The Elephant Keeper's Daughter Page 5

  Their footsteps receded, and Phera heard them darting amongst the cinnamon trees.

  “He got away, sir,” the second voice said. “If the child warns the king, we’re dead.”

  “Nobody will warn the king. My own people are guarding him tonight,” he retorted. “They will let only General Brownrigg through so he can take Vikrama Rajasinha captive, and that’ll be before daybreak. Now take my message to the general. I must get back to the wedding before anyone misses me.”

  Phera lay beneath the bushes, rigid with fear, listening to the sounds of the night. Elephants shuffled in their stalls, owls hooted in the trees, and small rodents rustled through the undergrowth. Her scratches stung, but she just gritted her teeth.

  Once she was sure the men would not return, Phera climbed warily out of the bushes and raced through the moonless night to her parents’ home. It was clear to her that enemy soldiers were at the gate of the city and the king was in danger.

  The wedding party was still in full swing when she rushed back into the garden. Fire-eaters, jugglers, and acrobats were showing off their tricks to enthusiastic applause.

  She found her father with several of her uncles. Seated on comfortable chairs and sofas, goblets of palm wine in their hands, they were all deep in discussion.

  “Papa! Papa!”

  “What is it, Phera? I’m busy at the moment,” he said. But as he turned to shoo her off, his eyes widened. “Child! You look as if you’ve had a fight with a leopard.” He reached out toward the red marks on her face and hands. Her shirt and sarong were spattered with blood and dirt.

  “I have to tell you something, Papa!” Leaning close to his ear, she whispered everything that had happened at the stables. The more she recounted, the more dismayed Jeeva’s expression became.

  In the seventeen years he’d been on the throne, this was not the first attempt to depose Vikrama Rajasinha. His former patron, the first adikarm or most senior minister, Pilima Talawe, had offered to kill the king for the British twelve years ago if they would help him take the Crown. This plot failed, but Vikrama Rajasinha later had the man executed for high treason. Jeeva had thought it a mistake when the king then appointed, of all people, Pilima’s own nephew, Ehelopola, as first adikarm, and had not been surprised when the king discovered that Ehelopola was also plotting against him. Unlike his uncle, however, Ehelopola managed to flee to the territory under British rule. Hearing Phera’s tale tonight, Jeeva immediately suspected the man’s involvement.

  Jeeva’s eyes ranged over the guests. The most important of the king’s palace officials, generals, district administrators, temple superintendents, and monks were all in his home for this great occasion. Feeling uneasy, he wondered if he should bring the party to a close, send the guests home, and take his family to safety. With a slight shake of the head, he decided against it. This would only arouse suspicion and do nothing to help the king.

  He took some deep breaths and placed his hands on Phera’s shoulders. “My child, you have done the right thing, and I am proud of you. I’ll take care of everything else myself. Go to your mother and stay close.”

  Jeeva stood up. He had to warn the king. Phera had reported that the king’s bodyguards counted amongst the traitors, so he would find a way of forcing his way through to his monarch. He would have to hurry if the king was to reach the safety of his highland fortress in Hanguranketha. Once the British had crossed the Kadugannawa Pass, the capital city and the king would lie exposed before them.

  Jeeva cleared a path through the crowd, smiling to left and right as he went and trying to arouse as little attention as possible. A guest seized his arm. “You don’t want to leave your own party before the end, now do you, Jeeva Maha Nuvara?” His voice was croaky, as if he were about to cough.

  Jeeva was wondering if he should take the man into his confidence. This guest was, after all, the second adikarm and a close confidant of the monarch. But he dismissed the idea. He could trust nobody. “I’m looking for the servants who are to prepare the fireworks, Deepal Sirisena.”

  The second adikarm nodded jovially. “Afterward I would very much like to talk to you about our children. My son and your daughter seem to like one another.” With a smile, he looked over at Tharindu and Mihiri. They were sitting on a sofa, their heads close together.

  “Indeed, Deepal.” Jeeva hurried onward, but just before he reached the gate, a servant rushed up to him, shouting.

  “Master! Foreign soldiers are in the city! They’re coming down Astawanka-veediya now.”

  A wave of panic spread through the gathering as these words were passed from ear to ear. Voices rang out in disbelief, and everyone spilled out onto the street. Jeeva scoured the crowd for his family. Upali had put his arm around Samitha and pulled her behind the stage with the acrobats, where they were protected from the jostling throng. Mihiri and Tharindu were stuck in the middle of the most densely packed group, but Anshu and Phera weren’t far away. Jeeva tried to reach them, but the mass of humanity swept him up and out to the street.

  The residents of Astawanka-veediya lined the street, watching in bewilderment as foreign soldiers took up positions on every corner, barking orders in a strange language. Apart from a few Indian sepoys, all the soldiers were English. Very few citizens of Senkadagala had ever seen a European. White faces and light hair glimmered eerily in the dark and left them shocked, as did the cannons rumbling down the street behind prancing black horses.

  “Papa!”

  Jeeva spun around and found Phera and Anshu pushing through the crowd to reach him. Phera seized his hand and he pulled her close. He put his other arm around Anshu. The three of them clung to one another, staring at the royal palace.

  “Mother, Father!” Mihiri appeared, flinging her arms around her parents. She hugged Phera, too.

  “Tharindu stayed by me. He made sure nothing happened.” She gestured toward the boy standing next to her, tension etched on his face. Jeeva thanked him absently. His eyes were still on the palace. Lights blazed from the windows, and torches burned at the gates. The foreign soldiers hurried back and forth before the walls.

  “So they’ve finally managed it,” said Jeeva, his voice choked with emotion.

  “What do you mean?” asked Phera.

  He sighed deeply. “The year you were born, the British tried to conquer Kanda Uda Pas Rata, but our own soldiers drove them back across the Mahaweli. The jungle took care of the rest. Their men and horses died of heat and fever, and a regiment of Indian sepoys came over to our side. The only reason the British have beaten us tonight is because they had the help of traitors. They must have shown them our secret routes through the jungle.”

  “If only I’d stopped those men,” Phera wailed.

  “It wasn’t just those two.” Jeeva looked at the palace again. The thought of Sri Vikrama Rajasinha being abducted by British soldiers grieved him deeply. Strangers from the end of the world had conquered the jungle kingdom of five mountains; the last free ruler on Lanka had fallen.

  “There you are, my son. I’ve been searching for you everywhere!”

  Slowly, Phera turned to look. She would have recognized that croaky voice amongst thousands. It belonged to an imposing-looking man in noble dress. Phera knew who he was, even though she had never met him. She would never have dreamed that Tharindu was this traitor’s son. Instinctively, she tugged the sleeves of her shirt down over her scratched fingers and hid behind her father’s shoulder.

  The second adikarm looked at the palace, too. “From now on, there’ll be better times for all of us,” he boasted. “We shall unite behind the British and regain access, at long last, to the sea, so that we can trade with the whole world.”

  Jeeva’s jaw dropped, and he hissed at the man in disgust. “The king trusted you, Deepal Sirisena! You are one of his closest advisers, and you have betrayed him!”

  “Don’t you dare speak to my father like that,” Tharindu shouted as he moved toward Jeeva, but Deepal restrained him.

 
“I want no fight here, son.” He looked first at Jeeva, then Phera, and lifted his eyebrows quizzically. “You have some interesting scratches on your face, child. Might they have anything to do with the thorny bushes around the stables?”

  Phera edged even closer to her father and gave no reply.

  Jeeva snorted. “If you threaten my child, Deepal, it will cost you dearly.”

  “Jeeva, please! Why so hostile?” Deepal replied. “I wish you no ill, nor your family. You call me a traitor, but you are wrong. My intentions are pure, and my actions serve the interests of the kingdom. The British already rule half the world, and they are on the way to becoming masters of it all. Do you imagine our little Kanda Uda Pas Rata can stand in their way? We must join them while we can still dictate terms.”

  “What terms?” Jeeva growled.

  “That the British guarantee respect for our laws, and that high offices in the law and the military will be occupied by our ministers and officials. That they will support Buddhism over other faiths, and protect our temples. These things would not otherwise be so, Jeeva.”

  Jeeva stared again at the palace. The foreign soldiers were lowering the Sinhalese lion flag. The Union Jack was soon fluttering from the mast. “What about the king?”

  “His reign is over. He will go into exile,” replied Deepal. “Don’t put yourself on the losing side, Jeeva. I’ve known you a long time; you’re a capable man. Join us. I’m counting on you, and I’m counting on a bond between our children, too.”

  Chapter Three

  Kandy, Ceylon, 1815

  Two weeks later, at the spring’s new moon, Jeeva was standing in the audience chamber with a hundred of the most important dignitaries in the kingdom. They were listening to an interpreter reading out in Sinhalese a contract between the British and the deposed king.

  While the interpreter declaimed all twelve paragraphs of the Kandyan Convention, Jeeva looked at the podium. Where the king had previously held court beneath his white sunshade, there now stood a few chairs and a modest table. On one of these chairs, surrounded by his officers, was the British supreme commander, Lieutenant General Sir Robert Brownrigg, a strapping man with white hair, inexpressive eyes, and a strangely florid complexion. His uniform of high boots, indecently tight trousers, and an equally closely fitting red jacket was disturbingly alien. On the wall behind Brownrigg, where the lion flag of the Nayaka dynasty had always hung, was an image of George III, King of England.

  Jeeva looked at Ehelopola, who was seated next to Brownrigg, and narrowed his eyes. With a show of apparent modesty, the one-time first adikarm had refused the governor’s offer of high office and satisfied himself with the title “Friend of the British Government.” But his conceited smile did not escape Jeeva.

  “This is a big day for us,” said a croaky voice behind Jeeva.

  He turned and came face-to-face with Deepal Sirisena.

  “I see you continue to hesitate. But trust me, friend, good times are dawning for our country,” said Deepal. He bowed his head slightly and climbed the two steps to the platform.

  After all the dignitaries, including Jeeva, had signed the document, Brownrigg stood to attention in front of the portrait of George III. “God save the king!”

  A gun salute sounded on the square outside, followed by loud cheers. But Jeeva slunk toward the exit. A day of celebration for some, but the day the mighty kingdom of Kanda Uda Pas Rata became the British territory of Kandy was a black day indeed for him.

  He felt someone tug at his jacket. It was Mahinda Dharmapala.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here, venerable hamudru,” said Jeeva. “Are you amongst those who believe that good times are dawning for our country?”

  “Has any conqueror ever brought better times?” replied the monk. “I am here because our king wants to see you.”

  Soon Jeeva was crossing the square in front of the audience chamber. The new rulers’ Light Dragoons Regiment had been massing here since morning. With bayonets fixed, they were there to warn against unrest during and after the signing.

  He entered the king’s palace to find the place teeming with more soldiers. They stood guard over the servants packing the king’s possessions into crates, dragging out his furniture, and bearing away huge stoneware jugs filled with gold and silver coins. Jeeva saw the king’s wives in one of the halls. Surrounded by their ladies-in-waiting, they huddled in a corner, nervously watching the comings and goings. Guarding the doors to the deposed monarch’s private quarters was more of the British military, but they let Jeeva through when they heard his name.

  Jeeva entered a little reception salon, then stopped dead in his tracks. All the precious furnishings, rugs, vases, and statues had vanished. But the sight of King Vikrama Rajasinha shocked him even more. No jewels, no jacket adorned with precious stones, no golden slippers. He was barefoot, like an ascetic, dressed only in a simple white shirt and sarong. He sat cross-legged on a straw mat.

  “Your Majesty!” Jeeva sank to his knees, bowing so deeply his forehead touched the floor.

  “Ayubowan, my dear friend. Please do get up. I am no longer the master to whom you have to bow your head.”

  Vikrama Rajasinha’s deep, mellifluous voice was tinged with sadness, and he refrained from the royal “we.” He gestured toward two men Jeeva had not noticed before. They nodded in acknowledgement.

  “May I introduce my companions? Major Greene and Mr. Doyle. Mr. Doyle will translate our conversation for the major.” After a short pause, he went on. “I have heard the gun salutes. So the conquerors are celebrating the end of my reign. My throne, my sunshade, and all insignia of my previous power are already on their way to Great Britain. They now belong to the new king and are to be exhibited in his castle. They tell me it is called Windsor.”

  “I am truly sorry,” murmured Jeeva.

  Vikrama Rajasinha raised his hand. “I forbid you from mourning. I have accepted my destiny. In the next few days, my wives and I will be taken to South India and Vellore Fort. This is where I shall live under the supervision of the British.”

  Jeeva could not speak. It was no secret that the king had to go into exile, but to hear it from the lips of the man himself, the man he had served for so long, touched him deeply. The Nayaka dynasty had ruled the country for almost eighty years and had always been linked to the fate of the Maha Nuvara family. The end of the Nayaka rule left Jeeva feeling he had lost his own roots.

  Vikrama Rajasinha looked at him long and hard with his dark eyes. “Before we say farewell forever, please allow me to thank you for your loyal service.” He grasped Jeeva’s right hand and put something in his palm. Jeeva caught sight of a tiny figurine, an ivory elephant. The king clasped Jeeva’s fingers and closed them to make a small fist around the little figure. “You know what I am entrusting you with, Gajanayake Nilame?”

  Jeeva felt a shudder run down his spine. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “You will take good care of it?”

  Involuntarily, Jeeva glanced over at the two Englishmen by the window. The interpreter was translating everything in a quiet voice, but the officer seemed to show no interest. His only reaction consisted of a suppressed yawn.

  Jeeva let out a deep breath. “I will give my life for it, Your Majesty.”

  “Another bloodsucking beast! Heat and mosquitoes, that’s all this appalling country has to offer!” The young Englishman in a Royal Engineers uniform slapped at his own neck. “How could I ever have thought Ceylon would be an adventure?”

  His associate laughed. “Don’t be silly, Charles. In India it was even hotter, and there were midges there, too.” He wore no uniform, just a brown suit, a white shirt with a high collar, and a cravat. Both men were in their early twenties. They were tall and slim, with dark hair, dark eyes, prominent noses, and sensual lips.

  The mosquito-plagued captain was openly ogling a group of women on the other side of Astawanka-veediya, and now he whistled at them. The women drew the veils of their saris over their heads
and hurried away, their faces averted.

  “Indian women aren’t prudish like that,” he complained. “And they’re prettier, too.”

  “Watch out Major Thompson doesn’t hear you,” chided the civilian. “You know his orders, Charles.”

  “I know, I know. Respect the locals and leave the women alone. But you’re not going to tell on me, are you, Henry?”

  “No, but don’t overdo it.”

  “There you go being softhearted again, little brother. You know I’m bored to death in this hole. Since we marched in two weeks ago, we’ve had nothing to do. No women, no drink, and not even a jungle trip for a spot of elephant and leopard hunting. Gosh, Henry, just look at that fellow there!” He pointed toward a Sinhalese man coming down the other side of the street. His upper body was naked, a sarong wrapped round his hips, and his long hair was tied up in a bun. “Another of these effeminate chaps! It’s disgusting! Why do you men in this damned country dress yourselves up like women?” Charles advanced on the man, who froze, staring at him in amazement.

  “Answer me, you brown monkey!” Charles’s hand went to the hilt of his saber. The Sinhalese’s eyes were wide in fear and disbelief. He moved to run, but Charles seized him by the arm so hard, the man cried out in pain.

  “Release him immediately!” Henry pushed his brother aside.

  The Sinhalese man stumbled backward and rushed away. The two brothers glared at each other for several seconds, ready for a fight. Eventually, Charles’s hand dropped from his saber, and he walked away.

  “You never were any fun,” he snarled at his brother.

  Henry followed him. “Since we’ve been here, I don’t recognize you. Why are you being so detestable?”

  “For heaven’s sake, you needn’t take everything so seriously. This loafing about is unbearable. And anyway, what do these monkeys mean to you?”

  “You mean ‘people,’ Charles.”

  “Let’s stop talking about it. Have I told you Brownrigg has finally given me permission to commandeer a few elephants?”