       

King of a Distant Country




London must be the most miserable place on God's Earth on a wet day in
January. There were five of us in the Library of The Exiles Club that
afternoon. The New Year of 1887 was but a few days old and I had I come to
Town from my customary refuge in Cheltenham to meet with my broker and take
care of one or two other small items of business. After thirty years in
India, the damp always seemed to penetrate my old bones and I was mightily
glad of the cheerful fire blazing in the hearth. Perkins, the Club scout,
served postprandial burra pegs and retired, leaving our little company to
sit a while and indulge in the sort of reminiscence that is such a comfort
to old soldiers. As usually happens on such occasions, the talk was
desultory at first. Apart from Carstairs, who also resides in Cheltenham, I
had not seen any of them for a couple of years and we swapped our limited
amounts of news; mostly concerning those of our acquaintance who were no
longer with us. I was saddened to learn of Johnny Hulme's passing, he was a
capital fellow. Sadly, the malaria got him in the end, it seems.

Talk then turned to the continuing troubles on the North West Frontier and
our permanent inability to reach a solution with the Pathans. We reached a
consensus that Afghanistan was best left to its own devices except for the
fact that the bloody Russians were always interfering where they were not
wanted. It really is the most frightful country to fight in and has nothing
of any value to the Empire that we could ever see. The only times the local
tribesmen ceased from their slaughtering of each other was when they banded
together to slaughter us. And Kabul is a most pestilential hole and no place
at all for a white man.

I think it was Bradshaw who raised the subject, or it might have been
Hadley. They both knew of it and told the story by turns so it is difficult
to recall precisely who first mentioned the strange tale of Harry
Danvers-Reid. I have to confess that I hardly knew the man. I think I met
him once when we were all in Lucknow for cold weather manoeuvres, but it
might have been Barrackpore. He made something of a name for himself as a
young subaltern during the Sepoy Mutiny, as I recall.  He was with one of
those irregular outfits, Skinner's or Hodson's Horse, that got renamed as
Bengal Lancers when John Company was relieved of any military
responsibility. I remember a slender fellow of a little above average height
with dark hair and a long pointed nose. Of course, I could be confusing him
with Williams-Pike, but that is really by-the-by. Anyway, it turns out that
Danvers-Reid was the most singular cove indeed. It appears he went native in
the most extreme manner possible.

Now of course, it is well known, but largely passes unremarked in polite
company, that a number of old Indian Army hands rather overstepped the mark
when it came to embracing the local customs and way of life. I'm not just
talking about the odd discreet liaison with a young bibi. Dash it all, a
chap has needs and white women were not exactly thick on the ground in the
Raj. Some of those native gals were damned attractive, too; and a lot less
inhibited about matters physical then your average memsahib! I well remember
one dusky little beauty. but that's another story entirely! Which is not to
say I condone such behaviour, you understand. Private arrangements are one
thing but it doesn't do at all to go the whole hog. I remember one of our
young chaps losing his head entirely over some native gal. He proposed
marriage! Can you imagine it? The Colonel sorted that one out damned quick,
I can tell you. Chap found himself guarding palm trees on the Andaman
Islands for the next few years, silly young beggar!

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, young Danvers-Reid. I will tell the story just
as I heard it even though I allow it is most unsuitable for some ears. Now
some may of you may well recall the story of that unscrupulous rogue, James
Brooke, the so-called White Rajah of Sarawak. I know it was much discussed
out East years back and opinion was sharply divided as to whether the man
was a hero or an out-and-out dastard. I was, and still am, most firmly in
the latter camp. I don't care if the powers-that-be saw fit to reward the
rapacious swine with a knighthood. The damn' man's family run the country to
this day. He may have done good work eliminating the odd nest of Malay
pirates but he made himself damn rich in the process. Forgive an old man's
digression; it was Danvers-Reid we were speaking of.

Sometime towards the end of '67, Harry Danvers-Reid found himself on the
eastern frontier near Chittagong. His life, up to this point, was utterly
blameless. He did his duty, obeyed his superiors and cared for his men. In
short, he was everything a British Officer should be in the Army of India.
Why he underwent such a radical change at this point in his life can only be
a matter of conjecture. Perhaps his military career stalled somewhat after a
promising start and, if the truth is told, he was simply bored. Maybe his
sixteen years of campaigning against fractious tribesmen and recalcitrant
Rajahs had taken their toll on him. Although he was only a year or two past
thirty, he may have felt used-up and stale. I mention this simply to try and
shed some light on subsequent events. Dash it all; it wasn't as if the man
had displayed any symptoms of going Dhoolali like that chap, Simkins, who
wandered into




the Mess as naked as a jaybird, with his private parts painted blue and
demanded a chota peg. I mean to say, we could see instantly that something
was up with the fellow. If he'd been a horse, we'd have had him shot. No,
everyone who knew Danvers-Reid at the time will swear to you he was
perfectly normal and generally in high good humour.

The Lancers were patrolling the border and things were generally pretty
quiet. The monsoon had broken and the weather turned cooler and, apart from
the usual dysentery, they were relatively free from disease. Word came in
from one of the little independent hill kingdoms, by name of Nambhustan,
that there was a large band of dacoits terrorising the area. The local
Nizzam beseeched the Commissioner for some British troops to see the
blighters off and Danvers-Reid was sent with a half-troop to restore order.
He was still a captain at the time; no one of field rank had obligingly
succumbed to the cholera for a few years, so there were no vacant
majorities, assuming he'd had the wherewithal to buy one, of course.
Bradshaw, who was in the same regiment, said Danvers-Reid was quite bucked
by the mission: a chance for some proper soldiering after the months of
boredom.

He set out with thirty or so lancers and a young cornet, whose name escapes
me for the present. Now let me tell you that those native cavalry were damn'
good at their job. The sowars were mostly Sikhs or Rajputs; big fierce chaps
with fire in their bellies and they knew how to handle those pig-stickers
they carried. Eight feet of steel-shod bamboo is not to be sneezed at, not
in the hands of an expert. They headed up into the hills and spent the next
few days patrolling and searching for any sign of the dacoits. They had a
minor skirmish with a band of the swine up near Nambhupore, the capital, and
put them to flight. That sort are very brave when faced with unarmed
villagers but it's a wholly different story when it comes to a proper fight.
They won't stand, sir, they won't stand.

Clearly, young Harry had acquitted himself well enough and the Nizzam was
suitably impressed. A lot of these minor Indian princes are not much to
write home about, if I'm frank. Oh yes, there are a few that run things well
but there are just as many that exploit their people horribly and are most
abominably cruel. Can't say I know too much about Nambhustan but, by all
accounts, the Nizzam was of the more enlightened sort. He rewarded
Danvers-Reid with the usual bucket of rubies and the pick of his stables, so
at least the beggar was properly grateful. That should have been the end of
the matter, but it was not. For reasons best known to himself, Danvers-Reid
accepted a position as chief of the Nambhustan Army and sent his papers in.
The bloody fool didn't even bother to do it in person but handed a letter to
the cornet to deliver to the Colonel on his return. The cornet duly brought
it with him when the Lancers came back to the lines. That was the last
anybody heard from Danvers-Reid for a while.

A couple or three years later, the local Commissioner chanced to have cause
to go up to Nambhupore. The old Nizzam was dead and Danvers-Reid was now
King Harry I of Nambhustan. That little piece of news stopped the old boy in
his tracks. He scuttled back to Chittagong and yelled blue murder. The
Viceroy's staff shuffled their feet a bit and eventually decided they couldn
't intervene. They dispatched a British officer - by chance my chum Hadley -
to go and find out what the Dickens was going on. Dancers-Reid left him
kicking his heels for a few days in the guest bungalow and then granted him
a 'Royal Audience.' Hadley was shocked to the core by what he found.
Danvers-Reid had gone completely native. He was wearing some sort of local
getup and a turban with a diamond the size of a goose egg. Apparently the
chap was also surrounded by his harem of forty or so young, ahem, 'ladies,'
who were wearing pyjamas so thin that they might just as well have not
bothered. The air reeked of hashish or bhang, as the locals call it and the
whole scene reminded Hadley of the worst excesses of Gomorrah.

Danvers-Reid refused to answer any of Hadley's questions and waved away all
the latter's entreaties with an airy gesture. He invited Hadley to take his
pick of the assembled women - as many as he liked - and laughed at Hadley's
outrage at the suggestion. He would only say that Nambhustan would maintain
friendly relations with the Raj but would brook no interference. He then
bade Hadley 'good day' and allowed that he might return in twelve months, if
he was so minded. There were some grim-looking chaps dotted about with very
large tulwars in their hands so Hadley decided on discretion and withdrew as
graciously as possible in the circumstances. He duly reported back to the
Viceroy and there was much sucking of teeth, I can tell you. The general
consensus was that any European who gave himself utterly up to such excesses
would not be long for this world and they could afford to wait and let
nature take its course. Nobody wanted any damned scandal to reach the long
ears of the yellow press.

As luck would have it, Hadley wasn't able to return the following year, some
small unpleasantness up near Peshwar detained him, so it was fully two years
before he next visited Nambhustan and its self-styled King. He found
Danvers-Reid physically little altered, maybe a little thicker about the
waist, but it was the man's mental state that struck Hadley most forcibly.
King Harry was far from the devil-may-care creature he had shown the world
previously. Instead, he was morose, appeared distracted. When Hadley was
finally granted an audience, Danvers-Reid was most uncivil and hectoring in
his manner, demanding to know what business it was of Her Majesty's Viceroy
what went on in the sovereign Kingdom of Nambhustan. Hadley was all
emollient, soothing the savage breast as it were. He couldn't help noticing
how the 'King's' eyes kept flicking back and forth as though expecting an
ambush at any second. He worked himself up into a towering rage and
dismissed Hadley with the promise that any further incursions by British
officers would be considered an act of war. Once more, Hadley retired
peaceably, as per his instructions. His report opined that Danvers-Reid was
definitely on the way out and that the problem should disappear entirely
within a year or two. In the manner of civil service clerks, the viceregal
administration decided to sit on their collective hands and let matters take
their course. That was Hadley's last involvement in the story.

Around the middle of July in '75, a messenger arrived at the residency in
Calcutta. The fellow claimed to be an emissary from the Kingdom of
Nambhustan and he bore all manner of official-looking documents requesting
the Viceroy to take over the Kingdom following the recent death of its
ruler. As it turned out, Bradshaw's regiment was chosen to escort the
diplomats back to Nambhupore. Bradshaw was a half-colonel by this time and
he decided to take command himself, such was his curiosity. By the time the
clerks eased their fat backsides from the comfort of their armchairs and
dragged themselves into the hills, the obloquies for the late monarch had
been well and truly completed. By all accounts, the locals gave Danvers-Reid
a rare send off and not a few of his 'wives' indulged in the abominable
practice of suttee, hurling themselves onto his blazing pyre. It was
precisely to stop this sort of barbarism that the British took over the
country, don't you know.

Bradshaw confesses that he was a little disappointed to have missed out on
the pageantry and there seemed to be little for the Lancers to do but stand
about the place looking martial. Bradshaw admitted he was getting a bit
bored by the whole thing when, one night, after he had retired to his
bungalow, there came a tap upon his veranda door. Bradshaw prudently grabbed
his revolver before opening the door, one can't be too careful in that part
of the world, and was absolutely staggered to find one of the young bibis
from the harem. I have to stress that Bradshaw is nothing if not a gentleman
and he was quite loath to grant her admittance. She was most insistent and
spoke passable English so he reluctantly allowed her to come in to his room.
She told him that she was acting on the direct instructions of her late
departed lord and handed him a leather bound volume. Strictly speaking, she
had been told to give it to Hadley, but seeing as how Hadley was absent and
Bradshaw was the senior officer present, she decided that he would fit the
bill.

Bradshaw duly thanked her and saw her off the premises and settled down to
examine that which he'd been given in such a clandestine manner. The book's
cover was fastened with a brass clasp and, on opening it, Bradshaw was
dismayed to discover that the contents were written in some kind of code.
There was also a short note in Danvers-Reid's hand, addressed to Hadley. I
quote it here verbatim:

My Dear Hadley,


If you are reading this note, it is because I am dead. My health has been
deteriorating markedly over recent months so I can be sure that it will not
be too much longer. I feel I owe you an explanation. I treated you so
abominably, old chap, that this will have to serve for an apology.

I am entrusting to you my journal. You may do with it as you wish. Know only
that, at the end, I remain, a loyal servant of Her Majesty. I have walked
through the valley of the shadow, Hadley. Thankfully, I emerged at the other
side in time to make my peace with God, if not my fellow man.

It was signed, quite simply: H J K Danvers-Reid, Capt.



Of course, we were all agog to know the contents of this journal but
Bradshaw shook his head sadly.

"I haven't been able to make head nor tail of it, chaps. Danvers-Reid
devised his own code and it has me stumped."

Then Wishart said that I was just the fellow for the task, seeing as how I'd
been a little involved in the Great Game and knew about codes and ciphers
and such things. I demurred, of course. All that happened when I was very
young. The other chaps would have none of my denials and thus it transpired
that I undertook to translate Danvers-Reid's testament. I suppose I accepted
because it would give something to do. Cheltenham can be so damned boring,
don't you know. We all agreed to meet again in twelve months' time. Bradshaw
sent me the journal by parcel post and I set to work. I made very little
headway at first. The script was unlike any military code with which I was
familiar. Still, I persevered and after about two months, I finally spotted
a pattern. That's what code-breaking is all about. One looks for patterns.
If one can guess what a particular piece of the cipher means, one begins to
have a key to the whole, as it were.

Decryption is a long and repetitive task so I will not bore you with too
many details. Suffice it to say that I noticed that each section of the
journal began with a string of letters of varying length. I reasoned that a
man keeping a journal might very well start each entry with the date. Once
this thought took hold, I was able to further reason that the last four
letters would refer to the year and the letters preceding this would be the
month. Now, of all the months of the year, only May and September have an
unique number of letters, three and nine respectively. Thus, if I could find
a group of seven or thirteen letters, it was a fair bet that I had May186-
or September 186-. My luck was in as I found an entry with thirteen letters
quite early in the proceedings. After a lot more painstaking work I had the
key to the following letters: A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, J, L, M, N, O, P, R
and T. Thereafter things proceeded apace and I was able to complete the
translation just before Christmas, 1888 and present my findings to the chaps
as we had agreed.

It takes a great deal to shock a band of old India hands, I can assure you,
but when I showed them the translation of Danvers-Reid's journal they were
all aghast. I will not pass further comment but allow you, the reader, to
discover the extent of the man's debauchery for yourself. I now reproduce
the journal in its unexpurgated entirety, except where it becomes tedious or
contains little of note. I have indicated such places in my own hand. I
assure you that I have suppressed nothing and if you are offended by what
you read, kindly remember, the words are not my own but those of a strange,
tortured individual living far from his fellows.

January 1868

I believe I have discovered a veritable paradise on earth. I sit, writing
this first entry in this, the journal I have resolved to keep, in the luxury
of my suite of rooms within the Nizzam's Palace of Nambhupore. Can it really
be but a scant three months since that I first set foot in the strange and
beautiful little Kingdom? For the sake of clarity, I suppose it best to
describe the events that led up to my being here. Until December of last
year, I was a Captain in the Xth Royal Bengal Lancers. (Editor's Note: I
have removed the actual regimental number for the sake of those still
serving in that excellent body.)

As often happens in this part of the world, a band of Dacoits appeared out
of nowhere and began terrorising the villagers. His Highness Mansoor Iqbal
Khan, the ruler of this fair land, is an elderly gentleman of no great
martial inclinations and thus he sought assistance from the British troops
based around Chittagong. This is quite usual in such circumstances. I was
thus detached with a half troop of Lancers to bring the matter to a speedy
conclusion. This we did, with all due despatch if, in truth, there was only
one engagement worthy of note near the small town of Willarua. We caught the
murdering swine just after they attacked the town and my sowars did a
fearful slaughter. These dacoits are not soldiers and lack discipline. A
well-executed charge broke them and thereafter it was most like an afternoon
's pig-sticking as the boys rode them down and took them on their points. An
entirely satisfactory, if predictable, outcome.

The old Nizzam was delighted to be rid of the intruders and presented me
with a casket of rare rubies and a fine Arab stallion. Nor did he ignore the
sowars, each of whom received one thousand rupees. The old boy was as
generous as he was grateful. This left me with something of a dilemma.
Standing Orders insist that any such gratuities are handed over to the crown
for any amount in excess of fifty guineas. I'm no tradesman, but I estimate
my rubies would fetch at least �5,000, sufficient to ensure a very
comfortable retirement. In the ordinary way of things I'd not have been
tempted, but news had come from home that my esteemed Pater had lost every
last penny in an unwise investment in some very suspect bonds, leaving me,
his son and heir, penniless. Of course, I could have kept quiet about the
rubies and no one would have been any the wiser if weren't for that little
prig, Jeavons, my troop cornet. There is not the slightest doubt that he
would spill the beans to the Colonel the moment we got back. Jeavons has a
singularly unfortunate manner with him, ignorant, prudish and rude; no doubt
he'll go far. However, the Nizzam himself resolved my problem. He offered me
the position of General Officer Commanding of the Army of Nambhustan. I
accepted with alacrity and wrote out my resignation on the spot. I marked
the envelope By Hand of Orifice - my small revenge upon the egregious
Jeavons - and sent it back with the little swine when he returned with the
troop.

Since that day, I have been living the life of Riley. Servants attend to my
every need; my salary is a full lakh of silver rupees each year, which I
remit to Messrs Cox's in Pall Mall through their agents in Calcutta. I have
no doubt that in five years I shall be as rich as any Nabob to quit the
shores of India.


April 1868

I confess to having been somewhat remiss in my journal keeping these past
months but life has been rather exciting of late. Indeed, today is the first
recreation that I have taken since the beginning of the year. In order to
explain precisely what I have been about, it is worth dwelling a little on
the nature of this country. Nambhustan is relatively small by Indian
standards. The capital city of Nambhupore lies almost at its heart, beside
the great river. The ruling family are Musselmen while the greater part of
the population are Hindoos and speak a dialect of Hindi. Much of the country
borders the banks of the great river and the land is good and fertile. To
the east of the country lies an area of dense jungle with small villages
constantly facing a battle with the encroaching vegetation. Hills
predominate in the northern marches and these lead up eventually to the
great Himalayan range itself. It is from these hills that the wealth of the
country, rubies of superb clarity and size, are mined. Of course, the
ordinary people benefit but little from such riches but all are well-fed and
seem content for the most part. Taxes are light and the village folk are
largely undisturbed.

The only exception to this regime of laissez-faire is the occasional
selection of the most beautiful young virgins for the palace harem. The
people grumble a bit but accept it as fact of life. Old Mansoor has three
official wives but about six hundred concubines of various ages ranging
from, I would hazard a guess, about fourteen to eighty. Unfortunately for
him, the old boy has proved incapable of getting any of the nubiles with
child. His heir and successor is an oily cove named Sikkander Khan, the son
of a cousin or something. Sikkander is a suspicious type and we have
developed a deep and mutual loathing.

The local folk are not particularly war-like by inclination and the Army of
Nambhustan would make a dog laugh. Only the Palace Guard, who were all
mercenaries, were anything like soldiers. Small wonder that his nibs sent
for the British when he had a spot of Dacoit trouble. Their weapons are
antiques, 'Brown Bess' muskets from the last century and some ancient bronze
canon of local manufacture. There is one regiment of light horse but the
mounts are spavined nags and the troopers would fall off if they had to
swing a sabre and ride simultaneously. It was clear from a very early stage
that I would have my work cut out to turn this rabble into any sort of
effective force. I did have one piece of good fortune. I found an old naik,
a native corporal of horse, among the Place Guard. His name is Ramnesh Lal
and I put him in charge of training the cavalry. He has proved to be an able
riding master and under his tutelage, the sowars are learning the basics.

The foot soldiers are posing more of a problem. I have persuaded his nibs to
purchase some of the 1853 pattern Enfield rifles used by British regiments
but it will be a little while before they are here. In the meantime, we
drill with the old muskets. They can't hit a barn door at twenty paces, but
at least we can now produce a passable volley and can manage three shots in
a minute on a good day. The artillery is completely hopeless with only some
bullock-drawn bronze 24-pounders. Most of the balls are made of stone and
the powder has stood too long without being stirred to be of any use. There
is so much to do and so much to organise that I sometimes scarcely know
where to begin. All must be accomplished in the Hindi tongue, for very few
here have even the most rudimentary English.

Palace life remains enjoyable, aside from the constant intrigue. I have been
the recipient of more than one approach from this faction or that faction
seeking to enlist me to their cause. At such times I am able to extricate
myself without too much difficulty. The buggers try to be so cunning and
talk so elliptically that it is not difficult to deliberately misunderstand
them and this confuses them greatly. My one complaint is the casual cruelty
that I encounter on a daily basis. Even his nibs is not above it. Just the
other day, he decided to have one of his women punished for some minor
infraction. The poor girl was dragged into the audience hall with all the
court looking on agog.

Two great fellows with massive muscles running slightly to fat then seized
her. I later learned that these were two of the eunuchs assigned to guard
the women. It is clear from these two specimens that taking a man's stones
doesn't in any way reduce his capacity for cruelty and the enjoyment
thereof. They ripped the gossamer-thin clothing from the poor young thing
and she was paraded naked before the assembled company. She was certainly a
sight to behold; a dainty little piece with coffee-coloured skin and
lustrous black hair. She was shaved bald around her sex, as is customary
with these concubines, and would have sought to cover herself had not those
two villains kept a firm grip on her arms. It appeared the object of this
particular exercise was to humiliate her utterly for the assembled courtiers
were encouraged, nay, instructed, to fondle her most intimately, which they
did with lascivious enthusiasm.

After this ordeal was over, her hands were bound together in front of her
and her conjoined wrists were then placed over a large metal hook that
depended from the ceiling. She was then hoisted into the air until her feet
dangled some four feet above the flagstones. The villainous eunuchs then
prepared bamboo canes by splitting the ends for about the first foot of
their length into half a dozen or so separate strips. They then began to
caress her very lightly with the fronds, running them over her breasts and
thighs and between her legs. The poor girl hung twisting slowly, tears
streaming from her face and wearing a look of abject misery and terror. I
found my eyes drawn to the scene in a way that, I confess, still shames me.
I was riveted by a mixture of revulsion and prurience that is not becoming
of a gentleman.

Then, at a signal from the Nizzam, they began to whip her. Red wheals
appeared upon that perfect flesh and she cried out in fear and pain. They
were utterly careless of where their blows landed but they were obviously
expert at their vocation for they never once broke the skin. The tips of the
cane splayed where they struck her and soon her buttocks, thighs and belly
were striped with the overlying evidence of their ministrations. There was a
devilish cruelty to it because, at intervals, they would leave off their
beating and repeat again those intimate caresses with which they commenced
proceedings. I was both revolted and aroused by what I witnessed and had to
force myself not to intervene.

The punishment continued for at least a quarter of an hour, but if I am
truthful, it appeared to me to be both much shorter and almost interminable.
I hazard to say that it must have been an eternity for the poor unfortunate
lass who was the object of these attentions. At length, the Nizzam grew
bored by the spectacle and indicated to the eunuchs to cut her down. This
was the signal for all manner of lewdness to begin. The courtiers began to
fondle one another quite publicly. I took my leave in disgust and returned
to my quarters.

June 1868

Today I bagged my first tiger! Around two weeks past, a runner came from one
of the villages to the east bearing news of a man-eater on the loose and
requesting help from the Palace. The Nizzam sent for me and, pleading his
advancing years else he would see to the matter himself, ordered me to
repair to the stricken district and bring an end to the beast's
depredations. I took with me a small escort and my own syce and a couple of
the recently arrived Enfield rifles. I was devilish excited by the prospect,
I can tell you. I've hunted deer and wildfowl out here but this was my first
crack at a tiger. We arrived at the village after two days' hard riding and
were welcomed like Gods.

The village headman told us that the man-eater was only recently come to the
area but they had heard on the jungle grapevine that a village some forty
miles to the north had been suffering previously. All in all, the beast
appears to have accounted for about thirty locals, mostly women and young
herd-boys. It had acquired the habit of staking out the riverbank where the
women drew water and undertook their laundering and where the boys brought
the cattle to drink. Given the availability of a spot of beef on the menu, I
expressed surprise that the tiger appeared to prefer to eat human flesh. The
old boy informed me that once a tiger turns man-eater, no other meal would
serve. This presented me with something of a problem as, if this
intelligence was to be believed, the old monster would turn his striped nose
up at the goat I originally planned to use as bait.

The headman was prepared for this eventuality and he offered me a human
lure. I didn't quite grasp the point at first. I rather assumed that some
brave chap was going to loiter about the riverbank while I waited in cover
to take my pot shot. Not so! The old buzzard had something entirely
different in mind. What he was proposing was that I employ the services of a
young orphan girl of low caste who happened to be scavenging a meagre
existence in the village. I was horrified at first but my syce assured me
that it could actually be a kindness, as the wretched brat would undoubtedly
succumb to either starvation or disease in short order. The Hindoo caste
system is completely rigid and no one would lift a finger to assist the
child, being, as she was, an 'untouchable.'  The poor unfortunate was
dragged before the assembled company and told of her fate. I was mightily
impressed. She took the news impassively, a look of something like contempt
on her face. She was filthy, dressed in rags and her hair was a matted
tangle. There was ample evidence of beatings and abuse on the exposed parts
of her body but for all that she possessed a quiet sort of dignity.

I took her to one side and reassured her that I would do my utmost to get
the tiger before it got her but she simply shrugged as if it was entirely of
no consequence. I did insist, however, that the villagers feed her and give
her something a little more salubrious to wear. They grudgingly agreed but
would not approach her directly, bestowing their meagre gifts on me to pass
on to her instead. I had the devil's own job in getting her to speak to me.
At length, I learned her name was Baljit and that she came originally from a
village around three days' walk away. Her parents had died some months ago
and her own village had driven her out as she was deemed to possess the
'evil eye.' As far as I could judge she was about eleven or twelve years old
but it was difficult to say under the grime, coupled with the fact that she
was so malnourished. I was of a mind to have her clean herself up a bit but
then considered that the more pungent her aroma, the more attractive she
would be to the tiger.

Most of the previous attacks had been around sunset or dawn. This was
entirely logical as the villagers would all be indoors at night and fires
were kept burning to keep the beasts of the jungle away. I decided that we
go for the kill at sunset the following day and about two hours before dusk,
I made my way with Baljit and my syce down to the river. I selected a sturdy
tree with an unobstructed view and shinned up into its lower branches. My
syce passed me up the two loaded Enfields and I settled down to watch and
wait. The headman had been all for tethering our human 'goat' but I would
not have it. Baljit was very calm and seemed disinterested in the whole
affair. She sat down beside the river and began to weave - a basket or
somesuch - from the rushes that grew nearby.

We waited all night and well into the early morning but our tiger never
showed. Perhaps the beast was simply not hungry that evening. We resolved to
try again last night. Nothing happened at sunset and I spent another long
uncomfortable vigil all through the hours of darkness. About half an hour
after the first grey shading of dawn, I suddenly saw Baljit stiffen. I was
on the point of giving it best yet again when I saw her head come up in
alarm. Such was her stoicism, however, that she made no move to flee but
sat, rigid and alert, awaiting her fate and trusting to her Gods and my
marksmanship. Now, sitting in a tree for several hours is not the ideal
preparation for good shooting. Nevertheless, I eased my cramped limbs as
best I could without giving away my position, checked the position of the
percussion cap on the Enfield and waited.

I became aware that a total silence had fallen. All the usual bird and
animal noises that are ever-present in the jungle died away. It was then I
saw a slight rustling among the reeds and thought I could just discern a
faint shape moving through the dense greenery. I sighted along the barrel of
my first Enfield and waited, hardly daring to breathe. All was still; Baljit
sat like a pillar, the rustling in the reeds ceased. I was almost prepared
to believe I imagined it. Apart from the unnatural silence, all seemed
completely normal. I counted off the minutes in my head while Baljit
remained totally motionless throughout. Again I was forced to admire the
youngster's pluck. There cannot be many who would sit so still under the
threat of an imminent attack by a tiger.

The attack, when it came, was awesomely sudden. The reeds parted and a
striped projectile hurtled towards the motionless girl. It took me
completely by surprise and I almost froze, fascinated by the speed and power
of the charging predator. Fortunately for all concerned, years of military
training came to my aid and I gently took up the first pressure on the rifle
's trigger. On and on came the tiger and still Baljit did not move but faced
the beast with head held high. If this was truly her Nemesis, then she would
meet it with the same detached calm as she displayed to the vilification
handed out by the villagers.

I saw my shot, squeezed the trigger and felt the thump of the heavy stock
against my shoulder. Powder smoke obscured my vision but I seized up the
second Enfield and waited for the fog to disperse. Moments later I could see
Baljit still sitting in the same spot. The tiger was down on its belly but
still crawling towards her. Pink froth flecked its muzzle, a clear sign of a
lung shot - fatal, but not immediately so. I leapt from the tree and sprang
between Baljit and the wounded killer. It came on inexorably. I held my fire
until the barrel was almost touching that fearful mask, then pulled the
trigger. The heavy calibre bullet smashed into the monster's skull and it
collapsed instantly. I regret that shot now as it ruined the head and the
fur of the face was much burned by the muzzle-flash thus somewhat spoiling
it as a trophy. Baljit at last displayed her emotions and fell at my feet,
clasping her arms about my legs and weeping with gratitude. (Editor's Note:
The blackguard seems unaware of the irony of this passage. It was, after
all, he who had exposed the unfortunate child to this horror in the first
place.)

We returned to the village and this was the sign for much rejoicing. Some of
the men went down to fetch the carcass and proceeded to skin it. I shall
have it cured. Although it is not of the best quality, owing to the powder
burns, it is my first tiger. Tonight we will have another feast of
celebration and I return to the Palace tomorrow. I have resolved to take the
stalwart Baljit with me. Doubtless I will able to secure a menial position
for her but any improvement in her lot in life is surely to be welcomed.


July 1868

I now detect a certain irony in the last line of my previous entry. On my
return to the Palace at the end of last month, I was not exactly treated to
'See, the Conquering Hero Comes!' In fact, there was a distinct frostiness
about my welcome for which I could not discern a sensible explanation. The
Nizzam was civil enough but there was a distinct undertone to our exchanges.
At first, he demanded the tiger skin for himself. He changed his mind once
he saw the somewhat ravaged mask. It might also have been a factor that the
skin was not yet cured and was distinctly ripe at this time. He volunteered
his thanks but eschewed the customary reward of rubies, which is tantamount
to an insult in these climes. I could make neither head nor tail of his
attitude but resolved to have my syce keep his ear to the ground among the
other native grooms and to convey to me any tittle-tattle that might be
pertinent.

I presented young Baljit, by now cleaned up and looking slightly less
malnourished than of yore. This was a major faux pas. Word of our exploits
had travelled ahead and the court all seemed to know that she was of the
'untouchable' caste. There was also much muttering about her possession of
the 'evil eye,' which, of course, is utter damned nonsense but typical of
the superstitious nature of your average Hindoo. I could find nobody who
would take the wretched child on so was forced to accept her into my own
employ. This presented me with some difficulty as I run a bachelor
establishment and there was little that a young girl could do for me. Baljit
was a grave and reserved child of above average intelligence and it was she
who suggested the solution. It was clear that her caste would prevent any
normal social intercourse with the rest of the servants. The rubbish about
the 'evil eye' was also germane, as it caused the others to avert their
glances from her at all times and they refused to permit her a sleeping
place among them.

She displayed her considerable ingenuity in suggesting that I retain her
services as my personal food-taster. Such is the intrigue and habituary
practice of murder among the court that this appointment would be seen as
only a sensible precaution and would raise few eyebrows as the incumbent was
of low caste and therefore expendable. I was not entirely comfortable with
the suggestion but, as it came from her and seemed an acceptable solution, I
agreed. I must say that she is most assiduous in the performance of her
self-selected duties and have the sneaking suspicion that her enthusiasm has
been informed by her past experiences of being constantly hungry. Now I have
only to get the bottom of the meaning of my cool reception.


September 1868

I was awoken this morning by my syce; the clumsy beggar cut while me while
undertaking my morning shave. He was most distressed by this but excused
himself by saying that his hands had been shaking as the result of momentous
intelligence discovered last night. It seems that that beggar, Sikkander
Khan, has been stirring things up and is jealous of my popularity among the
common sort. I appear to enjoy some sort of God-like status with the
villagers and townsfolk. This stems originally from driving off the Dacoits
but word has spread of the episode with the man-eater and, particularly
among the 'untouchable' caste, I am regarded as a great champion. The upshot
is that Sikkander has been pouring poison into the Nizzam's ear with claims
that I plan to usurp him. In truth, this is young Sikkander's plan and all
but those closest to the throne are aware of it. Rumour has it that he will
not wait for the old boy to pop off naturally but will seek to hasten his
demise. I certainly wouldn't place such a course beyond the oily bastard's
compass.

It appears that he hopes to rid himself of me so that he may suborn the
army. At present, the troops are all utterly loyal but I will have to watch
my back. I now eat nothing that is not prepared in my own kitchens. Baljit
still insists on tasting everything nonetheless and, as a consequence, is
filling out quite nicely. As far as we can establish, she is about thirteen
years old and displays all the signs of emerging womanhood. Now that she is
clean and properly dressed, she is really a pretty little thing. Her skin is
darker than most of the Palace women, who range in shade from cream to
coffee. Baljit, by contrast, is of a dark chocolate hue. I will confess I
find it most becoming. Now that she has some flesh upon her bones, it is
clear that she will become most voluptuous in a year or two. She has that
certain type of build which shows good breadth of hip while retaining a tiny
waist. I have seen other such women here, and most combine these features
with large rounded bosoms. This physical type is highly prized. There is a
natural arch to her eyebrows that others achieve only by artifice and her
lashes are thick and long and have no need of darkening with kohl. It is
devilish tricky doing without female companionship.

The weather is most trying at present as we await the breaking of the
monsoon to relieve the oppressive humidity. It shouldn't be too long now as
daily, we may observe the great thunderheads building up to the east but, as
yet, they only threaten rather than deliver the promised downpour. These are
certainly the dog days and one may readily see the effect such close
conditions have on the temper of the populace; fuses have been cut very
short indeed. Of the servants, only Baljit seems unaffected with her grave
demeanour unchanged. The others spit and snarl like cats in a sack and take
offence with one and other at the slightest of pretexts. I shall be heartily
glad when the storm breaks.


October 1868

One should be very careful what one what one wishes for as events may
harbour consequences that were hitherto unforeseen. The monsoon broke very
late and inundated the land. The great river, swollen by rain from the
hills, burst its banks and the flooding is widespread still, although lately
beginning to recede. It is hard to describe the appalling scenes of utter
devastation. On the 13th inst, a typhoon swept in from the Bay of Bengal and
wreaked much havoc among the poorer sort of housing. I mobilised the army on
my own initiative to bring such relief as we may. His nibs seemed paralysed
by the scale of the disaster and took to his boudoir with half a dozen of
his youngest concubines and a couple of young boys, in case he fancied a
change. I attempted to see him on several occasions as I wished his
authority to distribute rice from the Royal granary. Needless to say he
refused to countenance an audience so I took it upon myself to press on
regardless. I don't know what he will make of that!

As usual with such disasters, those who have the least lose most. The
suffering among the poorer sort almost beggars belief. I greatly fear we
shall have terrible pestilence once the floods have gone. The bloated
carcasses of drowned livestock dot the watery landscape like so many
half-tide rocks. Of human dead there are many hundreds, perhaps thousands.
Entire villages have been swept away in the floodwaters and more survive in
name only. The little native huts of woven palm fronds are flimsy structures
at the best of times. In the teeth of a storm, they simply blow apart. The
good thing is they are readily constructed so replacing shelter for the
people will pose no difficulty. The recent rice harvest was ruined or
completely destroyed but my biggest concern is to secure a supply of potable
water. The villagers rely on the great river for their sustenance in this
regard but that is now swollen and filthy with all manner of detritus borne
along by the flood. Typhoid fever is almost certain to follow.

My syce lost his family in the disaster and the wretched man is beside
himself, near hysterical with grief. Only Baljit has remained her usual
stoic self and accepts disaster as the natural lot of the poor. She truly
cannot understand my concern. Perhaps her own experiences have left her
inured to the fate of her fellows. My troops have performed splendidly in
trying circumstances. There has not been much that they can achieve in all
honesty, as the disaster is so vast. We have begun the gruesome task of
recovering the dead and seeing them decently disposed of on mass pyres.
Fortunately, there is no shortage of kindling although it needs liberal
amounts of palm oil or ghee to get the fires started. We have also begun to
organise the survivors and get them started on the rebuilding process. This
has also enabled us to distribute the Nizzam's rice. Sikkander Khan has been
conspicuous by his absence.



Editor's Note: At this point there is a long gap in the entries. On a couple
of occasions a date has been entered and a few terse lines only appear.
These detail things like troop strength or appear to be aides memoirs,
reminding Danvers-Reid to "Check powder quality in Number 4 magazine" and
the like. It also appears that the feared pestilence did, in fact, take hold
and Danvers-Reid was kept busy organising burial details and other such
grisly tasks. The next major entry appears some eight months later.




May 1869

Matters are come to a head with the egregious Sikkander Khan. I have been
aware of the threat the man poses for these past months but I little
suspected that he would find the courage to attempt a coup. He has attracted
to him a band of disaffected minor nobles and similar rats and they have
occupied the town of Dimburrah, centre for the ruby mines. Poor old Mansoor
is in rare panic and demands, in semi-coherent bellows from behind his
bedroom door, that I march immediately and toss the scoundrels out. This
will be damned ticklish as Sikkander has put together a ragbag army of
dacoits, mercenaries and low-life adventurers numbering in excess of five
thousand. The town itself is unknown to me but I'm reliably informed it sits
on a steep bluff above a ravine and there is but a single direct approach,
by way of the trunk road. One of my subadars is from that area and he has
furnished me with sketch maps. It looks certain that the place cannot be
taken easily if resolutely defended and accordingly, I have purchased half a
dozen old six-pounder galloper guns. It would not be worth the effort of
dragging the ancient bronze pieces up there by elephant even though it would
be sheer madness to attempt an assault without some form of artillery.

I will own to being somewhat apprehensive, as this will be the first
blooding of my soldiers. The cavalry are steady enough; I promoted Ramnesh
Lal to Daffadar-Major and the sowars will ride through hell for him. I'm
somewhat less sanguine about the foot. Some of the sepoys are displaying a
pronounced reluctance and every symptom of being gun-shy. We shall see. My
other problem is Baljit. She insists on accompanying me and will not take
'no' for an answer. It matters not one jot that I proclaim campaigning is no
occupation for a woman - particularly one of her tender years. Neither can
she ride, although, in truth, that is no obstacle of itself as she could
travel with the baggage train. By our guess, she is about fourteen now and
would be married if she were back in her native village. I will have to try
and find her husband from among her own caste, although this nonsense with
the 'evil eye' will make that tricky.


The galloper guns should be arriving at the end of the month and we will set
forth immediately they are to hand. In the meantime, I am moving the army
out of the city and we will camp by the ghats a little to the north. I am
hopeful that this quarantine will prevent any attempts to disaffect the
soldiers. The ghats are where the local funerals take place and are
considered a place of ill-omen so we should not be overly disturbed. Someone
has already started that silly damn rumour that the Enfield cartridges are
greased with pork and beef fat - in truth it is mineral oil. That was the
story the damned Pandies put about in the mutiny and we all know where that
led! I have banned any camp followers from accompanying us and am trying to
use this rule to further dissuade Baljit. Her answer has been to acquire a
uniform and she now goes about dressed in tight cavalry britches, a scarlet
tunic and a sky-blue puggaree. I confess she looks most damnably appealing
in this get-up. The Hindoo troopers still avoid her and Ramnesh Lal has
cautioned me that her presence is disturbing some of the sepoys. I have told
him to put it about that she is with us to put a curse on our enemies and he
thinks this a good plan.


June 1869

We took Dimburrah yesterday and I have spent today attempting to restore
order. The fight was short and bloody. We blew the gates with the galloper
guns and the infantry assaulted straight up the road. The first attack was
beaten back with heavy loss but the second, under cover of the gallopers
firing canister, gained a foothold and we broke in just after noon. As soon
as we were in, the Dacoits who had rallied to Sikkander Khan deserted him,
throwing down their ancient weapons and pleading for quarter. The
mercenaries resisted long enough to satisfy their honour and then
surrendered in good order. Most were ex-Company sepoys and had little
appetite for the fight once they saw my troops were led by a European. That
was when the mayhem started as the sepoys ran amuck, raping and looting at
will. It was regrettable but inevitable that this would happen. Something
about war takes the humanity out of a man. By common custom, if a city
surrenders without a fight, it is spared this ordeal. If the city resists,
albeit the citizens may have little say in the matter, then sack and rapine
are considered justified. At least we do not have the added complication of
drink with native troops. The Queen's infantry are ungovernable when fuelled
by alcohol.

I allowed the men their way last night and sent Ramnesh Lal with a full
troop into the city this morning. The Lancers have been splendid and did not
join in the plundering. I have assured the sowars that all will be rewarded
with a bonus of five hundred rupees. There is also a reward of ten thousand
rupees for the man that brings me Sikkander Khan, dead or alive. Baljit
watched all that transpired with an impassive glare. She feels no sympathy
for the townsfolk but was much affected when a ball struck one of the
artillery horses. She wept when the beast had to be destroyed and demanded
to know why we could not mend its shattered leg. There is still much of the
child about her although her body bears very much a woman's form.

Later

I write this on the march back to Nambhupore. Sikkander is in chains and
stumbles behind the gun carriage to which he has been secured. There were
five others of the court taken with him and these will now face the Nizzam's
justice. Dimburrah has been pacified and the mines are back in production.
Unfortunately, about a third of the town was destroyed in the aftermath of
the battle though I doubt this will concern his nibs. The troops are in rare
high spirits and a rumour has started that our victory was down to Baljit's
curse. They are still wary of her but a little more respectful. This whole
'evil eye' thing is getting out of hand. Of course, anyone who spends any
time out east will rapidly discover that the natives are a superstitious
bunch but my concern is that they will turn on her in a trice if I am not
there to protect her.

I have enlisted some of the mercenaries to replace the casualties we took.
Our butcher's bill was quite severe; one hundred and seventy three dead and
almost six hundred wounded. We have three hundred prisoners and they make a
sorry sight tramping along in the dust behind the bullock carts of the
baggage train, wailing and weeping as they go. They fear the punishment that
doubtless awaits them. One may be sure that it will be cruel in the extreme,
as insurrection is the thing most feared by princes, be they black or white.
One has only to recall the terrible revenge wreaked by our own people after
the Mutiny. I would be the first to avow that the wretched Pandies brought
it upon themselves with their massacres and treachery, but it is still
unsettling to see a man blown apart at the mouth of a cannon. If you have
never witnessed such a thing, be thankful, it haunts my dreams still.

I cannot wait to be back in the city, not least so that Baljit may go
decently attired once more. The sight of her pert young rump in those tight
britches is most distracting.

August 1869

It is hard to believe that two months have passed since the successful
engagement at Dimburrah. The rebels were duly put to death. The Nizzam
wished me to arrange the executions but I demurred. I'm a soldier not a
damned hangman. The day of reckoning was like a carnival. I kept the troops
in barracks and refused to attend. Watching a man trampled to death by
elephants is not my favourite way of passing an afternoon. Sikkander Khan's
fate has left something of a power vacuum at court. There is now no obvious
heir to his nibs, who grows more frail with each passing day. This is a
matter of some concern as the politicking and backstabbing gathers pace.
There have been three 'accidents' in the last month. Some of these minor
dignitaries appear to lack a sense of balance when walking on high walls. At
this rate, all eligible will be wiped out by the time the old boy quits this
life.

My reward for bringing matters to a successful conclusion was to be
presented with a concubine! I was allowed my pick of the stable and chose a
little Siamese maid. She is quite delightful and vastly inventive. I have to
confess I havered a bit before accepting but I have been too long without
that physical release that is important to a man. I call her Cat, for the
mewing noises she makes when she nears her crisis.  She has a refreshingly
direct approach to the act of physical union and has initiated some
practices that I find quite shocking, if devilishly arousing. She insists on
wearing the gossamer pyjamas favoured in the seraglio - I believe she
considers her 'uniform' as an overt display of her status. Being the
General-Sahib's woman appears to have given her much 'face' among the
others. I fear for the health of my syce. The poor man is crippled by a
tumultuous erection of the male member whenever he is in her company.

Baljit, on the other hand, is contemptuous of her and I find this
surprising; Cat is a Buddhist and Baljit's low caste is a matter of supreme
indifference to her. At least I have managed to get Baljit back into a sari
and out of those tight britches. Baljit informed me the other day that Cat
has the body of a boy and does not look like a proper woman at all. It is
true that nature has not been bountiful to Cat in certain areas and the
habit of removing all body hair lends further to the impression of youth.
Cat has the body of a young girl although she assures me that she is four
and twenty and has been these past ten years within the harem. She was
presented to the Nizzam by a Burman prince. The Nizzam took her a couple of
times but she did not become one of his favourites. She openly confesses to
have taken her pleasures with the other women as she was denied the company
of a man. She is undoubtedly possessed of strong appetites.

The day I received her, she insisted on attending me at my bath. She removed
her harem pyjamas so they would not get wet and sat beside me, knees akimbo,
naked as the day she was born. This had the predictable effect upon my organ
of generation or 'lingam' as the locals call it. Seeing my distressed state,
she clapped her hands in glee. When I rose from my ablutions, I was still
much excited and she insisted on taking care of the problem forthwith. Cat
believes that retaining the sexual essences for a prolonged period is
detrimental to one's health. She indicated that I should sit in one of the
large, straight-backed chairs. I did so, puzzled.  She proceeded to straddle
me with her back towards my chest and lowered her sexual parts until they
were just touching tip of my erect member. Her yoni was like a little mouth,
nibbling at the tip of my sex while she undulated her hips, never quite
drawing me within, but content to tease me with her pronounced nether lips.
After some several years of abstinence I was unequal to the challenge and
felt my crisis approaching in moments. Cat sensed what was happening and,
with exquisite timing, thrust herself down upon me as I climaxed, milking
the seed from me with rhythmic contraction of her remarkable love muscles. I
feared I cried out in the extremity of the moment, which appeared to delight
her further. My enjoyment was only slightly soured by the furious glare that
Baljit afforded the pair of us when we emerged from my chambers. I fear we
offended the tender sensibilities of one so young.

As a consequence, and not wishing to distress an impressionable young mind,
I always inform Baljit on those nights when Cat is to visit me so that she
may absent herself and not suffer the embarrassment of witnessing the
audible results of my recreations. She accepted this arrangement with ill
grace. I fear that I am diminished in her eyes because of my attachment to
Cat. Baljit will sit and glare at the older woman when we take food
together. She still insists on tasting everything I eat and I cannot
dissuade from her chosen duty.

September 1869

The atmosphere of disharmony in my household continues unabated. I have
repeatedly questioned Baljit as to the reasons for her animosity towards Cat
but she will not give an answer beyond a withering look that would strip the
stucco off the walls. I have attempted to explain the child that a man of my
years has certain needs and that Cat is satisfying them. She simply shrugs.
I fear she thinks me a libertine. Cat tries to be pleasant to the girl but
is constantly rebuffed. As a result, the pair contend for my attention in
their different ways. My syce says that Baljit is jealous - the man's
obviously a fool! Although, if I did not know better, I could almost believe
the presence of the green-eyed monster does afflict her. One episode
recently gave me pause to think that, perhaps, my over-stimulated servant is
right for once.

Two nights ago, we assembled, as usual, for the evening meal. Baljit arrived
accoutred in a pair of the diaphanous pyjamas favoured by Cat and the other
harem women. God alone knows how she came by them, but the effect was most
disturbing. It was quite apparent that she is indeed rapidly becoming a
young woman. Her breasts have grown quite large and her yoni is fleeced with
a thin covering of maidenhair. I insisted that she remove herself and dress
in a more becoming manner although, if I'm truthful, she was a very alluring
sight. I have to remind myself that she is but a child still in a woman's
body. She reacted badly and fled the room weeping, declaiming that the
General-Sahib thought her ugly and worthless. Only her sense of duty made
her return, but she would not linger after tasting each of the evening's
dishes. I protested that I thought her a very pretty girl, but this did not
assuage her injured feelings. Cat thinks that I should not have called her a
girl for Baljit is desirous of being treated as a woman. That is as maybe,
but I cannot rid myself of the memory of the skinny, filthy child who sat so
still for the tiger.

Cat continues to delight. Her appetite for the act of love is almost
boundless and she will often use me to the point of exhaustion. She has
certain tricks to revive my ardour long after I believe myself satiated.
Last night, as I lay exhausted, she rolled me onto my stomach and began to
massage my back and shoulders. Massage would appear to be a Siamese art. She
manipulated my aching muscles and eased the knots from my spine with firm
pressure. Then she began to sweep my skin with her hair, trailing the very
tips of her tresses across my back and buttocks. It was both soothing and
arousing at the same time. I became aware next that she had substituted the
twin firm peaks of her small breasts and she proceeded to stroke herself
lightly across my buttocks and thighs. She made a type of low purring noise
in her throat as she moved, reinforcing further her feline qualities.

Her finger then insinuated itself into my fundament. It was not entirely
unpleasant but it took me by surprise and I yelped. She made a deep apology
and then, to my surprise, I felt her breath upon my buttocks and her tongue
slipped into that nether orifice. I was utterly stunned at the feeling this
intrusion engendered. I felt had been struck by velvet lightning. All the
strength ebbed from my body and I gasped with the intensity of the
sensations, the like of which I have never felt. My life's essence seemed to
drain from me and my entire being was concentrated in that tiny area with
the rest floating free somewhere in the ether. I cannot say how long she
continued these intimate ministrations. Her tongue probed deeper into me and
began to flick back and forth. It was as though a lever was thrown inside me
for, within seconds, my lingam was rampant once more when I would not credit
such a thing was possible.

She rolled me onto my back and straddled me with her sex over my face,
taking my member into her mouth and mewling and sucking like a babe at its
mother's teat. The sight of her spread yoni just above my face created some
kind of madness born of lust in me and I lunged upwards and plunged my
tongue into her salty depths. This met with her approval, for she proceeded
to rub her sopping yoni all over my face. I could taste my own seed along
with her secretions and although the thought is distasteful to me now, at
the time it drove me wild and I thrust up at her willing mouth and used it
like I would customarily use her yoni. I have never experienced such ecstasy
before in my life. I was as out of control as a bolting stallion and Cat was
along for the ride. She ground her sex against my face while forcing her
mouth to accommodate more of my rampant member. I felt my crisis drawing nea
r and thrust deep into her throat. The stout-hearted maid did not miss a
beat but gulped at me, sending delicious pulses through my lingam and up my
spine to explode in my brain. All the while her hips jerked frantically and
I seized her sex lips between my teeth and chewed upon them in my frenzy. We
both spent almost simultaneously and I blacked out momentarily as I pumped
the scalding seed into that gripping, sucking softness. I heard her mewing
as my consciousness faded.

(Editor's Note: Now we begin to see the wretched man's true nature. I regret
to inform the reader that there is more, and worse, in a similar vein.)

I woke this morning feeling refreshed and rested and in better spirits than
for some time. The situation at court has preyed on my mind of late. I doubt
that old Mansoor will last the year out. He is grown so frail and
rheumy-eyed of late, it cannot be long before he meets his maker. He may be
a cruel old buzzard but, in the main, he has played fair by me and my salary
is paid every quarter on the nose. I doubt his people love him but they do
not hate him. He has been largely oblivious to them and if he has done
little to alleviate their sufferings, he has not added to them. The court is
like a State within a State, insular, corrupt, lascivious in the extreme.
The common folk, by contrast, are a cheerful bunch. They go about their
daily lives in relative harmony with one another. It is as if their
contention with nature is sufficient evil unto the day. Theirs is a hard
life, bound to the whims of the weather and the vagaries of their beliefs.
If a white cow decides to eat the tender shoots of their crops, they will
simply stand and watch, unable, because of their religion, to drive it off.

It may seem strange to western eyes, but the Palace has little intercourse
with the city or the surrounding countryside. The people will desist from
their labours and make a deep obeisance if some functionary happens to be
passing but the day-to-day affairs of the populace are ordered more by the
Brahmins than the Musselmen of the court. It is an arrangement that they
accept with equanimity. Life at the Palace is entirely different. Most of
the courtiers have some sort of titular occupation but few do any actual
work. I am viewed with suspicion because I take my duties seriously and
spend at least part of every day with the soldiers. I have constantly to
devise drills and evolutions to keep the men busy. I have instituted
standing anti-Dacoit patrols and we have enjoyed some small successes in
nipping threatened incursions in the bud. We have also begun the business of
building flood defences in those parts where the flooding was most severe
last year. The monsoon is imminent once more and I would wish to avoid a
repetition of last year's depredations. It is surprising to me that nothing
similar has been attempted previously. Perhaps the natural fatalism of the
inhabitants has stifled such initiatives but I think it more likely that
they have simply wanted for any sort of leadership. Of course, those in the
Palace excuse their inactivity by ascribing all natural disasters to the
'will of Allah.' It seems to me that Allah might help those who help
themselves, as the Christian proverb goes.


November 1869

His Highness Mansoor Iqbal Khan, Nizzam of Nambhustan, died yesterday at
about three in the afternoon. The funeral was today and a very ornate affair
it was too, they must have been preparing for weeks. A period of thirty days
' mourning has been declared during which time all must refrain from any
kind of revelry, no fires are to be lit, except on the burning ghats, and
men are to refrain from having relations with their wives or concubines. As
yet, no successor has been acknowledged and the political mayhem within the
Palace has scaled new heights. No less than eleven of his nibs' closer
relatives have been seen off since the old boy died. Since the demise of
Sikkander Khan, the succession has been a matter of conjecture. It now looks
to be a case of 'last man standing.'

Unrest has spread to the town, too, which I was not expecting. There is
always the odd troublemaker and a few 'budmashes' have appeared from under
some stone or other to foment the unpleasantness further. To date, I have
kept the troops in barracks but may have to intervene if order is not
restored soon. I am desirous of keeping the army out of the politicking; it
is always best if the army is seen to be the arm of the State and not some
upstart's plaything. We have a standing guard on the arsenal and infantry
magazines just in case any of the local bad hats find themselves suddenly
fall victim to an idea. The barracks is off limits to anyone from the Palace
save me and my immediate servants. Thus I hope to contain any infection, it
remains to be seen if I will be successful.

Bazaar rumours run rife. There is much talk that some distant-cousin
fourteen-times-removed from over the frontier is mobilising his tribesmen to
come and seize the throne. Given equal credence is the story that the
British will come and absorb the country into the Raj and yet another tale
that would have us invaded by some Mogul Prince from Oudh. Needless to say,
each rumour starts a fresh panic in a different section of the population. I
have removed household to a bungalow next to the barracks. It is not as
comfortable as my old quarters but I feel more at ease away from the
internecine warfare taking place within the court. Even Baljit, usually
serenity itself, has been moved to observe that these are dangerous times.
Cat is happy to be out of the seraglio and is reassured by the presence of
the guards I have placed around the bungalow. I do not believe we are in any
serious danger but innocents may also be killed by crossfire.




December 1869

With great reluctance, I fear I shall have to use the army to restore order.
Since the old Nizzam died we have seen two would-be successors arise only to
be murdered, one by a rival and one by the mob. The madness at the palace
spread to the town about a week past and different factions have been
roaming the streets. They set upon anyone with a different allegiance and a
pall of smoke hangs over Nambhupore from the many fires started by the
rioters. I have armed the Lancers with lathis, stout bamboo sticks about
four feet in length, and tomorrow we shall impose some discipline on the
city.

The following day

I find myself de facto ruler of Nambhustan. Once troops appeared in the
bazaar, order was restored with a minimum of difficulty. I decided to take a
squadron of cavalry up to the Palace. The place was a disaster area. I
imposed martial law forthwith and rounded up any who chose to dispute this.
There are now some sixteen minor nobles languishing in the cells. I know it
won't stop the intrigue completely but it might give most of the warring
factions pause. Towards evening, I was greeted by a deputation of the
townsfolk who requested that the General-Sahib formally take charge of the
country. This has caused me something of a dilemma. If I do make myself
ruler on a permanent basis it will not sit well with the Raj. If I step
aside at present, anarchy will reign once more. I can see already that the
longer I am in charge, the more difficult it will become to relinquish the
reins of power. It would be better if I could find a successor who is
agreeable to all but this looks unlikely. I shall have to give the matter
considerable thought.


Christmas Eve

Tomorrow is the feast of Christ's Nativity and if I am the sole Christian in
Nambhustan, I intend to honour the occasion as best as I may. I have bought
gifts for Cat and Baljit and have arranged a lavish dinner for the morrow.
It won't be goose, of course, but one must mark the day somehow.

Things have been peaceful for the past few days and this morning it was the
turn of the representatives of the city's merchants to press me to formally
appoint myself as ruler. Unrest is bad for business, of course, so they
would support anyone who promises a strong and peaceable rule. I have
organised something of a government from among the more able and
level-headed of the court and they, too, implore me to take the vacant
throne. Ramnesh Lal is of the opinion that army would definitely approve of
such a move and, in truth, apart from my own reluctance, I can see no better
course of action as things stand. I have promised all concerned that they
shall have my decision after the feast. This will give a day of
contemplation during which to make up my mind.

There are a number of complications. For example, I will 'inherit' a
multiplicity of hangers-on - all in receipt of Royal pensions. Then there is
the small matter of some four hundred concubines, thirty eunuchs, sixteen
elephants and treasury stacked from floor to ceiling with gold, silver and
precious stones. I will also find myself the owner of a round dozen
residences and hunting lodges and a vast army of bearers, sweepers, syces,
punkah-wallahs and the like. My head was spinning so much that I had to
summon Cat and have her give me one of her Siamese massages. That ended up
with me giving her a royal rogering. I swear that the woman has buttocks of
sprung steel.


To be continued.January 1870

All hail King Harry of Nambhustan! I declined the title of Nizzam and
adopted that of my native England. I hope this will appease both Hindoo and
Musselman alike, having no connotations to either religion. My coronation
was a splendid farce. I thought at one point that the crowd would be
trampled by the elephants, so close did they rush to the procession to
glimpse their new ruler. We had to suspend events for a while until the army
could push them back. In the resulting turmoil, one of the food stalls got
knocked over and the fire then spread to part of the bazaar. We only
prevented a further proliferation of the conflagration by pulling down the
houses to the east of the marketplace. It was fully three hours before the
solemnities could be resumed. By that time, I was as pissed as a Judge,
having spent the intervening period getting myself outside a couple of
bottles of bubbly.


The entire court, en elephant, tramped about the town and back to the
palace. I had Cat and Baljit in my howdah and that little Siamese minx kept
grabbing at my privates and trying to stimulate me to passion throughout our
progress. The alcohol I had consumed mostly thwarted her efforts but that
didn't prevent Baljit getting into a terrible huff and refusing to speak to
me. A couple of the elderly ladies of the harem expired from the excitement
during the procession and more than one ended up her on her arse trying to
alight from elephant back once we got to back to the palace. To crown it
all - literally - the jeweller entrusted with the manufacture of the royal
coronet had mistakenly assumed I would be wearing a turban. When they placed
the thing on my noble brow it slipped down and ended up as a bloody
necklace. I howled like a dog and wept with laughter. I haven't laughed so
much since 'Basher' Clayton stabbed himself in the ghoolies with the butt of
a lance while pig-sticking. Poor bastard couldn't walk with his knees
together for a week and a half!

My first act as monarch of this fair land was to appoint Armanath Singh to
be my Prime Minister. He is a corrupt, venal, untrustworthy, lying toad and
thus the ideal man for the job. As his name suggests, he is not a local but
a follower of the Guru from up near Amritsah, which means, at least, that
there is not a horde of relatives who all need places found for them. Friend
Armanath is a very downy bird indeed but I have his measure and, as long as
his fear of my wrath outweighs his avarice, we will get along. The hardest
thing for me to get used to is the number of spurious 'royal servants' that
tradition demands I must have about me. I am intent on thinning the ranks a
bit but it seems I will still end up with a considerable entourage. I
managed to cut it down by giving each individual several appointments but
even so, I am left with an irreducible core of about one hundred and fifty.

My next task was to tackle the harem. The old boy had kept every one of his
concubines so there were passing four hundred women in the establishment. I
held a bibi parade and ushered about three hundred and fifty of them into
honourable retirement. This leaves me with getting on for sixty of the
choicest morsels. I little suspected that tradition has it that I must bed
them all in a single night to display my royal prowess. At least, that is
what Armanath Singh insists upon, though I am at my wit's end to know how to
accomplish such prodigies. I am not entirely convinced that the man isn't
having a joke at my expense but the other senior courtiers all insisted this
was the truth so I shall have to do my best. There is more to the business
of being a Potentate than I had ever suspected.


February 1870

With a lot of help from Cat, I survived my trial by yoni. We devised a plan
together that would allow me to penetrate each concubine in turn without so
sapping myself of the male essence that I would be unable to do my duty
beyond the first four or five. We selected one of the high audience chambers
in the palace that gets the most cool air. The room was then carpeted with
rose petals and fragrant oils were lit in all of the lamps. The girls were
freshly bathed and perfumed and were assembled in the chamber to await the
royal lingam. Cat played the role of mistress of ceremonies and sorted out a
'batting order.'  I made my grand entrance and they all prostrated
themselves before me. Fifty-eight pairs of comely buttocks pointed skywards.
It was as sight I will carry to my grave.

A low divan had been placed in the centre of the chamber for me to recline
upon. I removed my pyjamas and lay back, not quite recumbent but yet not
sitting upright. My feet were on the floor at either side of the divan. Then
Cat ushered the first girl forward. I could see why she had been chosen to
open the innings. She was a tall, statuesque piece whom Cat informed me was
Persian. Her breasts were large and low-slung and tipped by enormous
nipples. At a word from Cat, she crouched down and took my lingam between
these magnificent teats, rubbing herself against me and stimulating me into
readiness. On being given another command, she rose up and impaled herself
on my rampant member. Sliding slowly down the entire length of my lingam
until her body seemed to merge into mine. She was allowed but ten thrusts
before the next in queue was summoned forth to take her place.

I was most reluctant to let her go as she had definitely begun to gain my
interest. However, her replacement was equally delightful and she engulfed
my lingam with a series of nibbles of her yoni so that I watched my manhood
disappear into her by small stages. Her nether lips seemed to reach out and
clasp me and suck me deeper at each turn. It was remarkable performance -
all the more so since she was barely five feet high and as slightly built as
a dancer. She had no breasts to speak of but made up for this with her
amazingly prehensile cuntlips. Cat watched my reactions closely and ushered
the girl away before I had the opportunity to spend. The third and the
fourth girl were twins and approached me together.


One clasped the other about the waist and pressed closely against her sister
's back. They then proceeded to mount me thus conjoined and by a
synchronised undulation of their hips, first one and then the other took me
in. They were obviously practised at this form of double lovemaking and, if
hadn't been for the evidence of my own eyes, I would not have known that
there were two women pleasuring me so avidly. The twins were both black
Madrasi girls. I watched in wonder as the front one lifted to allow her
sister to slide down on me. At each change I could see a delightful flash of
pink contrasting against the dark velvet flesh. They were obviously
competing with each other for the privilege of their master's seed but Cat
was having none of it. Before they could work their unified magic, they were
whisked away and their place was taken by a pale Rajput girl with heavy eyes
and high round breasts.

The contrast could have not been greater. This one moved with infinite
slowness, barely lifting herself from my lingam but applied a delicate,
rhythmic rippling which spoke of great muscular control. I cannot begin to
describe the sensation adequately. She was a true mistress of her art and
even more impressive in the control of her yoni than Cat. Too late did Cat
try to pull her away and as she hauled the reluctant girl off me, I spent my
seed, fountaining into the air to splash across her belly and the underside
of her breasts. It had been too much and my senses were utterly overloaded.
Cat was furious with the girl. She had been unable to discern what the
Rajput had been doing and thus had not been able to prevent my climax. At
this point I called for refreshments and satisfied myself with a glass or
two of cold nimbu pani. Alcohol would have not had assisted me in my task.

I took the opportunity afforded by this break in proceedings to study
something that, increasingly, had caught my attention. To wit, the diversity
of shape and structure of the various yonis on display. I summoned each girl
in turn and closely examined the detailed topography of the intimate parts
of each. I have been told that the Persians have identified thirty eight
different types of yoni and I would hazard a guess that most of these were
represented in my harem.

First, there were disparities of size. In some of the girls, the yoni was
long, filling entirely the fork of the crotch. Others were much shorter,
commencing their bifurcation lower and with more of a gap between the base
of the yoni and that other aperture. Then there were marked differences in
the plumpness of the outer lips. Some were swollen, as if stung by bees,
while others were flatter and one girl had so little by way of outer
protrusions that her inner lips hung quite clearly visible even when her
thighs were together. There was a great range of shapes, sizes and colours
when it came to examining the inner lips. Some were swirled with folds while
others barely crinkled at all. Some were darker than the surrounding skin
and others noticeably lighter. Those girls of a more dusky hue were most
likely to have darker yonis with some, like my twins, verging on black. The
prominence of these inner lips also varied enormously. The majority were
visible when the girls stood before me with legs spread but there were one
or two exceptions.

One girl presented only a plump, narrow slit while another would display
long fleshy folds that opened like the wings of a butterfly. Another
variation was to be found in the size and positioning of the jewel in the
lotus itself. Some were heavily hooded and secretive while others wore only
a short garment and peeped at the world at the slightest provocation. Such a
study had restored my interest in the main event and I signalled to Cat that
I was ready to resume. The second innings began with a small Malay girl. It
was she whose yoni displayed only the plump exterior and I foolishly
wondered if she was fully functional. I need not have worried for she seized
my lingam enthusiastically and lowered herself rapidly on to me with a sharp
hiss of her breath. What had been hidden now became wholly visible. Her
inner slips were short and delicately made, to be sure, but there was
nothing amiss. She had the most supple hips and gyrated in a corkscrew
motion that had me gasping in no time. Cat was fully alive to this and
tugged her off me at the double.

I did rather better the second time and it took eight more samplings before
I once more jetted my appreciation of their efforts. Cat decreed that I must
refresh myself and I was escorted to bathe and be massaged and generally
pampered before returning to the fray. The third session went rather well
and I managed fourteen impalements before once more offering up my seed,
this time, in somewhat lesser quantity. I resumed my study of the
multiplicity of types of yoni while I recovered my strength. I could not
decide which variation on the general theme that I found the most
attractive. There was one particular variety that seemed uncommon but
pleased me greatly. Here, the outer yoni was moderately plump and not
positioned too far underneath. The hood of the jewel was short and wide
giving a pronounced separation that was readily visible when the girl stood
with her legs together. On spreading her legs, the inner petals appeared
emerging from under the base of the hood, short and well-fleshed and
relatively free of heavy folding.


I summoned the owner of this delight and bade her straddle me so that I
might make a closer examination. The fragrant little flower was all too
tempting and in no time, I had her positioned in such a way that I might
explore her fully with my tongue. My labial ministrations pleased us both
greatly and, while I was thus preoccupied, Cat took the opportunity to
instigate another round of mountings. The sensation of a succession of wet
flesh sliding onto my lingam, coupled with the delights before my face was a
potent combination and I had little difficulty in maintaining the necessary
interest. I lost count of the number of yonis that my blind member accounted
for while I nibbled and licked at the precious little jewel that began to
squirm and pant above me. I reached up and cupped her firm little teats,
each filling one hand and no more. Twin hard little points grazed my palms
and I took each between forefinger and thumb and rolled and squeezed with
increasing firmness. This did the trick, for the girl squeaked like a mouse
and shuddered like a man in the grip of the malaria. A salty tang filled my
mouth and I supped at her greedily.

She slid away and her place was taken by another. This was a very different
flower and I found myself chewing on long, fleshy petals scented with a hint
of musk. This double stimulation buoyed me up and I was now jerking up my
own hips to meet the downward thrusts. Once more, Cat was a fraction too
late in removing the critical girl from my lingam, but this time, as I
started to spurt once more, I felt the distinctive sensation of someone's
mouth closing over my member and heard a low moan as I spent into that
welcome warmth. I eased another shuddering maiden off my face and looked
down to see Cat, eyes wide, her lips wrapped firmly about my shrinking
manhood. She shrugged as if to say 'what did you expect?'

Cat seemed to think I would need more assistance in coming to attention this
time so she growled a word or two at a couple of the girls and they came to
stand beside the divan. One was the pale Persian and the other a dark
Dravidian. They began to kiss each other languorously, hands stroking
lightly over breasts and buttocks. The dark girl bent and took one of the
Persian's huge nipples in her mouth, tracing slow circles with her tongue
around the stiffening peak while the larger girl hummed with pleasure. I
watched in fascination. I had never seen the Sapphic arts displayed before.
I noted with interest the gentleness of each caress, the indirect contact
and flirtatious titillations. It was an education for a man to see how a
woman loved a woman. Men go at it directly, bald headed with little finesse
when compared to these two beauties. Their lovemaking was like a slow dance,
a thing of sighs and subtleties, oblique touches and delicate, almost
hesitant, soothing motions.

It was clearly having an effect upon them as their breath came faster and
the movements firmer, more insistent. I rose from the divan and motioned
them to take my place. They moved smoothly. The Persian slipped between the
dark girl's legs and began to kiss and lick at her yoni with long, sweeping
movements of her tongue. All the while she avoided any contact with the
hooded jewel but swept her kisses up each side and insinuated her darting
tongue between the other girl's inner and outer petals. It was a teasing
display and the dark girl twisted beneath her. At length, she could stand it
no longer and grabbed the Persian's hair, forcing the latter's face towards
the secret of her pleasure.

The Persian responded with a will and lashed the dark girl's jewel avidly,
but I could still detect a lightness of touch that I myself had not employed
earlier. She took the hood between her moist lips and worked it back and
forth while the dark girl writhed in extremis. The Persian inserted two
long, slender fingers into the heart of the dark girl's yoni and the poor
maid went wild, thrashing and moaning and giving forth a great ululating cry
as her pleasure peaked. I watched spellbound as the Persian girl appeared
then to reverse her previous actions, moving her attention away from the
jewel and back to the slick folds as the dark girl sighed, her eyes misty
and hooded. I bent down and took the Persian's breast in my hand, glorying
in the weight of it. I was ready to resume my duties.

I can recall little of that last innings. One yoni blends with another.
Always there was the persistent voice of Cat, encouraging, rebuking,
organising. I had lost count some time before. My member felt raw and in
some way, I managed to distance myself from the final proceedings. The night
that began in a soft sensual haze finished in teeth-gritted determination. I
was hard as a rock but felt no pleasure from the succession of slick
enfoldings. I felt only a wave of relief when Cat informed me that all
fifty-eight concubines had been duly penetrated. I crawled away to my
quarters, exhausted, beyond satiated and sore. A little while after I felt
Cat crawl into bed beside me. I must have groaned aloud for she giggled then
cuddled up against my back as I slipped once more into a deep, dreamless
sleep.

The following day, word of my exploits spread throughout the Palace. I did
my best to walk normally and act as though such excesses were all in a day's
work for King Harry. I did notice that the Palace Guard looked at me with
new respect, and not a little envy, in their eyes.



April 1870

That old fart Dysehart has just fled back to Chittagong. You can imagine his
surprise when he came snooping and found King Harry in residence! I thought
he'd have an apoplexy on the spot. It didn't help that I was drunk as a Lord
when the old busybody showed up. My one problem here is boredom. There is so
little to do if one is a ruler. I have trouble persuading the assembled
royal entourage that I'm quite up to wiping my own arse without fifteen
flunkies to do it for me. The one intellectual challenge I face is ensuring
that oily bastard of a Prime Minister keeps his peculation within acceptable
limits. I miss the companionship of the Regiment. There is no one here with
whom I may reminisce about home. I have so little shared experience with
these people. They cannot understand why I become enraged by their odd,
gratuitous cruelties.

Among the Hindoo, the caste system is rigid and can never be transcended.
Baljit is of the Mahar or 'untouchable' caste - the lowest of the low. At
the top are the Brahmins and it is from this caste that the most important
priests and other dignitaries are drawn. Then come the military castes like
Rajputs and Marathas. Next come the various merchant castes and then the
agriculturalists, the fishermen, the bearers and transporters and so forth.
In all, there are some ninety different castes each one with a prescribed
occupation and a list of rigidly enforced taboos. One is born into a caste
and can never escape from the restrictions imposed at birth. All of this
stifles ambition and innovation among the Hindoos and has led, in no small
way, to the rule of the Moguls and their successors, who are all Musselmen.

The Musselmen have no caste system but observe the niceties of the Hindoo
hierarchy - more to avoid giving offence than for any other reason. The
Musselmen are in a minority and both religions rub along well enough most of
the time until some zealot decides to stir things up. Most of the wandering
holy men are quite harmless and potty as your ancient uncle. The odd one
that looks to cause trouble is quietly encouraged to move on. One or two
wished to become martyrs and I granted them their request. I will not hold
with inter-religious murder and strife. However hard I try, though, I cannot
get Baljit accepted around the Palace. The other Hindoos believe that her
very presence pollutes their own caste and look askance at me for allowing
her so close to my person. The kitchen bearers will not touch any dish that
she has touched and she has to wash my things herself.

The girl continues to puzzle me. If we two are alone, she is happy and
willing to engage in conversation. In the presence of Cat she becomes morose
and brooding although Cat, as a Buddhist, is untroubled by her lowly status
and treats the child with rough affection, teasing her and generally acting
the goat. It as is if Baljit is jealous of the older woman. Cat says this is
so but when I ask why, she just giggles.

May 1870


Captain Hadley of the 74th Foot and ADC to the Governor-General arrived a
few days ago. I have had him accommodated in a guest bungalow while I made
up my mind what to do. A part of me would dearly love to give up this
pretence and return with him to the bosom of the army but I fear have burned
my bridges in that regard. The other part wishes to display my good fortune
for all to admire. Where else on Earth can a man of relatively humble
origins, the son of a clergyman, rise to a position of such wealth and
luxury? I was seized with an irrational jealousy of my position and formed
the thought that Hadley was come to deprive me of it in some manner as yet
unknown to me. I determined, as a consequence, to employ shock tactics on
the man.

Hadley is one of those milk-and-water types, the archetypal Englishman, all
blonde curls and pink, youthful skin though he must be near enough my own
age. He duly appeared at the 'audience' I arranged clad in his best bib and
tucker, the scarlet coat clashing horribly with his peeling, sun-reddened
features. I could have laughed out loud he was so earnest. I had Cat parade
most of the girls in full Harem rig and sat in my regal get-up smoking a
hookah. Hadley's face was an absolute picture! I thought his eyes were going
to come out on stalks when he first clapped them on the girls. I'm quite
used to them now, of course, but they had a decided effect on him and he was
soon sweating profusely and trying desperately not to look and suppress a
pronounced bulge in his trews. I offered him his pick of the stable and he
turned even pinker and spluttered an outraged, if still exquisitely polite,
refusal. I decided to turn the screw further by summoning my Persian,
Jayanti, and proceeded to fondle her intimately in his sight. He alternated
between deathly pale and scarlet as bright as his jacket and it looked as
though his collar would choke him.


I was having such fun that I rather forgot the purpose of his visit. He was
insistent that I abdicate and restore the royal line of Nambhustan. I think
the chap was under the impression that I somehow usurped the throne and
there was a miserable princeling languishing in my dungeons as we spoke. I
chose not to disabuse him of this nonsense and informed him that Nambhustan
would not stand idly by if the Raj inserted their long, sticky nose into our
affairs. After I wearied of him, I sent him packing but allowed that he
could return the following year, if he was so minded. He retorted, a trifle
hotly in my view, that his mind was irrelevant in the matter and that he
would carry out his orders and do his duty. I wished him joy of both and
sent him from my presence. Cat remarked that he couldn't get back to his
bungalow soon enough - presumably because he was desirous of bashing his
bishop, although she didn't put it quite like that!

(Editor's Note: Needless to say Hadley was outraged by this suggestion.)

He declined my invitation to a state banquet that evening - I admit that I
did somehow imply that this might, in fact, be more of an orgy, and left
with his escort early the following day. I will confess I am beginning to
regret my rough handling of the chap. It might have been nice to hold a
civilised conversation but he annoyed me with his petty, high-minded
hypocrisy and I doubt very much he would be able to see past it. I was
grateful that he saw fit to leave behind my mail and I spent a pleasant hour
or two reading the three letters from home that had arrived in my absence.
My only regular correspondent is my saintly sister, who devotes her life,
absent the presence of a husband to keep her otherwise occupied, to doing
good works among the poor of Birmingham. You may imagine, therefore, there
was nothing salacious in her missives. I take great delight in describing to
her, the intimate details of my harem girls. After, all, it is the only
excitement that the poor woman will ever have in her life.


June 1870

I am writing this in the early hours of the morning, physically exhausted
but with my mind still racing from the evening's events and far too active
to permit sleep. As has become my after dinner custom, I smoked a pipe or
two of hashish and was entered upon that strange dreamy yet heightened state
of awareness that the herb induces in those who succumb to its seductive
charms. I was in my private quarters, having issued strict instructions that
I was not to be disturbed save by the chosen object of my attention that
evening. I was promised a rare treat - a new girl. I recently played host to
a delegation from the King of Burma, en route to Calcutta. I have no idea if
they concluded their business successfully or not but yesterday, a small
caravan arrived from the King, bearing gifts and profuse thanks for my
hospitality. There were all the usual gee-gaws encrusted with precious
stones, a very handsome, if utterly impractical, suit of armour that might
have looked very well on a man half my size and two young ladies for my
harem.

One was a delightful little thing from Annam, pale ivory skin and hair as
black as a raven's wing with that same bluish sheen. The other was small and
dark and hailed from the Isle of Ceylon, way to the south. The Singhalese
girl was so slight, the top of her head barely reached my shoulder and I
could span her waist with my two hands. Despite her slender frame, she was
possessed of a remarkably ample bust. I was assured by the emissaries that
this girl had been highly trained in all the arts of the love since the age
of twelve and that her training had taken no less than seven years. By
contrast, I was told, the Annamese girl was an innocent and had not known a
man. For some reason, virginity is a highly prized commodity here in the
East. Personally, I much prefer experience although I will allow there is a
subtle pleasure in despoiling sweet virtue.

(Editor's Note: Now we see the rascal's true nature.)

I therefore decided that I would sample the arts of the Singhalese girl and
bade Cat prepare her and bring her to me at around ten o'clock. Cat was most
unhappy with this. I do believe the little minx is jealous but she is still
obedient enough to carry out her duty. Indeed, it is fair to say that she
exceeded my expectations in this regard for the little baggage had surpassed
herself in preparing the Singhalese. Cat brought the girl to my apartments
at the appointed hour and I will confess, it took my breath away. She had
been bathed and anointed with sweet-scented oils and her lustrous hair hung
down her back to the swell of her delightful buttocks. But it was her attire
that caught, dare I say riveted, the attention.


She first appeared concealed by a long robe or cloak. Cat removed this with
the panache of an artist unveiling her latest masterpiece. The girl was more
than naked underneath this veil. A sort of cloth-of-gold harness was round
her neck and swooped in twin ropes to bind her breasts in such a way as to
present the two swollen orbs with such prominence, it was all I could do to
prevent myself falling upon them and feasting immediately. This harness then
continued down to encompass and cinch the already tiny waist, where it was
secured with a jewelled buckle. Two further straps were secured from this
waistband and these dived down to the fork of her crotch. The straps had
been artfully placed and secured so tightly that they pulled apart the outer
lips of her bald yoni, displaying the inner parts. This, indeed, was a
masterstroke. The girl's inner petals were the longest I have ever seen and
protruded from the strapping for the length of my thumb. It was a truly
remarkable sight. I was even more astounded when Cat took the girl by the
shoulders and turned her about. The lower harness straps were secured on a
golden rod that was very obviously wedged deep in the girl's fundament. Two
further straps were also fixed on this, extending up to the girl's wrists,
which were thus firmly bound behind her.

While I drank this extraordinary sight, the Singhalese stood quietly with
lowered eyes. A secret smile appeared to play upon her lips, an expression
so subtle that one was not entirely sure that it was there. Cat examined my
reaction covertly through lowered lashes. In my somewhat fuddled state, I
was barely aware of her scrutiny or what it might portend. Cat slipped away,
leaving me to contemplate the wonders displayed before me. The girl made a
low bow and, without a word, began to remove my clothing with her teeth.
Somehow she directed my stumbling feet backwards until I reclined on the
divan. I made as if to rise but she gestured for me to remain still and made
it plain that she was to do all the work. She crouched on the floor beside
me and presented her bulging breasts for me to kiss. The harness constrained
them cruelly close to her chest, squeezing them into hard hemispheres. Her
nipples were long and distended, whether as the result of the binding or her
obvious arousal, I could not say. I suckled happily as a babe upon first one
proffered teat and then the other. She made no sound but her breathing
became deep and rapid.

I was, of course, under the influence of the hashish and time had no meaning
for me. The urgency was there but distantly; I felt no pressure to hurry but
relaxed and let matters take their course. In all verity, I was incapable of
doing otherwise. At length she withdrew her breasts from my embrace and
moved down my body. She swayed slightly, causing her trailing nipples to
weave intricate patterns across the skin of my chest and belly until she
reached my straining lingam. I cannot recall having ever been so hard. I
feared my skin would split. She continued down, tracing her swollen teats
around my balls and then down my thighs. It felt like velvet fire. When she
reached my feet she paused and lowered her head, taking each of my toes into
her mouth in turn and sucking on them. The resulting sensation was
unbelievable. With the hashish coursing through my blood, I could feel every
slight graze of her teeth and every swish and swirl of her silken tongue. I
cried out in ecstasy. She then began to nibble her way back up legs, licking
and biting along my thighs until she reached my crotch. She began to lick
and nibble at my balls and then, with infinite gentleness, drew first one
and then the other entirely into her mouth while swirling her tongue across
the tortured skin.

I lost consciousness for a few seconds so overloaded were my senses. When I
came to myself again she was poised, squatting above me with her back to me.
She held my rampant member in her bound hands and was rocking gently back
and forth, brushing the crown of my lingam with her long, moist lips. Once
she saw that I was awake again, she shot me a wicked smile and lowered
herself slowly onto me until my manly organ was completely invisible. Her
oversized petals appeared to clasp at the flesh of my belly and I groaned
aloud. She took this as her signal and rotated her body forwards and began a
strange undulating motion of her hips with the result that I was afforded a
clear view of my lingam appearing and disappearing into her orchid. I became
aware that the golden rod buried deeply in her nether orifice must be of a
ridged pattern for I could feel it through the wall of her yoni. It produced
an exquisite sensation that she accentuated with the rolling of her hips.
The combination of visual and physical stimulation was unbearable and I felt
the first stirrings of my crisis. I started to move my own hips with more
urgency and she responded by slamming down onto my thighs and clamping hard
with her internal muscles, remaining absolutely motionless until my
excitement receded somewhat. Then she began again.

I cannot recall how many times she brought me to the point of climax only to
hold me fast before I could tip over the edge. I find it amazing now that I
acquiesced to such sweet torture with every sensation sharpened to an
unbearable degree by the drug that addled my brain. I lay there, sweating
and gasping with my heart pounding against my ribcage. I could not help but
admire the strength of her thighs and the stamina with which she applied
herself to her task. At length, she could carry on no further and pitched
forward to rest her forehead on the divan, allowing her legs to slide out
behind her. She knelt thus like a supplicant. I rose and moved behind her,
preparing, this time, to gain my release.


As I moved to position myself, she grasped the golden rod between slender
fingers and withdrew it from her fundament. It was then I saw that the rod
was, in fact, a short plug with a series of golden balls threaded on a fine
chain depending from its tip. These were the ridges I had felt. She expelled
each ball slowly, shuddering a little as she did so. When at last she was
empty of the spheres, she indicated by gesture that I should now enter where
once they had been. I needed no second invitation and eased my self into the
grasping mouth of her fundament. I began to fuck her then with long, slow
strokes. She gyrated her hips in time with my movements and was panting like
a rabid dog. A flash of movement caught my eye and a naked Cat suddenly
interposed herself, forcing my legs apart and sliding head first underneath
me.

Cat began to lap at us both, licking my balls and probing the Singhalese
girl's yoni with her tongue. I felt her finger insinuate itself into my own
fundament and I will confess I delighted in the intrusion and pushed back to
allow her freer access. The other girl began to thrash and moan and the pace
became frantic. I was pummelling her buttocks as I slammed into her as hard
and as fast I could go. Cat was mewling and slurping like a good'un and the
Singhalese was yelping and moaning while I issued forth such a volley of
curses and filth as would make a sailor blush. Then I was lost, soaring
among the stars. The girl squealed at the first spurting of my hot seed and
clamped down hard. I rammed through the tightness, spending again and again
until I thought I would turn myself inside out. I have never felt the like.
Whether this was the drug or the result of my first experience with the vice
of Sodom, I cannot tell.

Cat continued to lap beneath us I collapsed across the prostrate girl's
back. When I could move again at last, I withdrew my wilting member from the
girl's arse and sat back. I looked down into Cat's hooded eyes and saw the
smouldering lust within. I felt an answering hunger and was amazed to find
my lingam standing proudly before me yet again. There was a kind of vicious
rage within me and I seized Cat roughly and spun her over before slamming
into her sopping yoni. After a dozen or so deep thrusts, I was ready. I
seized Cat's buttocks and stretched them wide. She knew then that I meant to
use her as I had the other girl and she splayed her legs wide and thrust out
her rump towards me. The Singhalese had roused herself in the meanwhile and
had shed the bindings of her wrists. She now came and took my member in her
hand and steered it towards its goal. I will admit that I was a little rough
with Cat, but the minx had been hiding all the while and observing me, so I
determined that a little punishment was in order. I thrust my entire length
into her giving her no time to accommodate my girth. She yelped in pain and
I rejoiced in it. I slammed into her again and again while the other girl
massaged my aching balls with one hand and diddled Cat with the other. Cat
soon entered into the spirit of things and was pounding back at me as hard
as I was going at her.

It couldn't last. Crazed as I was, I knew that this would be a short, hard
ride and so it proved. I was soon in the grip of another thunderous climax.
My hips jerked uncontrollably and I howled like a dog. My seed burst forth
to flood Cat's willing fundament and she, too, howled as she felt the heat
of it burst deep within her. I fell back on the divan, physically and
emotionally drained. The two girls exchanged meaningful looks and then
embraced, kissing each other passionately. I watched in a trance-like state
of detachment as they caressed each other. It seemed to be taking place on
another continent so distant did it seem to my befuddled senses. I watched
Cat unbind the other girl's breasts and heard, as if from far away, the
latter's moan as the blood surged back into those tortured orbs. The
sensation must have been extremely intense for she clasped her sex with both
her hands and rocked and moaned and carried on to beat the band while Cat
suckled on her distended nipples and tugged on the girl's curiously long
cuntlips. I think I must have dozed off about then. When I awoke, an hour
since, I was alone. Only the heavy smell of stale sex overlaid with the
sweetish smell of the hashish remained.