Ruth Prawer Jhabvala - Heat and Dust

Harry said "What are you asking her to do — bring you reports from the Civil Lines at Satipur? Be your spy?"

The Nawab leaned back again. He lowered his eyes as if in shame. He said in a humble voice" I hope you don't believe this of me, Olivia. "

She cried out at once "Of course not! How could you think it!" and looked reproachfully at Harry.

On Sunday evenings Douglas and Olivia usually took a stroll through the graveyard. They wandered arm in arm along the paths between the graves, stopping to read the inscriptions so that the names of the dead became familiar to them. Olivia called these Sunday excursions their visiting rounds, but Douglas was apologetic about them. He said it was a shame that all the entertainment he could offer her was a walk around a graveyard. “Think of Marcia, " he said ruefully, in gay Paree."

"Silly." She pressed his arm. “Where do you think I'd rather be.".

They were standing by the grave of a young lieutenant — E.A. Edwards of the 54th who had fallen with five of his brother officers at the head of his regiment on 11 May 1857. Aged 29 years. He had become a particular friend because Olivia liked the inscription: As a soldier ever ready where Duty called him, a dutiful son, a kind and indulgent Father but most conspicuous in the endearing character of Husband …

”Just like you, darling," she told Douglas, pressing his arm again. After a while she added “Except you're not a kind and indulgent father yet."

“But I will be, "he promised.

"Of course you will."

The fact was, however, that she was not getting pregnant.

She was beginning to be worried: was something wrong? She could not believe it; she was sure that a couple like herself and Douglas were meant to have children, to be the founders of a beautiful line. He too was sure of it. Sometimes she thought it might be due to psychological reasons — because she had been so frightened by all the little babies in the graveyard, dead of smallpox, dead of cholera, dead of enteric fever.

She had brought a few flowers for the Saunders' baby. She knelt to place them at the feet of the Italian angel. When she got up, her face was radiant; she took Douglas' arm and whispered into his ear" I made a wish… You know, the way they do at Baba Firdaus' shrine on the Husband's Wedding Day." They both smiled, but then she became serious and asked "Douglas, what is this thing about dacoits?"

"There is a gang operating around Khatm. They've been terrorising the outlying villages· — making raids and looting and some killings too. "

"How dreadful." She added "But what's he got to do with it?"

"Our Friend? That's the point. He's generally thought to be in cahoots with them, getting a rake-off in return for his protection. "

"It couldn't be," said Olivia.

Douglas laughed at her innocence. They walked on. He pointed out a few more Mutiny graves, but she was no longer interested.

She said "But he's a ruler. He wouldn't get himself mixed up with a robber gang like that. After all he is a prince." When Douglas burst out laughing, she said in a rather offended voice "He even has some sort of English title."

"Oh yes he's got all sorts of things… Look, here's another one killed on 11 May '57: Lt. Peter John Lisle of Clifton, Bristol. He must have fallen in the same action as Lt. Edwards. There was an uprising in Satipur inspired by the then Raja of Satipur who had joined the mutineers: for which he paid very dearly afterwards. Unlike his neighbour at Khatm, our Friend's great-grandfather, who remained 'loyal': after making sure which was the best side to remain loyal to. That's how he got his English title and all his other perks. Clever chap. " He carefully picked a few weeds out of Lt. Lisle's grave. There were not many — the graves were extremely well kept. A permanent watchman had been hired, and Mr. Crawford himself came regularly for inspection to make sure the English dead were paid the respect due to them.

"Quite apart from anything else, " Olivia said, watching Douglas pick weeds, "he wouldn't need to, would he, join a gang of robbers. It's ridiculous. I mean, after all, he must be a rich man… Do stop that. "

"But they're weeds."

"Oh goodness, let's go. This place is getting me down."

Douglas got up and dusted the knees of his trousers. Now he looked rather offended; he said "I thought you said you liked it here."

"I like the trees."

She turned and walked away from him down a path. She didn't want him to see how irritated she was both with him and the dead heroes. But she had more to ask him, so she stopped still and waited for him to catch up. "What sort of dacoits?" she asked.

"I don't want to talk about it." Douglas wore his stuffy look. He stared in front of him like a soldier on parade. He was making straight for the exit.

Now it was Olivia who lingered behind. She stopped again by the Saunders' grave and knelt to rearrange her flowers. She remained there. It was getting darker, the shadows were gathering. Sadness filled her heart. She didn't know why: perhaps because she wasn't having a baby? She thought if she had a baby — a strapping blond blue-eyed boy — everything would be all right. She would be at peace and also at one with Douglas and think about everything the same way he did.

"Come along now," Douglas called back to her in a testy voice. "It's getting dark."

She got up obediently but next moment — she didn't know how this happened to her — she sank to her knees again and covered her face with her hands. The angel glimmered white above her. The last birds stirred in the tree before falling asleep; otherwise there was no sound. Olivia wept silently. Then she heard Douglas' footsteps crunching along the path as he made his way back to her. But he too was silent as he stood above her, waiting.

"Sorry," she said after a while. She blew her nose into her handkerchief and wiped her eyes. She got up, but he didn't help her. She looked into his face — she could just make it out in the gathering darkness, glimmering above her like the angel. He stood there stiff and straight; he said " You should have gone to Simla. The heat's getting you down. "

"Is that what it is," she said, glad of the excuse.

* * * *

15June. One of the town's beggars is a very old woman: at least she looks very old, but this may be due to her life of deprivation. She doesn't ask for alms, but when she is hungry she stands there with her hand stretched out. I never see her talk to anyone. Although she stays in the town: she does not seem to have a permanent pitch anywhere. Sometimes I see her in the Civil Lines area, sometimes by the royal tombs, sometimes in the bazaar or the alleys around it. She shuffles about in her rags, and when she is tired she squats or lies wherever she happens to be and people passing have to walk around her.

For the past few days, however, I have been seeing her in the same place. There is an alley behind our house where our washerman lives (the same alley where I saw the eunuchs dance). A few days ago I took some clothes to him, and I can't be sure of this but I think she may have been lying there at the time. The trouble is, one is so used to her that one tends not to see her. But I definitely noticed her when I went back to fetch the clothes. There was something about the way she was lying there that drew my attention. The lane ends in a piece of land where a man lives in a shed with two buffaloes. Just outside his shed the municipality have put up a concrete refuse dump, but most people see no point in, throwing their refuse within the concrete enclosure so that it lies littered around it, forming a little mound. The reason why I noticed the beggar woman was because she was lying on the outskirts of this mound of refuse. I thought at first she was dead but realised this could not be since no one else in the lane seemed concerned. The animals snuffling around in the refuse also paid no attention to her. Only the flies hovered above her in a cone.