The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [387]
Ten minutes later, when his host appeared in the doorway, Ash was so deep in thought that he did not even hear the clash of the bead curtain.
Sarji came in with apologies for keeping his guest waiting, but something in Ash's face checked the polite phrases that were on his tongue, and he said sharply: ‘Kia hogia, bhai?’
Ash looked up, startled, and coming to his feet said: ‘Nothing has happened – as yet. But it is necessary that I go to Bhithor, and I have come to ask for your help because I cannot go as I am. I must go in disguise – and as quickly as possible. I need a guide who knows the secret ways through the jungles and across the hills. Will you lend me your shikari, Bukta?’
‘Of course,’ Sarji said promptly. ‘When do we start?’
‘We? Oh no, Sarji! This is not a shooting trip. This is serious.’
‘I know that. The look on your face told me so as soon as I came in. Besides, if you cannot enter Bhithor except in disguise, then it can only mean that it is dangerous for you to go there at all. Very dangerous.’
Ash shrugged impatiently and did not answer, and Sarji said thoughtfully: ‘I never asked you any questions about Bhithor, because it seemed to me that you did not wish to speak of it. But ever since you asked me to send Bukta to guide some hakim who wished to go there – and later, over the matter of the pigeons – I admit I have often wondered. You do not have to tell me anything you do not wish, but if you go into danger, then I will go with you; two swords being better than one. Or do you perhaps not trust me to keep a still tongue?’
Ash said irritably: ‘Don't talk nonsense, Sarji. You know it is not that. It is only… well, this is something that concerns no one but myself and… and it is not a thing that I would wish to speak of to anyone. But you have already been of great help to me; and now again you are willing to help, and without question. I am more than grateful for that, and it is only fair that you should have some explanation of… of what is toward.’
‘Do not tell me anything you would rather not,’ said Sarji quickly. ‘It will make no difference.’
‘I wonder? Perhaps not. But then again it is just possible that it might, so I think it may be better for you to know what errand I go on before you decide whether to help me or not, since it touches upon a custom that your people have honoured for many centuries. Can anyone overhear us?’
Sarji's eyebrows lifted, but he said briefly: ‘Not if we walk outside among the trees.’ He led the way into a garden where roses, jasmine and canna lilies wilted in the heat, and here, safely out of earshot of any loitering servant, listened to the tale of the two princesses of Karidkote whom a young British officer had been detailed to escort to their wedding in Bhithor; of the tribulation and treachery they had encountered on arrival, and the terrible fate that threatened them now.
The story was incomplete and to some extent inaccurate. Ash saw no reason to mention his previous connection with the State of Karidkote, and as he had no intention of disclosing his own involvement with the elder princess, he could not give his main reason for returning to Bhithor, only the secondary one – his need to assure himself that steps were being taken to guard against the Rana's wives becoming suttees, if and when the Rana died; which was something that Sarji, as a Hindu, might feel disinclined to interfere with, for it was a custom hallowed by centuries of use, and one that even now would probably be regarded as a meritorious act by his priests and the great majority of his people.
Apart from these omissions the tale he told was accurate, and included an account of his abortive interviews with Colonel Pomfret, the Commissioner and the Superintendent of Police, and of the telegrams that had been sent and not answered:
‘So you see why I have to go myself,’ said Ash in conclusion. ‘I cannot just sit here and hope for the best when I know only too