The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [62]
Ash knelt on the stony ground and bowed to them for the last time, bending until his forehead touched the dust, as Koda Dad bent when he prayed to Allah. Then, rising, he shouldered his bundle again and set off across the moonlit country towards the grove of chenars beyond the city.
Sita had not failed him: and neither had Hira Lal. A sturdy country-bred horse was tethered among the shadows where Sita waited anxiously, clutching a heavy bundle containing the food and clothing for the journey that she had purchased that afternoon in the bazaars. There was a man in charge of the horse, a stranger who gave no name but put a small packet into Ash's hand, saying that it was from Hira Lal.
‘He said you might need money and this should help you on your way. The mare is a better animal than she looks,’ added the stranger, tightening the girths. ‘She will cover many miles a day and you may keep her to a trot for two or three hours at a stretch, for she has drawn a ghari* and does not tire easily. Your best road is that way -’ He pointed with a lean forefinger and then bent to draw a rough map in the moonlit patch of dust: ‘Thus. There is no bridge over the river, and the main ferry will be too dangerous, but there is a small one here – to the southward – that is used only by a few farming folk. But even after you have crossed, be careful, for Hira Lal says that the Rani may well pursue you beyond the borders of Gulkote. May the Gods protect you. Ride swiftly' – and as Ash gathered up the reins he sent the horse forward with a slap on its rump.
It was fortunate that Ash not only possessed a good eye for country but had, in the old days, ridden out so frequently on hunting and hawking expeditions with the Rajah, Lalji or Koda Dad. Otherwise he would certainly have lost his way a dozen times before the night was out. But even by moonlight he had been able to follow the route roughly laid out for him by the man who had waited for him among the chenars by Lal Beg's tomb, and when the sky lightened to the dawn he recognized a circle of rocks on a hillside from where he had once seen the Rajah shoot a leopard, and knew that he was on the right road.
The drama and excitement of the previous day had exhausted Sita, and she slept soundly, her head against Ash's shoulder, and tied to him by a length of pagri (turban) cloth that prevented her from falling. When at last she awoke, aroused by the early sunlight, they could glimpse the river at the far end of a little stony valley between the hills, and Sita had insisted that they eat their morning meal before approaching the ferry, for to appear too early and too eager would only arouse curiosity. ‘And because inquiries will soon be made as to all those who have passed this way, we will dress you as a woman, my son,’ said Sita. ‘Those who come seeking us will ask for a woman and a boy on foot, not two women on horseback.’
Draped in one of Sita's saris and decked with a few cheap brass ornaments, Ash made a very good girl, and Sita warned him to keep his head modestly bent and the sari pulled well forward to hide his face, and to leave the talking to her. The horse had been the only difficulty, for it did not fancy entering the leaky flat-bottomed boat that provided the sole means of crossing the river, and at first the ferryman had demanded an exorbitant sum for transporting it. But though Hira Lal's packet had proved to contain the sum of five rupees in copper and silver coins, Sita had no intention of wasting money and still less of owning to such wealth, and she haggled with the man until the matter had been settled to the satisfaction of both, and the horse coaxed on board.
‘Now we are safe,’ breathed Sita, looking back from the