The Splendor Of Silence (54 page)

--Al Carthill, The Lost Dominion, 1924

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wo hours after Kiran had been brought home and put to bed, Mila opened the door to Sam's room and stood there, awash in tears. Sam, seated on the floor, leaning against his bed, his clothes and his guns spread out around him, leapt up and went to her.

He shut the door and took her to an armchair, where he sat down himself and then pulled her onto his lap. "I'm sorry," he said. "What can I say or do that will make all of this better? I have wanted to come to you, but did not know how, did not know where to find you."

She could not cry anymore. Mila had spent the whole day in tears, unable to check them even for a little while, and now she was depleted of all energy. And all through the day she had wondered where Sam was, how she could approach him, how to find the shelter of his arms, not knowing anything about his earlier conversation with her father. Even had she known, it would not have mattered, for Mila had always been able to sway her father to her convictions. But now, so much had changed in th
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pace of just one day. Her heart skipped every third beat, in so much pain that she could feel it fill her ribs and rub raw against them. And Sam heard that flutter too, or rather he sensed it against his own skin. He held her face in his hands and licked away her tears until her face was wet with his saliva.

She smiled then for the first time in many, many hours. Mila bent and ran her tongue and her teeth over Sam's face as though her mouth were learning the aroma of his skin and the taste of the bones that jutted beneath his eyes. She undid his shirt and his pants, took off her own sari, in such a hurry that she would not let him touch her until she was naked and straddling him. Then she bent to take his mouth with hers and kissed him, slowly, as they made love. She had not undone her hair, and even though she held Sam's arms against the side of the chair, he dragged his arm away so that he could reach behind her head and pull her hair free until it covered them both.

Against her mouth he said, "I want to remember you like this."

Mila laid her head against his chest. "How long before I see you again, Sam?"

He was quiet, stroking her hair. "Come away with me now."

Mila raised herself and looked down upon him. "Right away? Where will we go? What will we do?"

"We can marry once we get to Delhi. And then we'll work things out. Let me take you away from here, from all this ugliness. Come with me. Wait " He rose from the armchair, still carrying her in his arms, and went to the bed where a little pile of gold glistened against the cool green sheets. Sam returned to the chair, sat down, settled her in his lap again, and opened his fist to reveal the gold chain he had bought for her in the bazaar earlier in the afternoon.

"What is it?" she asked in wonder, lifting one edge of the thin, glittering gold chain with her index finger and thumb and unraveling its length all along her arm.

"I do not know," Sam said. "It's too long to fit around your neck, but you could wear it around your waist," and so saying he threaded the chain around her slender waist three times, until the gold glowed against her warm skin. "Come with me today, my darling."

She rose from his embrace and put on her clothes, first her underwear, then her petticoat and blouse, and then the blue chiffon sari still smudged with Ashok's blood. She did not look at Sam as she did all of this but ben
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er head instead, as though concentrating on her dressing. Sam watched her intently. He saw that Mila was exhausted, the skin under her eyes bruised from lack of sleep; a cave of emptiness seemed to have grown inside her after the events of the day and he ached to be able to bring back some laughter within her. He had not been able to help her family or her in any way at all; it was even as though they did not want him around. He sat back in the chair and waited for her to speak again.

She said, "I cannot come right now I have to make preparations." "You will never come unless you come now."

"I will," she said, standing in front of him, her hands clasped at her waist. "I need to say good-bye. I will leave in two hours from now and come with Sayyid. I will meet you at Chetak's tomb."

"Then," Sam said, "
I
will have to be content with that." He cradled her in his arms for a long while, inhaling the scent of her, listening to the thumping of her heart. Sam let her go and Mila went without a glance backward, for they both knew that they would see each other again--there was no need for a good-bye here.

Sam threw his clothes into his holdall, dressed quickly, and slipped the Colt into his holster. He sat for ten minutes, watching as the hands of his wristwatch moved to form eleven o'clock, and then he went out into the back balcony and stayed against the wall, where he could not be seen, until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Vimal was supposed to have gone back with him to the field punishment center, but he was dead now. Sam had mourned his loss all afternoon, for even though there had been something he had not liked about him (perhaps just the fact that Mila had not liked him), he had felt a great deal of sadness about the loss of such beauty, such vim, such a lust for life and for his fellow human beings. The students at the Lal Bazaar had been devastated; they had permeated the house there until there was no standing space either within the building or in the compound outside. A makeshift bier had been erected in the center of the front yard, an empty bier to denote Vimal's absence from amongst them. And they had all passed by it, touched it at the foot end, kissed the cloth that would have covered his body, and then most of them had collapsed under the banyan tree and had had to be revived. Sam, kept away from the police station by Jai and Raman, had gone to pay his last respects to the man Vimal had been. He had tarried near the bier for only five minutes, and on his way out saw Jai's limousine pass by with Ashok within. A shattered Ashok, with fresh and bloody nicks and cuts on his face and hands, looking as though his soul had fled, his face plastered against the pristinely clean glass of the Daimler, filled with longing. He had wanted to be where Sam was, by the empty frame that should have held Vimal's body, a body that now lay blown to pieces over the lawns of the residency.

A torchlight came on in the bush and scrub behind Raman's house, once, twice, a third time, and Sam lifted his holdall to his shoulder and went down the concrete stairway. He passed softly by the servants' quarters, but he need not have worried, because the day had depleted everyone beyond relief and they all slept the sleep of the dead. Sam reached the ugly horse dealer, his face spattered with thick black moles and his toothy, yellow smile. When he had made the agreement to buy his horses earlier that afternoon, the man had said, almost casually, "My brother is a guard at the prison house in the desert, Sahib." Sam had ignored him then. But now, when the dealer reached out a wizened claw of a hand for the money, Sam shook his head.

"Take me to the prison in the desert," he said, "and I will give you twice the amount I promised you."

The man scratched his head, and scratched behind one filthy ear for a while. Then he said, "All right, Sahib. But if there are dangers to be found, I will not help you."

It was a strange statement for this dealer to make, when he had so obviously wanted the business earlier in the day, and Sam hesitated, but only fora moment. Two overweight, drunken British soldiers guarded the field punishment center at night along with perhaps a few Indian guards, and they could all be bribed. Vimal had also flung some dark hints about Mike waiting and ready for Sam when he came to get him, for the sum of ten thousand rupees that Sam had paid him. Once these rumors of negotiations reached Sam, he knew that getting Mike out of there would be easy; when money came into play, anyone could be bought. They would no longer need to scale the walls to enter the field punishment center. Vimal's death had thrown his plans off course but only for a while, for Sam still had some more money, the guards would presumably still want it. They did not care about Mike, only Sam did.

"Come then," he said, tying his holdall over one of the horses and swinging into the saddle of the other. "You will not expect me to save your life either if there is danger ahead of us."

"Yes, Sahib."

They rode away behind the Civil Lines, but not before Sam had turned his horse back to Raman's house and dismounted. And Sam, who had prayed but little in his life, never seeing the point of imploring favors from an unknown and unseen God, fell on his knees and bowed his head, mouthing the only words he knew well, Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name The horse dealer waited patiently in the murk beyond the gate. Sam saw a light in Mila's room and thought he saw a woman's figure silhouetted against that light, in the balcony. She moved her hand to her mouth and then threw it in the air. A kiss. Sam waited for it to be borne on the little breeze that swept up from the garden. Come to me, my love, he said across the expanse of darkness. / will wait for you.

When Sam had left, Mila went back into the house and stood outside Ashok's room. She knocked softly and went in. The room was in darkness except for a little halo of light from a table lamp that Ashok had set on the floor and he lay on the floor near it, his head bathed in gold. He was not asleep, but he was not really awake either, his eyes open and fixed upon the walls. She sat down next to him and touched the cuts on his arms and his fingers. "Does it hurt?" she asked.

He said nothing.

Mila talked then, for ten minutes, telling him of her love for Sam. How she had not expected this, how it had transformed everything she had ever felt or thought. She kissed Ashok's forehead, rubbed her hand against his cheek, told him that this day would pass and that this grief would also die its own death--perhaps not soon, but one day.

"Is this a farewell?" he asked then, still gazing at the wall as though he had not heard a word of what she had been saying.

"You are my brother," Mila said. "There are no farewells between us."

Ashok moved and rested his head on Mila's lap and let her run her fingers through his hair, as she had when he was a child and she was not more than a child herself. She thought of how he had grown up in these past few days, how he was different, how he would never return to the boy he had been. Ashok had learned to become a man within himself, not just an emulation of Papa or of Kiran. He would need all of this strength, because an attempt on Pankhurst's life was not something the governmen
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ould take lightly. Jai had managed to get Ashok out of the jail for this night and perhaps a few more, only on his word that Ashok would not flee Rudrakot--but there was no guarantee that Ashok would not be jailed. Or hanged for abetting in this crime. A great deal of uncertainty lay in front of them. Mila kissed her brother gently, put his head back on the floor, and went out of the room.

In the corridor, she tarried outside Kiran's door and then opened it, went in, and shut the door behind her. He slept across his bed, his head drooping over one side, his long legs over the other. Kiran slept naked, on his belly, as though he could not even bear the touch of cloth against his skin, and as he slept he moved restlessly, wiping his hair of some sleaze, making hawking noises with his mouth. Mila thought she heard him mumble that he could not stand the stench, that his nose was burning, that he was in pain. He cried out then for their father, Papa, Papa, come to me, Papa.

"Kiran?" Raman called from his room.

Mila moved away from the door to one side of the room as her father came running down the corridor in his white nighttime veshti, his chest bare, his hair tousled from sleep. He opened the door and came inside to gather his eldest son in his arms. Kiran still slept as though he could not bear to waken and allow space for his thoughts and his shame. He writhed for a few minutes in Raman's arms and then rested, his breathing calmer. What little part of him still remained conscious came to life in tears that trickled out between his shut eyes and down his cheeks. Unable to bear the pain any longer, Mila went to her father and her brother and put her arms around them, and rested her head against theirs. Raman only said, "So you are here too, my dear? We must get him through this; we must all get through this somehow."

"I know, Papa," Mila said, kissing him on the head. She thought she could see the lines on his forehead even in this darkness, she thought she could hear his heart beat with this colossal pain that had descended upon them all. She did not pity herself, or them, or wonder what they had done to deserve all of this, or even think that perhaps they were all paying their dues for some sin they had committed in a previous life. This was life, such as it was, and it had to be borne, it had to be lived. She had Sam's love, and she so dearly loved Sam. And he waited for her at Chetak's tomb.

There was nothing more they could do tonight for Kiran, for tha
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ense, comatose sleep had claimed him again--a sleep from which he had never really awakened. Mila helped her father back to his room and was glad that he used her shoulder to lean on, something he had never done before, always sprightly, always with more of a spring in his step than she. He lay down on his bed and shut his eyes and in a few minutes he was asleep too. She clasped his hands and kissed each one. And then she bent and laid her head against her father's feet, asking for his blessing.

"Mila, my dear," he said, stirring on the pillow.

"Yes, Papa," she said quietly.