The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [394]
This being settled and the first day's rent paid over to him, he took no further interest in them, and fortunately for his lodgers, the members of his household were to prove equally incurious. These consisted of three women (a humble, silent wife, an equally silent mother-in-law and an ancient servant) and his only son, a simple-minded youth who helped in the shop, and was apparently dumb, for neither Ash nor Sarji ever heard him speak.
All in all, they had good reason to be grateful to the anonymous Samaritan who had chanced to hear them being refused lodging in another house and advised them to try this one, for they could not have been better suited. Their landlord did not trouble to ask where they came from or what business had brought them to Bhithor, and plainly did not care. Also – which was equally plain and far more important – neither he nor his family were addicted to gossiping with their neighbours.
‘Surely the gods were with us when they brought us to this place,’ said Sarji, who had anticipated having to answer a great many searching questions. ‘These folk are not friendly, but they do not seem to me as bad as the Hakim's servant made out that all Bhithoris were. They are at least harmless.’
‘As long as we pay them,’ observed Ash dryly. ‘But do not make the mistake of thinking that because they are old and blind and wholly uninterested in us, they are typical of the inhabitants of this city. They are not; and you would do well to remember that and be always upon your guard when you go abroad. We cannot afford to attract attention.’
During the next few days, except for an hour each morning and evening when they exercised the horses, they spent their time strolling about the city, looking and listening and gleaning what information they could from the talk in the bazaars and wine shops. To those who asked, they gave the tale that had been agreed upon: that they were members of a party travelling to Mount Abu, who had become separated from their companions, and in endeavouring to overtake them had lost their way among the hills. Faced with the prospect of dying with thirst, they had been overjoyed at finding themselves in such a salubrious and hospitable spot as this, and intended to remain here for a few days in order' to recover from their ordeal and rest their horses.
The story apparently sounded feasible, for it had been accepted without question. But if this was a weight off Ash's mind, it was the only one, because those who heard the tale had all made the same comment: that he would have to resign himself to staying longer than a few days, as only a week ago an edict had gone out forbidding anyone to leave the state until further notice – this by order of the Diwan and the council, acting on behalf of the Rana, who was ‘temporarily indisposed’. ‘So it may be many days before you will be free to continue your journey to Mount Abu; perhaps a month; or even more…’
‘But why?’ Ash had asked, disquieted by this news. ‘For what reason?’
The answer had invariably been either a shrug, or the classic reply of those who accept every dictate of Government or fate as something beyond comprehension: ‘Who knows?’ But one man, who had been listening while a vendor of fruit served Ash with a seer of loquats and gave him this familiar answer, had been more outspoken.
According to this citizen, the reason was perfectly obvious to anyone but a donkey. The Diwan (and everyone else in Bhithor) knew that the Rana was dying, and had no wish for the news to reach the ears of some officious feringhi, who might think it necessary to stir up trouble with the authorities and start interfering with matters of purely domestic interest. Therefore the Diwan had very properly ‘barred the gates of the state’, to ensure