The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [319]
He was wearing full uniform in deference to the official leave-taking at the Rung Mahal, but he forgot this and stooped instead in the manner of the East to touch the old man's feet.
‘The gods go with you,’ said Kaka-ji; and added softly: ‘And rest assured that if at any time there should arise a… a need… I will send word to you.’
He did not have to add that the need would not be his own. That was understood. He embraced Ash, and there being no more to be said, dismissed him. They would see each other again that day, because Kaka-ji would be riding as far as the border with his nephew and the advance party, but there would be no further opportunity for private talk: or any necessity for it.
Two thirds of the returning party had left at dawn with the pack-horses, to set up camp some five miles on the far side of the border in readiness for the arrival of the more important members, whose departure was likely to be delayed by protocol and ceremony. In fact it had been delayed even longer than Ash had expected, for the sun had set by the time the motley cavalcade reached the frontier of Bhithor. As Ash turned in his saddle for a last look at Kaka-ji he saw by the flare of torchlight that there were tears on the old man's cheeks, and lifting a hand in salute, was astonished to find that his own eyes were wet.
‘Goodbye, uncle!’ shrilled Jhoti. ‘Goodbye!’
The horses broke into a canter and the chorus of farewells became lost in the thunder of hoof-beats. And presently the yellow glow of the torches faded and they were riding through grey moonlight and the black shadows of the hills. The heartbreak and treachery and the claustrophobia of Bhithor lay behind them, and once again they were riding for the north.
Book Five
Paradise of Fools
32
‘Two more days, if the gods are kind, and we shall be sleeping in our own beds again,’ said Mulraj.
‘Two more days. Two more days. Only two more days,’ chanted Jhoti. ‘In two days from now I shall be riding into the city – my own city – and entering my own palace, with all the people shouting and cheering as I pass. And after that I shall really be Maharajah.’
‘Your Highness has been that ever since your brother died,’ said Mulraj.
‘I know. Only I don't feel as if I was. But when I am back in my own state I will. I mean to be a great king. A much better one than Nandu.’
‘That last should not be too hard,’ observed Mulraj dryly.
‘Two more days…’ thought Ash, and wished that he could share Mulraj's relief and Jhoti's enthusiasm.
The long ride up from the south had been remarkably free from incident. Considering the relentless heat that had forced them to move only between sunset and sunrise and snatch what rest they could during the burning day, they had made better time than anyone had expected; though it had been a gruelling ordeal for all of them, not least for the horses but most of all for Mahdoo, who had flatly refused to be left behind despite the fact that besides being elderly, he was an indifferent horseman.
The one person who had enjoyed every moment of the journey had been Jhoti. They had all been anxious on his account and worried that the pace might be too much for him, but he seemed to thrive on heat and hard exercise – so much so that there were times when his high spirits made Ash feel at least a hundred years old, though on the whole he had enjoyed Jhoti's lively company and uninhibited conversation and endured the never-ending stream of questions with commendable patience. The boy had shed his fears along with his plumpness and his pasty complexion, and became a different person from the apprehensive run-away whom Biju Ram had so skilfully goaded into ‘escaping’ from Karidkote, and it occurred to Ash as he watched and listened to him that the denizens of Karidkote were likely to be very fortunate in their new ruler.
Jhoti talked continuously of their arrival and the state entry he meant to make into his capital (still