The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [374]
‘I'll go myself,’ said Ash. And he had ridden down to the station and received the welcome news that the reservations he had asked for had been made at last – but for the following Thursday, which meant that he would have to spend the best part of another week in Ahmadabad.
The thought of sitting around among the packed and corded luggage that stood ready in the bungalow was dispiriting, and he decided that he would ride over to Sarji's house and ask if he could stay there for part of the time. But he was saved the trouble, for on returning to his bungalow he found Sarji himself waiting for him on the verandah, comfortably ensconced in one of the long wicker chairs.
‘I have something for you,’ said Sarji, lifting a languid hand. ‘The second pigeon came back this morning, and as I had business in the city I thought I would play chupprassi (peon) and bring you the message myself.’
Ash snatched the small scrap of paper from him, and unrolling it, read the first lines with a sudden lift of the heart. ‘The Rana is ill of a fatal sickness and will not live for more than a handful of days’, wrote Gobind. ‘This has become clear to all…’
‘Dying!’ thought Ash, and smiled without knowing it a wide, grim, glittering smile that showed his clenched teeth – ‘he may be dead already. She will be a widow – she'll be free.’ He felt no sympathy for the Rana. Or for Shu-shu, who if gossip could be believed had fallen in love with the man, because he could only think of what this would mean for Juli and himself: Juli widowed, and free…
He steadied himself and read on; and all at once the day was no longer hot or the sunlight bright, and there was a constriction about his heart.
‘… and I have now learned that when he dies his wives will become suttee, being burned with him according to the custom. This is already spoken of, for his people follow the old laws and pay no heed to those of the Raj, and unless you can prevent it, it will surely be done. I will strive to keep him alive for as long as possible. But it will not be long. Therefore warn those in authority that they must act swiftly. Manilal will leave for Ahmadabad within the hour. Send more pigeons and…’
The lines of minute writing blurred and wavered before Ash's eyes and he could no longer focus them. He turned blindly away and groping for the back of the nearest chair, gripped it as though to steady himself and spoke in a breathless whisper: ‘No – it's not possible! They couldn't do it!’
The words were barely audible, but the horror in them was unmistakable and it shocked Sarji out of his lounging attitude. He said sharply: ‘It is bad news, then? What is it? What is not possible?’
‘Saha-gamana,’ whispered Ash without turning. ‘Suttee… The Rana is dying, and when he dies they mean to see that his wives are burnt with him. I must see the Commissioner – the Colonel – I must…’
‘Ah, chut!’ said Sarji impatiently. ‘Do not distress yourself, my friend. They will not do it. It is against the law.’
Ash jerked round to glare at him. ‘You do not know Bhithor!’ – his voice had shot up, and Gul Baz, appearing in a doorway with a tray of refreshments, froze at the sound of that hated word – ‘or the Rana. Or –’ He broke off and, turning, leapt down the verandah steps shouting for Kulu Ram to bring Dagobaz back.
A moment later he was again in the saddle and galloping down the drive like a maniac, raising a cloud of dust and grit and leaving Sarji, Gul Baz and Kulu Ram to stare after him in open-mouthed dismay.
38
‘I can only suppose