The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [329]
As for Mahdoo, he too was growing old and frail; and if Koda Dad, the immutable, could crumble in this fashion, how much more so could Mahdoo, who did not possess half the old Pathan's stamina and must be at least his equal in age? It did not bear thinking of. Yet he thought of it now, grimly and despairingly, seeing his life as a fragile house – an empty one, since there was no Juli – which once he had planned to cram with treasure. A house supported by four pillars, two of them now almost worn out and in the nature of things unlikely to last very much longer… When those two fell, as one day they must, the walls might still stand. But if a third were to fail, his case would be desperate, and if all went, the house would crash to the ground and break apart, exposing its emptiness.
Koda Dad's head nodded and fell forward, and the movement awoke him: ‘So now there is a new ruler in Gulkote,’ said the old man, continuing the conversation where it had ended when he dozed off. ‘That is good. Provided he does not take after his mother. But if God wills, his father's blood will prove stronger; and if so Gulkote – Chut! that is no longer the name. I forget the new one, but no matter. It will always be Gulkote to me and whenever I think of it, it is with affection; for until the mother of my sons died, my days there were pleasant ones. A good life… Yes, a good life. Ah! here is Habibah. I did not realize that it was so late.’
When the sun dipped behind the hills and the air began to cool, Ash and Zarin went out to exercise the horses in the dusty evening light, and when they returned it was to find that the Begum had invited a number of her brother's old friends and acquaintances to dine with them, so there had been no further opportunity for private talk that night. The next day was Sunday, and as Zarin must be back in Mardan in time to prepare for parade on Monday morning (which in the hot weather was at 5.30 a.m.), father and son would be leaving some time after nightfall. The three spent that day as they had spent the previous one, talking together in Koda Dad's room and resting during the heat of the afternoon, and towards evening the Begum sent a servant to tell Zarin that his aunt wished to see him on some matter connected with the possible purchase of land near Hoti Mardan, and Ash and Koda Dad went up to the roof to catch the cooler air as the sun went down behind the hills around Attock.
It was the first time they had been alone together, and in an hour or so Koda Dad would be gone and there was no knowing when they would meet again. But though Ash would have given a great deal to be able to ask for advice and comfort as he had done so often in the past, both as a child in Gulkote and a junior subaltern in Mardan, he could not bring himself to 0 so. The problem was too personal and the wound still too raw, and he shrank from probing either, and made conversation instead: talking of his coming leave in Kashmir and the prospects of shooting, in a light, cheerful voice that would have deceived ninety-nine people out of a hundred but failed entirely to deceive Koda Dad.
The old Pathan listened and nodded, but did not speak. Then, as the sky took fire from the setting sun, the first stirring of the evening breeze carried a faint, high-pitched cry from the distant city. ‘La Ill-ah ha! il ill-ah ho!’ – There is no God but God!’ It was the voice of the muezzin from the minaret of a mosque in Attock, calling