Authors: Sangeeta Bhargava
Chapter Seventeen
S
ALIM
Salim stood in the pavilion on the terrace, from where he could see the intricately carved gateways of Kaiserbagh. He was incensed. How dare a firangi insult him like that in his own country! ‘He’s a native’, Colonel Bristow had said. Just a native.
Daima had been agog when Salim had told her he wanted to marry Rachael. She had decorated all the trays herself. One silver tray contained sweets ranging from the juicy syrupy balls of gulab jamun to the dry diamond-shaped barfi made from cashew nuts. A silver platter had a set of ornaments made from fresh flowers. Another had gold jewellery with a gold engagement ring in the centre. All the trays were covered with a red velvet cloth with tassels of gold.
Salim pursed his lips as he recalled what Daima had recounted last night. She had marched proudly to RayChal’s house, followed by a colourful train of maids, carrying silver platters and trays, only to be greeted by Colonel Bristow’s ‘What the hell!’ He took his pipe out of his mouth, and pointing it to the silver trays, said, ‘If you have come here to sell something, I’m afraid we’re not interested.’
Daima grinned. ‘No, no, sahib, you’re mistaken … we come from Nawab Wajid Ali Shah.’
Colonel Bristow raised his brow.
‘His son, our Chote Nawab, Salim, is in love with your daughter and wishes to marry her,’ Daima continued.
‘What? The gall of that fellow!’
‘I beg your pardon, sahib?’
‘Tell me something … You are …?’
‘I’m his daima … I nursed him as a baby.’
‘Tell me, Daima, is there any guarantee that prince of yours will not marry again? After all, his father is said to have over a hundred wives.’
‘That’s not true, sahib.’
‘And where will he keep his wife? Just a few months back the Company threw out all his relatives from Khushnuma Palace. What guarantee is there that he will not be thrown out of his palace tomorrow?’
‘Saheb, he’s the king’s son.’
‘He was. Not anymore. The king has been deposed.’ He paced up and down before facing Daima again. ‘You seriously expect me to give my daughter’s hand to the son of a spineless man who could not even protect his own throne?’
He took out a watch from his pocket, looked at the time, then put it back. Looking at Daima irritably, he lowered his voice and said, ‘And Daima, even if his father was still the ruler of Oudh, I would never let my daughter marry a mere native. Never.’
Salim’s muscles tensed as he flung the engagement ring into the pond with full force. It startled the sleeping goldfish. The waters rippled as they darted to and fro in panic. So he was just a native. So what if he could read and write English and quote Byron and Keats as well as any Englishman? Or compose? Or play Mozart, for that matter? For RayChal’s father, as long as the colour of his skin was brown, he was the same as the dhobi or the sweeper.
He folded his arms across his chest and decided to stay outside a little longer. It was too hot to go inside, while here on the terrace, a light summer breeze was blowing, heavily laden with the sweet smell of tuberoses.
Ahmed appeared just then.
‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you. And you’re relaxing here! Do you even know what is happening in the city?’
‘What?’
‘The sepoys have mutinied.’
‘It was about time they did,’ Salim replied as he took aim with his pistol and fired. The guava fell off the tree with a thud.
‘People are afraid, Salim mia, and many of them are leaving the city. I think you should leave as well. Go to Calcutta, to Abba Huzoor. You’ll be safe there.’
‘You’re joking. Ya Ali, please tell me you’re joking.’
‘No, Salim mia, for once I’m serious. Nothing’s going to come out of this revolt. The English are going to crush this uprising.’
‘And what about Lucknow? Leave it for the firangis to molest? I was born here, Ahmed. It was here that I took my first steps. And you want me to leave it when it is vulnerable and needs me?’
He fell silent for a moment as he heard the firing of shots from the cantonment. ‘No, Ahmed. I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stay right here and fight the English – every one of them. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for.’
‘I fear for your safety.’
‘Look at these gateways, Ahmed, at the mermaids. Aren’t they beautiful? Aren’t they?’
‘Yes, but—’ Ahmed slapped his neck sharply and flicked away a little black smudge. ‘Bloody mosquito,’ he muttered.
‘See that spiral staircase?’ Salim asked. ‘Do you remember how much fun we used to have running up and down those stairs?’
‘And we used to spend hours watching the builders build these gateways and palaces. Remember the time I ran across wet concrete and Chote mia wanted to skin me alive?’ Ahmed chuckled.
‘And you want me to leave all this for the firangis to destroy? Like they tore down the gateways in Hazratganj? Or demolished Begum Khas Mahal’s kothis? Haven’t they plundered our city enough?’
Ahmed was watching the nightwatchman who was making his rounds. He blew his shrill whistle, followed by the words, ‘Jaagte raho’.
‘And just think, Ahmed. What if, what if we’re able to defeat them after all? Ya Ali, just think. We’ll no longer be slaves to the whims of the Englishman. The talukdars will get back their lands, the farmers will have to pay less tax. We’ll win back our palaces, our properties.’ Salim’s Adam’s apple moved as he continued, ‘And above all our status and dignity. Just think.’
‘Hmm. But I’m not sure whether looting and setting fire to the houses in the cantonment is the right way to go about it.’
‘What? They’ve set fire? To the cantonment? Ya Ali!’ Salim leapt to his feet and ran towards the stables.
Salim’s heart began to sink as he neared the cantonment. He could see some of the houses on fire and hear the crackling of flames. The air was heavy with the smell of sulphur and of wood burning. It was suffocating and way too hot for this time of the night.
The road was deserted. Just then the quiet was broken by an uproar. A throng of sepoys with raised swords and chanting slogans came rushing round the corner and charged into the brigadier’s bungalow. A little ahead, Salim witnessed some other Indians come out of another house carrying furniture, draperies, utensils and paintings. One of them threw a lit torch on the roof of the house before leaving it. Salim shook his head in disapproval. They could not be sepoys. They were behaving like thugs.
Allah, please don’t let RayChal come to any harm, he silently prayed. He hesitated as he neared her house. What if he walked into her house and found they were fine? What if the colonel threw him out like he had Daima? But this was no time to think. Besides, what more harm could that man possibly do?
The gate of the colonel’s house was open and unguarded. Salim tied Afreen to the post and walked into the garden. The house was on fire. He rushed in through the open front door. It looked deserted. It was full of smoke. His eyes began to smart. Coughing and spluttering he called out ‘RayChal’ as he went from room to room, looking for the one face that was dearer to him than his own life.
She wasn’t there. Nor were her family and servants. Perhaps they had escaped to somewhere safe. He walked past the servants’ quarters and was about to unfetter Afreen when he decided to check out the servants’ lodgings as well. Nothing. Ram Singh’s house was empty. As he passed Sudha’s window, he thought he saw a human shape silhouetted against the wall. He ran in. ‘RayChal,’ he cried as he cradled her head in his arms. As he got used to the dark, he noticed a blood clot at the side of her head. She was unconscious. ‘Oh, RayChal,’ he groaned, as he held her close to his heart.
He must hurry. The fire would soon block the doorway. He picked her up in his arms, staggered and fell down. ‘Ya Ali, you are heavier than you look,’ he muttered, then lifted her up again.
As he carried her out, something fell from the ceiling. He lifted an arm to shield her. The burning wood fell on his arm, scorching it. He winced in pain but did not stop. He placed her gently on Afreen’s back, then pulled himself up behind her. Then he galloped towards his palace at breakneck speed.
He passed a long noisy procession. Some of the men were carrying large effigies of firangis. Every few minutes the procession would pause and the head of one of the effigies would be struck off with a sword.
Further ahead, Salim noticed the head of a buffalo calf placed upside down near one of the gateways of Kaiserbagh, with a garland of white flowers around its horns. An ominous warning to the firangis that their end was near. But he did not stop until he was inside the palace gates.
Next morning, Daima entered Salim’s parlour just as he had finished his breakfast and was washing his hands.
‘How is she, Daima?’ he asked. ‘Has she regained consciousness?’
‘She has,’ Daima replied curtly. ‘And madam is throwing a fit … As if being insulted by her father wasn’t enough, now I have to put up with her tantrums as well … Hai Ram, what is the world coming to!’
‘She must be worried about her parents. I’ll go and see her right away.’
Daima gestured to the servant to clear the breakfast dishes away, before speaking. ‘You did not do right, Chote Nawab … bringing the enemy home, that too a woman … what war strategy is that?’
Salim ran his right hand up and down his left arm as he paced the room. ‘Daima, she’s not our enemy. She doesn’t even know. All she knows I guess is that some Indian sepoys have revolted against the Company.’ He stopped pacing and stood before Daima. ‘Ya Ali, she doesn’t even know that I’m also involved.’ He paused, lifted his chin before looking down at Daima. ‘And it is my wish that it stays that way.’
Daima picked up Salim’s hookah and placed it before the takhat.
‘How long can you hide something like that from her?’ she asked as she straightened up.
‘Eventually she will come to know. But I want to be the first to tell her.’
‘As you wish, Chote Nawab … Our lips are sealed.’ She bowed slightly and left the room.
Salim sat down on the takhat and took a long puff on the hookah, a frown forming double lines between his brows. He got up slowly, put on his shoes and cap, then walked down the corridors to the zenana and knocked on Rachael’s door.
She pounced on him as soon as he entered. ‘How dare you bring me here without my consent?’
‘You were not conscious.’ He noticed her wound had been cleaned and dressing applied to it.
‘And you saw that as an excellent opportunity to kidnap me,’ Rachael replied as she dabbed at the beads of perspiration on her forehead.
Salim’s eyebrows knitted together. What was wrong with her? He put his life at risk to rescue her and here she was accusing him of kidnapping her? It was preposterous. ‘What? What did you just say?’ he asked, bewildered.
‘You heard me. Since you couldn’t get your way with Papa, you brought me here by force.’
Salim walked slowly towards her until he was just a breath away. He had a strong inclination to grab her arms and shake her hard. ‘Look, I brought you here for your own safety. And I promise you, the moment things settle down and it’s safe for you to venture out, I’ll take you to your parents, even if I have to risk my own life. But until then you’ll stay here, whether you like it or not.’
Rachael waved her hand to shoo a fly away.
‘Saira,’ Salim called out to the female guard stationed at the doorway.
‘Yes, Chote Nawab?’
‘Where are the maids with the fans?’
‘Chote Nawab, most of them have been sent away by the Company.’
‘Send for the eunuchs from my chamber, then. And remember, RayChal is my guest. Make sure she never has to suffer the slightest discomfiture.’
‘As you wish, Chote Nawab.’ So saying, she bowed and raised her right hand to her forehead. Walking backwards, she left the room.
‘I’ll run away,’ said Rachael.
‘What?’ Salim sighed, exasperated. ‘You’ll do nothing of the sort.’
He strode out of the room, paused at the door, looked at Rachael, then spoke to Saira and her companion who stood with folded arms and bowed heads at the door.
‘Make sure she doesn’t leave this room.’ He watched with satisfaction as Rachael’s hands curled into fists and curbed an insane desire to kiss her hard.
‘As you wish, Chote Nawab,’ the two guards replied in unison.
* * *
Salim knocked on the door. A young woman clad in a blue sharara opened it. ‘Where’s Ray—?’ He stopped short. The woman in the blue sharara
was
RayChal. He could not tear his eyes away from her. Was it really his RayChal or a Jannat ki hoor? Or were his eyes playing tricks on him?
She was wearing a sharara, the colour of sapphire, the colour of her eyes. She had covered her head with a matching dupatta. She wore huge silver earrings and blue bangles that clinked every time she moved her hands. She had even applied ittar. The smell was intoxicating.
‘I had nothing to wear, so the maid …’ she trailed off and shyly looked away.
‘RayChal, I …’ He could not continue. He brushed back a lock of hair from his forehead, lost for words.
Rachael stared at his hand as he did so, then clutched it urgently. Salim followed her gaze and looked at his arm. His skin was wrinkled and looked like the layer of cream that forms on hot milk. He looked back at her questioningly.
‘Your arm. How did it get burnt?’
He didn’t say anything but continued to study her face.
An enlightened look came over it. ‘Oh, I see. You got hurt when rescuing me from the flames.’
‘No, I kidnapped you, remember? I’m an uncivilised barbarian who lusts after women and has to have them, even if he has to stoop so low as to kidnap them.’
Rachael blushed. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean what I said the other day.’
Salim came dangerously close to her. ‘What did you mean, then?’
Rachael’s temper rose slightly. ‘What was I supposed to think? After you sent your flatterers to my father. Asking me to become your concubine.’
‘Daima’s not my flatterer. She’s like my mother. Why, she
is
my mother. And I sent her to your house to ask your parents for your hand in marriage. Concubine indeed! Ya Ali, what do you take me for?’ He turned away from her and said in a lowered voice, ‘Just shows how much you understand me or my love.’