"But they would rather be free," Rajiv Singh retorted. "Just as India would. Someday India will be free, not held in thrall by European invaders with superior guns."
"Undoubtedly that will happen, but not in our lifetimes."
"Don't be too sure of that, Falkirk. Who would have thought the British could be pushed out of Afghanistan as they have been?"
Warning signals went off in Ian's brain. The maharajah was not talking in the abstract, but like a man with something very specific in mind.
"The situations are very different," Ian said in a deliberately neutral tone. "To most Indians, one set of foreign rulers is much like another. The British are no more alien than the Mughals were when they came. Men serve the Sirkar with pride. The Company army has more volunteers than it can accept. In Afghanistan, the British presence was resented right from the start. It's not surprising they rebelled."
Rajiv Singh's head swung around and he said in a low, dangerous voice, "If the Sirkar isn't gone from India in my lifetime, Falkirk, I will come back again and again until it is. I swear that I shall be one of the men who helps put an end to it." His tone lightened. "That's how reincarnation works, you know. We must keep trying until we get it right."
"I hope Hindu beliefs are correct," Ian said with wry humor. "There are a number of things I don't think I'm going to get right in this lifetime."
The atmosphere eased, and when one of the tigers stood up they both turned to look at it. The beast stretched its powerful body and yawned, showing an enormous mouth with amazingly long teeth. Then it strolled lazily across the grass to the water hole and went for a swim, as peaceful as a house cat.
"That particular tiger killed at least thirteen villagers before it was captured and brought here," the Rajput said thoughtfully. "Given how the situation has changed, no doubt it is fortunate that you refused my offer and are leaving India. Like that tiger, you might prove more dangerous than you look.''
The implications of that were distinctly unsettling. Ian wished he knew what the maharajah had in mind; certainly it was nothing that would benefit the Sirkar.
Wanting to keep the conversation light, Ian said, "Like the tiger, I would rather lie in the sun with my mate than fight."
Perhaps thinking that he'd said enough about political matters, Rajiv Singh began walking again. "The next enclosure contains some very rare Chinese bears called pandas, which will eat nothing but bamboo shoots. I had hoped they would breed, but they seem reluctant."
Ian made a humorous comment and they continued on. But as they did, his thoughts returned again and again to the question of what was on the maharajah's clever, Sirkar-hating mind.
* * *
After Ian left to see Rajiv Singh, Laura wrote a note to Kamala to say the effort to achieve a more intimate relationship with her husband had been smashingly successful. After a longing glance at her copy of the Kama Sutra, a gift from the maharani, Laura returned to her uncle's papers.
Surveying the material had been fascinating and she looked forward to the time when she could translate it in detail. However, she had found nothing relating to the work he had done in India. As Ian had said, perhaps there was nothing to be found. Nevertheless, Laura dutifully kept looking.
It was almost an accident that she found the paper at all. Pyotr's Indian journal had been the first item she had skimmed, but it contained only innocent travelogue, with no information about his secret work. Hoping that she would find something she had missed before, she decided to go through it more carefully.
A quarter of the way through she came to a dog-eared paper that had been folded and used as a bookmark. She was setting it aside when she noticed faint traces of ink that showed through from writing on the inside. More from a desire for thoroughness than hope of finding anything, she opened it.
Eureka. If she hadn't had the experience of reading Pyotr's cramped, abbreviated prison account, she might not have been able to decipher the cryptic-notes which he had probably scrawled to himself when he was working out his ideas. Perhaps he had intended to destroy the paper, then had absentmindedly tucked it into his travel journal.
Whatever the reason, as she read, her lips tightened. In her hands she held the outline of her uncle's plan to drive the British from India.
* * *
After they finished viewing the royal menagerie, Rajiv Singh said, "I will not have time to see you again before you leave, Falkirk, so I will say good-bye now. I hope you and your lady have a safe journey home." As a mark of favor, he offered his hand, as a European would.
Ian shook it firmly, then returned the Hindu "Namaste," which meant farewell as well as greeting. "I'm sure we will. My most profound thanks for your hospitality."