Sweet Jesus, he thinks he's invulnerable because he avoids women and drinks opium. Rajputs are even madder than the damned Turks. And he thinks the high castes rule by the will of God. I wonder what the low castes think?
Hawksworth puzzled through the Rajput's words and half-dozed in the saddle until he realized they were finally approaching the river. Ahead, past groves of mango trees, lay a sandy expanse leading down toward the water's edge. As they approached, Vasant Rao sent some of his horsemen to scout along the riverbank in both directions to find a shallow spot for crossing. The caravan followed the stream for half a kos, then halted on a sandy plain that sloped gradually down toward the wide stream. The water rippled slightly all the way across, signifying there were no lurking depths to swallow a cart.
The sun was dying, washing a veneer of gold over the high dark clouds threatening in the east. The smell of rain hinted in the evening air. Vasant Rao peered across the water's darkening surface for a time, while the drivers waited patiently for orders to begin crossing, then he turned to the waiting Rajputs.
"The light is too far gone." He stroked the mane of his gray stallion and again studied the clouds building where the sun had been. "It's safer to camp here and cross in the morning."
He signaled the head driver and pointed the Rajputs toward a sandy expanse close to the water's edge. In moments the drivers were urging their teams toward the spot, circling them in preparation for the night.
"The carts will go on the riverside, and we'll camp here." He specified areas for the Rajputs and the drivers, and then he turned to Hawksworth and pointed out a large mango tree. "Your tent can go there."
Hawksworth had been required by the Rajputs to keep a separate area for his campfire and cooking. Vasant Rao had explained the reasons the first evening of the journey.
"Food is merely an external part of the body, Captain, so naturally it must be kept from pollution. Food is transformed into blood, and the blood eventually turns to flesh, the flesh to fat, and the fat to marrow. The marrow turns to semen, the life-force. Since you have no caste, a Rajput would become polluted if he allowed you to touch his food, or even the pots in which he cooked."
Hawksworth's driver, being a low caste, had no objection to cooking and eating with the English ambassador. Their diet on the trip had been simple. The Rajputs lived mainly on game they killed as they rode, though some occasionally ate fish. A few seemed to subsist on rice, wheat cakes, and boiled lentils. That night, as an experiment, Hawksworth ordered his driver, Nayka, to prepare a dinner of whatever he himself was having. Then he reclined against his saddle, poured himself a tankard of brandy, and watched the preparations.
Nayka struck up a fire of twigs, to ignite the chips of dried