‘That fat heathen joss-god can’t have any use for venison, can he?’ said Captain Mee, with a sardonic laugh. ‘So it may as well be used to celebrate the Queen’s birthday.’
The theft of these offerings further inflamed the villagers and groups of men began to collect around the campsite, brandishing scythes and throwing stones; some were even armed with matchlocks. The marines had to shoot into the air to disperse them.
These incidents further delayed the disembarkation. When it finally started the Bengal Volunteers, being small in number, were the first of the 4th Brigade’s units to go ashore.
Sensing an opportunity, Kesri decided to secure a good location for B Company’s tents. He chose a spot on the riverbank, where they were likely to catch a breeze. The sepoys and followers would be grateful, he knew, for an opportunity to wash away the day’s grime in the river — this was a comfort they prized above all others.
But just as Kesri was issuing instructions to the tent-pitchers, Colour-Sarjeant Orr of the Cameronians appeared: ‘Who the hell said you coolies could settle your black arses here?’ He pointed to the tents of the 37th Madras: ‘You belong back there with the Ram-sammies.’
Kesri tried to hold his ground but was outranked and heavily outnumbered. When Captain Mee himself took the other side, saying, ‘I’m sorry, havildar, you’ll have to move,’ he had to give in.
The Cameronians’ taunts rang in Kesri’s ears as he walked away.
‘… let that be a lesson to you, boy …!’
‘… and you’d better be sure we don’t see any of your nigger-snot back here!’
Worse still, the only remaining spot was at the back, where there was not a breath of fresh air, but mosquitoes aplenty, swarming in from the rice-fields. The perimeter site was also uncomfortably close — a group of angry villagers had gathered around a clump of trees, just beyond the nearest picket. But there was nothing to be done about any of this: they would have to spend the night here.
Kesri sighed as he looked around. He could only hope that B Company would soon be gone from this place.
*
That night, because of a shortage of camping equipment, the banjee-boys were billeted with the company’s bhistis and gun-lascars, in a tent where their bodies were packed together as tightly as cartridges in a case. The trapped air reeked of unwashed clothing, stale sweat and urine, and the drone of mosquitoes was as loud as a gale. The ground too was swarming with insects so everybody had to sleep fully clothed, with sheets swathed around their bodies for additional protection — and these too were soon soaked in sweat.
Raju could not sleep, and in a while, hearing a rustling sound, he peered out from under his sheet and saw a shadow slipping out of the tent.
Beside him, Dicky too was awake. ‘You know where that bugger’s going?’ he whispered.
‘Where?’
‘Bet he’s going to have a dip. I heard the bhistis have found a pond nearby. Let’s follow him, men; we can also cool off a little.’
‘But what if Bobbery-Bob …?’
Raju remembered that the fife-major had said that he’d flog anyone who was found outside the tent.
‘Balls to bloody Bobbery-Bob,’ hissed Dicky. ‘I’m going, men.’
With a twist of his body Dicky slipped under the tent-flap. A second later Raju followed.
A red-rimmed moon was shining dimly through a pearly haze. In the faint light they caught a glimpse of the bhisti’s crouched figure darting past the nearest picket, heading towards an incline where a body of water could be seen shimmering in the darkness.
They followed slowly, staying low and keeping their eyes on the bhisti as he crept ahead to the water’s edge. Having made sure that nobody was around, the man stripped off his ungah and his pyjamas, and slid quietly into the pond.
‘It’s safe, see?’ said Dicky. ‘Come on, men, let’s go.’
They took a few more steps forward and were only a short distance from the water when they saw the bhisti coming out and reaching for his clothes.
Then something else caught Dicky’s eye and he ducked under a bush, pulling Raju down with him.
Peering through the leaves, they saw that three shadowy figures had crept up behind the bhisti as he was pulling on his ungah. Before he could push his head through the neck-hole the shadows lunged at him; with his face still swaddled in the garment, the bhisti was pushed down on to his knees.
All this happened very quickly so that the bhisti’s single cry for help — Bachao! — was still hanging in the air when a blade flashed in the silvery moonlight. Then the man’s decapitated trunk tumbled forward and the ungah was whisked away, with the head still inside.
The bundle of white cloth seemed to float off into the darkness as the three figures melted back into the shadows.
A voice called out from the picket — Kaun hai — who goes there? — and then the guards went running past. Somewhere in the distance an alarm bell began to ring, causing a stir in the camp.
‘Come on, men.’ Dicky gave Raju’s arm a tug. ‘Follow me and stay low.’
The camp was in an uproar now so nobody noticed the two boys as they slipped back into their tent.
Once they were under their sheets Raju whispered into Dicky’s ear: ‘We should tell someone what we saw, no men?’
‘Fuck off, bugger!’ Dicky hissed back. ‘Mad or what? Bobbery-Bob will stick a tent-pole up your chute if he hears you were out there. And mine too.’
Raju tried to close his eyes but found that he was shivering, despite the heat. Through the chattering of his teeth he caught the sound of metal tools biting into the soil — somewhere nearby a grave was being prepared for the decapitated bhisti.
In a while Dicky whispered into his ear: ‘You know why they took his head?’
‘Why?’
‘Must be for the reward, no?’
‘How do you know?’
‘What else? Don’t you wonder, men, how much they’d get for your head or mine?’
*
At dawn, when the reveille was sounded, the air was still hot and heavy. The men and boys of B Company were drenched in sweat even before the morning hazree — and as luck would have it they were served the item they hated most: potatoes.
As they were eating an alarm bell began to ring: Chinese soldiers had been spotted in the distance, issuing from the city’s northern and western gates.
Kesri had barely drained his mug of tea when Captain Mee came striding over. He told Kesri that B Company and the 37th Madras would be the first units to move out of the camp; General Gough wanted to study the enemy’s movements and they had been detailed to accompany him to a hillock, a mile or so away.
The sepoys fell in hurriedly and marched out of the camp with drums beating and fifes playing. But once they entered the rice-fields it became impossible to keep good order: just as Kesri had thought, the paddies were flooded. The men were ordered to fall out and advance in single file, along the bunds.
Soon all pretence of marching was abandoned; to keep their footing was as much as the sepoys could do. Churned up by their feet, the clay turned into a slippery slurry; the sepoys had to plant their musket-barrels in the mud to steady themselves. But even then some could not keep their balance and toppled over into the paddies. Once down, pinioned by their knapsacks and constrained by their tight, heavy uniforms, they could do nothing but flail their limbs until they were pulled out.
The officers had an even harder time of it: unlike the sepoys, who were in sandals, they were shod in heavy boots and were reduced to shuffling along sidewise, with their arms spread out for balance.