Dur Khaima (part 5)

Our hero was totally dumbfounded, as he knew the Rana would go to his funeral pyre before sunup on the morrow.

After the shock had worn off, and knowing that his love would follow her husband into the flames, he set about concocting plan after plan to save her, each one more outlandish than the last, as he lay on his bed after the evening meal.

Could somehow the Hakim save the Rana? Could their advisors be reasoned with? How about storming the Palace from the inside, disguised as the Hakim's helper? How about bluffing with threats from the English Authorities? This last was the silliest as he forgot he was basically a spy.

The Hakim left the house to go tend the Rana possibly for the last time, and our hero reuctantly decided to discuss with his friends what to do. However, one thing was missing, and this was that they only thought he was fighting injustice, and if the real story had been told, it would have alienated them.

As it was, they were up very late when the Hakim finally came back, after having talked through everything. As the hero came out of his room, the Hakim noticed something profoundly different about him. He was laughing, joking, and ate a fine meal. He seemed not to be the brooding, troubled man he had left there, but once more his carefree self, a self the doctor hadn't seen in months. He commented to his friends about it. Our hero overheard, and patted him on the shoulder with a smile

"Sir, I know what you are thinking. Have I gone mad? The truth is Sir, " and he flourished another smile, " I have given up. They say drowning is quite pleasant once you have accepted it".

The Hakim felt like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He had envisioned all kinds of things involving flashing Tulwars, pistol shots, and maybe hostages.

There was a legend in the city that when the bell tolled for the death of a Rana, his spirit, mounted on a beautiful golden horse, galloped through the open city gate, eager to be reborn a warrior.

But that was just a rumor. However, the Hakim's news was bad. The Rana had but hours to live.
The Hakim also told him that during his time in the city, he had time to make five sets of clothing, from material available in the markets, in the colors of the palace servants, orange and yellow. He had had a feeling they would be needed come the time, but now there was no plan, thankfully, they would not. However, he kept them handy just in case.

In all this excitement, they had forgot the time, and almost without warning, the palace bell began tolling. They looked at each other, and our hero stood up.

"Well," he said, " this is it".

They asked him what.

"I have my revolver, and I intend to beat those crowds to the Chattris (out-buildings) and the pyre. I will not let the princess die a horrible death. I at least can spare her from the flames. I intend to shoot her. "

And without another word, he left.

He mounted his horse, and urged him to the now open city gate with all haste, and maybe it was the golden sparks of a coming sunrise, that some of the city, for years hence, swore they had seen the Rana'a spirit hurtle past them that fateful night.

The horse knew his master was excited and somehow that spurned him on. It was so exhilarating that our hero couldn't resist singing the well-known hymn;

"The golden evening brightens in the west;
Soon, soon to faithful warriors comes their rest;
Sweet is the calm of paradise the blessed.
Alleluia, Alleluia!"

and suddenly he fell silent, for on the back of his singing he could hear his echo from the other side of the valley in that quiet morning light.

Presently he arrived at the appointed place. He hushed the horse, secured him and wondered where and when he should fire that loving shot.

He climbed onto a ledge overlooking the pyre, but which had a good view. In his waiting he wondered how history would remember him. The Great Rana being bore by his advisors, followed by his two brides, the young one, and then the elder one, barefoot and unveiled. It isn't every day that common people get a look at a high-born woman, and it was told that the younger bride was one of exceptional beauty, and, of how an unknown madman......

He steeled himself. This was going to be a great tamarsha (show). About an hour later he heard a humming noise. It was the beginnings of the crowds come to look. Soon the place was overwhelmed with a seething mass of city dwellers, all eager to feast their eyes on the younger bride's beauty. Then it went quiet, and the hero was almost boxed in by the crush.

And then they heard it. The procession was on it's way.

It was quite some time before there was a real noise, the sun was now up, and it was going to a hot day. A great cheer went out from the awaiting people around, making it easy so as the shot was not to be heard. However, he was wedged tight on the parapet and his companions would be sure to see him take aim.

Then they saw the bier, and an even louder shout was heard. It was flanked by two elephants, obviously obscuring what was coming behind. The elephants passed and there she was, her little head held regally high, open and unveiled. At only 16 she was taking it rather well, thought our hero, as everybody greedily looked at her classically Indian beautiful features, her slender body, covered only by a Sari, but wearing some of the most magnificent jewelry ever seen. But where was the other Princess?

His thought was distracted by somone pulling on his arm, and turning around saw the uniform of a palace servant. He had been discovered! However the voice he recognised. It was the Hakim dressed in the robes he had made, pressing him to follow. This he did, down a staircase cut from rock, and into a large room. There he found his guide and the horse master, but he saw only one. She was standing by the chik (bamboo curtain) and he very nearly lost control and took her in his arms, but just in time remembered that none of his group actually knew the truth.

She turned to look at him and her face was one of stone. He was rooted to the spot. Could this really be her? Her features were still the same but she looked so...so thin and alien . She resumed her gaze onto the scene below them. The Hakim's explanation of the situation was simple. They had learned that the elder princess was NOT to be burned on her husband's prye, but made to watch her sister, and then her eyes were to be put out. He hadn't noticed before but in the corner there were four more people, one of them dead, plus a hot brazier with a poker in it. His face went red with fury. The Hakim stopped him. They had learned where this was to be done as the younger princess had told the Hakim in a moment of grief.

They had put the uniforms on, actually arrived with the cortege, and came upon the place exactly as told. The Hakim, being a doctor, disposed of the guard silently the only way he knew how. He had put a dagger through his eye. From then it had been easy, but they had to find the Sahib.

What a relief, he thought, so our hero called to everyone to escape quickly before the alarm was raised, but the Princess didn't move. He went over to her.

"Don't you know me, Larla?"

She turned to him. It was her sister, the younger bride. She had always been terrified of fire. He replied she didn't look it.

"It is just a show for her. Once she sees those flames, she will be absolutely mortified with terror"

" What shall I do?"

" Do for her what you would have done for me. "

He looked out. He was now lower, but further away.

"'Tis all of forty paces. " he thought.

She must have read his mind.

"Do it, please, if not for her, then for me."

He looked around.

"She is the Rani, Sahib" the guide said.

He sighed, took his hunting knife, and cut a gap in the chik large enough for a revolver, but small enough not to be noticed. He peered out. The cortege had stopped, and all was quiet . His fears returned about the sound of the shot.

The Rana was placed on the pyre, and the Rani followed. The Palace advisors now began to remove the jewelry from the little girl, after all, THAT must not be burned. That finished, she lay by her husband, and cradled his head on her tiny thigh.

"NOW!" the elder princess urged. " Once she sees the fire all the show will be over"

He waited. The young heir, as chosen by the advisors of course, was given a flaming torch. Being only five, he nearly dropped it.

Only when the pyre had been touched with the torch, and the tinder-dry wood laced with spices was ignited, did something happen.

The crowd roared, and the little girl on the pyre looked up and saw that it had begun. Her face a mask of horror, she stood up, and looked in panic all around her as the fire was already singeing her beautiful long hair.

He took aim and fired.

It sounded deafening in the room, and the little girl on the pyre threw up her arms in apparent grief and collapsed onto her husband. The crowd roared approval.

With that, the party, four men and a girl, raced from the room. The guide suggested killing the three other palace guards, but the Hakim would not allow it. They ran outside to the awaiting four horses, mounted and took off in the middle of the tamarsha, heading for the secret gap in the uncrossable foothills.

They hadn't got 100 yards when a shot, a rifle shot, was fired from behind them . At once the Hakim regretted not having killed the three guards.

They raced on, hero and heroine on one horse, the other three with one each. But the ground was stony, their horses not used to it, whereas the Rana's horses had been trained to run in such country. The chase was on. They were 200 yards from the passage when the horseman realised they wouldn't make it, so he turned full circle and ran head-on into the pursuers, bringing them down with himself, and the passage, guarded by a huge rock, was upon them. They took refuge behind it. With four muskets between them, it was decided the princess's safety was most important, so the Hakim would remain behind, even though he was not used to guns, the rock providing much cover.

This done, the guide and our two lovers, went through that same narrow passge that had been traversed only the day before, it seeming a lifetime ago. Slowly the sound of the gunshots receded. They travelled until the guide thought them safe enough to stop, and decided to go back, leaving our two alone.

During this time, she told of how her sister had mistreated her badly and did not want her sharing the Rana's bed, being a half-caste. Her sister had become jealous and had her locked away with little food. When the Rana became ill, it was decided that the elder sister would not be allowed to "contaminate" the pyre, and, as a punishment for being half-Russian, the death of the younger bride was to have been the last thing she saw.

Again, there was rage in him, but his rage turned to concern when there was no sign of the guide, and there was the smoke from a camp fire on the horizon. His concern grew as the guide was just that, being the only person who could lead them over the hills

They fell asleep waiting.

When they awoke, the guide was cooking chuppatis.

He told them he had spotted the Rana's men early and had returned to the passage by another route.

The Hakim had died defending them.

Knowing the country better it was soon a matter of time only before the guide overtook the enemy, who were ignorant of all the paths, to get back to the sleeping couple. But they still had to hurry.

Six days later, they found themselves in familiar country, and their guide left them with heartfelt thanks. But how to explain the Princess? She could never be a Princess again, and she was a widow. They could not openly marry, as it would arouse both distaste and suspicion and may lead to them to certain death would the Rana's spies find out, and they would.

In despair, they took a small merchant ship, the captain of whom was known, just to lay low. During the voyage they were married by the captain, as they made their way north to Peshawar. However, it was totally unthinkable to present himself there as the husband to a widowed Hindu Princess.

He has once been told he was "two people in one skin", with loyalties neither with England or India, to the effect that he would always have to take sides.

They realised that he had now become a third person, himself, with his love becoming the other half. Having been put down near the borders of Afghanistan, it came to pass that to find that "Third" country, the one that would be theirs and theirs alone, would make everyone happy. So on they trekked on horseback, through the desolate but lonely passes, to look for it.....

....and rumour has it, they found it.

Dur Khaima (part four)

Luckily for our hero, he became stationed at Peshawar, a
frontier town on the borders of Afghanistan, where there
was always plenty going on, taking his mind off what had
transpired.

But he never forgot her, and often would idle the time
away disconsolately thinking about what might have been,
and the cruel fate that had been dealt to them both.

His love, in her own way, had expressed that it would be
much worse for her than for him, since she was confined
to a Palace, whereas he was still free, with time to
forget her. "Never" he would say to her, " I will never
forget, and if you ever need me, Larla, I will come. If
I am not dead, I will come. "

However, time passed, and he spent his days, fighting
campaigns, indulging in British India Society Circles,
and as a secret agent (his upbringing, swarthy
complexion, and mastery of the vernacular, allowing him
to be mistaken for an Afridi, one of the border tribes
of nearby Afghanistan).

However, he never could quite fit in with either India
society, nor British Society. Some of his "chaps" said
he was like "two people in one skin".

As a result, he was branded a "dull dog" and often
ostracised by his own, and one day, incurred the wrath
of his closest Indian friend by pretending to worship
Allah by facing Mecca and praying, a habit he had had to
learn when in Muslim disguise.

Then shortly after, he had word through the famous
Indian grapevine, from the Hakim who had once treated
the despot Rana with boils. Apparently, the younger
bride, having no faith in the Rana's doctors, had called
for him from her own country, and the Hakim, knowing the
Sahib (Indian for Englishman) well, had left him word
via his servant.

The Hakim was in a place close to an army Cantonment
only 100km, as the crow flies, from the city where his
love was. He pressed on with all dispatch to get there.

The Rana was ill, desperately ill, he was told, and the
custom of Suttee was still practiced there, but being so
far from British influence, the Laws were largely
ignored there for the same reason the Rana tried to
double-cross them in the first place.

The term "Suttee" literally means "to go within" and as
kings (Ranas) were traditionally burned on a funeral
pyre after death, Suttee decreed that their living wives
would join him there to be burned alive ("to go
within"), hence the prohibition by the "Ruling" British.
Normally widows are "put away" into seclusion as being
bad luck. It is widely held, however, that some Munshis
misinterpreted the "go within" to not mean "go within
the house" but to "go within the flames".

So, the Hakim was on his way the Rana's City, and
naturally, if any news of the elder bride could be
relayed, it would be a great relief.

The Hakim and the Sahib finally devised a method of
communication using pigeons carefully hidden in a secret
compartment below the Hakim's cage that he used to carry
live chickens, as he didn't trust the Rana's food
markets. If there was any news, a pigeon would be sent
with a message tied to its leg.

Thus satisfied, the Hakim was allowed to proceed, and
yet another anxious wait followed for any news.

Weeks passed, and then more weeks, until one day, there
was a flutter of feathers at the verandah.

A pigeon.

With some haste, the Sahib removed the message and to
some relief, his girl was fine, but to his horror he learned
that the Rana was dying.

He was aghast.

This was the worst possible news. It was at that moment
he decided to go back to the City, but not as a Sahib,
but an Afridi. He hired a skilled horseman and a
knowledgeable guide, bought a fiery mare and started off
over the barren hills between them and the Rana's City,
a route never usually travelled by ordinary means.

The journey was not easy, but the guide seemed to find
paths where there appeared to be none.

Five days later, they came upon a seemingly solid wall
of rock. Without hesitation, their guide headed straight
for it. Closer inspection revealed a narrow cleft not
visible from afar, and into it they proceeded. The
passage through the rocks was so narrow, that at one
point one of the horses nearly became wedged. One hour
later, they emerged into a clear evening sky at the top
end of the very valley the bridal camp had been lured
into almost three long years ago.

Immediately they launched into their plan, that of
mingling with the adjoining local farmers, out for the
day grazing cattle and now returning eagerly for the evening
meal. Three new faces amongst many were not questioned.

The evil in the place was still as permeating as ever,
as they made their way, as unobtrusively as possible, to the
Hakim's house, entering separately so as not to arouse
suspicion.

The Hakim was extremely disturbed to see them there, as
if ever discovered it could only mean a swift death from
a convenient "accident", especially for the Sahib who
had entered secretly and not as an officer.

However, this was only part of the Hakim's deep concern.

There was far more terrible news. All four of them knew
that Suttee was still observed there, but the Hakim's
next five words cut like a knife through our hero's
heart.

"The Rana will die tonight".

Dur Khaima (part three)

After many hours of soul-searching about possible avenues for their future, the unfortunate guy reluctantly agreed (secretly, on further rides) with his love that the wedding must go ahead.

During this time, the enormous Bridal Camp was approaching the territory governed by the soon-to-be-wed Rana, and preparations far outweighed him seeing his love even secretly.

Added to this, his problems became far worse when upon their encampment deep within the Rana's influence, they found themselves virtual prisoners in a deep valley heavily guarded by manned Fortresses armed with cannon.

Then came the real blow. The Rana subsequently demanded almost twice the bride price previously agreed as compensation for the expensive ceremonies he would have to take for marrying a half-caste, the Elder Bride, as she was one-quarter Russian.

Many Official meetings ensued, during which he discovered that the Rana did not look the 40 years he was supposed to, but more like 70, owing to his opium addictions and countless other vices. Moreover he was apparently very sick.

This so outraged our gallant British Officer, not only in principle but because they had openly referred to his love by the insulting term 'half-caste', that he did all in his power to try and dissuade the Rana from any action. But the Rana didn't care about threats of being reported to the British Authorities, as his state was so far from the nearest Political Officer that it would be months before any decision, let alone reply could be made.

So the love-lorn guy did the only thing in his power : he called the Rana's bluff. In the dead of night, they all sneaked out of the valley, 500 elephants and all, risking being fired upon by the cannon.

Our guy was banking on the fact that the Rana would never risk firing upon such distinguished company, as if and when the British got to hear of it (and they would), they may leave a garrison in the city, and this was the last thing on his mind.

Even while the Rana and his subjects were debating this, the bridal camp was nearly half way out of the valley, and by morning, they had made a new camp, being politely greeted by the Rana's entourage, as if nothing untoward had happened. In fact the services of the Officer's doctor were required, as the Rana had been overcome with a serious attack of boils. The doctor was despatched and subsequently easily cured the boils, and our hero turned his mind to other things.

Once again, he tried to dissuade his girl not to go through with it, and this time he was so desperate he requested a private meeting right in front of her uncle's eyes. Only by virtue of his heroic deeds was the meeting allowed so close to the wedding. His uncle physically gasped with shock when he witnessed their manner of greeting for the last time.

He tried every argument he could possibly think of, but she would not change his mind. Her reason was simple. It was her sister, the younger bride, the 14-year old, whom would find life hell if she was companionless. This she could not allow, and no amount of pleading or anger or even emotional blackmail could reverse her decision.

He had lost her. To an ugly husband who didn't love her, and a prison in the Zenana quarters in a place full of corruption and vice.

He turned away, looked back with one long, last look, and left the tent.

Being a British Officer, the next day he had to put all this behind him, and watch dispassionately, as the Love of His Life was married to someone else right before his eyes.

However, as he was later to find out, had he known the Rana better, it may have been better for them to take their chances and run away after all.

Dur Khaima (part two)

From then on his heart was in turmoil..until fate, in the greatest Hindu tradition, dealt them both a cruel blow...

It was on one of their daily rides, after making camp, that the bridal entourage, consisting of three Royal relatives, the Brides, and their Guide, our hapless Englishman that the inevitable happened.

It was a normal evening, when the younger Bride having been safely hidden in a Ruth, escorted by her uncle and a horse master, and the elder Bride (to all intents and purposes an 'ugly' woman for an Indian high-born Bride) given to riding alone on ahead with our hero, that circumstances nearly overtook them all.

Almost without warning, a dust-storm arose, and the two parties were separated by the choking clouds.

Fortunately, the younger Bride was hastened away back to camp just in time, but our hero was left alone with his forbidden love in a post-Dante hell. With her wit and quick thinking, she guided the frightened horses through a low gully and located a long-vacated cave-dwelling. In the darkness they suddenly lost each other, and then, just as suddenly, found each other, and from that moment, two hearts became one.

After a breathtaking night, during which all sense of time was lost, the storm left, but explanations had to be made.

By good fortune, the camp was half-wrecked by the storm, and almost all were relieved on two counts.....that the younger bride was returned before the storm, and that our hero had protected the elder bride during it. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else was said.

Except inside two beating hearts that were now one.

What was to be done? How could they go on? With almost divine wisdom the elder bride decided that there was no choice. Condemned to a life inside a palace she didn't know, married to a husband she didn't love, the decision was made to carry on as if nothing had happened, as any other recourse would have meant disaster for them both.

He took it very hard, but his strength came from her as she made him realise that for one night, her dreams had come true, her guy had at last returned and had loved her. Knowing was enough.

It was more than he could bear. He now had to go through with a ceremony that meant nothing to either, as she was to be married to a husband who only wanted the pretty Bride, and there was no way to avoid it. As a British Officer it was his Duty to see it through.

And see it through he did............never imagining what was to come next.....

Dur Khaima (part one)

Once upon a time, 160 years ago, there was an Englishman whose father was a traveller in India. Unfortunately, both his parents died when he was but a babe, and at 5 years old witnessed the atrocities of the Indian Mutiny in 1857.

Fearing the worst, as he was English, his Indian nurse brought him up as a Hindu and with his naturally dark features enhanced by Kohl, was passed of as a Hindu until he was 12. Being brought up the Indian way, he thought himself a Hindu and spoke fluent Pushtu, Hindi and Urdu.

Again tragedy struck and his nurse died in his arms within sight of the Ganges, after having been pursued by enemies from a corrupt Citadel where he had been friends to a young Raj (king) and the Raj's small half-sister, having prevented the formers' assassination.

His only way to live now being in his hands, he took the package left by the nurse, which contained a huge amount of money and a letter in strange writing, to the nearest Cantonment of the ruling British Army.

The package contained proof of his birthright but unfortunately was also his passage from freedom to subservience, as the British shipped him back to England to be 'educated'.

He despised it, but the powers that be encouraged him to use his Indian language skills for the 7 years in Belait (England).

In time, he naturally wanted to return to his native India, and was shipped back there to be a part of the Army. His grasp of the cultures and languages soon elevated him far above most of his peers.

His first major task was to be the sole Angrezi (Englishman) in charge of a bridal camp to escort two young Princesses to their wedding, being aged 14 and 17.

After having saved the lives of the Princesses, and the face of the State, in a dangerous river crossing, they became indebted to him and his fast friends, removing their saris to reveal their faces as a sign of gratitude during his evening visits to the Royal tent.

It was at this point he recognised one of the Princesses. The younger one being such an exceptional Eastern beauty that no man could possibly resist looking at her unveiled face. However, he could not take his eyes off the other one, the elder, for she was the very half-sister of the Raj he had saved in childhood, and she was the epitome of Western beauty, being half-Russian.

She didn't recognise him as he was an Angrezi, but he immediately knew her as he had been her only friend during her unhappy childhood.

Even looking upon a high born Indian woman in 1870 was unthinkable, let alone falling in love with one, especially as she was also a Princess and was now on her way to marry a King she had never met.

And yet........it had just happened to him......