The Strangler Vine (18 page)

‘It would be too great a slight to ignore us completely,’ Blake had said complacently. ‘And a certain well-placed bribe helped.’ Mir Aziz inclined his head.

The next morning we arrived at the Residency in two hired palanquins, with Mir Aziz and Sameer as our
khitmatgurs
, and took our place at the back of the procession of Company guests on horses and in palanquins with their platoons of servants and sepoys. News of our disgrace clearly preceded us, for no one attempted to speak to us, though we received more than our share of covert stares. At the front with the Resident I could see a very senior Company officer, a major general, riding a splendid black Arab, and next to him an elaborate palanquin, no doubt his wife’s. The Resident himself was attempting to clamber on to a modest-sized elephant with a green and gold howdah atop. He did not appear to enjoy the experience.

When all was ready we left the Residency yard, one by one, for the street, joining the many small, brightly arrayed processions on their way to the fort. As before, we entered through the red gate, but now we turned left towards the fort’s large gardens in which a series of large tents had been pitched.

We alighted in the palace courtyard, where we were encouraged to stand to await the arrival of the Rao, who was, Mir Aziz told me, making a tour of the city with his heir before returning for the banquet. Then through the red stone gates came native soldiers, six abreast marching in step, in spiked helmets and chainmail, holding their swords in their scabbards, their faces severe. After them came scarlet-turbanned natives in white embroidered pyjamas, some
bearing muskets, others carrying red and gold pennants. They were followed by horsemen, their scarlet turbans striped with gold thread, and their horses draped in red cloth embroidered with gold, each carrying a small arched silver howdah; musicians blowing long thin brass trumpets; bearers with giant fringed parasols around a cage on wheels holding two sleepy pale tigers; ten long, slim, black-spotted cheetas held on leashes by ten long, slim women in gold-edged saris. Beyond the gates the crowd cheered and whooped. There were more elephants, perhaps twenty; then at the end of the procession, two large elephants of identical size, each with a jewelled headdress and their legs wound about with gold chains, pulled a vast wooden cart painted scarlet and decorated in beaten gold filigree. About the cart, bearers strolled, carrying golden parasols, silver rods, giant fans made of peacock feathers, and huge red fly-whisks. Upon it sat the Rao, inclining his head this way and that; next to him was a small boy and behind him three retainers.

The procession slowed and some parts disappeared into the fort while others stopped. The tigers’ cage was set down by the tent. The Rao and his heir, a small thin child with a shaved head and a white dhoti, a strip of gold cloth around his waist and a heavy gold necklace on his small chest, slowly climbed from their cart, and with a band of soldiers and courtiers they walked into the tent. The various parties followed behind, each passing the cage of tigers. When it was our turn, I could not forebear from staring at the creatures and saw that not only was their fur so pale it was almost a ghostly white, but their eyes were blue like sapphires.

‘White tigers!’ I whispered to Blake. ‘I thought they were a fairy tale.’

The tent was vast and airy, and one side was entirely open. It was lined with crimson cloth, every inch of which was embroidered with gold thread in serpentine patterns. Rugs and carpets covered the vast floor. In the centre of the tent sat a small orchestra playing long, stringed native instruments, issuing the usual unearthly twangs.

On a small dais behind them sat the Rao and his heir, cross-legged on a velvet rug. Europeans were seated on low chairs to his
left; on the other side of the tent, to the Rao’s right, hundreds of natives sat on rugs, dressed in their brightest best and talking animatedly. Approximately one-third of the tent to the right of the Rao was screened off by a curtain stretched between bamboo poles in which there were many small holes. The Resident, the Major General and his wife and the other Europeans, proud civilians of a type I recognized from Calcutta, were closest to the Rao. We, by contrast, were as far away from him as a European could be.

A troop of servant girls, all slim and pretty, threw necklaces of fresh flowers over our necks, and others offered us a small bowl of pale white porridge.

‘Almond-paste to wash your hands,’ Blake muttered before I had – as I intended – gathered a spoonful and put it in my mouth.

Another fleet of serving girls brought silver bowls of water to rinse it off. Then fifty
khitmatgurs
brought dishes in silver bowls: curries and pilaus, roasted meats, rice with almonds, dressed with a gold and silver leaf. There were small cups of chilled sherbert. Blake immediately gathered up rice with his fingers. When I hesitated, a servant promptly brought a silver spoon and fork. There were so many bearers and servants Mir Aziz and Sameer were all but idle behind us. Wine arrived too. Having surveyed and helped myself to the constant stream of courses, I stole a glance at the Rao and his party. He seemed all glitter and shine. He wore a large pink silk turban with a band of gold damask around it and a turban jewel – a
sarpech
, Blake called it – of sapphires with a spray of pearls. Once again there were strings and strings of pearls about his neck, and in his lap he held a sword in a jewelled scabbard. He ate nothing, but between him and the Resident, and creating a distance between them, was a large silver huqqa with an impossibly long hose wound round and round about it. Behind him stood a cluster of servants holding giant horse-hair swatters and peacock-feather fans, and amidst them were more gaudily dressed guards carrying guns and swords. There were, I now saw, armed soldiers at every entrance of the tent. The Rao’s little cousin looked rather tired and overwhelmed. He was flanked, I noted, by two large guards who effectively shielded him from the native guests. Occasionally the
Rao would bend over the child and say a quiet word. Otherwise he listened, expressionless, to the Resident and the Major General, with whom he made occasional desultory exchanges. The Resident looked enormously awkard while at the same time trying to appear courteous. Since I had little reason to like either man, I had to admit the scene was rather amusing.

Periodically natives would come to pay their respects, prostrating themselves upon the ground and actually kissing the Rao’s slipper.

‘Is that not a little much?’ I whispered to Blake after the third instance of foot kissing.

He looked up from scooping a handful of rice into his mouth and shrugged. ‘These Rajputs claim to be descended from the sun or the moon or some star. Likely they believe a kiss on the toes is all we mere mortals deserve. I’ve always had more of a fancy for the Maratha princes – they pride themselves on being descended from cowherds and farmers.’

I snorted.

The musicians took up their instruments, and three wrestlers, tattooed with henna and wearing jewelled vests, lifted weights, juggling clubs and climbing poles. Then came the nautch dancers, slender girls with dark-painted eyes wearing fine pleated petticoats that flew out when they turned in circles.

At some point I became aware that we were being watched. Among the second division of European guests, several chairs down from the Resident, the large lady with dark brown hair whom I had seen in the bazaar was staring straight at us. Catching my eye, she raised her eyebrows. I looked away. When I looked back she was in deep consultation with the man next to her, whom I recognized as the European who had commanded the Rao’s troops at the execution. With the help of her
khitmatgur
, the European gentleman and several servant girls, she was bundled rather awkwardly to her feet, and approached the Rao on the hand of the European. She stopped a respectful ten feet from him, and made a deep curtsey. The Rao waved his hand at her and she – somewhat unsteadily – rose up. The Rao addressed her. I was most surprised to observe that he spoke with a good deal more animation than he had shown to anyone
else. I had the impression that the Resident and the Major General did not like this one bit. After a short exchange, the small heir stood up, came forward and took the lady’s hand, and they both made their way to the white curtain, and disappeared behind it.

‘Where has she gone?’ I asked, though I had already guessed.

‘That is the
parda
. The Rao’s mother and his wives will be behind it, watching through those small holes.’ Blake was looking as cheerful as I had ever seen him.

‘She was staring at us.’

‘She was,’ he said.

The meal ended, the servant girls reappeared, doused our hands in gram flour, rinsed them with water and wiped them with
attr
of roses. The Resident stood and drank to the Rao’s health and his son’s accession to manhood. He bowed low once to the Rao and once, awkwardly, to the curtain. With an expression that somehow managed to combine graciousness with mild disdain, the Rao got to his feet, inclined his head to his European guests, and turned to his native guests, who applauded and bent as low as they could over their dishes. Then, surrounded by his entourage, he processed slowly out of the tent, acknowledging one or two persons on his way with a regal nod. When he passed us he shot us a brief but particularly cool look.

The
khitmatgurs
returned, carrying baskets, and began to cast objects from them at the guests. On closer observations these turned out to be precious stones, embroidered shawls, bolts of cloth, and long necklaces made of tinsel silver. The Company visitors stood motionless, letting the precious gifts slide off them on to the floor. The Company ordered that the fruits of the native princes’ legendary generosity could not be kept for personal gain; disobedience led to instant dismissal. Anything accepted out of courtesy must be handed immediately to the Company coffers. I watched as two red stones slid from my shoulder down to my feet. They were obviously rubies. Just one would have relieved me of a good part of my debts. I left them nestling in a fold of the rug.

Blake smiled.

The next morning we received an invitation to call on a Mrs Parkes. Who could it be, I thought, but the lady from the Rao’s feast? I was certain Blake knew for sure, but he evinced such an air of secretive self-satisfaction that I would not ask him. I dressed in my best uniform, but when Blake presented himself he looked nothing like the Company’s man. He wore the most casual of civilian outfits, with a loose muslin summer shirt, baggy pyjamas of a distinctly native cut and a wide-brimmed straw hat.

‘What?’ he said, when he caught me staring. ‘You’re sucking your teeth like some up-country matron.’

‘I am a little surprised by your toggery, Mr Blake,’ I said.

‘I assure you it’ll pass muster.’

Mrs Parkes was staying at a white bungalow of recent construction on the far side of Doora. We found her in a room without chairs or much order of any kind. There were bolsters and embroideries scattered about and a thick velvet rug. Several boxes seemed to have spilled their contents on the ground. A number of pencil sketches were propped up against a wall and servant women bustled about looking busy but not appearing to accomplish very much. Mrs Parkes sat cross-legged against a pile of worn velvet cushions, wrapped in layers of muslin and a large shawl of fine pink wool with gold thread woven through it. She was attempting to play the sitar, the long stringed instrument beloved of the natives, and she leant the hollow chamber of the thing against her left knee as she plucked a jumble of vibrating notes.

It was not at all what I had expected.

‘Gentlemen,’ said Mrs Parkes, looking up from her instrument, then laying it carefully to one side. She was, of course, the lady from the feast. ‘I would stand, but I have reached the point in my life when I find elevating myself from a cross-legged position requires both effort and a minimum of two servants. Would you mind perhaps sitting instead?’ She patted a couple of bolsters. ‘I have chairs, but the move from the Residency was such an undertaking that I have not had the heart to unpack them. And, of course, one can only play the sitar cross-legged. Also I find that despite the aches in my joints, I rather enjoy reclining on cushions. And if my rheumatism comes on
I find a cube of opium helps tremendously – though it gives me a terrible headache in the morning.’

I had never been received in this manner by a lady, and for a moment was rendered quite dumb. But Blake answered immediately, assuring her that he was a firm believer in the efficacy of opium and that we would like nothing better than to recline on her bolsters. He sat down with far greater ease than I, as his pyjamas were looser than my close-cut military trews. Mrs Parkes called for tea, which was placed on a low table with a round brass top. All the while, I was aware that her eyes were alight with curiosity. She was a full-boned, rounded woman, but her voluminous wrappings made her seem larger than she was, and her thick chestnut hair, piled and pinned on her head, showed signs of grey. She had broad, rather emphatic features which had once been pretty, but her face was still rendered engaging by the liveliness of her eyes and her intelligent expression. I guessed she was some way on the far side of forty.

‘Now, my dear young men, you have come from Calcutta, I suppose? You must tell me all the news. It is a woefully long time since I was there.’

‘Lieutenant Avery is the man for Calcutta stories, Mrs Parkes,’ Blake said, picking up a delicate tea cup which seemed far too small for his hands. Once again I trotted out my little cache of gossip, and Mrs Parkes made suitable expostulations. When my stories had been exhausted, I asked her how she came to be in Doora, and she said that her husband was often ill during the cool season, and since they had no children, it was better that she travelled. I would have inquired further had not Blake told her of our attacks by robbers and dacoits, and had me show off my wound, whereupon Mrs Parkes said she had an ointment from a Mahommedan gentlewoman in Delhi that was marvellous for healing scars and she would send it round to our lodgings. Blake asked if she had been there lately – he had not visited for years and I had seen nothing of the north. She described the red fort and the court of the old Emperor and how she had sailed down the Ganges in a pinnace. She talked extremely well. Blake said much had changed since he was there, and then he frowned and said he’d
heard the Methodists had moved in, in force. I had never heard him so warmly talkative.