CHAPTER 16
Cartwright had observed the proceeding from the roof of the college building, along with the SP and other Indian officials. Only the Tehsildar was present at the actual site of the meeting, as magistrate on duty, along with a small police force which was stationed close to one end of the ground; almost out of sight of the concourse. The authorities were taking no chances. The sight of a British face, a military uniform, or even an armed policeman could have sent tempers flaring up. On the other hand crowd of this size could easily be stampeded by a single mishap, say a fire-cracker placed there by a mischief-monger; resulting in a loss of life that would have been truly horrendous.
So Cartwright, along with the others watching the meeting, was on tenterhooks. A large troop of mounted policeman was lined up behind the College building, just in case there was trouble, but care had been taken to keep them well hidden from the crowd. “Look at these horse, aren’t they beautiful,” the SP was saying with his usual disregard for diplomacy.
The horses were indeed beautifully groomed, their hides glistened in the sun, their ears curled inwards proudly, their bridle, saddle and stirrups were polished and burnished to perfection, and the riders who sat on them were similarly well accoutred, resplendent in their red tunics and white shakos.
“They would look good on a parade, but this is not a parade,” said Cartwright.
“They would look damned good on a charge too. They would go through this crowd like a blooming hurricane, scatter them like chaff, you know. And by the way, this is only my second line of defence. There is also a third. Look at those men behind the parapets of the College building”
“Good God! Snipers!”
“Not snipers really. They are the firing party. Trained at volley fire. And they fire to kill. No wasting of bullets, one has to account for each round after the business, for there is sure to be an enquiry afterwards. These men do not forget to pick up each empty shell before reloading.”
“You won’t need them, thank God! I think the meeting is ending. Gandhi has been as good as his word.”
“Yep, one always knew that, didn’t one. With Gandhi you know where you stand. But not with his other followers-they’re slippery characters, every one of them. Saunders!”
“Sir!”
“Go tell the Burra Sahib that the meeting has gone off peacefully. And then send a radio message to Nagpur.”
The faithful Saunders was off on his errand.
The SP lit a cigar and puffed away, as the crowd started streaming away and the ground began to empty.
“What now.”
“Well, now you can have bit of fun. It is the custom in the districts to enjoy oneself a bit, after tiding over difficult situations such as the this. What do you say to a real bash at the club tonight, with the band playing, dancing and drinks followed by a banquet of jungle quail and roast boar, eh!”
“Well, that sounds rather splendid. We do ourselves well in the districts, don’t we.”
“It’s the only thing that makes life bearable in this god-forsaken wilderness, don’t you think. Ah! Hear is Saunders. Seen the Burra Sahib Saunders?”
“Yes sir, he gave me this note for you.” He handed an envelop to the SP.
“Well, let us see what it is. Ah! The Burra Sahib has invited us to dinner at his residence tonight. So no bash at the club.”Said the SP with note of regret in his voice. “But never mind. The Collector is a good host, and perhaps you will enjoy it more at his house.”
The Collector’s residence was situated at Malakhedi, on the bank of the river, some way outside the town. Most of the guests had already arrived when Cartwright reached the house in the evening. Apart from the SP, his wife and daughter,there were the Coopers with their two daughters and the District Judge with his wife. The only guest who was not a district official was the vicar of Pachmarhi-reverend Ian Bainbridge.
Cartwright was conducted, not to the Collector’s drawing room but to a wide masonry platform in the garden where chairs were laid out for the guests.
“Ah, Cartwright, my dear chap, welcome. You’re a bit of a hero tonight., “said the Collector as he rose to receive his guest.
“Well done, Cartwright,” said the District Judge in his dry forensic voice as he saw Cartwright. “I am told everything occurred just as foreseen and Gandhi was quite conciliatory.”
“As he usually is. It is the terrorists whom we have to fear.” Said the District Forest Officer, Cooper.
“Oh, I did nothing really. We have to thank Congress and Gandhi. It’s just lucky for us that we have a man like Gandhi. It’s just lucky for us that we have a man like Gandhi at the top. Where else in the world would you find non-violence elevated to a political creed and a man like Gandhi as a leader of men. India continues to amaze me, the more I see of it the more it surprises me. But I say, isn’t this beautiful.” Cartwright gestured at the river that flowed a little distance away and the mountains that rose dimly behind it.
“Yes, I thought everyone would enjoy it here, now that it isn’t cold anymore.”
Beautiful it certainly was. The sky was full of big, bright stars and a crescent moon shone over the mountain the north. The evening was balmy, with the scent of honeysuckle and wild rose borne on the breeze. The police band was in attendance, placed behind a canvas screen so that they could not see the sahibs enjoying themselves.
“Thank God we have no more of these meetings coming up. Do we Tom?” Mrs Macgregor let out a sigh as she said this, fanning herself with the little fan that she carried thought it was actually quite cool in the open and there was absolutely no need for it.
“No we don’t my dear. And even if we did, we would take care of them, wouldn’t’ we.”
“Oh! I know you would, but it does make one little nervous all the same, the way things have been going lately, Mrs Macregor looked at her young daughter as she said this.
“Nonsense. Amritsar was a freak, a rare accident. There is absolutely no chance that such a thing could happen anywhere else in British India, least of all here in the heart of it.” The SP was as cocksure as ever.
The band had stuck-up The Blue Danube and the Collector rose, “right then, all of you on the dance floor, and let’s forget politics for a while.”
The dance floor was really an extension of the same platform on which they sat. Cartwright was paired with Miss Macgregor. One of the Cooper girls danced with the Collector. Cartwright wasn’t very enthusiastic about the dance but was careful to keep his feelings to himself. If wouldn’t do to be lukewarm about collective rites of this kind that-along with churchgoing on Sunday and club every evening-affirmed their Britishness. After the first dance ended everyone had a glass of wine or brandy or gin and tonic as the case may be. By the time the second dance got underway they were already in better spirits.
“You have been to Pachmarhi Mr Cartwright?” Asked Miss Louisa Cooper who was his partner for the second dance.
“Not yet.”
“No, but you must go soon. It’s the only nice spot in the district. You will be there for the Pachmari Week.”
“Oh, yes! There is no getting away from that. Is there. Are you looking forward to it?”
“Oh, yes indeed! It’s going to be such a lark. There would be moonlight picnics by Irene’s pool and excursions to Dhupgarh, and balls everyday. I do so love dancing. We have two tailors working at our dresses at the bungalow you know.”
“That sounds very jolly.”
The band was playing the ‘Banks and braes of bonny Doon’, when Cartwright decided to take a breather. He found himself sitting next to Mrs Macgregor.
“You are not dancing Mr Cartwright. “Said the lady in an accusing tone.
“Well, I though I’ll just sit for a while. It’s been a long day, you know.”
“Ah yes, I know.” Mrs Macgregor was all sympathy now. “Tell me,” she said, tapping his wrist with her fan, “tell me, have you been to that place across the river, Ratanpur, I think they call it.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I have.”
“They tell me the Rajah is a very wicked man.”
“Well, I suppose he is no worse than the general run of Rajahs. I do not know the moral standards of an average Rajah, but I am told that none of them are actually paragons of virtue.”
“You are right of course. They tell me there is also a temple there with all kinds of wicked statues. You haven’t seen it by any chance.”
“I have actually.”
“You must have been shocked,” said the prim matron.
“Well..” Cartwright pondered this question.
Before he could reply they were interrupted by the clergyman. “I see that you are discussing the affairs of old Preddy. Do you know we were together at Oxford.”
“Ah there you are vicar. If you were at College together then you are the man to answer Mrs Macgregor’s question.
“And what is that.”
“Do you think old Preddy is a very wicked man?”
“Well at Oxford he was no more wicked than the average undergraduate. It is true that he once smuggled a dancing girl into the rooms and organised a show for us, but then, truth to tell we all enjoyed the performance.”
“A dancing girl!How shocking!” Mrs Macgregor looked horrified.
“Your sentiments do you credit ma’am. But I assure you these indiscretions spring more form the high spirits of youth than from any moral from the high spirits of youth than from any moral depravity. His later exploits are another matter however.” Said the clergyman.
“Will, I don’t care what you say vicar. He is a bad man.”
“Yes, ma’am that he is.”
“Who is a bad man? What are you talking about padre?”
It was Mrs Macgregor who answered the question. “We are talking about old Preddy, Tom, The vicar thinks he isn’t such a bad man after all.”
“He is no worse than the rest of them, my dear. All-night nautch parties, drink and debauchery; they all do the same things. Frankly, I would rather have an old reprobate like Preddy running a native state than one of those well-intentioned young puppies who think ruling a state is like Sunday School.”
“There I am one with you, though not for the same reasons. I think the problems with these well-intentioned young rulers is that they import their notions of good governance from England. I would much rather have Indians apply their own principles.”
But Macgregor would have none of it. “Nonsense vicar! Indians have no principle, or rather only one principal-might is right. They worship power, power as such, just shameless, naked, brutal power. No half measures with them when it comes to governance. They understand only third-degree methods, as we say in the police.”
“Well, let us agree to disagree on this Macgregor Sahib, as we usually do.”
There was a spell of silence after this. The dancers had done with dancing for a while. The band was silent and everyone sat musing, looking at the moonlit river that flowed in the middle distance and the shadowy mountains that that rose behind them. As they watched, a flotilla of twinkling lights appeared on the river, floating downstream with the current and bobbing up and sown on the waves.
“What on earth is that,” said the SP.
“Those my dear Macgregor, are the votive lamps, offered to the river. Don’t you know today is the eight of May-the Hindus celebrate this day as the river’s birthday.”
“How beautiful they look,” said Cartwright. The lamps did indeed look entrancing as they floated down the river.
“Your knowledge of these heathenish customs is wonderful Reverend, but how on earth would I know of it. I am a good Christian you know.”
“I know. It is only an obscure custom having no bearing on the law and order in the district. No wonder you don’t know of it. But as for being a good Chrisitian, I think a knowledge of other faiths only deepens an understanding of our own.”
“Well said, reverend,” said the Collector. “These lamps are lit on little leaf boats and floated down the river. I happen to know that the most impressive of these little ceremonies takes place at Neelkant, Maan Singh’s Village.”
“Ah! Maan Singh! how that fellow creeps into our conversations. But wait a minute, by Jove! Now I know.” The SP exclaimed.
“What is it that you know.”
“Why it was him. The lame fellow with the stick, whom we saw when we were going after Jasper. Cartwright, surely you remember.”
“Yes I do, a tall man with a limp and a rather distinguished look.”
“Distinguished my foot! I have to ask my men to cordon off the area and search it with a fine-toothed comb. We shall get the bastard, if he is there.”
With that the SP took his leave and the party gradually broke up.
