Authors: Lucinda Riley
I did not wish to hear the voices who sang to me as I lay in bed in my cabin, rocked by a gentle sea, who told me this wouldn’t be the case. I was in charge of my own destiny now, I whispered to them. I would make it happen, whatever the cost.
On the morning the ship docked in Calcutta, I packed my heavy
woolen sweaters away at the bottom of my suitcase and put on an old summer dress that had seen better days. Then I went up on deck and smelled the hot sultry air. Below, a colorful, noisy mass of people were waiting on the quay for their loved ones.
I was home.
The Maharani had sent Suresh, one of her aides-de-camp, to meet me and escort me by train from Calcutta to Cooch Behar. As he spoke to me in rapid Hindi, I struggled to follow him. It had been many years since I’d last conversed in my native tongue. On the long train journey up to Cooch Behar, I realized it would take time to reacclimatize to a culture I’d almost forgotten. I suffered from the overwhelming heat, and my ears rang from the incessant noise that India and its inhabitants made. There was an urgency, an intense atmosphere which I found difficult to adjust to, so used was I now to the more measured pace of England and its residents.
I realized I had also forgotten the staggering beauty of the palace of Cooch Behar. As the chauffeur drove me through the spectacular grounds, I devoured every detail as my eyes had been long starved of such dramatic surroundings.
“The Maharani requests an audience with you at sunset,” Suresh informed me. “She will come to your room. Until then, please take time to rest.”
I was given a beautiful suite in the opulent guest quarters, and as the maid bowed out of the room, I realized that perhaps Indira had no idea of my presence here. I lay down on my bed and I wondered how I, a woman currently embroiled in a clandestine affair herself, could try to persuade another that she should act against the dictates of her heart.
At six o’clock, as I smelled the
dhuan
being wafted about the palace and watched the many oil lamps being lit, the Maharani appeared in my doorway.
“Anahita.” She moved forward with her usual grace, looking as stunning as I remembered, and took me in her arms. “Welcome home,” she said, then stood back to survey me. “Why, you’re a beautiful young woman and, I think I’m right in saying, a woman who has had many new life experiences since I last saw her. I heard about your bravery in France through Selina’s letters to Minty.”
“Thank you, Your Highness, but I was only one of thousands who did what they could. I must apologize to you for not having appropriate
clothes to wear here at the palace. These days, I only have Western dress,” I said, embarrassed, as I studied her exquisite sari, fashioned out of a deep purple cloth embroidered with delicate gold hibiscus flowers.
“No matter, I will have my dressmaker come to you tomorrow. Now, let us go outside and talk.”
We walked together to a courtyard full of sweet-smelling frangipani flowers and jacaranda trees. And as the sun set over the great central dome of the palace, the Maharani told me about Indira.
“She refuses to leave her room unless her father and I agree to cancel the marriage contract with the Maharaja of Dharampur and allow her to become the wife of Prince Varun. We both know that Indira is capable of being very headstrong, and I understand she believes she loves this man. But it is simply impossible, do you see?” the Maharani said, gesticulating wildly, her ringed, elegant hands betraying her tension. “It would cause a scandal among the princely states in India and I do not wish for my daughter
or
my family to be at the center of such a thing.”
“Does Indira know I’m here?”
“No, I didn’t tell her. I thought it might be better if you arrived unrequested, simply wishing to see your old friend.”
“Please, Your Highness, forgive me,” I replied. “Indira is many things, but she isn’t stupid. She’ll know you have sent for me.”
“Yes, you are right, of course,” the Maharani said, shaking her head in despair, “but you were the only person I could think of whom she might listen to. What Indira does not understand is that love can grow. My marriage to Indira’s father was also arranged. He was not my choice, but I learned to love him as he did me, and we are very happy.”
“I know you are, Your Highness. Everybody sees and feels it.”
“I have also come to see that Indira was given the kind of childhood I didn’t have. She’s spent time in and embraced the freedoms of Western culture. She’s a young woman who’s grown up between two worlds. And while her father and I believed we were widening her horizons, the truth is, we confused her. We allowed her to believe she had choices that weren’t ever going to be hers to make.” The Maharani stared into the approaching dusk with sadness in her eyes. “But you, Anni”—she turned her attention back to me—“you must know all about that.”
“Oh, I do. You find you belong in neither world.”
“At least you have no arranged marriage and can follow your heart. Sadly, Indira cannot. So, please go and see her tonight. Try to persuade her that she must see sense, that she cannot bring the shame and scandal upon her family that this would cause.”
“I don’t hold out much hope,” I sighed, “but I will do my best.”
She patted my hand. “I know you will.”
An hour later, I was taken to Indira’s room. As I entered, I saw the empty bed that I’d once slept in as a child. Indira was lying in hers next to it, her eyes closed.
“Indy?” I whispered. “It’s me, Anni, I’ve come to see you.”
“Anni?” Indira opened one eye and looked at me. “Goodness, it really is you! Oh, Anni, I can’t believe you’ve come.”
“Of course I came.”
“I’m so happy to see you.” She held out her sticklike arms to me and I put my own around her tiny frame. This time, no one had been exaggerating about the state of Indira’s health. From the look and feel of her, she really was starving herself to death.
“Your mother wrote and told me you were sick, Indy,” I said as I sat down on her bed and she nuzzled into my shoulder.
“Yes, I’m sick. I don’t wish to live anymore,” she said, sighing.
There was a part of me that wanted to giggle, for Indira hadn’t changed a jot. When she was a child, the world would come to an end over a simple thing she needed or wanted. I realized then that even though our problems might become more serious in adulthood, our behavior and attitude toward them can remain much the same as from the day that we were born.
“Why is it you don’t wish to live?” I asked her quietly as I stroked her hair.
“Please don’t patronize me, Anni.” She sighed, removing her head from my shoulder and staring at me, her eyes luminous in her thin face. “I know my mother sent for you and has probably already talked with you since your arrival, so you know why I’m like this. And if you’ve come to try and convince me otherwise, then please, just go away now. Because I won’t listen. I won’t listen. Oh, Anni, I—”
Indira cried then, great racking sobs that shook her frail body. I sat with her calmly, just as I did with my patients, saying little and waiting until the wave of emotion subsided.
“Here, have a handkerchief,” I said eventually, as the sobs diminished.
“Thank you,” she snuffled.
“Yes, I do know why you’re sick. And yes, your mother did send for me,” I admitted. “But it was my choice to come. I’ve left many things behind in England to be here, Indy, and I did so because you’re my friend. I love you and I want to try and help you if I can.”
“How can you help?” asked Indira as she blew her nose hard. “Even you, with your wisdom and your special foresight, can’t change the fact that in exactly four months I’m meant to marry an old man I’ve only met twice in my life, then spend the rest of it in his zenana, and his ghastly, godforsaken palace that no one ever visits. So, I might as well die here, where at least I’ll be in my own home, rather than locked up there, all alone.”
“Well, I don’t think that’s the whole truth, is it? You’re miserable because you’re in love with someone else.”
“Yes, the fact that I could have such a happy life with Varun, who’s not that much older than me, whom I love and want in all the ways any woman should, just makes the thought even worse.”
“I can understand that,” I said softly. “I know what it’s like to be in love.”
“Do you? Well, I only wish my parents could understand too.”
“Indy, I’m going to ring for some food—I’m hungry, even if you’re not—and while we eat it, I want to hear all about your prince.”
I rang the bell and spoke quickly to a servant, who nodded and disappeared from the room.
“Now,” I said, “let’s have you climb out of that bed, and go and sit outside, where we can be sure no one will be listening, and you can tell me all about him.”
Shakily, Indira climbed out of bed and I helped her outside onto comfortable cushions placed on the veranda.
She told me how she and Varun had contrived to see each other as often as possible in the past three years. During the war, it had been difficult, but in the last five months, Raj, her older brother, had invited Varun to visit the palace and their passion for each other had grown.
“Anni, neither of us is willing to live without the other,” Indira declared.
As she spoke, I fed her mouthfuls of the soup the maid had brought up—I’d often found a diversionary tactic worked for a patient whose appetite was poor. With a heavy heart, I also realized that Indira’s mind was made up and it was fruitless to even begin to try and
change it. All I could do was listen, and, as the professional nurse I was training to be, help her to grow stronger physically. The sorry state she was in at present was not conducive to helping her make any kind of logical decision.
In reality, my heart went out to my beloved friend. The idea of being forced to marry a man she didn’t love, and then being shut away in purdah and a zenana for the rest of her days, sent shudders through me.
“So, that is where we are,” Indira said as she finished her story—and the last mouthful of soup in the bowl.
“I still remember that day on the ship when you first set eyes on Varun and told me he was the man you were going to marry.”
“Yes, and I will! I must!” Indira turned to me. “Oh, it’s so good to talk openly and freely with someone who understands how I feel.”
“Sadly, I do.”
At that, Indira threw her arms around me and held me to her. “Anni, it’s so wonderful to see you. I’d forgotten how special you are. And I think”—she drew back and looked at me suddenly—“that you’ve not only grown into a beauty, but you are also even wiser than you used to be. So,” she said, picking up a chappati from the plate and tearing a piece off it, “you won’t try to persuade me to marry the old man?”
“How could I possibly do that?” I asked her with a smile. “Remember, I know you very well and I realize it’s a futile endeavor to try and change your mind. The task at hand, Indy, is to discover how you
can
marry the man you love without causing civil war between two princely states.”
My eyes twinkled and, thankfully, so did hers. We both giggled like the children we’d once been.
“Do you think the old man will come after my father and demand a duel at dawn, like they do in England, because his honor has been betrayed?”
“Perhaps,” I said, “and I feel it would be better if no one died because of your love for Varun.”
“Yes.” And at last I saw that a little of the old sparkle was returning to Indira’s eyes. “But how?” she asked me.
I too, chewed on a chappati as I pondered the situation. “Would you let me think about it?”
“Just promise me, please, dear Anni, that you’re really on my side?” Indira implored. “You won’t go reporting back what I’ve said to Ma?”
“Of course I’m on your side, and I won’t say a word. But you must do me one favor in return, Indy. If we’re to make a plan, you need to be well enough to carry it out. Lying here being a martyr and refusing food is not getting you anywhere. If I am to help you, I want you to promise me that you’ll start eating. That means three full meals a day and no lying around in bed feeling sorry for yourself any longer.”
“My,” she said, rolling her eyes and smiling at me, “you’ve grown bossy since I last saw you!”
“Well, looking at you now, even if we do manage to find a way for you to marry Varun, I doubt he’d want you. There’s nothing left of you! You’ll lose your looks completely if you carry on like this.”
“You’re right, I look and feel awful. But until you arrived, there wasn’t any point in being anything else.”
“Well, there is now,” I confirmed. “So, do we have a deal?”
“Can I really trust you, Anni?”
“Indy,” I said, suddenly irritated, “have I ever let you down before? I’ve traveled halfway across the world to try to help you. And may the gods forgive me, but, for my own reasons, I want your problem sorted as soon as it can be. For I too, have someone I’m desperate to return to back in England.”
“Really? How exciting! Tomorrow you must tell me all about it.”
“I will. So?” I looked at her questioningly.
“Yes.” She held out her hand. “Deal.”
M
y nursing experience told me Indira’s return to strength would take time—she was seriously underweight and her constitution was weak. So, in the next few days, with encouragement from me, Indira would rise from her bed and eat breakfast. We would take a short walk around the gardens and she would rest before lunch. I had asked the kitchens to prepare simple, nourishing dishes. Anything rich would not stay inside a stomach that had been starved for so long. In the evenings, we dined together on the veranda outside her bedroom. By way of an incentive, I told her that I wasn’t prepared to reveal my plan for her future until she was stronger and able to enact it.
What that plan was, exactly, I had little idea yet, although thoughts were beginning to formulate in my mind. The Maharani came to see me every day when Indira took her afternoon nap, her eyes full of wonder at the difference in her daughter.
“You truly are a miracle worker, Anni, and I’m so thankful you’ve come. Maybe soon, she’ll start to see sense.”