Part 21 (1/2)

”Snakebite?” Mariana had heard of the horrible effects of snakebite-the agony, the swelling, the bleeding mouth, the inevitable death. Could the man collapsed on the ground really have been bitten by a snake? She stared, unable to look away as two of the armed escorts lifted the satin-clad man by his arms. Bent under his weight, they carried him across the courtyard, his feet dragging behind like a condemned prisoner's, and laid him, kicking, onto the string bed.

Safiya Sultana motioned with her head toward another window. ”If you want to see, come over here,” she said, and led Mariana through the press of ladies.

This new window had a better view of the padded platform and the string bed with its twitching occupant. No longer empty, the platform now held a gaunt-faced individual wearing billowing white clothes and a high cylindrical headdress. Other white-clad men cl.u.s.tered nearby. The bejeweled second rider, now dismounted, stood wringing his hands over his stricken companion while the armed men milled about. Everyone except the man on the platform seemed to be talking at once.

”Is that Shaikh Waliullah?” Mariana whispered.

Safiya Sultana moved her head in a.s.sent.

So this was the great magician Miss Emily had talked about. He certainly looked like one, with his tall snowy headdress.

Mariana held her breath.

The torchlit scene, eerie already, was made more so by the sudden silence that fell as soon as the Shaikh raised a bony hand.

Although the charpai charpai with its load of human misery could have been no more than a foot from his platform, the Shaikh made no move to touch his patient. Instead, he sat quite motionless, his back erect, his gaze fixed on the salmon-robed figure before him. For some minutes, the only movements in the courtyard were the convulsions of the man on the bed. Mariana narrowed her eyes, straining to see, wis.h.i.+ng her window were closer to the platform. Was that a trick of the light or was sweat beginning to gleam on the Shaikh's face? with its load of human misery could have been no more than a foot from his platform, the Shaikh made no move to touch his patient. Instead, he sat quite motionless, his back erect, his gaze fixed on the salmon-robed figure before him. For some minutes, the only movements in the courtyard were the convulsions of the man on the bed. Mariana narrowed her eyes, straining to see, wis.h.i.+ng her window were closer to the platform. Was that a trick of the light or was sweat beginning to gleam on the Shaikh's face?

”Is he saying something?” she whispered into Safiya Sultana's ear. Even at this distance, it seemed wrong to make a sound.

”Yes,” Safiya Sultana answered, then pressed her lips firmly into a straight line.

Mesmerized, Mariana watched.

A powerful connection seemed to have formed between the magician and his patient. It seemed almost as if another snake-a good, healing, invisible snake-had linked the two men together and was now at work undoing the virulent effects of the poison.

But there was not, and never had been, a cure for poisonous snakebite. From her first hour in India, Mariana had been warned never to walk outdoors, even on the streets of Calcutta, without laced boots. On her first day in camp, Major Byrne had instructed her to wear her boots all the time, even in her tent. Since then, she had heard stories of servants and even soldiers being killed by cobras, vipers, or other snakes.

Only recently, Dr. Drummond had recounted the story of a subaltern at the army camp who liked to walk about in a pair of bedroom slippers. ”I warned him several times,” the doctor had said, shaking his head, ”but once he had been bitten, it was too late. What a terrible sight the man was-his leg was monstrous and livid. The poor fellow was in agony. 'Doctor,' he told me, before he lost consciousness, 'I should not be dying now if I had listened to your advice.'”

Murmuring rose from below. The body on the charpai had stopped twitching. Fascinated, Mariana watched it move, then sit up, no longer a terrible, suffering thing but a showily dressed man with a full curly beard who rubbed his face, then smiled.

With a grunt, Safiya Sultana took her arm and led her firmly from the window. ”Well, that's done,” she said briskly. ”And now, Mariam, my brother has asked to see you, but first you must sit for another moment. It will be a little time before all those men have left.”

The ladies had seated themselves once more as if they expected to sit in those same places forever. What hour was it?

”More men are coming, more men are coming. Look, look!” A girl of about fifteen, whose long reddish plait hung down to her knees, had pressed her face to the shutter.

Safiya Sultana sighed heavily as she lowered herself to the carpet beside Mariana. ”Tell me what you see, Mehereen.”

”Three men are riding into the courtyard-ooh, they are so beautifully dressed, Bhaji. They have swords and one has a big feather in his-”

Safiya Sultana waved a hand. ”Only tell me what they are doing, Mehereen,” she instructed.

”They have brought servants carrying covered trays. They are uncovering them and oh, there are shawls, so many shawls, although I cannot see how good they are, and they are leading in a horse, and one of the trays is heaped up with gold jewelry. Lala-Ji must have saved someone very important, someone very rich!” Her eyes alight, she turned from the window. ”What does it mean, Bhaji? Are these gifts for us?”

”It means nothing, you will see.” Safiya Sultana shook her head. ”Nothing at all.”

But the girl was peeping out again. ”Wait! Why doesn't Lala-Ji look at the gifts? Why does he not show grat.i.tude? The men look so disappointed, and now they are going away. They are taking their gifts and going away. Why, Bhaji?”

The sweet voice was suddenly so sad that Mariana felt a rush of desire to comfort the girl. Safiya Sultana patted the carpet on her other side. ”My darling, we all know that Lala-Ji never accepts payment for this work. Come and sit beside me, Mehereen-Jani,” she rumbled. She turned to Mariana. ”The children call my brother Lala-Ji,” she explained.

”But what if those gifts were from the Maharajah?” the girl persisted. ”Will not his feelings be hurt? What if he becomes-”

”Mehereen, you must not ask questions. And now that those men have gone,” Safiya Sultana continued, sharpening her tone, ”it is time for Mariam to go down and meet my brother, and for all of us to go to bed.”

”It is most unusual,” she informed Mariana, ”for him to meet a woman. Indeed, he has never met a foreigner, but it is his express wish to meet you before you return to your camp. His servant Allahyar is waiting now at the foot of the stairs to show you the way.”

Pus.h.i.+ng herself once more to her feet, Safiya Sultana braced herself on young Mehereen's shoulder. ”And now, good night, and may G.o.d keep you, my child. In rescuing Saboor you have performed a great service for our family.”

Leaning on Mehereen, she moved toward a curtained doorway at the end of the room and was gone.

Without Safiya Sultana, the room seemed somehow colder. Looking about, Mariana saw that there was no one left but a few yawning servants.

She rubbed her face, wondering what she and the Shaikh would speak about. Perhaps he would only greet her quickly, and then send her back to the British camp in his own palanquin. Hands braced on the wall, she descended the winding stair to where, at its foot, the promised servant waited.

His bush of hair was an arresting shade of red, but, as odd as the servant Allahyar appeared to her, she must have appeared odder still, for his eyes widened in astonishment as she approached. But what could they expect of someone who had been carried three miles in a palki by the clumsiest men in India, and then been awakened in the middle of the night to be scrutinized and stared at by a group of unknown women?

She lifted her arms to tuck her curls into a knot, but abandoned the effort, too tired suddenly to care what the Shaikh thought of her.

Except for a few torchbearers, the courtyard was deserted as the red-haired servant led her toward the painted portico where the old Shaikh still sat, upright on his platform. Of the patient and his bejeweled escort there was no sign, nor did there remain a single shawl or trinket from the trays of gifts that had been offered there only moments before.

The time had come to use the native manners that Shafi Sahib had taught her. Mariana inclined her head and saluted the old man, the fingers of her right hand touching her forehead. ”As-Salaam-oalaik.u.m, Shaikh Sahib,” she said.

When she looked up he smiled, seeming not to notice her rumpled dress and unruly hair. ”And peace be upon you, daughter,” he replied.

He patted his platform. ”Sit down.”

She smiled in return. Daughter. No one had ever called her that.

His voice was light and pleasing, which surprised her, since his elderly face was as dark and wrinkled as a prune. She approached the platform, which turned out to be covered in another white sheet, and sat down primly on its edge.

”The first part of your journey must have been uncomfortable,” he said. His eyes held a force she had never seen before. ”The men who carried you were not palki bearers. They were barbers and grooms. One was a soldier out of uniform. But all were good brave men.”

She nodded, unable to take her eyes from his. Willing to risk their lives Willing to risk their lives ... ...

”And now,” he went on, ”I would like to express our grat.i.tude for your rescue of my grandson. It is clear to us all that in this emergency you have acted with great courage and compa.s.sion, and with a kind of love that is very rare in this world.”

Before she had time to fiush with pleasure, he raised a brown finger. ”And now, I would like to ask you three questions.”

He did not wait for her to respond. ”First,” he began, ”have you seen all that you wish to see of India?”

His eyes seemed to hold important secrets. What did he want her to say?

”No,” she replied carefully, ”not yet. But I still have the return journey to Calcutta before me. The journey is to take us four months, you see, after we stop at Simla for-”

”It is nearly dawn,” he interrupted, his voice unchanged, ”and you must be very tired. Perhaps you would like to answer my question truthfully.”

She sat straighter. ”-that is,” she stammered, ”yes-no, I have not seen all I wish to see of India.”