1854, INDIA, Lucknow
The first time Eddie had met Amun was in his uncle’s library, lying on the matted red floor.
He hadn’t intended to enter the library that day. Truthfully, he wouldn’t even have cared for the place, had he not heard the strange feverish whispers coming from the other side.
“Get out of here, this instance.” A man hissed in a low tone, voice laced thickly with warning, the kind that made Eddie even more curious. “This is not your baithak, Amun. Have you lost your senses?”
Pausing in his footsteps, Eddie leaned against the heavy wooden door, slightly ajar and exposing what seemed to be a private conversation.
“Are you not listening to me?” The man snapped, still keeping his tone at bay. “If the Lord finds out, he’ll—”
“He’ll what?” Mused the other. “Will he have me thrown out of the Haweli? Or will he have me fed to his dogs?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, child.”
Eddie frowned at the way the boy laughed, clearly amused, though he did not understand what caused this mirth.
“Chacha, if being reasonable is considered ridiculous nowadays, then so be it.” The boy muttered. “Now if you don’t mind, could you leave? And shut the door on your way out, will you? The outside world is becoming unbearably annoying.”
The man sighed, utterly defeated. “That stubborn head of yours is going to be the end of you, Amun, mark my words.”
“If you say so.”
Deeply engraved into a conversation that he shouldn’t have been hearing in the first place, Eddie didn’t realize that the man was walking towards the door until he pulled it open, revealing him to the two men.
“Sahab?” The man, who turned out to be the Haweli’s chef, Aslam, blinked in surprise.
Eddie didn’t respond, his cheeks flushing red with embarrassment.
Eddie didn’t respond, his cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. “What exactly is happening here?” He kept his tone neutral and strict, just the way he’d often heard his uncle talk.
“Nothing—nothing at all, Sahab.” The chef spluttered. “We were only leaving.”
“I am not going anywhere.” Came a firm voice from behind Aslam, who instantly turned to shoot the boy – Amun, his name – a furious glare.
“You insolent boy!” Aslam retorted, but paused when Eddie spoke up, “Let him stay.”
Shocked, Aslam spun around to meet Eddie’s gaze, wanting to object but choosing otherwise.
“As you wish, Sahab.” The chef said, tone resigned, before quietly exiting the library.
Now, only the two boys remained in the quiet room. Eddie had not expected Amun to be grateful for making Aslam leave but he couldn’t help but feel mildly annoyed at the way the boy ignored his existence.
With a book in his hand, he read, the only source of light being a thin line of sunlight escaping through the closed curtains. Eddie knew, considering his Uncle Richard’s love for books, that no one was allowed inside the library except for the old man himself, and the housemaid, who came often to keep the dust from settling on the books.
So what exactly did this boy think he was doing?
Even Eddie had been forbidden, and he had only disobeyed his uncle to escape the blaring heat of the sun. He had been told summers in India are unforgiving, but for it to be this unbearable, he had not expected.
However, had it not been for the book in Amun’s hands, Eddie would have assumed he too had found comfort in the cool, dark room.
“You’re not allowed to be here.” He spoke, trying to sound assertive, the way Uncle Richard did whenever he was talking to the Haweli’s workers.
Amun had looked up at him, the flicker of sunlight reflecting the deep oak of his eyes. “I could say the same thing to you.” His manner of speaking was very indifferent, more so then when he had been talking to Aslam.
Eddie watched the boy with surprise. How blatantly rude was his tone. How dare he question his presence in the room when the boy’s was clearly more alarming? How dare he act in such a crude manner, considering how he’d just helped him out of a messy situation?
As if reading his mind, Amun stood up and waved off his previous words, muttering flatly, “I’m not investigating you.”
“You had better not.” Eddie retorted, but instead of getting provoked, the strange boy smiled furtively, his eyebrows raised in amusement.
“I suppose it’s because you’ve just come to visit your uncle which is why you don’t know,” To Eddie’s surprise, the boy offered peace, raising his hand towards him. “My name’s Amun. My father’s the Haweli’s only gardener.”
“Edward.” Eddie replied, accepting Amun’s hand, stunned by the coarseness of the skin that touched his.
“Well, Edward. I suppose I should thank you for getting that damn chef out of my space. He truly is the most annoying person I have met.” Amun leaned back on the shelf, crossing his arms curiously. “Won’t you sit down? We can make conversation since we have nothing better to do.”
Edward scowled. Why was it that he felt more like a stranger to this place than this boy, the gardener’s son? Shouldn’t Amun be respecting him, considering he was the nephew of one of the most accomplished merchants in East India Company.
“Or you can just glare at me if you don’t want to talk.” Amun shrugged, breaking his train of thoughts. “I don’t mind, I can get back to my book. That’s what I originally would have been doing had it not been for Aslam or your interruption.” Suddenly, his lips curled into a mischievous grin. “I must add however, that eavesdropping, shouldn’t be one of the traits of a well-known merchant’s nephew.”
Eddie flushed again, a scowl deepening his brows.
“It’s not your book.” He snapped, a futile attempt to change the topic. But for the first time there came a glimpse of malice in Amun’s eyes, disappearing as quickly as it came.
“You’re right,” He turned his face away to the book, flipping the pages. “It’s not mine. It belongs to the Haweli.”
There was a silent challenge in his tone that Eddie could sense. He wondered if Amun expected him to say otherwise, and in full honesty, he wanted to. But for some reason, decided against it, nodding to Amun’s statement as if in agreement.
This pleased the boy, sitting down on the sofa nearest to him and saying, “What brings you to India, Edward?”
“My uncle suggested I spend the summer here.” Eddie kept his voice monotone, trying to pretend away his frustration.
What had actually happened was that he was sent forcefully by his parents to learn the inner workings of this foreign country. His uncle resided here, and the benefits he had because of that were so vast, the wealth he had accumulated so great, that his family insisted for him to follow Uncle Richard’s footsteps. To make it worse, he had overheard his uncle discussing to other fellow merchants that he might have Eddie recruited in the army, in a way to be more connected and patriotic.
“Distract me all you want, but that still doesn’t change the fact that you’re not allowed here.” He frantically tried to change the subject, wanting to shut off the misery he knew was to come for him.
Amun leaned back on the sofa and tilted his head. “Did you know this Haweli belonged to my ancestors before the invasion?”
Eddie didn’t reply, suddenly growing very rigid. He was aware about how many Indians disliked the British, blamed them for stealing their wealth and spices, although he was repeatedly told by his uncle that was not the case. What he didn’t know however, was what to say to a person who openly showed their displeasure about the British.
“Had things been different, maybe I would have been the one to demand why you’re in this library.” Amun smiled, lost and humorless, his oak eyes searching Eddie’s, digging for some sort of apology.
“What do you want from life, Edward?” The strange boy’s change of subject startled Eddie though he welcomed it all the same.
Not knowing why, the following words escaped his lips, “I want peace.”
Was it because he wanted to go back to England? Was it because he did not wish to be a soldier, did not want to hurt others, kill them even? Or was it simply that he wanted peace between himself and this boy that belonged from India, a boy that should be respectful towards higher authority but was somehow questioning it.
“I think our worlds align, my friend,” Amun nodded, his gaze warm and welcoming. “For I want freedom.”
After that, Amun had gotten up and left the library, apologizing for the disturbance he might have caused. And while Eddie had grown vary of the boy, he had also grown fond, hoping the two would become good friends.
What Edward did not know was Amun would not return the next day. What he didn’t know was that they wouldn’t be encountering each other any time soon.
***
1857, INDIA, Bareilly
The second time Eddie had met Amun was during war, oak eyes lifeless, lying on the bloodied ground.
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