The Ravi Lancers (30 page)

He moved on, among men now dancing in the street in the dusk, and powder bursting like bombs against doors and windows, and the sound of the band a spring wind in the air, full of longing.

‘Sowar Alam Singh, Ravi Lancers, you are charged under Section 40 of the Indian Army Act with desertion in the face of the enemy, in that ..

The voice of the British lieutenant-colonel of the 1 /12th Gurkhas droned on with the details of the charge in fluent Hindustani. At the end he said, ‘How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?’

‘Guilty, sahib,’ the prisoner replied promptly.

The colonel said, ‘Since the charge is liable to the death penalty, your plea must be recorded as Not Guilty. The trial will proceed on that basis.’

Krishna Ram settled more comfortably in his chair behind the two blanket-covered tables. The General Court Martial was being held in Divisional HQ at Pont des Moines, five miles farther back than St. Hubert. The other members of the court were Krishna, Captain Sher Singh, Captain Longmire of the 71st Punjabis, and 2nd Lieutenant Puran Lall.

The evidence was plain. Sowar Alam Singh had run away during the debacle at Hill 73, and had disappeared. The rest of his squadron had stopped when they reached B Squadron standing steady in the old front line; but Alam Singh had kept on, not running now but walking, all the way past the reserve regiments, past the gun lines until he reached an Indian AT company. He’d spent the night there, the next day got into a cattle truck on a train and stayed in it till it stopped, six hours later. Then he’d walked across a couple of fields, knocked at the door of an isolated farm, and by gestures asked for food. It was a lonely farm, the men away at the war, and two women, an old one and a young one, had looked after him. They kept pigs and chickens and had no man to do the heavy work. Alam Singh became their farm labourer.

‘What did you do while at the farm?’ the defending officer asked in his examination-in-chief.

‘Worked, sahib. I worked hard. Those Fransezi women showed me much that I did not know about pigs. Their pigs were bigger than any I have seen. Their chickens laid more and bigger eggs.’

‘Did you intend to return to the regiment?’

‘No, sahib,’ the man said. ‘I was tired of the war. I wanted to leave a month before, and return to my farm at home, but the major-sahib--Bholanath--would not permit it. I had then served the Rajah five years, as I promised when I joined.’

Krishna thought, he’s one of the old type, brave, tenacious, simple, totally honest. Since he had missed the rigorous training that Warren had given the regiment since the debacle at Hill 73 he had not, like the rest of the men, become harder, tougher, more sophisticated, and, to tell the truth, less likable. Such a man as Alam Singh still was could not survive in the new regiment. It would be better for him, and the Rajah, and the regiment, if he were allowed to go back to farming.

The defending officer tried hard to get the sowar to say that he had intended to return to the regiment some day--for the intention never to return is the essence of the crime of desertion; but Alam Singh remained adamant that he intended to give up soldiering forever. The prosecuting officer, Dayal Ram, hardly had to prove any of the points that he needed to substantiate the charge, for they had all been proven for him. The evidence completed, Major Bholanath gave witness of the man’s excellent character, and--until the time of his absence--reliability. The prosecution did not rebut that, and the court retired to consider their verdict.

The colonel turned to the junior officer, as was the order of a court martial, and asked him for his opinion. Puran Lall glanced covertly at Krishna, looking for a lead as to what the prince thought; but the colonel said irritably, ‘Don’t look at Major Krishna Ram, man! What do you think?’

‘I think, guilty,’ Puran Lall said, ‘but ...’

‘That’s all I’m asking you now,’ the colonel snapped. ‘Longmire?’

‘Guilty.’

One by one the other officers followed suit, all saying, ‘Guilty.’ The colonel said, ‘Now, the punishment. As you know, the Indian Army Act says that this crime shall be punished by “death or such less punishment as the court shall decide”. In other words we have complete latitude to award any punishment whatsoever, and as we are a General Court Martial, we have the power to award the death penalty ... I consider this man’s crime as serious as it could be. He ran away in the face of the enemy. He found a safe place a hundred miles in the rear and simply stayed there, betraying his oath, his comrades, and his military duty. He lived with these two French women and God knows what he didn’t... well, that’s not in the charge, and the women said he’d been a model labourer and had done nothing against them or anyone else. But they’d say that anyway ... The general thinks that desertions will increase disastrously if we don’t jump hard on the ones we catch. So ... Mr. Puran Lall?’

Again Puran Lall sought Krishna Ram’s eyes. Krishna imperceptibly shook his head. He had suddenly decided that the man must not be shot. He was an Indian farmer. No one but other farmers, other Indians, other men from Ravi, could really understand what he had done and why.

Puran Lall understood, and said, ‘Not death, sir. Some years imprisonment. I do not know how many.’

The colonel said impatiently, ‘If that’s what you say we’d better vote first for or against the death penalty. Then we can settle the number of years if we have to. You are against the death penalty in this case?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Longmire?’

‘Death, sir.’

‘Sher Singh?’

‘Not death, sir.’

‘Major Krishna Ram?’

‘I am against the death penalty, sir.’

The colonel shuffled his papers angrily. ‘I am of the opinion--strongly--that the man deserves death. But we are three to two against, and I so record it. Now, what do you suggest as the appropriate punishment for this ... the most serious crime a soldier can commit? Two extra guards, perhaps, Major Krishna Ram?’ Krishna thought, this procedure was all very well for the British, and for them it worked well; but for Indians it was better to discuss, for everyone to have his say and for everyone to be aware of what the others thought, the decision would not then be the result of a hard mathematical count--so many yes, so many no--but a consensus, a compromise commonly arrived at. By attacking with this sarcastic question the colonel had given him the chance he needed.

He said, ‘I think Alam Singh should serve the army for the same period he failed to, and then he should be dismissed to go back to Ravi. He believed he had done all that he undertook to do when he enlisted five years ago, and according to our thoughts, that is true. I would recommend that he be given four months rigorous imprisonment, to be served in the ranks of the regiment, and then to be discharged.’

The two other Indians spoke up at once, ‘I agree, sir. Four months rigorous imprisonment.’

The colonel turned to the young British captain and said, ‘It looks as though we are outnumbered, Longmire ... Well, he’s your man, Major Krishna Ram. If this is the sort of discipline you keep in the Ravi Lancers I’m not surprised your people run away. Call the court back into session.’

When it was all over Krishna walked slowly back up the road, noticing with another part of his mind that there was more traffic than usual, loaded carts going forward, empties coming back. He stopped half an hour at the Regimental Aid Post to visit the sick and talk to Ramaswami. When he got back to the regiment there was a message for him to report at once to Major Bateman.

Warren’s nose was pinched, the broad face closed. ‘Colonel Lovat’s been by. He told me about the proceedings of the court. I don’t understand how you could press for this ... ridiculous punishment in a case of desertion. If you have any explanation, I’d like to hear it.’

Krishna Ram said, ‘Sir .. ‘ He stopped. Warren did not understand. Warren would never understand. Perhaps he might have, back in India, but not here, not in the tightening grip of the war. He said, ‘I believe I understand what Alam Singh thought, what he felt. We changed his obligation when we embodied the regiment into the Indian Army. In Ravi a man can leave whenever he wants to, after his agreed term of service is up.’

‘Always? In war?’ Warren snapped.

‘Yes, sir. But a man left in war would have his action judged. I mean, the people would decide whether he was leaving for cowardice, or from some proper reason. To till the fields is always a proper reason. The ground must be seeded and grow its fruit, the Brahmins say.’

Warren said, ‘I am dissatisfied with your reasoning and with your action. Also with the
panchayat
proceedings on Sher Singh. I suppose I ought to have known that
he’d
do whatever you wanted, though. That’s all.’

Krishna Ram saluted and went out. Poor Warren ... but he was a good man, too, and the hell of a soldier. He had never told Warren about the letter Diana had written him. He wondered why. It still warmed his tunic pocket. He reached his billet and took it out to read it once more.

The following afternoon was the last day of the Holi celebrations. The celebration of fertility was over, and there remained only a morning of prayer outside the temple, the regiment squatting on the grass while the Brahmin read extracts from the holy books and the rissaldar-major gave a short speech; then, in the afternoon, gymkhana sports. A long awning was set up on one side of the biggest field, under it chairs and benches and stools and boxes of every kind set in rows to make seats and tables for the officers and VCOs. In the centre a large sofa, most of its springs showing, held the CO and the rissaldar-major. Brandy appeared, and bottles of wine, while Captain Sohan Singh cheerfully rubbed his fat hands. When Warren Bateman said, ‘Good God, man, where on earth did you get all this?’ he bowed and grinned and said, ‘On information received, sah! ‘ Krishna sipped brandy and water and watched the
kabaddi
. The players’ oiled bodies began to glisten as the game progressed, changing from shivering goose-pimples at the beginning to a full sweat at the end. Then came wrestling, and Krishna’s old squadron, A, emerged as champion, though no one could beat that fat Dafadar Bural Ram in B, who was rumoured to have been a professional somewhere down country before coming to Basohli ... to escape a criminal charge in British India, it was also said. Then came foot races, then hurdle racing on horses borrowed from a cavalry regiment, the riders seated backwards, and bareback.

Puran Lall was sitting a little to Krishna’s right. Krishna leaned across and said, ‘The squadron’s doing well, Puran.’

The young man was staring straight ahead, apparently watching the sowars setting up the hurdles that had been knocked over in the first heat.

‘Puran! ‘ Krishna said, more loudly.

The young man started and turned his head. ‘Sir?’

‘I said, A Squadron’s doing well.’

‘Yes, sir. I was thinking of my brother. My father wrote, you know. He said I must kill many Germans to revenge Ishar.’

Krishna Ram said, ‘We have to kill them, but I don’t think we should feel revenge.’

Puran Lall said, ‘I don’t know ... On the court martial yesterday one part of me wanted to sentence Alam Singh to death because he had escaped to live while my brother died and because he had let us all down, so that they’--he lowered his voice--’the sahibs--can make jokes about us ... Another part of me was thinking, if he does not want to fight at my side, I don’t want him. It is difficult to know what is right.’

‘It is,’ Krishna Ram said. Then, ‘Have a drink. You’ll forget more easily.’

‘I don’t want to forget,’ Puran Lall said grimly.

The last item began. Sowars under the woordie-major ran out and placed a line of tent pegs across the field. Bareback, their feet and legs bare below the military breeches, the competing riders took position at the far end, each carrying one of the lances that had been borrowed with the horses. Then they started down, one by one. Beginning at a canter they passed the awning at full gallop, lance point lowered, and tried to impale a tent peg on the point. As they galloped away the lance point swung up behind them, and the crowd gave a triumphant yell or a loud hiss according as to whether the peg was seen on the point or not.

A dozen villagers were watching the spectacle from the other side of the field, among them the woman who owned Lieutenant Dayal Ram’s billet. She clapped and called out encouragement in French every time it came to Dayal’s turn. As he got through the preliminary heats, never failing to spear the tent peg, her excitement increased. She was, of course, Dayal’s mistress, Krishna thought; she never attempted to hide it, rather flaunting the fact that the handsome Indian was her lover. Dayal Ram took as little trouble to conceal the liaison, though he never flaunted it in front of the CO. Now, as his lance point swept down for the last time, he needing only this peg to win the championship, the woman stood out in front of the other villagers, her hands clasped and her body tensed. The bay mare stretched into the gallop. Dayal leaned forward, the steel point eased down down down ... He yelled
‘Yeh hai!’
at the top of his voice, the tent peg whirling up on the point behind him. As the sowars jumped up, applauding, he reined in and slipped to the ground, all in one movement, and the French woman ran into his arms. He laughed, hugging her, while all the sowars laughed to see her simple joy. Krishna, glancing along the line of officers, saw that they were all standing, except the CO. Warren Bateman’s face was set in an expression of deliberately trying but failing, to be neutral. Then he stood up, scowling, and said to the RM, ‘I’ll award the prizes right away, sahib, and then I’ll hold durbar, here.’

The regiment stood close packed on the field where a few minutes ago Dayal Ram had been hugging the French woman. Warren Bateman said in his well pronounced but almost uninflected Hindi, ‘Durbar is open ... First, step forward, all men of the draft... Face the rest of your comrades. Lads, here are the men who have to join us, to replace those we have lost.’

He introduced the four new VCOs one by one, giving their names, homes, and the regiments from which they had been drafted. The draft had arrived a couple of days earlier, and were all from regular Indian Army cavalry regiments in India. As this process went on, of replacing losses with men from the regulars, or with recruits trained at regular depots, the Ravi Lancers would gradually lose its character as the private army of an Indian prince. Other changes were taking place in the character of the regiment, more subtle than anything in its organization or composition. At the gymkhana Krishna had seen a sowar brutally cuff some French children out of his way with a curse. That would never have happened a year ago ... not because they were French but because they were children. Men charged with petty military crime were beginning to make excuses instead of admitting their guilt. It was perhaps inevitable, like young Ishar Lall’s death ... but he did not like it.