Zemindar (32 page)

‘But why is it a mistake? From all that I have heard, the
talukhdars
seem to have been a corrupt lot … robber barons, if barons at all.’

Mr Erskine shrugged.

‘They knew what was expected of them from their people, and on the whole gave them what they wanted. Certainly their methods would not stand the scrutiny of modern Western democracy, but then neither would the demands made upon them. They were unscrupulous, extortionate and warlike; but the people they ruled were ignorant, importunate and badly in need of defence. The
talukhdars
at least gave them that and a sense of cohesion. Our government has chosen to defend the rights of the individual, forgetting that the individual himself is more concerned with the rights of the clan, for that is what we have to deal with in Oudh, a system of ancient and closely knit clans, be they Rajput, Mussalman or what you will. We are imposing on the kingdom a most unwelcome and unwise fragmentation, and I fear will before long be made to pay for our mistake.’

‘But how?’ asked Charles, as he and I both remembered many discussions on ‘trouble’ yet to come, I with Mr Roberts on the ship, and both of us on various occasions in Calcutta.

Our host shrugged again. ‘This is India. The “hows” are as problematical as the “whys”. But—cause and effect. Mistakes must always be paid for, one way or another. Meanwhile the aristocracy of the kingdom, who are almost the only people of any education, whatever their virtues or lack of them, are dispossessed of their hereditary rights, their incomes and their quite legitimate pride of position. And we have made for ourselves three or four hundred most potent enemies.’

‘And how will the suppression of this system affect you?’ asked Charles in some anxiety.

‘In no way. I cannot be dispossessed of Hassanganj, except by death and if I leave no heir. As I have said, a
zemindar
owns the land he administers; the right of tenure is different to that of a
talukhdar
.’

‘And then of course, you are an Englishman,’ concluded Charles, unwisely wise.

‘My rents are paid to me as a
zemindar
, not as an Englishman!’ There was annoyance in his tone. ‘And I see my duties to my tenants as those of a
zemindar
, not an Englishman. It is my legitimate right to the land that is important; not my race. Were I blue, green or brindle, or my place of origin Holland or Hohenlohe, my rights would remain the same, and my responsibilities.’

‘I see that, but surely, Oliver, as an Englishman you must …’

‘Try harder. Not expect more. From anyone!’

‘Well!’ said Charles. And again, thoughtfully: ‘Well!’

‘It cannot be too difficult,’ I put in, to conciliate the one and silence the other. ‘It cannot be too difficult to “try harder” out here in these beautiful surroundings. I am sure you consider yourself a lucky man, Mr Erskine.’

‘I do. But as to the beauty, wait until June. Everything’s dry then, brown, the fields bone hard under the blistering heat. There’s a wind that blows up every day, straight from the hobs of hell, filled with hot dust that cuts the eyes out of you. There’s drought, to some extent, every second year. The cattle die, and then the people. Later the monsoon comes, the rivers overflow their banks and wash the fields away and the houses; and the floods and the famine are followed inevitably by disease. Sometimes …’ He rose, went to his gelding and tightened the girth. ‘Sometimes one wonders what the point is of trying at all. Let alone harder.’ He straightened up and turned to face me, one hand on the saddle.

‘And yet you do.’

‘Hm, do I?’ The amber eyes met mine with uncommon seriousness. ‘I suppose, on the whole, I do. But I have come to that time in life when one begins to wonder how much of what one does is truly voluntary, really effortful. How much only the force of habit. I don’t know. All I do know is that …’ He paused and looked away from me, kicking at the dewy grass with one foot. Then he raised his head, and his gaze ranged over the serene and lovely scene before us. ‘This is to me, in good days and bad, Miss Hewitt, “
jan se aziz
”. Is your Urdu up to interpreting the phrase?’

‘Well,
jan
is life, I believe?’

‘Correct.’

‘… And
aziz
is … oh! something like “sweet”, is it not? But as a phrase it means nothing to me.’

‘Yes, sweetness, more in the sense of an endearment. An approximation of the phrase in English would be “dearer than life”. Or “sweeter than life”, if you will.’

‘And that is how you regard this land?’

‘I do. White Englishman that I may be!’ He laughed, almost in embarrassment at this self-revelation, then swung to the saddle and gestured to us to do the same.

My mare had behaved excellently, responding to the bit like a lady, sometimes dancing sideways at some fancied alarm but obedient to my hands on the reins. I mounted her with greater confidence than on the first occasion, and allowed her to canter down the track a little ahead of the men, who were content enough to drop behind and discuss some matter pertaining to the shooting of duck. I felt invigorated by the exercise and the morning air and rode on casually, trying to etch indelibly on my memory the beauty of my surroundings, while I mused, with some mystification, on the character and odd convictions of my host. I decided I liked the phrase ‘
jan se aziz
’, and the way in which he had said it as he looked with patent love over his honeyed land. I had glimpsed a more amiable side of Mr Erskine than his usual manner ever indicated, and was obscurely gratified that he had allowed me to see it.

Suddenly a plover, flattened in a rut of the track before us, rose with a great crack of wings and a spurt of dust. The mare, after one startled backward dance, took the bit between her teeth and raced for the hills.

It was pure luck that I was not unseated by that first agitated step. As it was, finding myself still in the saddle, I clung on grimly and inelegantly, and allowed her her head, knowing there was nothing I could do to halt her and hoping against hope that no pothole would bring her down. After some minutes of flateared, nose-raised speed, when she felt no attempt to pull her in, she tossed her head, her ears rose, and I knew the character of her stretch-legged run had changed from one impelled by alarm to one of enjoyment. Very gently I pulled on the reins. She snorted, continued on for a moment, then responded. She was no longer a runaway but a thoroughly happy horse. At that, my alarm over, I found myself sharing her enjoyment and, bending low on her neck, steadying but not checking her, I gave myself up to a brief period of ecstasy while the yellow fields flashed past and the scented air whipped my cheeks. She slowed of her own accord, and too soon for me. I patted her neck, murmuring my thanks, and drew her into a walk.

Mr Erskine was close behind me; he had tried to shout instructions to me as we raced, and reached us as I pulled in the mare.

For a moment he said nothing. His nostrils were distended and his breathing a little quick, but his hands were folded quietly on the pommel and only the gelding’s heaving flanks told of the effort of the chase.

I straightened my hat with hands which were not quite as steady as I wished, and drew in a few long breaths.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Quite, thank you,’ I assured him politely. I guessed there was a lot more he could have said and admired his restraint. ‘I let her have her head and she changed her mind about bolting.’

‘Indeed! You know a lot about horses—for a “paid companion”.’

‘Enough to keep right side up at a gallop.’

His face broke into the curiously pleasant smile.

‘My congratulations. Any other woman I know would have been off at the start of that. I believe you enjoyed it.’

‘Yes, I did. But I’m afraid it was only luck that she didn’t unseat me in the first instant. The rest was … quite pleasurable!’

‘Laura, Laura! My God! Are you all right, my dear?’ Charles leapt off his mount and ran to my side.

‘Of course! Quite all right.’

He grabbed my hand and looked up at me with a face full of concern; because Mr Erskine was witness to his emotion, it embarrassed me. I pulled my hand away.

‘Really, Charles, it was nothing. I was more exhilarated than alarmed.’

‘That beast is far too uncertain to carry a lady, Oliver, and you should have realized it. Laura might have taken a toss and injured herself. Seriously.’

‘I warned Miss Hewitt that Pyari was a trifle fresh. Besides, she managed the mare excellently. I have just been complimenting her on the fact.’

‘As it happened, yes. But Laura is my responsibility out here, and I must insist that she does not ride that mare again.’

‘Perhaps that should rest with Miss Hewitt. It seems to me she must have formed some affinity with Pyari. Perhaps she would not like another animal. What do you say?’ He turned to me.

It would have been simpler to give way to Charles, but if I had acquiesced too readily to him, Mr Erskine, I suspected, might put the wrong interpretation on the fact. As he had given me a choice, I decided to take it, and besides I had liked his lack of fuss as much as his compliment on my handling of the mare.

‘If Mr Erskine will trust me with her, I think I would prefer to continue riding Pyari, now that we know each other.’

I addressed Charles but looked at Mr Erskine. His lips twitched, but he nodded gravely and said, ‘Good. I believe you have her measure now, and I am sure I can trust her with you.’

Charles looked from his brother to me, and gave in unwillingly.

‘On your head be it then, Oliver,’ he muttered furiously as he remounted, ‘but God help you if any harm comes to Laura!’

Mr Erskine made no reply but I could not allow myself to hope he had not heard.

I spent the rest of the ride back to the house endeavouring to soothe Charles’s feelings and minimize the terrors of the morning.

Our host, riding very erect yet very relaxed ahead of us, was largely silent.

Happily for me, the household’s interest in my adventure, much exaggerated by Charles, was of short duration, for that same evening saw the arrival of George Barry with all the news of Lucknow, which already seemed so far away to me that I had difficulty in matching the names he mentioned to the appropriate faces. The following morning brought the remainder of the Christmas house party: a Mr McCracken and his son Lewis, and a Mr Baird, all planters and neighbours of Mr Erskine, who visited Hassanganj each Christmas. Mr Erskine seemed notably lacking in female friends.

The gentlemen spent the greater part of the holiday slaughtering wildlife and reminiscing about previous slaughters. Each morning saw them set off at dawn to shoot duck, deer or pheasant, or make, perhaps, a longer expedition into the
terai
where tiger were to be found, though as Mr Erskine would not countenance elephant being used in the pursuit of tiger, none were actually shot. And if the day had proved disappointing, the planters and Charles were always willing to forego the comforts of the drawing-room at night in order to hunt ‘muggars’, a sort of blunt-nosed alligator, with the help of brush-fires built upon the river bank to lure the unsuspecting creatures to their end.

Nor were we ladies neglected; Mr Erskine arranged a series of little expeditions for us, and almost every evening an entertainment took place on the lawn before the front portico. Once a dancing bear, heralded by the enraged yelping of every dog in the vicinity, padded up the driveway with its master and performed an agonized travesty of a dance. It was muzzled and secured by a heavy chain, but its simple presence alarmed Emily into near hysterics. So it was sent away, limping on the poor cut pads of its paws. More successful were two small monkeys, one dressed in a shred of red cotton skirt, one in a braided waistcoat, that performed their tired little tricks with eyes, wary and sad, fixed vigilantly on their trainer’s cruel face.

‘Oh, aren’t they sweet!’ said Emily, not seeing the fear.

‘Do you think so?’ From Mr Erskine’s tone of voice I gathered he shared my distaste at seeing animals so unnaturally treated. ‘These people travel the length and breadth of India. The monkeys are supposed to be enacting an old drama about a king and queen, Maror Khan and Jahoorin. Their act and their names never change, no matter where you find them.’

‘They are so clever. Such appealing little faces,’ went on Emily. ‘May we pet them?’

‘You may not!’ said Mr Erskine with decision. ‘A monkey bite is a very poisonous and unpleasant thing.’

Emily pouted, but did not persist.

Then there were pigeons, and parrots with rosy heads, who fired tiny guns, drew miniature carts in harness, or fluttered through flaming hoops. There were stick dancers, and tumblers and a snake charmer—all accompanied, as had been the bear and the monkeys, by the curious, double-sided drum, waisted in the middle, which is sounded by means of pebbles attached to strings, which with a flick of the player’s wrist fly rhythmically from side to side of the drum. This instrument, like the tale of Maror Khan and Jahoorin, is age-old and country-wide, and the sound of its high, frenetic note in the twilight can mean only one thing—the approach of itinerant entertainers. Every dog in India loathes that high-pitched note with a personal and venomous loathing.

On Christmas Day itself no shoot took place. Charles, who sometimes had moods of piety, was upset that there was no way we could attend a church service, so had asked if he could read the Collects and Lessons of the day to the assembled party after breakfast. Oliver had seemed nonplussed by the request, but had the forbearance to answer loud ‘Amens’ when necessary, and Charles was obviously pleased with his idea and its accomplishment. Afterwards we exchanged gifts, and then gathered on the verandah under the portico to watch the arrival of the
dholli
procession.

‘They come, like the Wise Men, bearing gifts,’ explained Oliver in answer to Emily’s question as to the nature of the procession. ‘A damn-fool idea, seeing that few of them can afford it, but it’s the custom.
Dustoori
! And when a thing is
dustoori
, there is nothing that can be done about it—not by me, not by the Government, not by God Almighty!’