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‘Hold fast, Sukhram. We are going to ride.’
He had hardly got hold of his brother’s waist when the horse was off.

They were galloping. It began to rain. Where were they going? What
was he to do? Of what use could he be to Tantia Tope?

The ground grew rougher. There were loose stones. Suddenly, he
sat up straighter. He could smell the mountain, his mountain…

‘We are nearly there,’ Rajbir said. He pulled up. ‘I am back,’
Rajbir shouted. Sukhram felt his brother’s arms around him.
He lifted him down.

‘Is Sukhram there?’ It was his father’s voice.

‘I am here, Father. Brother has brought me.’
‘Where’s the boy?’ It was Tantia Tope.

‘We are here,’ Rajbir said. ‘Explain what you want of him. I
have said nothing.’

‘Listen, Sukhram,’ Tantia Tope said. ‘We are a hundred men.
The English are to the north and a big commando is driving them back. The English do

not know we are here and are retreating towards the river crossing that we are holding.’
‘I understand,’ Sukhram said. ‘They will be caught between
two fires.’

‘Yes,’ said Tantia Tope. ‘But something has gone

wrong. A force of English has got to the top of the
mountain by another way. We command the crossing,
but they command us. We are going to attack them
tonight, but there is only one path from this side. It is
very small, a goat track, and the night is so dark that
we can do nothing. Your brother said you could lead
us up the mountain.’

‘Me? Lead Tantia Tope’s army?’

‘Yes, you, Sukhram,’ his brother said. ‘You know the
path.’

‘Yes, I know the path.’ Of course. Had he not been up
it almost every day of his life?

—Anil Chandra

retreating: withdrawing

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