Heat and Dust (9 page)

My friends turned to me: "What about you? What did you pray for?" They teased me and laughed. I said they had brought me to the wrong shrine - first they should have taken me to one where not babies but a husband was to be got. More laughter - but really they were being serious (it was a very serious subject), and perhaps I too had thoughts other than usual.

1923

The Husband's Wedding Day was always a very difficult time for Major Minnies. Since Baba Firdaus' shrine lay within the Nawab's state, there was not much that Major Minnies could do except advise. This he did, more and more as the day drew near, nor was he put off by the Nawab laughing at him and saving "My dear Major, of course, of course, it will be just as you say, why do you worry." But the Major did worry and not without reason.

In those days Khatm still had a large proportion of Muslim inhabitants (this changed in '47 when they were either killed or emigrated to Pakistan). The Nawab himself was a Muslim and so were almost half his subjects. Many of them did not like it when Baba Firdaus' shrine was taken over by Hindu worshippers and always managed to create a disturbance on that day. The disturbance didn't necessarily take place at the shrine itself - two rival groups might clash in the bazaar over some petty issue like a gambling debt, and before long passions rose to that terrible pitch that only religious sentiments could inspire. It did not help that these were days when the summer heat was just getting into its stride (later, as the heat progressed and day followed endless day of it, everyone was too exhausted for strong feeling). So the situation as the day drew near was explosive and the Major said "Vigilance, vigilance," and the Nawab good-naturedly laughed at him.

Sure enough, in that first summer of Olivia's, there was rioting in Khatm on the Husband's Wedding Day. Not that Olivia was aware of very much from inside her shuttered bungalow in the Civil Lines: and yet, a certain restlessness penetrated even into her pretty yellow drawing room where she sat playing Schumann on the piano. Everything had to be kept shut tight because there was a dust storm blowing outside. Olivia could not concentrate on Schumann for long. She kept thinking of Douglas: he had tried not to show it, but she knew he had been worried for days. Satipur was the adjoining state to Khatm and communal troubles tended to spread like forest fire. The servants were restless too; they quarrelled a lot with each other, and one of them got drunk and had a fight with another over a woman.

Later in the morning Mrs. Crawford and Mrs. Minnies came to visit her. They had come to reassure her. They told her that there was nothing to worry about in Satipur where all precautions had been taken by Mr. Crawford and Douglas.
Here
there had been proper vigilance: and if only similar attempts could have been made in Khatm as Major Minnies had begged and pleaded with -the Nawab - "But it was the same last year," Mrs. Minnies said. "Arthur had warned him, he had told him over and over ... 12 killed and 75 wounded. The whole of the cloth bazaar was gutted - I saw it a week later and it was still smouldering. Arthur says it may be worse this year."

"It's criminal," said Mrs. Crawford with deep feeling.

"When he could so easily control it – if he wanted to – " "The Nawab?" Olivia asked. "But of course he'd want to!"

"Don't forget he's a Mohammedan too," they told her. "Yes but he's not like
that;
not a fanatic. Good heavens."

She laughed at the idea. But their faces remained grim. She urged: "He's such a modern person. Why, he's just like - almost like one of us in that way. I mean he's not superstitious or bigoted at all. He's so entirely
emancipated. "

“Do you really think so?" Mrs. Crawford said flatly.

"Oh I'm sure of it. I've heard the way he talked about the suttee, it was just like an English person talking. He was so disgusted. Barbaric, he said. "

"Naturally, he would say that. Suttee is a Hindu custom.

It's different when it's anything Mohammedan. Very different then."

Olivia did not believe them. Of course she could not contradict or even argue with them: that was always the trouble, she never could, she didn't have the right to say anything because they knew everything about India and she nothing. Yet she felt it was
she
who knew the Nawab, not they. To them he was just a person they had to deal with officially, an Indian ruler, but to her he was - yes, a friend. He really was.

She thought she was glad when they left, but in fact she was more uneasy than ever. It was their fault, coming with such tales to frighten her; and talking like that about the Nawab. She paced her drawing room, nervously adjusted her flowers (at this season there was only the heavy almondscented oleander and jasmine like a drug). Schumann was impossible, she shut the piano. She began to write to Marcia, but Marcia was in Paris and it was impossible to
explain
anything from here to there.

She heard the sound of a car outside. The Nawab! Her heart beat - she didn't know with what strong emotion. She opened the door leading to the verandah and found the servants .clustered there with their heads close together. When they saw her, they got quickly to their feet. "The dust got instantly into her eyes, nostrils, between her teeth; it blew in gusts into the room. "It's me!" cried a voice from the car. It was not the Nawab but Harry.

He hurried in with her and the door was quickly shut again. But already, even from that one moment, the desert dust lay in a thick layer on her piano and the yellow silk of her armchairs.

"Are you alone?" she asked.

He nodded. He seemed very glad to have arrived and sat with his head back and his eyes shut.

"I had
to come," he said; "It was too - "

He stopped as two servants came in. They flapped vigorously at the furniture to get the dust out. Harry and Olivia were silent, waiting for the servants to go out again. By the time they did, Harry seemed to have changed his mind about what he was going to say; now he tried to sound flippant: "I was parched for the oasis."

"What's happening in Khatm?" He didn't answer but shut his eyes again. She said" I hear there are some sort of riots?" She insisted: "What's it all about? Tell me. No you must."

After a pause he said, quite fretfully: "How should I know? After all, I live in the Palace and nothing like that happens there, does it. "

"Nothing like what?"

"How should I know," he repeated. "I stayed in my room all day yesterday and this morning. What else can you do in this hideous terrible heat. Have you looked outside? Have you
seen
what it's like? Once these dust storms start, they go on for ever. No wonder everyone goes mad." He was silent for a while as if afraid of saying too much: but next moment he said more, talking rather fast: "I was going mad myself. Locked up in that room and thinking of what was going on. Don't ask me what! I wouldn't know. It was the same last year, and the year before. But this year, thank goodness, I had somewhere to go to. When I asked him for a car to bring me here, he said 'Certainly, certainly, my dear fellow.' Even though he was so ... preoccupied, he still had time to make arrangements for me. He told the chauffeur which way to go so we wouldn't run into anything. And we didn't. Just shouting from the bazaar area but that could have been anything really, couldn't it. When I asked him would it be safe for me in the car, he said 'What, in
my
car?' He thought that was a great joke. Olivia, do play something. Anything."

She sat at the piano and, as she began to play more Schumann, he said "Lovely" like a man being given a cool drink. But after a time she sensed that he wasn't listening any more. She let her hands slide from the keys into her lap. He didn't even notice that she had stopped.

"Coming to think of it," he said, "it's almost worse
inside'
the Palace. Because of all those people coming and going, such low-class ruffians, the sort you'd never see in the Palace otherwise. But now they're walking in and out as if they owned the place, and straight into his presence as if that's their right. And he's so eager to see them and hear what they have to say, and if he likes it he embraces them like they were his brothers. You should see them, what types ... Is there anyone out there?"

"I think the servants."

She peered through the glass and, sure enough, there they were squatting in a cluster as before. Instinctively aware of being watched, they got up and dispersed. She came back and sat quite close to Harry, so that he could talk in a lower voice:

"And
he
's strange. I never see him like that except during these days. He is terribly excited and doesn't seem able to stay still, waiting all the time: I don't know for what. His eyes burn, they really do. And anything will set him off laughing. He rocks on his heels as he laughs." Harry shut his eyes: "He looks devastatingly handsome." He didn't say this with pleasure but as if it exhausted him ..

Although Douglas came home very late that night, Harry was still there. If Douglas did not like Harry - and Olivia knew he didn't - he gave no sign of it but, on the contrary, seemed glad that he had come. He wouldn't hear of Harry going back that night but ordered the Nawab's chauffeur to take the car to Khatm without him. Harry seemed relieved: also to sit down to dinner with the two of them at their table which Olivia always made so pretty with· candles and flowers.

Harry stayed that night and the next day and the day after that. He and Olivia were very good company for each other. They didn't care about the dust storm blowing outside but just locked all the doors and windows and curled up in the yellow armchairs. Olivia played excerpts from
I Pagliacci
and Harry sang in an exaggerated voice, his hand on his heart. They didn't notice Mrs. Crawford come in, and when they did, she wouldn't let them stop but joined in herself with a fine contralto. "What fun," she said and laughed like the good sport she was.

She had come to talk about Simla. She said· she didn't want to nag Olivia, but she felt that perhaps Olivia didn't quite understand - here she turned to Harry as if asking him for his support.

He gave it: "You shouldn't be here through the summer, Olivia. It's unbearable. "

"If
you
can bear it - "

"Who said I could."

But then he was embarrassed like a person who has shown more feeling than is decent. He tried to laugh it off: "Of course a thousand plans are afoot to leave immediately for Mussoorie. We've even packed and unpacked a couple of times." He laughed again though with a nervous tremor:

"Exactly the same happened last year, and the year before ... In the end we never did go. The Begum doesn't like it there so she keeps putting it off. Either she's not feeling well or the stars are not right for a journey or an owl hooted at the wrong time - it's always something or other and always at the last moment when we're all packed and ready. I've got used to it now, like everyone else. Once we really did leave, in my first year. He has a marvellous house up there - it's a Swiss chalet with a dash of Gothic cathedral, very impressive indeed. So is the view. You can look right across to - what's the name of that mountain where Siva is supposed to sit amid the eternal snows? Not that I got much time to enjoy it. A dead bat was found in - of all places - the Begum's bedroom and that of course is a terrible omen so we had to pack up and come home immediately and as soon as we got here ceremonies had to be performed for about three weeks without stop. '! Suddenly he turned to Mrs. Crawford and spoke in a rush "Mother keeps writing for me to come - she's not well and I am worried about her, she lives alone in a flat you see and it's been three years now. "

"That
is
long, "said Mrs. Crawford.

"It was only supposed to be six months, but whenever I mention about going home - because of Mother, mostly - he doesn't like it. He hates people leaving him. "Then he said:

"It's because he gets terribly involved with his friends, that's the reason because he's so ...
affectionate.
Warm-hearted. He has a warm heart." He looked down at the floor.

After a while Mrs. Crawford said in her bright practical voice: "Do you know the Ross-Milbanks? He's been the D.C. over at Cawnpore. They're going on home leave now driving down to Bombay to get the P. & O. - I think it's the S.S. Maloja - on the 4th. They're spending a couple of nights with us on their way. We
are
looking forward to it. That really is one of the great pleasures of India, isn't it, people from all over the country dropping in on you. "

He said: "But those P. & O.s, aren't they always booked up, aren't they completely? Months ahead?"

"Oh a single berth, " Mrs. Crawford said. "And one could always send a cable to the Gibbons in Bombay ... "

"Really?" Harry said - so full of glad hope that she smiled: "Really and truly," she promised him.

That night, when they were in bed together under their mosquito net, Olivia asked Douglas: "But if he's the Nawab's guest?"

"So what."·

"But the Nawab paid his fare. And has been keeping him in the lap of luxury, hasn't he, all this time. I can't see how he can just ... run out on him." She added: "With Mrs. Crawford's friends. "

"Darling, he
wants
to go."

"Sometimes he does. Sometimes he doesn't. "

"That's too subtle for me. Anyway, he ought to want to. "

"Are you tired of having him here?"

"On the contrary. I'm glad he
is
here. Better than being over there. "

"But the Nawab has been so kind to him! Terribly kind!"

"Tomorrow I'll send someone over for his luggage. "

"Douglas, are you
sure,
darling. "

But on the next day- a Sunday-the Nawab came himself.

Olivia and Douglas had been to church, and when they got home, the Nawab's Rolls was outside the house; and the Nawab himself in the drawing room with Harry who was still in his pyjamas and dressing-gown. They looked as if they had already had a long and intimate conversation together.