The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [47]
Ash too was grateful to Hira Lal, and profited from his advice, which he discovered to be sound. He learned to conceal his emotions and to accept punishment stoically. But although he could in time give a convincing impression of indifference, his emotions were still there, unchanged, and all the stronger because having no outlet they must remain hidden and go deeper. Yet it was Hira Lal who made him see that Lalji should be pitied and not disliked, and how infinitely superior his own position was to that of the angry, bewildered little prince.
‘When he oppresses you, it is only to revenge himself for the lack of love that he needs and is not given,’ said Hira Lal. ‘If he had never had love it would matter less, for many grow up without it and do not know what they have missed. But having had it he has learned what it is to lose it. And it is this that makes him unhappy. When he has teased and tormented you and had you unjustly punished, you can run to your mother who will console you and weep over your wounds. But there is no one to whom he can run except that old witch of a nurse, Dunmaya, who does nothing but croak warnings and make him frightened of his own shadow. Be patient with him, Ashok, for you are more fortunate than he.’
Ash strove for patience, though it was uphill work. But a clearer understanding of the heir's predicament undoubtedly helped, and for this he was grateful to Hira Lal.
Lalji was married the following year and enmities were forgotten in the bustle and preparation and festivity. The vast, somnolent palace came alive and hummed like a beehive as painters and decorators swarmed in with their buckets of lime wash and colour, and walls, ceilings and archways that were dusty from neglect received coats of bright paint and gilding. The Nautch-girl, predictably jealous of all the attention bestowed upon her step-son, had alternately sulked and made scenes, and the bride's relatives had created considerable uproar on the very eve of the wedding by suddenly demanding double the previously agreed bride-price, which had so incensed the groom's father that he had come within an ace of calling the whole thing off. But as this would have brought great shame on all concerned, a compromise had been reached after hours of argument, cajolery and hard bargaining, and the preparations had gone forward.
The bride was the eight-year-old daughter of a small hill Rajah, and after the wedding she would return to her parents until she was old enough for the marriage to be consummated; though this made no difference to the lengthy and elaborate ceremonies. It was a long and tedious business and it cost the Rajah a great deal of money that could have been put to better use alleviating the poverty of his subjects or improving the roads in Gulkote – not that such an idea even crossed the mind of either ruler or subjects, and if it had it would have been unanimously rejected by both in favour of the jollity and entertainment offered by a really lavish wedding.
All Gulkote enjoyed the spectacle and relished the gifts of food and money distributed to the poor, and the sight of so much magnificence. Fireworks, bands, processions by torch-light to the city temple, prancing horsemen and plodding elephants draped in glittering brocade and carrying silver howdahs full of bejewelled guests, enthralled the citizens and drained the treasury. Which troubled the Rajah not a whit, though it angered the Nautch-girl, who complained that it was all a great waste of money,