The Elephant Keeper's Daughter Read online

  When Mahinda came in search of him just before dawn for their meditation practice, he gave Henry a searching look. “You are happy.”

  “Yes, my friend,” said Henry. “I am happy because some of my difficulties are resolving themselves.”

  When Charles arrived at the construction site the following day, he couldn’t believe his eyes. During his three-week absence, the work had moved no further forward. He dug in the spurs, and his horse shot down the rubble track.

  “What’s going on here? Have you already packed up for the day?” he bellowed.

  The few remaining workers fled into nearby undergrowth at the sight of the raging commander.

  Charles urged his horse on toward his tent and pulled up sharply outside. “Boy! Where are you hiding?”

  “Here, sir!” The frightened orderly came running out.

  Charles jumped down from his horse and threw the young man the reins. “Unsaddle, water, feed! Where is everybody? Why is nobody at work here?”

  “We’ve had an epidemic, Major,” the orderly told him. “We’ve all been sick.”

  “Sick? Everyone?” Charles’s jaw dropped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “A plague broke out. The most awful diarrhea. A lot of men didn’t think they’d make it.”

  Charles frowned. “What am I paying a doctor for if he can’t prevent an outbreak of disease?”

  “Permission to speak, Major. But Dr. Odell wasn’t here.”

  “Come again?”

  “He left for Colombo right after you did. And while all of us were flat out, the coolies made off.”

  Charles was incandescent. “This is unacceptable! I leave for a couple of days and everything goes completely haywire! Has Dr. Odell come back?”

  “Yes, sir. A week ago, sir. He is in the field hospital at this very moment.”

  Charles gave the boy a disgusted look and stormed off toward the sick tent. “Henry!” he roared, frightening the sick men on their cots. “Where the devil are you?”

  Henry soon appeared from the back of the tent, a medicine bottle in one hand and a spoon in the other. “You’re back, brother dear.”

  “Report to my tent. Immediately!”

  Henry looked thunderstruck. Then he turned and went back to the patient he had been treating. Only after that was complete did he set off to see Charles. When Henry stepped into the tent, his brother was pacing like a caged leopard. “How frightfully kind of you to appear at last!”

  “And a very good day to you, too. You look full of energy. Your malaria attack seems to have subsided.”

  “Stop that bootlicking. I want to know why you neglected your duties. A doctor who takes off on a whim is one I can do without!”

  Henry stiffened. “You abandoned the site as well, in spite of being chief engineer!”

  “Don’t blame me for what happened! If you hadn’t absconded, my men wouldn’t have fallen ill and the coolies wouldn’t have buggered off. Have you even the slightest idea how much this delay will cost us?”

  “Not a great deal, I’d have thought, as the coolies don’t get paid, anyway,” said Henry. “But it’s true that I regret my absence. I do share the guilt.”

  “What did you want in Colombo?”

  “That’s got nothing to do with you.”

  “That’s where you’re very much mistaken. You deserted, and I can make you formally accountable for that. How about running the gauntlet? Or would you prefer branding?”

  “I’d be very careful with hasty punishments—your own excursion leaves you equally guilty of desertion,” retorted Henry. “In any case, I am not subject to your authority. The construction of this road is not a military deployment, and I am, as you so often remind me, a civilian, not a soldier.”

  Charles was taken aback by Henry’s newfound self-assurance. Irritated, he hissed, “Anyway, I know what you wanted in Colombo. Whores and opium.”

  Henry shrugged. He had no interest in what Charles thought of him. Since he had found out that Phera was a woman, he felt full of an unshakable inner strength.

  “And what was the reason for your own hurried journey?” he inquired calmly. “It must have been very important for you to have left the site without so much as a by-your-leave.”

  Charles gave a nasty smile. “I got permission from Paget to take military action against that nest of rebel vipers in Mapitigama. When I tried to come to an amicable arrangement with the people there, that monkey on an elephant tried to kill me. But I’m not going to be tyrannized by a bunch of savages.”

  “You did what?” Henry blanched. “You need written orders from the governor for that.”

  “And so I got them.” With a triumphant gesture, Charles pulled a folded sheet of paper from his inside pocket and waved it about.

  “Show me!” Henry tried to grab it, but Charles skillfully whipped it away again.

  “What’s this? You’re doubting my word now?” Swiftly, he stuck the paper back in his jacket pocket. Henry stepped toward him again, but Charles pushed him back roughly. “Get out of here. In fact, go to hell. I need to work out how to get hold of new workers.”

  Henry grabbed his brother by the collar. “You’re a damnable bastard, and it’s time someone put a stop to it.” He stormed out of the tent.

  Burning with hatred, Charles watched him go. His resentment, however, was directed not only at Henry but also at all the malingering soldiers and engineers, all the coolies who had been so disrespectful as to run off, and all the people of Mapitigama, those old men, women, and children who had dared to stand up to him. When he thought of how they had humiliated him, particularly that boy with his elephant, he felt like a steam boiler about to burst.

  Now was the time to bend every soul in that unruly village to his will, to make every single one of them beg for mercy. And he would shoot that brute of an elephant right off its feet and have them made into a nice stool or two. He stomped out of the tent.

  “A horse and six-man mounted escort—now!”

  Henry heard the shouting from the farthest corner of the hospital tent. Concerned, he hurried to the entrance and peered outside. If his brother was shouting for horses and men, it could only mean one thing—he was planning to take revenge on Mapitigama immediately. Henry rushed to head them off at the stable tent. When Charles’s orderly led his superior’s horse out of the tent, Henry pushed aside the astonished young man and seized the bridle.

  “Wait!” he shouted as his brother made to put his foot in the stirrup. “Let me negotiate with the people first. We can find a peaceful solution.” He looked at the soldiers, who watched with unease but dared not get involved.

  “Enough out of you!” Charles got hold of the pommel, ready to mount, but Henry pulled him back.

  “Be fair for once in your life, Charles! I beg you.”

  Charles raised his riding crop. For a split second, Henry braced himself to be struck in the face, but at the last minute, Charles remembered that they had an audience.

  “Very well, then,” he snarled, lowering his arm. “You get one chance. You’ll only make a fool of yourself, in any case.”

  “We’ll see about that!” Henry pushed Charles out of his way, swung himself into the saddle, and galloped off.

  “Would you all like another story?”

  Mahinda was seated beneath the Bodhi tree, looking at the village children gathered around him. The oldest of the menfolk, together with some mothers and grandmothers, including Anshu and Samitha, had joined them. Phera was also there. She had left Siddhi safely in their hiding place.

  The children cheered at the prospect of another tale in the life of the Enlightened One. Only Thambo grumbled. “No story. I want to play!”

  The grown-ups laughed. Samitha, full of a mother’s pride, kissed her son, and Phera leaned over to tickle him until he squealed with delight.

  Mahinda just smiled. His gaze rested on Phera’s graceful form. He had not seen Jeeva Maha Nuvara’s daughter since the night the British had marc
hed into Senkadagala. The child may have grown, but he’d recognize her anywhere.

  She was wearing men’s clothing, but her body language, her voice, and her laughter made it clear she was a woman. He knew that the conflicting strengths of her birth horoscope had not dealt her an easy destiny. It seemed to him as if she was still living in two worlds, and he wondered how she managed.

  Mahinda cleared his throat. “I’ll tell you a very short one; then you can go and play. Ready? Once a man asked the Enlightened One, ‘Are you a god?’ And Buddha replied—” He looked at the children, waiting for the answer.

  “No!” they chorused.

  Mahinda, laughing, carried on. “Then the man asked Buddha, ‘Are you an angel?’ And Buddha replied—”

  “No!” came the joyful cry.

  “The man asked a third time,” Mahinda continued, leaning forward, his eyes wide. “‘Are you a—’”

  Hoofbeats drummed in the distance, rapidly getting louder and closer. The villagers shrank together with fear. Mothers held their children close.

  They braced themselves for bloodthirsty Charles Odell and soldiers, come to take revenge for being chased off several weeks prior. And yet today just one horseman raced into the village square. They all relaxed a little when they realized it was not Major Odell.

  Mahinda stood up. “Ayubowan, Henry Odell. What brings you here, friend?”

  Henry pulled up his foaming horse and leapt from the saddle. “You are all in danger! The whole village! We must call a meeting. Gather everyone together, including the men. They’re hiding close by, is that right?”

  The women looked at one another, shocked and uncertain. What was all this about? Could they trust this Englishman, or was it a trap to drag their men back to the building site, where they would doubtless be severely punished?

  But Mahinda calmed them. “We can trust him. Send the children to fetch the men.”

  “What happened?” he asked Henry.

  “My brother is back from Colombo—with worrying news.”

  Mahinda nodded solemnly in reply. “For as long as he’s there, I won’t be able to come to the camp for our meditation practice.”

  “Of course,” answered Henry. “I wouldn’t have you risk it.”

  Half an hour later, all the villagers were seated beneath the Bodhi tree. The escaped workers had left their jungle hideout and joined the group, all except a few watchmen who kept a close eye on the jungle in the direction of the building site.

  In just a few words, Henry reported that Charles had acquired written orders from the governor to take armed action against the residents of Mapitigama.

  “My brother thinks I’ve come to persuade you to abandon your village, but”—he raised his hand in response to angry murmurs—“in truth, I have come to try and find, with you, a way out.”

  Anshu, Samitha, and Phera exchanged looks. They knew better than anyone what Charles’s “armed action” really meant.

  Then Anshu felt all eyes turn to her and was seized by panic. The people expected their widan to protect them, to make a wise decision. But she had not the slightest idea what tiny, defenseless Mapitigama could do when faced with the devil incarnate. The only defense against Charles Odell was to run as far away as possible.

  While she racked her brains for words to convey to the people hope and confidence that she herself did not feel, she heard Mahinda’s voice.

  “What exactly did this order say?” he asked. “We need the details.”

  “I didn’t read the document,” Henry replied. “I wanted to, but Charles wouldn’t let me.”

  “So there could have been anything on that piece of paper.”

  Henry’s eyes widened, and he felt a fool for believing his brother’s claim. On reflection, he realized it may well have been a lie. Paget was reputed to be a prudent man who avoided armed conflict where possible.

  “I’ll look at the document myself,” he said, getting to his feet.

  Phera jumped up, too. “No matter what it is, Charles Odell will never stop tormenting us, because he has no wish to live in peace with us. He doesn’t know the meaning of the word.” She slipped her hand inside her shirt and, to Henry’s amazement, produced a dagger. “There’s only one way of protecting ourselves!” She brandished the weapon. “Charles Odell must die!”

  “But not by your hand!” Anshu was on her feet now, too.

  Angrily, Phera looked back at her. “Have you forgotten what he did to us, Mother? Mihiri’s blood is on his hands, and Father’s. And the blood of Psindu, Upali, of Deepal, Tharindu, and Kalani. He did appalling things to Samitha, who—”

  “Stop it!” Samitha screamed. “Never speak the words!”

  Henry stood mute, as if rooted to the spot. In the oppressive silence which now hung over the gathering, he slowly understood what he had just heard. Phera, a daughter of Anshu and Jeeva Maha Nuvara, must have been present at the massacre. But he could not remember seeing her. Where had she been when Charles and his soldiers had savaged her family? Suddenly, the image of the mud-covered creature under the veranda came back to him, the creature that had fled, screaming, from Jeeva’s execution. How could she ever love him, the brother of her family’s torturer? Until a few minutes ago, he had been happy from head to foot. Now his exhilaration collapsed in on itself.

  As if from afar, he heard Phera’s voice.

  “We don’t need to know what’s on the piece of paper. We just need to kill Charles Odell.”

  “Be quiet!” Anshu rounded on her daughter. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying? You think the British will let any of us live if we murder one of their own?” She looked fearfully at Henry.

  He cleared his throat to speak. “Have no concerns, Anshu Maha Nuvara. I am here to assist.” He looked at Phera. “But I don’t want you to murder my brother. Your mother is right. My countrymen would hunt you down.”

  Phera’s grip on the dagger was so fierce that her knuckles showed white. “I’ll just flee to India afterward.” Her voice shook a little. “The British will never find me.”

  “You’re mistaken. India is full of Britons—especially soldiers.” He was desperate. He wanted to put his arms around her, to comfort her until the hatred melted from her eyes. He wanted to beg her to love him, even though his brother was a monster. How could he ever find a way to her heart?

  “Get this vengeful murder out of your head once and for all,” said Anshu, her voice stern. “Doing anything like that will give you a burden of guilt throughout your future lives.”

  “Why should I care about my future lives?” hissed Phera. “I want back the peace of mind that he has robbed from me in this life! Surely you can’t have stopped missing Father.”

  “Phera! You are forgetting yourself!” snapped Anshu.

  Mahinda stepped in. “Your mother’s words are wise, Phera. Revenge won’t bring you peace of mind.”

  Phera was silent, torn between desperation and the knowledge that the monk was right.

  Nobody spoke. For a long time, the soft weeping of a child, frightened by Phera’s shouting, was the only sound.

  Anshu turned to Henry. “Your brother could come with his soldiers anytime. Before you even have the chance to see the document. How do we escape his violence?”

  Henry’s thoughts were frantic. “Surround the village with guards, and take them food so they can be on duty day and night. Be prepared to leave at any time.”

  “Abandon our village? So the British get everything they want?” one of the men shouted.

  “Not entirely,” said Henry. “Construction is at a standstill because my brother has hardly any workers left. But your lives are in immediate danger. I fear that my brother will punish you for your resistance, and cruelly so.”

  “But what will happen to our Bodhi tree?” asked the oldest of the men. “Who will protect our sacred tree if we all flee?”

  “Nobody. But your lives are more precious than the tree.”

  Angry murmurs got louder.

>   “You should not give your lives for the tree,” Mahinda announced. “It is a very old, fragile tree, which will soon die.”

  The village elder spat a disdainful stream of betel juice. “And I’m very old, and very fragile, too. I’m staying with our tree.”

  “What about taking a cutting with us?” suggested Anshu. “The tree will live on through the cutting.”

  There were a lot of furrowed brows, but nobody could come up with anything better, so the villagers were forced to accept Henry’s and Anshu’s suggestions. Soon the meeting broke up.

  Henry had just mounted his horse to ride back to the camp when Phera stepped in his path. The rage and hatred that he had earlier seen in her face was gone. She smiled and stroked the horse’s nose.

  “I’d like to come part of the way with you. I’ve never ridden a horse.”

  He held out his hand. “Climb aboard.”

  She grabbed hold and put one foot in the stirrup. He pulled her up and helped her settle in the saddle in front of him. This meant touching her arms and hips, and he thought how he had never been so close to her before. He breathed in the scent of her skin and had to stop himself kissing the back of her neck.

  Charles be damned. He could not deny his feelings for Phera. He could not give her up before they had even started.

  He let go of her supple body with reluctance and slid his hands under her arms, first right, then left, to take the reins. She wriggled a bit to find a comfortable position in the saddle. The curve of her buttocks pressed against the very top of his thighs. He longed to drop the reins and wrap his arms around her. But he managed to stifle his desire, gently squeezing his heels in his horse’s sides.

  Once the animal had set off, she looked at him over her shoulder. “You’ve helped my people yet again. You may be an Englishman, but you’re a good Englishman.” She gave an impish smile, and he yearned to kiss her beautiful mouth.

  At a further squeeze, the horse broke into a trot. Phera let out a little shriek of surprise. Sitting astride Siddhi’s broad neck felt very different from sitting on this animal, its back narrow and in constant movement. Henry quickly placed an arm around her and held her close.