Authors: Sangeeta Bhargava
He chuckled as he heard Daima chiding someone in the adjoining room. ‘Hey you, move those limbs a bit faster … otherwise we’ll have to serve the feast next Eid.’
Even though she was a devout Hindu, she had comfortably fitted into his Muslim family and commanded as much respect in the palace as any of the begums.
Taking off his angarkha and silk pyjamas, he threw them on the takhat. Chilmann picked them up, folded them carefully and put them away. Salim slipped on a loose cotton kurta and pyjamas. Walking over to his bed, he propped himself on the oblong pillow as two attendants hastened to fan him. He spread his hands over the crisp white sheets. They felt cool and refreshing under his warm moist palms. It was the middle of June and the heat showed no signs of relenting for at least another month. He lay back on the pillow and thought about the girl in the burqa. Her hands were so dainty – just like paneer – soft white cottage cheese. Ya Ali, was he hungry!
It was that time of the year when even the evenings were warm, but twilight sometimes ushered in a cool breeze from the River Gomti. The city of Lucknow yawned and stretched after its afternoon nap and slowly began to deck itself for a night of festivities, on this night of the moon or Chand Raat.
There would be considerable excitement that night, especially among the children, as they competed with one another to be the first to spot the moon. Shops would be open all night to enable people to get on with their last-minute shopping. The women would get busy applying henna to their hands.
As Salim and Ahmed neared the Gomti, they saw some mahouts lead their elephants to bathe in the river. Salim patted Afreen and she trotted to a halt. He watched as the mahouts gave the elephants a thorough wash. They were being primped for the procession to the Jama Masjid tomorrow. Soon oil would be rubbed into their skins. Once that was done, their foreheads, tusks, ears, trunks and feet would be painted with a rainbow of lines and colours and adorned with ornaments. A couple of brass rings would be slipped onto the tusks. Finally their backs would be covered with brightly coloured, embroidered, velvet cloths. On top of that would be placed the gold or silver howdahs.
‘Ahmed, isn’t that Nayansukh?’ Salim asked, distracted by a figure in red approaching them.
‘Nayan who?’ said Ahmed.
‘Daima’s son.’
‘Ah, so it is!’ replied Ahmed as he trotted up to him. ‘Why in Allah’s name are you undressing in the middle of the road?’ he asked with amusement as he watched Nayansukh tug impatiently at the gold buttons on his coat.
‘These angrez are crazy! Make us parade in the heat in bloody coats! I can’t even breathe. It’s so bloody tight under my arms,’ Nayansukh replied, as he finally managed to wriggle out of the coat. He walked over to Salim. ‘Salaam, Salim bhai. We ought to wear just vests and lungi in this bloody heat, you know.’
Laughing aloud Salim replied, ‘Soldiers marching in just a loincloth! Ya Ali, there’s an image!’
Nayansukh slapped Afreen’s back and said wistfully, ‘Seriously, bhai, I wish I hadn’t enlisted in the Company’s army.’
‘But it was Daima’s dream,’ Salim said. ‘She always wanted to see you as a soldier …’
‘Aren’t you happy?’ Ahmed asked.
Nayansukh stroked Afreen’s mane and, looking down, replied, ‘The salary’s fine, but they’ve taken away our land.’
‘No,’ Salim said in a lowered voice.
‘Yes. Can you imagine Salim bhai? Those bloody firangis took away my ancestral land and I could only stare after them. They took my property from under my nose and all I could do was twiddle my thumb.’ He angrily smacked Afreen’s rump. Afreen snorted in protest. ‘And all thanks to that firangi – what’s his name? Dalhousie.’ Nayansukh turned his face away and spat on the side of the road. His voice was choked when he spoke again. ‘Now where will I find the money for Chutki’s marriage?’
Chutki. Daima’s little girl, with her small glistening eyes and sharp nose. Who never forgot to tie a rakhi on his arm or put tika on his forehead on bhai dooj. Sometimes Salim felt she was fonder of him than her own brother, Nayansukh.
Touching Nayansukh’s shoulder lightly, he said in a quiet voice, ‘Don’t worry about Chutki. She’s my sister too. I’ll make sure she has one of the grandest weddings in Lucknow.’
‘It’s not just me, Salim bhai,’ Nayansukh continued. ‘Most of the Indian soldiers are unhappy.’
Afreen snorted and swished her tail to drive away the flies that were trying to settle down on her back.
‘And know what? Senior Indian sepoys are the most frustrated. They’ve been in the army for as long as I remember. But they can’t get promoted over the most junior English sepoy.’ Nayansukh paused and twirled his moustache angrily. ‘I swear on Lord Ram, the young dandies are so rude. Makes my blood boil. And if we protest, we are given our marching orders.’
Salim looked at Nayansukh as he continued to twirl his moustache. He knew promotion wasn’t the only reason why the Indian soldiers were dissatisfied. There were other issues. Several of them.
Nayansukh broke into his thoughts. ‘Where are you two off to?’ he asked.
‘Going back to the palace to break our fast,’ Ahmed replied. His stomach growled as though on cue.
Chuckling, Salim said, ‘Ahmed, you’d better not overeat tomorrow. You don’t want to spend the next ten days dashing to the hakim like last year.’
‘The last day of the fasting period is the most difficult, Salim mia. Ammi has already started cooking for the feast and all those smells coming from the kitchen …’
Salim shook his head. Poor Ahmed. He fell silent as they rode towards Kaiserbagh. He thought about Nayansukh and what he had said about Dalhousie’s reforms. He smiled scornfully. East India Company. A mere bunch of traders from England. And now, the lord and master of practically all of Hindustan.
He wiped the perspiration from his forehead. How he hated that Dalhousie. It wasn’t just because he was a firangi. It was his attitude towards the Indians, his arrogance, his high-handedness that got to him. If only he would leave Hindustan and go back to where he belonged. And take all his whimsical policies with him. He looked at Ahmed. He had grown quiet as well, but his silence had more to do with an empty stomach, Salim suspected. They rode in silence for another five minutes, then Salim abruptly brought Afreen to a halt. He patted her apologetically. She was foaming at the mouth.
‘Now what?’ Ahmed asked.
Salim didn’t answer. His eyes and ears were transfixed to the open window of the bungalow in front of them. An English girl sat at the piano. Salim stood still. He had never heard such feisty music before. He could not see the face of the pianist clearly. But her hands – they were the same slender white hands he had seen that morning – the same ring, the same diamond, glinting in the setting sun. Her fingers were running confidently from one end of the keyboard to the other, dancing merrily as to a lively jig.
‘Ya Ali,’ he exclaimed incredulously, ‘it’s the same girl we saw in Chowk this morning!’
Chapter Two
R
ACHAEL
Everybody clapped as Rachael finished the piece with a flourish. She curtsied slightly and thanked them. Anna took her place on the stool and started playing a ballad.
‘That was beautiful, Rachael. Was that Mozart?’ asked Mrs Wilson.
‘No, Haydn,’ Rachael replied as she carelessly flicked a golden lock of hair away from her forehead
‘I wish I could practise like you, my love. But I can never find the time. What with the washerwoman always misplacing Christopher’s shirts and Kallu forgetting to put up the mosquito nets …’ Mrs Wilson stopped mid sentence to accept a glass of wine from the waiter. As she thanked him, Rachael excused herself and went outside.
She was relieved to be away from the stultifying heat and the even more stifling conversations within. She did not care how many days the washerwoman took to do the ironing or how slow Kallu was in laying the table. She watched two horsemen disappear into oblivion, whipping up a cloud of dust behind them. What would she not do to saddle up and ride alongside them? She grinned devilishly as she imagined the look of horror on the faces of all the guests at home.
Rachael loved looking at the skyline at this hour. The white palaces and mosques, bedecked with golden minarets, domes and cupolas, looked flushed and pink as the sun set slowly behind them. Like a virgin bride blushing in all her bridal finery. As the incantation of Allah-o-Akbar rose from the mosques, a dozen sparrows flew into the air.
She took a deep breath. The air was laden with the scent of roses and jasmine. She stooped to pick up a rose that had fallen on the lawn and started plucking its petals one by one. ‘Yes,’ she sighed contentedly. Lucknow certainly was more beautiful than Paris or Constantinople. She wondered what those palaces and mosques looked like from the inside. Did the women wear burqas inside the palace as well? She had heard Nabob Wajid Ali Shah had many begums. She wondered how they lived together. Did they live in harmony like sisters or were they always quarrelling? If only she could spend some time with them. And Urdu – the language they spoke – it sounded so poetic, so rich, so polite. And the way it was written from right to left – it was intriguing. One day, Rachael decided, she would learn to read and write in that language.
Mother, of course, would not approve. She had no interest in India or its people. ‘The less I know about these heathens and their ways, the better,’ she would say. Rachael pitied her. She had no idea what a treasure trove of excitement she was missing. How narrow and shuttered her life had become.
Rachael propped her elbows on the little wicker gate that led into the garden. The gate creaked in protest against the unaccustomed weight. She thought of the young man she had met in Chowk that morning. He had looked her straight in the eye – unlike the other natives, who never looked a woman in the eye unless she was his mother, wife, sister or a nautch girl. He was no ordinary native – he walked like one who owned the land. Who was he? A prince? But no, he did not wear any jewellery like all the nabobs and princes she had seen. So who
was
he, then? She blushed slightly as she caressed her right hand and remembered how his firm brown hand had touched it.
The following morning, Rachael thought about the previous night’s party as Sudha brushed her hair. She would run away from home if Mother made her attend one more party that week. And what made all these social gatherings even more unbearable was whether it was a party or a ball or the theatre, they invariably met the same insipid crowd. Added to that was the matchmaking all the mothers were now indulging in since the day she had turned eighteen.
‘Captain O’Reilly has just arrived in Lucknow and he’s single. You must invite him next time, dear,’ crooned Mrs Palmer.
Another one whispered conspiratorially into Mother’s ear, ‘Stella’s youngest son – what’s his name – ah, Thomas – that freckled Rebecca has given him the mitten. He’s a free man now.’
For the love of God! Had she told them to look for a suitable boy for her? Did she look desperate? Then why were they so anxious to get her betrothed? Had they nothing better to do? It seemed the only purpose in a woman’s life was to go to the altar. And how that thought vexed her.
Sudha stepped aside as she threw back her stool and turned away from the dressing table. She had had enough of this matchmaking. Next time someone said a word about marriage she would scream. Even if it meant being banned from English society for ever.
She went into the dining room and looked around. Breakfast was going to be late. The servants were still busy clearing the mess from yesterday’s party. The room smelt of stale food and liquor.
‘Oh my God, memsahib, something wrong with puppy,’ Ram Singh suddenly exclaimed.
Turning around sharply, she rushed to where Ram Singh was bending over something. Sure enough Brutus was acting in the strangest manner. He was spinning his head rapidly. Then he put his head down on the floor and rubbed it up and down against the carpet. Ayah looked at him and screamed, ‘Oh no, he possessed by evil spirit! Someone call the tantric!’ She scurried out of the room to call Mother.
Rachael bent down over the puppy. ‘What’s the matter, baby?’ she cooed. She patted his soft black back and tried to scoop him in her arms. But he simply yelped and leapt out. He continued shaking his head, as though trying to rid himself of something.
‘What’s the matter? What’s all this hullabaloo?’ said a startled voice from behind. It was Mother – her eyes puffed and still sleepy, hair tousled.
If there was one person who had strongly opposed keeping Brutus in the house, it was Mother. But Brutus had soon won her over. He followed Mother everywhere. He wagged his tail briskly and yelped in delight whenever she got back home. He looked at her with such sorrowful eyes whenever she scolded him that she began to soften. So much so, that now, if there was one person in the entire household who stirred any emotion in Mother, it was Brutus.
If Rachael did not eat her meal, it often went unnoticed. But if Brutus did not eat, one servant was sent right away to summon the vet, another to the market to get some fresh meat and a third was ordered to roll out rotis just as Brutus liked them – thick and soft. And until Mother finally managed to coax Brutus to eat, she would sit with him on her lap, stroking his coat and whispering sweet nothings into his ear.
Smiling sadly, Rachael wondered when was the last time mother had hugged her. It was so long ago it did not matter anymore. Mother’s lack of warmth and affection had hurt a lot when she was little. She would break Mother’s favourite china or throw tantrums to evoke a reaction from her. But nothing ever worked. Finally she had convinced herself that Mother was her stepmother. Just like Cinderella’s.
‘What’s happened to my Brutus?’ There was an edge of panic in Mother’s voice now, as she helplessly watched Brutus running around.
As Rachael moved aside to enable Sudha to lay the table, she spotted something on the floor and picked it up. It looked as if it had been chewed and then spat out. ‘Nothing to worry about, Mother,’ she announced. Grinning, she held up something green for all to see. ‘Brutus has just had his first taste of green chillies.’