Ram; being the tale of one Ramillies Anstruther, 1704-55 .. (29 page)

"Now, get your legs through the casement!" Baja quavered. "When you're halfway out, pull me up." He offered his back.

The window was only a foot square, but not too small for these starvelings. By wriggling and hauling they both reached the outside and faced the last obstacle, the outer wall. Ram mounted to its wide top and dangled a leg for Baja to mount by. Together they lay on the top, scanning the empty street.

"It grows light," Baja breathed. "Come!" Side by side they dropped.

Free!

"Ashes!" Baja gathered some to smear over Ram's hair and body. "The more, the hoHer a gossein is." Like a gamin, he pounced upon piles of stinking refuse. From one he retrieved a small chipped earthenware pot. "Our begging bowl."

They shuffled west along the street, which gave onto the empty market place. People were appearing; dogs nosed refuse and cows moved ponderously, leaving green-brown droppings in their wake.

"Keep chanting!" Baja hissed. He took the lead, offering his bowl to such wayfarers as could not avoid him.

Crossing the square, they entered the street that led to the west gate. More people, mounted and afoot. Ram kept up the chant and Baja proffered the bowl with a true mendicant's whine. It already had a few pice in it and one child added a peach—which Baja promptly ate. Then they reached the gate. Ram's heart pounded.

There was no cause for alarm. None of the sleepy-eyed guards spared a second look at the emaciated mat-haired gossein with the straggly beard or at his smaller one-eyed disciple.

Not until they were a full coss along the main road did Baja sigh with relief and sink down at the verge. "And now—the Ganesha!"

They had talked of it so much that Ram had grown to think it was something he had merely imagined. Now it was real again. If really of gold, it could repurchase the loyalty of many men.

"It's a two-day walk," he warned, regretting his fine Arabs. They struck north across the fields to a village, where Baja coaxed a bowl of rice and pickles from a woman. Ram blessed her and she flushed with pleasure, while the baby at her breast regarded him with huge feo/iZ-rimmed, incurious eyes.

Unused to such rich fare, they both felt a little sick as they plodded on, drawing closer to the jungle. At a second village they begged more rice; then, with the few pice they had collected, Baja bought two stout jute bags. He also wheedled an old water jug from a farmer and filled it at the village tank.

They reached the jungle road. Were troopers still billeted in Chairawali, Ram wondered, and had any of the villagers been brave enough to find the dead tiger? He became fearful that some might have entered the cave and discovered the inner door.

Their weakened bodies torn by thorns, they halted at last to eat

and drink. Baja pointed to a peepul tree. "Not a palace, bhaee, but better than a cell. I've slept in many in my Thug days."

They climbed the tree, driving away indignant monkeys and birds, and chose a suitable crotch, above the reach of prowling beasts. As the jungle sounds died away Ram, drowsing, fancied he was again up upon the machan with Nur Mohammed, waiting for the Evil One.

They went on again at dawn and as they neared Chirawali, Ram proposed they skirt it, lest he be recognized.

"Even if all our men were there, do \ou think they'd recognize their fine Feringi officer as so filthy a gossein?" Baja scoffed. "And am I the only one-eyed Maratha in the world? Come, we need water and food."

A few troopers were there, lounging idly in the shade. Ram scowled. Damme, they'd reverted to mere Pindarees; slovenly, caring only for filling their bellies! Avoiding them, the two mendicants went to the tank, where Baja performed ceremonial ablutions. Ram dared not imitate him. Apart from religious ignorance, already much of the ghee mixture had gone and his white skin showed spottily. He was trulv piebald.

"Holy One, I'll now lead you to the panchayat tree, where you mav contemplate the Infinite," Baja grinned, "I'll then steal some tools to cut up the god."

Head bent and embarrassed by his nudity. Ram followed him to the great tree, under which the village's five elders usually held their meetings. Squatting cross-legged and with arms folded, he chanted the hymn. Baja placed the bowl and a flat earthenware plate before him, whispered, "Ignore everyone," and disappeared.

Soon a nursing mother sidled up shyly, put some ripe fruit on the plate, giggled nervously and backed away. She was succeeded by an old crone, who contributed a measure of millet. "Give my aching bones blessing. Holy One," she begged. He chanted more loudly.

As an insurance against other holy ones turning into tigers, the villagers were liberal. Old and young brought gifts of food or small coins, and Ram acknowledged each donation by chanting more vigorously. He kept staring down at his concave belly, which runnels of sweat had left conspicuously white. He prayed for Baja's return.

Round-bellied babies, bold because of his impassivity, stared

greedily at the pile of fruit, grain and spices that was growing before him. Only when his screaming nerves seemed ready to snap did a satirical voice murmur: "Salaam, Profound Thinker!"

He sagged with relief as Baja squatted beside him. One jute bag was no longer empty, and soon its mate bulged with the donations. Wordlessly, Ram took up the bowl, saw that in it were several coins, handed it to his "disciple" and strode out of the village, still mumbling the now maddening chant.

They halted at the path that led to the cave. "You'd grow rich as a gossein," Baja laughed. "Seven annas, three pice; just for contemplating your navel—and enough food for days." He ate avidly.

Eating also, Ram thought wryly that as a holy beggar he had made barely half a rupee; yet in a few hours he might be worth many lakhs of rupees. He asked what luck the other had had.

Baja produced a short-handled ax. "Behold! But I had to wait hidden for hours—the boy wouldn't leave it. Because of him, I had no time to get anything else save a dhoti for you."

Ram snatched the cloth and wound it around his loins, his self-respect returning. "Come!" He led forward and they soon passed where Nur Mohammed had died. With darkness they again took to a tree.

They went on at first light. But when they came to where Ram thought he had turned off from the jungle he stopped, bewildered. The rains had shot up a tangle of vegetation as high as a man's head. At last, trusting to instinct and chopping a way with the ax, he plunged blindly into the mass. Once he yelled and sprang back as a hissing krait slid before his feet. But at last the ground was rising, with cacti and thinning grass predominating. Drenched with sweat, their bodies a network of scratches, they at length gained the ridge; but it was two hours more and well to the south before Ram found the cave's entrance. Even then he would have missed it but for the tiger's jackal-scattered bones.

Exhausted, they flung themselves down. Soon Ram stirred painfully. "We must make torches and—"

"Torches?" Baja almost screeched. "But we have no flints-nothing! Wah, why didn't I steal a few live coals from the village?" He swung the ax hopefully at a rock, but it was only soft sandstone and gave no spark. Frantic, they spent half the day on the ridge

before Baja found a half-buried stone which did produce a spark. They carried it to the entrance and, while Baja shredded dried grass into a fluffy nest, Ram prepared several grass torches. It seemed like a miracle when the ax struck a spark which caught the fluff and he nursed a torch into a blaze. Then, shaking, he stooped and entered the cave, with Baja at his heels.

In his anxiety lest anyone discover the door. Ram had pushed it closed and now, though they found where it fitted into the rock, they could not open it. "Fool! Fool!" Baja accused.

"It closed, it must open!" Snatching up the ax. Ram began tapping down both sides of the doorway, sure there must be some sort of lock. There was; a small projection of alien rock almost at floor level. When he pushed it inward, the door swung open noiselessly, revealing the Ganesha with its empty eye sockets.

The two intruders stared at it; then, screaming, Baja snatched back the ax, darted within and hacked at the foremost of the god's right wrists. With a madman's strength he chopped and smashed until the hand was severed, scooped it up and scurried into the daylight.

"Gold! Gold all through!" He waved it aloft. "Enough to buy armies! Enough to buy kingdoms! Enough to conquer all Hind!"

He raced within to continue the mutilation, hacking off the other right hand and one of the wide ears. Ram, having no tool, stuffed the severed chunks into a bag until the fabric began to give under the weight. Soon only the fat-bellied torso and legs remained.

Baja tried to lift the bulk from the ledge, but it was so heavy he dropped it and it rolled across the floor; to crash against the long-dead hermit's body, shattering it to dust. "We can't carry it all," Ram regretted. "We must hide part of it." "Not here! Never! Someone might find it!" So they slept where they were until dawn when, carrying all the bags could stand, they regained the path and eventually buried their loads beneath the very tree where Nur Mohammed had died. They spent all that day on return trips until the heavier pieces were buried. Then, heavily burdened, they trudged toward Chirawali. But, in terror now because of their wealth, Ram remained with the bags while Baja went to refill their jar at the village tank.

Later, they took the road back toward Ahmedpur, which they knew they must not re-enter, though both were desperate for news; Ram of Chanda, Baja of the scouts.

"Uzoor Singh!" the latter exclaimed. "Next to you, and the Brotherhood, I trust him most. His jaghir was near here and, since troopers were idle at Chirawali, perhaps he also awaits orders from Khafi Khan. Wah, the grass is already high, yet the fool sits in sloth!"

But when they came to the village where the Sikh had been quartered, there were no signs of troops. Disappointed, they hid in the undergrowth pondering their next move.

"Look!" Ram pointed to approaching horsemen, Uzoor Singh himself at their head. Behind him rode two of his troopers and five nondescript fellows who were, however, obvious Sikhs.

"Recruits, probably from his own village," Baja decided. "Good! Their loyalty will be to him, not to Khafi Khan."

They watched the party dismount outside a bungalow, but not until darkness did they stir. Baja covered his precious bag carefully with grass, signing for Ram to do likewise; then they moved toward the bungalow's rear and hid behind some bushes, planning how to deal with their quarry.

At last Uzoor Singh came out to relieve himself. As he was about to return inside, Ram raced to intercept him.

"Uzoor Singh Subahdar, why have you not reported to me on your return?" he demanded, as if still the immaculate European commander.

"By Arjuna!" the Sikh gasped, staring bewildered at the emaciated apparition. "It's the voice of Ramji Sahib! Who are you?"

"Ramji Sahib himself." Baja, he saw, was behind the officer, with roomal ready. "Escaped from my enemies to resume command."

Uzoor Singh continued to stare. "Wah, my eyes see a strange sight, but my heart is glad." Unaware how close to death he was, he dropped on one knee and took Ram's hand. "Now shall we be soldiers again, planning stratagems and making swift attacks. Arre, those fools dream they are generals, but have no more wits than parrots."

"Yet you bring them recruits." Baja came from behind him.

When recognition was over, the Sikh agreed. "Had I known Ramji Sahib would again lead us, I'd have brought many more." He laughed.

"Khafi Khan bade me bring only a few; fearing perhaps if I had too many I might slit his throat and become a general myself."

Being gone since before the rains, he knew nothing of Chanda, save that she was then alive and Jakes's slave. He knew nothing of the scouts. Ram felt sure he would be utterly loyal again. To cement that loyalty, Baja gave him one of the Ganesha's hands.

Ram lay in the shrubbery, watching. Though the sun was already high no one had emerged. Was Jakes away? The gun park was here, each piece under its thatched shelter, a sentinel pacing before them —when he wasn't squatting with his back against a convenient tree.

Two servants came from their quarters across the compound and began to sweep listlessly. Later, a girl in a bright sari appeared on the \eranda, stretched sleepily and returned within. Ram's heart leaped, until he saw she was dark-skinned and fat.

The sun burned his bare back. Once he gritted his teeth audibly, thinking of Jakes.

Soon a village girl approached the shrine, carrying a small pot of milk on her head. Devoutly she placed it before the monkey god. Ram flattened lower under the shrubbery until she had gone.

At last a woman, old, from the way she moved, came from the bungalow and shuffled toward the shrine. She'd know if Jakes were there. Dared he ask her? As she began to pra}-, he saw her face.

"Chandaf He almost screamed her name. This was incredible, monstrous! "O Chanda, it is I!"

A half moan, half prayer, broke from her as she stared around wildly, as if doubting her own ears. He was dizzy with relief, yet had wits enough not to stir. "Come, but don't look down at me."

Her shoulders straightened and her head went up as she obeyed. "Lord, lord, do I dream?"

He ached to spring up and hold her close, but he was on a campaign, with no mercy for the loser. "Come closer. Is Jakes within?"

She started as if bitten by a cobra, but did come closer until the fringe of her sari was almost brushing his matted hair.

"Yes, and soon he'll stir," she shuddered. "O my heart, this is a miracle! But you must leave swiftly, for he knows of your escape and swears when you're recaptured he himself \\i\\ put you to death with

many tortures." A moan escaped her in realization that her Feringi lord had become this naked, filthy starveling at her feet.

"Lotus Bud!" Her pressed her sari's fringe to his lips, the magic of her presence enveloping him. Then he was calm again; hard, remorseless. "What has this outcaste of my race done to you?"

"He's a fiend! One girl already has died under his handling. He drinks strong liquor until he's crazed. One of us is not enough for him then. Two—sometimes three—of us must lie with him."