money? You do not lie?’

‘Why should I? And how do I know that you would be able to help us, supposing we need help?’

She thought that over.

‘I think you will need it,’ she said coldly. ‘Just now, Wajid Khan is heavy with grief: he thinks of nothing but the
Burra-begum
. But in one or two days, he will remember you again, and then who knows what he will do?’

I shrugged indifferently. ‘I cannot help that.
Jo hoga, so hoga
’—What must happen, will happen.

Happily she was not easily deterred.

‘You could get word to your friends, no?’

‘How? I do not see my servants, and whom else could I trust?’

‘Me?’ It was half entreaty, half suggestion.

‘No.’ I shook my head firmly. ‘You would take the money and go away to your village, leaving us here to Wajid Khan’s mercy. Oh, no!’

She protested her innocence, but she was a poor actress, and I had uncovered the weak plottings of her avaricious little mind. She looked at me with marked respect, coupled with uncertainty, as she vowed her innocence of any evil intention.

I held up my hand for silence, and took a thoughtful turn around the room.

‘There may be a way,’ I said judiciously. ‘Perhaps there is a way after all, if you are willing to help us.’

She waited breathlessly for me to explain myself, but I turned away from her again, and once more paced the length of the room.

‘Do you know where our servants are: the big Pathan and the small man with the horse’s face?’

She nodded, contemptuously I thought. ‘They were here, in the house. I saw them sometimes, but a few days ago they went away.’

‘Away?’ I echoed, hopes dashed.

‘Yes, not far away though. They live in the bazaar. This I have heard said.’

‘You could find them?’

‘Of course! They are strangers; everyone will know where they live.’

‘You could take them a note? A chit?’

She nodded.

‘Very well, we will see. If you bring me back a note from them in the morning, I will know you are to be trusted, and then I will send them to the Residency for the money. They will get the money; there is no doubt of that. But you will have to come with us for at least part of the way before you are paid. You understand?’

Again she nodded, this time with resignation.

‘If I do this, I will have to go with you. I could not come back here. They would kill me!’ This was a point I had overlooked but it appeared to be an added safeguard. ‘But first: how much money? Remember that I risk my life and lose the only house I have known. This is much to do for infidels, and I must have much reward.’

‘Three hundred rupees. One hundred for each of us. That is a great amount.’

I did not know what would constitute a fortune to such a girl, but was going on the worth of three or four pearls from Mrs Wilkins’s garter, for the amount of cash we had with us was trivial. Apparently, and much to my relief, my premise was more than adequate, for the girl licked her lips and agreed to the amount so quickly that she probably felt I would think better of my generosity.

‘Good. Then wait a moment and I will write.’

I tore out the back page of Marcus Aurelius and, with a stub of drawing pencil that had been in the pocket of my dress when I left Hassanganj I printed a short message to Toddy-Bob, instructing him to send me something to indicate that he had himself received the note. It would be too easy for it to find its way into other hands, and I had to be very cautious.

‘You read English, I suppose, as you have been in a mission school?’ I said holding the paper out for Ajeeba’s inspection in a gesture of trust that was far from sincere. She took it and examined it minutely, but then, to my satisfaction, shook her head and returned it saying, ‘Once I read, but now no more. It is many years since I was in mission, but I remember the prayer of
Esoo Masie
.’ And she began to intone with downcast eyes and swaying body: ‘Our Father, which art in heaven …’

There was no way of sealing the note, so I folded it and gave it to her. If it found its way into the hands of the fat uncle on the verandah, or the sly young servant, it would be the end of us. On the other hand, if it got to Toddy, well, he would at least know that all was not well with us. I knew a crushing moment when I wondered whether Toddy himself could read, but remembered having once seen him spell out the sporting column of an old newspaper on the verandah at Hassanganj. In any event, I was sufficiently sure of his resourcefulness to know that if he had difficulty in deciphering my note, he would find somebody trustworthy to read it for him, even if it meant going to the Residency.

His answer was in my hands at six o’clock next morning.

‘Dear Miss, We come out here because things looked hot in the house. Waiting your orders, yrs, respctfl. T.Bob.’

Immediately, knowing this time that I was truly laying my head in the lion’s mouth, I wrote another note, telling Toddy to delude the girl into thinking that he was off to the Residency to obtain money, and asking him to fix as safe a rendezvous as possible for the following night.

Anyone but Toddy-Bob would have needed to be told more of the facts, but I relied on him to act without question, and I smiled to myself as I imagined how he would expatiate to Ajeeba on our influential and wealthy friends, and also the horrors that would overtake her if she betrayed us. No doubt but that ‘Sir ’Enry ’imself’ would play some part in his fantasy.

When Ajeeba had gone, I felt safe in confiding my hopes to Charles and Emily. The day, hot and wearisome as any other we had passed in that house, was borne more easily as we thought of the night, and we spent much time deciding which of our possessions we could best do without; for, though we had brought little with us, our bundles were still too heavy to be carried with comfort, and we would have to make our way to the Residency on foot. In the end all we left behind were our night-caps, some lawn petticoats and two heavy cloaks. I discarded also my little trinket box, but took the trinkets tied up in a handkerchief, and at the last moment, very unwisely, discarded Marcus Aurelius. I could not know then how often I would stand in need of his philosophy.

We were ready with our bundles and our
burqhas
at ten that night. Ajeeba had told us when she brought the evening meal that she would come for us at ‘about midnight’, so we had a long wait, made no more comfortable by the knowledge that it was still not too late for her to change her mind. She arrived, at last, at about half an hour after midnight. The last thing I had done was extract three pearls from the garter, wrap them in a page of Marcus Aurelius and put the little packet in my pocket where it would be easily accessible. Then I refastened the garter round my leg, where I had worn it since the day when Oliver had persuaded me that I had committed no great crime in taking it.

The pearls, lying in my hand for a moment, brought back that dry and windless morning, and I heard again Oliver’s voice, ‘Think of this then; I love you.’ Tears, which I chose to consider nostalgic, stung the back of my eyes, and hastily I wrapped up the pearls and put them out of sight.

Our escape from the house of Wajid Khan, when it came, was simplicity itself, despite the perfervid imaginings with which we had filled the hours of waiting. There was no hurried, dangerous flitting through the corridors of the great house; no guards to be bribed; no sudden alarms to bring our hearts into our mouths. It was almost an anticlimax to the days of anxiety, the planning and the tension.

Ajeeba simply led us to the small door in the courtyard wall, used by the sweeper woman, and opened it. Beyond lay a dark and smelly passageway under the bulk of the house, and beyond that again a narrow lane skirting the house and opening into a bazaar. Our only anxious moment came through Pearl, who whimpered as we crossed the courtyard, but the folds of her mother’s
burqha
, beneath which she was hidden, served to muffle the sound effectively.

Ajeeba, never looking behind her, led us swiftly through a tangled maze of stalls and shops and little alleys, and so quick was our passage that I retain only a blurred impression of shrill voices chattering at the lamp-lit stalls, hurrying feet, pressing bodies and light and darkness succeeding each other through the eye-slits of my
burqha
with great rapidity.

‘Psst.’

In the angle of a wall behind a large mosque, Toddy-Bob and Ishmial lurked in waiting. They pressed our shoulders joyfully, thanked God in divers tongues, and laughed, but softly, while Ajeeba watched the pantomime with a suspicious expression on her yellow face. When our mutual satisfaction had been expressed, Toddy-Bob drew me apart.

‘We ’as our doubts of that wench, miss, Ishmial and me. She done like she said she would, but who knows if that’s the end of it? We ’as a plan of sorts. Ishmial will take you to a friend of ’is in the bazaar; it’s no good trying to get into the Residency at night, see, with everything locked up and sentries all around. Proper suicide it would be. They’re gettin’ that nervous, they’d blast off at their own daughters if they appeared done up in them
burqhas
. So you lay low where Ishmial takes you, and I’ll join you in the morning.’

‘Oh, Tod, you’re wonderful! I don’t know what we’d have done without you,’ I exclaimed, for what could be simpler than for Ajeeba to accept her reward and then put the populace on our trail. It was a contingency I had not thought of myself, but Toddy had been ready for it.

BOOK: Zemindar
10.24Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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