Part 10 (2/2)
The eunuch gave a high squeak, but the silver-bearded man waved an unforgiving hand. ”I have no time for your lies, Gurbashan. Where is the child?”
Neeloo pointed to the carved palanquin, where a small foot protruded from beneath a curtain.
Gurbashan the eunuch bent himself nearly double. ”Most Respected-”
”The boy's servant is there,” Nuruddin interrupted, pointing to a small man with a spa.r.s.e beard who squatted in the shade of a nearby tent. ”His name is Ahmad. He is to dress the child and take him to the Maharajah.”
He smiled grimly. ”You are fortunate that one of the elephants was kept back.”
His attention snagged by another problem, Nuruddin moved off, leaving the eunuch to dart away toward the waiting servant.
”-very important to the Maharajah.” Gurbashan gestured grandly as he hurried back, followed by Ahmad, who walked with a long, rolling stride. ”He is the son of Ha.s.san Ali Khan of the Maharajah's court, and the grandson of Shaikh Waliullah of Lah.o.r.e City.”
At the sound of those names, the little servant's eyes widened briefiy.
They had reached the palanquin. Gurbashan fiung back the curtains, covered his nose, and bent down.
He pulled back, his face puckering in disgust as the sweetish smell of unwashed human skin rushed out of the palki. ”I do not care what you do with him,” he told Ahmad, ”only do it quickly. I have had enough of this brat.”
”He is hungry,” the head bearer offered, as the servant squatted down and looked inside. ”We last fed him-”
”Quiet! What have you to do with this?” the eunuch snarled at Neeloo. ”You will be punished for making us late. Do not think you will evade my wrath. And you, Ahmad,” he said, turning to the servant, ”dress him in his court clothes and be quick about it. And do not forget his necklace of emeralds and pearls, his gift from the Maharajah.”
He glanced down briefiy as Ahmad the servant lifted the baby from the palki. ”We are fortunate. He is most likely too ill to cry. Let us hope,” he added briskly, ”that he does not die before the end of the day. But if he does,” he raised his hands, palms outward, ”it will not be my work.”
Neeloo and the other bearers did not speak as they trotted away to find water, food, and a place to rest.
”Do you think, as I do,” asked the oldest bearer finally, ”that the child in the palki is different from other children?”
Neeloo nodded. ”Yes,” he replied firmly, ”he is different.”
SABOOR sat unmoving on the ground while the bearded servant studied him carefully, examining bruised skin and frail limbs.
”Look at this small one, grandson of Shaikh Waliullah,” Ahmad said aloud. ”What does he need?” He poked through Saboor's things. ”He needs his clothes and he needs his necklace. But as to his state, it is very bad.”
He shook his head worriedly, looking about him at the people eddying to and fro on the paths of the Maharajah's potted garden. Among them, a water carrier swung his goatskin, spraying the path with droplets of water to keep down the dust. The little servant stood up and beckoned. ”Oh, Bhisti, come this way!”
”What do you need?” the man asked with the good nature of all water carriers. The full goatskin on his back dragged one of his shoulders downward. The bhisti was small and wiry, but he walked with the characteristically wide, heavy gait of the water carrier. He looked down at the child. ”Ah,” he said, comprehending, ”the boy needs a bath.”
He readied his skin as Ahmad pulled off Saboor's unclean s.h.i.+rt and pajamas, then poured water over the child's head until his hair ceased to be matted and his skin no longer stank of neglect. Ahmad wiped the crust from Saboor's nose and the tear stains from his cheeks, then dried and dressed him in a pair of fine satin pajamas and an embroidered satin tunic with gold b.u.t.tons. While the bhisti looked on with interest, his now empty goatskin slung over his shoulder, Ahmad set Saboor's round embroidered cap on his wet curls and hung the rope of emeralds and pearls about his neck.
”What bruises he has,” remarked the water carrier as they admired their work. ”May whoever has hurt this beautiful child endure ten times his pain in retribution.”
”G.o.d is Great,” replied Ahmad sadly as he drew Saboor to him and got to his feet.
A man pa.s.sed carrying a heavy tray of sweetmeats. ”Stop,” Ahmad called, and ran after him, the child bouncing in his arms.
Moments later, holding Saboor against his shoulder with one hand and a milky sweet in the other, Ahmad the servant climbed up the elephant ladder and into the crowded howdah. There he broke the sugary square into small pieces and put them, one by one, into the baby's mouth.
Memsahib, Memsahib, you must hurry!” Dittoo cried, hoa.r.s.e from excitement. ”Maharajah Ranjit Singh has come. He is at the end of the avenue with all his n.o.bles, readying himself for the procession!”
Mariana stabbed a last pin into her hair, s.n.a.t.c.hed up her bonnet, and rushed toward the main entrance.
Miss Emily and Miss f.a.n.n.y sat in front of the great tent, in the first of a double row of occupied chairs. As Mariana crossed the avenue past Major Byrne's new staircase, Miss f.a.n.n.y beckoned her to hurry, pointing to the lone empty seat beside her.
Behind the chairs, an expanse of white cloth covered the reception tent fioor. Someone had lined the walls with chests of drawers, tables, and chairs, in an effort to imitate an English drawing room. Beyond, in another, smaller tent, Miss Emily's sofa and the least travel damaged of the dining-room chairs had been arranged in a half circle.
Miss Emily turned and surveyed the arrangements. ”I am sorry for poor George,” she sighed. ”I can see his bedside table by the doorway. They might at least have left him somewhere to put his book.”
”I am pleased they have not taken my bed,” returned Miss f.a.n.n.y in a stage whisper.
A large crowd had gathered along the avenue. Mariana stirred in her seat. Where was he he? The red coats across the avenue belonged to the infantry. The blue-coated artillery, Fitzgerald among them, must be somewhere else.
Miss f.a.n.n.y leaned confidentially toward her. ”Poor Emily has had dreadful stomach spasms all morning. I do not know whether she will be able to last out the durbar.”
On Miss f.a.n.n.y's other side, Miss Emily sniffed. ”I most a.s.suredly will will last out this durbar. If necessary, I shall have my bed carried to every review and every dinner. I have not come all this way to-” last out this durbar. If necessary, I shall have my bed carried to every review and every dinner. I have not come all this way to-”
The crowd's voices rose with excitement. Children ran out of sight around the side of the tent, then reappeared, dancing excitedly, as Lord Auckland rounded the corner on a large elephant, alone save for his mahout.
”Ah,” breathed Miss f.a.n.n.y, ”have you ever seen the like of George's elephant? What artists these natives are!”
The elephant's state housings of ruby red velvet, heavily worked in gold, fell below its knees. Its ma.s.sive face, above gold-painted tusks, was a mask of indigo and carnelian. A fringed canopy of gold brocade on four gold posts shaded the curved, golden howdah.
Miss Emily pursed her lips. ”A charming effect, like that of a fairy tale. I have never seen George dressed entirely in gold tissue and brocade. What a pity,” she added as her brother looked down and offered her a private, lopsided smile. ”I don't think he likes likes being a fairy prince.” being a fairy prince.”
European and native soldiers now lined the avenue, craning their heads expectantly in both directions. Children of shopkeepers and camp servants ran, shouting with excitement, among the crowd. Behind the troops, servants stood on boxes, grinning and pus.h.i.+ng one another.
Where was was Fitzgerald? Mariana peered up and down for several breathless minutes, until a British officer galloped past at full tilt, waving his hat over his head, signaling that the Maharajah's party had begun its advance. Orders echoed up and down the avenue. The rows of troops jerked to attention and presented arms. Fitzgerald? Mariana peered up and down for several breathless minutes, until a British officer galloped past at full tilt, waving his hat over his head, signaling that the Maharajah's party had begun its advance. Orders echoed up and down the avenue. The rows of troops jerked to attention and presented arms.
THEMaharajah rode alone in his gem-encrusted howdah, his tall elephant dwarfing the horses of his mounted guard. Behind him, among a group of dignitaries, the king's only legitimate adult son, Kharrak Singh, gnawed his fingernails and stared vacantly down at the pageantry while, in one corner of the howdah, a little servant gripped a frail baby with one hand and the railing with the other.
The Maharajah's most senior ministers and advisors followed on other elephants, also surrounded by a swirling throng of men and horses. Riders danced their horses in the Maharajah's train, while behind each horse, grasping its tail as he ran, fiew a half-naked man, his long hair streaming out behind him. Village children darted in and out of the line of elephants, risking death for the sake of the coins the Maharajah showered onto the crowd from a basket at his feet.
At a command, the Maharajah's wiry little mahout leaned over and spoke to his charge. As the elephant, responding, began to trot, the Maharajah tossed the last of his coins over the side of the howdah and reached, smiling, for a handhold. Little boys broke from the fighting crowd and raced beside the lumbering procession, coughing at the clouds of dust that rose from under the elephants' feet.
On the second speeding elephant, the servant Ahmad began to pray soundlessly, his eyes closed, while the baby drooped in his arms.
AS the Maharajah's train came swaying into view, Lord Auckland's mahout urged his own elephant to a lumbering trot. Behind him, the decorated elephants of the other officials followed suit. Peac.o.c.k feather fans, ta.s.seled standards, and crook-shaped silver sticks bobbed beside the lead animal, their bearers sprinting now to stay abreast of the elephants.
Alone in front, Lord Auckland jounced on his fiimsy golden seat, his face pale with nerves. ”Slow down down, slow down down, I say!” he shouted, one hand holding down his golden tricorn.
The mahout, who understood no English, took Lord Auckland's shouts for cries of encouragement, and urged his elephant to run faster.
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