The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [321]
There were several familiar faces among the waiting deputation; men who had presented bills or brought complaints when Ash had last been in Deenagunj. But the District Officer's was not one of them: Mr Carter had apparently suffered yet another attack of malaria with the onset of the hot weather, and was on sick-leave in Murree. His replacement, a Mr Morecombe, informed Ash that the British Resident, together with the members of his staff and at least fifty nobles of Karidkote, were waiting to receive the new Maharajah in a camp that had been set up on the far side of the bridge of boats, where it had been arranged that His Highness would spend the night. The state entry into the capital would take place on the following day; but unfortunately Captain Pelham-Martyn would not be able to see it, for he was ordered to return immediately to Rawalpindi.
A letter confirming this was handed to him by the District Officer, who commiserated with him under the mistaken impression that it would be a disappointment. ‘Rotten bad luck,’ said the District Officer over a glass of country-brewed beer. ‘Seems a bit hard, bringing that boy all this way and then being done out of the show, and what's the betting that when you do get to 'Pindi, you'll find there was no need at all to go chasing back there in such a tearing hurry? But that's G.H.Q. all over.’
Ash thought it only too likely – and was deeply grateful to whoever was responsible for sending off the order for his return. Nevertheless, for politeness sake he did his best to appear disappointed, though not sufficiently so to encourage Jhoti to insist on his staying:
‘No. Your Highness cannot send a tar to the Jung-i-lat Sahib, demanding that I remain, said Ash firmly. ‘Or to the Viceroy or the Governor of the Punjab either. It would do me no good. I know that you are now a Maharajah, but I am still a soldier; and as Mulraj will tell you, a soldier must obey the orders of his senior officers. The General-Sahibs in Rawalpindi have commanded my return, and even for Your Highness I cannot disobey them. But I hope that you will write and tell me about the ceremonies and rejoicings, and I promise that I will write to you as often as I can.’
‘And visit me, too,’ insisted Jhoti.
‘And visit you too,’ agreed Ash, hoping that he might be forgiven the lie – if it was a lie. Perhaps it was not. Perhaps one day he would feel differently about returning to Gulkote and the Hawa Mahal, and if so…
He said his farewells, and realized as he did so how much he was going to miss them all: Mulraj and Jhoti, Kaka-ji and Gobind – and so many others… It was not only Juli whom he was going to miss and to think of in the years to come.
‘It is my hope that we shall meet again many times, said Muiraj. You will come here on chutti (leave) and we will take you out hawking on the flat lands and show you good sport among our mountains. And when I am an old man and you are a General-Sahib, we shall still meet and talk over old times together. Therefore I do not say “Good-bye”, but “Come again soon”.’
They had accompanied Ash for a mile and more down the road, and looking back to wave a last farewell, he knew a momentary regret that he was riding away instead of going on with them to Gulkote. If he could have changed his mind then, he might well have turned back. But it was too late for that now.
A turn of the road hid them from sight and he knew in his heart that in spite of Mulraj's confident prediction, he was unlikely to see them again, because his only hope lay in taking Kaka-ji's advice and turning his back on the past. The old man had been right: he must strive to put it all behind him and to forget; he must learn not to think of Juli at all, and as visiting Gulkote would only serve to bring back the past, he must not go there – not now, or for many years – if ever. Because were he to do so the sense of ease and comradeship that had existed between himself and those in whose