Tea and Spices (An Erotic Novel of Colonial India) (10 page)

 
“Thank you for the invitation. I look forward to it as well.”

 
Devora walked him out to his car, then returned to finish her tea. She glanced up when Rohan entered the sitting room.

 
“
Memsahib
, I must tell you that it is not wise for you to lunch with the maharaja without your husband present.”

 
Devora rolled her eyes. “Oh, Rohan. Don’t tell me you believe all those rumors about him.”

 
“It is not a good idea.”

 
“Other people will be there,” Devora said. “He’s just gone to invite others, so I won’t be alone. For heaven’s sake, Rohan, you’re not my keeper. Please don’t tell me what to do.”

 
“I apologize.” Rohan bowed slightly. “I am only telling you my opinion, as your husband entrusted you to my care.”

 
“I’m not a child!” Devora said in exasperation, suddenly weary of everyone thinking they knew what was best for her. “I don’t care what my husband told you. You’re a servant, not my nanny. Is that clear?”

 
“Yes,
memsahib
.” Rohan turned and left.

 
Devora glowered at his retreating back. Regardless of their nationality or class, men seemed to always think they had to protect women. Between that and the prejudices of the British community, Devora decided she’d had more than enough of convention.

 
She went into her bedroom and began examining her dresses, finally deciding on an elegant, beige dress. After ringing for Kalindi, Devora thought briefly about calling Mrs. Thompson for her opinion, but decided not to in case Mrs. Thompson wasn’t invited.

 
“Kalindi, would you iron this, please?” Devora asked. “I’ll be wearing it for lunch tomorrow.”

 
“Oh, yes, Rohan told me that you are going to lunch with the maharaja!” Kalindi’s eyes were bright with excitement as she took the dress. “How exciting.”

 
“Yes, it is rather,” Devora agreed.

 
“I am hearing that he has a harem of fifty women,” Kalindi said eagerly.

 
Devora looked at her. “Where on earth did you hear such a thing?”

 
“Oh, everyone around here has heard that. He has his pick of the most beautiful women in the land, and he keeps them in one of the palace rooms so that he can choose whichever woman pleases him.”

 
“That’s ridiculous,” Devora said, even though her mind swam with images of Eastern harems saturated with beautiful women and the scent of perfume. “Those are old stories and rumors. This is the twentieth century, Kalindi. People don’t do that sort of thing anymore.”

 
“Yes, but money can buy a man anything,” Kalindi said. “Including a harem of fifty women.”

 
“Kalindi, go and do your work,” Devora ordered, shooing the younger woman away. “I have a great deal to do before tomorrow. Now hurry along and don’t go spreading gossip.”

 
Kalindi dashed off with the dress. Devora spent the evening washing her hair and filing her fingernails, her thoughts constantly drifting back to the maharaja and his vast palace. She wondered what he did during the day, not to mention how he entertained himself at night. What if he really did have a harem of women to choose from?

 
Her nervousness grew the following morning as she waited for the maharaja’s car to pick her up. She checked and rechecked her hair, then paced the sitting room until she heard the sound of the car engine.

 
“
Memsahib
, I do wish you would let me accompany you,” Rohan said.

 
“There is no need, Rohan. I’ll return before dark.” Devora hurried out to the car, where the driver was already holding the door open for her.

 
Settling against the plush seats, Devora had to smile. Finally, something exciting was happening! She was lunching with a maharaja, and without Gerald around to prevent her from asking questions about Indian erotic art and philosophy. Now perhaps she could get some questions answered.

 
The sandstone palace gleamed red in the hot sun, with the lake appearing like a sparkling mirror before it. Unlike the other night, there were no other cars or carriages parked beside the lake. Realizing she was the first one here, Devora approached the entrance with a small amount of trepidation.

 
“Mrs. Hawthorne, I’m so glad you’ve arrived.” Smiling, the maharaja bent to kiss her hand gallantly. He wore no turban today, and his dark hair was shot through with threads of gray. “What a pleasure to welcome you to my home once again.”

 
“I’m the first one to arrive, am I?” Devora asked.

 
The maharaja’s dark eyebrows lifted. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I made it clear that you were to be my only guest.”

 
“No, I hadn’t realized that.”

 
“I do hope that doesn’t cause you discomfort.”

 
“No, not particularly.” In truth, Devora was rather flattered that the maharaja had invited only her to lunch with him. “Is there a reason you’ve only invited me?”

 
The maharaja spread his hands out in a gesture of supplication. “You are alone, are you not? I thought surely an intelligent woman such as yourself must be bored with nothing to do and no husband to take you anywhere. Am I correct?”

 
Devora gave him a rueful smile. “Yes, you are correct.”

 
“Come and sit.” The maharaja led her inside the palace, which was no less splendid during the day. “I sometimes dine out on the terrace, but I’m afraid the sun hits it directly during this time of day. I thought you would be much more comfortable in the courtyard.”

 
They walked into the plant-filled inner courtyard. The air brushed against Devora’s skin, feeling deliciously cool due to the shade and the light mist from the fountain. A musician sat on a carpet in a corner of the courtyard, his delicate sitar music accompanied by the noise of the water.

 
“Please, sit down.” The maharaja pulled a chair away from the round table that had been set up near the fountain. “I’ve had the cooks prepare a delicious lamb curry and dahl. I hope you enjoy Indian food.”

 
“I do. I love it.”

 
The maharaja took his seat and waved for the servants to bring out the food and wine. “So, my dear Mrs. Hawthorne, tell me about yourself.”

 
Devora looked at him in surprise. “About myself?”

 
“Yes. What you like to do, that kind of thing.”

 
“I enjoy painting and drawing,” Devora said. She delved into her food, delighted by the spicy flavors. “I was hoping to be able to sketch some of the temples around here, but so far I’ve only been able to see one of them.”

 
“You have not been to Khajuraho?”

 
Devora shook her head, aware of a slight flush coloring her cheeks. “My husband says it wouldn’t befit a lady to go there.”

 
“Nonsense!” the maharaja said emphatically. “Complete nonsense. The temples there are beautiful, and they are part of India’s complex history. You cannot leave India without seeing the Khajuraho temples.”

 
“Yes, but I’ve heard they’re quite…explicit.”

 
“But of course!” the maharaja replied. “Such is
The Kamasutra
, is it not?”

 
“So I’ve heard.” Devora suspected it wouldn’t be wise to confess her own interest in
The Kamasutra
. “Still, I have little hope that I’ll see the Khajuraho temples.”

 
“Well, you must allow me to escort you there,” the maharaja insisted. He waved a hand at a servant, who hurried to refill Devora’s plate with curry and rice. “It will be our little secret, yes?”

 
“Oh, I don’t know if that’s a very good idea.”

 
The maharaja shrugged as if to say
what does it matter
? “Your husband is not here, and you’ve told me yourself that you want to visit the temples. Why not take advantage of my hospitality?”

 
“I really don’t want to inconvenience you.” In truth, Devora would have dearly loved to see the temples. The maharaja’s offer was difficult to reject. She spooned some mango chutney into her mouth, nearly groaning aloud at the splendor of its taste. Everything about India seemed to seethe with sensual pleasure. “And I know my husband would not approve.”

 
“Ah, but your husband would disapprove of you dining alone with me, would he not?”

 
“Probably,” Devora admitted.

 
“And yet, here you are,” the maharaja said, as if that settled everything.

 
Devora couldn’t argue with that point. “Well, maybe just a quick trip wouldn’t hurt,” she said. “Are the temples far from here?”

 
“Approximately two hours by car. If we left in the early morning, we could return by nightfall.”

 
“I appreciate the offer,” Devora said. “I’ll have to think about it, of course.”

 
“Of course,” the maharaja replied smoothly. “Think about a day next week that suits you. Before your husband returns, of course. Now tell me about your life in England. I was educated at Oxford, you know, and I do miss the country.”

 
Devora was only too happy to return the conversation to familiar grounds. She told him about the house she and Gerald had rented before moving to India, her family, and her previous job as a bookkeeper. The maharaja seemed to be very interested in everything she had to tell him, as he listened intently and asked questions. Devora ate until she couldn’t eat anymore, a situation that seemed to please the maharaja greatly.

 
“I find you very appealing,” he said, as the servants cleared their plates and brought out cups of tea.

 
“Me?” Devora said in surprise. “Appealing?”

 
“Yes. You have a great deal of life in you. Energy.”

 
Devora had never thought of herself in that way before. “I’m quite ordinary, actually.”

 
“No, you’re not. No one with such interests as you have could possibly be ordinary.” The maharaja sipped some tea and pushed his chair back. “Come. We will have dessert later. I want to show you the rest of my art collection.”

 
Devora followed him into an open room separated from the courtyard only by a lattice screen. She stopped in the doorway at the sight of the numerous sculptures and paintings. Stone and bronze sculptures of all sizes sat upon specially designed pedestals, while framed paintings lined the walls.

 
“It’s like a museum,” Devora breathed.

 
“It is indeed my own private museum,” the maharaja said with evident pride. “My father was not an art collector, but I started this collection when I was in my early twenties. Over the years, I have acquired some wonderful pieces.”

 
Devora reached out and rubbed the corpulent belly of Ganesha, the elephant god. She gave the maharaja a smile. “I’ve heard it’s good luck to rub his belly.”

 
“It is, indeed,” he agreed.

 
“How old are the sculptures?”

 
“Oh, they date from almost every period of India’s history. This one is from the fifth century.” The maharaja led her around the room, explaining the styles and the content of the sculptures, which consisted of every subject from the god Shiva poised in a posture of dance to the goddess Durga slaying the buffalo demon. There were three large sculptures of Shiva and his consort Parvati, who seemed always to be depicted as an incredibly voluptuous woman with large breasts and rounded hips. Devora paused in front of one sculpture in which Parvati was seated on Shiva’s knee.

 
“All of the women in Indian art appear to be very seductive,” she remarked.

 
“You mean their naked bodies?” the maharaja said. “These are signs of fertility, you know. Large breasts and hips means that a woman is very fertile, which connects her with the earth and the mother goddess.”

 
Devora gave him a skeptical look. “That’s it? You mean they’re not considered…physical?”

 
The maharaja laughed, a deep, rich laugh that resounded off the walls. “Oh, my dear Mrs. Hawthorne, they are considered physical indeed. Sexual union is necessary not only for procreation, but for pleasure as well. The Hindu Tantric philosophy relies heavily on the notion of divine union.”

 
“As does
The Kamasutra
.”