The Temple Dancer

St. Martin's Press
New York

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

THE TEMPLE DANCER. Copyright © 2006 by John Speed. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010. www.stmartins.com

Map by Virginia Norey Design by Sarah Gubkin LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA Speed, John. The temple dancer /John Speed.-1st ed. p. cm. ISBN-13: 978-0-312-32548-0 ISBN-10: 0-312-32548-7 1. India-History-1526-1765-Fiction. 2. Travelers-Fiction. I. Title. PS3619.P438T46 2006 813'.6-dc22 2005044422 First Edition: August 2006 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For Jean, who inspired it:

More eunuchs, and the Sultana unwrapped

LUCINDA DASANA A young Portuguese woman
raised in Goa; heir to the
Dasana fortune

CARLOS DASANA Lucinda's uncle, manager of the
Dasana trading interests in Goa

GERALDO SILVEIRA A profligate cousin of the
Dasanas, and a distant heir

VICTORIO SOUZA Lucinda's maternal uncle,
manager of the Dasana trading
interests in Bijapur

JEBTHA DA GAMA A Portuguese settlement man,
often called Deoga

KURSHID PATHAN A burak of Bijapur, sometimes
called Munna

SLIPPER A eunuch

MAYA A young temple dancer
(devadasi), recently enslaved, a
nautch girl

HELENE Lucinda's maid

CARVALLO General secretary to the
Dasanas

ADOLFO Carlos Dasana's valet

FERNANDO ANALA A Christian trader. Also called
Brother Fernando

SILVIA ANALA His wife

LADY CHITRA Mistress of the Lake Palace,
former concubine to the sultan
of Bijapur

LAKSHMI Chitra's companion, a child

SHAHJI General commander of
Bijapur's armies

WHISPER An old eunuch. The Royal
Khaswajara (manager of the
royal household)

WALT KHAN The grand vizier, chief minister
to the Sultana

MOUSE A eunuch in service to Victorio
Souza

THE SULTANA Widow of the former sultan

IBRAHIM ADIL The heir to the throne of
Bijapur, a boy

GUNGAMA Maya's guru, thought to
be drowned, now appearing
in dreams

BANDITS Of the Three-dot clan and of
the Naga clan

A CHEAP JEWELER In Bijapur

SHAHEEN Pathan's housekeeper and
steward

In India, all journeys change the traveler.

This novel tells of a journey between Goa and Bijapur, a journey I made
myself a few years ago. Shepherds still walk the old roads through Sansagar
Pass. The golden bell of Santa Catarina still rings. Fullers still spread the
bright silks of Belgaum along the lakeshore. Beneath the great dome of the
Gol Gombaz, schoolchildren play in the whisper gallery.

But in the course of three centuries, much has been lost. To build their
navies, the Portuguese, Dutch, and English cut down the great teak forests
that dominated the Deccan Plateau. That changed the weather: Gokak Falls
no longer roars. The steps of the old temples around Lake Belgaum now lead
to dry ground instead of water. Instead of palaces, only piles of stone remain.

This story is part of a larger epic that took more than twenty years to
write-the history of the final years of the Mogul Empire and the rise of
the Marathis under the highwayman Shivaji. The first volume of that epic
topped 2,400 manuscipt pages. With the help of my agent, jean Naggar, and the skillful efforts of Maureen Baron, I managed to pare that down to
about 800.

But it broke my heart! Da Gama, Lucinda, Pathan, Slipper, and Mouse
called to me from the discarded pages. Happily, jean suggested a framework for that story, and encouraged me to write it as a separate book, and
St. Martin's Press agreed to publish it as an introduction to the larger epic.

Researching this novel proved difficult. Source documents on the
Moguls and Marathis abound-victors love writing history. But the losers
remain silent-and by 1657, Portuguese India had been crushed, and Bijapur
was failing. No one writes tales of their defeat.

I based my picture of Bijapur on Mogul records that were clearly biased.
Lacking firsthand accounts of Goan society, I sought help from transport
records, which were carefully preserved and provided knowledge of living
conditions in 1657. My firsthand examination of period artifacts and architecture led to many aspects of the way I depict Portuguese and Bijapuri culture.

I based Lucinda's clothing on the styles of Lisbon society in 1648-50,
since it would take a few years for fashion to reach Goa. The dress and deportment of other characters were inspired by contemporary paintings,
and by source descriptions of Portuguese traders at the Mogul court.

The use of cosmetic arsenic as a murder weapon was inspired by a series of killings in the English colony of Jamestown a few years before the
time of this story. The Flying Palace was inspired by a 1712 woodcut in an
exhibit at the Berlin Dahlem gallery.

The prosecution of the Pepper Wars is described in an excellent monograph by Alfons van der Kraan: A Baptism of Fire: The Van Goens Mission
to Ceylon and India, 1653-54. Interested readers may also enjoy the fascinating Sufis of Bijapur, 1300-1700.• Social Roles of Sufis in Medieval India
by Richard Maxwell.

My descriptions of Maya's dancing may not square with current versions of "Bharatnatayam," but in fact that school of dance is of rather recent origin-the British wiped out Indian dance, and its current "classic"
form is only a reconstruction based on sculptures and the written word.
There is reason to believe that dance in 1657 was far more flamboyant than
its staid reconstruction.

I have freely included some historic personages in this story, notably the
Sultana, Wali Khan, and Shahji. The other characters are entirely fictional.

A novel such as this cannot be written without help. My writing coach, Michael Wolf, the greatest listener I have ever found, helped me to realize
the themes that drive my tale, and my fellow authors at his writer's workshops, with their demanding critiques, inspired me to do my very best. My
driver, guide, and friend, Ali Akbar, showed me his India, a magical and
difficult place most westerners never see, and opened the doors of mystic
Islam; I hope he will forgive me for basing Pathan on him. To them all I extend my totally inadequate thanks.

My wife, Barbara, gave me the greatest gifts of all. I am in awe of her
unflagging confidence and insightful comments. Most important, she creates in this turbulent world a home of beauty and serenity-a creation that
inspired the Lake Palace of Belgaum. Ultimately this book would not have
existed without her.

Satisfied that her face looked perfect, Lucinda Teresa Emilia Dasana dipped
a pheasant's tail feather into a crystal vial and touched a milky drop of
belladonna to the corner of each eye. "Aya," she said, dabbing at a tear before it stained her powdered check, "I can't find my arsenico."

Across the room, her maid folded Lucinda's dressing gown. "It's all
gone, my bebe. I meant to tell you."

Lucinda, blinking as the belladonna blurred her eyes, bit her bottom
lip in frustration. Then she smiled patiently at her maid, not knowing that
one of her front teeth was speckled with vermilion. "Aya, the box was right
here. Where have you hidden it?"

The maid, Helene, as if unaware that Lucinda could not see, shook her
head and kept on folding. "You should not be using that terrible paste, little
one. It is very bad for you. Better that it's gone."

"I'm not your little one anymore. I'm a woman. A lady. And you are my
maid now, no longer my nurse. So bring me my arsenico," Lucinda said.

Helene, whose name before she became a Christian had been Ambalika, muttered something in Hindi. "I am not a bitch in heat," Lucinda whispered
angrily. "And I have said, we will speak only Portuguese. Now bring it."

Helene looked suddenly very old. Lucinda, her eyes blurred by
belladonna, did not see this change, but she heard Helene's weary sigh.
Lucinda's heart ached, but she remembered herself, and her new station in
the world, and said nothing. Helene, meanwhile, reached beneath the
feather mattress and brought out a tiny silver box. "Don't use too much,
please," Helene said in Portuguese.

"I'll use what I want," Lucinda answered, and took such a large pinch
of the red paste that Helene gasped. Having gotten the effect she wanted,
however, Lucinda only touched a little to her tongue. "There."