The Far Pavilions (156 page)

‘No,’ said Ash slowly. ‘I too…’

‘Ha, so you also were one of Cavagnari-Sahib's men? I thought as much. He was a great Sirdar, and one who spoke every tongue of this country. But for all his cunning and his great knowledge he did not know the true heart or mind of Afghanistan, else he would not have persisted in coming here. Well, he is dead – as are all whom he brought here with him. It has been a great killing: and soon there will be more… much more. This has been a black day for Kabul, an evil day. Do not linger here too long my friend. It is not a safe place for such as you and I. Can you walk alone from here? Good. Then I will leave you, since I have much to do. No, no, do not thank me.
Par makhe da kha
.’

He turned and strode away across country in the direction of the river, and Ash went on alone and reached Nakshband Khan's house without incident.

The Sirdar had returned half an hour earlier, his friend Wali Mohammed having smuggled him out of the Bala Hissar in disguise as soon as the firing stopped. But Ash did not wish to see him.

There was only one person he wanted to see or speak to just then – though even to her he could not bear to talk of what he had seen that day. Nor did he go to her at once, for the horrified expression of the servant who opened the door to him showed him too clearly that his battered face and blood-drenched clothing suggested a mortally wounded man, and even though Juli would have learned by now that he had been securely locked up and therefore (as far as the Sirdar knew) could have come to no harm, to appear before her in his present state would only add to the terrors that she must have endured during that tragic, interminable day.

Ash sent instead for Gul Baz; who had spent the greater part of the day on guard outside the door leading into the rooms that Nakshband Khan had set aside for the use of his guests, in order to prevent Anjuli-Begum from running through the streets to the Sahib's place of work in the Bala Hissar – which she had attempted to do once it became clear that the Residency was being besieged. In the end reason had prevailed; but Gul Baz was taking no chances, and after that he had remained at his post until the Sirdar returned with the welcome news that he had taken steps to ensure the Sahib's safety. Not that the Sahib's present appearance justified that claim.

But Gul Baz had asked no questions, and done his work so well that by the time Ash went up to see his wife the worst of the damage had been either repaired or hidden, and he was clean again. Nevertheless Anjuli, who had been sitting on a low rush stool by the window and had leapt up joyfully when she heard his step on the stairs, sank back again when she saw his face, her knees weak from shock and her hands at her throat, because it seemed to her that her husband had aged thirty years since he had left her at dawn that morning, and that he had come back to her an old man. So aged and so altered that he might almost have been a stranger…

She gave a little wordless cry and stretched out her arms to him, and Ash came to her, walking like a drunken man, and falling on his knees, hid his face in her lap and wept.

The room darkened about them, and outside it lights began to blossom in the windows of the city and on the steep slopes of the Bala Hissar as throughout Kabul men, women and children finished their evening prayers and sat down to break their fast. For though the Residency still burned and hundreds of men had died that day, the evening meal of Ramadan would still have been prepared; and as the spy Sobhat had predicted, the hungry mob had left the ransacked, blood-soaked shambles that only that morning had been a peaceful compound, to hurry home in droves in order to eat and drink with their families and boast of the deeds they had done that day.

And in the same hour, on the other side of the world, a telegram was being handed in to the Foreign Office in London that read:
All well with the Kabul Embassy
.

At long last Ash sighed and lifted his head, and Anjuli took his ravaged face between her cool palms and bent to kiss him, still without speaking. Only when they were seated side by side on the carpet by the window, her hand in his and her head on his shoulder, did she say quietly: ‘He is dead, then.’ ‘Yes.’

‘And the others?’

‘They too. They are all dead: and I – I had to stand there and watch them die one by one without being able to do anything to help them. My best friend and close on four score of my own Regiment. And others too – so many others…’

Anjuli felt the shudder that racked him and said: ‘Do you wish to tell me of it?’

‘Not now. Some day perhaps. But not now…’

There was a cough outside the door and Gul Baz scratched on the panels requesting permission to enter, and when Anjuli had withdrawn to the inner room he came in bearing lamps and accompanied by two of the household servants. The latter carried trays of cooked food, fruit and glasses of snow-cooled sherbet, and brought a message from their master to say that after the exigencies of the day he thought that his guests would prefer to eat alone that night.

Ash was grateful for the thought, as during Ramadan it was the custom of the house for the men-folk to take the evening meal together, the women doing the same in the Zenana Quarters, and he had not been looking forward to the prospect of being forced to listen to a discussion of the harrowing events of the day; or worse still, having to take part in it. But later on, when the meal was over and Gul Baz came to remove the trays, another servant scratched on the door to ask if Syed Akbar could spare the time to see the Sirdar-Sahib, who greatly desired to speak with him; and though Ash would have excused himself, Gul Baz spoke for him, accepting the invitation and saying that his master would be down shortly.

The servant murmured an acknowledgement and left, and as his footsteps retreated Ash said angrily: ‘Who gave you leave to speak for me? You will now go down yourself to the Sirdar-Sahib and make my apologies to him, because I will see no one tonight: no one, do you hear?’

‘I hear,’ said Gul Baz quietly. ‘But you will have to see him, for what he has to say is of great import, so -’

‘He can say it tomorrow,’ interrupted Ash brusquely. ‘Let there be no more talk. You may go.’

‘We must all go,’ said Gul Baz grimly. ‘You and the Memsahib, and my-elf also. And we must go tonight.’

‘We…? What talk is this? I do not understand. Who says so?’

‘The whole household,’ said Gul Baz, ‘the women-folk more loudly than the rest. And because they will put great pressure upon him, the Sirdar-Bahadur may have no remedy but to warn you of it when he sees you tonight. Of that I was sure even before you returned here, for I spoke with certain servants of the Sirdar's friend, Wali Mohammed Khan, with whom he took refuge today when they brought him back to this house. Since then I have listened to much more talk, and learned many things that you as yet do not know. Will you hear them?’

Ash stared at him for a long moment, and then, motioning him to sit, sat down himself on Anjuli's rush stool to listen, while Gul Baz hunkered down on the floor and began to speak. According to Gul Baz, Wali Mohammed Khan had thought along the same lines as the spy Sohbat, and decided that his friend's best chance of leaving the Bala Hissar and reaching his own house in safety lay in going while the mob were engaged in looting the Residency. He had lost no time in arranging it and had, apparently, been only too anxious to get rid of his guest…

‘Being greatly afraid,’ said Gul Baz, ‘that once the killing and looting is done, many who took part in that will turn to searching for fugitives, since it is already being said that two sepoys who were caught up in the fighting and unable to get back to their fellows were saved from death by friends among the mob, and are now in hiding in the city – or perchance in the Bala Hissar itself. There is also another sepoy who is known to have gone into the Great Bazaar to buy
atta
before the fight began, and could not return, as well as the three sowars who rode out with the grass-cutters. This the servants of Wali Mohammed Khan told us when they brought our Sirdar back in disguise after the fighting at the Residency Koti was over. And hearing it, the folk in this house also became afraid. They fear that tomorrow the mob will turn to searching for these fugitives and attacking anyone whom they suspect of harbouring them or of being a “Cavagnari-ite”. And that the Sirdar-Bahadur's life may be endangered, because he once served with the Guides. Wherefore they have urged him to leave at once for his house in Aoshar, and remain there until this trouble is past. This he has agreed to do, for he was recognized and sorely mishandled this morning.’

‘I know. I saw him,’ said Ash; ‘and I think he does right to go. But why us?’

‘His household insist that he must send you and your Memsahib away now – tonight. For they say that if men should come here asking questions and demanding to search the house, they will become suspicious when they find strangers who cannot give a good account of themselves – such as a man who is not of Kabul and who may well be a spy, and a woman who claims to be Turkish. Foreigners…’

‘Dear God,’ whispered Ash. ‘Even here!’

Gul Baz shrugged and spread out his hands: ‘Sahib, most men and all women can be hard and cruel when their homes and families are threatened. Also the ignorant everywhere are suspicious of strangers or those who in any way differ from themselves.’

‘That I have already learned to my cost,’ retorted Ash bitterly. ‘But I did not think that the Sirdar-Sahib would do this to me.’

‘He will not,’ said Gul Baz. ‘He has said that the laws of hospitality are sacred, and he will not break them. He has shut his ears and refused to listen to the appeals and arguments of his family and his servants.’

‘Then why -’ began Ash, and stopped. ‘Yes. Yes, I see. You did right to tell me. The Sirdar-Sahib has been too good a friend to me and mine to be repaid in this fashion. And his people are right: our presence in this house could endanger them all. I will see him now and tell him that I think it best for us to leave at once… for our own safety. No need to let him know that you have told me anything.’

‘So I thought,’ nodded Gul Baz; and came to his feet: ‘I will go now and make arrangements.’ He salaamed and withdrew.

Ash heard the door of the inner room open and turned to see Anjuli standing on the threshhold.

‘You heard,’ he said.

It was not a question, but she nodded and came to him, and he rose and took her in his arms, and looking down into her face thought how beautiful she was: more beautiful than ever tonight, for the anxiety and strain that of late he had seen too often in her face had gone, and her candid eyes were serene and unclouded. The lamplight made her skin glow pale gold and the smile on her lovely mouth turned his heart over. He bent his head and kissed it, and after a while he said: ‘You are not afraid, Larla?’

‘To leave Kabul? How could I be? I shall be with you. It has been Kabul and its citadel that I have been afraid of. And after what has taken place today, you are free to go – and must be happy to do so.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Ash slowly, ‘– I had not thought of that… I 'm free… I can go now. But – but what Gul Baz said was true: people everywhere are suspicious of strangers and hostile towards anyone different from themselves, and we two are both strangers, Larla. My people wouldn't accept you because you're both Indian and half-caste, while your people wouldn't accept me because I'm not a Hindu and therefore an outcaste. As for the Mussulmans, to them we are “Unbelievers”… Kafirs -’

‘I know, my love. Yet many of different faiths have shown us great kindness.’

‘Kindness, yes. But they haven't accepted us as one of themselves. Oh dear God, I'm so sick of it all – of intolerance and prejudice and… If only there were somewhere we could go where we could just live quietly and be happy, and not be hedged about by rules and trivial, ancient tribal taboos that mustn't be broken. Somewhere where it wouldn't matter who we were or what gods we worshipped or didn't worship, as long as we harmed no one: and were kind, and didn't try to force everyone else into our own mould. There ought to be somewhere like that – somewhere where we can just be ourselves. Where shall we go, Larla?

‘To the valley, where else?’ said Anjuli.

‘The
valley
?’

‘Your mother's valley. The one you used to tell me about, where we were going to build a house and plant fruit trees and keep a goat and a donkey. You cannot have forgotten! I have not.’

‘But my Heart, that was only a story. Or… or I think it may have been. I used to believe it was true and that my mother knew where it was; but afterwards I wasn't so sure: and now I think it was only a tale…’

‘What does that matter?’ asked Juli. ‘We can make it come true. There must be hundreds of lost valleys among the mountains: thousands. Valleys with streams running through them that would grind our corn, and where we could plant fruit trees and keep goats and build a house. We have only to look, that is all –’ and for the first time in several weeks she laughed; that rare, enchanting laugh that Ash had not heard since the day the British Mission came to Kabul. But he did not smile in reply. He said slowly: ‘That's true, but… it would be a hard life. Snow and ice in the winter, and –’