The Far Pavilions (63 page)

It had been a good plan, based on a sound knowledge of Jhoti's character and the assumption that no one was going to believe that a man who helped him to escape to his sister's camp, and accompanied him on the venture, could be anything but a sympathizer and a partisan. That last provided an alibi for Biju Ram, who would appear as an ally of the Heir Apparent (and by inference no friend of the Maharajah's), which would serve to clear him of all suspicion when the heir met with a fatal accident.

The details of the plan had obviously been thought out carefully, and Biju Ram would have had helpers – two at least, and possibly three. Ash thought it unlikely that there would have been more than that, for to involve too many would mean increasing the risk of discovery. Mohun and Pran Krishna, and perhaps Sen Gupta, he decided, making a mental selection from among the members of Jhoti's suite. The first two certainly, the latter probably. And the personal servants of all three would be open to bribery and therefore equally suspect.

Pran Krishna was a particular crony of Biju Ram's, and had always made a great show of admiring and sympathizing with their young master. He was also a superlative horseman, and had been a member of the hawking party on the day that Jhoti's saddle had been tampered with. He if anyone would have known how to play that trick; and had it succeeded he would have stood a good chance of being able to recover the evidence before anyone else thought to examine the saddle, for with Jhoti dead there would have been a good deal of confusion, and attention would have been centred on the boy and not the horse.

Ash remembered the conversation he had overheard on that afternoon, and realized now that far from dissuading Jhoti from going off to ride alone, Biju Ram had actually been using his knowledge of the child's character to goad him into doing so. And if Jhoti had not come back it would have been Biju Ram who would have raised the alarm and made a great to-do over it. He and Pran Krishna, with everyone else, would have galloped off to search for the boy, and had Jhoti been found dead, Biju Ram would have displayed extravagant grief and blamed the syce, while Pran Krishna disposed of the evidence under pretence of examining the saddle.

Few plans, however, are wholly water-tight, and this one was no exception; for though Jhoti could hardly avoid being thrown, he might only be injured and not killed. But that, too, had almost certainly been taken into account, and if his injuries alone had not been fatal, he could easily have been assisted to succumb to them by a surreptitious overdose of opium, or some similar draught that would have produced coma and death – something that, in the circumstances, was only to be expected and would therefore have aroused no suspicion. One way or another it stood a good chance of success – and then Ash had ruined everything by seeing the boy ride off alone, and not only deciding to follow him, but telling Mulraj, who had gone too. No wonder Biju Ram had been angry enough to turn his attentions to removing this meddler.

Both Nandu and Biju Ram must have known from the beginning that a British officer would be accompanying the camp to Bhithor, and they had probably considered it an excellent arrangement, because the presence of a Sahib would be a guarantee that any unfortunate accident that befell the Heir Apparent would be accepted by the authorities as just that and no more. And as their experience of Sahibs was small, they had probably expected some young and gullible junior officer with a limited knowledge of the languages and customs of the country, who would be easy to hoodwink.

But Pelham-Sahib had not resembled this comfortable picture, and to make matters worse he had interfered with a very well-laid plan, and followed it up by making friends with the intended victim and showing far too much interest in the boy's welfare. At this rate he might well develop into a serious stumbling block, and Biju Ram must have decided early on that it would be advisable to get rid of him, but only safe to do so when the camp had left British India and was in a part of the country where there were no towns large enough to warrant the presence of a British official, or anyone who might inquire too closely – or too soon – into an accident that involved the death of a Sahib. For it would, of course, be an accident.

Biju Ram had probably thought of several that might serve, and whenever the camp was in suitable territory had kept watch on this meddling
Angrezi
, in the hope of being presented with the right opportunity for putting one of them into practice. When it had come, he had seen it and seized it with frightening swiftness, and had Ash been found shot with his own rifle, then clearly he must have stumbled or been handling it carelessly and shot himself by mistake… And since Biju Ram's servants would not have been familiar with such a weapon,
Bichchhu
the scorpion would have had to play murderer himself.

Ash got up and went to stand in the open door of the tent and stare out into the night. But there were too many patches of shadow out there and it was impossible to tell if one of them concealed a watcher, though he himself must present an admirable target, outlined against the yellow lamp-light. Not that he was disturbed by that, for he was convinced that the last thing Biju Ram and his fellow-conspirators desired was to attract the attention of the British authorities: and the one thing that would attract an embarrassing amount of it would be the murder of a British officer. It must be an accident or nothing. And as another one had almost certainly been planned, he, Ash, would have to move very quickly indeed if he wished to reach Bhithor alive. But this time he must make certain that he was right and not merely guessing again. It was not enough to be sure in his own mind. He had been sure before; and wrongly so.

His gaze fell on the crumpled rag that he had thrown out of the tent door as something that need no longer be hidden, and presently he went out and picked it up, for he had suddenly thought of a use for it.

26

The start of the next day's march had been unduly delayed owing to an argument between a carter and the mahout of a baggage elephant over a redistribution of loads. A trivial matter, but tempers were short and both had attracted vociferous supporters, until eventually half the bullock-drivers and all the mahouts were involved in an exchange of insults that led, inevitably, to blows.

By the time the combatants had been separated and the dispute settled, a full two hours had been lost and it was plain that the next camping ground would not be reached until well after mid-day – an unpleasant prospect in that weather.

Their route that day followed a dry water-course that wound between high tussocks of grass, an occasional thorn tree and numerous tall ant-castles; and although the sun was still below the horizon when they at last set out, the freshness had already left the morning air and the day promised to be even hotter than the previous one. Sand rose in choking clouds from under the hooves of horses and bullocks, the wheels of carts and the plodding feet of men and elephants, and Shushila wept and complained until Jhoti, who was sharing his sister's
ruth,
lost his temper and slapped her.

‘Anyone would think you are the only one who is hot and uncomfortable,’ stormed Jhoti. ‘Well, you're not! And if you think I am going to travel one more yard in this silly box with a whimpering ninny who makes more fuss than a sick goat, you're wrong.’ With which he scrambled out into the dust, and ignoring all entreaties to return, sent for his horse and insisted on riding the rest of the way.

The slap and his sudden departure had a salutary effect upon Shushila, who was apt to react favourably to any display of male violence; and the incident also proved unexpectedly helpful to Ash, who, having gone to considerable trouble to avoid Biju Ram's society during the past weeks, was now wondering how to reverse the process without making it appear contrived.

Jhoti's sudden appearance on horseback solved this problem, because his entourage, who had of late been travelling in covered carts, were forced to abandon them in order to ride in attendance on their young master; and when he would have dismissed them, saying that he did not need them as he would be riding with the Sahib and Mulraj, Ash had intervened with the suggestion that it might be useful if they stayed with him, as later on they could ride ahead to fetch food and drink. There being no chance of making camp in time for the mid-day meal, they would all have to eat by the wayside or not at all.

For once Jhoti had not argued, and they rode on together in a group, so that for the first time since the start of their journey Ash spent several hours in the company of Biju Ram, and even managed to speak to the man as if they were on easy terms with one another. Conversation had been desultory as the temperature did not encourage talk, but from Ash's point of view the situation could not have been bettered, as it had come about naturally and with no appearance of being contrived; and later on he had found it a simple matter to fall back well behind the tail of the procession, on the excuse that it was better to arrive last when all the tents had been pitched and the dust allowed to settle. But although this had meant keeping to a walk, no one – not even the horses – was feeling energetic, and they had all been content to amble along, staying well out of range of the dust-cloud raised by the shuffling marchers ahead.

The sun had been almost directly overhead before they found a suitable spot in which to stop for a meal, and Mohan and Biju Ram had ridden off to arrange for food to be brought to them. On their return they had reported that the camp site lay less than a mile ahead, and as the vanguard had reached it some time ago, most of the tents were already pitched and the remainder should be up within an hour.

Ash had hoped for a wind, but as luck would have it, that day the
louh
did not blow and the air was still; which in the long term might be no bad thing, though it meant that he would have to take extra care not to make the action he had planned appear contrived. Its success depended on an appearance of casualness, and it was just as important that the thing should look spontaneous as that Biju Ram should be watching; and almost equally important that the spot chosen should be easily recognizable and not too far from the camp – or too near, either.

He waited until the meal was over and they moved on again, for he could see, not too far ahead, a lone palm tree that rose above the waste of dusty ground and scattered grass clumps, and provided the landmark he needed. Beyond it, less than a mile away as the crow flies, a cloud of dust showed where the tents were rising, and soon they would be rejoining the camp. It was now or never –

Ash took a deep breath, and turned to Kaka-ji with a question about Karidkote that he knew would lead to general conversation and ensure that Biju Ram was paying attention. Then as they came abreast of the palm tree he removed his pith helmet, and remarking on the excessive heat, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and began to mop the sweat off his neck and forehead. Only it was not a handkerchief. It was a torn and crumpled piece of material that had been part of an elegant grey
achkan
and was now stained with dark brown blotches. Ash drew attention to the fact by stopping in mid-sentence to look at it in blank surprise.

His expression suggested that he had never seen the thing before and could not understand how it had got there, and he stared at it, frowning, sniffed it and made a face of disgust, and without troubling to inspect it further, rolled it into a ball and tossed it away among the scattered clumps of pampas grass.

He did not even glance at Biju Ram until he had finished the sentence and hunted through his pockets for the conventional square of white linen that he had (supposedly) expected to find. Discovering this in an inner pocket of his riding coat, he dabbed his forehead with it, draped it over the back of his helmet to keep the sun off his neck, and continued the conversation, taking particular care to include Biju Ram in it so that there would be no chance of his turning back to retrieve that tattered piece of cloth before they reached the camp. Once there, it would be easy enough to see that he did not go in search of it too soon, for Ash had instructed Gul Baz to site his tent on this side of the perimeter, and facing this way, so that if Biju Ram went back to look for his late property by daylight he would have to do so in full view of Ash, who intended to sit out under an awning, ostensibly scanning the plain for black-buck with a pair of field glasses. Under these circumstances, it was unlikely that Biju Ram would risk it. Yet one thing at least was certain. Provided he had recognized that piece of material (and he had certainly been given every opportunity to do so) he would go back to look for it.

They reached the outskirts of the camp some fifteen minutes later, and the rest of the day passed uneventfully. The heat discouraged any unnecessary form of activity, and men and animals sought what shade they could find and drowsed away the slow hours until the sun was low in the sky and the temperature became more tolerable. Ash had kept a desultory watch on the plain where the solitary palm tree showed small as a toothpick against the bleached sky, but except that the landscape quivered continually to the waves of heat, nothing alive moved there. And when at length the camp aroused itself and set about its evening chores, the grass-cutters did not go that way, but avoiding the well-trodden route along which they had marched that morning, fanned out to left and right where the grass would be less thickly smothered in dust and sand.

As usual Ash ate in the open, though this evening he did not sit out late, but moved back into his tent as soon as the first stars showed, and having dismissed Gul Baz, waited until darkness fell and then turned out his lamp so that anyone who might happen to be interested in his movements would imagine that he had retired to bed. He had plenty of time at his disposal, for the moon was on the wane and would not be rising for another hour and more, but he was taking no chances. He preferred to be on the ground too early rather than risk being late, and the glass of the hurricane lamp had barely had time to cool before he slid out under the side of his tent, and lying flat on his stomach, wriggled across the open to the shelter of the grass clumps with a silence and celerity that even Malik Shah – who had taught him that trick – could not have bettered. Behind him the glow and glitter of lamps, torches and camp fires lit up the sky and turned night into day, but the plain ahead was a chartless sea of shadow dotted with rustling islands of grass, and even the nearest
kikar
trees were barely visible against the stars.

He paused for a while to make sure that he had not been seen or followed, and then set off into the darkness, guided by the line of the dry water-course whose sandy bed showed white in the starlight. The track he had ridden along earlier that day ran parallel to it, and though its windings added half as much again to the scant crow-flight mile that separated him from the spot where he had discarded the torn half of Biju Ram's
achkan,
it was easy to follow. So easy that almost before he knew it the dark column of the palm tree was looming up against the star-strewn sky.

Leaving the track he walked towards it, and once there, squatted down native-fashion to wait. The moon would not be up for well over half an hour, and as Biju Ram was unlikely to leave the camp until there was enough light to see by (and once started would take at least forty-five minutes to cover the distance) the wait promised to be a long one.

Ash had learned patience – painfully –but he would never find it easy to practise, and tonight proved to be no exception. For although he had been careful to memorize the place where he had thrown that piece of material, and would have said that he knew to within a yard or two where it lay, the islands of grass seemed to have taken on different shapes in the starlight, so that now he was less sure. And there was no way of telling whether it was still there or if a hawk or a prowling jackal had carried it away, and no point in searching for it in the darkness. If it was there Biju Ram would find it soon enough, while if it had gone it would not matter, because the mere fact that he had come in search of it would be proof enough. But when at last the moon came up over the plain he saw the thing itself, lying near a clump of pampas grass some ten paces to his left.

The moonlight also betrayed his own position, for now the palm tree no longer provided any shelter, and he rose and went over to the pampas grass, and having trodden out a rough-and-ready hide from where he could watch unseen, settled down once more to wait.

It proved to be an uncomfortable hiding place, as any unguarded movement made the grass rustle and the night was so still that the smallest sound was sharply audible. Yet the silence was to his advantage, for it meant that he would be warned of Biju Ram's approach long before he came in sight. But as the slow hours crawled by and nothing stirred, Ash began to wonder if he had made a mistake, not as to the ownership of the grey coat - he knew it to be one of Biju Ram's but in the manner in which he had discarded it. Had he thrown it away too quickly and without allowing enough time for it to be recognized? Or so casually that the gesture had not even attracted a disinterested glance? Or had he overplayed the scene, so it rang false…?

Biju Ram was no fool, and if he suspected a trap he would take no chances, no matter how alluring the bait. On the other hand, if he had been deceived by that performance this morning and accepted it at its face value, then nothing would keep him away; nor would he send a deputy or bring anyone with him. He would come alone or not at all. Yet by now the moon had been up for well over two hours and still there was no sign of him and no sound of anyone approaching. If he failed to appear it might well mean that he suspected a trap, in which case the likelihood of walking into an ambush on the way back to camp could not be disregarded.

Ash stirred restlessly and was tempted to abandon the vigil and return to his tent by a circuitous route, and go to bed. It must have been close on one o'clock by then, and in little more than three hours' time the camp would be astir in preparation for another early start. Besides it was not as if he needed any further proof that it was Biju Ram who had fired at him and whose coat had torn in his hands as they struggled together in the dark. Or, for that matter, that it was Biju Ram, on behalf of the
Nautch-girl,
who had engineered the disappearance of Hira Lal and the death of Lalji, and was now, at the bidding of a new master, striving to dispose of Jhoti as well. There was surely no need for anything more, and this quixotic conviction that he must, in all fairness, obtain at least one concrete piece of evidence to support his suspicions before taking any action, was absurd: what could it do but confirm what he knew already? And what had fairness ever had to do with Biju Ram?

‘Nothing,’ decided Ash angrily.
‘Nothing’
…

Yet he knew that he could not leave until Biju Ram came. Or did not come. The conviction might be quixotic, but it was there and he could not free himself from it. The past was too strong for him. Hilary and Akbar Khan had, between them, sown better than they knew when they had impressed upon a small boy that the one unforgivable sin was injustice, and that he must at all costs be fair. And the very laws of England held that any accused person is presumed to be innocent until he is proven guilty.