Daisy's Long Road Home Page 19

  ‘The mountain road was a trifle rough, but we took it slowly and it gave us no great problem.’ Grayson was poker-faced.

  ‘Excellent. We are delighted you were able to find us. You see, we are so out of the way here, that visitors are scarce and therefore very welcome. I hope you have no pressing need to return to Jasirapur and will stay a while.’ The Rajah was courtesy itself.

  ‘That is most kind of you, Your Highness, but I regret we can stay only a few days.’

  ‘All this way for a few days? Mr Harte, what are you thinking? To be dragging this young lady over hill and dale for a mere two days. If you have come to see our country, you must stay a while. This part of Rajasthan has a wild beauty and is worth seeing.’

  ‘I’m sure it is and being a tourist would certainly be enjoyable. But I am in Jasirapur to do a job of work and will need to get back there as soon as I can.’

  ‘And you, Miss Driscoll. Are you in India to do a job of work too? Surely you will stay longer with us.’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ She felt discomfited. There was one reason alone for her being here and now was not the time to declare it. It was a crazy reason, too, according to Grayson, and she was sure the Rajah would agree with him.

  ‘Dear me.’ The old man sighed and sipped from the glass he’d been carrying. ‘That is a shame. We have so few visitors.’ There seemed a need to emphasise the fact. It certainly fitted the sense they’d had, as they’d driven through the town, of a people cut off from the outside world. ‘But for the few days you are here,’ he continued, ‘we must make sure you enjoy yourself to the full.’

  Grayson smiled politely. ‘I fear I’m unlikely to have the time. I’ve come to Sikaner on business, Your Highness.’

  ‘And what might that be?’ The man’s black eyes were suddenly sharply appraising and the aquiline nose jutted aggressively.

  ‘I have been asked by His Majesty’s Government to come to India to find a missing employee. It appears that he travelled to Sikaner.’ Grayson had evidently decided on the direct approach. It was probably the best way with a man this slippery.

  ‘My goodness, Britain must have money to waste—and after the costly war she has just fought. To send you all the way from London to find a missing coolie.’

  The words were utterly disparaging and she felt Grayson stiffen beside her. ‘Javinder Joshi is a most respected officer in the civil service.’

  ‘I am sure.’ The Rajah waved his hand languidly. ‘But all the way from London … you have Indian colleagues, I imagine, who could go looking for him?’

  ‘I have colleagues,’ Grayson said evenly, ‘but I consider this to be my job.’

  ‘Then I am afraid you have had a wasted journey, Mr Harte. Sikaner is very small, too small for the British government to concern itself with, and your colleague is unlikely to have visited us. You will leave disappointed.’ There was a distinct edge to the old man’s words.

  ‘Sikaner may be small but it holds a strategic position. I am sure it assumes far greater importance in the mind of government than you realise.’ Daisy could see that Grayson was deliberately flattering the man in an attempt, no doubt, to get him to talk.

  ‘Once it was important. And if honesty and justice had prevailed, it would still be important. But Sikaner has become a force from the past, a princely state that has had its day.’

  The old man hunched his shoulders in annoyance and strode towards one of the many long windows. On the way, he jettisoned his glass on a small table, casting it carelessly aside and causing it to slide perilously close to the edge and hang suspended there. He glared through the window for some minutes, then turned and walked back towards them.

  ‘But you will know about that, who better? Mountbatten and his gentlemen are lauded in London, I believe. Lauded for an act of betrayal.’ He swaddled his robes tightly against his body.

  ‘Your words are harsh, Your Highness.’

  ‘They are true words, young man. I have lived long enough to know truth from falsehood and no matter how the situation is glossed, the destruction of the princely states is a betrayal on the grandest scale. We have been handed to the enemies of those we thought our friends.’

  It was as Grayson had said. The Rajah’s disaffection was clear. And his anger no doubt behind the violence that had marred an otherwise peaceful Rajasthan. ‘I take it then, that you have not joined the Indian Union, sir?’ Grayson asked guilelessly.

  ‘No, we have not joined. Not Sikaner.’ The voice was quiet but entirely steel.

  ‘And you don’t intend to?’

  ‘You are right, Mr Harte. Sikaner does not intend to join. If you know your Indian history, you will be aware that many years ago we surrendered our powers to the British Crown. That Crown no longer holds sway in India, and therefore those powers should revert to us. Anything less is a violation of the treaty we signed.’

  ‘That is certainly one way of looking at it.’

  ‘It is the only way.’

  The words seem to provoke painful thoughts in him and for some time he stood gazing into the empty distance, his guests seemingly forgotten. At length, he roused himself to bring the audience to an abrupt end. ‘But you must be tired. Hakim will show you to your quarters. We eat at six.’

  ‘Your Highness.’ Grayson bowed over the thin hand and Daisy wondered if she should curtsy. She was saved the embarrassment of deciding by Hakim, who appeared at her elbow and began very gently to shepherd her towards the doorway.

  CHAPTER 17

  Instead of retracing their steps to the inner courtyard, the servant opened one of the many doors they’d passed on their way to the audience chamber. Rather than the closeted space that Daisy had imagined, a spiral staircase of white marble was revealed, the curling black ironwork of its bannister swirling upwards three or four floors high.

  ‘His Highness thought you would like a panoramic view,’ Hakim remarked as they climbed. ‘He asked for the blue suite to be prepared. You will see the whole of Sikaner from there.’

  She exchanged a look with Grayson but neither of them spoke. In Hakim’s wake, they climbed three flights of stairs until they emerged into a large open space, a marble-floored square, with glass running the length of one wall. Carved marble window frames looked out over the vast expanse of land through which they had driven. In the distance, a spread of dwellings marked the limits of the town.

  ‘Here, please.’ Hakim was opening a door on the other side of the square.

  ‘Could you wait a moment?’

  On impulse, Daisy darted across to the far wall. She’d glimpsed a large glass case filled with photographs. Even from a distance, she had seen they were very old and marked some kind of celebration. Might they give her the clue she sought? It was a foolish notion, she knew, for how could pictures of a local festival tell her anything? Her mother had never visited India, yet Daisy knew there was a connection. The image of another old photograph coalesced with those in the case. The image of Lily Driscoll in nursing uniform and wearing a brooch that could only be Indian, a celebration of the goddess Nandni Mata, the daughter. How did it all add up? It didn’t, that was the answer, and she scolded herself for her desperation, even as she was drawn to the display.

  All the pictures recorded the same event and, by the look of it, it had been a magnificent affair. Elephants paraded through the streets of the town, draped with elaborately woven blankets of flowers, their foreheads studded with jewels and gold. The beast leading the convoy, by far the strongest it seemed, carried the Rajah’s throne, a massive pedestal draped in gold brocaded velvet. She peered closely at the figure sitting atop, but he was in shadow. A string of elephants followed in the Rajah’s wake, the two immediately behind decorated almost as splendidly as his, but bearing empty howdahs. That was interesting but hardly significant. She was clutching at straws.

  ‘There’s no one riding in them,’ she said hopefully.

  ‘There won’t be. They’re empty because they contain the spirits of the Rajah�
�s forebears.’

  Grayson had punctured whatever bubble had been brewing. She was trying to make something out of nothing and she must stop. She walked back to join Hakim waiting patiently for them, a large brass key in his hand. He gave a small bow and flung open the double doors to the most sumptuous apartment she had ever seen. A huge sitting room decorated in blue and gold, two similarly lavish bedrooms, a marble tiled bathroom for each of them and what she imagined was a sizeable balcony, hidden for the moment by the bamboo blinds that reached to the floor. The few clothes they’d brought had already been unpacked. She wandered into one of the bathrooms and saw her modest toiletries arranged neatly on a marble shelf.

  ‘There’s nothing for me to do,’ she remarked, walking back into the sitting room.

  ‘The way to live. I could get used to it.’ Grayson had thrown himself down on one of the long silk-covered divans and kicked off his shoes.

  ‘It may be, but the Rajah doesn’t seem too happy with his life.’

  ‘He doesn’t, does he? In fact, I would say he is one angry man. And he didn’t try to hide it.’

  ‘It was the talk of independence that upset him most.’

  Before Grayson could respond, there was a knock at the door and Hakim appeared on the threshold, towing behind him two fellow retainers and a wheeled trolley. Daisy’s eyes opened wide. Food. Thank goodness. There was a limit to how long a dry biscuit could keep you going. The servants unpacked the trolley with care, arranging the plates and bowls in a circle on the low table that stood between the two divans. To Daisy, each dish looked better than the one before, and she itched for the men to leave.

  The door had barely closed, before both she and Grayson dived into the feast. For some while, they were too busy to talk.

  ‘I can see the Rajah feels bad about independence, but why is he so very angry?’ she asked eventually, munching her way through a second stuffed vada.

  ‘Because he feels coerced into becoming part of an India that he doesn’t recognise. His ancestors signed a treaty with Britain and that treaty is now defunct, so he argues that the powers his family gave up should return to him.’

  ‘I think he has a point.’

  Grayson pursed his lips. ‘A small point perhaps,’ he conceded, ‘but the world has moved on since those treaties were signed. Britain’s conquest of India was haphazard, that’s always been the problem. Any rulers who welcomed the invaders or proved a worthy foe were allowed to remain on their throne, provided they acknowledged Britain as the paramount power. So there’s always been two Indias—one administered by the government in Delhi and a separate India of the princes.’

  ‘But he’s not alone, is he? You said there were other states that have refused to join the union.’

  ‘A few, but Mountbatten managed to persuade most of them to sign up. To be fair, they didn’t have much choice. Some of the big boys are still holding out—places like Hyderabad and Kashmir—but the very small states gave in months ago.’

  ‘But not Sikaner. So the Rajah is out on a limb. I wonder what he hopes to achieve.’

  ‘That’s what I’m wondering too. Perhaps he thinks Britain will relent and agree princely independence for the most stubborn. I know that some of the more bolshie states have lobbied for it, but since they’ve never been formal British territory, it’s impossible. In any case Britain couldn’t be seen to support rulers against their subjects. That would undermine any notion of democracy. Or maybe—’

  ‘Maybe he hopes to make enough trouble that India won’t want his state in the union?’

  ‘Something like that. Here you’ve missed these pakoras.’ He pushed the bowl towards her.

  ‘I can’t eat another thing. What a spread. But the trouble you spoke of doesn’t seem to be happening here. The people we’ve seen don’t appear fearsome and they don’t look as if they’ve suffered violence either. The town might not have a good feeling, but it’s more like apathy than anything else.’

  ‘We saw only a small part of the town,’ he warned, ‘then we were whisked into this privileged enclave. What it’s like out in the villages, in the fields, could be very different. That’s what Javinder would have wanted to find out.’ Daisy lay back on the divan, replete. ‘The Rajah was pretty certain Javinder hadn’t come this way.’

  ‘A little too certain,’ said Grayson sombrely. ‘It’s too late to do anything today, but I’ll be up at first light before Verghese or his household get wind of my intentions.

  ‘And they are?’

  ‘To ask a lot of questions of a lot of people. But first I’ll phone Mike—the police station should have a phone I can use. He needs to know we’ve made it here and, by some miracle, he may have turned up something useful by now.’

  Daisy couldn’t quite keep a yawn from escaping. She was feeling cool and rested and she’d barely slept last night.

  He looked across at her. ‘We still have dinner to get through. You better snatch some sleep while you can. I promise not to wake you—unless there’s an emergency. Sorting out my bow tie, for instance,’ he teased.

  Dinner was not something she wanted to contemplate, but sleep most definitely was. She stumbled into her room and saw that the bed was large enough to fill almost one wall. Its sheets were freshly ironed and its pillows plumped. It looked so inviting, and she was so tired. She fell asleep almost instantly.

  Daisy had barely shut her bedroom door, when a knock sounded from the corridor. Not Hakim this time but a young boy, bare-headed and wearing a simple white tunic.

  He hovered on the threshold, pointing mutely to the dishes on the table. He had no English, it seemed, and Grayson spoke to him in Hindi. ‘You’ve come to clear what’s left? It was a very good meal. Thank you.’

  The boy smiled shyly and began rather awkwardly to pile dishes on to the large tray he’d brought.

  ‘Here, let me help. That tray is almost as big as you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, but no. It is not fitting.’

  ‘Who’s going to see? I take it you’re new here? What’s your name?’

  ‘I am Chintu. I am training to wait at table. Soon I will have my uniform,’ the boy said proudly, balancing one dish on another in a precarious fashion. ‘This task is the very first I have been given to do alone. Hakim is busy below.’

  ‘Then we must be sure that you make a good job of it.’ And despite the boy’s protests, Grayson continued to load crockery neatly on to the tray.

  ‘Was it difficult to find work here?’ he asked conversationally.

  ‘It was not easy, sir. Life is hard.’ The boy’s expression had changed subtly.

  ‘Hard in Sikaner?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Very. My mother and father are poor and I have many brothers and sisters.

  ‘So working here is quite a promotion for you?’

  The faintest shadow passed across the boy’s face, but he said nothing.

  ‘It must be good, though, to find yourself a place of safety in these difficult times,’ Grayson pursued. Chintu’s eyes met his, but his face remained blank. ‘I heard there had been problems, you see. An outbreak of violence, but no doubt it’s been exaggerated. You know how tales start.’

  ‘It was not exaggerated,’ the boy said. ‘It has been bad.’

  Grayson sat down and rested his hands casually on his knees. ‘Tell me about it. Don’t worry, there’s no one to hear you other than me and I’m always interested in the places I visit.’

  Chintu let go of the tray. ‘Things had settled down after the troubles, you see.’

  ‘The troubles that followed Partition?’

  ‘Yes indeed. But it was never so bad in Rajasthan. We are mainly Hindu, as you know, sir. We heard the most terrible things were happening elsewhere. In Bengal, for instance. People trying to escape and the trains becoming rolling coffins.’

  ‘Calcutta, yes, I know. I read that it was very dreadful.’

  The boy’s eyes had grown large and, without thinking, he sat down on the divan opposite Grayson. ‘Man
y, many people died. Do you know they took Moslems to the Hooghly River and decapitated them on the bridge there? They say that vultures were feeding off the bodies as they floated downstream.’

  ‘It doesn’t bear thinking of. But that didn’t happen here, surely?’

  ‘There were some problems.’ Chintu paused briefly as he thought back to the previous year, but then hastened to assure Grayson, ‘Some problems, but nowhere near as bad. And after Partition, things were quiet. The Moslems who stayed were happy enough. There was no enmity.’

  Grayson nodded understandingly. ‘But …’

  ‘But then it started. A Moslem girl was attacked—’ Chintu looked embarrassed ‘—you understand?’ Grayson nodded again. ‘Then a Hindu was murdered. For revenge. Then another Moslem and so on.’

  ‘Random attacks?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ the boy said uncertainly. ‘Each time there was a rumour. No one knew who started it, but the rumour was believed, a tale about some person in the town and then they would be killed. But there was unhappiness and several people spoke out against what was happening. They were murdered too.’

  ‘So not so random. And is it still happening?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. We hear nothing in the palace. But do not fear, you will be safe.’

  ‘I’m not worried for my own safety, but I have a young lady accompanying me.’

  Chintu looked concerned. ‘Then perhaps it would be wise to go soon. I think there will be more trouble.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘This time, big trouble. My uncle …’

  ‘What about your uncle?’

  ‘I must not say.’

  ‘Come, Chintu. You can tell me. I’m a stranger and know no one here. Is your uncle dead?’ The boy shifted uneasily on the divan, but Grayson needed more. ‘Did he die because of another rumour?’