Justice
(1753)
Two young Hindi boys ambled along the dusty
path towards the river. Each one carried a galvanised steel bucket swinging
with the rhythm of their stride. They chatted and laughed about a boy at school
who was afraid of ghosts and rarely ventured outside after dark. As they
approached the river, the path widened and they saw a man on horse-back leaning
forward encouraging his horse to drink from the river. The boys knew the man,
everyone knew the camp commander, known without affection as Captain Clive.
They, and the villagers and workers at the camp, knew of his mistreatment of
local people and his violence towards women. Instinctively they hung back,
crouched down, speechless in the grass beside the path, hoping not to be discovered.
The
horse paused from drinking, turned its head and looked in the direction of the
boys, its ears alert at the sound of their approach. The Captain shifted in his saddle and
followed the horse’s gaze. It was a big horse. It shook its head back and forth,
jingling the bridle. The day was hotting up; the air was perfectly still, only
the sound from the horse’s bridle and the chattering sparkle of the water in
the river, disturbed the tableau. Just then the boys heard a crack, like a twig snapping, only much louder; a rifle shot. The Captain heard it too. As he swung round in the direction where the boys were hiding, he suddenly stopped, swung back the other way and tumbled out of the saddle. He didn’t fall off because the heel of his shiny black boot jammed in the stirrup, so he half hung, without falling to the ground. His peaked cap landed in the water and began to drift down stream. The horse made a whinnying sound and took a few steps sideways dragging the Captain with him, then stopped, turned and looked straight at the boys as if seeking for explanation or assistance. The boys could see the wound in the captain’s head, just above his ear; blood flowed freely and mingled with the water and sand, the sleeve of his khaki shirt turned black as it soaked up the river.
The two boys were transfixed by the scene. They knew something terrible had happened but they had no idea what to do; they sat on their haunches, eyes wide open, staring at the scene ahead of them. They knew there would be trouble.
‘Should we see if he’s alive?’ asked one.
‘No, we should get away as fast as we can. People will be coming. We shouldn’t be seen here!’ replied the other. A dog barked somewhere close and broke the silence.
‘C’mon, let’s go, quick!’
The two boys upped and ran back the way they had come, arms flailing, legs pumping, their threadbare shirts flapping; the two empty buckets remained in the dry grass.
‘Yes. I think so, thank you’ Mary Ann replied. ‘I want to go to school now.’
‘Very well, I’ll see you again tomorrow morning.’ The horse came to a standstill. Captain Clive secured the bridle to a post and reached up to Mary Ann allowing his hand to brush her thigh where her skirt had folded back. He clasped both his hands around Mary Ann’s waist.
‘Ready now, one, two, three!’ Mary Ann was lifted clear of the saddle, swung through the air in a wide arc and lowered to the hard dusty ground. Captain Clive bent and straightened the hem of her skirt, brushed dust from her black patent leather shoes. He rose, a little breathless, placed both hands on her shoulders. He could feel her collar bone, then the heat from her body through the thin cotton of her white blouse.
‘We like our morning walks don’t we, you me and Champion?’ He removed his hands from her shoulders and stroked her hair. ‘Did you enjoy your ride, your Royal Highness?’ he jested
‘Yes thank you. One day I’ll have my own horse’ she replied.
He smiled. ‘I’m certain you will, maybe sooner than you think! Don’t forget your satchel.’ He thought how pretty she looked. ‘Off you go then, see you tomorrow, same time?’ He stood and watched her go.
‘Bye and thank you’ she called back, already skipping, swinging her satchel as she went, her black hair bobbing up and down. Small puffs of dust splashed with the tread of her shoes on the parched dusty parade ground.
Captain Clive continued to watch until she’d disappeared from sight. He stood for a moment remembering her bright face, her freckled cheeks, her clear blue eyes and the warmth of her body through her blouse when he held her. His thoughts lingered before he turned his attention to his horse, adjusting the stirrups, feeling for the habitual point on the straps, worn and light-coloured from habit. Each buckle slotted effortlessly into its natural place. He gave his horse a pat on its rump.
‘There’s a fine fellow. I expect you’d like a drink from the river, heh?’ The horse turned and looked at him as he reached for his cap, blew off the thin dust and dropped in on his head. He took the peak in his right hand and adjusted the fit, centred it and tapped the brim. The new bright crowns on his shoulders reminded him of his recent promotion. He walked Champion to the mounting block, mounted, settled his arse in the saddle and rode off at a light canter in the direction of the river, leaving behind the deserted parade ground. He heard the chime of the school bell. He smiled a smile of someone pleased that pieces of a secret plan were falling into place. He stroked his moustaches with the back of his gloved free hand and continued his ride down to the river.
Captain Clive, a seasoned India-wallah, commanded the battalion of horse artillery at Shimla and had been promoted recently to Major. He’d always been called ‘Captain Clive’ and among his soldiers he was happy for it to remain so; it showed a side of his nature that contrasted with his dedication to discipline and order. He was first and always a soldier, proud to serve his country.
Mary Ann’s father, Sergeant-Major Collins had been with the battalion for many years having served throughout North West India. He was a fine soldier, but to his commanding officer, he was a man without ambition. The Captain considered himself to be a friend of the family. Mary Ann walked Champion every morning before school with the implicit consent of her father. She’s fond of the huge horse and enjoyed riding each morning before school. Mary Ann will be fourteen soon and for her birthday, and the Captain had a big surprise for her.
Sergeant-Major Collins leaned on the gatepost of the picket fence watching his daughter skip off to school.
‘Be a good girl’ he called after her.
She turned and waved. The gesture was received with a mixture of pain and pleasure. Her father knew she was going to the parade ground as she did every morning before school. He knew she would ride that horse. His heart was full of anger and loathing for his superior officer and the hold he had on his daughter, and on him. He felt powerless; no matter which way he thought to intervene, he was unable find a satisfactory solution. Grinding his teeth was the outward manifestation of the dark rage that festered inside him; he turned from the gate wrestling within him to suppress the demons.
Alone in the empty house he prepared to go to work. He heard the school bell chime and knew his daughter would be released. Minutes later, as he stepped out of the house, he heard the crack of a rifle shot, close by, perhaps from the vicinity of the river; a single shot. Silence dropped like a lead weighted curtain; the vultures continued to soar high above the river. He stood for a moment, enveloped by the eerie hush, attempting to place the sound of the shot in a logical place in his mind. He went back into the house, to the wardrobe in the bedroom and saw that his rifle was safely locked away. He decided it must have been some accidental firing; the reason would emerge sometime during the day.
There were people with motives. Sergeant Major Collins was found not guilty; his rifle had not been fired that morning. Mohan Singh, whose wife had been seduced by the Captain against her will, had a water-tight alibi. Two Sowars who had made separate complaint against the captain had already left the district and had not been seen since. Soldiers, both British and Indian Army, whose names had been placed on charge sheets by Captain Clive, were interviewed and found to be innocent. It is thought likely that the police authorities had done what they could in the circumstances. No-one was charged with the murder.
It transpired that Captain Clive had left money in his will to Mary Ann who would inherit the sum, held in trust until she was twenty-one years old. Her father however, refused to allow her to receive the money. Instead, legal arrangements were made to donate the money, when released, to a local charity caring for orphaned children.
