The Strangler Vine (17 page)

I was both outraged and bitterly disappointed, but I had given my word and so I obediently followed Blake back through the garden. Now it seemed to me alien and chilly, the peacocks’ cries shrill and strange. We came into the palace yard, where we waited while Sameer went in search of the horses.

‘How could they treat us like that? Keeping us waiting as if we were nobodies! Summarily dismissing us! Publicly insulting the Company! But you knew, you expected something of this sort.’

‘There was little that could be done. They were already ill-disposed towards us. Buchanan had nothing good to say of the Rao, and Jubbulpore regards him as an enemy. That witless Resident won’t have helped things either. If I were Vishwanath Singh I would have taken his appointment as an affront. And we’re a modest party – I have no real rank as far as Company matters go, and you’re only a lieutenant, so the Rao and his officials would calculate we are easy to insult with impunity, as long as he’s all honey with the Resident’s grand guests. Also I suspect our letter of introduction was even more brusque than I expected it would be. All in all we were ripe for snubbing. The object of the audience was to show how angry he is, and that he will not help while relations continue as they are.’

‘You did tell him we seek Mountstuart and have no interest in Thuggee?’

He gave me a look. ‘I tried, but he would not have him spoken of – or at least he ignored my reference to him.’

‘Why would our letter from Government House be brusque?’

‘That is a good question and I have no good answer to it, except that Calcutta is often bad at bending a knee even when it would be politic to do so.’

I sighed with disappointment. ‘So the Rao insults and dismisses us. We have no good reason to suppose that Mountstuart was even here – unless of course you know something which you choose not to share with me.’ I paused, but he did not rise to the bait. Indeed, he looked almost too unconcerned and innocent. ‘What is it that makes you so sure that Mountstuart was here?’ I said, almost pleading.

‘Just a feeling,’ he said and, seeing how downcast I was, ‘Be of good cheer, Avery.’

I would not be comforted. ‘Then what the devil are we to do next?’

‘We will enjoy the festivities.’

We moved out of the Residency the next day and were glad to go. There was something lowering about the place, not unassociated with Mr Crouch-Symington’s dyspeptic ill humour. Mir Aziz had found us rooms in an old building not far from the palace which belonged to a native merchant. Blake claimed the few European billets had long since been taken. I took secret pleasure in the place’s exoticness, its long arched windows and the old embroidered carpets and cushions draped everywhere, and the way it was permeated with oriental smells – spices, dust, incense. Nonetheless, regarding Mountstuart we were at stalemate. Blake, however, was almost cheerful. Once our few belongings were moved he prepared to go out, putting on a long robe over his native clothes and winding a pugree about his head. With his new moustache and the beginnings of a beard, he might almost have passed as a native.

‘You wish me to be of assistance,’ I said. ‘Will you not take me with you?’

‘No.’

There was an almost tangible air of anticipation about him. Most suspicious. I, meanwhile, lay back on my charpai, a picture of lassitude, examining my arm and the small scabbed holes where my stitches had been, opening and closing my fist, my books about me. The moment he left I followed swiftly behind. The narrow street was packed with crowds of bustling natives, the men in dhotis or
long robes fluttering red, orange, blue, their wives in bright saris which covered their heads and sometimes their faces. Excited children capered and screamed, taking bites at some sticky sweetmeat clasped in their fists. Of course, I was lost almost immediately, but I was confident that I would find the bazaar in due course, and I did.

I found Blake at a pan stall with Mir Aziz. A crowd had gathered. I placed myself at a distance, by a seller of brass vessels, and gave the woman a few coins to let me stand in the shadow of her stall. A table had been set upon trestles with a bolster at one end, and upon it lay a native. Nearby sat two more men, and to each Blake administered a small ball of something – I was sure it was opium. The crowd about the pan stall chattered and examined little bottles and pouches.

Then, with a very precise flourish, Blake brought out a large soft purse and handed it to Mir Aziz. I could not see what was in it, but I guessed some tools of some sort. Blake pinned the man down by the shoulders, and Mir Aziz took up one of his implements, a long curved needle, placed across his nose a pair of spectacles that I had not seen before, and bent over his patient. He appeared to pull open the man’s eye and brought his needle down into the eyeball itself. I held my breath and so did everyone else. The man, presumably well dosed with opium, did not flinch. From my post all I could tell was that Mir Aziz seemed to make cuts in the man’s eye while his audience watched, fascinated. Then he washed it with what I guessed was melted ghee, and followed the same procedure with the other eye. Once it was complete, his patient sat up, threw up his hands and cried out with joy and amazement. Two men came forward to help him, but he pushed them away and hobbled to his feet, exclaiming. There was a great deal of chatter, the crowd surged around him and I could see nothing; when it parted, the man had been borne off. The next patient presented himself. Mir Aziz performed the procedure three more times, and each time the crowd gasped as the needle came down.

For some time afterwards neither Blake nor Mir Aziz could move from their places by the pan stall, so besieged were they by the enthusiastic crowd. But even after the people had dispersed, Blake
and Mir Aziz continued to talk to the pan seller and a few others. Blake then went to the next stall, a barber’s, and was shaved. And all the time he chattered away. Now I recalled all the times that he had departed from us unshaven and returned smooth-faced. Finally, he walked to a stall at which there seemed nothing to buy. It was draped in thick red cotton blankets and within it sat an old biddy with no teeth. He produced something and presented it to her with a small bow. She cackled and took it, and they began to talk. I had never seen Blake so at ease.

I departed then, and as I left the bazaar passed two or three European parties – including a lady with dark brown hair, swaddled in layers of muslin, and her entourage, who were examining a stall of silks. She made no attempt to disguise her curiosity about me, and under other circumstances I would have introduced myself, but I was eager to return to our rooms before Blake and so I made do with a polite nod. Blake returned some fifteen minutes later with two pairs of soft
Bundelkand
boots, and a vial of oil which he claimed was good for rheumatism. He was in an immensely good humour.

I said, ‘So you were shaved in the bazaar, though Mir Aziz is himself a barber.’

He looked up.

‘For who knows more of everyone’s business than a barber?’ I continued.

‘Get a good look, did you?’

‘I saw Mir Aziz performing some bizarre ritual with a needle upon the natives’ eyes. It looked extraordinarily dangerous.’

‘He does not cut them, he removes cataracts. He restores sight. It is an ancient and much-prized skill. It “opens doors”, as they say.’

‘Why would you not take me?’ I said.

‘You are of no use to me in the bazaar.’

‘I do not see its great appeal,’ I said.

‘Open your eyes. Everything comes to the bazaar. All news, all truth, all lies end up there. Where do you think I first heard of the breaking machine?’

‘So why could you not take me? My authority, my uniform, might encourage them to speak.’

He sighed. ‘Listen, Avery. For most natives the Company barely touches their lives. Do you know how few Europeans there are here? Do you not recall that Mir Aziz did not see one of us until he was, what, sixteen? To them we are a burden to be born and at best ignored. The sooner you understand that, the better. If you stand behind me in your redcoat, the words will dry in their mouths. In the bazaar you’re of no use to me. But I speak better street Hindoostanee and Marathee – and half a dozen other tongues – than any European you’ll ever meet. I used to know every barber and matchmaker between Calcutta and Lahore – the best carriers of news in all Hind. A few still remember me.’ This was said wryly. ‘What’s more, I like being among them.’

I gritted my teeth and picked up one of my books.

‘It is not your fault,’ he said after a moment. ‘The Company teaches its people to shrink from contact with the natives.’

‘Why, thank you,’ I said. Then, trying to drain the exasperation from my voice, ‘So what great jewels of intelligence have you discovered today?’

‘Tomorrow there’s to be a public execution, before the festivities for the heir’s seventh birthday begin. It’s unusual – the princes generally like to show off their mercy at times of celebration. But this man’s an assassin who got into the Rao’s bedchamber and nearly killed him barely two weeks ago. All is not steady in the kingdom of Doora. The court is full of factions: the Rao is liked well enough – his mother the Dowager-Begum is very popular – but there are said to be several
sardars
who see themselves on the throne. They say the assassin belongs to one of them, but no one is sure whom. Vishwanath Singh is worried because he had no son. Everyone expects another attempt on his life before the heir is fully installed.’

‘What d’you mean, he has no son? The heir’s having his seventh birthday.’

‘No. The Rao has an army of wives and concubines, but no son. He’s adopted a cousin – it’s a widespread practice among the native princes if a son can’t be begotten. But the child only formally becomes his heir after the thread ceremony in a few days’ time, in
which he is initiated into his caste and religion. If the Rao dies before that, everyone knows what’ll happen.’

I waited expectantly. ‘What?’

He shifted impatiently. ‘The Company will march in and take over, put in a puppet and that’ll be the end of an independent Doora. Don’t look surprised, the Company does it all the time, in the name of security or stability or order. And the Company particularly dislikes this Rao. In the bazaar they say that the Company has one or all of the Rao’s rivals in its pocket.’

‘I do not believe that!’

‘It might be gossip. But it would give the Rao a good reason for hating the Company. And that, Mr Avery, is what I discovered in the bazaar.’

‘And did the bazaar produce any news of the whereabouts of Mountstuart?’

‘Not a word.’

Blake said we should watch the execution. I did not relish the thought, but I came with him. We were the only Europeans I could see, and our presence at first occasioned some attention but after a while the crowd turned back to the impending event. From the palace’s red gateway there issued an elephant, led by its keeper, or mahout. The Rao’s soldiers pushed the crowds back to clear a space for it. The elephant stood to the left of the gates. The crowd kept surging into the space, and the soldiers kept pushing it back. Then a thin column of more soldiers carrying muskets issued from the fort. To my surprise it was commanded by a European.

‘Who’s that?’ I whispered.

‘He’ll be the Rao’s master of artillery or some such. Native princes often have a European to train their armies. Former Company, or more likely French.’

The line of men split in half to reveal a dirty creature in shackles, escorted by two soldiers bearing bayoneted muskets. People in the crowd shouted out angrily when they saw him. The wretch was barely aware of where he was. He looked about mutely and dazedly, unaware of the huge beast before him. In Calcutta we had all
heard of native rulers using elephants to execute miscreants, sometimes letting them torture a man for hours, but I had not expected to see the thing in the flesh and I felt my gorge rise. The secret pleasure I had taken in Doora entirely evaporated.

The man was led by his two captors towards the elephant. He made no attempt to resist, and was slowly pushed into a kneeling position with his back to the crowd and his head before the elephant. A rope was tied between his shackles and a large ring bolted into a heavy cornerstone so he could not move. The elephant was coaxed forward. A soldier appeared with a drum. From the red gate came a deputation of men in fine dress. I recognized the Grand Vizier and some of the faces from among the Rao’s sardars. They stood in a cluster outside the fort gates. They did not look pleased to be present. Blake whispered with Mir Aziz.

‘Who are they?’ I muttered.

‘They are the leaders of the court factions. There’s the
diwan
, the Rao’s first minister’ – he nodded at Orange Turban – ‘and the Rao’s eldest cousin, and his senior sardar, the richest man in Doora. I don’t know the others.’

The elephant lifted its foot. The mahout moved it into position over the condemned man’s head. I held my breath. I looked away. There was a drum beat, and an odd muffled crack. I will not describe the scene when I looked up. We all turned quickly away and made our way back to our rooms.

‘Well, you have reminded me of all that disgusts me about this country, Blake.’

‘I take no pleasure in watching a man die. But was that worse than the execution we saw in Jubbulpore?’

‘It was the most barbarous thing I have ever witnessed. Do not try some appalling comparison.’

‘Why not? The man probably felt nothing, and it was over far more quickly than for those poor creatures who swung.’

‘Felt nothing! Good God, man, his brains were spread all over the town square! And he had no doubt been tortured beforehand.’

‘Not so different from Jubbulpore then.’ I turned away, disgusted. ‘Did you not see that he had been heavily drugged?’ he persisted.
‘He was hardly conscious, and the beast had been trained to kill quickly.’

‘Damn me, Blake, if you hate the Company so much, why do you still work for it?’

He looked at me and passed his hand through his hair.

Some hours later Mir Aziz brought a message that, along with the rest of the Resident’s guests, we had been invited to the banquet given for the Rao’s heir.