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Dark Horse
Every early morning of each racing season Mother Morag, Reverend Mother of the Sisters of Poverty, saw the string go by, a long line of horses, brown, dark bay,
bay: chestnuts – worst of all colours in the heat: now and again a roan, or a blue roan: a grey, dappled or flea-bitten.
Mother Morag not only saw them, she deliberately came up to her cell to watch them – her window overlooked the road – but this was not Dil bury or England,
not the mists and freshness of the Downs where, in the wooded valley down below, the village stood among trees,
an uneven jumble of roofs and chimneys around the grey church tower; there, the first sound was the bird chorus, especially larks; here, the first sound was the cawing of crows.
In the cold weather, there was mist, but it swirled above arid dust. because this was Calcutta in India and the ‘string’ was not Michael Traherne’s – Michael, a friend of royalty and other famous owners – it was John Quillan’s, he who had defiantly chosen to drop out.
When Mother Morag had first seen them in 1923 there were just seven horses; now, ten years later, there were nearer forty.
Yes, John Quillan has made his way, thought Mother Morag, simply because he’s so good.
Racing news was relayed to her by the Convent’s Gurkha gatekeeper, Dil Bahadur – Valiant Heart. “He has earned that name,” Mother Morag often said.
“Dil Bahadur has been through the War, fought in France and on the Frontier. Have you seen his scars and medals?”
and she may have added, “Have you seen his kukri?”, the wicked, curved, flat-bladed cutlass of the Gurkhas. Dil Bahadur shared Mother Morag’s passion for horses.
It was he who told her John Quillan’s name. “John Quillan Sahib – was Captain Sahib, but not now,” said Dil Bahadur.
Mother Morag had picked John Quillan out long before that. He always led his cavalcade down to the racecourse riding the stable ‘steady’, a bay mare that she guessed was his own.
Mother Morag had noticed the grace with which his long leanness sat in the saddle, the quietness of his hands and voice – she never heard him shout at horse or groom or riding boy.
She knew the old felt hat he wore where everyone else had topees; the, she discovered afterward, the deliberate shabbiness of his clothes; she even noted the signet ring on his little finger.
Also Read: Dark Horse PDF In Hindi
Author | – |
Language | English |
No. of Pages | 297 |
PDF Size | 1 MB |
Category | Novel |
Rumer Godden Dark Horse PDF Free Download