Read Online The Ravi Lancers by John Masters - Free Book Online
Authors: John Masters
Tags: Historical fiction
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became absorbed ...
His grandfather stirred, ‘Now, boy, what is it that you have to tell me?’
Krishna realized with a start that the music had ended. Great drops of rain were falling on the square and the crowd was thinning. Thunder grumbled close around the city. He shook himself out of the glade, where Arjun was marrying Krishna’s sister, and the banished brothers were wandering through the forest, and said, ‘Can we talk in private, grandfather?’
The rajah struggled to his feet, helped by his attendants. ‘An affair of state, is it?’
Krishna nodded and the old man said, ‘We will go to the temple, then. The Rawal will be there and I won’t have to explain it all to him again, afterwards.’
Krishna said, ‘Very well, grandfather.’ Inwardly, he groaned. Why did the old man have to consult the Brahmin on everything? What did Brahmins know more than anyone else, at least from the mere fact of being born to Brahmin parents? It wasn’t as though a man could make himself a Brahmin by educating himself. The rajah was old-fashioned, but there was no way of changing him now.
Krishna followed him out into the rain, along the palace wall and into the shelter of the temple. The Rawal, the chief Brahmin of the temple, came forward to meet them, palms joined, under the whitewashed entrance. Inside, dim oil wicks burned in shallow earthenware dishes, casting a yellow light on the paintings of demons and the daubs of bright colour where offerings of spices lay in front of carved stone figures of gods and demi-gods. The shadows of many-headed, many-armed dancers flickered on the ceiling among the blackened patches made by centuries of smoke from lamps set in the niches among the heavy-lidded gods and the heavy-breasted Apsarases.
The rajah led the way to a dim lit room, where a stone phallus of black stone rose out of a quoit of the same stone. Orange turmeric dusted the knob of the phallus and garlands of broken flowers lay on it and around its base. The three men squatted. There was no door to the low opening behind them, but Krishna knew that no one would come and no one would listen. His grandfather looked at him and he began to speak, using words he had carefully rehearsed on the long drive from Lahore.
‘Grandfather! Rawal! As you know, England declared war on Germany yesterday ...’
‘We know,’ the rajah said. ‘The Agent to the Governor General sent me a telegram.’
Krishna said, ‘The Viceroy is declaring war on behalf of India. An Indian Expeditionary Force is to be sent to France. Part of that force is to be the Hindustan Division.’
‘They’ll leave enough troops in the country,’ the rajah said. ‘Or bring more in before anyone could organize properly.’
Krishna shook his head, shaking off his grandfather’s ridiculous idea. He continued. ‘Every infantry division contains one regiment of cavalry. The divisional cavalry of the Hindustan Division is the 44th Bengal Lancers. Last night, I learned in Lahore that the 44th Lancers have discovered anthrax in two squadrons. They will not be able to go.’
His grandfather said, ‘The better fortune for them. War in Europe is a cold, bloody, brutal business.’
Krishna said, ‘I don’t know for certain, but the British officers I talked to seemed to think that there was no other regiment available. Every cavalry regiment in the country, British and Indian, is committed to some important role and cannot be taken off it.’ The Rawal, sitting tall and thin and dark, all dressed in white, said, ‘My lord Krishna, are you suggesting that . . . ?’
‘Yes! ‘ Krishna cut in. ‘Let us offer the King-Emperor our Lancers for imperial service! It is the best regiment in all the States Forces. The Military Adviser said so after last cold-weather inspection, didn’t he? He said it was better trained than some regiments of the Indian Army. He said to me, privately, that there were only three regiments among all the armies of all the princes
His grandfather stirred, ‘Now, boy, what is it that you have to tell me?’
Krishna realized with a start that the music had ended. Great drops of rain were falling on the square and the crowd was thinning. Thunder grumbled close around the city. He shook himself out of the glade, where Arjun was marrying Krishna’s sister, and the banished brothers were wandering through the forest, and said, ‘Can we talk in private, grandfather?’
The rajah struggled to his feet, helped by his attendants. ‘An affair of state, is it?’
Krishna nodded and the old man said, ‘We will go to the temple, then. The Rawal will be there and I won’t have to explain it all to him again, afterwards.’
Krishna said, ‘Very well, grandfather.’ Inwardly, he groaned. Why did the old man have to consult the Brahmin on everything? What did Brahmins know more than anyone else, at least from the mere fact of being born to Brahmin parents? It wasn’t as though a man could make himself a Brahmin by educating himself. The rajah was old-fashioned, but there was no way of changing him now.
Krishna followed him out into the rain, along the palace wall and into the shelter of the temple. The Rawal, the chief Brahmin of the temple, came forward to meet them, palms joined, under the whitewashed entrance. Inside, dim oil wicks burned in shallow earthenware dishes, casting a yellow light on the paintings of demons and the daubs of bright colour where offerings of spices lay in front of carved stone figures of gods and demi-gods. The shadows of many-headed, many-armed dancers flickered on the ceiling among the blackened patches made by centuries of smoke from lamps set in the niches among the heavy-lidded gods and the heavy-breasted Apsarases.
The rajah led the way to a dim lit room, where a stone phallus of black stone rose out of a quoit of the same stone. Orange turmeric dusted the knob of the phallus and garlands of broken flowers lay on it and around its base. The three men squatted. There was no door to the low opening behind them, but Krishna knew that no one would come and no one would listen. His grandfather looked at him and he began to speak, using words he had carefully rehearsed on the long drive from Lahore.
‘Grandfather! Rawal! As you know, England declared war on Germany yesterday ...’
‘We know,’ the rajah said. ‘The Agent to the Governor General sent me a telegram.’
Krishna said, ‘The Viceroy is declaring war on behalf of India. An Indian Expeditionary Force is to be sent to France. Part of that force is to be the Hindustan Division.’
‘They’ll leave enough troops in the country,’ the rajah said. ‘Or bring more in before anyone could organize properly.’
Krishna shook his head, shaking off his grandfather’s ridiculous idea. He continued. ‘Every infantry division contains one regiment of cavalry. The divisional cavalry of the Hindustan Division is the 44th Bengal Lancers. Last night, I learned in Lahore that the 44th Lancers have discovered anthrax in two squadrons. They will not be able to go.’
His grandfather said, ‘The better fortune for them. War in Europe is a cold, bloody, brutal business.’
Krishna said, ‘I don’t know for certain, but the British officers I talked to seemed to think that there was no other regiment available. Every cavalry regiment in the country, British and Indian, is committed to some important role and cannot be taken off it.’ The Rawal, sitting tall and thin and dark, all dressed in white, said, ‘My lord Krishna, are you suggesting that . . . ?’
‘Yes! ‘ Krishna cut in. ‘Let us offer the King-Emperor our Lancers for imperial service! It is the best regiment in all the States Forces. The Military Adviser said so after last cold-weather inspection, didn’t he? He said it was better trained than some regiments of the Indian Army. He said to me, privately, that there were only three regiments among all the armies of all the princes
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