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By Root 2678 0

the disputed State of Karidarra, and he had no intention of providing any loophole that might one day allow some descendant of his sister Shushila's to lay claim to his own territories. He was nothing if not thorough. When, eventually, an offer had come from the Rana of Bhithor, he had accepted it, though the match could hardly be termed a splendid one, Bhithor being a small and backward state with an unspectacular revenue, and its Rana a middle-aged man who had already been married and widowed twice over, and fathered no less than seven children – all of them girls. Both his previous wives had died in child-bed, the last one only a year ago (assisted, according to rumour, by poison), and of his seven daughters, the five who had survived their infancy were all considerably older than Shushila. But his lineage was superior to Nandu's and the gifts he had sent were impressively rich. Best of all, his state lay more than five hundred miles to the southward, which was much too far away from Karidkote to allow any future Rana to dream of annexing it. In Nandu's opinion it was a sensible and satisfactory match. But his little sister had been appalled.

Shushila had always know that she must marry one day, but now that the day was actually in sight she was overwhelmed by panic. The thought of leaving her home and all the safe, familiar people and surroundings that she had grown up amongst terrified her, while the prospect of travelling hundreds of miles across India to a strange place and a strange man – an old, middle-aged widower – was unendurable. She could not face it. She would not - she would not. She would rather die…

Once again hysterical shrieks and lamentations rang through the Zenana Quarters, and this time even Nandu at his angriest could not move her, though he had threatened to have her beaten within an inch of her life if she did not obey him. But then Nandu did not understand, as Anjuli did, that at the heart of her terror and resistance lay the dread of a far worse death. Death by fire. Against that, a beating seemed a trivial thing…

‘It was the Nautch-girl's doing,’ Anjuli had explained during one of those visits to Ash's tent. ‘Janoo-Rani Janoo-Rani gave orders that her daughter should be strictly instructed in all those things that a well-born woman should know. Not only in religious observances and the proper ritual of pujah, but in all matters of ceremony and etiquette, and the duty of a wife towards her husband. This Shushila was taught almost from the time she could first speak, and she was only five when she was taken to see the hand-prints on the Suttee Gate – you remember it? – and told that if she herself were ever widowed, she must burn herself alive on her husband's pyre. Thereafter she was made to stir boiling rice with her little finger, in order to teach her to bear fire without flinching.’

Ash's comment had been savage and unprintable, and though he had spoken in English, Anjuli had not needed a translation; his tone had been enough and she had nodded agreement and said thoughtfully: ‘Yes, it was cruel, and it did not serve its purpose, for it only succeeded in making Shu-shu more afraid. She became terrified of pain. She cannot endure it.’

Ash observed caustically that Janoo-Rani obviously could not endure it either, because she had certainly not practised what she preached when her own husband died, and he, for one, did not believe for a moment that anyone could have locked her in a room against her wishes. Or prevented her from doing anything else she wanted to do.

‘That is true,’ agreed Anjuli. ‘I think she would not go to the pyre because she was very angry with my father for taking another wife, and she hated the woman so much that she would not even burn with her, for then their ashes would have mingled.’

Ash made a rude noise and said it was a good story, but it was obvious that she never had any intention of burning herself. As for Shushila, there was no need for her to worry, since suttee was now forbidden by law.

‘An English law,’ scoffed Anjuli. ‘Have you really become so much