Raj Quartet by Paul Scott -- Division of the Spoils

[Frybabe]

Join us as we continue our discussion of the Raj Quartet. We will be reviewing and finishing Towers of Silence,  the third book of the Raj Quartet.

Discussion Leader ~ straudetwo

I read Is Paris Burning? when I was in high school and was impressed by the way it was put together with all the little vignettes-all parts of the whole. I wonder if Freedom at Midnight was written similarly. Lovely to read the little stories that contributed to the big picture.

[straudetwo]

Frybabe,

I understand that Freedom at Midnight is written in a casual style in a vein similar to Is Paris Burning?. The authors dug very deeply into the events of t1947 and 48,  recounting anecdotes and images  that might  not otherwise have become known.
Some considered the book controversial for its portrayal of British expatriates and native Indian rulers; and because of graphic details of Gandhi's assassination and the horrific carnage at the time of Partition.  

And still there is war in so many corners of the world ...

[straudetwo]

Dear Friends,
Last night between 11 p.m.  and midnight local time on July 16,  I composed a long posted and, at the end, clicked on "send".  
Safari's laconic reply was "Not Found". I tried the other SL sites I've bookmarked,  the reply was the same.
The document was still on the screen so I made a copy.
I'm retyping it here now.

Continuing with Guy Perron's narration. It is heavy with irony.

When Perron left the newspaper office, he walked along the crowded  Bombay street for a while, then hailed a taxi and told the driver to head for Queen's Road. He tipped the wallah excessively as if this munificence had become obligatory since Mountbatten had removed the last doubt that the British intended to leave, and thus made them the only people left in India who were universally popular.

He studied the blocks of flats, not certain which block he wanted.  Then he recognized the foreground of one and entered, imagining Purvis ahead of him, barging into the servant and the girl - the girl who was Sarah.
The entrance was dark, the lift out of order. He mounted the steps and stood perplexed before the door that should have said "Grace" but didn't. On the opposite door, the plate read Major Rajendra Singh. Surely that was right? He climbed the next flight of stairs and arrived at the flat above Rajendra Singh's.

Hapgood - Mr. Hapgood, the banker. Mrs. Japgood, Miss Hapgood, the banker's daughter. One of the few remaining happy families in Bombay? He pressed the bell. Would the servant be the same servant? Would they recognize one another? The door opened.  He did not recognize the servant. The boy was (God help us all, thought Perron), Japanese.

He asked whether Mr. Hapgood was home and held out his card. The boy studied it carefully, ridging eyebrows as beautifully shaped as Aneila's the Maharanee's niece.  Not quite Japanese, Perron decided; a mixed-blood oriental, from Sumatra? Singapore? Jakarta?
A handsome, "poisonous-looking"  (?!) young man who sported a gold wrist watch. One could smell the starch in his arrogantly spotless white steward's jacket and trousers. He wore black shoes with pointed toes.
"I will see if Master is in," he said.

Perron thought: Master, now, is it?  The British will always be safe.

The boy let him in, closed the door and went in the direction of the living room. Perron peered down the corridor toward Purvis's old room. The door was closed, so was the door of the adjoining room.  The flat looked as if it had not been redecorated since.
"Master says come."

Perron followed the boy through the dining room into the living room, which had once struck him as elegant but now looked just a little disorganized. A quick glance at the wall confirmed the continuing xistence of the Guler-Basohli paintings. A man stood on the balcony, as Purvis had done, holding a glass in his hand, looking out at the Oval.  The evening was clear, the sun not  yet down. . The man was tall and thin. For some reaon Perron had always imagined Hapgood as short, rotund and red-faced,  like the tea-planter at the Maharanee's party. Hearing footsteps, Hapgood turned around.

"Mr. Perron?"
"Yes, Mr. Hapgood?"

"What can I do for you?"
"I'm sorry to bother you. I called downstairs on the off-chance of seeing Colonel and Mrs. Graace. I see they've gone but I thought I'd take the opportunity to come up, becaue I feel I owe you an aology."

"Oh .. Have we met?" Hapgood asked.

To be continued

[Gumtree]

I had trouble getting into SL yesterday as well - fortunately I didn't have a long post to lose.

[straudetwo]

Guy Perron, as ever the acute observer, noticed Hapgood's "formidable" eyebrows and his yellow, creased face. Looking at him.
Waiting.

Perron explained that he had been in the apartment two years earlier when  Leonard Purvis was billeted there and the Hapgood family in "Ooty" (short for Ootacamund) in the high mountains. He said that on the day when "things rather got on top of" Purvis, he saw the result and had felt it was his, Guy's,  fault that two of the Kangra paintings had been damaged.

"Oh?" said Hapgood,  then, correcting,  "Actually they're Guler-Basohli school. But Kangra  covers it."
The servant came in.  "Scotch? Gin?" Hapgood asked.  Perron opted for Gin.

"But why do you feel it was your fault?"

Perron explained that Purvis had no idea what they were until he told him, so it was probably his fault that Purvis had singled them out when he threw the bottles.

"Oh?" said Hapgood. "Was that why? We often wondered. He never seemed to notice them."  He walked over to the paintings.
"My wife was pretty upset at the time. But you see that the damage was pretty well disguised. They are exquisite, aren't they?"

He turned to Perron. "Did you know the man my old bearer told me about?  The man who had to climb the balcony and pull Purvis out of the bath?" 
Perron admitted he was the man.

Hapgood said,  "Good heavens."  Then "My dear chap. How nice of you to call - to have remembered the paintings.  My wife will be sorry to have missed you. She was awfully touched that you bothered to leave the servant a chit for the bathroom door."

As Perron remembered  it, the servant had asked for one, but he did not remember actually signing one;  he had probably done so afterwards while drinking Old Sporran.
"Perron",  Hapgood was saying. "But ..."

"Sergeant Perron", Guy said. "Field Service, Poona."

"Field Service. I see.  Did you know a fellow who's now in pharmaceuticals here?  What's his name?"

"Bob Chambers", said Perron. "He was my officer.  We kept in touch. I am staying in his apartment here. He had to go to Calcutta just before I arrived."

The servant stood by and refilled glasses every time Hapgood snapped his fingers.
"So you know the Graces?" he said. 
One of their nieces and the niece's father, explained Perron.

Hapgood : "I'm afraid Mrs. Grace has left. Poor old Arthur died last year. Very suddenly. My wife and I were very upset. He had dinner with us the night before.  Mrs. Grace had gone up-country to see her sister. The niece was getting married. Yes, I remember now. She was here to meet her father?"

Perron replied that the elder niece had been in bombay; that there's a younger one, Susan.  "Rings a bell," Hapgood said. "She married a man named Merrick.  Chap with something wrong with him?"

"He lost an arm in the war."

"That's it," Hapgood exclaimed.  "Fenny left us a some snaps she took at the wedding. Pity my wife's not here. She'd have details like this much clearer in her mind. If you're anxious for news of the family,  I'm sure I could turn up the sister's address. Pankot, wasn't it?"

"I have the Pankot address", said Perron. It's just that I've not heard since the end of 1945. My fault really. One somehow lets things slide."

To be continued

[straudetwo]

The Hapgoods had last seen Fenny when she left for Delhi after the funeral, on her way to visit another sister in London. It was to be a short trip; no correspondence was exchanged. Then their daughter married an "awfully nice Canadian Air-Force chap we met in Ooty. We were in Montreal last year for the wedding.  Pretty killing expense. But once in a lifetime.  Now my wife is back in Montreal waiting to become a grandmother -  any day now."

Perron lifted his glass, "Good luck."

After drinking Hapgood said, "Are you committed this evening?"
Perron lied, I'm afraid so."
Tomorrow, perhaps?"

'Unfortunately I've left this call very late. I'm off tomorrow."
"Oh. Where are you off to? Not home?"

"No, a little state called Mirat." (Aside: Hapgood getting curious)
"A long journey",  he said. "They had some trouble there recently. Is that why you are going?"

"I didn't know that.  What sort of trouble?"
'Usual thing. Communal rioting. I think it's died down. Anyway it's in the Punjab things are getting tricky. Too many people on the move in the hope of ending up in the right place.  But what can you expect when you draw an imaginary line through a province and say that from August 15 one side is Pakistan and the other side's India?   The same applies to Bengal."

Hapgood gave Perron a penetrating glance and said:   "It's what an important minority felt that's what they had to have and in the long run it's probably best."  Perron nodded.  He thought Hapgood was probably more in sympathy with the Muslims than the Hindus.

(Hapgood coming to the point)  "Do you have press connections, then , Mr. Perron?"
"Only marginal ones.  Sufficient to help me move about and get seats on planes."

"I asked",   Hapgood continued,   "because every stranger from home you come across nowadays is either a journalist or a member of parliament swanning around ostensibly to observe the democratic process of dismantling  the empire but actually making soundings for his private business interests. Nothing wrong with that, of course.  India's going to be an expanding dominion market once it settles down. The thing is we'll have to meet more outside and inside competition.  Do you have business interests as well as marginal press ones, Mr. Perron?"

"My interests are primarily academic."

Again Hapgood snapped his fingers  and again while they continued talking his glass was taken,  replenished and returned. This time Perron had his own glass topped.

Hapgood (pressing on): "If you have press connections, though, I suppose you're here to be in on the kill, if I may put it that way. Forgive me, but Mirat  seems to be an unlikely place to go. If you want to be in at the kill you should go up to the Punjab and try to accredit yourself to the wretched chaps who've been formed into the boundary force and have the job of protecting the refugees and stopping them tearing at once another's throats."

Perron:  "As I said, my interests are primarily academic. And at the moment primarily concerned with the relationship between the Crown and the Indian states."

"Well, you could go to Bahawalpur. They've had some high-jinks there. Or down to Hyderabad. That's the one princely state large and powerful enough to prolong its independence for a while. ..."

Perron: "I have a definite invitation to Mirat.  I think it will suit me very  well, especially if it's had its troubles."

"What sort of an invitation, Mr. Perron? I ask because I might be able to help you."

"That's very kind of you.  Actually the invitation is from the Chief Minister, Count Bronowsky. I met him here in Bombay during the war. He was kind enough to say I'd be welcome in Mirat at any time."

"Then there's nothing I could do to smooth your way better. It was Bronowsky I had in mind. I don't know him socially but he's had an account with us for years and we usually meet in my office when he comes to Bombay.  Haven't seen him in some time. How is he?"

"I've no idea.   Well, I'd imagine. There was a telegram waiting for me at Bob Chambers's flat inviting me to turn up whenever I wanted."

"Please give him my regards."
Perron looked at his watch and prepared to finish his drink.

"Are you absolutely committed this evening? I've got a few people coming in,  couple of chaps from the bank and their wives. Friends.
It's a buffet. Nowadays you never know who'll turn up or who'll they bring . Being alone just now I encourage it."

Perron was tempted. He had a brief and flaming image of the Maharanee floating in on the arms of a couple of English bankers ..
and said,  "I'm afraid I'm committed, sir. Perhaps if I come back this way I could give you a ring."

"Of course", Hapgood said, pleased to be called sir.  But it was nowHapgood wanted. A new face to ease the ache of boredom.

"You have a new servant I see,"  ventured Perron.

"Young Gerard?  Bit of a mongrel.We inherited him from a chap who retired last year. Our agent in Ipoh. Gerard kept things going for him while he was in prison-camp.   Very efficient fellow. Not like poor old Nadar, the one you remember.  Trouble with Nadar, he couldn't keep his hands off stuff that got left around. We had to let him go.  Mistake probably.  My wife says it's better to employ a dishonest servant you know inside out than one you never get on any sort of terms with.   Not that it matters either way to us next year.  Our time will be up then.  Learn to do our own cooking and washing, I shouldn't wonder.  Neither of us fancies Montreal. So it looks like Ewell or Sutton.  Know anything about mushrooms?"

"Mushrooms?" Perron thought of cloud formations.

"A friend of our Canadian son-in-law, an ex-RAF type who lives in Surrey, has gone in for mushrooms.  Grows them in his garage. Making a fortune I'm told.  You need to put your mind to something, though. For me preferably  something with a saleable end-product ..."  He smiled. "Well, if you change your mind, just arrive. Meanwhile I'd better get myself ready for the invasion."

Perhaps Gerard had run his bath, Perron thought --  with the same imperturbable  expression he had shown when running baths for Japanese officers in his previous master's house in Ipoh?

As Gerard held the door open for him, Perron glanced once more down the corridor to get his last glimpse of Purvis's still-closed door.

To be continued

[straudetwo]

A few additional remarks on the last segment may be in order.

As before,  I felt it necessary to quote parts of the conversation between Guy Perron and banker Hapgood because the mere retelling of them would be bland in comparison.  It is important not only WHAT is being said, but HOW.  And what Hapgood says reveals a lot about him also, I believe.  He's bored and lonely without his wife by his side, one could well imagine him feeling closed in in that well-appointed apartment.

Hapgood did not mention names, but history has recorded the name of the man who drew that important line, not "in the sand" but  on a map through 175,000 sq. miles of territory with a population of 88 million.  He was Sir Cyril Radcliffe, a lawyer.  His only connection to India was that his eldest brother died there in battle. 
Time was short, of course, and, in the words of one Goggle source , Radcliffe "was at all turns harassed and hurried by outgoing Viceroy Mountbatten, who turned out to be ill-prepared for the consequences of the Awards ".  'Radcliffe Awards' was the official name for the redistribution of territories.  It was done in total secrecy: [u[ the new lines were not published until AFTER Partition went into effect.[/u]

From the conversation in Hapgood's ving room there also emerges a tentative picture of those who flocked TO the subcontinent "to be  in on the kill", as Hapgood puts it, as well as of those who elected to stay on - like Bob Chambers, Perron's old officer, who is "into pharmaceuticals".  

Perron returns to Bob Chambers's flat and writes about the evening in his notebook.  For the reader he mentions the "oddness" not only of  the "unexpected location of the house  (in one of the narrow rather squalid roads in Bombay; not far, surely, from where the masage parlor had been?"), but also the "admixture of traditional and emergent Anglo-Indianism".   Bathroom, bedroom and dining room are functional as per European standards and furnished in the old dependable style, but in the living room there's no place to sit.  

On the living floor are imitation (!) Persian rugs; sparkling cushions from Rajputana;  mattresses with durries on them or printed cotton bedspreads;  a harmonium,  a tamboura "probably from Bengal".  The paintings on the wall are described - they are not to Perron's taste,  nor is the book case and what's in it, also described in detail. This  curious conglomeration makes Perron  think that Bob Chambers was a little uncertain where his tastes lay.  None of this matters, of course.  He is leaving in the morning.

I wonder if you could share your impression of the conversation between the two men., or how it struck you.
Thank you.

Next: Arrival in Mirat

  

[Frybabe]

I can see that Hapgood may have been lonely. Mostly, though, I thought he was a bit nosey. But that could have come from loneliness - an attempt to keep Perron in conversation and hold him there longer. Perron obviously didn't want to spend a lot of time with him.

[straudetwo]

My apologies for keeping Guy Perron longer on the train to Mirat than he needed to be.

It was a busy week here, especially the weekend, when my grandson came with his buddy Kieran. They spent the night in the tent in my backyard and needed to be fed ...

I will be back, deo volente.

[straudetwo]

Continuing.

The train reached Mirat two hours late.  Perron was glad not to have announced the precise date of his arrival and inconvenienced a waiting party.  The platform was crowded  with officers, wives, mounds of luggage. Departing British. A train in the opposite direction, from Mirat to Ranpur, was expected.  On the equally crowded concourse, quads of troops squatted on piles of kit-bags, smoking. The restaurant was full.  Perron hailed a tonga and  told the wallah to take him to the club.  There was the familiar smell: an oily, spicy scent mingled with that of burning charcoal. The tonga passed white-shirted Indians on bicycles and was passed in turn by military trucks.  A broad gravel road led into the club compound,  which was shaded by  trees and shrubs.  Sprays of red and purple bougainvillaea stood out exuberantly against the dazzling white of the club's colonnaded façade.

The vestibule was empty, the desk discreetly positioned behind a pillar. A servant answered th handbell and Perron asked for the secretary. A young Indian in European clothes came into the vestibule and said the secretary was still at breakfast. Perron gave him his card,  mentioned he would be in Mirat for a little while and asked whether the club might offer temporary membership including accommodations for that night. The clerk said he would speak to the secretary, then told the returning bearer to show the sahib to the terrace and serve him breakfast.

Wicker chairs and tables were arranged close to the balustrade to give guests a view on to a long sweep of lawn and flower-beds. About a dozen club-dining tables and chairs were positioned along the inner wall and, between each pair, casement doors leading to the interior. Two Indian officers and a civilian were finishing breakfast; a European woman wearing sunglasses sat  at the far end of the line of wicker chairs.

The bearer, a grizzly old man, in a white uniform, sashed, barefoot, gloved and turbaned, seated Perron and immediately came back with a tray and implements to set the gleaming table. He put the menu in a silver stand.  Perron leaned back, gazed at the sweep of lawn, the canna lilies, the immense earthen pots of delicately tinted and scented flowers that stood sentinel between each batch of wicker hairs and tables.  India, he thought. I'm back. Really back. The bearer returned with a wooden contraption that held a folded newspaper, the [iMirat Courier[/i]. When Perron asked for The Times of Indiahe was told it would not be available until midday.  

"What is  Fish Soufflé Izzat Bagh? asked Perron.
"Local fish,  Sahib. Caught daily in Izzat Bagh Lake. Cooked with spice and served with rice. Today not recommended."

"Oh, why?"
"Today not fresh, Sahib. Fish too long on ice.  Fishermen not going out two day now." Perron ordered bacon and eggs.

"Mr. Perron?"  An eldery man, short, stout, bald, stood by Perron's table.  Perron stood up and offered his hand.
"Macpherson", the man said. "I'm the secretary.  Please ...", but Perron remained standing until, accepting his invitation, Macpherson sat too.   "I hope you're being looked after all right."  Perron assured him he was, and that he had already been advised not to have the fish.

"That must be old Ghulan. Thank God for him.  Staff is difficult thee days. Night train from Ranpur?"  Perron nodded.
"Should have been in at seven. It gets wore every year. I see from your card you're from home. Been here long?"

"About ten days.  Can you put me up for tonight?"
"For as long as you like.  Nowadays we have more departures than arrivals. All the same, even for a night I'm afraid you'll have to pay temporary membership, and I'm afraid the fee's for a minimum of one calendar month.  War-time rule, dating from when young officers were coming and going and being posted overnight."

"And forgetting to pay their bills?" asked Perron.
"That's about it. Still, a lot of them are dead long since, I expect. You've been here before?"

"Yes, but not for long.  A couple of years during the war."

The Indian officers and the civilian had got up and were approaching. Macpherson looked up. "Everything all right,Bubli?"
There was a brief, friendly exchange.

"Nice fellow", Macpherson said when they were alone again. Gentleman.  But then most of them are. Which I can't say about some of our fellows."

"How long have you been secretary, Mr. Macpherson?"
"About ten years. Mirat was my first station. Oh, years ago before he other war. Artillery. I got a chance to come back in nineteen-thirty.  Jumped at it.  Retired in thirty-five. Took this on. Don't regret a single day. Look forward to many more. No ties at home anyway."

Perron nodded. He understood that here was where Macpherson would prefer to die.

"I had a job, though, back in 'thirty-seven, opening membership to Indian officers. It split the committee right down the middle.  But I said if a man's got the King's Commission what does it matter what his complexion is. During the war the old members agreed I was right. Damned well disgusted us. We were damed well ashamed, I mean of some of or own countrymen. Do you know what they did once? Emptied all the chamber pots  from the men's room into the swimming pool, because they'd seen a couple of Indian subalterns swimming there. I marched them out pretty smartly... Sorry, Mr. Perron. Unpleasant subject. Enjoy your breakfast!"

Perron stood to acknowledge the secretary's leave-taking. "Actually, I'm in Mirat", he said, "to see Count Dmitri Bronowsky".
Perhaps I can telephone from here and leave a message that I've arrived?".

Macpherson hesitated. "Is he expecting you?"
"In general, yes."  Perron explained about the telegram.

"I know he was here", said Macpherson. "I can find out easily enough.  Things haven't been too good here the past week or so."

"it looked quiet enough this morning",  Perron said.

"Oh, in the cantonment. But across the lake, in the city. Not so good. That's why we don't recommend Fish Soufflé Izzat Bagh.
The fishermen are Muslim. They've fished the Nawab's lake since the eighteenth century. Tradition. But they haven't dared go out the last couple of days since two of them were found drowned.  They call it murder and blame the Hindus. There's a curfew
in the old city. But we can always make you comfortable here, Mr. Perron. I'll send my clerk along with the temporary members' book."

To be continued

[Frybabe]

I remember this bit. The discrimination and resentment at attempts to integrate are striking. The swimming pool "prank" was childish, but at least they weren't shooting people or mob lynching. The fishermen apparently weren't so lucky, but then it is a suspicion and not clear if it was an accident or murder. Nevertheless, the Hindis are getting blamed without proof.

[straudetwo]

Continuing
As I read  this last chapter once more, the sensation of impermanence is overwhelming.  After only two years, the changes jump out at Perron. Things will never be the same again. The British are clinging to the vestiges of the former glory. Partition has not yet taken place, but the  withdrawal has begun. The bearer, Old Ghulam, and his impeccable service is clearly an exemplary relic of the proud past. (He reminded me of the old servant who greeted Mabel Layton respectfully when she attended the reception in the Officers' Mess in Pankot after Susan's wedding.  Could it the same man?)

Waiting for his breakfast, Perron picked up the Mirat Courierof August 4.  On the front page was a muddily reproduced photo of the Viceroy in Delhi with some of India's leading princes, which Perron had already seen in the previous day's Times of India. There was no reference in the accompanying article about Mirat's own prince, the Nawab,  no follow-up on rumors Perron had heard about internecine fighting among Indian leaders.

The bearer brought his bacon and eggs and, looking up, Perron saw the woman in the sunglasses walking toward the exit in his direction. When she was level with him, he smiled and said "Good morning".  She murmured a response.  He had believed her to be middle-aged, but as she came closer he saw she was a young woman who had a good bearing and a graceful walk.

Before starting on his breakfast, Perron turned i]The Mirat Courier[/i] to its back page.  There was another muddy photograph, illustrating a report headed 'Happy Occasion in Ranpur',  bylined 'From our Correspondent in Ranpur'. He settled to eat and read.
The grounds of Government College in Ranpur were the setting of the happy occasion when His Excellency the Governor, Sir Leonard Perkin, opened the new technical college wing in Ranpur for a future generation of Indian engineers.

"Let us hope", Sir Leonard said, "that these young men  on whose shoulders India places great responsibility, as she moves forward into a new industrial age, will look back with gratitude on the time they spent here in this handsome building."
Sir Leonard went on to recall how, just two years ago, when the future seemed less certain, his distinguished predecessor, Sir George Malcolm, laid the first stone for the new wing.   Sir George was unable to be there, said Sir Leonard, but  "Be assured that I shall send him an account and appropriate photographs of this splendid wing."

Among the guests wasMr. Mohammed Ali Kasim (MAK), obviously recovered from the recent chill that prevented his attendance at the Chamber of Commerce dinner two weeks ago. Until the announcement, also two weeks ago,  that Mr. Trivurdi would succeed Sir Leonard Perkin, Mr. Kasim had been widely tipped as the new Governor designate. Answering your reporter's questions,  Mr. Kasim said he had no plans for the immediate future, but that Mr. Trivurdi's apointment had his wholehearted approval. He declined to answer our question whether the Governorship had been offered to him first (which  readers know to be a fact), and whether such a refusal was an indication that presently Mr. Kasim intends to return actively to politics in the province.

Another muddy photograph. Perron stopped eating. He pushed back his chair and took the Courier over to the stronger light near the balustrade.  The face in the photograph  was practically unrecognizable. The heading alone made identifiatin possible:

Lieutenant-Colonel Merrick, DSO
A moving ceremony

To be continued

[Gumtree]

That headline about Merrick makes the skin crawl knowing him as we do.

Sorry I haven't been in much Traude My DH has been rather ill and our time seems to be spent waiting in the specialists' rooms. Will be back whenever I'm able.

[straudetwo]

Gumtree,  thank you so much for your post.

Seeing fewer messages from you elsewhere, I had the feeling something might be holding you back. I am sorry my assumption was correct. But I fully understand.  We have to focus on what is most important, and for you that is your DH.  I sincerely hope less worrisome days are ahead and send you my best wishes.

As you can see, there was a pause of more than a week in my own posts between the last one on July 26 and the resumption a few days ago.  Yet some things cannot be rushed; besides, we are not on a schedule. This part of the book describes the last hurrah, the end of an era, the bloody migration of  millions of people. The repercussions still resonate. I don't want to paint with too heavy a brush or use too many quotes,  but give the best rendering possible.  About 130 pages are left, but oh how weighty they are! We'll be here for a while longer, deo volente.

When you are free and ready to  participate again, you'll be welcomed with open arms. In the meantime it is good to justfeel your presence.  Again all good wishes and thank you.

[straudetwo]

Continuing

The same Merrick?   The headline was followed by an article. Perron scanned quickly down to the small print where the chief mourners might be found.

'Supporting the widow were member and close friends of the family, Colonel John Layton, Mrs. F. Grace, Captain Nigel Rowan (AAGG) and Mrs. Rowan  ...'

So, then, yes.  Merrick.  But who was Mrs.Rowan?  Sarah?  She wasn't otherwise named. And what were they all doing in Mirat?
AAGG meant assistant to the agent to the Governor-General. Was Rowan political agent? He went back to the larger print.

'Referring briefly to Colonel Merrick's skillful handling of the far from easy task entrusted to him some moths ago, the chaplain pointed out that he man they had gathered together to mourn and honor was one who had a disability that would  probably have persuaded many men to feel that the period of their useful active employment had ended. "Ronnie," he said,
"never felt this. Some of you have seen, many of us have heard, how this gallant officer who had taught himself to ride again, led his detachment of States Police during times of trouble, patiently and humanely but firmly, restoring order and securing the peace of the state in whose service he was for all too short a tune."'

'"Today", he continued, "our hearts and prayers should be offered to Colonel Merrick's widow in thanksgiving for a life so well lived, so abruptly ended, so sadly lost."'

'After the singing of the hymn "Abide with Me" there was a moment's silence and then from outside the church came the clear sombre notes of the Last Post, sounded off by a bugler of the Mirat Artillery. An equally moving last touch to the simple service was made when the Chief Minister of State in Mirat, the Count Bronowsky, stepped forward and assisted the widow from the church.'

'A few days earlier a post-mortem confirmed that Colonel Merrick died as a result of injuries sustained in a riding accident. The funeral was delayed to enable the widow and other members of the family to attend.  The remains were cremated.'
***

"Sahib?"
The bearer brought the tray of fresh coffee and asked whether he should place it on the breakfast table or on a verandah
table near the balustrade where Perron was leaning.  Perron indicated the verandah table. He read the report again. And now the muddy photograph began to take on a sinister likeness to the Merrick he had known. He sat down and continued to study te photograph and the report.

"I didn't know," a woman's voice said, "that the local rag could be so absorbing."

Startled, he looked up. The woman in the sunglasses had come back and was sitting two tables away. Her voice was low-keyed, a bit hoarse but attractive. He smiled, put the paper away and said,"Sorry, I didn't see you."
"That's what I mean", she answered. "You are Guy Perron, aren't you?"

"Yes ---?"
"You've been expected. So I did wonder when I saw you arrive. I was nosey and took a look at the book you signed. No,
please don't move."  She got up to join him. She took off the sunglasses, revealing pale eyes, blue-grey with a tinge of violet. A scar,  white, about an inch long, showed clearly under the left eye. In spite of this blemish she was in a sad, rather exhausted way, beautiful.

"You won't recognize me. But you might remember me as Laura Elliott. At least Nigel told me you did."
"Yes, Laura Elliott", he said and offered his hand.  "The coffee's fresh. Let me ask the bearer to bring another cup." He rang the handbell. The old man came out,  saw at once what was wanted and went back in.  

She was gazing at him steadily. "I thinkI remember you."
"And I you."
"I shouldn't think so", she answered, quickly replacing the sunglasses.  Perhaps, Perron  thought, Nigel had told her that Guy had called her stunning. She was stunning no longer.

The bearer brought another cup and another pot of coffee. She poured for  both of them,  then asked again why he had come to the club since Nigel had said Guy was expected at the Izzat Bagh.  He explained that after a night on the train he thought it might be a good idea to have breakfast first and make sure of a bed for the night,  without putting people out. He told her of his surprise at finding Nigel's name on the list of people who went to the funeral on Saturday.
"The only person I don't know about is Mrs. Nigel Rowan", he concluded.

Laura Elliott smiled.
"That's me, I'm afraid.  So I was mentioned too? Nigel will be pleased. It worries him a bit that printed guest lists seldom refer to us both. But then how can they if I'm always making excuses or just don't turn up?  It's Count Bronowsky who's expecting you really, isn't it? Are you going to ring him?"

"The secretary said he mightn't be in Mirat but that he could easily find out."

"Dmitri was in Mirat yesterday. He must still be", she said. "But you needn't ring.   Nigel will either ring me here or come here some time this morning.  You could go back with him. In any event I'll let him know you're here."

"It's well over a year since Nigel and I were in touch.  How long have you been married?"
"Less than a year. But do you mind if we don't talk about it? I was always very fond of Nigel and still am, but I'm afraid his marriage has not been a success."

To be continued

[Frybabe]

Traude, my eyes must have glazed over on this chapter. I do not remember the Merrick funeral announcement although I do remember Perron staying at the club, etc. A riding accident? With that man's background I would have to be suspicious whether it was accidental or not. I can't believe I don't remember that bit.

[straudetwo]

Frybabe  Thanks for your post.
Yes, it's in there.  Of course it was NOT an accident.  How it came about involves intrigue and is a mystery to the end. And there's a different, actually redemptive,  "view" presented of Merrick,  which might be seen as an attempt to make the reader think more kindly of him (!) - to understand him netter, perhaps to exonerate him ? We'll see.

The character of Laura Elliott was omitted from the Granada TV serial.  We cannot ignore her because Laura IS part of Merrick's story, specifically : she was one of his chosen people, those he "owned" and manipulated  - to their peril.

Now I must share with you that I have read Staying On.  Pankot twenty-five years later.  If ever a book deserved the Booker Prize, this is it. Only superlatives will do to describe it. But not yet.

It is no exaggeration to say that I find something new and personally enlightening every time I re-read a page. Years ago a book friend in our Virginia group asked which book(s) we'd like to have IF stranded on a remote island. She asked when she said goodbye to the group.  She was Australian and her first name was Enid. Her husband had been on assignment  in Washington and the family was returning home. She was totally serious and told us her choices. One was the Book of Common Prayer, I remember it well.

If I were asked the same question now,  I would be ready:   one choice (and I'd hope for more than one   )would definitely be The Raj Quartet.

[Frybabe]

When we get to Staying On I will likely have more to say since I actually have the book. I think I will start reading it after we get done with the People of the Book discussion.

[straudetwo]

That will be great, Frybabe  

Continuing

Studying Laura's face,  momentarily turned toward the lawn,  Perron studied it. He thought he saw a woman who had had a bad time and was trying to pick up the pieces.  She had rejected Nigel originally for a planter in Malaya.  He remembered Nigel referring to a surviving Elliott parent in Darjeeling,  who had heard from Laura once, after she had ended up in a Japanese prison camp.  Since there had been no divorce,  presumably the planter husband had not survived. He felt he could not ask. She would not welcome a discussion about her first husband's captivity any more than she wanted to discuss her marriage to Nigel.

"Are you staying at the clubl?" he asked.
"Yes. Temporarily." She took the glasses off. "I just remember, you had a delightful but rather dotty aunt. Is she still alive>"

Perron nodded. "She is paying most of the cost for this trip. She's pulled strings that make things easy for me here."
Laura said she was glad. "People like that deserve a long life."

"People like what?"
 "People who take an interest in other people, especially in young people. I felt she reacted to me as if I were a person, not just another good-looking girl."

"I'll tell her what you said."

"Oh, she won't remember me."
"But she does."
A moment of nakedness - then the glasses went back on. The sound of a telephone.  "Perhaps this is Nigel ringing now,"
Perron said.  
Hearing footsteps, Perron turned around.   It was Macpherson.

"Ah, there you are, already introducd yourselves. Good. Hour husband is on the line, Mrs.Rowan."

She thanked Macpherson, pushed the glasses hard against the bridge of her nose, got up and left, without another word or a glance in Guy's direction. Macpheson said,   "It looks as if you're in luck and I lose an overnight guest."

She did not come back.  Ten minutes later the clerk brought a message from her. A car would call for Perron at mid-day to take him to the Izzat Bagh.  He stayed on the verandah another half hour or so. She still did not return.

****
The car slowed as it passed through the sentry-guarded checkpoint marked End of Cantonment Limits, then headed out on to the road slightly below the level of the railway. Perron had been handed a note from Rowan.

"My dear Guy, I'm sorry I can't come to collect you personally. It's one of those pressing official mornings. I haven't had the chance to tell Dmitri you've arrived, but will.  Meanwhile,  the best thing  is for you to come to my bungalow.  It's next to the Dewani Bhavan, Dmitri's house, where you'll be staying.  But a lot has happened since he wired you in Bombay and you may find dossing down with me at least a good temporary solution. You're very welcome. Laura tells me you and she met and you've seen the Courier so know something of the score.
Colonel Layton went back to Pankot this morning but Susan and her aunt are still here, staying at the palace guest house.  Sarah's here too, of course, and has promised to be at my house to welcome you and see you settled in. I may have to stay at the palace for lunch but have arranged for you to have lunch at my place. I expect you'll want to relax anyway.  The bungalow is tucked between the Dewani Bhavan and the bungalow that was Susan's and Ronald's ..."

There followed hints on what views lay in store on the ride.

Presently there was the palace at the other end of a dazzlig stretch of water: a rose-colored structure with little towers, and on the lake shore a white domed mosque, and the reflection of one slim minaret.  To one side amidst trees a palladian-style mansion. The guest house, presumably. At this upper end of the lake there were huts and boats  (beached). A detachment of armed police was patrolling the area.  Banyan trees shaded the road, the car became cooler. To the left there appeared suddenly a brick wall mercilessly topped with spears of broken bottle glass. The palace grounds.  The car slowed. Just ahead on the right there was a grey stucco wall, a glimpse of a substantial bungalow, the Dewani Bhavan.

The car turned, crossed a culvert, into the compound of a small bungalow, a very old, squat building with square pillars to its verandah. The compound was rough and unattended. Standing in the shadow of it was a woman in a blouse and skirt. Sarah. She had her arms folded, her hands clasping her elbows, just as he remembered.
As the car drew up, she came down the steps ahead of the servant.

To be continued

[straudetwo]

Continuing

"Hello, Guy," Sarah said and offered her hand.  Perron could not tell whether a warmer embrace had been expected or would be welcome.  The house had an uncared-for look about it, and Perron wondered whether that was Laura's fault or one of the reasons for her not living there.

The interior was dark, there was the smell of damp. Perron felt the oppressive weight of the masonry and the thick square pillars that rose from the floor up, up to the remote raftered roof.   Sarah opened a door to a long room, too narrow for its length. There was the sweet heavy scent of fungus mixed with an antiseptic. A white narrow bed shrouded in a mosquito net. The only light came from the open bathroom door.

"It's rather spartan." Sarah said. "I expect Laura's told you that they haven't been here long and won't be staying."  
He let that go and asked instead,"What do you think? 1830 or 1850?"

"I don't know", she said. "Closed up too  long. Watch out for scorpions. I don't want to alarm you but there's also been a snake not long ago on the verandah. Nigel says snakes are very misunderstood creatures, and the thing to do if you meet one is to bow politely and ask it to go its way in peace."

"I shall probably yell the place down", he said.
She laughed, standing there in front of him, her arms folded around her elbows. He took a step toward her and  placed one arm lightly around her. For a moment her hair touched his chin.

"It's nice to see you again, Guy. You always made me laugh." She turned away. The servants were bringing in his suitcase and hold-all.  They went back out on the verandah. She said, "I don't think Nigel will be back for lunch but it's all organized for you.
Let's have a drink. Then I'll leave you to settle."

"Do you have to leave?"
"Yes. But I have got time for a drink."  
When he offered her a cigarette she hesitated, then took one.  "I've  been trying to cut down," she said.

"I've come at a rather bad moment, haven't I?" he asked.

She admitted that they had all imagined his arrival to be different.  Nigel, she and Ahmed would come to the station.  Dmitri's idea.  He liked surprising people. But he had not answered Guy's letter from home - until there was just time for a telegram to Bombay. "He couldn't very well write a letter without mentioning the fact that Nigel and I were here. And Ronald, of course."

"You were here when my letter came, then?" She nodded. "It was Susan who came down from Pankot with Aunt Fenny. Father went back this morning. He has to hand over his command at the depot.."

"And your mother?"
"Mother went home last month, house-hunting."

"So no retirement to Rose Cottage?"
"No.  We moved to Commandant House a while ago and rented the cottage to people called Smalley. We can't sell it except to the army. The Smalleys will stay on for a year or two under contract to the Indian Government. He is a bit too young to retire."

Perron said, "You never got in touch with me."
"What?"

"When you were in England with your aunt Fenny."
"No."

"Nor answered my second letter."
"No.  I'm sorry.  But that was a long time ago."

He asked whether the visit home was a disappointment. Sarah allowed that it might have been different if Fenny had gone home for good. But she had the return passage booked and Sarah felt she needed to go back too.

"You never met her, did you?"
"No. But I know  about Colonel Grace dying. I called at Queen's Road the other day and saw Mr. Hapgood."
"Hapgood?"

"The people upstairs. Captain Purvis billet."
"Oh.
 She leaned back and shut her eyes.  "How long ago all that seems."

"You told me once that India wasn't a place you felt you could be happy in," Guy said.
"Did I?  Yes, I remember thinking that."  She looked at him.   "I have been very happy since."

"Has Susan been happy?"
Sarah didn't answer at once. Then she said, "At the moment she is in rather bad way, probably worse than the family realizes.
I don't remember what you knew about her history, but she has never been what is called really stable."

"Didn't Ronald Merrick give her stability?"
Again she didn't answer at once. "He's provided it now. You'll see what I mean if she talks to you about him, which is fairly likely. He is all she talks about."

"It was  a successful marriage, then?"
"I expected it to be disastrous.  Of course he adored the boy, and the boy adored him.  By the way,  I ought to warn you, Edward doesn't know Ronnie's dead."

"The boy's here?"
"Yes, Su wouldn't leave him in Pankot, which is partly why Fenny had to come. I looked after him when the others went to the funeral. It was difficult explaining to him why mummy kept crying and why they'd come all the way back to daddy's house and not seen daddy. Daddy had promised he'd still be here when their holiday in the hills was over."

"Ronald sent them back to Pankot because of trouble here?"
"Partly, but also to get them into the hills for the hot weather.Su wanted to go up to Nanoora, but Ronald said if there was more trouble Nanoora would be just as bad."

"Has there been much trouble?"

"Off and on. Quite a lot.  That is why he was sent here in the first place. They were up in Rajputana. He'd become temporarily
attached to the States Police - you know?  The reserve pool that sends officers and men  to states where the rulers' own police forces need helping out.  He packed Su and Edward back to Pankot and came down here alone.
They say he did a marvelous job. The Nawab's own police are practically all Muslims, and that was part of the problem. They took sides in communal disturbances, lashing out at Hindu crowds and mobs, and turning a blind eye when the Muslims had a go. Ronnie stopped all that. He pretended it was easy. He said all he'd had to do was make the Muslim Chief of Police see he had a duty to  the whole community, but it can't have been as simple as that."

"When was all this?"

"Last December. He didn't expect the job to last long. But Dmitri was so impressed by the way he handled  it he persuaded the State Police to let him stay on  and help overhaul the whole Mirat Police Department and devise a new training and recruiting program. Su and he set up house early last March."

"That was the bungalow next door, wasn't it?"
"Yes, it's not nearly as dilapidated at this one. In fact he made it very comfortable and stayed with them for a while after I helped Su move down from Pankot.  Now, of course, I'll have to go back with Su. Fenny can't cope with the journey alone.
And I don't know how badly Su'll take it when the reaction sets in."

"I see there was a post mortem."
"Yes."  She got up.  "I really must go."

Getting up too, Perron asked, "How long has Nigel been in Mirat."
"About six weeks. The Political Department sent him down to try and sort things out. Actually Dmitri asked for him. Mirat comes under the Resident of Gopalakand and things got rather difficult. Nigel will tell you all about it.  I'll be in touch, Guy. Probably this evening."

The driver had returned. Just as she started down the steps, another car came into the compound.  "You're in luck", she said. "Here's Nigel now."

To be continued


 

[straudetwo]

Continuing

Perron stayed on the verandah as Sarah went down to meet Rowan. Rowan was even thinner than Perron remembered.

"Hello, Guy," he said. "I'm sorry but I'm afraid I'm only here to pack a case."  They shook hands.

"I'll see to the case," Sarah said. "How many nights?"  "One, or two" Rowan said.
She went inside calling for someone named Tippoo.   A middle-aged Indian in European clothing came out,   a clerk,not a servant.  
"Just a second, Guy," Rowan said and went to speak to the man.

"I do apologize," Rowan said when he came back.  "We are in the middle of what you'd call  a flap. I have to go up to  Golapakand.  Have uou got a drink?  OK, Let me refresh it."
  
Tippoo reappeared at the door.  Sarah's voice sounded inside.  The telephone rang.  "Back in a moment," Rowan said.
Left behind, Perron felt  like the visitor he was,  excluded from the mystery, the vital secret.

I have been happy since, Sarah had said, as a woman might say if she were in love. In love with whom? Nigel?
But he had been in Mirat only six weeks, and she had been here since March.  Merrick?  No, that was impossible.  Merrick's death clearly had not disturbed her in the way the death of a loved one would have done. In love with the land itself - a strange but perhaps logical reversal of her old attitude.

"I won't apologize again," Rowan said, coming back, taking a seat opposite Perron, glancing at his watch. "I have to be off in a few minutes. Let's work out what would be best for you.  There are three possibilities.  You're more than welcome to stay here and could rely on Tippoo to look after you.  Dmitri  said to tell you that you're equally welcome to move into the Dewani Bhavan, but he's unlikely to be around much in the next few days. The other alternative is the Gymkhana Club. If you prefer that, I could take you there now because I have to collect Laura.  Please don't feel that I am pushing you out ... And in spite of what I said about not apologizing again, I do."

"It's entirely my fault," Perron said. "I should have sent a wire to check if it was convenient."
"The flap would have occurred anyway," Rowan answered. "It's not inconvenient for us, we're just worried about you."

"I'd like to stay here," Perron said, "if that's all right."
"Good,  that'll make it easier on Sarah, not that she's ever complained. But we all tend to load her with extra jobs."

"Tell me one thing," asked Perron, "is the Resident in Gopalakand a member of  the entrenched opposition that's encouraging the princes to stand firm on their own independence?"
"Yes, fundamentally that's the problem."

"What does Dmitri want?"
"Honorable integration."

"And the Nawab?"
"I don't think the poor old man knows. After all these years he's suddenly resisting Dmitri's advice. The Resident isn't being helpful and has never been interested in Mirat. Mirat should have had its own agent long ago."

"Are you on Dmitri's side, then?"
"Let's say I agree that the only sensible course for Mirat is to accede do the new Indian Union on the three main subjects, sign the standstill agreement and get the best deal possible. Mirat's entirely surrounded by what's been British Indian territory and would overnight become Indian Union territory."

Perron nodded and said,  "And how have things been for you, Nigel, these past two years?"
"I've moved around a lot.  Perhaps I should have stayed in the army.  It turned out to be the wrong time to come back to the Political.  At the end though it would have been the same in either case.  From what I've seen in the past few weeks I sometimes wonder whether the Political Department cared, as long as it can close itself down,  convinced that it's upheld the principles of the relationship between the States and the Crown."

"What do you hope to achieve in Gopalakand, or is that confidential?" asked Perron.
"If I can come back with a letter from the Resident to the Nawab making it lear that Mirat's on its own - we must persuade the old chap to sign it. There's no sensible alternative."

"I'm sorry about Merrick," Guy said. "Not that I ever liked the man. Still it seems he made good in Mirat."
"Yes," Rowan said and looked at his watch.

Was there news from Harry Commer, Perron  asked and added that he had found it impossible to do anything for him at his end.

Rowan replied that he had not really expected it.  Also, Kumar did not want anything, he added. Perron asked how Nigel knew. And Rowan explained that he had contacted Hari at the old address he had from the late lawyer Gopal. Hari had taken his time to respond. His letter came from Ranpur. Hari wrote he was content coaching students privately, and expressed thanks for Rowan's giving him a hint or two. Perron pressed for details, but Rowan offered none.

"Will anything ever change for him in India?" asked Perron. "Isn't Harry Coomer the permanent lose end?  Too English for the Indians, too Indian for the English?"
"That's Sarah's view," Rowan said. "Frankly, I think he's more interested in being  his own kind of  Indian."

"Have you told her you tried to help him?" Perron asked.
"Yes, but only recently."

"I supposed you never showed her a transcript of his examination..."
"Good God, no. She knows nothing about it." He lowered his voice.  "Few people know about it now. except you. Everything to do with the examination was destroyed, except the orders for Kumar's release."

Perron: "To protect Merrick's reputation?"
Rowan: "The issues ranged wider than that. I imagine quite a lot of files were vetted and re-arranged. Certain sections of Congress wanted a witch hunt. But an inquiry would have raised racial tension to an intolerable degree. If it interests you as a student of history, there was no inquiry because Nehru and Wavell put a stop to it."

"And Merrick got off scot-free?"
"I think it bothered  him. There were only a few individual inquiries involving senior officials, all done very quietly. One or two people got retired prematurely."

"What happened to Kasim's son, Sayed?"
"He was cashiered, That's all. He's living in Lahore, I believe, with his Muslim League sister and brother-in-law.  In some kind of business."

"The splendid appointment for one of the INA heroes?"
"They were only heroes for a while.  But in a way they still are folk heroes,  people in a story, a legend."

Sarah came out,  followed by  a couple of servants with bags, and the clerk with a briefcase. Goodbyes were said and Sarah promised to ring Perron.

To be continued.

[straudetwo]

Continuing

Later Perron went out into the compound seeking sunshine and warmth.   An untended garden stretched out in the back, the grass needed cutting; and what once must have been flower beds  were overgrown.  A wall divided Nigel's bungalow from Merrick's;  the main trunk of an immense banyan tree on this side of the fence connected the two gardens through its aerial roots. From the other side of the wall Perron heard the voice of a child and the low-pitched voice of a woman's laughter.

"Catch, Minnie!", the child shouted. But the throw was too high. A ball sailed over but did not bounce on the rough ground. It disappeared.  Perron went across the grass casting about for it and shortly found a grey, soggy tennis ball.  He picked it up, turned and saw a young Indian woman and a child standing near the banyan tree.  Beyond the tree a gate between the two compounds, which he hadn't noticed before, stood open.
 
The child made a commanding gesture to the woman, as if telling her to stay, and advanced  towards Perron:  a Pathan child, dressed in baggy white pantaloons and shirt sash, embroidered waistcoat and cockscomb turban. Stuck in the sash was a dagger.  A miniature Red Shadow. Getting closer Perron saw that he was of course and English boy, dressed up.
His eyes were bright blue his eyelashes  pale. A lick of sandy red hair escaped from the turban.  He stopped and stuck his little fist round the toy dagger.

"Who are you?" the boy asked.
"I'm just a visitor. Who are you?"

"I live next door. Is that my ball?"
Perron stooped and showed it to him.
"It looks like mine. Does it have MGC on it?"
Perron inspected it and confirmed it had.

"Then it must be mine. MGC means Mirat Gymkhana Club. Mr. Macpherson always gives me used tennis balls."
Perron nodded and handed over the ball. The child spoke with the assurance of a much older boy.

"It was Minnie's falt," the boy said. "Women can't catch. Thank you for finding it. If you hadn't Minnie would have had to look for it. And she doesn't want to because she is afraid of snakes."

"Aren't you?" Perron asked.
"No.  Not very afraid. There were sakes here when Uncle Nigel came. He's not my uncle really. I don't have an uncle because my father didn't have a brother and my mother only has a sister.  My step-father doesn't have a brother either. I've got a stepfather because my real father was killed in the war."

"You're Edward, aren't you?"
"Yes. My full name is Edward Arthur David Bingham."

"My name is Guy. My other name is Perron."
"They're both funny names, I like Perron best. I'll call you Perron."
"Then I shall probably have to call you Bingham."
"Okay."
A minor matter satisfactorily settled. A more important one was coming up.  "Can you throw, Perron?"

"Yes."
"Which arm do you use?"
"My right arm."
'I throw with my left arm," Edward said, "because I'm left-handed. My stepfather has to throw with his right arm because his left arm was cut off. But he's a very good thrower."
"What do you call your stepfather?"
"Ronald. Mostly, I do.  My mother likes me to call him daddy and sometimes I do. But he likes me to call him Ronald.
"Do you know what Ronald means?"
"it means it's his name."

"Most names have meanings," said Perron. "my name means 'wide', and it also means 'wood'. So you'd better keep calling me Perron, which is probably just the place we lived once. And I'll call you Edward after all. Ronald means the same as Rex or Reginald. It means someone with power who rules.  Edward means a rich guard."
"But I'm not very rich. I've only one rupee and four annas."

"I don't think it's a question of money. Anyway you are guarding  the fort while Ronald's away, aren't you?"
"Yes. My mother's name is Susan. What does Susan mean?"
"It means a very beautiful flower called a lily, not the red ones you see here. White ones."

"She is quite beautiful. Except when she cries. She's crying now. That's why they sent me out to play. She may have stopped
crying though, if yo want to see her. Com one. If she's still crying we can play in our garden It's nicer than this one."

To be continued

[straudetwo]

****
Those banyan trees must be enormous. I became intrigue by them years ago when  I read The Little Prince by Antoine Saint-Exupéry [/i]. And those aerial roots that form their own trunks!  What a sight!  Wonderful photographs are available on the net - sorry, as yo know I'm not good at transmitting links.
****

Continuing
Merrick's garden was indeed 'nicer'.  There were recently dug flower beds in ovals, circles and rectangles. "That's where Ronald is going to grow roses", Edward said. A tennis court at the far end of the compound. The bungalow re-stuccoed and painted. The verandah an elegant white-washed colonnaded semi-circle, embracing the steps to the house. Tubs of canna lilies stood sentinel.

The little Pathan marched across the lawn towards the verandah. At the bottom step he kicked off his chappals, quickly climbed barefoot to the top and waited for Perron, legs apart, fist on the handle of the toy dagger. "Would you like to see my room first?" he asked and, when Perron said "Very much",  he turned sharply right along the verandah and around the corner. On the side of the bungalow he opened a screen door and let Perron enter first.

A small room, austere, remarkably unboylike, was his first impression - until he remembered that the boy had not slept or played in it for several months. The narrow little charpoy was unmade, the mattress rolled up, the mosquito net folded.
Across the exposed webbing lay the clothes Edward had taken off earlier, diminutive khaki shorts, a shirt and socks. The door to the almirah was ajar, which suggested that taking out his Pathan outfit was the first thing Edward had done. A cane chair and a chest of drawers were the only other pieces of furniture.

"Yes, I like your room," said Perron when Edward asked.   'Where does ayah sleep?"
"There, of course," Edward said, pointing to the floor near the casement door. "Neither of us isleps here just now. We're staying at the palace guest house. I can show you the palace,, if you like.  Do you like my picture?"

Above the chest of drawers hung a colored picture in a gilt frame, Perron inspected it.
"Daddy gave it to me," the boy said. "It's called "The Jewel in Her Crown" and it's about Queen Victoria."

Perron saw indeed it was: the kind of picture whose awfulness gave it a sort of distinction. Enthroned beneath a canopy, the old Queen was receiving tribute from a motley gathering of her Indian subjects, chief among them was a prince bearing a crown on a cushion. Arranged on either side of the throne were representatives of the raj in statuesque pro-consular positions. Disraeli was there, indicating a parchment. In the background, plump angels peered from behind fat clouds and looked ready to blow their long golden trumpets. The print was blemished by little brown speckles of damp.

"But it isn't the jewel in the crown the prince is holding.  The jewel's India,"  the boy explained.
"Yes, I see", Perron said.
"It's an alle-gory."
What's an alle-gory?"

"Don't you know? It means telling a story that's really two stories. The Queen's dead now. I should think they're all dead, except the angels. Angels never die."
"So I've been told."

"Have you ever seen an angel, Perron?"
"No."
"Nor have I. Daddy says mummy saw an angel in a circle of fire once, but I mustn't talk about it because it upsets her. Come on. Let's see if she's still crying."

Reluctantly Perron followed him to a closed door. The boy opened it slightly, put his head in and listened. The silence on the other side was peculiarly oppressive.  But Edward obviously found it reassuring.  "I think she's stopped."

He opened the door wide. Beyond was the main entrance hall,  just as encumbered with square pillars as the hall in Rowan's bungalow. The tile floor shone. A carpet had been rolled up and corded, awaiting disposal. Edward padded  across the hall  on his bare feet and entered a room whose door stood open. A pause, then a woman's shriek, and the more shrieks, drawn out and continuing.

The boy emerged levitated. At the same time  a magenta-colored shape, the ayah, grasped him out of the air, revealing the source of the levitation: Sarah, who immediately turned back into the room. Then the shrieking stopped.  Uncertain what to do, Perron slowly went toward  the wide-open door and saw  it was a bedroom, a very large bedroom, dominated by a bed
centrally placed on a stone-stepped daïs. Sarah was sitting on the edge of the bed cradling Susan in her arms, rocking her.

Before the daïs was an open tin trunk and scattered around were what appeared to be Ronald Merrick's relics.
Perron turned to leave. He didn't think Sarah had seen him. Just then she said,"Don't go way altogether, Guy."

*
Perron waited on the verandah.  A palace limousine was parked outside.  A  servant came to ask whether Perron wanted anything. He shook his head. Why should she scream?  It was her own son!  After a while the ayah and the boy came out. Edward was wearing his ordinary clothes. His little chappals clattered.  He looked what he was - a small boy, three or four years old.  But when he spoke he was still the little Pathan.

"Hello, Perron,. Are you coming to the guest house?"
"Afraid not, old chap. Not today any way"

"If you do I'll show you the palace after all."
"I'd like that. Tomorrow, perhaps."
The boy offered his hand. Perron reached down and shook it.
"Goodbye, Perron," the child said and ran down the steps toward the car, the ayah hastening behind.
"I can show you the white peacock too, Perron," Edward shouted out of the open car window as the car pulled away.

"You've made a hit." Sarah had come ut and was standing behind him  "The white peacock is his special secret. But why does he call you Perron?"

"We agreed to be informal. He's a remarkable boy, isn't he? How old?"
"He was three last June. I remember wondering whether he'd ever learn to talk."

"Is Susan all right now?"
'Yes, perfectly. She'd like it if you came to have a word. She may ask you to dinner at the guest house this evening. It was originally my idea. But I'd prefer it if you made an excuse. These upsets sometimes have repercussions later. I'd rather we left anything like that until tomorrow."

"What upsets her?"

Sarah, arms folded in the characteristic way, shrugged slightly without looking at him. Her manner struck him as evasive, and he realized that it was not the first time this day.
"Oh, the whole afternoon. She insisted on coming over and sorting out some of Ronald's things, so I had to come too because Aunt Fenny's not feeling well. Then Edward insisted on coming with us. it was a mistake from the start."

"Could you have dinner with me at Nigel's?
"I'd like to, but I'd better not. Let's go out riding tomorrow morning, though. I'll try and rope Ahmed in too."

"What time?"
"Could you be ready at seven? It's the best time."

"I don't have anything special to ride in."
"That doesn't matter. Let's go in. The guest house is only a few minutes away by car.  The limousine will be back and I want to get Susan away before the light goes."

To be continued

[straudetwo]

Oh me gosh ---

I was ready to post a message when there was a sudden interruption.  Everything disappeared in a flash,   irretrievable. The reason is beyond my understanding.

Please let me recap  
Among olther things I was asking you to bear with me because we are coming to an important part of the story:  Susan's first direct utterances - and  they are more a monologue than a conversation, Perron is the listener.
AND  I'm in the process of preparing/presenting a shorter version, without tainting the meaning.
Thank you

[straudetwo]

Continuing

Susan was kneeling on the floor by the tin trunk. The light which twenty minutes before had streamed through the unshuttered windows had diminished, but what was left of it lit one side of her pretty flushed face and picked out the red-brown tones in her dark hair.  She looked perfectly composed. 

"We  met, didn't we, Mr. Perron? That time in Pankot just after Ronnie and I became engaged. You were working with him.
Of course, you know I've lost him. My son doesn't know. It's really a question of working out how and what to tell him."
She reached out and touched Ronald's field service cap.

Sarah said, "Why don't we leave it all, Su?  Khansamar will put it away. Then we could all have a drink outside while we wait for the car."
"No, I don't want a drink.  But you both have one. I've still got a lot to sort out and I don't want Khansamar touching anything."
"Then I'll help you start putting things back," Sarah said and began to fold Ronald's weed jacket."

"How little there is," Susan said. "I mean when you think of the years a man spends out here. So little he would want to keep.
Will daddy have as little as this?"
"I don't expect there to be more," answered Sarah.

Susan fingered the pommel of her husband's sword.   "And even the things they do have look like toys, don't they?  I suppose that's because the things they play with when they're young are just small versions of the things they'll have to use later. It's different for us. A doll's house isn't at all like a real house.  And a doll is not the least like a real baby.  You didn't know my husband well, did you, Mr. Perron? You were hardly with him at all, were you?"

"No. A very short time."

"Ask anyone here i Mirat and hey'll tell you what a fine man he was. I don't think of him as dead."
Sarah gently drew the sword from her sister;s touch and placed it in the trunk.

"And my not being here at the time makes it seem it hasn't happened, and when I tell Edward we'll be seeing daddy again soon, that's what it seems like. That we will be seeing him. Sarah, please stop putting things back. It's all that's left of Ronald and it's not even all here."

"Oh?" Sarah said, not looking at her sister. "What's missing?"
"His arm for one thing."
Sarah pushed a hair away from her cheek and was silent.

"I mean the artificial one, Mr. Perron. His harness. But he always called it his arm. It was one of the ways we made light of it.  He took it off every night. Nobody knows the discomfort he was in, from the chafing. The first time I saw his poor shoulder and his poor stump, I cried. They were so inflamed and raw. That's because he never spared himself. He learned to ride again, you know. Getting up on what he called the wrong side. He played tennis too. He called it patball because he had to serve underarm by dropping the ball and hitting it on the bounce,  but he played a strong game otherwise."

Sarah got up and opened a chest of drawers.  Susan said, "It's no good. i've looked in all the drawers and cupboards. I've looked everywhere, but I can't find it."

"What's this then?"  Sarah held up a contraption of webbing and metal.
Without even looking up Susan said, "That's the one he couldn't wear. The new one. The one they said was much better, a much more modern design. But if you look at it you'll see it can't have been worn more than a few times."
Sarah put it back in the chest and closed the drawer.

"I hope this doesn't embarrass you Mr. Perron. Talking about his arm. But you see he never, never wore it in bed. He took it off
every night. He had to be very careful not to let the stump get too inflamed. I know what a relief it was to him to get out of the harness. and the torture it was to put it back on.  He wouldn't have worn it while he was laid up after his riding accident."

Perron said, "Perhaps the accident explains why it's not here, Mrs.l Merrick.  It could have been damaged and sent away for repairs."
"Oh."  Se considered him gravely.  "I hadn't thought of that. Ronnie was quite right. He always was. He said women have instincts, they know when something is wrong or not properly explained.  But men work things out logically much better.  It struck me as odd when I couldn't find it, because to put it brutally I couldn't see them putting the arm on,  just to take - just to take his body to the mortuary for the post mortem. 
And there had to be a post mortem because he was fund dead in bed and people thought he was getting better. I blame Dr.
Habbibullah, but daddy says I shouldn't. t He said no one can foresee a clod of blood. But why was there a clot of blood? Unless there was an internal injury from the riding accident that hadn't been diagnosed.
But all these doctors protect themselves and each other,whether they're English or Indian. And I do blame Dr. Habbibullah even though Ronnie himself once said he was one of the best doctors he'd ever seen."
Looking at Sarah, she said,  "Khansamar would know about Ronnie's harness, Sarah. Whether it was damaged."

"I don't think we should worry Khansamar over a thing like that, Su".  "Why?"
"Because he is a servant. When you ask servants what's happened to something it always sounds as if we're accusing them of stealing.  I'll ask Dr Habbibullah if you really want me to."

"Yes, I do.  But what about the other things that are missing? Where are his Pathan clothes? He was very fond of his Pathan clothes."  She turned to Perron. "He had two sets but only one pugree and only one embroidered waistcoat. There's only one set here, these trousers and this shirt.  The other set's missing, and so are the pugree and the waistcoat. And the sash. And the little axe."

"He probably gave them away." Sarah said "I's been years since he used them."
"Oh no. He went out in them in Mirat. With one of his spies.  He had to have spies, Mr. Perron. I'm sorry if it sounds melodramatic, but his is a very melodramatic and violent country. If you're a police officer and take your obseriously you just can't sit in an office like a deputy commissioner. You have to go out into the bazaars and listen to what people are saying. You have to do all sorts of things that so-called pukka members of the raj pretend don't have to be done. ... He knew it was his duty to go out and see and hear for himself. I expect a lot of people who sing his praises now for what he did to settle Mirat would be shocked if they knew he had to go out at night dressed as an Indian servant. But he was prepared to do that for the job's sake. It was very dangerous, needless to say. That's why he never told me.  But I found out. Shall I tell you how I found out,  Mr. Perroln?"

"Only if you want to."

To be continued

[straudetwo]

Continuing

"Yes. I think I do (want to tell you).  I don't know whether you know, but I haven't been very well. For quite some time. I can't sleep without taking something.  He was so undestanding about that. And sometimes when there was any kind of trouble brewing or crisis or flap on, anything that kept him working late, he'd sleep in another room, so as not to disturb me, once I'd taken the pills.  But the pills don't always work. And then I go through phases of not wanting to take them at all because you can't go spend the rest of your life taking pills just to go to sleep. One night I didn't take any pills, Ronnie was working late and sleeping in this other room, and I lay here trying to get to sleep naturally.  It's terrible when you're so tired and can't sleep, and the night is slipping away, and you start imagining all kinds of silly ridiculous things, and there is this awful temptation to take not one or two of the pills, but enough to make you sleep forever.

So I went to Ronnie's room, it was four o'clock in the morning and his light was still on, just as if he'd stayed awake in case I needed him,  and I felt terribly beholden to  him. But when I opened the door, it didn't seem to be Ronnie there at all, but this terrifying Indian just standing there staring at me.  But of course it was Ronnie.

That's why I lost my nerve a while ago when Edward ran in dressed just the same way.  It was like seeing Ronnie again, and at that moment I was wondering where his own Pathan clothes were."
She turned to Sarah. "Can't we ask Khansamar even about the clothes?"

"No, that would be worse than asking him about the harness.
The car must be here.  I'll go and see. Then we ought to be getting back. Khansamar can put all this away."

Shen Sarah had gone Susan said,"My sister isn't very intuitive."
"No?"
"No. You see, Mr. Perron, Ronnie's missing arm and Ronnie's missing clothes are like the dog that didn't bark in the night."
"Conan Doyle?" Perron asked.

She gave him a brilliant smile. "My favorite as a child. I used to read it by torchlight under the bedclothes in the school Sarah and I went to at home. The Speckled Band reminded me of India.  When Aunt Fenny told me last week that Ronnie was dead, I thought first of a snake. Or of the scorpion.  I've always been afraid of scorpions."

"I'm terrified of both", Perron said.
"Oh, men always say they're terrified. But they are just pretending. Rionnie wasn't afraid of anything."
"I imagine not."
"I depended on him,"  Mr. Perron. "You see, I've always been terrified of most everything."

To his alarm he saw that suddenly tears were falling down her cheeks. But her eyes seemed to be at a different season  from the rest of her. She still smiled.  She said, "I've never met a man who understands - I mean who understands me so well.
He seemed to guess things about me that no one else in he family ever guessed, not even my sister. It was like living with someone who'd lived with you always, and knew your secret life, the nice things and not so nice things about you, even things you'd forgotten or you'd dreamed about.  

"it was a long time before I could help him with his arm. I mean to help him put it on and take off, with the salves and the powders. When I'd learned how to help him we became very close.   He realized that.  I think he realized that helping him with his arm was a way of helping me to become close to people. Which I'd never been.  His arm was very important to me.  I prefer to think of it as damaged, not as thrown away.  Although if it was damaged in the accident I expect it has been thrown away because people don't understand the importance of symbols. Wherever we went he was admired and respected, especially here in Mirat. "You see, he never preteded. He always said what he thought so people knew where they stood with him. He wasn't always easy on people. At one time I used to get upset when he was angry or disapproving or cold. But he was angry only when he found people were cheating or lying or pretending. And it was good for me.  I''m not nearly as afraid as I used to be. I don't know what happens now, though, but at least he's left me with Edward. When you look at Edward now, you'd never know what a poor miserable little boy by he was.  But he grew out of that."  Her tears had dried.

"Your son's certainly a friendly little boy."
"I'm glad you think so.  But it's time he went home. He's very precocious. It's what happens here.  And you shouldn't order people about like that.  I remember doing it myself as a child. But that's because I was afraid of them."

"I don't think Edward's in the least afraid."
"No. But you can't tell.  Aggression can be a sign of insecurity. Ronnie was never able to help me over that sort of thing. He was the most secure person I've ever known,  and when Edward talks to servants the way he does he's just copying Ronnnie.  Ronnie was always very firm. But fair.  Don't misunderstand. the servants adored him.  
What is it, Sarah?"

"The car's here," Sarah said from behind.  Perron wondered how long she had been standing there. "We ought to go."
Perron got up and helped Susan to rise. As she stood near him he felt that he was as taut as a bent bow.

She took his elow but she had more to say:
"..... When  I came from Pankot with Edward,  Ronnie had the old bungalow all cleared and decorated, he furnished it, with Dmitri's help. Everything belongs to Dmitri except the hall carpet.  The whole compound at the back was cleared too. Ronnnie worked to make a home for us wherever it was, however impermanent.  Nobody had lived here for ages and he said it was a terrible mess. At that time he only had Khansamar. Then we had a cook, a sweeper, a bhishti, and a mali,  but only temporary people.  He said it was up to me to decide how permanent they should be, but I couldn't fault his choices. He had that knack of looking at people and knowing if they were going to be good or not.
But unemployment in this state is a terrible problem and I remember how week after week these young men and boys used to turn up, begging for a job. Ronald had such a good reputation for paying a fair wage and treating servants properly. You'd imagine eventually they'd have given up. But they never did."

She stopped abruptly in the dim entrance hall.
"Where are all the servants, Sarah? I've only seen Khansamar."  She didn't seem to need a reply. She turned and offered her hand. "Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Perron. For being so logical. For being here. For knowing Ronald."
She went quickly across the hall toward the verrandah aned the waiting car. For a moment Sarah stayed in the hall with Perron. Then she murmured, "Thank you, Guy," and went too.

To be continued

[Frybabe]

It sounds, Traude, that Merrick found some sort of redemption through marrying Susan.

[straudetwo]

In this (abridged) exchange we get a much closer look at Susan than Paul Scott has allowed us before.  There are a few aha  moments, but no clear answers.

* Sarah is keeping a few things from  Perron,  and not only about the riding accident. There WAS an accident but Merrick died in bed, as we just read.
* We'll probably never learn the underlying cause of Susan's profound insecurity, which may date back to childhood.
* She is emphatic about Merrick.  About the arm.  A symbol, she says at one point. A fetish for her?
 She depended on him.
* He was patient and understanding,  she says, more than any other man.  She marvels at his intuitiveness and how well he knew her.  Little does she know how Merrick came by his knowledge (by reading her private psychiatric file in Dr. Richardson's office).

* She admits to being upset when Ronnie was angry, disapproving or cold. She doesn't say if he was angry, disapproving or cold with her.
* We wonder what he did or said when she came into his room at 4 a.m. and found him in his Pathan clothes.
Did she scream then, as she did when Edward ran in to  her room? (And who could blame her?)
* When she suddenly says in the hall, "Where are all the servants?" I thought of Blanche Dubois in A Streetcar Named Desire.

Merrick can no longer speak for himself. But we have stll to hear from others who were in Mirat when the accident happened.
'More soon.

Thank you

[Gumtree]

Hello Again!

Traude: it is so good of you to refresh our memories by posting such lengthy abridgements. Thank you once more.

One sentence jumped out at me as I read the latest instalment where Susan is speaking to Perron of Merrick and says:

He, (Merrick) was angry only when he found people were cheating, lying or pretending

It seems to me that Merrick himself was guilty of all those sins,  particularly inhis relationship with Susan. She was, as Traude points out, his victim, and I see no glimmer of

redemption in him through marrying Susan 

when he had covertly examined her psychiatric medical notes and so knew more about her than she knew herself. I felt that he lived a life of pretence and that it was evident to the reader in his relationships and dealings with other characters, even with poor Barbie.

I agree that

Susan's profound insecurity may date back to childhood

in fact I am sure that it does. Not all children respond well to boarding school -especially when the school is in another country almost half a world away. If Susan had an underlying weakness as a child being sent away for education may not have been the best thing for her. I seem to remember that at school she relied on Sarah to take the lead in everything and to make decisions Susan should have made for herself.

Ah, Traude, I always knew we were on the same wavelength!  Blanche Dubois! - me too!

Your book club friend who would take The Book of Common Prayer to the desert island must have been a singular woman. Thinking about her choice I wonder whether she may have felt the need to cling to the cycle of the ecclesiastical year. Like you, I would hope for more than one choice.  Perhaps Homer, the Holy Bible, Shakespeare and Churchill could keep the home fires burning while in exile. Scott is also a good choice for his insight into human nature and the fullness of his narrative. There are other novelists too - I think I would need to take a trunk.
 

[straudetwo]

Gumtree,, your post was most welcome and greatly appreciated.  Thank you or our thoughtful emarks..  A trunk full of books, Oh yes  
I have a tale about one such -- --  tomorrow, when we pick up the story.  
We've had paralyzing heat and humidity during the last few days and I find it hard to concentrate now.

As always, thank you for being there.

[straudetwo]

To continue

Perron's preference would not have been to go riding, but he was ready before seven the next morning, waiting on the verandah of Nigel's bungalow. Not long after a jeep swept into the compound with Sarah at the wheel and a khaki-clad-figure riding shot-gun on the rear seat, a soldier. Mirat Artillery read the tab on his shoulder. He looked cheerful.  

"Where's the horse?", Perron asked.  Sarah merely patted the seat  next to her as if it were a saddle and Perron climbed in over the low port. She too wore khaki: she had on her old WAC uniform, the tabs on the shirt removed.  This was the old Sarah of Area Headquarters who knew a thing or two about getting a move-on.
 
Sarah  set off in the direction of the lake, took several turns, then headed toward a rough road. with which she was clearly familiar.  The road as bumpy, the ride smooth.  The land was tawny and barren. There was no sign of habitation. Since the road was straight  there seemed no reason for Sarah to slow down - until, a way ahead, Perron saw an elephant pushing something before it with rhythmic swings of its trunk.  Sarah slowed to a crawl.  Behind the elephant were two men;  ahead of it its calf, an absurdly small creature. The animal's hide was almost black but dusted with red from the tawny earth. Just before they came level, the elephant turned off on to a side track, followed by the men. Sarah drove on.

"They're the Nawab's." she said. "They belong to his forestry department. No one can build here. A hundred years ago this was all forest."
A twist in the road brought them to rising land.  On the brow of a hill were two horsemen, still like statues.  Sarah pulled in behind an army truck and a closed-in van: a horse-box. Two soldiers stood on the opposite side of the road.
Getting out, Sarah said  "We can watch from here",  and handed Perron a pair of binoculars. "Here. Now you can see something of the old India."

Even in close focus, the horsemen stood perfectly still. Brown faces. One was turbanned, the other bare-headed.
The man with the turban was dressed in what looked like a studded leather jerkin and dark pantaloons. The younger man with the bare head (Ahmed surely?)  wore a light blue shirt, breeches and riding boots. Around his raised left forearm was a leather shield that ended in a glove. On the forearm sat a hawk. The lack of movement and the intensity of concentration were extraordinary.
 
Suddenly, on a flighting movement of Ahmed Kasim's arm citing the hawk at its prey, the bird began its powerful, breathtaking ascent in a great arc. Sarah groped for Perron's hand, but she only wanted the binoculars. He handed them to her and gave all his attention to the aerial hunt, one that left no vapor trails but reminded him of a summer that had mapped them. Presently the hawk plummeted to the intended point of killing contact: a dark speck intent on escape.  Sarah cried out, with pleasure and pain.
She gave the glasses back to Perron and said, "You must watch this".  The hawk swooped down and clawed at something on ground level.  The older horseman was riding in the direction of the kill. From the distance came Ahmed's voice, a sound like Tel ,Tek,  Tek-Allahallahalla. Then the hawk was beating at the air again, rising, circling around Ahmed,  flirting at the lure of his leathered forearm, then gently turning and coming in to alight. It ducked its head, arched its wings and allowed itself to be brought near Ahmed's face: the likeness of a kiss.

Unexpectedly, Ahmed flighted the hawk again, as if he himself were the prey.  He cantered to and fro,  round and round, gradually riding down  the hill,  and the bird flew to and fro, sometimes swooping in mock attack. It was like a game of love.
"I wish he wouldn't do this," Sarah said. "But he trusts her utterly."

Ahmed called out, and when he did the hawk seemed to turn away,  spurning him, only to meet him again at the end of another swerving course. About one hundred yards from the road,  Ahmed reined in.  The hawk planed above him for a bit longer and then, as if breathless too and ready call it a day, came in and settled on the proffered arm.  Ahmed secured he jesses. Again he brought the bird close to his face,  then rode the rest of the way at a sedate pace.  The falconer followed, a burlap bag slung over his shoulder. The kill.

"Hello", Ahmed called. He kicked away the stirrups, brought his right leg cross the saddle and slid down. The bird stayed rock-still on his forearm.  He tickled her stomach.

"Her name is Mumtaz", Sarah said. "Come and meet her. Incidentally, don't offer to shake hands with Ahmed. She's very jealous and protective. Aren't you, Mumtaz?  I'm not allowed to touch her at all; she senses that I'm female. But if Ahmed tells her it's all right, she'll allow you to tickle her throat."

Ahmed said in Urdu: Here is Perron Sahib from across the black water. He is a friend. Say hello." He stroked her breast feathers and said in English "You can touch her now, Mr. Perron."
Perron extended a finger. The bird's head turned. A glaring eye observed the finger. Risking its loss,  Perron placed the finger on her breast and stroked downward. When he withdrew the finger, the hawk's wing stirred lightly.

"Ah,"  Sarah said.  "She liked that.  Ahmed, you better keep an eye on her! She's a bit of a rover."
Ahmed laughed, then, noticing her skirt, said "Aren't you going to ride?"

"No, I thought not today."
"What about you, Mr. Perron?  You can have Begum here. She's still quite fresh."
"I'm more than content to watch you hawk", Peron answered.

"Oh, no more of that.  I'm glad you were just in time. Come, Mumtaz, you can go to sleep now."    The falconer had come up and dismounted. Rather tetchily Mumtaz hopped from Ahmed's arm to the falconer's. He took her down to the truck. Now Perron noticed that an awning was attached to the truck's side and under it a table laid for breakfast.  A portable perch was set up nearby in the shade of a tree. The falconer transferred Mumtaz to it, secured her and clapped a little scarlet hood on her head.
"Come," Ahmed said. "I hope everybody is hungry."
As they sat down, Sarah asked,  "Are you glad you came?"

"Not glad. Enchanted."
"I meant back to India."
"The answer is the same."
Sarah smiled.

The convoy home was headed by the army truck. The soldiers sat in the back, the falconer up front with Mumtaz Behind, Ahmed drove the jeep,  Sarah  sat next to him, Perron in the back seat.  Bringing up the rear was the horse-box;  it gradually fell behind.  
Shouting over the noise of the engine Perron asked, "What do the soldiers make of the hawking?"
"I think they get a bit of a kick out of it," Sarah shouted back. "It's still quite new to them".

No one had explained the presence of the soldiers. If the hawking was quite new to them, the military escort presumably was a recent innovation. But how recent? And why was it necessary?

Sarah turned around and shouted, "We're going to the palace if that's all right. I've got to visit Shiraz, but Ahmed will take you round." Ahmed said something back to Sarah which Perron didn't catch. She laughed.

"Who's Shiraz?" Perron shouted.
"The Nawab's daughter."

Perron didn't know the Nawab had a daughter.  But he noticed a special kind of empathy between Ahmed and Sarah, the kind that two people betray in small gestures and in the way they have of dealing with one another in public. Well, if that was how the land lay he could only wish her good luck, slightly deflating though it was to his own ego.

He looked at Ahmed's back. He remembered him as a pleasant but rather unsociable young man given to whiskey and women, a combination that might by now have begun to show signs of taking toll. Instead, young Kasim looked (as Uncle George would say) well set up. To Sarah he would even cut a heroic figure, mounted and flying his hawk.  And she was the kind of girl who would defy the convention that a white woman didn't fall in love with an Indian.

Close to the end of the rough road, Sarah called, "Go in through the guest house entrance, Ahmed, and drop me there. I've got a few things to do. I'll join you at the palace later."

Ahmed nodded, then hooted and drew ahead of the truck, paused at the T-junction and raised his arm to indicate that the truck should turn right. He halted to make sure the driver understood. As the truck came into view, Perron saw the falconer's arm resting by the elbow on the open window, and upon the arm Mumtaz, hooded, head slightly inclined----

Comments and continuation tomorrow
Thank you

 

[straudetwo]

Commenary
Sarah had interacted  (if I may use thatterm) with Ahmed in  Volume 2, The Day of the Scorpion, in the morning of Susan's wedding day in Mirat, when she and Ahmed went riding together. He studiously kept his distance and made short replies to her attempts at conversation.

It would appear that they did not see each other again until the night of the Mahranee's party in Bombay, to which count Bronowsky had brought Sarah and Ahmed Kasim.  Merrick, then Major, had come from Delhi, and Perron was there as emissary of Captain Purvis with a bottle of Old Sporran Scotch whiskey in hand as a gift for Aimée, the Maharanee, from Captain Purvis.

After the party broke up abruptly, Count Bronowsky gave them a lift in the Nawab's limousine.  
As Sarah, Perron and Merrick were  being dropped off,  Perron heard Sarah talking to Ahmed.  "I often think of it." she  said.  "And of our ride that morning. Do you still go out regularly?"  Perron did not hear Ahmed's reply.  Then life had thrown them together again.  Their relationship seemed comfortable. But all around them things were in constant flux,  plans changing, almost hour by hour.
****


After dropping Sarah off at the guest house, Ahmed took Perron first to the lake, where the boats were out that morning.  "They are fishing again," Ahmed said. Then they went into the palace where Ahmed showed him the 'modern rooms' in the front. There the old Moghul passages gave way to corridors, Victorian in style, with hundreds of pictures cluttering the walls, and then - fascinating! - a kind of salon reminiscent of a Ritzy Edwardian hotel, all gilt and plush and potted palms in gilt wicker baskets,  and a circular padded bench around a central marble column. Bronowsky's influence, Perron thought.

In that fin-de-siècle foyer Ahmed left him,  promising to return shortly. Coffee came and the papers,
The Times of India, The Statesmen, The Mirat Courier, and The Ranpur Gazette.[/i]
The national newspapers mentioned that Jinnah, the incoming leader of Pakistan, had questioned the precise status Mountbatten would have in Karachi when he made his last appearance there as Viceroy on August 13. Two days later Jinnah would become Governor-General of the new Dominion of Pakistan.  ('Moth-eaten' he had called it when he found he wasn't getting either the whole of the Punjab or the whole of Bengal - least of all Kashmir, or a corridor connecting the west with the east.)

It seemed Jinnah had been gently reminded that the Viceroy would still be Viceroy on August 13 and he himelf only Governor-General designate,  just as Mountbatten was also Governor-General designate of the new Dominion of India.  There was no question of Jinnah taking precedence before the date of independence.

The reports from Lahore, Amritsar and Calcutta were depressingly familiar --  of troublles with the Sikhs, of murders and arson,   and equally depressing commentaries on the harrowing experiences of some of the refugees already making their way from what would be Pakistan to what would be India, and vice versa.
But the photographs in the papers showed only smiling faces.

To be continued

[straudetwo]

Continuing

Similar photographs were published in the  Mirat Courier. The front page of the paper was taken up to preliminary details of the official program for independence day celebrations.

Perron  turned do the waspish Ranpur Gazette. The editorial - a long one - was headed: Pandora's Box.
(The editorial is six printed pages long. It thoughtfully, fairly addresses first and foremost the unresolved crisis in the "pocket kingdom" of Mirat,  the historic and political context, and the impending partition of India.  The pre-existing conditions were mentioned here  before.  What follows is a shorter version; with limited direct quotes.)

 "That Mirat exists at all as a separate political unit is due to the pure luck and chance of the dice of history."
 After the Indian Rebellion of 1857 that began as Mutiny of sepoys,  two-thirds of the subcontinent were under the direct rule of Whitehall, but the real power of the Princely India was reduced to  virtual impotence.   Treaties were made with the rulers of the nearly 600  widely scattered remaining states, that varied in size from mere estates to provinces the size of Ireland.  These treaties were private, formal, individual contracts between ruler and crown,  but they've always been part of a larger unwritten treaty: the doctrine of paramountcy.
However, that doctrine has always been illogical. This illogality is exemplified by the dual role assigned to the Viceroy. As Governor-General it has been his duty  to govern and guide the British-Indian provinces toward democratic parliamentary self rule.  As Representative of the Crown it has been his duty to uphold, secure, oversee and defend the autocratic rule of several hundred princes. Geographically and politically the princes cannot survive individually once the Crown abdicates and twentieth century India (or Pakistan) takes over.

Given these facts, and in view of the terrible reports of the breakdown of civil authority in the Punjab, the Viceroy, in obeying a well-meaning but ignorant British electorate, has found himself in the unenviable position
of opening Pandora's Box and letting out all the evils that afflicted the country since time began but were locked  in the box under the lid by the rule of British Power and British Law.

The Nawab is faced with the problem of what action to take. Already there have been reports of indecision at the palace.  And the rumor that the Nawab has not yet cooperated with representatives of the States Department of the new Indian dominion has led to the murder of Muslims in the city of Mirat and in the villages by extremist Hindus, which in turn led to the retaliatory murder of Hindus, the burning and looting of Hindu houses and shops.  "The Nawab could defuse this potential bomb in an instant by taking the logical, the only practical step,  which is to sign the instrument of accession to the new Dominion of India."

"One can sympathize with the Nawab. One should sympathize with any man whose traditional assurances are suddenly removed or closed to him. But it his sympathies, not our own, that are under test.  So at least one must hope.  Classical  scholars will recall that Hope was the only thing that didn't fly out of Pandora's Box but remained obstinately at the bottom."
 
To be continued

[straudetwo]

To continue

Sarah returned,  apologizing for Ahmed who had to attend to an urgent matter.  But Dmitri would like to have a few words and present him to HH. Perron agreed. On the way she told him that Susan had decided to return to Pankot right away and she'd  go with her. Asked what right away meant, she said  "The day after tomorrow. Ahmed's looking into arrangements."

Count Bronowsky greeted Perron warmth.  He said that, when he received Guy's letter from England about an upcoming visit, his first thought had been  that  Guy could perhaps be persuaded to lecture at the  Mirat Indian College on European mercenaries and the history of the Mahrattas.  But even if Perron had  agreed,  that was now impossible: the students were on strike and the college was temporarily closed.  
With a look at the paper Guy was still holding, Brownowsky asked what he thought of it.  Perron replied that he found it well argued.  
To that Bronowsky  said that the editor of the Ranpur Gazette, an elderly Englishman- interestingly enough,  did have quite an effective style.   He then added that Nigel had called earlier,  he would return later in the day with the necessary letter from the Resident in Gopalakand, his mission achieved.  The Resident and the Maharadaj  of Gopalakand had decided for accession to the Dominion of India, whereas the Nawab was still hoping they'd encourage him to stand firm on independence.  
Bronowsky added that he had not yet informed the Nawab of Nigel's call.  If the Nawab were to see the article now, it would 'put his back up'.   "I don't want him with his back up when I tell him the Resident is washing his hands of Mirat and that he should sign the instrument of accession if he so wishes."
Perron handed him the paper and said, "Thank you for warning me,  I might have referred to it."

The count continued. Sarah is a remarkable young woman. She will be missed at the place. Shiraz is heart-broken.  Sarah was the only one who could bring Shiraz out of her shell, no one had been able to achieve that. Sarah's with the Nawab now saying goodbye.  He indicated a set of double doors. "I'm afraid you won't find him very communicative. He is shy with strangers. So do not be offended if I intervene quite quickly and take him through to see his petitioners. The morning audiences are a relic of the past. The real work is done by members of the council and their staffs. But the tradition is important. Sarah will take you back to Nigel's."

Sarah was waiting.  They left in silence,  walking past a gauntlet of servants making namaste to her.   On the verandah of Nigel's bungalow, Tippoo was waiting.
Before Perron let Sarah go, he asked,  "What did happen to Ronald?"
She said, "Don't ask me, Guy. Ask Nigel. Ask Dmitri. Or better still, nobody."

****



 

[straudetwo]

Friends:
My apologies for not posting sooner. Personal concerns and contemporary events were the reason for my delay, foremost the death of a good man, Senator Kennedy.
In the end,  I believe, when all is said and done and all the superlatives have been used over and over,  there's no greater attribute than a good man and a good woman.

Measured by \this gauge, the fictional Guy Perron was a good man.  An orphan raised by doting eccentric uncles and a loving, more practically-minded, aunt,  the focus of his studies became (inevitably, pehaps)  the history of the British Raj in india.   Refusing a commission, he served as a sergeant in Intelligence for a few months and (thanks to Aunt Charlotte's  infallible connections) escaped by a hair the net in which villainous Merrick had ensnared him. Irresistibly drawn to India, he returned to witness the independence celebrations in Delhi, but nostalgia leads him  first to Bombay fand, right after,  to Mirat on an open invitation, as we've seen.

It's been only two years,  but nothing is quite the same.  His itinerary changes at every turn, friends he cherished and were cherished by him in turn are involved in a pull-back, the inevitable retreat from all they'd known with unpredictable results.
**

Following the audience with the Nawab, Sarah had taken Perron back to Nigel's bungalow.  He had lunch there and then was at loose ends. He tried to sleep, dozed, and woke up a dozen times. A storm came and went. The smell of damp was overwhelming.  At 4  in the afternoon Tippoo brought him tea.   He considered writing to Aunt Charlotte but found the room suddenly intolerable.  In search of air and sunshine he went out into the backyard. There was no sound from Merrick's compound. He looked at the majestic banyan tree, surely a hundred years old, wasn't it considered especially holy?   Yet its age had not lend tranquillity to either compound in which it grew.

The gate was unlocked and Perron entered. Merrick's garden looked less well tended. The grass seemed to have grown an inch overnight.  He thought briefly of walking up to the verandah - then decided not to intrude on so much absence, so much darkness, so much loss.

By nine o'clock Rowan had not returned.  Sarah had not called.  Tippoo persuaded him not to wait any longer.  He had dinner alone, again. Afterwards he sat on the verandah with his notebook, his file of newspaper clippings, his scissors, and the day's newspapers, which Tippoo assured him Rowan wouldn't  mind him cutting up.  He opened the Ranpur Gazette and stared to re-read Pandora's Box.  After two paragraphs he got tired of it and turned the pages in the waning light. There was no cartoon but on a back page an article by Philoctetes,  with the headline  Alma Mater.

Written by a reporter it described his visit to the new wing of the Indian College after the fanfare of its opening  when the dignitaries had left, the noise died down; a reflection and a forward look,  from the  raw and uncompromising structure, to a future with so many hopes as yet unproven.   The reader is left with the certain impression that Philoctetes IS in fact Hari Kumar.

The evening wore on and Perron could no longer contain himself.  Late though it was, He called the guest house asking for Sarah.  Aunt Fenny answered and said safrah had not returned from dinner, and yes, they would be leaving as scheduled and Mr. Kasim would come with them. "Some people called Peabody might come as wel"l but weren't quite sure, she added.   Perron said he'd like to go with them.

To be continued

[straudetwo]

Unfortunately I lost two posts this evening - and have no idea how I did that.
Perhaps it's a lesson,  an admonition to be briefer, but how can I do that when the revelations are forthcoming at long last??

Just as important,  perhaps more so,  I've focused on a doctor's appointment today which I'd put off too long,   and dreaded.  But I'm in good hands.  
Thank you for your indulgence.

There's more to come.

[straudetwo]

Continuing.

There was no call from Sarah.  After midnight a car turned into the compound.  When Perron came out on to the verandah, Tippoo was opening the car door. Rowan was alone. Looking extremely tired and even thinner,  but still the solicitous host, Rowan took Perron to his own room for a last chat. He poured brandy, the men raised their glasses, Perron offered congratulations. They settled in their chairs.  

(A reflection. Interesting men, both sympathetic characters
They were at the elite Chillingborouth together where Rowan clearly must have shown a talent for diplomacy and a gentle "nudging" of people, or he would no have been put in charge of the younger Perron, who refused to participate in competitive sports. Rowan arranged for an alternative - rowing. He kept an eye on Perron, nothing more.

When their paths crossed again that night in the Ranpur railway station in the Nawab's private coach,  their respective positions were  again uneven, unequal: Perron a field sergeant, newly "requisitioned" by Merrick,  and Nigel, a Captain in the Political Department, on special assignment as personal aide to Governor Malcolm.  Even so, Nigel and Guy spoke as equals. Perron talked quite freely and Nigel mostly listened,  all the while holding his cards close to his vest.)  

Now a longer exchange was necessary.
Here is a summation of the subjects they discussed.
Sarah.
Earlier that evening she'd visited the Mirat Women's Hospital for Muslim women. She was  asked to stay for supper. Over the years she had been a volunteer worker there, popular with patients and nurses. She took Shiraz to the maternity ward, the Nawab's daughter, an unprecedented event.  At the palace Nigel had run into Sarah. She said she'd call Guy in the morning.

Perron said he would like to see Dmitri before leaving, and hoped he might wrangle an interview with MAK through  his son, Ahmed.  He had no firm plans beyond bbeing in Delhi onAugust 15.
In that case, Rowan answered, he could always come to Gopalakand. He like all British officials, including the Resident of Gopalakand, would become redundant at midnight on Aug 15,  but the Maharadja,  a very hospitable man,  had asked him and Laura to stay on as his guests.

Lady Manners, Rowan said, would  also be coming to Gopalakand because Rawalpindi ('Pindi') was becoming a part of Pakistan.
Had Nigel kept up with Lady Manners? Perron asked.

Not kept up, Nigel answered. He  had visited her some months before when they were in that area. He tried to tell her what he knew about Hari, but "it's a subject she doesn't discuss. The child is still with her, an enchanting little girl who's been brought up to think of herself as an Indian."
"How did you meet Laura again?", Perron asked.

Rowan had corresponded with her mother through the years. Laura wrote to him after her release from the Japanese prison camp. Her husband, for whom she had spurned Nigel, owned a rubber plantation in Malaya.  Laura and Tony were taken to separate camps. After some months Laura received his personal effects and was told he died of  fever. She did not believe it. She spent some time in Singapore after the war where fellow prisoners of Tony's told her the truth. They'd killed Tony. A Japanese officer was tried and hanged for war crimes. "Poor Laura", Perron said.

Rowan nodded.  "Her first marriage was not much of a success either. I gather she made it clear to you that ours hasn't been. I don't know why not. She hated it here. That's why I left her in Gopalakand today.  The Residency works better for her. I was away so much of the time. She said this bungalow reminds her of the one she lived in with Tony.  It was one of the things she didn't like about it.  So we decided it would be better for her to stay at the club.
"One of the things?" asked Perron.

"This place is very closed in. Damp and dark.  I'll be quite glad to get out of it myself.  After three years in a crowded prison camp Laura doesn't mind being alone. The last straw was the snake incident."

It was Laura who found rhe snake, asleep in their bathtub. Nigel was at the palace. She shut the door and told Ronald.
Yes, Perron thought. Merrick was bound to come into the picture.
"What kind of snake?"  he asked.

"A young cobra."

"Well, tell me," Perron said, "how he killed the snake."

****

[straudetwo]

Does Nigel have a revolver?" Merrick had asked Laura. The answer was no.  "Then I'll have to go next door for a moment" , he said.  
Laura went out to the back of the compound, walking back and forth, dreading what she knew had to be done, waiting for the sound of a shot.
"Well,  here it is," Merrick said. She hadn't heard him coming.  There he was, a kukri in  his good hand, the cobra draped over the artificial one. For a moment she thought the cobra was still whole - then the head slipped out of the black glove and she cried out. Merrick later told Rowan he used his artificial arm as a lure and, when the cobra struck and sank its fangs into the gloved hand,  had swung the kukri and cut it into two.  

"Had Laura liked Merrick until that day?" Perron asked.  "I wonder whether you ever felt he HAD CHOSEN  her."
Rowan had remembered Guy's conjecture, especially when he and Laura came to Mirat and found Merrick living alone next door.  Then Merrick took to turning up at the bungalow whenever Nigel was out.  At first Laura made a joke of it.  She said it reminded her of Malaya.  When Tony would go to Kuala Lumpur or Singapore leaving her alone, all the local bachelors and grass-widowers homed in on her bungalow. Making feeble excuses, or no excuses at all, just to stare.  It had made her feel like an object.  Now she felt  physically repulsive because of the scar under her left eye, wearing sunglasses even indoors in the presence of strangers.  She thought Merrick might consider himself physically repulsive too.

One night  Rowan found her in an odd mood.  Over dinner she began talking about prison camp- something she'd never done. Then she asked whether Nigel didn't want to know about the scar, and why she could talk to Ronald but not to Nigel, her husband. That Ronald was the only person she'd ever met who could get her to talk the way she wanted to talk, spill out the whole awful bloody business.

"The only thing I could think of to say - and it came out quite unrehearsed -  was that she couldn't talk to me about it because she knew I loved her, but she had to talk to Ronald because he had chosen her.  As a victim."
Laura made no reply. Merrick was not mentioned by either of them.  A few days later, Rowan found her packing, ready to go back to Gopalakand. It was the day Merrick had killed the snake.  Rowan convinced her to go to the club instead.

The moment she'd gone the situation seemed absurd. There was nothing Rowan could accuse Merrick of. But every time the two men met, Merrick would harp on it, explaining, apologizing, again, unable to let go. He  went to the club a few times to see Laura, but she would not. Inevitably,  his unsuccessful calls at the club was noticed.  Rowan asked  him to stop.  Merrick did, at once.  At the same time he seemed pleased that people were beginning to link his and Laura's names.

"As the Other Man??" Perron asked.

"I hadn't thought of it in quite that general way," Nigel answered.  "I wondered if he wasn't trying to get his own back at me: I'm positive he knew by then that Kumar had been privately examined -- examined by me. There were times when he seemed to be daring me to come out with it."

Perron asked, 'How long was he in Singapore?"
"Singapore?  He  WAS in Singapore.  Why?"

"Could he have been involved," Perron wondered, "in the case against the Japanese officer who was hanged as a war criminal, the one who had killed Laura's husband and probably scores of others?

Rowan thought that far-fetched.

"Nothing is far-fetched with Merrick. I believe he had a photographic memory. One look was all he needed to grasp any situation,", said Perron, and then mentioned that Merrick had read Susan's private file at the psychiatris's office.

Guy asked about the Red Shadow. "The what?"  Rowan asked.
"The disgusting bazaar Pathan he had trailing around with him. The one who had his hands on my wallet, the one I kicked out of my quarters."

Merrick had no personal servants after he married, Rowan told him.  They had no permanent home.

"Did Merrick live in this bungalow?"[/i] Perron asked.  
"Yes", Rowan said. "For a month or two when he first came before Susan joined him."

"I imagine he slept in my room -- It has a resonance ...  

What did he do, Nigel?   Commit suicide? Cut his wrists and die in the bath?"

****

[straudetwo]

First a quick vocabulary note.
The volumes of the Raj Quartet are laced with Indian terms. But finding the definition was not always easy,  nor possible in all instances. But in time the reader comes to understand and identify WHO and WHAT is being described.
 
For example sepoy;  wallah,  especially tonga wallah; kukri,; also  maidan, a wide open field where military parades were held  (as in Mayapore in The Jewel in the Crown), and nullah,=
a gully, ditch, a dried-out creek.

**
Continuing

For some time Merrick had wanted to watch Ahmed out with Mumtaz, but Ahmed always found excuses. On the morning of the accident  Merrick became upset when Sarah and Ahmed appeared at the bungalow with horses and  no falcon. He
galloped off in the direction of the maidan. They say him jumping across the main nullah.  When they reached him he was not seriously hurt and claimed at once someone had been lying in wait in the nullah and suddenly stood up,  scaring the horse.   Dr. Habbibullah, suspecting a concussion, ordered him to stay in bed.   He was a bad patient.  When Rowan, Sarah and Dmitri visited him,  he angrily repeated the story of the imaginary man in the nullah, even adding an imaginary stone.

There was instant concern:  a dead English official, or one attacked, was the last thing the Nawab or the British wanted just days before the proclamation of independence. Had Merrick wanted a confrontation? Possibly.
Rowan and Dmitri had concluded that Merrick might have wanted to pull out all stops in some kind of showdown.
So it seems would b]other people,  for Merrick's death had been arranged.  No one in the family but Sarah knew that Ronald had been murdered.

Rowan was the last person to see Merrick alive. He seemed perfectly all right, sitting up in bed, smoking. For once he did not mention Laura.  He talked about getting a job in Calcutta or Bombay, or of offering his services to Pakistan. He was quite frank about not wanting to go home to England.  What he needed, he told Rowan,  was fresh air and he had made up his mind he was going to get it by watching Ahmed hawk in the morning. He pressed hard and Rowan called Sarah.  She promised to bring the jeep in the morning.

Just after six, Rowan's phone rang, Khansamar asking him to come over right away. "Sahib is dead," he said. "I've locked everything up." Merrick's bedroom was in shambles. The mosquito net torn to pieces, the bedsheets ripped and stained with blood. Merrick was lying on the floor, dressed in his Pathan clothes, hacked about with his own ornamental axe, and strangled with his own sash. All over  the floor were cabalistic signs; the word Bibighar was scrawled on Susan's dressing table mirror.

Dmitri saw the scene, so did the Chief ot the Mirat Police and the commander of the military police in the cantonment.
The station commanader was consulted.  Every detail was properly recorded, Dr. Habibullah's real post mortem, the private inquest and the sworn statements of Rowan and Khansamar.  The murder had been carefully planned and patiently seen through to the end,  with the clear intention  to cause disorder and social unrest.  Hence Merrick's death could not be publicly announced as murder.  There were rumors:  too many people had to be involved to avoid them. Counteracting them was the fiction, especially in the cantonment,  that Merrick had died as a result of the riding accident.

Suspicion fell first on Pandit Baba, the likely instigator. But he had been on a pilgrimage in the Himalayas for a month and had a perfect alibi. Two of the original Bibighar detainees who had stayed in Mayapore were cleared by police there. Police also tracked and found Hari Kumar, still coaching students, never leaving Ranpur. He too was in the clear. Hari's address was now available.  Nigel wrote it down for Perron.

"Where are the servants?" Guy wanted to know.  
"Back at Dmitrti's where they came from."
"Where're his clothes, his arm?"
"The Chief of Police.  I must turn in, Guy.  If you see Dmitri tomorrow, he can probably answer  your question better than I."

Perron had one last question for Rowan:  "Who was Philoctetes?"
Nigel rubbed his forehead. He looked exhausted and Guy regretted having asked.  But Nigel had the answer:

"The great archer."   "A great archer?"

"A friend of Hercules," explained Nigel, "one of the heroes of the Trojan war. Sophocles wrote a play about him.  One I didn't read. They had to set him ashore, abandon him on the voyage out.   On the island of Lemnos, I think."

"Why?"

"He was hurt in some way. Wounded by one of his own poisoned arrows. Or perhaps he got boils and suppurating sores
from a vitamin deficiency. They couldn't stand the smell of him so they went on and left him there."

That fitted, Perron thought. "Did he ever get to Troy?"

"Eventually. If I remember rightly, they decided they needed him after all."  
______________
Isn't that a comforting thought?
 
Tomorrow Dinner with Dmitri and more revelations

[straudetwo]

Reflections.
Guy Perron,  the (almost) omniscient narrator,  has divined that Hari Kumar is subsidizing his meager earnings from teaching proper English to Indian boys by free-lancing for the Ranpur Gazette under the pen name of Philoctetes.  As Philoctetes Hari had written the article Alma Mater.
So there's a least a shimmer of hope that, like the mythical Philoctetes, Hari might be accepted (and accepting!), perhaps even needed some time in the future.
Our story is coming to an end. From Guy Perron's journal notes we know that it is now Wednesday, August 6, 1947.
_______________

The pleasant morning became brighter when, to Perron's surprise,  Sarah arrived at Nigel's bungalow with horses and dressed for riding. There was no Ahmed, no Mumtaz. A pleasant trot out to the maidan, where Sarah pointed out  a few special sights to him, changed suddenly into a much faster, more daring ride for Sarah and left Perron behind. (It was the same fearless maneuver Sarah had performed on the morning of Susan's wedding day when Ahmed accompanied her. He too was surprised by the suddenness of her maneuver, but he kept up with her.)

At the guest house Perron met Aunt Fenny, had breakfast with family members and learned of Dmitri's change of a travel detail. They would not use the Nawab's coach which, Dmitri feared,  might become a target for attack by angry Muslims feeling let down by the Nawab's decision. Instead they would travel in a first-class compartment, which sat 8 people comfortably. There would be 7 adults: Sarah, Susan, Aunt Fenny, Perron, Ahmed and the two Peabodys. With Edward and the ayah, there'd be 9.

The news of the Nawab's accession to India was trickling out and by the afternoon a crowd of Congress supporters had assembled on the maidan for speeches and cheers. Police and the military kept them away from the palace.
The dinner to which Bronowsky had invited Perron was delayed a number of times.  When he arrived and found himself the only guest, he was disappointed. As if reading his mind,  Bronowsky said,

"Since Sarah isn't with us I felt we'd dine alone. It's a bit selfish of me to subject you to my unadulterated company, but not entirely so. For if we had another guest or two  then I couldn't tell you the things you have come to Mirat to learn about - how princes rule and live in this country. Besides I feel I deserve an evening off myself with  just one sympathetic listener."


To be continued