Authors: Sangeeta Bhargava
‘You know why you’ve been summoned here, don’t you?’ he enquired without any preamble.
‘Well, Ram Singh’s son had asked Ayah to make some rice pudding yesterday …’ Rachael offered feebly.
‘What has that got to do with it?’
‘Well, because the rice pudding smelt so good and it was Eid …’ She was stalling. She wanted to frame her replies in a way so as not to get Ram Singh into trouble.
Papa went and sat down behind his desk. ‘Ram Singh,’ he called out in the cold authoritative tone that he reserved for servants.
Rachael pulled at the collar of her dress. It felt rough and uncomfortable against her skin in this heat.
Ram Singh came hurrying. He glanced at her and then at Papa. He looked as though life had been snuffed out of him. ‘I’m sorry, sahib,’ he began to plead.
‘Ram Singh, two cups of tea please and don’t take all day to bring it,’ Father barked.
‘Yes, sahib. Definitely, sahib,’ Ram Singh muttered as he left the room.
Papa turned back to Rachael. ‘I know jolly well that it was Eid yesterday. It was because of that bloody festival that I got late for the first time in my life!’
‘Mr Bristow, your language,’ mother chided.
Rachael unfolded her handkerchief and wiped the sweat from her brow and upper lip. ‘As I was saying, because it was Eid, it was difficult for me to turn down the invitation.’
Ram Singh re-entered the room with two cups of tea. His hands were shaking as he placed them on the table. He then backed into a corner, hands folded, head lowered, almost invisible.
‘Who the hell in his right mind invites an unmarried English girl to Chowk?’ thundered Papa.
‘Chowk?’ Rachael squawked.
‘Yes, Chowk! Were you or were you not in Chowk two days back?’
She let out a sigh of relief. At least Ram Singh was safe. She saw his face light up. But … but how did Papa know? She had taken all the precautions. Even worn a burqa. Then who could have recognised her?
‘Rachael, I want a simple answer. Yes or no?’ Papa tapped his fingers on the desk.
‘Yes, I was there,’ she whispered.
‘Speak up, young lady. I did not hear that.’
‘Yes, I was in Chowk the day before yesterday,’ she replied haughtily, lifting her chin and looking Papa in the eye as she spoke.
Papa picked up his pipe from the desk and lit it, before turning back to her. Mother grimaced slightly at the smell of tobacco.
‘And I’m sure you have a good reason for being there?’
‘I’d gone to ask Bade Miyan if he knew someone who might be able to teach me Hindustani music.’
‘Do you not know that Chowk is the home of courtesans, and girls from good families never go there?’
Rachael did not say anything. She wiped her moist hands on the side of her dress and looked out of the window.
‘What if someone had kidnapped you and sold you to one of those kothas as a nautch girl?’ asked Mother, who had hitherto been silent.
Laughing hysterically, Rachael replied, ‘Mother, don’t be ridiculous.’
‘You can’t trust these natives, you know. Not after what happened to Richard.’
‘Richard died of malaria, Mother. And imagine someone trying to kidnap me – why, I’m taller than most of the men in this city.’ She let out another laugh.
‘That’s enough, young lady.’ Papa turned his attention back to Rachael. ‘No supper for you tonight and you’re not to step out of your room for a week. Your meals will be sent to your room from tomorrow. You can go now.’
Rachael flounced out of the room angrily. She had simply been looking for a music teacher. What was wrong with that? And how dare he treat her as a child!
* * *
Rachael thought she must have dreamt it. No, she was not dreaming – there it was again – a small tap on the window. She looked at the clock. It was past midnight. Who could it be at this hour? After a tussle with the mosquito net, she hastily put on her gown and opened the door.
‘Ayah?’
‘Shhhhh!’ Ayah hissed as she placed the tray she was carrying on the little cane stool. Rachael bolted the door.
‘What is—?’
‘I bring dinner, missy baba,’ she said as she removed the embroidered cloth covering the tray, to reveal chicken stew and bread. ‘This is all I can get. Now you eat nicely. I better be going. Big fat rats doing Kathak in my tummy.’
‘What? You haven’t eaten yet?’
Ayah touched Rachael’s chin lightly. ‘How can I eat when my missy baba not eaten?’ Then she shoved a little decanter into her hands. ‘Hide tray under bed when finish. Then spray this ittar all over room. Spice smell go away.’
‘Good Lord, you’ve thought of everything. What would I do without you?’ She took Ayah’s hands in hers lovingly. ‘You’re wonderful, Ayah. Kalyaan is so lucky.’
‘Unlucky, missy baba. Better not born than born to poor mother.’
Rachael smiled a small smile. Ayah would never understand. As soon as she left, Rachael attacked the food. She was ravenous and it tasted divine. She gulped down a few morsels then coughed and spluttered. Eat slowly Rachael, she told herself. Don’t be a glutton. She took a deep breath and drank some water.
Just as she put the last morsel in her mouth, there was a knock on the door. Now what? Wiping the crumbs off her mouth, she hastily pushed the tray under the bed and straightened the sheets. She was about to open the door, when she remembered Ayah’s advice about the perfume and quickly sprinkled some all over the room. It was one of those local perfumes. It smelt exotic, albeit a bit too strong. In her haste she tipped the decanter and a small puddle formed on the bed. She covered it with a pillow just as there was another knock.
It was Papa, followed by Ram Singh carrying a tray of food. Rachael looked questioningly from one to the other, then at the tray.
‘I know, I know, but I couldn’t sleep,’ Papa said. ‘I kept wondering how my little princess could fall asleep on a hungry stomach.’
‘I’m all right. I’m not hungry.’
Papa patted her head, then whispered, ‘I know I shouldn’t have been so cross. But I was worried about you – you know, gallivanting all over Chowk. That’s why I punished you.’
‘Pray don’t give me any explanations, Papa.’
He pointed to the food that Ram Singh had placed on the stool.
‘I don’t feel like eating. I just want to sleep.’ She stretched and pretended to yawn but brought her hands down abruptly and bit her lips as Father walked to the bed, pushed the pillow aside and sat down. He sniffed the air but did not notice the perfume stain.
‘I’m not leaving until you have eaten at least a little,’ he said.
Holding her breath, Rachael watched her father cross his legs. His right foot was just a couple of inches away from the tray under the bed.
She looked at the food. It was chicken stew and bread. With pursed lips and a satisfied tummy, she slowly took a bite. ‘Well, it’s nothing like the nabob’s Eid banquet that everyone has been talking about since yesterday, but …’
‘I heard there were over a hundred different dishes …’ Rachael said.
‘Well, the only thing that buffoon of a nabob does is eat and sing and dance with his innumerable wives. He’s becoming as fat as a hippo,’ replied Papa.
‘Well, for that matter, I’ve never seen you put in more than four hours of work a day. And that disciple of yours, that Christopher Wilson, he works even less.’
Papa looked grim. He was about to retort but decided to let it go. ‘He’s also your friend, you know,’ he said quietly.
Rachael sighed. Yes, Christopher was her friend. Had been since they were babies. Most English parents sent their children to England when they turned five, but the Wilsons couldn’t. They had no family back home. So Christopher stayed. And Mrs Wilson persuaded Papa to let her stay as well. ‘Mrs Bristow is too frail to see another child go. Spare her the heartache a second time. Let Rachael grow before her eyes,’ she had said. And Papa had agreed.
Christopher and Rachael had got on well, Rachael had to admit, until of late when he had started getting possessive, as though he owned her. Thanks to Papa who had given him the nod. And the two families were now waiting for him to pop the question. Rachael felt irritated with herself. Even though she was not interested in him, why had she not discouraged him?
‘C’mon, have a bit more,’ Papa coaxed, as he saw her push the tray aside.
She reluctantly ate another spoonful and felt her stomach protest. If she ate one more morsel, she would either burst or throw up, she was sure of that. She looked at Papa. The lines around his eyes and mouth looked deeper. He was tired. He was not used to staying up so late. But the thought of his hungry daughter had kept him up. She smiled affectionately at him. He was rash and hot-tempered all right, but he loved her immensely.
How well he writes, Rachael thought, as she read ‘Ode to the West Wind’ for the third time. Sudha came into the room to put away the washing.
‘Sudha, tell the punkahwalla I want the fan.’
‘But memsahib, why you never pull cord tied to the punkahwalla’s big toe?’
‘I don’t feel right doing that.’
Sudha lifted the khus mat hanging over the open window and called out, ‘Hey, Madan, get to work. Memsahib wanting fan.’
Then she started sprinkling water on the khus mats hanging over the doors and windows. The velvet rectangular fan with golden tassels began to swish back and forth as Madan pulled the cords outside the room.
‘You know, memsahib, barre sahib not bad. He worry, that’s all. You see, Chowk not safe place for English girl.’
Rachael sighed. The fresh cool smell of khus-khus was rejuvenating.
‘Barre sahib save me from becoming sati.’
‘What’s that?’ Rachael asked with disinterest. If only she would stop her prattle and let her get back to her book.
‘Memsahib, you see, when husband die, the widow burn herself on the funeral pyre an—’
‘What?’ Rachael closed her book and sat up.
‘Yes, memsahib. You see, I no love my husband. I married when I am child. He older than me. I do not like living with him, why I must die with him? I scared and try to run away.’ She continued sprinkling water on the khus mats. ‘But my family catch me. They drug me and pull me to the fire. I scared, memsahib, and the fire so hot …’ Sudha stopped speaking. She had finished sprinkling water on the mats and stared straight ahead. She looked pallid, as though reliving the nightmare.
‘Then?’ Rachael asked softly.
‘Then barre sahib come. He order them to stop and bring me here. I beg sahib give me job here otherwise my family surely kill me.’
‘I had no idea,’ Rachael murmured.
‘But now my whole village hating sahib. You see, they feeling English destroying our religion stopping sati.’
Rachael walked over to the basin of water that stood in a corner and splashed cold water over her face again and again. How ghastly! Imagine having to immolate yourself on your husband’s pyre for the sake of religion. She shuddered involuntarily. Her eyes fell on the clothes Sudha was folding. ‘What’s that, Sudha?’ she asked, pointing to her father’s breeches.
‘Oh, those are barre sahibs. You see, I bring them here with the wash by mistake. I take them back now.’
An idea began to formulate in Rachael’s mind. ‘No, just leave them here,’ she said. ‘And tell Kalyaan to keep my horse saddled tomorrow morning. I will ride as usual.’
Sudha stopped folding the clothes and looked at Rachael dubiously. ‘But memsahib, barre sahib say you cannot—’
‘There is no way I’m going to spend another five days languishing in this room.’
‘But barre sah—’
‘He won’t come to know.’ Rachael smiled sweetly at her and winked. ‘Now go and bring me Papa’s riding jacket, braces, as well as his top hat.’
‘You getting me into trouble, memsahib,’ Sudha muttered as she left the room.
Rachael held Papa’s breeches in front of her legs and grinned impishly at her reflection in the mirror. She wondered what it felt like to wear a pair of trousers.
She was up early the next morning. Sudha helped her slip into Papa’s breeches. ‘Oh no, they’re so loose,’ she exclaimed.
‘You need this, memsahib,’ Sudha said as she handed her the braces.
‘Ah yes, I forgot.’ Rachael heaved a sigh of relief as Sudha adjusted the braces over her shoulders and back. Carefully she pushed back every single strand of hair that was trying to peek out from beneath the hat. Finally, she put on Papa’s riding jacket and looked at herself in the mirror as Sudha left the room.
She crinkled up her nose as she smiled. The breeches were supposed to stop halfway down the calf, but they were almost reaching her ankles. Ah well, it would have to do. She gently tugged the breeches at the thighs and giggled as they ballooned out. Then she put on her boots and took a final look at herself in the mirror.
‘Memsahib, barre sahib leave in an hour. You better go now,’ Sudha said as she entered the room.
‘Yes, I better,’ Rachael replied as she tucked in a stray lock of hair underneath the hat. Papa would soon leave for his customary morning ride. Mother was still sleeping. It would be another two hours before she left the room. Rachael would be back home by then and no one would know she was gone. Quietly, she walked over to the main hall and looked out of the window. No one could be seen except the gatekeeper.
She lowered her head and traversed the distance between the house and the stables swiftly. She neither looked to the left nor right and kept her eyes down. Ram Singh and Kalyaan were waiting for her with Chestnut. Rachael patted the horse’s back affectionately. Ram Singh helped her onto his back.
‘Baba, better coming home soon or we getting skinned alive.’
‘I will, I will,’ replied Rachael gaily as she trotted towards the gate.
‘Salaam, barre sahib,’ the gatekeeper saluted.
Rachael nodded her head slightly as she rode off towards Macchi Bhawan. She chuckled to herself as she imagined the look on the gatekeeper’s face when the real barre sahib left the house. He would say nothing, of course, out of fear of losing his job.
She took a deep breath as she looked at the lemony sun slowly rising higher in the east. The dew-laden air was fresh at this time of the day. She could hear the sounds of the city waking up: the call of a peacock in the distance, the chime of the temple bells, the call for azan coming from the mosques, the sound of bullock carts and the tinkling of the cows’ bells as they were led across the field by the milkman. She felt a freedom she had never felt before. She looked heavenward and closed her eyes. ‘Thank you, God, for a perfect day,’ she whispered.