Under the Jeweled Sky (6 page)

The Maharaja was away with his entourage, attending the formal celebrations in the capital at the personal invitation of the Viceroy, leaving the depths of the palace deathly quiet. Sophie had been careful to check that the water garden was deserted before she dared to enter its hidden cloister. Not that anyone would be likely to object to her presence today if she were to be caught. There were far more important matters at hand. Today the world was going to change and the whole palace seemed to shudder at the sense of unknowing that pervaded every corner.

Preparations for the evening were well under way, following the Maharaja's instructions that the entire household should carry an indelible memory of this historic event, culminating in a grand fireworks display at midnight to mark the very moment when the shackles were broken. With any luck, the rains would break off long enough for everyone to enjoy the spectacle without getting a soaking. The odds were roughly in their favor, the monsoon across this arid tract of India tending to be relatively well-tempered, delivering frequent brief showers that gave little relief to the parched landscape rather than the endless downpours that drenched the southern tropics and the high regions of the far north. The rainy season would be over soon anyway, ushering in long, hot days, dry winds blowing in from the Thar Desert.

Sophie sat at the edge of the lotus pool regarding her watery reflection and wondered about her appearance. She had asked her mother once, in an unguarded moment, if she thought her pretty, to which her mother had scoffed and proclaimed that vanity was sinful. Veronica Schofield had always dismissed the very idea of beauty and said that to give it any credence was shallow. There were far more important things in life. Beauty was for those people who could afford it and, in her opinion, was invariably bestowed upon those who had little else to offer. The way that her mother had spoken, Sophie had felt utterly ashamed of herself and had wished that she had kept her mouth shut. But it was hard for her to dismiss the question, especially in a place where beauty was so highly prized.

Gray clouds began to drift across the slab of sky above the water garden, dimming the glare on the pond's surface. They would gather thickly soon, in an hour perhaps, and the afternoon's rain would roll in. Not yet, though, thought Sophie. She could sit for a while longer before the downpour started, and she had nothing else to do anyway. She hadn't felt like resting as her mother had insisted. There was far too much going on. Her mother always rested in the afternoon these days, although Sophie knew this to be just a convenient excuse for her to take herself off and not speak to anyone.

• • •

Jag followed the catacomb of secret passages that led to the water garden. With the palace so quiet today, he knew that this was where he would find her. They had stopped leaving the notes for each other. It was too dangerous. On one occasion, he had seen one of the sweepers hanging around on the corner by the big pair of urns, watching Sophie examine the stone slabs while he pretended to sweep an already clean patch of the pathway. There were eyes everywhere, looking for trouble, carrying tales to fan the flames of discontent.

Sophie knew the secret passages now and could make her way without Jag's guidance. She liked to sit in the lip of the farthest pavilion window in the corner of the courtyard, the seats inlaid with black and white marble, giving the impression that they were larger than they were. It was the best vantage point in the whole garden, catching the reflections of the lotus pool, shafts of light throwing dappled patterns on the painted ceiling of the cloistered walkway that surrounded it.

Jag dawdled along the dark, narrow tunnel, his insides uneasy, doing his best to quell the nervousness that churned within him, deep down beyond his understanding. He had been feeling like this for weeks, yet had been unable to share his thoughts with Sophie. This in itself had caused him misery. They always told each other everything, no matter what. They could be trusted to keep each other's secrets. Until now. Just lately, Jag had been unable to find the words, his grief all-consuming. Tonight everything would change, and soon they would be parted.

• • •

Sophie dropped a pebble into the lotus pool and watched as her undefined features disappeared in soft ripples across the water's surface. Perhaps he was not coming after all. In that instant she felt unutterably sad, remembering the times they had shared in the beginning, thinking about how they used to talk of so many things. There was nothing in the whole world that she couldn't tell him, and they had spent countless hours sharing their hopes and dreams for the future. It used to be one of their favorite games while they explored together like thieves in the night, stealing through the dimness, watching silently from behind long-forgotten panels set into the palace's ancient history. They were invisible, silent as the spirits, moving like a whisper in the walls. In their hidden world of darkened corners, they would describe to each other the lives they would carve for themselves, the houses they would live in, the people they would know. With Jag she felt free. She would forget herself, the pair of them locked in conversation, fascinated by anything and everything the other had to say, the hours sliding past too quickly before one of them had to go, the day's great discussion left unresolved, ready to pick up again the next time. They told each other everything, each time with another detail set further into stone, peering into their imaginary crystal balls and deciding what their futures would hold. But then the future came too quickly, and before they knew it, it was upon them in all its terrifying reality. So they stopped talking about the future. It wasn't fun any more.

Along with the future, there were other things they stopped talking about too. Their deepest secrets, once so light and free that they could be hung out in the midday sunshine like drying cottons, now sat tucked away deep inside. Sometimes Sophie didn't know what to think, or how to feel, and would wander around in a daze while she tried to make sense of it all. There would be no point in trying to explain herself to Jag, no matter how she longed to. Their differences were far too great. How could he possibly understand what it would mean for her when all this finally came to an end? She couldn't bear to think about it, fearful that she would never fit in anywhere else now that she had had a taste of this magical land. The prospect of going back to England was just too awful. She didn't want to leave India. Moreover, she didn't want to leave Jag.

The lotus pool became still, ripples dispersed, the water's surface a mirror once more. Sophie leaned forward to look at herself again and saw Jag's reflection appear behind her. She turned and smiled up at him, and wished that her eyes were the same color as his, like tourmalines born from the rich red earth, handed down through generations, a legacy of his ancient tribe. Sometimes she could barely bring herself to look into them, such was their weight.

“I thought you weren't coming,” she said.

“I had to help my father with something,” he lied. And there it was again. The strange awkwardness that settled so easily between them now. Jag sat at the pool's edge, a little distance from her. “Are you looking forward to the celebrations?”

“I suppose so,” she said. Her brow twitched and she returned her gaze to the lotus pond. “Do you think everything will feel different tomorrow?”

“I don't know. It feels different already.”

“I expect I'll get stuck with the Rippertons,” she said, throwing in another pebble. “I've never known a woman who goes on so much. It's no wonder nobody else will ever sit with her. Will you be at the party too?”

“Yes,” he said. “But separately from you, and away from the women.”

Suddenly determined, Sophie turned to him. “Then we should meet later, just the two of us.” She stood up. “We'll watch the fireworks together. It can be our own special memory of this day. I'll sneak out. Nobody will notice with all the hullabaloo. They won't even know I'm gone.”

• • •

“Well! Don't we all look quite the picture?” Fiona Ripperton, resplendent in a billowing black silk gown pinned into submission with a heavy detail of jet beading, bumped Sophie conspicuously with a heavy hip and encouraged her to admire the spectacle. “Isn't it wonderful to see everyone all dressed up?”

Mrs. Ripperton squeezed Sophie's arm affectionately and nodded toward a group of servants gathered in a corner, dancing with abandon to the orchestra. “It seems that some of our Indian friends are quite beside themselves with excitement! Rip says that they shouldn't touch alcohol. It doesn't suit them. Our bearer has been drunk as a lord since breakfast. Heaven only knows where he is now. Probably passed out behind a bush somewhere. They have a different constitution from us.” She patted her nonexistent waist lightly. “They just can't handle drinkies. Ah!” Spotting a tray of champagne approaching, she waved enthusiastically at its bearer. “Excellent! Just what the good doctor ordered!” She took two and handed one to Sophie, discarding their empties. “Let me tell you, young lady, this will be the party of the century! It's not every day that one is able to stand at the very altar of history and witness the birth of a new nation, so bottoms up!” She tucked into her glass and encouraged Sophie to do the same. “I expect you to enjoy every moment, and one day, when you're a very old lady like me, you'll be able to tell your grandchildren all about the time you danced the night away in a mahajara's palace!” She swung her substantial hips a little to the music.

The evening dragged on interminably. Nobody wanted to feel left out, and the rounds of speeches and announcements went on for what seemed like an age, with toasts proposed for this and for that and glasses raised one after the other. Sophie began to feel light-headed, unused to the champagne, swept along with the swelling crowds gathered in the durbar hall. The jubilant Indians seemed quite overcome, clasping each other in happiness, some chanting
Jai
Hind! Jai Hind! Long live India!
, whereas the Britishers seemed all at once strangely uncomfortable, as though fearing that every brown face in the room might turn against them as the Union flag was lowered for the very last time. As the clock urged toward midnight, every wireless set that could be gathered was tuned in to All India Radio to listen to Nehru's broadcast to the nation. Voices hushed, tinkling glasses were silenced, and Sophie slipped quietly away.

• • •

Outside, the rain had stopped, and for a moment the clouds parted, casting a lamp-bright moon on the surface of the lotus pool. From beneath the wide leaves settled low to the ground, frogs sang to one another, insects humming through the heady evening jasmine, the nighttime alive.

“Look.” Jag pointed up to the sky, to the tiny white clustered constellation overhead. Sophie followed the line of his outstretched arm.

“The Seven Sisters,” she said.

“No,” he replied. “They are the six sisters. The seventh, and wisest, married the star that sits there, in Ursa Major.” She stood close to him as he pointed to the heavens again. “Up there, beside the one that twinkles at the joint where the handle meets the saucepan. Look closely. There is another star there.” He waited as her eyes searched the darkness. “The story of that sister is traditionally told to couples on the day of their wedding.” Jag felt embarrassed suddenly, lowering his hand and turning away. He left the stars to the sky and sat by the lotus pool. “We should offer each other congratulations,” he said.

“I should be congratulating you really,” replied Sophie. “It's your country. I expect you're glad that the British are finally out.”

“It won't matter when we are old.” He smiled at her. “I doubt anyone will remember or care any more.” Jag became quiet. “But nobody will ever do that to us again. India will be far too great a country, even for the mightiest of conquerors.”

“In that case, I shall offer you an early apology on behalf of my King.” Sophie made a small, unsteady curtsey.

“Apology accepted.” Jag took a bow.

“Then let us shake hands and be friends.” She offered her hand to him formally.

Jag took it, and in that moment, Sophie felt something give way inside her, a shift from deep within. She looked down at his brown tapering fingers, seeing her own, pale and delicate in his hand, the two of them all at once reluctant to let go at this moment of transition. She heard her heart beating.

“I will remember this moment all my life,” she said quietly.

“So will I.”

Together they sat, hand in hand, watching the mirror surface of the pool.

“Jag?”

“Yes?”

She hesitated. “Do you think I'm pretty?”

He looked at her hand in his, appearing to gather his thoughts.

“No,” he said. “You are not pretty at all.” He glanced up at her. “You are beautiful.” His smile faded, and he looked away.

At the stroke of midnight, a stream of fireworks flew up into the blackened sky, exploding into a vast cascade of brilliant, glittering shards, lighting up the water garden, the magical spectacle reflected in the lotus pool. Sitting at its edge, it was as though the fireworks were above them and below them all at once, suspended in space as the colors burst out and around them in a shower of stars. Sophie reached her hand to the pool and touched its surface with the tip of her finger, sending the fireworks scattering across the water. Without warning, her eyes brimmed with tears. She turned to Jag, overwhelmed, and kissed him.

• • •

She felt his arms around her, beneath her, above her, her body dissolving, her dress open. He glimpsed her alabaster skin and looked away, his throat tight. His eyes came upon her again, her body, a flash of moonlit shoulder, a Grecian pose almost, as she stood in her petticoat, her dress now a pool of silk on the cool marble slab. He stared at her, on fire, his love so overwhelming that he might swallow her whole, his shirt over his head and aside, his pajamas loosened and thrown. She stopped, silent, and saw his beauty, feeling his warmth, and oh, his lips upon hers. They kissed again, a kiss like no other. She could no longer tell where he began and she ended, the two of them molten, liquid. He felt his body on fire, the fire of life, the first fire ever known to mankind. She felt her heart give way, the world shifting from here to the ends of time, to the moon and stars and the universe that holds them. Jag watched her shiver in his arms, and then there was nothing but ecstasy.