tipsy little houri. Still, one must conform to the etiquette of the country, so I dried myself with feverish speed and strode forth as nature intended, eager to ambush her as she emerged from her bathroom—and she was there ahead of me.
She was half-reclining on a broad silken quilt on the floor, clad in her head-veil and bangles—and I'd been looking forward to easing her out of those pants, too. She was fortifying herself with her wine cup, as usual, and it struck me that unless I went to work without delay she'd be too foxed to perform. But she could still speak and see, at least, for she surveyed me with glassy-eyed approval, licked her lips, and says:
'You're impatient, I see…. No, wait, let me look at you … Mm-m … Now, come here and lie down beside me … and wait. I said we should talk, remember. There are things you must know, so that you can speak my mind to Broadfoot sahib and the Malki lat.' Another sip of puggle and a drunken chuckle. 'As you English say, business before pleasure.'
I was boiling to contradict her by demonstration, but as I've observed, queens are different—and this one had told Mangla to have 'Rai and the Python' standing by; they didn't sound like lady's maids, exactly. Also, if she had something for Hardinge, I must hear it. So I stretched out, nearly bursting at the prospect of the abundances thrusting at me within easy reach, and the wicked slut bobbed them with one hand while she poured tipple into herself with the other. Then she put down the cup, scooped her hand into a deep porcelain bowl of oil at her side, and kneeling forward above me, let it trickle on to my manly breast; then she began to rub it in ever so gently with her finger-tips, all over my torso, murmuring to me to lie still, while I gritted my teeth and clawed at the quilt, and tried to remember what an ablative absolute was—I had to humour her, you see, but with that painted harlot's face breathing warm booze at me, and those superb poonts quivering overhead with every teasing movement, and her fingers caressing … well, it was distracting, you know. To make things worse, she talked in that husky whisper, and I must try to pay attention.
Jeendan: This is what killed Runjeet Singh, did you know? It took a full bowl of oil … and then he died … smiling …
Flashy (a trifle hoarse): You don't say! Any last words, were there?
J: It was my duty to apply the oil while we discussed the business of the state. It relieved the tedium of affairs, he used to say, and reminded him that life is not all policy.
F (musing): No wonder the country went to rack and ruin … Ah, steady on! Oh, lor'! State business, eh? Well, well…
J: You find it … stimulating? It is a Persian custom, you know. Brides and grooms employ it on their wedding night, to dispel their shyness and enhance their enjoyment of each other.
F (through clenched teeth): It's a fact, you can always learn something new. Oh, Holy Moses! I say, don't you care for a spot of oil yourself … after your bath, I mean … mustn't catch COLD! I'd be glad to -
J: Presently . not yet. What splendid muscles you have, my Englishman.
F: Exercise and clean living—oh, God! See here, kunwari, I think that'll do me nicely, don't you know -
J: I can judge better than you. Now, be still, and listen. You heard all that passed at my durbar? So … you can assure Broadfoot sahib that all is well, that my brother's death is forgotten, and that I hold the Khalsa in the hollow of my hand … like this … no, no, be still—I was only teasing! Tell him also that I entertain the friendliest feelings towards the Sirkar, and there is nothing to fear. You understand?
F (whimpering): Absolutely. Speaking of friendly feelings -
J: A little more oil, I think … But you must warn him to withdraw no regiments from the Sutlej, is that clear? They must remain at full strength … like you, my mighty English elephant … There now, I have teased you long enough. You must be rewarded for your patience. (Leaves off and kneels back, reaching for drink.)
F: Not before time -
J (fending him off): No, no—it is your turn to take the oil! Not too much, and begin at my finger-tips, so … very gently … smooth it into my hands … good … now the wrists … You will inform Broadfoot sahib that the Khalsa will be dispersed until after the Dasahra, when I shall instruct the astrologers to choose a day for opening the war … now my elbows. But no day will be propitious for many weeks. I shall see to that . . now slowly up to the shoulders … softly, a little more oil … Yes, I shall know how to postpone and delay … so the
F (oiling furiously): Bugger Broadfoot!
J: Patience, beloved, you go too fast. Pleasure hasted is pleasure wasted, remember … Tell him Lal Singh and Tej Singh will command the Khalsa—are you listening? Lal and Tej—don't forget their names … There, now, all is told—so lie down again, elephant, and await your mahout's pleasure … so-o … oh, gods! Ah-h-h …! Wait, lie still— and observe this time-glass, which tells the quarter-hour … its sands must run out before yours, do you hear? So, now, slowly … you remember the names? Lal and Tej … Lal and Tej … Lal and …
Young chaps, who fancy themselves masterful, won't credit it, but these driving madames who insist on calling the tune can give you twice the sport of any submissive slave, if you handle them right. If they want to play the princess lording it over the poor peasant, let 'em; it puts them on their mettle, and saves you no end of hard work. I've known any number of the imperious bitches, and the secret is to let them set the pace, hold back until they've shot their bolt, and then give 'em more than they bargained for.
Knowing Jeendan's distempered appetite, I'd thought to be hard put to stay the course, but now that I was sober, which I hadn't been at our first encounter, it was as easy as falling off a log—which is what she did, if you follow me, after a mere five minutes, wailing with satisfaction. Well, I wasn't having that, so I picked her up and bulled her round the room until she hollered uncle. Then I let her have the minute between rounds, while I oiled her lovingly, and set about her again—turning the time-glass in the middle of it, and drawing her attention to the fact, although what with drink and ecstasy I doubt if she could even see it. She was whimpering to be let alone, so I finished the business leisurely as could be, and damned if she didn't faint—either that or it was the booze.
After a while she came to, calling weakly for a drink, so I fed her a few sips while I debated whether to give her a thrashing or sing her a lullaby—you must keep 'em guessing, you know. The first seemed inadvisable, so far from home, so I carried her to and fro humming 'Rockabye, baby', and so help me she absolutely went to sleep, nestling against me. I laid her on the divan, thinking this'll give us time to restore our energies, and went into the wash-room to rid myself of the oil—I've known randy women have some odd tastes: birches, spurs, hair-brushes, peacock feathers, baths, handcuffs, God knows what, but Jeendan's the only grease-monkey I can recall.
I was scrubbing away, whistling 'Drink, puppy, drink', when I heard a hand-bell tinkle in the boudoir. You'll have to wait a while, my dear, thinks I, but then I heard voices and realised she had summoned Mangla, and was giving instructions in a dreamy, exhausted whisper.
'You may dismiss Rai and the Python,' murmurs she. 'I shall have no need of them today … perhaps not tomorrow …'
I should think not, indeed. So I sang 'Rule, Britannia'.
If you consult the papers of Sir Henry Hardinge and Major Broadfoot for October, 1845 (not that I recommend them as light reading), you'll find three significant entries early in the month: Mai Jeendan's court moved to Amritsar, Hardinge left Calcutta for the Sutlej frontier, and Broadfoot had a medical examination and went on a tour of his agencies. In short, the three principals in the Punjab crisis took a breather—which meant no war that autumn. Good news for everyone except the dispersed Khalsa, moping in their outlying stations and spoiling for a fight.
My own immediate relief was physical. Jeendan's departure came in the nick of time for me, for one more amorous joust with her would have doubled me up for-ever. I've seldom known the like: you'd have thought, after the wild passage I've just described, that she'd have rested content for a spell, but no such thing. A couple of hours' sleep, a pint of spirits, and drum up the town bull again, was her style, and I doubt if I saw daylight for three days, as near as I could judge, for you tend to lose count of time, you know. We may well have set a record, but I didn't keep tally (some Yankee would be sure to claim best, anyway). All I'm sure of is that my weight went down below twelve and a half stone, and that ain't healthy for a chap my size. I was the one who needed medical inspection, I can tell you, never mind Broadfoot.
And on the fourth morning, when I was a mere husk of a man, wondering if there was a monastery handy, what d'you think she did? Absolutely had a chap in to paint my portrait. At first, when he dragged his easel and colours into the boudoir, and started waving his brush, I thought it was another of her depraved fancies, and she was going to have him sketch us performing at the gallop; the devil with this, thinks I, if I'm to be hung at the next
