ld channel instead of flowing into the Sea of Aral. He
was also to determine how many men would be needed to do that.
Rumour had it that Khan Shirgazy, who now ruled Khiva, was extremely
hostile to the local princes and was eager to consolidate his power. Prince
Bekovich-Cherkassky was instructed to persuade him to become a Russian
subject loyal to the tsar by promising to help him to unite his domain. In
return for putting a Russian regiment at his service the Khan would
presumably act in the interests of Russia.
The Prince was also instructed by Peter to send an intelligence agent
to Khiva disguised as a merchant to search for a water route to India.
By decree of the Senate the strength of the expedition was enlarged to
6100 men in three infantry regiments, two dragoon units, two Cossack
regiments, a marine detachment and a building crew. The building crew
included men experienced in the construction of fortifications. The
expedition also had scribes, interpreters, doctors and pharmacists.
The regiments and baggage-trains gathered at Guryev. Prince
Bekovich-Cherkassky set out for Guryev from Astrakhan, accompanied for a
short distance, as far as the Caspian, by his wife Martha and their
children. A fishing vessel followed the flotilla to take her and the
children back to Astrakhan.
Soon after they set sail the weather changed. A furious wind drove
heavy waves against the current. The Prince bade his wife and children
farewell, then stood for a long time watching the triangular white sail of
their boat grow smaller in the distance. As he observed the clouds gathering
above the Volga and listened to the wind howling in the rigging, he was
filled with foreboding.
Before long the news reached Guryev that his wife and daughters had
been drowned in the storm. Only his little son had been rescued.
When in the company of others the Prince tried to hide his sorrow. But
the sight of him sitting alone in his tent, gazing fixedly into space, his
face a picture of despair, was enough to wring the hardest heart.
At the end of May 1717 the expedition set out from Guryev for Khiva.
There was a good road, and they had an abundance of water as well as plenty
of forage for the horses. The expedition was able to make up to fifteen
kilometres a day across the salt marshes, and reached the Emba River in a
week's time. There the men and the horses rested for two days, then built
rafts and crossed the river.
Here the sands began. Following a caravan route, the expedition finally
reached the blue Sea of Aral.
The men were tormented by the heat and by thirst. All around them
stretched scorching sands. Time and again the expedition failed to reach the
next well by nightfall. Slowly but surely it was moving towards its doom.
Fedor Matveyev found the march difficult. Although he had a good
physique and endured the heat better than many of the others, a presentiment
of disaster kept nagging at him. Outwardly, however, he was composed. He
encouraged the weary and seemed to know just where to dig shallow wells
during bivouacs. The water brought up was brackish but potable.
Finally the expedition reached Lake Aibugir. Now Khiva was only a few
days' march away.
It had been assumed, when plans for the expedition were first laid,
that Khan Shirgazy was a weak ruler, fearful of his subjects, and would
eagerly accept an offer of Russian military aid. That was no longer the case
in 1717. Khan Shirgazy had brutally suppressed an uprising and was now
stronger than ever before. As the Russians approached Khiva he resolved to
show his enemies just how strong he really was.
One morning a band of Khiva horsemen galloped into view from behind the
hillocks along the lake shore. Brandishing curved sabres and filling the
desert with war cries, they charged the Russian camp.
The attack failed because the sentries were vigilant and the camp was
surrounded by a wall of carts from the baggage-trains. The attacking force
had to dismount and lie prone. The exchange of fare lasted until evening.
During the night the Russians fortified their positions. They dug
ditches on three sides of the camp and built an earthen rampart. The fourth
side was the lake, which was thickly overgrown with reeds. They tied reeds
into bundles and piled them together to conceal the batteries.
The next morning an army of 20 000 men-ten times more than the
expedition had-led by Khan Shirgazy himself, surrounded the camp.
The siege lasted two days. The Russian cannon pounded away steadily;
the men did not run out of either cannon-balls or vodka, and water for
cooling the gun barrels was at hand. Heavy losses were inflicted on the
attacking Khivans. Although the Prince's men were exhausted from their
gruelling march they fought gallantly.
When Khan Shirgazy saw that he could not take the camp by storm he
decided to resort to guile. To the astonishment of the Russians the
besieging troops vanished during the night. Silence reigned over the desert.
The next day passed in tense expectation. Towards evening a lone
horseman came galloping across the desert towards the camp. Wearing a
richly-embroidered robe and turban, and with his hennaed beard, he was a
colourful sight. When he reached the camp he introduced himself as Ishim
Hodja, envoy of the Khan, and explained courteously that the attack had been
made without the Khan's knowledge. The Khan, he said, had ordered the heads
of the guilty to roll, and now invited the Prince to a council of peace and
friendship.
The latter sent a Tatar named Useinov to tell the Khan that he, Prince
Alexander Bekovich-Cherkassky, was an envoy of the white tsar, bearing
credentials and many gifts, and that it would be to the Khan's great
advantage to receive the Russian mission.
Khan Shirgazy received Useinov and asked him to tell the Prince that he
would reply after he had consulted with his advisers.
He did consult with his advisers. They said it had been a mistake to
withdraw from Lake Aibugir, for the Prince did not have many men and it was
too early to resort to guile.
Soon the curved blades of the Khiva horsemen again glinted in the sun
in front of the Russian fortifications beside the lake. Slender arrows and
clay bullets glazed with lead again flew towards the camp. Again clouds of
black smoke drifted across the desert as the Russian gunners, veterans of
the war against Sweden, took aim and fired. After beating off the attack
Prince Bekovich-Cherkassky again sent his parliamentarian to the Khan to
demand an explanation of this perfidious conduct.
Khan Shirgazy insisted once again the attack had been made without his
knowledge. Again he declared that those to blame for the attack had already
been caught and punished, some by death and others by a fate worse than
death. The next day Prince Bekovich-Cherkassky himself rode over to the
headquarters of the Khan for a talk.
The Khan received him graciously. He promised to order his men to tear
down the dam on the Amu Darya. He promised to be a younger brother to Peter
the Great. He pledged peace and love and he kissed the tsar's scroll.
The day was clear, with a fierce sun beating down mercilessly. All of a
sudden the motionless air stirred, and a light breeze arose.
Dogs howled and horses neighed. The sheep which the Khan's men had
brought along for a feast huddled together, bleating piteously.
A black smudge appeared on the disc of the sun. It grew rapidly,
spreading across the sun. Darkness fell. Stars came out.
The Khiva men beat on tambourines and drums to drive away the demons
that were trying to swallow the sun.
Khan Shirgazy was alarmed. Could this be a bad omen, just when he was
about to sign a treaty with the white tsar?
An elderly mullah in a green turban stood on tiptoe, his goatee
tickling the hairy ear of tall Khan Shirgazy. He whispered, a crooked finger
pointing to the darkened sun, "Do you see the omen, oh mighty ruler?"
"I do," the Khan growled.
"The omen is shaped like a crescent. It signifies that the glory of
Islam will eclipse the glory of the infidels."
This reassured the Khan. When the eclipse ended he accepted the gifts
of the white tsar with a light heart. Examination of the gifts lasted until
evening.
Then the Khan and the Prince mounted their steeds and set out for
Khiva, riding side by side. They were followed by the Khan's suite and the
Russian expedition. The Russians, now in good spirits, sang as they marched
along.
A short distance from Khiva the Khan and his men set up camp on the
bank of a stream. The Russians pitched their tents nearby. Prince
Bekovich-Cherkassky and his companion, Prince Samonov, were the guests of
honour in the Khan's tent.
During supper the Khan explained to the Prince that it would be
impossible to quarter the entire Russian mission in Khiva because there
would not be enough food for them and it would take some time to bring in
more supplies. Unless the Prince had plenty of his own provisions, in which
case, of course-
Prince Bekovich-Cherkassky had to confess that he was running short of
provisions. The Khan then suggested that he divide the Russian force into
five units, each to be quartered in a different town where, he promised, the
food and lodging would be of the best. Prince Bekovich-Cherkassky and his
companions would, of course, be offered hospitality in Khiva itself.
It is hard to understand why Prince Bekovich-Cherkassky ever agreed to
such a dubious arrangement. Perhaps he believed that Khan Shirgazy really
had been frightened by the Russian artillery during the skirmishes at Lake
Aibugir. Or he was so overwhelmed by his personal grief that he was unable
to think clearly.
The Russian foot soldiers, dragoons and gunners marched off from the
stream in five different directions, each group accompanied by Khiva guides.
The thick dust raised by the departing units hung for a long time in the
hot, still air. Slowly the strains of their marching songs died away in the
distance.
Prince Bekovich-Cherkassky stood in front of the Khan's tent, gazing
after his men, oblivious of the Khivans who had crowded round him.
The units vanished from sight. The dust began to settle.
"You dog! Betrayer of Islam! You have sold your soul to the infidels!"
said Khan Shirgazy softly, laying a hand on the Prince's shoulder. "You dog!
You tried to deceive me with your miserable gifts!"
Prince Bekovich-Cherkassky spun round. Although he had difficulty
understanding the Uzbek language he immediately grasped the meaning of the
Khan's words. All he had to do was read the Khan's face.
Khan Shirgazy drew out the royal credentials from the sleeve of his
robe. Slowly and solemnly he tore the paper in half, threw the pieces on the
ground, spat on them, and rubbed them into the sand with the pointed,
turned-up toe of his yellow boot.
Prince Bekovich-Cherkassky took a step backwards. He reached for his
sword, then dropped his hand.
Smiling and chattering, the Khan's bodyguards drew closer, their swords
bared.
Khan Shirgazy turned away. "Don't spoil the face," he murmured as he
passed the bodyguards.
The heads of the senior Russian officers were brought to Khiva and
displayed to the public.
Prince Bekovich-Cherkassky's head was not among them. Rumour had it
that Khan Shirgazy had sent the head as a gift to the Khan of Bukhara, but
cautious, far-sighted Abul-Faiz had refused to accept the horrifying gift
and had sent it back.
The five Russian detachments were destroyed one after another. Some of
the men were killed, others were sold into slavery. A few managed to escape,
some during the fighting and others later, while in captivity. Only a very
few managed to make their way back to Russia by various routes after
enduring indescribable deprivation and dangers.
CHAPTER TWO
IN WHICH FEDOR MATVEYEV FINDS HIMSELF IN INDIA
When Fedor Matveyev opened his eyes he found himself lying beside a
dusty road that ran through a tract of desert where only camel's-thorn grew.
He groaned as the memory of that frightful day came back to him. Had it been
yesterday, or the day before?
The pitiless sun, directly overhead, made his eyes ache. He felt weak
and nauseous. There was a sharp, constant pain in his right shoulder.
When Fedor awakened again the sand, soaked with his blood, was cool.
Enormous stars glittered in the black sky. His throat was dry.
Wheels creaked close by, accompanied by a monotonous, wailing song in
an unfamiliar language.
"If they capture me I'll be tortured and killed," Fedor thought. "I
must creep farther away from the road."
With an abrupt movement he turned over on his stomach, gave a sharp cry
of pain, and fainted once more.
During the night he recovered consciousness several times. Each time he
saw the same bright stars overhead and heard the creaking of wheels and the
plaintive song. Added to these sensations was the feeling of being jolted
and the acrid odour of sheep's wool and horse sweat.
Fedor had been found lying unconscious near the road by an Uzbek
peasant named Sadreddin, who put him in his bullock cart and took him home.
There he and his family nursed Fedor solicitously, using ancient remedies to
treat his deep wound. Fedor's collarbone was broken- but young bones mend
quickly. The wound was encouraged to fester and was not allowed to heal so
that the pus could carry away the small fragments of broken bone.
After the fever subsided Fedor began to recover. He was given
nourishing food and could feel himself growing stronger day by day.
What would happen next? Fedor could not but be worried. The peasant who
had taken him in was a kind man but he could not help wondering how he could
turn the presence of this infidel to advantage. The young Russian could help
him in the fields, and he probably knew some handicraft which he could
practise. But it would be impossible to hide a healthy young Russian for
long. The Khan's men would learn about him sooner or later-and that would be
the end of Sadreddin. Taxes were onerous as it was, and now he would be
stripped of everything he possessed. He could let the Russian go free, of
course. But where would he go to? Sadreddin grew angry with himself. The
faithful should never take pity on infidel dogs.
No, he had not fed and nursed the Russian to let him go just like that.
He would find a different way out.
One night at the end of summer Sadreddin prepared a basket of
provisions and put the basket and Fedor into his covered cart. Casting
fearful glances to right and left, he drove through the sleeping hamlet.
He had not concealed his plans. Fedor knew that the kindly Uzbek was
taking him to some place far away from Khiva to sell him.
"Are you a gunner?" he asked Fedor for the hundredth time as the cart
rolled along.
Fedor, who had learned a little Uzbek, nodded.
"Can you do a blacksmith's work?"
Again Fedor nodded absentmindedly. He was wondering what to do. It
would not be hard to overpower sluggish Sadreddin and take the horse and
cart and food away from him. But what next? It must be all of 800 versts to
Guryev. Travelling by cart it would take him a month to reach that city. But
it would be risky to follow the road. On the other hand, setting out across
the desert, without knowing where the wells were, would mean certain death.
Sadreddin knew that Fedor had no way of escaping, and so he travelled
along slowly without taking any precautions.
They reached Bukhara in two weeks' time. There Sadreddin sold Fedor to
a merchant from Kashgar for a good price. He spent the money on Bukhara
merchandise.
"You have brought good luck to my house," he told Fedor in parting.
"You fetched a good price.
If I can return home with these goods without being robbed, my family
will live well. For this, Allah will help you, even though you are an
unbeliever."
The swarthy Kashgar merchant, who had been told Fedor's history,
laughed into his thick black beard. Poor Sadreddin thought the price he had
been paid for Fedor made him a rich man. He had no idea of the true value of
a strong young man who had been trained in the arts of warfare and
metallurgy.
The merchant treated Fedor well, even giving him a horse to ride, for
he knew that Fedor would not attempt to escape from the caravan. He also
gave Fedor sheets of paper and a copper inkpot on a chain to hang at his
belt. When the caravan set up camp for the night Fedor would take his pen,
made of a split reed sharpened at the end, and, in a hand grown unaccustomed
to writing, would describe the landmarks and details of the journey. In
Astrakhan not so long ago he had envisioned his travels to distant India
from Khiva to gather information about that country. Now he was actually on
his way to India but as a slave instead of a scout of the tsar. Still, who
could tell? These notes might yet prove useful.
Fedor had decided to conceal his homesickness and bitterness and bide
his time.
It took the caravan three weeks to reach the mountains. For ten days
they climbed higher and higher along a narrow path. It grew colder. Fedor's
heart leaped with joy at the sight of snow, but it made him more homesick
than ever for the snowy plains of Russia.
Finally they made their way over the pass and descended into the
flowering Vale of Kashmir, following the river Gilgit to its confluence with
the Indus. They crossed the Indus and some of its tributaries. Several weeks
later they entered the city of Amritsar, a big commercial centre.
So this was India! It was a land of strange buildings, unfamiliar
trees, colourful bazaars and copper-skinned people, some half-naked, some
dressed in white robes. Fedor drank in the marvellous sights with unfeigned
curiosity.
The Kashgar merchant decked Fedor out in new clothing and gave him an
opportunity to rest up. But at the inn he locked Fedor into his room and
ordered the servants to guard him, not so much because Fedor might escape as
because someone might try to steal him.
One day the merchant brought a tall, thickset Hindu, all dressed in
white, to see Fedor. The Hindu looked him up and down intently, then smiled
and seated himself cross-legged on a carpet, making a sign to Fedor to be
seated too.
During the years he spent in the East Fedor adopted many of the customs
of the region, but nothing was harder for him to learn than to sit on the
floor in Indian fashion, with the soles of his feet lying on his thighs.
"Sprek je de Nederlandse taal? the Hindu asked.
Fedor was amazed to hear him speak Dutch.
"You have nothing to worry about," said the Hindu. "If what the
merchant says about you is true you will have a fine life."
The Hindu then proceeded to question Fedor. He asked him about dams and
water wheels. They discussed European politics and Russia's war with Sweden.
Fedor was surprised to find himself conversing with a highly-educated man.
Finally the Hindu turned to the Kashgar merchant. Although Fedor did
not understand a word of what they said it was clear they were bargaining.
This went on for a long time. At times the merchant, accustomed to bazaars,
would raise his voice to a scream. The Hindu kept his voice low but firm.
Then there came the moment when he unwound his broad sash and removed a
small purse and scales with a single tray and a weight suspended from an
ivory rod. From the purse he took two precious stones that sparkled with
greenish lights. He dropped the gems into the tray, and, holding the loop of
the ivory rod in his left hand, he moved the weight along the rod with his
right hand to balance the scales.
The Kashgar merchant looked at the mark at which the weight stopped,
then carefully picked up the stones and examined them, first one and then
the other, against the light. He bowed respectfully and without saying a
word started unwinding his sash to put the jewels away inside it.
"You can see how much you are worth," the Hindu remarked in Dutch.
Fedor did not like the idea of being sold for such a high price. He
knew little about precious stones but realized that if he were ever ransomed
the ransom would be high. His family was not rich. They would hardly be able
to raise such a sum. The tsar had seen him only once or twice and probably
would not remember him. If the Foreign Board were asked to pay a ransom,
would it consent?
"Now fortify yourself with food," the Hindu said to Fedor. "There is
not much time and we have quite a distance to travel."
A servant at the caravansarai brought in a bowl of rice and mutton
similar to the Uzbek pilau, and a pitcher filled with a cold liquid. Fedor
and the Kashgar merchant set about their meal. The Hindu rose and moved
towards the door.
"Why doesn't he have something to eat too?" Fedor asked in a low voice.
"Sh-h," the merchant whispered. "He's a Brahman. They never eat with
other castes. Besides, they don't eat meat and many other things."
"Who is he?" Fedor asked.
The merchant's reply was vague. "He must be an important person. All I
know is that his name is Lal Chandra and he comes from the Punjab, not so
very far away from here."
By evening Lal Chandra's covered wagon was some distance from Amritsar.
The driver, bare to the waist, urged on the horses. Lal Chandra dozed,
reclining against rug-covered cushions. Fedor lay on the floor of the wagon,
his thoughts far away, in distant Russia.
They drove through Lahore and then followed the bank of a river.
Afterwards they turned west and rode for a long time across a desert tract
that looked like the land in the vicinity of the Sea of Aral. They crossed
the beds of dried-up rivers. They followed the bank of one of these streams
and finally halted in front of an iron gate in a high stone wall.
The gate swung open to allow the wagon to pass through, then swung
shut. Fedor looked out but he could see no one beside the gate. Nor was
there anyone on the long road that wound through a park in which unfamiliar
trees grew. The hot air was filled with a heady fragrance, evidently from
the big, bright flowers. The wagon stopped before a tall stone mansion with
many niches in which stood strange creatures carved of stone.
Lal Chandra slowly descended from the wagon. Fedor sprang out after
him, stretching his stiff legs. Lal Chandra led him along a narrow, vaulted,
dusky passage into a large cool room where a big statue of polished stone
stood. Fedor had never seen anything like it, not even in his most horrible
nightmares. Three steps led up to a low pedestal on which sat a woman with
her feet tucked under her. Her face was unbelievably beautiful, her eyes
were blind, and her lips were curved into an enigmatic, frightening smile.
The woman had six arms. Two arms ended in hands folded peacefully in her
lap, two were bent at the elbow and raised, and two were thrust forward
menacingly. She had three pairs of breasts. Lal Chandra placed the palms of
his hands in front of his face and prostrated himself before the statue. He
remained motionless for a long time.
"He obviously isn't Moslem," Fedor thought, "if he is praying to this
idol."
Finally the Hindu rose and bowed three times before the goddess. Then
he led Fedor into a small room that resembled a monk's cell, with bare stone
walls and a vaulted ceiling. Slanting rays of sunshine coming through a
window near the ceiling provided the illumination. In the floor was a pool
filled with water, evidently running water.
"I do not know whether your gods prescribe ablutions," said Lal
Chandra, "but I must purify myself before attending to my affairs. You may,
too, if you wish."
Fedor promptly removed his clothing and sank with pleasure into the
cool water. He began to splash noisily, not noticing the Hindu's frown.
After the ablutions Lal Chandra led Fedor along another passage into a
large, bright room with windows looking out on a garden. The windows did not
have either glass or mica in them but were covered by intricately carved
shutters with interstices through which the light came. Here, too, there was
a statue of the six-armed goddess. Smaller than the first one, it was made
of copper and stood on a high marble support.
Low tables lined the walls. The shelves above them were filled with
fancifully shaped glass, clay and metal vessels, scales, sandglasses and
water clocks.
In a corner there was a stove. The curved necks of copper vessels
jutted out of its sides.
Fedor's attention was caught by a monstrous object on a platform in the
middle of the hall, opposite the statue of the goddess with six arms.
Moulded copper columns, ornamented with carvings of plants and animals,
supported a horizontal shaft whose necks rested on copper wheels half a foot
in diameter. An enormous disc of some black material was mounted in the
middle of the shaft. It was covered with radially distributed plates, narrow
and shining, that might have been made of gold. At one end of the shaft was
a pulley encircled by a round, woven strap. The ends of the strap went into
openings in the floor.
Fedor stood in front of the bulky machine trying to grasp its purpose.
He had never seen anything like it before.
"It pleases me to see that here you have forgotten about contemptible
food," Lal Chandra said, touching Fedor on the shoulder. "But man is weak.
Pass through that door"-he pointed to a narrow opening in the wall- "and you
will find the kind of food to which you are accustomed. Then you will learn
what you are to do."
In the small adjoining room Fedor found a bowl of fried meat and
steamed vegetables on a low table. A narrow-necked pitcher stood on the
floor. There was no chair. "I suppose I'll have to get used to it," Fedor
said to himself with a sigh as he awkwardly squatted down beside the table.
CHAPTER THREE
WHICH DESCRIBES THE LIGHTNING MACHINE
The days in Lal Chandra's house passed slowly. Fedor wandered through
empty corridors and peeped into cool rooms. He never saw anyone in them. But
he knew that he had only to strike a bronze gong for a silent servant to
appear on the threshold.
The food was plentiful, but it brought Fedor no joy. He wanted to go
out beyond the wall to see what the locality looked like, but each time he
came to the gate he found it locked. Escape was impossible. Besides, Fedor
was hunted by the feeling that someone was watching his every step.
On the other side of the filigree shutters lay an alien night. The
silence was absolute. He longed to hear a sound, any sound, even the barking
of a dog. At times he was driven to such despair that thoughts of laying
hands on himself came into his mind. Cry out though he might, Russia would
never hear him. She was too far away, beyond high mountains and scorching
plains.
Fedor shook the shutters in fury. He pressed his tear-stained face to
the cold metal.
Lal Chandra visited him almost every day. He would enter, tall and
erect, in his white robe, and conduct a vague conversation on theological
topics. These talks made Fedor uncomfortable. At home he had never prayed
with any particular fervour and he had never had the time or inclination to
go into the subtleties of religion. He had felt that it was enough if he, as
a soldier, crossed himself before climbing into bed.
One day he was unable to restrain himself, and in the midst of Lal
Chandra's monotonous utterances he burst out: "I'm sick of all this dull
talk. You bought me to work. Well, give me something to do."
Lal Chandra was silent for a while. "Soon," he said, "I shall raise
before you the veil that shrouds a holy mystery which the gods reveal only
to the chosen."
"Couldn't your gods find anyone else but me?" Fedor asked derisively.
"Do not speak thus of gods about whom you know nothing. Only I possess
knowledge of this mystery. You will be my assistant. You are a foreigner,
without friends or relatives here, and therefore you are less dangerous to
me than a fellow tribesman."
"If I am initiated into this mystery you will not allow me to return
home when the opportunity comes. I don't want to know it."
"It will be of no use to you at home. It is important and awe-inspiring
only here," Lal Chandra replied evasively. "But you must not speak about it
to anyone. If you do, yours will be a horrible death." With those words he
walked out of the room.
Fedor stood motionless for a long time, lost in gloomy thought.
The next evening Lal Chandra softly entered Fedor's room and sat down
beside him.
"Which deity did you worship in your country?" he asked.
Fedor was at a loss. "The Holy Trinity," he wanted to say, but he could
not find the words in Dutch. "I believe in the holy three," he said.
"Three gods-The Trimurti," Lal Chandra repeated thoughtfully. "Do your
gods work miracles?"
"Of course they do. The Bible tells how Jesus Christ, the son of God,
turned water into wine and raised Lazarus from the dead. Then there's the
story in the Old Testament of a bush that burned but didn't burn up."
"Have you ever seen a miracle?"
"No, never."
"Now listen carefully, young man," Lal Chandra began. "When the gods do
not work miracles, men tend to forget that they must obey the high priests
implicitly. But we are not given to know why the gods fail for a long time
to remind us of themselves."
"Are you a priest?" Fedor asked in surprise.
"I am but a humble servant of Kali, the Goddess of Terror. I have been
chosen to be her instrument, so that men of the lower castes should be
convinced, through miracles, of the might of the gods, and resign themselves
to their lot of obedience and toil. As for our rulers, when they see a
miracle they will realize that they must obey the high priests. Do you
understand me, young man?"
"You mean that if your gods don't work miracles you'll-"
"Exactly. The gods, who have unveiled a small part of their mysteries
to me, may work miracles through me. For the gods are all-powerful. Come
with me. I will show you signs of their might."
Picking up a clay lamp, Fedor followed Lal Chandra into the big room in
which the strange machine stood. Lal Chandra clapped his hands thrice and
then issued an order to the servant who silently appeared before him.
The huge black disc rumbled as it started to rotate. Creaking, the
woven belt emerged from the floor and passed over the pulley.
"Are men down below turning it?" Fedor asked.
Lal Chandra nodded. The disc spun faster and faster. Its gold plates
merged into a glowing ring. A high-pitched hum filled the room.
Next Lal Chandra turned an ebony lever, and two sparkling bronze
spheres that were part of the machine drew closer and closer together.
Suddenly there was a dry crackle as a streak of bluish-violet lightning
flashed between the sphere. The air felt fresh and cool, as after a
thunderstorm.
While Fedor watched in fascination, lightning blazed in the dusk-filled
room. He felt his skin creep.
With a turn of the lever Lal Chandra separated the spheres. The
lightning ceased.
Lal Chandra gestured towards the bronze statue of the six-armed
goddess.
"Do not be afraid of the goddess. Embrace her."
"Horrible creature," Fedor muttered in Russian.
"Are you afraid?"
Fedor boldly put his arms around the bronze hips of the goddess. In the
same instant he was deafened and stunned, and flung to the floor. Crackling
lightning had sprung from the body of the goddess. A wave of freshness
struck his nostrils.
Fedor regained his feel, cursing roundly.
"Forgive my little joke," Lal Chandra said, his lips parting in a
smile. "1 simply wanted to show you the power which the goddess has given me
over lightning."
Fedor became aware of an itching sensation in the palm of his left
hand. Looking down, he saw a cut at the base of his thumb.
"Your goddess bites, damn it!" he exclaimed. He was trembling.
Lal Chandra smeared a fragrant salve on the cut and the pain subsided.
"Now you will learn the purpose to which you will be put," he said. "I
have heard that the art of building water-wheels is well known in your
country. Is this art known to you?"
The covered wagon, driven by the same half-naked coachman, travelled
across a barren tract for a long time before it came to a rocky road that
led to the bank of a small stream.
Lal Chandra stepped out of the wagon and Fedor sprang down after him.
They pushed their way through thickets until they reached the high bluff.
There, squeezed between rocky banks, the stream was very narrow and formed a
swift waterfall. Below the waterfall the stream was placid.
"Would this be a good place for a water-wheel?" Lal Chandra asked.
"Yes, a very good one," Fedor replied. "But does the stream flow all
the year round?"
"No, it dries up in summer. Anyway, we won't need it long, only during
the rains. Take the measurements you'll need to build a large wheel here."
Fedor looked round. On the other side of the stream, not far away,
stood a temple-like building with two towers.
"Will we be able to approach that temple later?" he asked. "I'll have
to if I'm going to take measurements."
"Of course. That temple is where the will of the gods is going to
manifest itself."
"Very well," said Fedor. "I'll get my sight-vane."
He went back to the wagon for his instrument, a shallow wooden bowl
with two tiny notches on the edges, diametrically opposite one another.
Picking up a clay pitcher and the sight-vane, Fedor approached the spot
where the water cascaded over the lip of the rocks. He placed the bowl on a
flat stone, filled the pitcher with water, and poured water into the bowl
until it was almost full. Then he lay down on the ground and turned the bowl
in front of his eyes so that both notches were in line with one of the
towers of the temple. By pouring more water from the pitcher into the bowl,
and carefully propping up the sides of the bowl with stones, he forced the
water to swell above the edges of the bowl. Then, closing one eye, he
concentrated on getting the nearest and farthest edges of the bowl to
coincide in height. Holding his breath lest he get out of line, he counted:
the water level was six rows of stones below the windows of the second
storey of the temple.
Then Fedor rose, rubbed his numb elbows, scrambled up the rocks to the
top of the waterfall, and repeated his observations there, after which he
descended to where Lal Chandra was waiting.
Next the two men waded across the stream and entered the abandoned
temple. Ahead of them strode the coachman, Ram Das, carrying a torch.
Bats flitted about under the vaulted ceiling. The flapping of their
wings nearly extinguished the torch. The air was damp and had a musty smell.
"Any snakes here?" Fedor asked. "You won't find cobras in damp, dark
places," said Lal Chandra. "But we are in the hands of Shiva and Kali."
The passage led into a room whose ceiling was so high that the light
from the torch did not reach the top. The sides of the room faded into
terrifying darkness.
On a three-tiered pedestal stood Fedor's old acquaintance, the goddess
Kali, with her six arms, three faces and six breasts, wrathful, inscrutable
and ready to act. The face that was turned to Fedor gazed across the room
with a strange expression in which an inviting smile was combined with a
threatening frown. The gaze was fixed on an equally enormous statue, with
four arms, standing on one leg, the other being bent at the knee, in a
dancing posture. This was the god Shiva, Kali's spouse.
Lal Chandra prostrated himself before the menacing goddess.
"What a handsome couple you make!" Fedor whispered to himself jokingly
in an effort to regain his composure. He was in the grip of a fit of
shivering caused either by the dampness or by the eerie atmosphere of the
place.
He glanced at Ram Das. As the driver stood there holding the torch his
face expressed neither fear nor religious devotion. He simply looked bored.
There may have been a trace of scorn in the look the half-naked slave gave
his master, Lal Chandra, lying prostrate before the sovereign over life and
death.
The expression on the slave's face sobered Fedor. He resumed his
scrutiny of the goddess. Suddenly he startled in horror. From her graceful
neck hung a chain of human skulls.
"The foul murderess!" he exclaimed in Russian. Ram Das did not
understand the words, but the wrathful tone prompted him to level a long,
thoughtful glance at Fedor.
A few minutes later Lal Chandra led Fedor through a series of intricate
passageways to the stairs leading up into one of the towers. Fedor climbed
up the weathered, sand-sprinkled steps to the ninth storey. Looking down
from a window, he saw Lal Chandra at the foot of the tower. Fedor took out
his length of string, in which he had tied knots at intervals of one foot,
attached a stone to the end, and began paying out the string, counting the
knots. When the stone reached the sixth row of bricks below the
second-storey window Lal Chandra gave a shout. Fedor stopped paying out the
string, leaned far out of the window, and saw that the row of bricks he had
noticed when he made his second measurement was at the seventy-fourth foot.
"That means the waterfall is seventy-four feet high," he thought. "I
wonder how far it is to the ground."
He allowed the string to run out until the stone at the end touched the
ground. The distance was about ninety feet.
Fedor now forgot about everything but the unusual and interesting job
ahead of him. He was in such high spirits that when he descended and saw the
silent torch bearer he clapped him on the shoulder. "We'll make a wonderful
wheel!" he exclaimed happily.
Ram Das moved forward without a word. But after taking a few steps he
stopped, glanced round, lifted his torch high to illuminate everything
around them, and then gestured to Fedor.
"Do you understand what I say?" he asked in a Moslem dialect.
"I do," Fedor replied in Uzbek.
"Do not rejoice like a new-born calf. You will live just as long as you
are needed to finish this job. Do you understand that?"
A shudder ran through Fedor.
"But what can I do? How can I escape?" he asked tonelessly.
"It is too early to talk of such things. I will find a suitable time
and place to talk with you. But now, silence!"
The torch-bearer moved forward. A few minutes later they emerged into
the bright sunshine. Ram Das threw the torch, which had burned low, into the
stream. The flame hissed and went out.
Lal Chandra smiled at Fedor.
Man is a strange creature. Sometimes Fedor would wake up in the middle
of the night and, recalling Ram Das's grim words, give way to despair. But
when morning came his fears would evaporate, whether because of his carefree
Russian nature or because he was carried away by the work.
As he sat over the sketches and calculations of the huge water-wheel he
sang to himself. At times these Russian songs were sad, at times they were
gay.
Now the days passed more quickly. Fedor learned to speak the local
dialect. Lal Chandra often travelled to the old temple to supervise the
restoration work that had been begun there. Fedor was no longer a