The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [555]
In that moment of crisis his mind turned to Juli as gratefully as a man turns to a glowing fire in a cold room, holding out his hands to its comforting warmth. And as the first flush of the morning lit the snows on the Safed Koh, he said his own prayers, the same that he had said facing towards the Dur Khaima when Zarin Khan was a magnificent youth in Gulkote and he himself an insignificant little Hindu boy in the service of the Yuveraj: ‘Thou art everywhere, yet I worship thee here… Thou needest no praise, yet I offer thee these prayers…’
He prayed too for Juli, that she might be shielded from all harm and that he might be permitted to return to her in safety. And for Wally and Zarin, and the repose of the soul of Wigram Battye and all those who had died in the hills near Fatehabad and in the ambush last night. There was no food on the raft, so he could make no offerings: which was, he reflected wryly, just as well, for Zarin would certainly have recognized it as a Hindu rite and been even more displeased.
Zarin finished his prayers, and after they had rested a while, Ash took over the pole and thrust off from the bank. As the sun rose and the morning mists smoked off the river, they saw ahead of them the mud walls of Michini glow gold as the bright rays caught them, and presently they landed and bought food, and arranged for a man to ride to Mardan with a message warning of their arrival and asking that arrangements should be made to meet the raft at Nowshera and escort the body of Major Battye by road to the cantonment.
They saw the messenger leave, and having eaten, went on themselves by river: Ash poling their cumbersome craft and its grim burden forward through the pitiless, shadeless heat of June, while Zarin slept the sleep of utter exhaustion.
It has been an appalling day, even though the river now ran smooth and swiftly between low sandbanks and through quiet country. The sun beat down on his head and shoulders like a red-hot hammer, and with each hour the stench from the coffin became more pervasive and intolerable. But all things come to an end, and as twilight fell they reached the bridge of boats at Nowshera, and saw Wally with an escort of Guides Cavalry drawn up on the road, waiting to take Wigram home to Mardan.
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Not having known that Ash was on the raft, Wally failed to recognize him in the dusk, and there had been no opportunity for speech until much later, for as the condition of the body made it necessary to re-bury it immediately, the coffin had been hurried to the outskirts of Mardan in a brake, where it had been transferred to a gun-carriage, and the funeral had taken place that night by torchlight.
Only when the prayers for the dead had been recited, the Last Post sounded and the volleys fired above the mound of raw earth that marked Wigram's final resting place, and when the mourners had gone back to their quarters leaving the little cemetery to the moonlit silence and the black shadows, had Ash been able to see Wally alone.
He had hoped to see the Commandant first, but as Colonel Jenkins was playing host to two senior Frontier Force officers, friends of Wigram's who had ridden over from Risalpur for the funeral and were staying the night, that interview would have to be postponed until sometime next day; so Zarin had smuggled him into Wally's rooms in the fort instead.
Wally had been delighted to see Ash, but the emotional strain of Wigram's second funeral had subdued his normally good spirits and he was in no mood to listen to any criticism of the proposed British Mission to Afghanistan, let alone consider refusing command of the Escort – supposing he were offered it, which he had not been; or at least, not officially. At the moment it was only a rumour, though everyone, according to Wally, was agreed that Cavagnari would be the best possible choice for Envoy, if and when a Mission were sent to Kabul. ‘I fancy he must have received a pretty