Zemindar (56 page)

‘A mistake? Oh, Oliver, you’re joking! I don’t choose to believe that you are really uncaring of so much association and tradition.’

‘No,’ he said slowly, as though he had just realized it, ‘I am not uncaring; but I haven’t the time to care now. When I have, I think I will be grateful for the opportunity of a fresh start. I don’t think I’d be much good at patching up another man’s dreams. I’ll build my own … and not only with bricks and mortar. Great God, when I think of what I could do with this land, these people, given a little stability, a little time. I don’t want help; I can do without encouragement; I have money. But I need the opportunity! Perhaps, Laura, a phoenix will rise out of the ashes of the old house; perhaps this present turmoil is really the birthpangs of something better, something that we can’t envisage yet. I’d like to think so anyway.’

I did not really understand him. I was thinking in concrete terms, of the house, of the garden and orchards, but I was glad he had sufficient resilience to take the loss of these things in an optimistic spirit. His next words enlightened me.

‘Do you know what the chief exports of Oudh are at the moment, Laura?’

‘Exports? No, however should I?’

‘Hmph! I thought not. I’ll tell you. Soldiers and gold embroidered slippers! Everything else that is produced in the State is consumed, or wasted, in the State. And every four or five years, ninety-eight men, women and children out of every hundred go starvation hungry for eight months on end, often more.’

‘And so …?’

‘Well, don’t you see?’

‘No.’

‘It’s the question of an economy! Until now, what with the old Nawab’s rapaciousness, and the
talukhdars
’ eternal quarrels, and all the mismanagement and general stupidity, it’s been as much as any man in Oudh could do to provide for himself and his family. But with a stable government, with taxation efficiently administered, with peace … and most of all with imagination, this province could be again the garden it once was, oh, a long time ago, but it was! There’s not much wrong with this soil, you know. It isn’t overworked to the extent that the rest of the Gangetic Plain is, and with good planning, good husbanding, an understanding of the rudiments of agriculture—why, it could flower. Almost every acre in Oudh could be put to good use, could grow sugar, indigo, gram, millet, vegetables and mustard, but how much of it is? You’ve seen yourself. Mile after mile of parched grass supporting a few skinny cows. Not because the land is inadequate, but because men are. Now, with the British in control, the railway will come to us, Laura. And that will mean transport of our goods, our produce, to other parts of India, and to the ports … to Calcutta. The railway will bring us a market, and force us to rise to the occasion. It will mean development, and development will mean a full belly for more people all the time. The Hassanganj I will build will have to be a very different Hassanganj. That’s why I don’t want to replace. I want to create.’

The squirrel shot out of its hole and whisked up the bole of the tree, tempting Oliver, but he had forgotten it.

‘I admire your strength of mind,’ I told him. ‘For being able to think of such things now!’

‘Do you? But in truth it is cowardice. An escape.’

‘I understand,’ I said, sure that I did, and comforted to know that he was more capable of sentiment than he would have me believe. He turned his golden eyes on me, and for a moment regarded me in silence; then he shook his head slightly and smiled.

‘No,’ he said gently. ‘Remorse is not yet within your experience.’

I did not answer, not wishing to trespass on his privacy. After a time, he said in his usual rather brusque tone of voice, ‘And anyway, it appears that the British are not at the moment in control, that no railway engine belching fire is likely to appear and whisk us to our destination, and that we had better apply ourselves to the problems of the moment. Tell me, seeing that you are so sentimental, did you bring Wajid Khan’s
rakhri
with you?’

‘Why yes, oddly enough. I only remembered it at the last moment. Do you think it really meant anything to him? I thought it was just a gesture.’

‘So it was. Old Wajid certainly never imagined any circumstances in which you could make use of it. But if you do, I am fairly sure that he will feel it incumbent upon him to make another gesture. Particularly if it is taken to him by someone who knows the significance of the thing. Indians are curious people. It’s difficult to tell just what they are going to take seriously and what they will dismiss if it suits their convenience. Especially an Indian like Wajid with a smattering of European education. I don’t believe he ever intended you to take his protestations of filial loyalty to heart, but he might well take them seriously himself. Honour and all that. And then again, he might not. Still, I’m glad you have it with you.’

‘I didn’t bring it with any idea of making use of it. It never occurred to me, but of course it might be of real value to us, mightn’t it?’

‘Don’t count too much on your “brother’s” assistance, Laura. The times are not propitious to sentiment and I can’t see Wajid risking his life for his own mother, let alone an honorary sister. The difficulty is going to be in getting you people through the city to the Residency, and it’s possible we may need some assistance there. If he’s in Lucknow, that is; he might be in Jamadnagar; if he has any wit, and the situation in Lucknow is worsening, he certainly will be. But it’s a thought. We are not in a position to despise any method of furthering our own purposes.’

‘How odd it is, all of this. How unreal! To be sitting under a mango tree seriously considering making use of an archaic Indian custom to save the lives of a group of harmless Europeans. Everything, since Hassanganj anyway, has been so peaceful. It seems to me that the peasants don’t even know there is trouble afoot. Look at that party making their way along the track … an old man, a boy, and a woman with a child on her hip. Do they understand what is happening around them, Oliver? Do they wish us dead? Do they hate us?’

‘No, and if I were to go out there and tell them who we were and ask them for food, they would probably take us to their village and shelter us for as long as we need. We have little to fear until we reach the city: the odd marauding band of mutineers or a party of
dacoits
made bold by the general unrest, perhaps, but those are easily detected. It’s on account of people like that that you are wearing a
burqha
and I’m in this absurd get-up, not because of the villages we have to pass through or the
ryots
we meet on the road. I’m ready to swear they’d not harm us.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘I know them. I know their history. All their energy, for thousands of years, has been directed towards keeping themselves alive in situations like the present one. All they really want is just enough land to feed themselves, and the peace to nurse that land to fruitfulness. God knows, they haven’t had either commodity in sufficient quantity, ever, to risk it in purposeless violence. No, it’s not them; it’s the organized elements, like the Army, like
dacoits
and the criminals in the cities, whose only aptitude is the fostering of trouble—those are who we must be wary of.’

The party of villagers disappeared round a bend, and the world stilled into the oppressive silence of great heat. Nothing stirred. Even the squirrel had pulled its bushy tail sedately into its hole in a knot of the tree.

‘I’ve an apology to make too, Laura. You’re in this mess now because of my lack of judgement.’

‘But how could you possibly have known when Hassanganj would be attacked? We all knew the situation, we all hoped that nothing would actually happen. And you did more for us than we could have done for ourselves.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of that. Old Wilkins, the evening before they left it was, suggested to Charles and myself that it might be a good thing if you all accompanied them to the city. In a sort of convoy. He knew I wouldn’t come, of course, but there was no reason why Charles, Emily and you shouldn’t go with him.’

‘I see. But you refused?’

‘No, I didn’t. It was Charles who wouldn’t hear of it. Oh, Emily’s health, his own health, God knows what else. He was acting for the best, I suppose. I have said often enough that it is impossible to make any sort of a stand at the Residency. I believe that still, but neither of us were to know we would have no alternative. All the same, when Wilkins proposed the matter, I could see some sense in it. I allowed myself to be overruled by Charles. And, whatever happens once you reach Lucknow, if you had been with the Wilkins, you would have been spared at least the discomforts and dangers of our present method of travel. For this I apologize. I should not have allowed Charles to have his way. I could have insisted on your leaving.’

‘Oh, don’t blame yourself. After all, none of us took Major Wilkins or his alarms very seriously, did we?’

‘I took his alarms seriously enough. It was his confidence in the garrison at Lucknow that I could not agree with. It seemed to me, or perhaps I only wanted to think, that there was more chance of safety in Hassanganj than in Lucknow. I was wrong.’

We set out again just as the short Indian dusk fell, in that hour when columns of dust creep slowly across the darkening sky and indicate to the knowing the path taken by the herds as they pad homeward to the villages. The scent of that dust hung in the air and mingled with the acrid smoke of cowdung fires; the last of the sunlight slanted long rays low over fields and stubble pastures, glinted briefly on the shining leaves of the mangoes, and then was swallowed in the encroaching east. Freed from toil and sun, the villagers relaxed with their hookahs on housetops and in mud-walled courtyards; women with brass pots on their heads, babies straddling a hip, gossiped on the way home from the well, and the boys bringing in the herds yelled to each other and at their charges and played as they went a crude sort of cricket with a stick for a bat and a small wedge of wood for a ball. So pastoral and peaceful a scene seemed unlikely to be productive of violence, and I had no difficulty in accepting Oliver’s opinion that the ordinary countryfolk would do us no harm.

The night passed slowly, peacefully, but in increasing discomfort. Now that we were somewhat used to our situation, and the fine edge of fear had been a little blunted by usage, we became aware of a multitude of petty trials hardly noticed the previous night. It was impossible to find a comfortable position on the hard boards of the bullock-cart. The
burqhas
were heavy and hot and, while they excluded air, they failed to keep out the dust caused by our own passage, which rose in a smothering cloud around us. The unoiled axles of the cart squeaked incessantly and every board creaked in nerve-wracking unison. I developed a headache and my throat and nose were sore with swallowed dust.

At about midnight we made a halt so that Emily could feed the baby. The rest of us were glad of the opportunity to stretch our legs. We were surrounded by a wide vista of fields, grey and featureless in the starlight, broken here and there by clumps of dark trees. I was relieved to see no sign of life, no lights nor smoke nor passing human, and heard only a nearby jackal’s manic howl, answered immediately by the cries of his fellows a little way off. There was no moon, though the sky was pale with a myriad stars.

‘Thirsty?’

Oliver held out his flask as I climbed out of the cart, unfolding my aching limbs with care. I threw back the face-flap of my
burqha
and accepted a drink.

‘We’ll stay here till the child falls asleep,’ he said as he pocketed the flask. ‘That’s a grove of peepul trees across that field. It will be cooler there than waiting here. Coming?’

I hesitated. The grove was some distance from the road.

‘Oh, come on! Nothing to be nervous of. The others will be here with Emily and don’t you trust me? To protect you, that is?’

I smiled in the safety of my replaced face-flap and followed Oliver as he jumped across a drainage ditch and struck out towards the trees, taking a narrow path snaking through the stubble.

‘Yes, peepuls. They call them “travellers’ friends” in these parts. I’ll show you why.’

It was a large grove, the trees so tall I presumed they were very ancient. At the foot of one of the largest was a domed and white-washed shrine such as one becomes accustomed to finding in out-of-the-way spots in India. A garland of yellow marigolds, wilted now, had been thrown over the dome, and two or three earthenware saucers stood before it.

‘The spirit has been pleased with the offerings,’ Oliver said, pointing to the empty dishes. ‘That is something you must remember about these places. The food offered to the spirits by the pious attracts snakes. So always be careful.’

‘Not really very friendly to travellers, after all,’ I commented.

‘Merely an unavoidable hazard. Look at these.’

He reached up and picked a frond of leaves from a low branch. They were shaped rather like ivy but with an elongated point.

‘See the pointy tips? That’s what makes the difference to a man sitting under a peepul. These trees water themselves, all year round. The leaves retain moisture as it is drawn up from the soil, and at the merest whisper of a breeze the points shed droplets of water to keep the earth above the roots damp. It’s always cooler, and fresher, under a peepul than any other tree. The name is justified I think … despite spirits and snakes.’

We sat down on the ground at some distance from the shrine. I was anxious to test his pronouncement, so threw my
burqha
back over my shoulders, leaving my face and arms open to the air. Above us the leaves stirred and shivered as restlessly as aspens; looking up through the boughs to the starlit sky, seen as patches of light through the foliage, I was conscious of a mist-like moisture striking my skin, and within moments was cooler.

Oliver stretched himself on the ground with his arms folded behind his head.

‘There’s usually a holy man of some sort attached to a place like this; he extracts a toll from wayfarers for the use of the grove. Keeps himself alive on their offerings.’