The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [269]
Mulraj had sent word that the camp would halt until further orders, and later that day Biju Ram's remains were cremated with due ceremony on a pyre of kikar wood and dry grass, hastily collected from the surrounding country and drenched with ghee. Next morning, when the night wind had dispersed the ashes and the charred earth had cooled, the fragments of bone that remained were carefully collected in order that they could be taken to the Ganges and thrown into that sacred river. ‘And as there are none of his relatives here, it is only right that his friends should take it upon themselves to perform this pious duty,’ said Mulraj, straight-faced. ‘Therefore I have arranged that Pran and Mohan, and Sen Gupta, with their servants and those of Biju Ram's, shall leave at once for Benares. For saving only Allahabad, there is no more sacred spot at which a man's ashes may be consigned to the waters of Mother Gunga.’
Ash received this Machiavellian announcement with a respect that verged on awe, for with Biju Ram dead, there was still the problem of how to rid the camp of those who had been his closest associates, and Ash could see no way out of it that would not involve argument and uproar and a good deal of dangerous speculation. Mulraj's solution was an admirably simple one, though there could be a flaw in it –
‘ What will Jhoti say to this?’ inquired Ash. ‘These men are of his party – or so he thinks – and he may not agree to let them go.’
‘He has agreed already,’ said Mulraj blandly. ‘The prince sees clearly that it would not be fitting for the ashes of one of his entourage, a man of standing who served his late mother faithfully and for many years, should be thrown into any river and at any spot. Therefore he gives them leave to go.’
‘But will they do so?’
‘Assuredly. For how could they refuse?’
‘Oh, shabash, Bahadur-Sahib,’ murmured Ash in an under-voice. ‘It is indeed well done. I salute you.’
He suited the action to the word, and Mulraj permitted himself a faint smile, and returning the salute said equally softly: ‘And I you, Sahib.’
Ash looked a question and Mulraj held out his hand. In the palm lay a small shirt button made from pearl-shell – a common enough object, except that it was of European manufacture and had a metal shank.
‘I found this by chance, within ten paces of the body,’ said Mulraj quietly, ‘my foot having struck against it where it lay hidden in the dust. Later I showed it to your bearer, saying that I had found it in my tent, and he claimed it as one of yours and said that he had noticed yesterday that one was missing from a shirt that you had worn the evening before. I told him I would return it to you myself – making a jest of it.’
Ash was silent for a moment or two, realizing that he must have jerked the button off when he pulled open his shirt to show the scar on his chest, and thinking that it was lucky that Mulraj and not one of Biju Ram's associates had found it – except that no one else would have seen anything in the least interesting in it. He reached out, and taking it said lightly: ‘I must have lost it when we rode into camp.’
‘Mayhap,’ said Mulraj with a shrug. ‘Though had I been asked I would have said that you wore a khaki shirt with horn buttons that morning. But no matter – it is better that I should know nothing. We will not speak of this again.’
They had not done so. Neither then nor later had Mulraj asked any questions, or Ash volunteered any information. Pran, Mohan and Sen Gupta, with their servants, had left before dawn on the following day, presumably for Benares, and the camp moved on again. But though it was too much to hope that it was now free of spies and plotters, those who remained were unlikely to do any serious harm, largely because they were now leaderless, but also, in part, because they would not be certain that the death of their leader and the sudden departure of his closest colleagues was merely a coincidence, and if it were not, how much had become known of their doings. Being unsure, they would lie very