1
Love Amidst The Mutiny
Alison tapped her foot in irritation. Her husband had not
heard a word of what she had said in the last fifteen
minutes.
`Percy, I have thought of something,' she said brightly. `Let's
not go to the theatre tonight. They are boring anyway. Let's
ride down to the river, just you and me, I'll pack
sandwiches, a flask of lime juice, and your favourite ale as
well. It'll be wonderful, just you and me by the river!'
Lieutenant Currie continued to look at his papers.
`Nonsense, my dear,' he said distantly, `it's twenty-five miles
away, and stifling hot, and there's nothing to see, just the
Ganges. And there are bound to be snakes. You hate snakes.'
`They won't put in a special appearance just to tease me,'
said Alison despairingly. `Percy! I want to be with you, just
you and make a go of things.'
2
Her husband did not look up. `You are making a go of
things,' he said letting annoyance creep into his voice.
`Dearest, can't you see, I have to get these accounts in order
before tomorrow for the Brigadier to inspect? There's a deal
of work to be done the sepoys apart from being insolent
have been thieving as well. There's a clear four annas
difference between the price we have paid and market rates.
The Brigadier wanted me to check, and he was right!'
`Old Wilson should have been in a counting house in the
City,' said Alison caustically, `and not tried to command a
regiment.'
Lieutenant Currie looked up in mild surprise at this,
pushing back his glasses over his balding head. `My dear, a
large cantonment like Meerut's, the best in India as we all
know under the East India Company, requires careful
management, if we are to keep several British and Native
regiments properly provided. What did Napoleon say? An
army marches on its stomach!'
3
`Napoleon fought battles, your Wilson only keeps accounts!'
shot back Alison hotly.
`Nonsense!' said her husband shortly. `You know nothing of
the matter. He is a fine soldier. And you saw yesterday how
he treated those eighty-five rascally sepoys who had refused
to accept cartridges for the new Enfield rifles. What
nonsense to say the Muslim would not touch pig fat, nor the
Hindu cow lard! If they can eat mutton, they better learn to
eat every other animal! This is 1857 in the age of science and
reason! Besides, it's our Christian duty to rid the natives of
their evil superstitions! I was so glad that they were stripped
in front of their own regiment and marched off to jail.
Wilson is a fine disciplinarian, remember that, and I'm
proud to serve under him!'
Her husband had never spoken to her before with such
vehemence, as if he were lecturing a child.
Alison broke into tears. `You should all be ashamed of
dishonoring such fine soldiers,' she said hoarsely. `Sepoys
who have fought for you, and given you an Empire!'
4
Lieutenant Currie laid down his papers with confused
weariness, and mopped his brow with a handkerchief limp
with sweat. `My dear, you are overwrought, this damned
heat!' He came round the table heavily, and clumsily patted
the coiled red braids of her hair. `And and the struggles
you've had with these damned black servants, why it'd try
the patience of a saint!'
Alison looked up through her tears. `Percy, I am not a saint. I
am a woman, and I want my husband!'
`Well, you have me,' said Percy Currie composedly, turning
to go back to his papers. `Once you get the hang of being a
memsahib, you'll get along famously with the way things
are here in India. Most English girls learn all the tricks
within six months of marriage. You will learn faster, I'll be
bound. In fact, I repose full confidence in you!' he added in
his best regimental manner.
5
`I don't want you to repose confidence in me, Percy,' said
Alison drying her tears. `I want, I want...' Her voice trailed
away.
Her husband was once again deep in his papers. `Eh? What
do you want?' he asked distantly.
`I want to be a wife, a real wife,' she started in a small voice.
He waved a hand in dismissal. `You are all that, so don't fret.
Why, why don't you go and get that lazy khansamah of ours
to bake us a nice pudding for dinner? You could teach him
some English dishes! You will like that, won't you?'
Alison nodded dispiritedly and left their living room.
The heat of an Indian summer was beginning to mount
rapidly, now that it was past twelve. They had lunched
early, for it was almost impossible to eat after noon in the
heat of the day. She drew down the blinds to darken the
bedroom, and then on impulse, pushed open the door to the
rear veranda, and narrowing her eyes against the blinding
6
glare, plumped down into a rattan chair. Everything seemed
hot, and quiet, in the European lines. The horses had all been
taken into their stables. Even stray dogs were curling up
under the shade of trees. No one was stirring, except a few
servant women who were taking in washing. It was Sunday
afternoon, a typical Sunday summer afternoon, in an Indian
cantonment. Everyone, every living thing, rested.
But not Alison. She was a seething cauldron of pent-up
emotions, let loose by the terrible happenings of the
pervious day. The horror of what she had witnessed had
flooded into her own private anguish, making a mockery of
all her young hopes, and a sham of her life even before it
had started.
***
Nothing in her life had prepared her for it. In England,
which she had left barely ten months ago, she had known of
India only through the romantic books she had read, and the
coaxing letters she received from her elder sister, Gwen. She
had finally come out to get married, in a world of beauty,
7
romance, and honour. She had been accounted very good
looking at home, with fetching manners, and older women
friends had observed with much regret that had she been
born in a wealthy family she would certainly have caught a
rich husband, if not a lord, with her big blue eyes and her
fine figure, her Irish-red tresses being the only part of her
not a la mode. But as the genteelly brought up daughter of a
penniless curate, she had had no real prospects. She had
been obliged to accept the first offer she received, and had
been comforted by the wise Gwen's observation that Percy,
though a lot older than her, was someone she could depend
upon, someone who would help her get established in
society.
She had been unhappy ever since she had said yes, in ways
she had been unable to express even to herself, though
everyone seemed busy congratulating her on her happiness.
Percy's clumsy embraces had awakened desires she had
semiconsciously suppressed till her wedding night. Without
saying so, he seemed as little satisfied with her
companionship as she was with him. She had hastily told
herself a million times she was being uncharitable towards
8
her husband he never hurt her in any way, only only he
was so cold cold as an English night! Why did he marry
her if he did not want her? Perhaps it helped his career to
have a wife perhaps he needed a dependable housekeeper.
She had felt crushed at the thought. He was away a lot on
regimental duties, and she had almost come to feel relief,
ungenerously, when she saw him ride away.
She had tried to share with Gwen what she could not voice
clearly to herself, but her sister had quickly brushed her
aside every time, reminding her forcefully of her luck in
securing a husband in an English regiment, that too in the
Horse Artillery. She must be patient, she must remember she
was a married lady with a position in society and put aside
all her missish ways.
Alison had tried valiantly to accept her sister's advice,
though every fibre in her body screamed with frustration.
She understood much must be sacrificed for a place in
society, but with a flood of revulsion, she got up from her
chair and went into the bathroom to bathe her head with
cold water. She would now never want to belong to a society
9
that was so cruel, so hypocritical, so so dishonorable! Yes,
that was the word! Yesterday, that horrible Saturday, May
the ninth, she had witnessed a most dishonorable act, which
everyone else had accepted as just and necessary! Everyone
around her on that parade ground had sat under the hot sun
like cold stone figures! She could have killed herself with
shame!
Eighty-five soldiers had been dishonored in front of their
regiment, their beautiful French grey uniforms had been
stripped away in public, and fetters placed on hands
accustomed to carry sabres, and all for no fault of theirs!
Their bare bodies showed to all the battle scars they carried,
received unflinchingly in the service of the English, and yet
they were treated worse than wild beasts with English
gunners standing ready by their cannons with lighted
tapers. Old heroes had wept like children and raised
manacled hands to heaven seeking divine justice! Coldly,
brutally, they had been raped of their honour, in broad
daylight, in front of family, friends, and strangers. Her father
had taught her to venerate Protestant martyrs who had
given up their lives for their faith how could any guilt
10
attach to sepoys who held steadfastly to their own religions?
They would not be such famous warriors were they less as
men of faith!
She had ridden home yesterday in the greatest distress
though Mrs. Rotton, the chaplain's wife, who sat next to her
had tried to explain that the sepoys' religion was mere idol
worship and could not be counted as faith. She had replied
acidly that the Mussalman was not an idol worshipper, and
all conversation had thankfully ceased.
She had run blindly into her darkened home, away from the
glare, the sun and the dishonour, and seeing Amjad in her
living room, had fallen on his breast, unthinkingly, her body
racked with sobs she could not hold back. Amjad was
Jamedar in the Third Native Cavalry, the regiment that had
been torn apart savagely on the parade ground a bare hour
ago.
He had been the first person to welcome her, when she had
arrived at her sister's house as a girl sent out to find a
husband in this new and savage land. He was tall, with deep
11
kind eyes, and a flowing black moustache a tanned
handsome version of dear Prince Albert himself, as she had
thought to herself timidly. He had given her a slow
reassuring smile as he had handed her down from her
carriage, and she had come to depend on that smile in the
days that followed her induction into society at the
cantonment. He had watched over her when she had
inexpertly ridden to hounds, he had been there to drive her
home early from regimental balls. He had led her shopping
in the Sadar Bazaar for Indian trinkets, he had explained
Indian ways to her in his deeply accented English, and even
introduced her to the zenana of a friendly Rajah. That night
when she had to say `yes' to Percy, who had shored up his
courage with a couple of stiff pegs to offer for her, she had
decorously asked to be allowed first to go to the ladies' room
to compose herself and her thoughts, but seeing Amjad out
in the dark she had run out instinctively as if to seek his
approval. In a strange way, he seemed to know, he gave her
that slow smile she had come to depend upon, and then
unusually for him, he had pressed her hand reassuringly. He
was her special friend, a man her brother-in-law, the captain
of the regiment, had declared `you can trust with your life.'
12
And now back home from that harsh dishonourable deed on
the parade ground, she had clutched onto him, sobbing,
sobbing on his breast. `Amjad! Amjad! It was so so
horrible! How you must hate us hate me!' Her body
trembled with the violence of her feeling.
Suddenly his arms were around her, holding her
comfortingly against the firmness of his body. `Alison! Listen
to me, Alison, I will always be your friend, and a friend of
your family, of Gwen Memsahib, and the Captain Sahib and
their children, never doubt me.'
She had listened slightly reassured. She had thrilled to hear
him call her by her name for the first time, and not as `Chotte
or Little Memsahib.' She had put her hands on his broad
shoulders and looked up pleadingly.
`But they did such horrible things today to your comrades,
to your regiment, Amjad, it it is unpardonable'
13
`Your brother-in-law, the Captain Sahib, followed orders like
a good soldier, even as I did. It is the fault of Colonel Smyth,
who brought dishonour on all of us and also on himself, and
it is Colonel Smyth who will repay!'
She had looked up at his stern face, chiseled as out of
granite, and she had clung to him even as his arms tightened
around her. Then, tremulously, as if seeking to bind herself
within the safety of his arms, she had drawn down his head
to make him look into her eyes.
Suddenly, uncontrollably, he had crushed her body against
his and showered kisses on her face. Her lips sought his,
softly at first, and then with the ardour of all her passion.
She tore away, gasping for breath, but he caught her face in
his hands and kissed her with a vehemence she could only
surrender to. Her risen nipples were thrusting through the
soft cotton of her dress and hurting against the hard fabric of
his uniform. As he tightened his grip her right breast pulled
hard against his leather cross-belt and she gasped with
pleasure. She was nestled close to him, her thighs pressed
14
against his, his hands gripping her hips hard against his
body. She felt his mounting passion.
`Amjad! Amjad! Take me, take me away to your village, far
away! Make me yours forever!' she had pleaded.
He had pulled back from her to look searchingly into her
face. Then, he kissed her bruised lips very softly a couple of
times. His hands fondled her eager breasts softly through
her lace chemise, and then his right hand wandered down
slowly over her body to hold it tight between the cleft of her
thighs.
`You are mine, from the dawn of time, Alison Begum,' he
had said in his deep voice. `Even Allah cannot change that.
But whether the time is now, I cannot tell. Think! Our ways
are not yours. While all my love will be at your service
forever, you will bear the cost of exile from your own
people. Think well, Alison Begum! If the decision is the same
as what you feel now against my body, sit in your rear
veranda tomorrow afternoon and drop your handkerchief, I
shall come for you. If you decide to stay with your people,
15
you will still have me as your friend as before, and my
sword will stand between you and harm forever.'
She had wanted to beseech him with all the passion she felt
burning in her from the tips of her red hair down to the pit
of her stomach, to beseech him to take her then and there, to
sweep her to the bedroom, and body against heaving body
make her his own. Even as she pleaded, he had turned away
and she saw him go through a haze of tears. She had kept to
her darkened room all that day, Percy thankfully putting it
down to a mild attack of sunstroke, and leaving her to go
back to his office. The heat had been intolerable. She had
followed her ayah's advice and taken a cold bath, and
feeling slightly refreshed drunk some sweet tea to think
things over.
Everyone would say she was mad, mad like that distant Irish
forbear of hers. If she ran away, she would destroy herself,
and destroy Amjad as well. There would be pursuit, not that
anyone really cared about her, but they would all be jealous
for the reputation of the regiment. These men were
merciless, she had seen how merciless they were on the
16
parade ground that day, they would shoot Amjad like a dog,
the man she loved, the only man who had shown her any
love, apart from her poor dear father, who had died so long
ago, leaving wispy memories of a kindly face and warm
comforting arms.
She would not let anything happen to Amjad. She would
renounce her love for him. Wild despair filled her heart as
she thought of the cold years that would follow. She must
give up her one chance of happiness even before her life had
begun! She had flung herself on her bed, and buried her
head in her pillows. In the depth of her black mood a
guarded remark of Gwen's swam into her head. What was it
that Gwen had said one day in vague response to her own
stuttered despair about Percy's coldness? That India was not
a Christian country, it was heathen with wild pagan ways.
And one had to adapt or perish. And she had added almost
as a non sequitur something about Major Kildare being such
a flirt, always willing to carry things just a little too far. She
herself had been too deep in misery to take Gwen's meaning
at that moment, and later on reflection had shaken off as
unworthy the thought that Gwen had hinted at an improper
17
liaison. But lying on her bed in the darkened bedroom, with
her breast racked by her unleashed passions, she began to
see how other English women survived under this hot dusty
climate with husbands more in love with their drink and
their horses than with their wives. She began to see why
Kildare was so popular with the ladies, who clustered
around him in drawing rooms as he thumped away on the
piano, while the rest of the men lingered over their port and
cigars. Kildare was always the one man willing to escort a
bevy of women to the cool hills around Simla. Yes, she saw it
all!
`My dear Gwen,' Kildare had said one evening at the club,
`you must bring your charming sister along to the hills next
time. They say sisters like the same things, and I am sure I
can show her what she wouldn't have dreamt of in
England!'
Gwen had been flushed with drinking too much wine and
her eyes were brilliant. She had tapped Kildare's arm with
her fan, and said `Don't you dare! I am not always so
charitable!'
18
An exchange Alison had made nothing of then, but she had
been new to India, and Meerut, and the ways of officers in
cantonments. It was part of the many things she had not
understood about the new life she was starting. But now,
several months later, she began to understand. But she
would be different. She would not flirt openly like the
others, with men like Kildare, or that young Irish boy who
always wanted to dance with her. No, she would not
renounce Amjad! She would build a love life with Amjad
that no one would ever get a whisper about, or even dare to
imagine! It would be a secret world just for the two of them,
a real world they would escape to on occasion, and then re-
emerge into this make-believe sham world of brutal hard-
drinking officers living amongst a vastly different people
they did not understand or care about. Her mind made up,
her despair courageously dispelled, she had fallen into a
deep sleep, only to be woken up hours later by her ayah
announcing that dinner was served.
***
19
Alison sat in her rear veranda on that hot Sunday afternoon,
the tenth of May, squinting her eyes to look at the lifeless
barracks behind her house, drenched by the blinding sun.
Twenty-four hours had passed since that incident on the
parade ground. In that short space of time, she had found
herself, and found her love. Spontaneously stirred by some
Christian conscience, she had made one last appeal to her
husband that morning, to ride with her to the river in the
evening, to be with her, to help her make one last desperate
attempt at repairing a marriage that had never been. She had
reached out into thin air. He had brushed her aside without
an iota of recognition of her need. He just did not care
enough for her to sense the turmoil she was going through.
Perhaps, he did not care for any woman. She would vacillate
no longer. She dropped her handkerchief as Amjad had told
her to, though she saw no sign of life anywhere in that heat.
But somehow, Amjad would know and he would come. But
she would not run away. She would take him into her own
bedroom and make love to him there. No one would know,
there was no one to see. Her husband would be riding out
any minute to his dusty office and its accounts. With
quickening heart beat she waited for her love. From the
20
corner of her eye she saw Percy canter away. She got up
impatiently, she would not sit in the veranda, she would
wait for Amjad in her bedroom.
After pacing the room for a few minutes, she decided she
would lie down to calm her nerves. On no account should
Amjad judge her to be like the rest of the white memsahibs.
She was not a loose woman, she was in love with him, only
him, and she would be faithful to him all her life. Though it
could never be an open marriage, in the cathedral of her
heart, she would be married to him. There was Percy of
course, but he did not care, he would not touch her most
days, perhaps, only at Christmas or on birthdays, for form
sake, perhaps she could push him away on those rare
occasions. She could not think it all out now, she needed to
wait for Amjad, and tell him all that was in her heart when
he came. He would understand, she knew he would, for he
cared for her.
Waiting for the delicious moment of his arrival, calming her
beating heart, Alison fell into a waking dreamlike state from
which she came out all of a sudden on seeing Amjad
21
standing still by her bedside. She jumped out of bed
flustered, forgetting all the lines she had rehearsed. He held
her by her shoulders and gave her a slow loving smile. She
noticed he was not dressed in his cavalry uniform but wore
flowing Pathan robes with a tall silk turban above his noble
head.
`Amjad, Amjad! I am so happy you have come. I I have
something to tell you I have thought it out it it would be
dangerous to run away, Amjad, but I love you so
desperately, dear heart I...'
He hushed her babbling with strong fingers held lightly
against her mouth, and they both sank down side by side on
the bed. She was panting with desire, and her eyes softened
as she gazed on his magnificent presence. He kissed her
softly at first, and then hard and deep. Her lips opened like a
full blown rose and his tongue ravaged hers with sweeping
passion. For several precious moments he held her in that
close embrace, and then released her gently and leaned back
to look at her.
22
`Make love to me now, here in my bed,' she asked longingly.
`Not here, but in my place, as it should be, Begum,' he said
gently but firmly, getting up.
She was alarmed.
`We cannot run away, Amjad, I am sorry I ever suggested
that,' she said her breasts heaving. `They will come after us,
the sahibs, I know, for the izzat of the regiment, they will kill
you, my precious! We must be secret lovers!'
He held out his hand, and she rose obediently.
`I am taking you now to my house,' he said evenly in his
deep voice. `After we have become one, there will be time to
talk of what we may do next. Come!'
She shrank back in confusion. `What? No! I cannot come to
the native regimental lines, you must realize that's
impossible! Everyone will see! Amjad! I would be lost
forever!'
23
`Begum, trust me, I would never permit even the shadow of
rumour to darken your fame! I take you to my private home
in the bastee. My servant, an old woman, owes her life to me
and she will be discreet. Come, I have brought your sister's
carriage, all will look normal. Come!'
She would not doubt her lover any longer. Her fate was in
his safe hands. She would follow him where he led. She
knew he came from a well-to-do class, serving in the Third
Cavalry not for pay but to uphold the warrior traditions of
his family. Gwen had told her as much, and of course he
would have his own establishment in the bastee, the crowded
native township that had sprung up between the European
area and the sepoy lines, serving both with its shops and
bazaars. She had been there several times to shop for
household necessities or to buy the occasional trinket, and
once even in Amjad's company. But she had never thought
he would have a place there.
The hood of the carriage was pulled well forward to offer
some shade against the glaring sun, and she hid in its
24
shadowed depths as Amjad whipped the horses forward
towards the town. They left the neat European lines behind,
every bungalow with windows shuttered against the heat
and hardly a soul stirring abroad except for the stray
messenger boy. They drove down the broad Mall, with its
lovely row of spreading trees on either side, and soon
entered the native quarters. Its narrow twisting lanes would
normally have been full of jostling crowds but were bare in
the heat of that Sunday afternoon, most shops having pulled
down their shutters to permit their owners a short siesta
before opening again in the evening. Alison had come that
way before since her brother-in-law, a captain of the Third
Native Cavalry, had his bungalow near the lines of his
regiment well to the south of the Mall which divided the
European from the sepoy areas. Gwen had said it was so
convenient being near the Sadar Bazaar and anyway her
bungalow was more spacious than those in the European
lines, and nearer those of other officers, so she could always
pop round for a chat over tea with a lady friend.
Alison was jolted out of her reverie when the carriage pulled
up suddenly close to a low mud wall. Amjad handed her out
25
of the carriage and straight through a small wicket gate into
a spacious yard shaded by a large mango tree. He nodded
silently to a middle-aged woman in a black burqa who stood
there, and then went out again through the gate. With a fast
beating heart, Alison followed the woman into a low tiled
house. A narrow veranda led into several small dark rooms,
surprisingly cool despite the heat outside. The woman led
her to a back room, salaamed respectfully, and left without
saying a word. Alison was nonplussed for a moment. Then
she noticed that a lovely lace kameez had been laid out on the
bed, and an equally diaphanous pair of muslin pajamas. A
ewer with cold water stood beside an enameled basin and
several bottles of attar. She was hot and uncomfortable in
her European clothes. She decided she would take them all
off, put them away in a cupboard, wash her face and neck,
and after applying some attar of roses to her ears, she would
wear the clothes laid out on the bed. Her lover was an
Indian, and she would dress for him in Indian clothes.
As she looked at herself in the long mirror set in a wall, she
felt pride and passion mounting inside her. Her full figure
looked far more enticing through the loose tracery of her
26
kameez than any girdle or low-cut bodice had ever displayed.
Little red-gold roses had been embroidered in her dress,
matching the glinting red-gold of her thick tresses. She
shook them loose in abandon. She was ready for her lover,
but where was he?
Then she saw him through the mirror, coming smiling into
the room till he stood close behind her, his strong hands
rising gently to cup her full breasts through the silk. She laid
her head back against his chest with a soft moan and closed
her eyes. She was his, for him to do as he willed. She felt his
thumbs rub her rosebud nipples till they thrust through the
lace, felt him turn her round to crush her lips with his, and
then he had lifted her body as if she were a child and laid
her softly on his bed. She moaned with pleasure as his eager
fingers undid the tape of her pajamas and drew them away.
Her lace kameez was rucked up above her hips, his hands
firmly pushed her long thighs open and then she was
arching her body towards his as he took her fast and
furiously as if he were galloping over the grounds on his
favourite mare. She had never known till that moment that
a man could possibly make a woman so fully his own.
27
Suddenly, in rising waves her pent up passion burst out, and
she wept with fulfillment. He lay lightly over her like a dark
cloud, firmly controlling her body as she feverishly clutched
his long form to herself, ran her hands down over his thighs
to hungrily hold him deep inside her. As the intensity of her
passion quietened into little whimpers of happiness, he
started again, slowly, rhythmically teaching her with every
nuance of movement the arts of lovemaking she had never
realized existed till that precious hour. Finally, after time
had ceased to exist, they lay side by side, their arms
embracing their intertwined bodies drenched in the heat of
their passion, and they slept.
***
Alison stretched out languorously and then sat up with a
start. She was alone in the room. Someone had covered her
naked body with a cotton sheet. A small lamp had been
placed by the bedside. God! It must be hours late. The
narrow barred window with its coloured panes looked
28
black. It was night. She got up in a hurry, twisting her thick
tresses into a knot. She must hurry. There should be no
scandal. She would have liked to take a long hot bath, but
there was no time, she would bathe back in her own home.
She dressed in her European clothes with feverish energy,
and looked at herself in the mirror, smoothing her clothes.
She needed a comb, she looked quickly round the room for
one, and yes, there was one. She undid her hair, combed her
hair quickly and then coiled it at neatly as she could into a
chignon. Her face was still swollen with sleep and hours of
love-making. She splashed water on it and dried herself with
a towel. Where was Amjad? She must get home quickly!
Would Percy have sent out a search party? Not likely. The
chowkidar at the gate would have told him, if he was at all
curious enough to ask, that she had driven out in her sister's
carriage. He would have got busy with his accounts, but she
must be back for dinner, if it still was not later than that. She
must find Amjad
But he was already there beside her, fully dressed in the
French grey uniform of his regiment, his shako under his
arm. She went to him quickly and put her arms around him.
29
She felt the hard metal of the sabre he had buckled on, and
his side arms.
She looked up into his face with instinctive alarm. `What is
it, dearest? What has happened?' she whispered.
His stern face showed no emotion.
`Come! I must take you to safety! Now!' he said, with just a
hint of urgency.
Her face looked a question, and she hung back.
He looked at her steadily for a moment and then said
evenly, `The Regiments have mutinied. We have no time to
lose.'
She was totally bewildered. `Mutiny? Mutiny! Who when
why?'
Even as she spoke he had led her by the hand out into the
courtyard. The black night was lit garishly by fires, leaping
30
high in the air all round. She heard the hoarse yells of sepoys
and the screams of women, and shuddering, sought the
shelter of Amjad's arm.
He looked down on her gravely. `The Colonel Sahib was a
bigger fool than I imagined. That insult offered to us
yesterday could not be forgiven! The Third Cavalry has
mutinied and the Sepoy infantry regiments have joined us! I
sent a warning through that young Gough Sahib, but either
he was too late or the fools did not listen to him. Now, we
will all have to bear the consequences. Any minute the
English Artillery could bombard us, and there will be a
massacre! Come, Alison Begum, come! I must get you to the
English lines and safety, inshallah! Come!'
He pulled her impatiently towards the wicket gate in the
mud wall, but she stood firm, lifting her red head proudly.
`If you are in danger, my place is by your side,' she said
without a tremor in her voice. `Understand, Amjad, I am
yours, in life and in death!'
31
He looked at her uncertainly, as she stood her ground with
quiet defiance.
`Begum, there is a fight coming,' he said at last in his deep
voice. `My place is with my men. A battle is no place for a
woman.'
`Then leave me in your house,' she countered.
He shook his head. `This place will be in the middle of the
battle. It will be destroyed. None will survive! We must
leave now, if we are to live!'
A troop of horse went thundering past, lifted sabres visible
over the top of the mud wall, while sepoys yelled, `Maro!
Maro! Angrez kafir ko maro!' Amjad's woman servant had
come out of the house, timorously. Without a word, Amjad
whipped away her burqa even as she let out a thin scream,
and then draping it full over Alison, lifted her into his arms
and ran out of the courtyard. His tethered charger was
pulling nervously away, scared by the yells and the fires.
With a word he quietened the horse, and swung lightly into
32
the saddle, Alison cuddled in his arms. In a moment they
were pushing their way past the frightened milling crowds
on the streets. The flames rising from the bungalows of
English officers cast ghastly flickering light on all around,
and combined with the hoarse yells of the enraged sepoys,
drove terrified people out of their houses into the streets
where there was no safety for anyone. Alison saw women
and children stumble and fall screaming as men ran over
them pushed by the mobs behind.
Somehow, guiding his horse more by instinct than design,
Amjad rode out of the crowded streets, and they leapt over a
nullah into a darkened field. A line of bungalows were
blazing away to the right. Turning, Amjad galloped towards
them, forcing the horse to take high garden fences in the
dark, and then unerringly seeking shelter among the trees
that bordered the large compounds, he made their way
rapidly to the south, and away from the screams and shouts
in the bastee.
His horse was blowing with the exertion, and Amjad pulled
up briefly under a large banyan tree. `We will go to the
33
Captain Sahib's bungalow,' he said, patting the horse's neck
soothingly. `You should be safe for the moment with your
sister. The mob would not have reached this far south from
the bastee. Perhaps, they never will, we do not know.'
She was happy to be in his arms. She was too scared, too
confused to think of what was in store for them in the next
few hours or minutes. Enough, that she was with him.
Enough, to know that she was his, had been his for a short
wonderful moment, if their end was near.
They galloped down a narrow dusty lane, turned into a
road, and soon were in sight of Gwen's bungalow, normally
a blaze of light in the evenings, but now only a single
hurricane lantern glimmered in the veranda.
As they cantered in through the gate, she dimly spied
Gwen's figure standing at the edge of the veranda, her two
small children clustered round her knees. She called out to
her excitedly.
34
Gwen ran out with a child in each hand. `Thank God it's
you, Amjad!' she said with relief. `And you, Alison? What
brought you here and why are you wearing what's
happening, Amjad? All the servants have run away!'
They had dismounted, and Alison ran to embrace her sister,
who held onto her distractedly. Amjad explained the
situation in a few short sentences. Gwen continued to be
bewildered.
`That's not possible!' she exclaimed. `Our regiment? But they
are the best the loyalest! The Captain Sahib would never let
them mutiny!' Then an alarming thought struck her. She
went up to Amjad impulsively. `Where is he, Amjad? Where
is my husband?'
Amjad looked at her gravely. `Memsahib, God is Great! The
Captain Sahib is a very good man, surely God will protect
him!'
35
Gwen trembled with fear, and a sob caught in her throat.
Alison put an arm round her and held her tightly. `And
Percy?' she asked of Amjad.
`Currie Sahib is very safe in the English lines,' said Amjad
slowly. `They have cannon and they have cavalry. It would
be suicide for the sepoys to attack the English lines, so you
can rest assured.'
Gwen looked up with renewed hope. `Perhaps the Captain
Sahib is also there,' she began, and then shook her head
dejectedly. `No, impossible, he will be with his regiment,
and they and they...'
Amjad held up a hand. `You know he is liked by all the men.
It is the Colonel Sahib who brought shame on us, and it is he
who will pay.'
Gwen tried to say something, but fell silent. The children,
sensing danger, started to cry, and Gwen bent down to kiss
and comfort them.
36
`Chotte Memsahib,' said Amjad with emphasis looking
straight at Alison, `take Gwen Memsahib and the children
inside, light lamps, and close all doors and windows. I stand
guard outside. Now go!'
Even as the women turned to enter the darkened house, they
heard a horse at fast gallop coming towards the house.
Amjad drew his sabre, and undid the flap of his pistol
holster. A cavalry trooper rode in carelessly, drew his sabre
in a flash, and then pulled up on recognizing Amjad in the
flickering light of the hurricane lantern.
`God is Great, Jamedar Sahib!' he cried, sliding down from
his horse. `It is me, Havildar Ram Singh!'
Amjad relaxed visibly, but still stood cautiously alert. `What
news, Havildar Sahib?' he asked quietly.
Havildar Ram Singh came forward excitedly. They caught a
glimpse of blood on his sabre as he sheathed it quickly.
37
`The Company Raj is over, over forever!' he shouted, his
eyes dancing preternaturally. `All our imprisoned comrades
have been released from jail! They are free, and now they are
armed and on horseback! The infantry is with us! We seek
the cowardly Colonel who has much to pay!'
`You have not found him yet?' asked Amjad in a low voice.
`No! He has run away and is hiding!' yelled Ram Singh,
almost dancing with impatience.
`And the General Hewitt Sahib?'
The Havildar laughed wildly. `That old woman? He is drunk,
and he is lying down! He is nothing! Nothing, I tell you!
And the Brigadier Wilson he is still doing his accounts! The
Company Raj is finished, finished for good!' He danced in
glee, drew his sabre, waved it about and then sheathed it
panting.
`Havildar Ram Singh! Come to attention! You are an officer of
the regiment, not a bastee badmash!' ordered Amjad sternly.
38
When he heard the order the Havildar drew himself up
stiffly, and stood at attention before his superior.
`Are the English preparing to attack the Sepoy lines?' asked
Amjad in slow measured tones.
Havildar Ram Singh shook his head, and in a few terse
sentences informed Amjad that the English had taken up
defensive positions around their own lines.
Amjad nodded thoughtfully. `So, we will see what happens
in the morning. And our English officers what of them?'
His subaltern was silent for a moment. Then he said
expressionlessly, `It is decided they are to be killed, all of
them, men, women, and children!'
`And you agreed? You, Ram Singh, you agreed?' queried
Amjad, his voice tinged with growing horror.
39
`The Regiment now serves the Moghul Emperor!' said Ram
Singh unflinchingly. `We must return Hindoostan to the
Emperor, from out of the hands of these kafirs. They cannot
live in our land!'
He turned without another word to mount his horse.
`Your comrades look to you to lead them, Jamedar Sahib!' he
shouted from the saddle. `This is the moment of loyal duty
to our Emperor! If you wish to save your friend's family, do
it now! You do not have much time look! They are
coming!' With a wave of his sabre, he galloped away.
They stood, a small group, in the darkness of the garden.
Then, they heard the sound of the approaching mob, the
distant death rattle of some victim, and baying clamour for
blood.
Amjad came to a quick decision. `We cannot stay here any
more. We must seek shelter in the civil lines, perhaps with
the Commissioner, Greathed Sahib. This madness will end in
the morning, but now we are in danger. Come, we have to
40
run! One horse cannot carry us all!' With that he looped the
reins of his horse round its neck and gave it a smart whack
to send it galloping away. `Someone will find Toofan, or he
may find me later, that horse can smell me out,' he added
with a rueful smile.
Amjad carried the children, one on each arm, and they set
off south once more, as fast as they could. They avoided
roads and lanes, and took to ditches, crouching low. On
many occasions before, Gwen had warned Alison to avoid
going near ditches even in daytime, for she had said with a
shiver, they most likely harboured cobras, but now they
were fleeing for their lives, and had to follow Amjad
whichever way he led them. Once on a darkened bund he
pointed back silently, and turning they saw that Gwen's
house was burning briskly as a mob shouted and screamed
round it. They ran on, and crossing a road leapt into a ditch,
only to have Gwen scream in horror. Alison quickly clapped
a hand round her mouth, but gasped in fear herself as she
saw that they were standing on the body of an English
woman, stabbed and mutilated.
41
They had to run on. `That was that was I think, the
Chambers girl,' gasped Gwen as they rushed on, now quite
heedlessly to escape that helpless body in the ditch. `That
girl had just come out, you know.' No one said anything, the
horror was too great for words. Even the children uttered
not a sound, frozen into silence by fear. At last, panting and
disheveled, they saw lights ahead, and people speaking
normally it was the Commissioner's house, a haven of
peace, and far different from the scenes they had left behind.
Mr. and Mrs. Greathed welcomed them most cordially, and
then seeing their condition, quickly took them inside to the
drawing room, after ordering the servants to fetch some
lemonade and sandwiches. The women seated themselves
on deep sofas, with the children burying their heads in
Gwen's lap. Mr. Greathed sat on a chair, looking with
growing concern at their gathering tears. Amjad stood by the
door on watch.
`There, there, my dears,' said Greathed consolingly. `Do
compose yourselves. It is all over now. It will all be over
soon ended by the morning, I dare say. Yes, I hear there
42
has been a revolt of sorts in the military lines, but that
happens on occasion, doesn't it? We have all gone this sort
of thing before. You are safe here in any case, and your
husbands, I will be bound, will send a relief column as soon
as maybe. So, rest, that's the main thing to do.'
The man did not know the half of it, they could tell, but the
women were too overwrought to say anything. Amjad just
stood by grimly and said not a word as the Commissioner
rambled on.
The women slowly gathered their nerves as Greathed
continued in his soothing voice. The sandwiches remained
untouched, but they found the lemonade somewhat
refreshing. The children however refused to take even a sip,
and started to whimper. Gwen asked for some milk, and
Mrs. Greathed tinkled a small brass bell to summon her
khansamah. After she had jangled it a few times in rising
irritation, an ayah poked her head through an inner door.
`Tell the khansamah to bring some milk for the children,' said
Mrs. Greathed slowly, in a loud irritated voice to the ayah.
43
`It should be warm enough to drink, mind you tell him that
jaldi!'
The ayah hung around uncertainly.
`Go! Go now and call the khansamah, you fool,' commanded
her mistress.
`They are gone, memsahib,' stammered the woman.
`Who's gone? Where? Don't gape at me, you idiot!' said Mrs.
Greathed, really annoyed.
`How many servants are left?' broke in Amjad coolly.
The ayah looked at him with relief. `Just me and the other
ayah, Jamedar Sahib' she said.
Amjad nodded. `Go and warm up some milk for the
children' he told the ayah kindly. `I will go and inspect the
bungalow.'
44
When he returned a few minutes later, the Commissioner
was still exclaiming about the cowardice and lack of loyalty
of his servants, while his wife was repeating herself that she
would get rid of the lot and employ better ones in the
morning.
`Luckily, a few of your servants are still quite loyal and on
guard round the compound,' said Amjad quietly, `but how
long their courage will last I do not know. After all, they are
just servants not soldiers. Commissioner Sahib, I must
request you to gather your guests and bring them to the
roof! Ayah! You and the other woman, bring as much food,
water, lemonade, as you can up the stairs to the roof. Jaldi
karo! There is no time to lose!'
`What the devil, Sir? What's the meaning of this?' spluttered
the Commissioner, refusing to budge from his chair.
`Sir, there has been a Mutiny,' said Amjad speaking slowly
and clearly. `A big one. All the Native regiments are in
revolt. The English troops have received no orders to march
and have been told to take up defensive positions to guard
45
their own lines. You are in mortal danger! From your roof I
can see crowds of rioters advancing. As a single soldier, I
cannot hold them back for long. If you delay, you sacrifice
your wife and your women guests!'
There was a deathly silence. Alison ended it by getting up
and asking the way to the roof. Then, there was a rush to go
upstairs, everyone gathering shawls, blankets, and cushions,
while the ayahs lugged up hampers of food and drink.
Amjad arranged their disposition on the floor of the flat roof,
ordering everyone on no account to try and peep over the
parapet. There were enough chinks between the balusters to
keep watch on all that occurred down below.
`I shall nail the door shut,' he said going down, `and pile up
enough rubbish on the other side to make the roof look
disused.'
`Just a minute, Jamedar,' said the Commissioner a little put
out. `I think we have left my brandy downstairs. If you will
be a good fellow and get it up?'
46
Amjad gave him a long look. `You do not need brandy
tonight, just keep a clear head,' he said, as he disappeared
downstairs, and soon they heard the door being nailed up.
The Commissioner muttered something about damned
impudence, but kept it to himself.
The minutes passed by slowly. The ayahs ranged themselves
flat on their bellies with their eyes peeking between the
balusters to keep watch. Gwen and Alison sat close together,
patting the children till they slept from exhaustion. Mrs.
Greathed was in a corner by herself wrapped up in a shawl
with eyes closed, but they could see she was too tense to be
really asleep.
The sisters started to whisper to each other. Among a great
many things, they talked about the past, about the horror
they were going through, about what the morrow might
possibly hold for all of them. Gwen asked Alison how she
came to hear of the mutiny and why she had left the safety
of the European lines. When Alison said something about
being caught unawares in the bustee, Gwen said it was just
like her to be thoughtless and try and shop there without an
47
escort in the evening. Then, she stopped with a frown and
looked closely at her younger sister.
`You were there in the bustee, Alison, you and Amjad in the
evening...' She did not need to voice her suspicions, her
sister's frank face told her everything. A look of revulsion
swept over Gwen.
`How could you, Alison, how could you stoop so low!' she
hissed in mortification.
Alison looked back with such a cool expression, that Gwen
dropped her eyes. `I know, he can't sing music-hall ditties in
a light baritone,' said Alison evenly, `but he is a far better
soldier than Kildare.'
Gwen was about to retort, when Greathed dragged himself
over the floor with a warning finger to his lips. `No sound,
anyone,' he hissed. `We are surrounded!'
Alison wriggled her way to where the ayahs lay petrified,
and cautiously peeped down. She could see silent masses of
48
men gathering in the dark outside the compound wall,
waiting for a signal to attack. Then, it came. With one shout
over a hundred men sprang to their feet with wild shouts,
pelting stones at the house, smashing the glass of windows
to smithereens. Someone threw a firebrand in through a
broken window and a room caught fire. Then the mob was
rushing in, breaking the furniture and looting whatever
caught their fancy, even grabbing knickknacks of no earthly
use to anyone. A few had cornered a terrified gardener and
were demanding to know where the Commissioner Sahib
was, they would not leave till they had killed him and his
pig of a wife.
The people on the roof were petrified to say the least,
fortunately the noise below drowned out the whimpering of
the children. Suddenly, there was a loud shout, a pistol was
fired in the air, and they saw Amjad ride in through the gate
on his horse, Toofan.
The mob quietened a little on seeing a Jamedar of the Third
Cavalry in full uniform, on his horse and waving a sabre.
49
`I will tell you where the Commissioner and his family are!'
yelled Amjad in a booming voice.
`The bugger has betrayed us,' said Greathed, shivering
beside Alison. `He deliberately trapped us here!'
Many of the rioters had formed an admiring circle round
Amjad and danced round him, while he laughed, and
curveted his horse within their circle.
`Tell us, tell us, Jamedar Sahib,' the mob chanted. `Tell us and
we will kill them.'
`Yes, kill them!' said Amjad laughing indulgently. `Kill them!
They have run off to Suraj Kund where the fakir baba
preached, you remember the infidels are there hiding in
the temple! Go, drag them out and kill them! Bring me their
heads! Go!'
The whole house was on fire by then. There was nothing
much left to loot, so the mob, drunk with the lust of looting
and killing roared off into the darkness in the direction
50
pointed to them by Amjad. But the Commissioner and his
little group were trapped on the roof which might cave in at
any moment, plunging them into the inferno below. As it is
the heat was getting intolerable even on the roof. Just as they
were beginning to think they had better jump and take their
chances, Amjad's head appeared over the back parapet.
`Quick, the children first. Hand them to me, then follow,
quickly!'
As Greathed, the last on the ladder, was halfway down, the
roof caved in with a resounding crash, sending up a tall
plume of fire and cinders, to be greeted within seconds by a
far-off shout of joy.
Their ordeal was by no means over. Crowds of rioters all
seemed to be dangerously close. Amjad led them quickly to
the shelter of a mango grove just outside the compound
wall, and telling them to huddle down behind the trunk of a
great tree, he turned and hurried back again. They sat in
silence and waited nervously for his return, as shouts and
yells rang all round their hiding place. Then, after what
51
seemed an eternity, he emerged silently out of the shadows,
and with a finger on his lips led them silently out through
the grove to a narrow lane at the back. His horse was
tethered to a tree, and beside it was a large coach with two
horses within their traces, ready to start.
`Commissioner Sahib, I saved your coach and horses.
Luckily the stables did not catch fire. You will have to drive
it yourself today.'
Greathed merely nodded. As Amjad helped Gwen and the
children to get into the coach, Greathed sprang up and
reached for the reins.
`There are still great many crowds of murderers about,' said
Amjad to Greathed. `Only God can tell what may happen
next. But you must drive as fast as you can to the European
lines. Avoid the bastee, all the badmash log are scattered there.
Take the long route round to the west, past the civil courts.
Few will be there, if any, they will be intent on looting the
treasury, so they will not pay any attention to you. Drive at
breakneck speed, stop for no one on any account and do not
52
draw rein till you have crossed the Mall and reached the
English. Now go!'
Greathed looked down at the soldier from his perch. `Come
with us, Sir,' he said civilly.
Amjad shook his head. `I have neglected my duty too long.
My place is with my regiment. Now, Go!' With those words,
he leapt into his saddle and galloped out of sight.
Even as Greathed was whipping up the horses, Alison
opened the door of the coach and jumped down. `You go,
Gwen, I am staying with Amjad,' she said shortly.
`Don't be a fool,' cried Gwen in despair. `You don't know
what you are doing, you silly fool. Get in! We will all die if
we stay here a minute longer!'
Alison shook her head decisively. `I am not coming. I am
never coming back to the European lines! Go! Look after
your own, for God's sake!'
53
Greathed was on the point of stepping down from the coach
to add his pleas to Gwen's, when his wife raised a
restraining hand.
`For God's sake, drive, Mr. Greathed, drive!' commanded his
wife. `Her blood be on her own depraved head!'
`Yes, we must think of the children!' wailed Gwen.
With a last unhappy look at Alison standing alone in the
lane, Greathed whipped up the horses, and drove them at a
rattling pace round the corner.
Alison breathed noisily through her nostrils. At last there
was no one left to push her around and make her do things
she hated. At last she was by herself. Alone. Quite alone.
Slowly it began to sink into her mind that she was indeed
totally alone, without any friend at hand. Amjad did not
know she had got down from the coach on impulse. And she
did not know where he was, might never know. Dangerous
crowds milled all round the place, she could hear them
yelling. Yes, she wore a burqa, but anyone who came within
54
a few paces of her would know she was a white woman. She
was alone and in a very dangerous spot.
***
Alison sat down on a tree stump, tired, and confused. She
needed to think. How was she to let Amjad know where she
was? She realized with fright that there was no way she
could do so. She must get to some place safe and wait, for
him to search and find her. But where was safety?
Desperately, she tried to remember Amjad's instructions to
Greathed. He had told him to drive west past the civil
courts, none of the rioters were likely to be there. Perhaps
she could hide somewhere there till day came. But what
surety was there that daylight would bring safety to a lonely
woman, moreover a woman anyone could spot as a hated
white woman? Her eyes smarted with tears. She must gather
her wits and not lose her nerve. Where could she go?
Perhaps there would be safety in a place of religious
worship. She knew the natives were very respectful of the
gods. She would be safe in St. John's Church if she could get
there somehow. But the church was north of the Mall within
55
the European lines and even if she survived crossing the
bastee she would never see Amjad again. She wept in
frustration. She should hide in a temple, or in mosque, no
one would molest a woman there. She had visited a few
along with Amjad and she knew she would be safe in one of
them. But those she had seen were near that Suraj Kund
where Amjad had just sent the rioters to look for Greathed.
She must avoid going there at all cost. In any case how could
she find her way to the south-east? Which was the east? She
had never learnt to find her direction by looking at the stars,
though Gwen had tried to teach her. One thing she knew,
she could not stay where she was, even for a minute. Wild
men were all around, yelling for white people's blood. She
must hide. She ran back into the grove. Then she shrank
behind a tree. There were men about, sitting under the trees,
drinking and laughing. She should never have got off
Greathed's coach! Amjad Amjad would have found her
later he was clever he had even found the
Commissioner's coach and horses Yes! That was it, the
stables were still standing, she would hide there and wait for
light.
56
Cautiously, like a frightened mouse she made her way back
to the Greathed's burnt down place, past knots of men
drunk or asleep in the dark. There was eerie silence amidst
the embers. Some of the posts and beams still continued to
burn dully, sending up sparks into the night and lighting the
place with an unearthly glow. She would circle round to find
the stables.
`Arre bai! Arre bai! Kuon ho tum? Eh bai!'
A few men had come into the circle of light and were
accosting her in Hindoostani. She knew native women
would never speak to strange men, so shrinking into her
burqa, she turned and hurried away from them.
`Eh, let the old woman go,' said someone in Hindoostani,
and someone else laughed. Relieved, she tried to run,
stepped on a smouldering piece of wood and shrieked, the
hood of her burqa slipping from her head to reveal her red
hair in the dull light.
57
A loud shout went up from the men. `Gori hai! Angrez mem!
Pakdo! Pakdo!'
She had no chance against them. They had caught her before
she had run a dozen steps on sore feet, and twisting her
round, thrown her violently on the ground. They stood in a
jeering circle round her, and she could smell the raw arrack
on their breaths. One of them reached down and pulled her
up by her hair as she struggled. Other hands tore at her
clothes, shredding them into strips, till she stood naked and
wild-eyed among them. A big unshaven man punched her
in the stomach, and as she doubled up in pain, he knocked
her down, and kicked aside her thighs. They all laughed
hoarsely, more from sadistic pleasure. The big man who had
hit her lewdly undid his pajamas, and Alison closed her eyes
in fright and disgust. She heard a wild shout and an
unearthly scream, and opened her terrified eyes to see the
headless body of the man topple beside her while his head
bounced off like a ball. A man stumbled and fell across her
body, only to writhe screaming as a sabre sliced him from
shoulder to kidney. Men were trying to run everywhere, but
Amjad was standing there like an avenging angel, terrible in
58
anger, swinging his sabre and bringing down a man at every
stroke. The few who could escaped screaming into the night.
Dazed, she sat in the midst of bodies and blood, till Amjad
very carefully wrapped her in a large grey blanket, and
lifting her like a child carried her away from that awful
scene.
She was crying and shuddering in his arms as they rode
through the dark night on Toofan, away from Meerut and all
its horrors. He crooned to her as they galloped, and slowly
in stages, her whimpering stopped, and she fell asleep,
exhausted, against his breast, even as they rode on tirelessly
through the night. She woke up again during the ride to ask
him whether she was still alive or dead, whether he was
man or angel, and how he had found her. He stopped near a
pond to let his horse drink, and offered her his water bottle.
She drank as noisily as their mount, and gasped.
`There is no mystery, Begum Sahiba,' said Amjad in his
calming deep voice. `I found a picket of troopers
approaching from the treasury, so I stopped to warn
Greathed and turn him towards a safer path. He told me he
59
had left you behind. I went back to the lane but you were
gone. I was searching for you in despair till I heard your
cry.'
`I am so lucky you came,' she said cuddling back into his
arms. She peeped up and saw his mouth set in a long hard
line. `Those men those men...' she could say no more.
He held her close to his breast as they rode on once more.
`Forget, my Begum,' he said softly. `Bastee badmash log who
would dishonour their mothers.'
She closed her eyes as ordered but the terrible images of her
ordeal remained with her behind her shut eyelids.
Finally she must have fallen asleep rocked by the rhythm of
their ride, for how long, she did not know. Then, the horse
was clattering over some stone steps, and woke her up. They
were passing through the arched gateway of a mansion and
then through a large garden laid out in formal moghul style.
She saw servants and a few women running out from the
mansion carrying lights. Amjad shouted something to them,
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and then without stopping rode on round the building till
they were at the back, facing a great river, glimmering in the
light of a false dawn. Toofan carefully carried them down
some steps to the edge of the river. Amjad throwing off the
reins, slid down, still cuddling her in his arms. After
carefully unwrapping her from the blanket, as if she were a
precious piece of porcelain, he led her to the river.
`This is the sacred Ganges,' he whispered softly in her ear.
`This is my house, and I have bathed in her since I was a
child, and every time I have come out renewed, all sins
washed away, all hurt healed, all made whole again!'
A long time ago, she had asked someone to bring her to the
Ganges when was that, she could not remember and
Amjad her true love had at last brought her there. He led her
into the water. It was cool, pleasantly so in the summer.
They walked into the river, hand in hand, he fully dressed in
his uniform, she as naked as the day she was born. They lay
in the great river with just their eyes and noses above the
lapping water till life and strength surged back into her
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body, and she could smile with love at this man God had
given her.
Hand in hand they rose from the river, she as proud and
beautiful as if she were a Greek naiad formed for the gods. A
woman stood on the bank with towels, giggling shyly. He
shooed her away, she said something, he laughed, and then
ordered her to get them some clothes.
`What did she say?' asked Alison curiously.
He looked at her for a moment with dancing eyes, and then
said lightly, `She said the white mem is far more beautiful
than any of the whores I have brought to the house.'
Laughter gurgled in Alison's throat. Instead of taking
offense, she took it as an accolade for the power she had
over him.
She lay back on the shore and stretched out her arms to him
invitingly. They made love half on land and half in water,
and when they rose from their delightful embrace they
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found not one but three giggling women hiding their faces
behind their kerchiefs.
`Go! Take the memsahib with you and dress her with care,'
commanded Amjad in lordly fashion. `And then bring her to
the dastarkhana. We are both very hungry. Now, jaldi karo!'
The women took her away, wrapping her in a large cotton
bath robe. It was a leisurely toilet, with the curious women
asking her many questions in a mixture of pidgin English
and Hindoostani. They seemed to know far more about what
was happening than she did. They commiserated with her in
genuine sympathy, weeping at the horrors of the mutiny,
calling on Allah to protect all believers, and memsahib and
her family in particular, and to punish the wrongdoers
whoever they were. The women were convinced the mutiny
would spread into a great war, and while the Padshah
would reign once again in Delhi with all the glory of Akbar
the Great, Allah be praised, the Angrez should be spared,
especially their memsahib's family, especially beloved of
Allah, and so on and so forth. By some miracle, they all
seemed to know telepathically what was happening exactly
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in every corner of their mysterious country. Alison only half
believed them as they dressed her with great care in the
gorgeous robes of the East, and slipped golden sandals on
her feet. The applying of unguents and the combing of her
lustrous hair was a slow ceremony in itself. Finally, she was
ready to join her beloved for breakfast, and when she
surveyed herself in the mirrors held up for her inspection,
she knew she had never been so beautiful, and her maids
smiling happily all round knew that too.
Breakfast was a slow leisurely affair, with many dishes
presented for her delectation, and quickly whisked away at
any slight sign of disapprobation. Amjad encouraged her to
try a variety of kebabs with a semicircle of chutney dishes to
dip them in, and carefully listened to her comments after
each trial. Biriyanis, tandoori chicken, pattar-ke-gosht, and a
multitude of dals and vegetables to add complexity to the
repast were presented, enjoyed, and replaced with newer
variants. Sherbets were also served, and she injudiciously
drank a few glasses till she realized that more than fruit
spiced her drinks.
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`It will not do you any harm,' said Amjad pleasantly. `It is
bhang, it will relax you and you will not feel tired when you
travel.'
`I have to travel?' she asked, leaning back happily. `No,
dearest, I shall never leave your house.'
He looked at her gravely. `You are not safe in this house.
None of us are safe anymore. The mutiny has spread, my
regiment is even now approaching the gates of Delhi to
release the Emperor from the custody of the English. It is a
war, Begum Sahiba, all over this gracious region, between
the Ganges and the Jumuna. You must leave today. My
people will take you far away to safety.'
She sat up in alarm at this news.
`And you, my beloved?' she asked, but she already knew the
answer.
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`My place is with my men,' he said gravely, `in front of the
gates of Delhi. We win or lose it all there, country, Emperor,
freedom.'
She was his Begum, she was an Indian, she was English no
more.
`And if we lose?' she asked, summoning up courage.
He sighed. `It will be the Will of Allah,' he said. `Then I too
shall leave everything here, but I shall come to you,
wherever you are, wherever my people have hidden you.'
`You will come?' she asked looking deep into his eyes.
`Yes, as Allah wills,' he said and kissed her full in the mouth,
though a ring of loyal servants stood all around. `We part
this morning, according to Allah's wish, but He is always
merciful, and surely He shall bring us together again, never
doubt, my love.'
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And thus the lovers parted, an Englishwoman and her
Hindoostani warrior, confident of meeting again through
Allah's mercy, but neither knew when, or where.
***
This is the first translation of an Urdu manuscript fragment found
among several others in a sealed box, which was opened last year
during restoration work on a ruined palace in Hyderabad. The rest
of the narrative is lost. It is unclear whether it is a work of fiction
or a recording of historical events. In the opinion of experts who
examined the fragment, it is part of a diary or memoir written in
fictional style in the manner of the times to conceal discreetly the
identities of the people involved. This conclusion was forced upon
them by the close relation the narrative bears to the real
happenings on that fateful Sunday of May 10, 1857, in Meerut. It
was the Third Native Cavalry that revolted first after 85 of its
troopers were stripped of their uniforms the pervious day and
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jailed. Colonel Smyth was indeed the colonel of the regiment, and
above him in charge in Meerut were Brigadier Wilson and General
Hewitt. Commissioner Greathed indeed sought refuge on his roof
along with several white women and children, who were rescued
by loyal Indians. So much is common history, but the narrative
also mentions a little known fact, that Lieutenant (later General
Sir Hugh) Gough was warned of the impending mutiny by a
friendly native officer and that he tried in vain to convince his
superiors. The narrative's accuracy in recording small details
further strengthens the conclusion that it is no idle story.
However, its main characters cannot be identified today with any
certainty by examining the mutiny records of Meerut. Several
people were killed in the uprising and many unidentified bodies
were buried later. Perhaps, both Alison and Amjad Khan met a
tragic fate, if indeed they were historical characters. It is also a
mystery how the manuscript, the better part of which is lost, while
some of the remaining pages have been rendered illegible, found its
way to far-off Hyderabad. Did our hero and heroine escape the fury
of the sepoy mutiny and somehow travel south to the shelter of a
distant princely state? There is no evidence to support this
assumption. However there does exist an intriguing military
dispatch from the Third Anglo-Burmese War, which took place
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twenty-eight years after the tragic events of the sepoy mutiny,
which records the distinguished gallantry of two native officers.
Their enthusiastic colonel wrote: `Both the officers acted coolly and
with conspicuous courage under fire, though clearly offering a
target to the enemy because of their flaming red hair, and indeed
both of them are brothers, Ashraf Khan and Asif Khan being sons
of Amjad Khan, himself the Commander of the Deccan Light Horse
of the Nizam's army of Hyderabad.'
Perhaps, the story did have a happy ending after all.