Flashman Papers 3-Book Collection 2: Flashman and the Mountain of Light, Flash For Freedom!, Flashman and the Redskins
She raised her voice, and of course the mob roared “No!” with a vengeance, applauding her.
“So let him have his say.” She flirted a hand at the Akali. “Then I shall have mine.”
Maka Khan was staring in dismay, but with the others shouting at him to give way, he could only fall back, and she turned her painted smile on the Akali. “You rebuke me for my lovers – my male whores, you call them. Very well …” She looked beyond him, and the thick heavy voice was raised again. “Let every man who has never visited a brothel step forward!”
I was lost in admiration. The most beardless innocent there wasn’t going to confess his unworldliness to his mates – and certainly not with that mocking Jezebel watching. Even Tom Brown would have hesitated before stepping forth for the honour of the old School-house. The Akali, who hadn’t the advantage of Arnold’s Christian instruction, was simply too dumbfounded to stir. She timed it well, though, looking him up and down in affected wonder before he’d collected his wits, and drawling:
“There he stands, rooted as the Hindoo Kush! Well, at least he is honest, this wayward Child of God the Immortal. But not, I think, in a position to rebuke my frailty.”
That was the moment when she put them in her pocket. If the laughter had been loud before, now it was thunderous – even Maka Khan’s lips twitched, and the rissaldar-major fairly stamped with delight and joined in the chorus of abuse at the Akali. All he could do was rage at her, calling her shameless and wanton, and drawing attention to her appearance, which he likened to that of a harlot plying for hire – he was a braver man than I’d have been, with those fine eyes regarding him impassively out of that cruel mask of a face. I remembered the story of the Brahmin whose nose had been sliced off because he’d rebuked her conduct; looking at her, I didn’t doubt it.
The Akalis are a privileged sect, to be sure, and no doubt he counted on that. “Get you gone!” he bawled. “You are not decent! It offends the eye to look at you!”
“Then turn your eyes away … while you still have them,” says she, and as he fell back a pace, silenced, she rose, keeping a firm grip of the throne to steady herself, and stood straight, posing to let them have a good view. “In my private place, I dress as you see me, to please myself. I would not have come out, but you called me. If the sight of me displeases you, say so, and I shall retire.”
That had them roaring for her to stay, absolutely, which was just as well, for without the throne to cling to I believe she’d have measured her length on the floor. She swayed dangerously, but managed to resume her seat with dignity, and as some of the younger men startled to hustle the Akali away, she stopped them.
“A moment. You spoke of a suitable husband for me … have you one in mind?”
The Akali was game. He flung off the hands pulling at him and growled: “Since you cannot do without a man, choose one – only let him be a sirdar,a or a wise man, or a Child of God the Immortal!”
“An Akali?” She stared in affected astonishment, then clapped her hands. “You are making me a proposal! Oh, but I am confused … it is not fitting, in open durbar, to a poor widow woman!” She turned her head bashfully aside, and of course the mob crowed with delight. “Ah, but no, Akali … I cannot deliver my innocence to one who admits openly that he frequents brothels and chases the barber’s little girls. Why, I should never know where you were! But I thank you for your gallantry.” She gave him a little ironic bow, and her smile would have chilled Medusa. “So, you may keep your sheep’s eyes … this time.”
He was glad to escape into the jeering crowd, and having entertained them by playing the flirt, the fool, and the tyrant in short order, she waited till they were attentive again, and gave them her Speech from the Throne, taking care not to stutter.
“Some of you call for Goolab Singh as Wazir. Well, I’ll not have him, and I’ll tell you why. Oh, I could laugh him out of your esteem by saying that if he is as good a statesman as he was a lover, you’d be better with Balloo the Clown.” The young ones cheered and guffawed, while the older men scowled and looked aside. “But it would not be true. Goolab is a good soldier, strong, brave, and cunning – too cunning, for he corresponds with the British. I can show you letters if you wish, but it is well known. Is that the man you want – a traitor who’ll sell you to the Malki lat in return for the lordship of Kashmir? Is that the man to lead you over the Sutlej?”
That touched the chord they all wanted to hear, and they roared “Khalsa-ji!” and “Wa Guru-ji ko Futteh!”, clamouring to know when they’d be ordered to march.
“All in good time,” she assured them. “Let me finish with Goolab. I have told you why he is not the man for you. Now I’ll tell you why he is not the man for me. He is ambitious. Make him Wazir, make him commander of the Khalsa, and he’ll not rest until he has thrust me aside and mounted to my son’s throne. Well, let me tell you, I enjoy my power too much ever to let that happen.” She was sitting back at ease, confident, smiling a little as she surveyed them. “It will never happen with Lal Singh, because I hold him here …” She lifted one small hand, palm upwards, and closed it into a fist. “He is not present today, by my order, but you may tell him what I say, if you wish … and if you think it wise. You see, I am honest with you. I choose Lal Singh because I will have my way, and at my bidding he will lead you …” She paused for effect, sitting erect now, head high, “… wherever it pleases me to send you!”
That meant only one thing to them, and there was bedlam again, with the whole assembly roaring “Khalsaji!” and “Jeendan!” as they crowded forward to the edge of the dais, bearing the spokesmen in front of them, shaking the roof with their cheers and applause – and I thought, bigod, I’m seeing something new. A woman as brazen as she looks, with the courage to proclaim absolutely what she is, and what she thinks, bragging her lust of pleasure and power and ambition, and let ’em make of it what they will. No excuses or politician’s fair words, but simple, arrogant admission: I’m a selfish, immoral bitch out to serve my own ends, and I don’t care who knows it – and because I say it plain, you’ll worship me for it.
And they did. Mind you, if she hadn’t promised them war, it might have been another story, but she had, and she’d done it in style. She knew men, you see, and was well aware that for every one who shrank from her in disgust and anger and even hatred at the shame she put on them, there were ten to acclaim and admire and tell each other what a hell of a girl she was, and lust after her – that was her secret. Strong, clever women use their sex on men in a hundred ways; Jeendan used hers to appeal to the dark side of their natures, and bring out the worst in them. Which, of course, is what you must do with an army, once you’ve gauged its temper. She knew the Khalsa’s temper to an inch, and how to shock it, flirt with it, frighten it, make love to it, and dominate it, all to one end: by the time she’d done with ’em, you see … they trusted her.
I saw it happen, and if you want confirmation, you’ll find it in Broadfoot’s reports, and Nicolson’s, and all the others which tell of Lahore in ’45. You won’t find them approving her, mind you – except Gardner, for whom she could do no wrong – but you’ll get a true picture of an extraordinary woman.26
Order was restored at last, and their distrust of Lal Singh was forgotten in the assurance that she would be leading them; there was only one question that mattered, and Maka Khan voiced it.
“When, kunwari? When shall we march on India?”
“When you are ready,” says she. “After the Dasahra.”b
There were groans of dismay, and shouts that they were ready now, which she silenced with questions of her own.
“You are ready? How many rounds a man has the Povinda division? What remounts are there for the gorracharra? How much forage for the artillery teams? You don’t know? I’ll tell you: ten rounds, no remounts, forage for five days.” Alick Gardner’s been priming