King of a Distant Country Ch. 01-03

Since that day, I have been living the life of Riley. Servants attend to my every need; my salary is a full lakh of silver rupees each year, which I remit to Messrs Cox's in Pall Mall through their agents in Calcutta. I have no doubt that in five years I shall be as rich as any Nabob to quit the shores of India.

April 1868

I confess to having been somewhat remiss in my journal keeping these past months but life has been rather exciting of late. Indeed, today is the first recreation that I have taken since the beginning of the year. In order to explain precisely what I have been about, it is worth dwelling a little on the nature of this country. Nambhustan is relatively small by Indian standards. The capital city of Nambhupore lies almost at its heart, beside the great river. The ruling family are Musselmen while the greater part of the population are Hindoos and speak a dialect of Hindi. Much of the country borders the banks of the great river and the land is good and fertile. To the east of the country lies an area of dense jungle with small villages constantly facing a battle with the encroaching vegetation. Hills predominate in the northern marches and these lead up eventually to the great Himalayan range itself. It is from these hills that the wealth of the country, rubies of superb clarity and size, are mined. Of course, the ordinary people benefit but little from such riches but all are well-fed and seem content for the most part. Taxes are light and the village folk are largely undisturbed.

The only exception to this regime oflaissez-faire is the occasional selection of the most beautiful young virgins for the palace harem. The people grumble a bit but accept it as fact of life. Old Mansoor has three official wives but about six hundred concubines of various ages ranging from, I would hazard a guess, about fourteen to eighty. Unfortunately for him, the old boy has proved incapable of getting any of the nubiles with child. His heir and successor is an oily cove named Sikkander Khan, the son of a cousin or something. Sikkander is a suspicious type and we have developed a deep and mutual loathing.

The local folk are not particularly war-like by inclination and the Army of Nambhustan would make a dog laugh. Only the Palace Guard, who were all mercenaries, were anything like soldiers. Small wonder that his nibs sent for the British when he had a spot of Dacoit trouble. Their weapons are antiques, ‘Brown Bess' muskets from the last century and some ancient bronze canon of local manufacture. There is one regiment of light horse but the mounts are spavined nags and the troopers would fall off if they had to swing a sabre and ride simultaneously. It was clear from a very early stage that I would have my work cut out to turn this rabble into any sort of effective force. I did have one piece of good fortune. I found an old naik, a native corporal of horse, among the Place Guard. His name is Ramnesh Lal and I put him in charge of training the cavalry. He has proved to be an able riding master and under his tutelage, the sowars are learning the basics.

The foot soldiers are posing more of a problem. I have persuaded his nibs to purchase some of the 1853 pattern Enfield rifles used by British regiments but it will be a little while before they are here. In the meantime, we drill with the old muskets. They can't hit a barn door at twenty paces, but at least we can now produce a passable volley and can manage three shots in a minute on a good day. The artillery is completely hopeless with only some bullock-drawn bronze 24-pounders. Most of the balls are made of stone and the powder has stood too long without being stirred to be of any use. There is so much to do and so much to organise that I sometimes scarcely know where to begin. All must be accomplished in the Hindi tongue, for very few here have even the most rudimentary English.

Palace life remains enjoyable, aside from the constant intrigue. I have been the recipient of more than one approach from this faction or that faction seeking to enlist me to their cause. At such times I am able to extricate myself without too much difficulty. The buggers try to be so cunning and talk so elliptically that it is not difficult to deliberately misunderstand them and this confuses them greatly. My one complaint is the casual cruelty that I encounter on a daily basis. Even his nibs is not above it. Just the other day, he decided to have one of his women punished for some minor infraction. The poor girl was dragged into the audience hall with all the court looking on agog.

Two great fellows with massive muscles running slightly to fat then seized her. I later learned that these were two of the eunuchs assigned to guard the women. It is clear from these two specimens that taking a man's stones doesn't in any way reduce his capacity for cruelty and the enjoyment thereof. They ripped the gossamer-thin clothing from the poor young thing and she was paraded naked before the assembled company. She was certainly a sight to behold; a dainty little piece with coffee-coloured skin and lustrous black hair. She was shaved bald around her sex, as is customary with these concubines, and would have sought to cover herself had not those two villains kept a firm grip on her arms. It appeared the object of this particular exercise was to humiliate her utterly for the assembled courtiers were encouraged, nay, instructed, to fondle her most intimately, which they did with lascivious enthusiasm.

After this ordeal was over, her hands were bound together in front of her and her conjoined wrists were then placed over a large metal hook that depended from the ceiling. She was then hoisted into the air until her feet dangled some four feet above the flagstones. The villainous eunuchs then prepared bamboo canes by splitting the ends for about the first foot of their length into half a dozen or so separate strips. They then began to caress her very lightly with the fronds, running them over her breasts and thighs and between her legs. The poor girl hung twisting slowly, tears streaming from her face and wearing a look of abject misery and terror. I found my eyes drawn to the scene in a way that, I confess, still shames me. I was riveted by a mixture of revulsion and prurience that is not becoming of a gentleman.

Then, at a signal from the Nizzam, they began to whip her. Red wheals appeared upon that perfect flesh and she cried out in fear and pain. They were utterly careless of where their blows landed but they were obviously expert at their vocation for they never once broke the skin. The tips of the cane splayed where they struck her and soon her buttocks, thighs and belly were striped with the overlying evidence of their ministrations. There was a devilish cruelty to it because, at intervals, they would leave off their beating and repeat again those intimate caresses with which they commenced proceedings. I was both revolted and aroused by what I witnessed and had to force myself not to intervene.

The punishment continued for at least a quarter of an hour, but if I am truthful, it appeared to me to be both much shorter and almost interminable. I hazard to say that it must have been an eternity for the poor unfortunate lass who was the object of these attentions. At length, the Nizzam grew bored by the spectacle and indicated to the eunuchs to cut her down. This was the signal for all manner of lewdness to begin. The courtiers began to fondle one another quite publicly. I took my leave in disgust and returned to my quarters.

June 1868

Today I bagged my first tiger! Around two weeks past, a runner came from one of the villages to the east bearing news of a man-eater on the loose and requesting help from the Palace. The Nizzam sent for me and, pleading his advancing years else he would see to the matter himself, ordered me to repair to the stricken district and bring an end to the beast's depredations. I took with me a small escort and my own syce and a couple of the recently arrived Enfield rifles. I was devilish excited by the prospect, I can tell you. I've hunted deer and wildfowl out here but this was my first crack at a tiger. We arrived at the village after two days' hard riding and were welcomed like Gods.

The village headman told us that the man-eater was only recently come to the area but they had heard on the jungle grapevine that a village some forty miles to the north had been suffering previously. All in all, the beast appears to have accounted for about thirty locals, mostly women and young herd-boys. It had acquired the habit of staking out the riverbank where the women drew water and undertook their laundering and where the boys brought the cattle to drink. Given the availability of a spot of beef on the menu, I expressed surprise that the tiger appeared to prefer to eat human flesh. The old boy informed me that once a tiger turns man-eater, no other meal would serve. This presented me with something of a problem as, if this intelligence was to be believed, the old monster would turn his striped nose up at the goat I originally planned to use as bait.

The headman was prepared for this eventuality and he offered me a human lure. I didn't quite grasp the point at first. I rather assumed that some brave chap was going to loiter about the riverbank while I waited in cover to take my pot shot. Not so! The old buzzard had something entirely different in mind. What he was proposing was that I employ the services of a young orphan girl of low caste who happened to be scavenging a meagre existence in the village. I was horrified at first but my syce assured me that it could actually be a kindness, as the wretched brat would undoubtedly succumb to either starvation or disease in short order. The Hindoo caste system is completely rigid and no one would lift a finger to assist the child, being, as she was, an ‘untouchable.' The poor unfortunate was dragged before the assembled company and told of her fate. I was mightily impressed. She took the news impassively, a look of something like contempt on her face. She was filthy, dressed in rags and her hair was a matted tangle. There was ample evidence of beatings and abuse on the exposed parts of her body but for all that she possessed a quiet sort of dignity.

I took her to one side and reassured her that I would do my utmost to get the tiger before it got her but she simply shrugged as if it was entirely of no consequence. I did insist, however, that the villagers feed her and give her something a little more salubrious to wear. They grudgingly agreed but would not approach her directly, bestowing their meagre gifts on me to pass on to her instead. I had the devil's own job in getting her to speak to me. At length, I learned her name was Baljit and that she came originally from a village around three days' walk away. Her parents had died some months ago and her own village had driven her out as she was deemed to possess the ‘evil eye.' As far as I could judge she was about eleven or twelve years old but it was difficult to say under the grime, coupled with the fact that she was so malnourished. I was of a mind to have her clean herself up a bit but then considered that the more pungent her aroma, the more attractive she would be to the tiger.

Most of the previous attacks had been around sunset or dawn. This was entirely logical as the villagers would all be indoors at night and fires were kept burning to keep the beasts of the jungle away. I decided that we go for the kill at sunset the following day and about two hours before dusk, I made my way with Baljit and my syce down to the river. I selected a sturdy tree with an unobstructed view and shinned up into its lower branches. My syce passed me up the two loaded Enfields and I settled down to watch and wait. The headman had been all for tethering our human ‘goat' but I would not have it. Baljit was very calm and seemed disinterested in the whole affair. She sat down beside the river and began to weave – a basket or somesuch – from the rushes that grew nearby.

We waited all night and well into the early morning but our tiger never showed. Perhaps the beast was simply not hungry that evening. We resolved to try again last night. Nothing happened at sunset and I spent another long uncomfortable vigil all through the hours of darkness. About half an hour after the first grey shading of dawn, I suddenly saw Baljit stiffen. I was on the point of giving it best yet again when I saw her head come up in alarm. Such was her stoicism, however, that she made no move to flee but sat, rigid and alert, awaiting her fate and trusting to her Gods and my marksmanship. Now, sitting in a tree for several hours is not the ideal preparation for good shooting. Nevertheless, I eased my cramped limbs as best I could without giving away my position, checked the position of the percussion cap on the Enfield and waited.

I became aware that a total silence had fallen. All the usual bird and animal noises that are ever-present in the jungle died away. It was then I saw a slight rustling among the reeds and thought I could just discern a faint shape moving through the dense greenery. I sighted along the barrel of my first Enfield and waited, hardly daring to breathe. All was still; Baljit sat like a pillar, the rustling in the reeds ceased. I was almost prepared to believe I imagined it. Apart from the unnatural silence, all seemed completely normal. I counted off the minutes in my head while Baljit remained totally motionless throughout. Again I was forced to admire the youngster's pluck. There cannot be many who would sit so still under the threat of an imminent attack by a tiger.

The attack, when it came, was awesomely sudden. The reeds parted and a striped projectile hurtled towards the motionless girl. It took me completely by surprise and I almost froze, fascinated by the speed and power of the charging predator. Fortunately for all concerned, years of military training came to my aid and I gently took up the first pressure on the rifle's trigger. On and on came the tiger and still Baljit did not move but faced the beast with head held high. If this was truly her Nemesis, then she would meet it with the same detached calm as she displayed to the vilification handed out by the villagers.

I saw my shot, squeezed the trigger and felt the thump of the heavy stock against my shoulder. Powder smoke obscured my vision but I seized up the second Enfield and waited for the fog to disperse. Moments later I could see Baljit still sitting in the same spot. The tiger was down on its belly but still crawling towards her. Pink froth flecked its muzzle, a clear sign of a lung shot – fatal, but not immediately so. I leapt from the tree and sprang between Baljit and the wounded killer. It came on inexorably. I held my fire until the barrel was almost touching that fearful mask, then pulled the trigger. The heavy calibre bullet smashed into the monster's skull and it collapsed instantly. I regret that shot now as it ruined the head and the fur of the face was much burned by the muzzle-flash thus somewhat spoiling it as a trophy. Baljit at last displayed her emotions and fell at my feet, clasping her arms about my legs and weeping with gratitude. (Editor's Note: The blackguard seems unaware of the irony of this passage. It was, after all, he who had exposed the unfortunate child to this horror in the first place.)

We returned to the village and this was the sign for much rejoicing. Some of the men went down to fetch the carcass and proceeded to skin it. I shall have it cured. Although it is not of the best quality, owing to the powder burns, it is my first tiger. Tonight we will have another feast of celebration and I return to the Palace tomorrow. I have resolved to take the stalwart Baljit with me. Doubtless I will able to secure a menial position for her but any improvement in her lot in life is surely to be welcomed.

July 1868

I now detect a certain irony in the last line of my previous entry. On my return to the Palace at the end of last month, I was not exactly treated to ‘See, the Conquering Hero Comes!' In fact, there was a distinct frostiness about my welcome for which I could not discern a sensible explanation. The Nizzam was civil enough but there was a distinct undertone to our exchanges. At first, he demanded the tiger skin for himself. He changed his mind once he saw the somewhat ravaged mask. It might also have been a factor that the skin was not yet cured and was distinctly ripe at this time. He volunteered his thanks but eschewed the customary reward of rubies, which is tantamount to an insult in these climes. I could make neither head nor tail of his attitude but resolved to have my syce keep his ear to the ground among the other native grooms and to convey to me any tittle-tattle that might be pertinent.

I presented young Baljit, by now cleaned up and looking slightly less malnourished than of yore. This was a major faux pas. Word of our exploits had travelled ahead and the court all seemed to know that she was of the ‘untouchable' caste. There was also much muttering about her possession of the ‘evil eye,' which, of course, is utter damned nonsense but typical of the superstitious nature of your average Hindoo. I could find nobody who would take the wretched child on so was forced to accept her into my own employ. This presented me with some difficulty as I run a bachelor establishment and there was little that a young girl could do for me. Baljit was a grave and reserved child of above average intelligence and it was she who suggested the solution. It was clear that her caste would prevent any normal social intercourse with the rest of the servants. The rubbish about the ‘evil eye' was also germane, as it caused the others to avert their glances from her at all times and they refused to permit her a sleeping place among them.

She displayed her considerable ingenuity in suggesting that I retain her services as my personal food-taster. Such is the intrigue and habituary practice of murder among the court that this appointment would be seen as only a sensible precaution and would raise few eyebrows as the incumbent was of low caste and therefore expendable. I was not entirely comfortable with the suggestion but, as it came from her and seemed an acceptable solution, I agreed. I must say that she is most assiduous in the performance of her self-selected duties and have the sneaking suspicion that her enthusiasm has been informed by her past experiences of being constantly hungry. Now I have only to get the bottom of the meaning of my cool reception.

September 1868

I was awoken this morning by my syce; the clumsy beggar cut while me while undertaking my morning shave. He was most distressed by this but excused himself by saying that his hands had been shaking as the result of momentous intelligence discovered last night. It seems that that beggar, Sikkander Khan, has been stirring things up and is jealous of my popularity among the common sort. I appear to enjoy some sort of God-like status with the villagers and townsfolk. This stems originally from driving off the Dacoits but word has spread of the episode with the man-eater and, particularly among the ‘untouchable' caste, I am regarded as a great champion. The upshot is that Sikkander has been pouring poison into the Nizzam's ear with claims that I plan to usurp him. In truth, this is young Sikkander's plan and all but those closest to the throne are aware of it. Rumour has it that he will not wait for the old boy to pop off naturally but will seek to hasten his demise. I certainly wouldn't place such a course beyond the oily bastard's compass.

It appears that he hopes to rid himself of me so that he may suborn the army. At present, the troops are all utterly loyal but I will have to watch my back. I now eat nothing that is not prepared in my own kitchens. Baljit still insists on tasting everything nonetheless and, as a consequence, is filling out quite nicely. As far as we can establish, she is about thirteen years old and displays all the signs of emerging womanhood. Now that she is clean and properly dressed, she is really a pretty little thing. Her skin is darker than most of the Palace women, who range in shade from cream to coffee. Baljit, by contrast, is of a dark chocolate hue. I will confess I find it most becoming. Now that she has some flesh upon her bones, it is clear that she will become most voluptuous in a year or two. She has that certain type of build which shows good breadth of hip while retaining a tiny waist. I have seen other such women here, and most combine these features with large rounded bosoms. This physical type is highly prized. There is a natural arch to her eyebrows that others achieve only by artifice and her lashes are thick and long and have no need of darkening with kohl. It is devilish tricky doing without female companionship.