"I think he is rather fun," said Lavinia.
"If you recognize that he is the head of the household, all will be well," said Fabian. "I believe he is not a man whom it would be wise to cross."
"What could he do?"
"Make things uncomfortable in a hundred ways. The servants would obey him. They daren't do anything else. If there is a growing restlessness in the country, it is probably due to the way we have brought in new laws. They are afraid we are going to impose our ways on them to such an extent that their native institutions will be stifled out of existence."
"Is it right to do that?" I asked.
Fabian looked at me and nodded. "Thuggery. Suttee ...they are evils which have been suppressed by the British. You looked surprised. I see you are unaware of these matters. Both are pernicious, wicked, cruel customs long overdue for suppression. We have made the performance of them against the law. There were many Indians who lived in fear of these practices, but at the same time they resent our coming here and making them criminal acts. Dougal, of course, has made a study of all this."
"He would," said Lavinia.
Dougal did not glance at her. He turned to me. "It is the Hindustani Thaga. We have called it thuggery. It is a worship of the goddess Kali, who must be the most bloodthirsty of all gods and goddesses ever thought of. She demands perpetual blood. Those who take the oath to her are by profession murderers. It is considered an honourable profession ... to murder."
"Surely everyone agrees that it is good to stop that," I said.
"Everyone ... except the Thugs themselves. But it is interference by foreigners with the customs of the country."
"People must have been terrified."
"It was a religious community. Those people who took the oath lived by murder. It was not important whom they murdered, as long as they killed. They lived on the plunder they took from their victims, but the motive was not robbery, but to placate their goddess. They banded together in groups, falling in with travellers, seeking their confidences and choosing the appropriate moment to murder them."
"How ... diabolical!"
"They usually killed by strangulation."
"Quite a number of them made use of the thorn apple," said Fabian.
"Oh, that's a special sort of drug," said Dougal. "It grows profusely here. The leaves and seeds are used in medicine. When the leaves are dry they have a narcotic smell. You'd recognize this plant when you see it. The name is actually datura, but they call it thorn apple. You can see the tubular five-cleft calyx with a large carolla, shaped rather like a funnel. It has a prickly sort of capsule."
"Trust Dougal to get the scientific description," said Lavinia mockingly.
"There's nothing scientific about that," said Dougal. "It is just easy for anyone to see."
"I fancy I wouldn't recognize it if I saw it," said Lavinia. "Would you, Drusilla?"
"I don't think so for a moment."
"There you are, Dougal. You're boring us with your description. I want to hear more about the poison."
"It's deadly," said Dougal. "A peculiar alkaloid called daturina can be distilled from it. Some of the natives use it as a drug. When they do, they become wildly excited. The world seems a beautiful place and they are almost delirious."
"And they like that?" I asked.
"Oh yes, indeed," said Dougal. "It makes them feel wonderful ... while it lasts. But I believe it is followed by acute depression, which is usual in the case of these substances. Moreover, it can be very dangerous and in the end fatal."
"You were saying that these thugs used it to kill their victims."
"It was one of their methods," replied Fabian, "but I believe the more usual was strangulation."
"I should have thought most people would have been greatly relieved that these thugs had been put out of action by the law."
Fabian lifted his shoulders and looked at the ceiling.
"It is a matter of what we were saying ... independence or better rule. There are those who will always want the former. It is the same with suttee."
"That was abolished about the same time as thuggery," Dougal told me. "They really have a great deal to be thankful for to Lord William Bentinck. He was the governor of Madras for twenty years and then he became Governor General from 1828 to '35. You know what happens in suttee. A husband dies and his wife leaps into his funeral pyre and is burned to death with his body."
"How terrible!"
"So thought we all, and Lord William brought in the laws condemning suttee and thuggery," added Fabian.
"It was a great step forward," commented Dougal.
"Do you know?" put in Fabian. "I believe both are still practised in some remote places. It is a defiance of British rule."
Lavinia yawned again and said, "Really, this is getting like a history lesson!"
"A fascinating one," I said.
"Drusilla, don't be such a. prig! You infuriate me. You just encourage them. I know what she's going to say. 'If you don't like it, I'll go back home.' She's always threatening me with going back home."
"That," said Fabian gravely, "is something we must persuade her not to do."
I was happy suddenly. It was the experience I had known before. It was like coming alive.
For the rest of the evening we talked of India, of the various castes and religions. Looking out on the lawn, I thought it was one of the most peaceful scenes I had ever encountered.
When I retired that night, it was long before I slept. I kept thinking about the evening, the old cruel customs of the country and the fact that I was living under the same roof as the two men—I had to admit it—who had been most important in my life: Dougal and Fabian. How different they were! I was a little alarmed by the wistfulness I saw in Dougal's eyes. He was sad and regretful. It was not difficult to see that his marriage had brought disillusionment to him; and he seemed, even in the brief time we had been together, to be turning to me for solace. I thought I would have to be careful. As for Fabian, he had changed little. I must not allow myself to become too impressed by him. I must remember that he was a Framling and they did not change. They would always believe that the world was made for them, and all the people in it made to suit their purpose. Moreover, I must not forget that Lady Geraldine might soon be coming out to marry him.
Almost immediately Roshanara was married. We did not attend the ceremony, which was carried out in accordance with the ancient Indian custom. Asraf, the young bridegroom, I heard from the ayah, was about a year older than Roshanara.
"Poor children," said Alice. "I pray that life will not be too difficult for little Roshanara and her husband."
We saw the decorated carriages, for it was a grand occasion presided over by the Great Khansamah, who looked very magnificent. I saw the glitter of jewels in his puggaree.
I did not see Roshanara after her wedding. She was leaving with her husband for the tea plantation where he worked for his uncle, and it was some distance away. I wondered whether the uncle was as grand as Asraf's father; but it was difficult to imagine that anyone could be that.
We had settled into a routine. We had made a schoolroom in the nursery and there I taught the children. We all missed Roshanara. Alan was becoming quite a little person now.
They were happy. The change of scene had affected them very little, because they had those they loved and relied on about them. It was sad, Alice said, that their mother was not very interested in them, but I replied that she never had been, so they would not notice. True, she was their mother, but titles were not important and they were content with Alice, Ayah and me. We represented their close little world and they asked for nothing more.