Part 8 (2/2)
Reshma bundled Saboor into the grand palanquin and pushed the basket of clothes in after him.
”Wait, stupid woman, daughter of an owl.” The eunuch was beside her. ”What is this nonsense? What filthy brat are you pa.s.sing off for the child Saboor? You will be punished for this.”
”Reshma!” The caller's hollow voice had grown impatient. ”You must go at once to Rani Saat.”
Reshma's eyes jerked from the eunuch to the doorway. She stepped back from the palanquin. ”That is is the child Saboor,” she said. the child Saboor,” she said.
”What?” he asked, his dusky voice high and startled.
”Please. His mother died ten days ago. Please take him away quickly.”
The eunuch's eyes widened. ”The mother is dead?” Recovering himself, he fiapped his fingers at the palanquins. ”Never mind. This is no time to be concerning ourselves with details. We must hurry.” He glanced at Reshma. ”Women,” he said, and spat upon the marble paving.
With a ceremonial groan, four bearers hoisted the Maharajah's palanquin to their shoulders. The head bearer gave a command, and all twelve men began to trot. In seconds, the palanquin with its relief bearers and mounted guards rounded the corner of the courtyard leading to the elephant stairs. Following closely, the eunuch's palanquin with its own complement of bearers and guards pa.s.sed out of Reshma's sight.
”May G.o.d forgive me for my crime,” she whispered, when they had gone, ”and give my Saboor a safe journey.”
Turning away, she ran as fast as she could to Rani Saat Kaur's room.
SAATKaur's child was coughing when Reshma entered, a weak, unpleasant sound.
”Where have you been?” Saat Kaur snapped irritably from her bed. ”Where is the brat Saboor?”
”He has gone, Bibi.” Reshma's throat was dry. When she closed her mouth, grit from the storeroom cracked between her teeth. ”The Maharajah has sent for him. He has gone in the Maharajah's own palki palki to the royal camp.” to the royal camp.”
Saat Kaur sat up, her eyes stretched wide. ”In the Maharajah's own palki own palki?”
When Saat Kaur rose from the bed, Reshma stood motionless, although her heart beat thunderously and she longed to run. But where was there to run in this enclosed tower? An instant later, her head snapped sideways as Saat's open hand struck her, leaving a fiery imprint on her cheek.
This time one slap would not suffice. Panting with fury, Saat Kaur reached for her shoe.
Reshma sought to save herself from the next blow, but she was not quick enough. It fell sickeningly on her ear. She covered her head with her arms and hunched her shoulders against the blows that followed.
”For this,” Saat Kaur gasped, out of breath from the work of beating her servant, ”my father brought me at the age of eleven to run beside the Maharajah's palanquin so he would notice me? For this, I enticed the Maharajah to take me as his youngest wife?”
Reshma waited, whimpering, for Saat Kaur's arms to tire. Her own arms ached and burned. The blows to her body echoed in the small room. When at last they weakened, she ran for the doorway, but fingers grasped her braid and yanked her back.
The red of Saat Kaur's embroidered clothes signified joy. The Rani's eyes were swollen. The little queen had been weeping even before she heard the news of Saboor's departure. Now she reached out, her fingers bent into claws, her voice a coa.r.s.e whisper, while on the bed, her son began to wail fretfully.
”People will tell the Maharajah what I have done! What will become of me now?”
”No, Saat Bibi,” Reshma protested, ”he will not know, he-”
”Liar!” A sour smell rose from Saat Kaur's pretty body. She shook Reshma by her battered shoulders. ”He will see the brat's condition. The others will tell him of the poison. They have guessed. I can feel it. Why did you not wash the cup Why did you not wash the cup?”
She let go of Reshma and clutched her own face. ”What will save me from the pyre now? They would not burn the mother of a beloved son, but the Maharajah cares only for the brat Saboor. It should be my son, my son my son in that palki! This is your doing. I will kill you for this. I will kill you-” in that palki! This is your doing. I will kill you for this. I will kill you-”
She fiung herself onto the bed beside her wailing son. Reshma crawled to a corner and huddled there, her arms wrapped around her body. Helpless tears ran close upon one another along her nose and dripped onto the front of her long, worn s.h.i.+rt.
From the bed, Saat Kaur sighed. ”Come here, Reshma,” she commanded, rolling onto her stomach. ”I want you to press my back.”
Her body still trembled with shock and fright, but Reshma did as she was ordered. She bent over the bed, and pressed her hands rhythmically up and down the length of the little queen's back until Saat Kaur fell asleep.
The two palanquins had made good time along the road to the Maharajah's camp. In three hours, they had covered a little over twelve miles. The Maharajah's personal head bearer called a halt, and the running men and their escort left the road.
They set the palanquins down and squatted beside them while the armed guards tethered their mounts. The relief team would come soon. With luck, they would do eleven more miles before dark.
The bearers stretched. Since they had started their journey, there had been no sound from within the royal palanquin.
”We might as well be carrying an empty palki,” remarked one man. He yawned. ”I wish we had such small pa.s.sengers every time.”
”His condition is bad,” remarked another. ”I will be surprised if he lives to finish the journey.”
”The child's condition is no concern of yours.” The eunuch pushed his way past the men who now sat grouped around the silent box. ”Your only concern should be getting him to his destination the day after tomorrow morning. Show him to me.”
A bearer held a ta.s.seled curtain aside. The eunuch put his head inside and withdrew it instantly. ”He stinks,” he cried, his face puckering. ”He cannot have been bathed for days.”
The bearers and the guardsmen peered into the palanquin. Saboor's stained s.h.i.+rt had lifted as he slept, exposing protruding ribs. His body and clothes smelled. He looked at the men with lightless eyes.
”This evil is the work of women,” said one of the guards, shaking his head. ”Who but a jealous woman would harm a lovely child such as this?”
”HAH, hah, hah.” Two days later, breathing in harsh rhythm in the way of bearers, the final team was only five miles from the Maharajah's camp. They would arrive with time to spare.
The palanquins skirted a dead jackal on the road, scattering a fiock of carrion crows. Neeloo, the head bearer, turned to the man trotting beside him. ”The child is too quiet. I am worried about his condition. He came with no food or drink for his journey. The previous bearers have fed him from their own meals, but he has not eaten since this morning.”
”Where is his food?” asked Neeloo's companion. ”Why is he traveling in the royal palanquin with nothing to eat or drink?”
”Perhaps he is dying,” suggested another man.
Neeloo did not reply.
Small m.u.f.fied sounds now came from behind the closed curtains. Neeloo signaled for a stop, then squatted beside the royal palanquin and pulled apart the curtains. Saboor lay whimpering on the satin sheets, his hands opening and closing at his sides.
”What is this? Why have we stopped?” The eunuch climbed from his palki.
A hand on his tiny pa.s.senger, Neeloo looked up. ”The child needs food.”
”Food? Now? Do not be stupid. Move on.”
Neeloo looked from the eunuch's retreating back to the baby, then pointed to a village near the road. ”Gupta,” he told a young bearer, ”fetch some dung from there. We must make a fire and cook for the child.”
The other bearers stared. They were Kahars from Farrukhabad. Hereditary palanquin bearers did not fetch dung from villages, and they never cooked or ate food during the day.
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