Part 19 (2/2)
The muns.h.i.+ did not reply.
It was was silly and dangerous to go all the way to Lah.o.r.e with only Yar Mohammad to guard her. Hunching her shoulders stubbornly, she looked at the rug, wis.h.i.+ng her teacher would say something. silly and dangerous to go all the way to Lah.o.r.e with only Yar Mohammad to guard her. Hunching her shoulders stubbornly, she looked at the rug, wis.h.i.+ng her teacher would say something.
At last, as the silence deepened, she told him the truth. ”Muns.h.i.+ Sahib, I do not want to give him back.”
Her teacher's face became grave. Ignoring the tears in her eyes, he offered her his reply. ”It is one thing, Bibi, to rescue a little child from harm. It is something else to keep that child from his family, knowing that they love him and are longing to see him.” It was the sternest statement she had heard him make.
”If you will permit me, Bibi, I will tell you a story.” Without waiting for her consent, he clasped his hands behind his back, and began. ”A man,” he began in a singsong, his eyes fixed on the tent wall, ”dreamed all his life of finding the Path to Paradise. Driven by his dream, he asked every person he met where the path lay.
”One day he met a wise man who pointed to an ordinary gate leading to an ordinary road. 'That,' the wise man told him, 'is the path you seek.'”
Mariana sniffed and wiped her eyes. How could she listen to fairy tales when all she wanted was to be left alone to feel her losses and her sadness?
”Following the path,” the muns.h.i.+ went on, ”the man came to a well. He pulled on its rope hoping for water to drink, but when the bucket came up, he saw to his astonishment that it held not water but jewels-diamonds and rubies, emeralds and pearls. Shaking his head, he lowered the bucket back into the well. 'What a foolish place to hide a treasure,' he said.”
With a piercing shriek Saboor danced across the fioor toward Mariana, who swept him up and kissed the top of his head. ”Quiet, dearest,” she murmured.
”As the man walked on,” the muns.h.i.+ continued, ”he saw a large, silken umbrella with a golden handle and golden fringes lying beside the path.
”'This umbrella,' he said as he pa.s.sed by, 'must belong to the same fool who has hidden his jewels in the well, for there could only be one man in this world foolish enough to leave his treasure in plain sight.'
”After a time, the path began to climb up the side of a mountain, winding its way to the top with many sharp turns-”
A fiy banged obstinately into the tent pole. ”Muns.h.i.+ Sahib,” Mariana interrupted, forcing a smile, ”you seem a little tired. Why do we not hear the rest of your lovely story another time?”
”No indeed, Bibi.”
Her muns.h.i.+ had changed in the past few days. Why was he giving her orders: to pray, to return Saboor? Why was he suddenly so fond of the sound of his own voice?
”The path was steep, and slippery at the turns,” he said, ”but the man was determined to follow it. He climbed all afternoon until he arrived, exhausted, at a wide ledge. There, on a great rock, sat a giant. The giant wept, his head in his hands.
”'What ails you?' asked the man.
”'All my life,' wept the giant, 'I have searched for the Path to Paradise. Finding it gave me joy; but alas, as I traveled, I saw a well full of jewels. Giving in to temptation, I put a small ruby into my pocket.'”
A small ruby-her arms around Saboor, Mariana felt a stab of remorse.
The muns.h.i.+ rocked a little on his feet as he went on. ”'As I climbed this mountain,' the giant continued, 'the ruby began to grow heavy. It grew heavier and heavier until now, as strong as I am, I am too weary to continue, and I can never reach Paradise.'
”Leaving the giant behind,” he continued, ”the man climbed on until, after turning a steep corner, he was met by a powerful blast of wind. Terrified of falling, he clung to the side of the mountain until the wind died as suddenly as it had sprung up.
”When the wind died, the man noticed a small person sitting alone beside the path. Like the giant, he, too, was weeping.”
Mariana eased Saboor to the fioor, bracing herself for another ill.u.s.tration of her faults.
”'As I traveled along this path,' said the small man, 'I saw a beautiful umbrella lying on the ground. I borrowed it, only to shade my head, and to make others believe I was a prince, since the umbrella symbolizes royalty. I meant no harm.'”
Make others believe I was a prince. If only she could take back those thoughtless words about Yar Mohammad....
”'But a wind came up and blew the umbrella away. In my struggle to save it, I exhausted myself. I am now too weak to go any farther, and I will never see Paradise.' Sobbing, the small person buried his face in his hands.”
The muns.h.i.+ smiled. ”Leaving the small person weeping behind him, the man climbed until he could climb no more. His eyes misted over with weariness, he could not see what lay ahead. Abandoning his quest, he crawled with his last strength to the edge of the path, and looked down. Spread below him was a green and glorious valley with sparkling brooks and gardens of fruit trees. Rising from the valley, a breeze carried with it the faintest hint of jasmine and roses. It was the Garden of Paradise.”
His story was finished, but her teacher went on smiling, his eyes on Mariana.
Her father would agree. ”Return the child,” he would say firmly, after closing his study door. ”It is the only honorable thing to do.”
She sighed. ”All right, Muns.h.i.+ Sahib,” she said quietly, ”I will take Saboor to Lah.o.r.e tonight.”
I told them I have sold Baba to Sirosh the tailor,” Dittoo replied to Mariana's question, as he handed her the sleeping baby two hours after dinner. told them I have sold Baba to Sirosh the tailor,” Dittoo replied to Mariana's question, as he handed her the sleeping baby two hours after dinner.
”Sold him? To a tailor tailor?” She still wore her rose dinner gown and shawls, although it was long past her bedtime. Her breath was visible in the tent.
Dittoo nodded his head decisively. ”Yes, Memsahib. My friends think I have sold him to Sirosh for eight annas annas. They were only surprised I had not waited until Baba was fatter. They think I have made a bad bargain.”
When Dittoo had departed, chuckling, she tucked Saboor into her quilts and sat down beside him, still wrapped in her shawls.
It would not be long before Yar Mohammad came to take them away.
The oil lamp threw shadows on the tent wall. She stroked Saboor's sleeping face. ”I wish you and I were in Suss.e.x, my love. It's nearly Christmas, you know. What a lovely time we would have-you in a coat with a little fur collar, with dozens of jam tarts all to yourself, and no one to sell you as if you were a Christmas turkey!”
But it was not to be. Nothing she desperately wanted was to be. Saboor was to leave her. Fitzgerald was already gone, Fitzgerald who had kissed her only twice, lovely, hasty, stolen kisses. Those kisses were all she would have when she returned, childless and husbandless, to England. But she had cried enough. She lay down beside Saboor, pulled up the quilts, and closed her eyes.
”MEMSAHIB, Memsahib, it is midnight.” The resonant whisper roused her from heavy sleep. ”We must be quick.”
s.h.i.+vering, she groped through the darkness to the doorway and pushed the hanging aside. A palanquin with woven-cane side panels stood before her in the starlight. Around it waited a dozen men, their breath coming in white clouds. Behind her, the baby sighed softly in his sleep.
Yar Mohammad appeared beside her. ”These men,” he said quietly, ”will carry you through the back entrance and onto the road to Lah.o.r.e. After three miles, you will change to another palki. The second one will be from the house of Shaikh Waliullah, the baba's grandfather. Samjay Samjay Memsahib, do you understand?” Memsahib, do you understand?”
She nodded, her heart quickening. A groom who is willing to risk his life A groom who is willing to risk his life ... Was she, too, risking her life to take Saboor to safety? It was too late, now, to ask that question. ... Was she, too, risking her life to take Saboor to safety? It was too late, now, to ask that question.
”I will not carry the palki, but I will be with you.” Yar Mohammad's urgent whisper followed her as she reached for Saboor in the darkness. ”Hurry, Memsahib, hurry!”
SOMEONE was talking loudly on the avenue as Mariana pulled her skirts up into the strange palki and held up her arms for Saboor. Distant torchlight fiickered through the holes in the red canvas wall. The voice sounded like Major Byrne's, but why would the major be giving orders out there in the middle of the night? She tucked Saboor beside her, slid the palanquin's side panels closed, and laid her head on a thin pillow that smelled of hair oil. The activities of the camp no longer concerned her. What mattered was that she had been unable to find her bonnet in the dark. What would Shaikh Waliullah think of her, she wondered, arriving at his house without a bonnet?
The palanquin started off jerkily. Voices, pained and breathless, came from outside.
”I said the left foot first, Javed.”
”Lift your pole higher, Saleem.”
She opened her eyes. The men standing by the palki had not been wearing dhotis. The wrapped dhoti of the Hindu palanquin bearer exposed a man's bare legs as he moved. These men had not worn dhotis but shalwars shalwars, the gathered, full-length trousers of the Muslim. A hand on Saboor's sleeping body, she reached for a handhold as the palki lurched sideways. Whoever these men were, it was plain that none of them had carried a palanquin before. Four would carry, eight would trot alongside, awaiting their turns. How were they ever to travel three long miles like this?
They had stopped moving. Someone spoke nervously. ”Band hai. It's closed.”
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