The feeling of tears beginning to well made me blink as fast as I could to stop them. Indira had become the centre of my world, but I realised I was merely on the periphery of hers. At best, I had amused her for a few weeks. But, like the butterfly she was, she would surely fly away and find new amusement elsewhere.
I tried to halt my thoughts and be grateful at least for the time we had spent together. My mother had chastised me all my childhood for my sudden black moods, saying I had a tendency to be absorbed for some reason by misery. ‘You possess a gift for happiness, but you also have the capacity for sudden despair,’ she had once said to me.
‘Come on, hurry up. I’m taking you to meet someone else,’ said Indira.
I pulled myself valiantly out of my reverie, digging deep to offer her a smile.
‘What is it now? Animal, mineral or human?’
It was a game we often played and Indira smiled at the reference.
‘Most definitely human. I’m taking you to meet my mother.’
At this, my heart started to pound. There’d been much talk in the Jaipur zenana about the exquisitely beautiful Ayesha, Maharani of Cooch Behar. I’d heard Jameera and her mother cattily suggesting that just because Ayesha had met the Empress of India, Victoria herself, at Buckingham Palace, she seemed to feel she was somehow superior to the other maharanis.
‘She speaks English and wears Western clothes in Europe!’ Jameera’s mother had exclaimed. ‘But for all that her clothes are made by French designers and she’s covered in the jewels her husband pours on her, these things do not make her a better Indian wife or a queen!’
I knew that none of these things was the real reason why Jameera and her mother sought to belittle Indira’s mother. It was because Jameera’s father had attended an informal gathering at the Cooch Behar camp four days ago and had arrived home announcing that the Maharani of Cooch Behar was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.
My child, I have since understood that envy amongst women is rarely inspired by a woman’s intelligence, or position in the world, or how many jewels she may have sitting in a vault. No, it is almost always a woman’s ability to charm men which arouses feminine jealousy most.
‘Ma!’ Indira called as we entered the women’s quarters of the Cooch Behar camp. ‘Where are you?’
‘Out here, my darling,’ a soft voice replied.
Indira pulled me through a series of tents and then out onto a pretty veranda, shaded from the sun by swaying jacaranda trees. A small fountain played in the centre of the courtyard.
‘I’ve brought my friend Anni to meet you. May we come and say hello?’
‘Of course, I was just finishing breakfast.’
Indira’s mother was lying on a pile of silken cushions, a breakfast tray spread across her lap. She immediately pushed it to one side, stood up and walked towards us, her arms held open wide to her daughter.
This in itself was an unusual gesture – every time I entered the presence of one of my own maharanis from the zenana, I was always required to walk forward in a low pranaam, until given leave to rise from it.
‘And where have you been, you naughty girl?’ the Maharani said with a smile as she took Indira in her arms.
Whilst she did so, I took a moment to study this woman, the subject of so much gossip in the camp. Indira’s mother was completely unadorned by jewels or make-up. Her slim body was clad in a simple silk robe, and her long, dark, curly hair flowed freely around her shoulders. As I stood there, I felt her enormous, intelligent amber eyes – so like her daughter’s – flick towards me and appraise me. I agreed with Jameera’s father; she was, without doubt, the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
‘I showed Anni my baby elephant, that’s all, Ma.’
The Maharani smiled and kissed her daughter on the top of her head. ‘Well, then, you’d better introduce me to your new friend.’
‘Yes, of course. Anni, this is my mother, Ayesha. Ma, this is Anahita Chavan.’
‘Hello, Anahita.’ The Maharani gave me a warm smile of welcome, her perfectly scalloped red lips set around strong white teeth. I stood in front of her, feeling overwhelmed and tongue-tied. Her unprecedented informality, both with myself and her daughter, only added to her charm. Eventually, I put my hands together and bowed my head in the customary pranaam. ‘I’m honoured to meet you,’ I managed to say, and knew I was blushing to the roots of my hair with embarrassment.
‘Come, sit down with me, both of you, and take some tea.’
Ayesha led us gracefully towards the cushions and indicated for us to sit on either side of her. I was unsure that I should, as it was unheard of for a maharani to be at the same height as her subjects. In our zenana, we would be on the floor and our maharanis would sit in chairs above us.
As Indira knelt down next to her mother on the cushions, I followed suit, trying to appear as small and low as I could. Ayesha clapped her hands and a serving maid appeared immediately from within the tent.
‘Chai,’ she ordered, and the maid bowed and disappeared back inside. ‘Now, Anahita,’ Ayesha said, turning her attention to me, ‘Indira has spoken of little else but her new friend. She tells me you speak very good English, too. Where did you learn it?’
‘From my father, Your Highness, he was a scholar and a teacher,’ I managed to reply breathlessly.
‘Then you’re a lucky girl to have been given the gift of education. Sadly, many fathers still believe that it isn’t worthwhile to fill their daughters’ heads with knowledge. Perhaps you can instil a little more discipline into my own daughter when it comes to her lessons?’ she said, ruffling Indira’s hair fondly. ‘She’s a clever girl, probably far cleverer than her brothers, but at present she has no patience to study.’
‘Ma, you know I wish to be a tiger tamer, not a professor!’ Indira pouted.
Yet again, I was taken aback by the ease and openness with which mother and daughter spoke to each other.
‘Indira tells me too that you live at the Moon Palace in Jaipur?’ continued the Maharani.
‘I do, yes.’
‘Jaipur is indeed a beautiful city.’ She smiled.
The tea arrived and when it was poured, I sipped it, hardly believing I was sharing chai and a pile of silken cushions with the famous and beautiful Maharani of Cooch Behar.
‘Ma, I can’t leave my new best friend behind when we go,’ Indira declared suddenly. ‘So I want her to come and live with us in the palace at Cooch Behar.’
Once again, I blushed deeply and looked down at my feet.
The Maharani raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. ‘I see.’ Her languid gaze fell on me. ‘And has Indira discussed this with you, Anahita?’
‘I . . . well . . . no, Your Highness,’ I stuttered.
‘Indira, I hardly think that Anahita would wish to leave her family, her home and her friends behind to come and live with us. You’re being selfish again. I do apologise for my daughter, Anahita. She sometimes speaks before she thinks.’
‘But, Ma, I’m so lonely at the palace now my brothers and sister are away at school. And you already said that Anni might encourage me to look at my books and help me with my English,’ Indira pleaded. ‘She’s presently companion to Princess Jameera, doing exactly the same for her.’
‘Then there’s even more reason for Anahita not to wish to move. I’m sure poor Princess Jameera would miss her. You simply cannot steal people, my dear Indira, however much you might wish to.’
I opened my mouth at that moment, wanting to say that there was nothing I would like more than to be ‘stolen’ by my wonderful new friend. But my tongue simply wouldn’t form the words, so I sat there miserably as the Maharani continued to chastise her daughter for her selfishness.
‘But, Ma, you don’t understand – we are inseparable! If Anni can’t come, I might pine away without her,’ Indira insisted.
‘Then I’m sure we can ask Anni to come and visit us,’ the Maharani comforted. ‘May I call you Anni too?’ she asked me.
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‘Of course, Your Highness,’ I replied hastily. ‘And, yes, I would like that very much indeed.’
‘Then we shall arrange it, my dear. And now, I must rouse myself and dress. We have a luncheon with the Viceroy.’ The Maharani rose, and I hurriedly stood up too. She smiled at me again. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Anni. I hope you’ll visit us in Cooch Behar very soon.’
Indira was also needed for the luncheon, so I trudged back alone to my camp, miserably berating myself for not speaking up when I’d had the chance. I should have told them that I would move to the moon if it meant that I could be alongside my new best friend.
As the Durbar celebrations came to a close, I saw less of Indira. Our own camp was being dismantled and packed up in preparation for the long journey back to Jaipur.
‘What’s wrong with you today?’ asked Jameera. ‘You’re like a cat that’s had its tail trodden on. Have you not had a wonderful time here?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Then you should be grateful I brought you.’
‘I am very grateful, Jameera.’
I watched her purse her lips and turn away from me. I knew I had not shown her the degree of gratitude and respect she demanded, but I didn’t care. With Indira and her mother, I had felt wanted and valued. It was a wonderful new feeling.
On the last night in Delhi, I crept into bed in the tented room I shared with Jameera and lay there blinking away the tears. I knew we were leaving early in the morning and that there would be no chance to say goodbye to Indira. Tears pricked the back of my eyes and I let them flow freely down my cheeks. We hadn’t even thought to exchange addresses, and I wondered whether a letter simply marked ‘Princess Indira at Cooch Behar Palace’ would reach her.
Besides, I thought miserably, she would go back to her charmed life as a princess and almost certainly forget all about me. Eventually, I drifted into a restless sleep to the sound of Jameera’s snoring.
I thought I must be dreaming when I heard Indira’s voice whispering my name.
‘Anni! Wake up, wake up!’
I opened my eyes and saw her staring down at me. I jumped up, immediately awake. ‘How did you get in here?’ I whispered, startled. Jameera stirred in the bed next to me.
Indira put her finger to her lips and held out her hand to pull me from my bed. Like two wraiths in our white nightgowns, we ran from the room and through the sleeping camp until we found a loose tent flap and crawled outside. Indira pulled me in between two tents so we wouldn’t be seen. ‘I came to say goodbye,’ she said.
All the terrible, black thoughts I’d had about her forgetting me vanished. Indira had come through the night to find me before she left, and I felt guilty for doubting her. My eyes filled with tears yet again. Spontaneously, I held out my arms to her and she came into them, wrapping hers around me tightly.
‘I will miss you so much,’ I cried onto her shoulder.
‘Me too,’ she said, equally tearful. ‘But don’t worry, dearest Anni, I’ll find a way, and you will come to live with me in Cooch Behar and we’ll be together always.’
‘Indy, I cannot see a way that—’
‘Trust me,’ she whispered, ‘there’s always a way. Now, I must get back before I’m discovered, but –’ she removed the small golden Ganesh charm from her neck and placed it round mine – ‘this is so you never forget me. Goodbye, my sister, I love you. And I promise it won’t be long before we’re together again.’
With a last, mischievous twinkle in her eye, Indira sped like a small ghost out into the night.
My hand touched the neck of my bodice a hundred times as we made the long journey home to Jaipur. Inside was hidden Indira’s necklace; I did not dare let it show to Jameera – she would immediately have thought I’d stolen it, it was so fine.
Once back at the Moon Palace, everyone around me seemed to settle quickly into their normal routine. But try as I might, I could not. I waited to see what plan Indira would hatch. She had sworn she wouldn’t let me down.
But as we entered 1912, several weeks passed with no word from her, even though I stared my clay tiger hard in its eyes and begged Indira to remember me.
In late January, just when I’d begun to lose hope, I was suddenly summoned by Jameera’s mother to her quarters.
‘Come,’ said my mother, washing my face roughly with a cloth and combing my hair. ‘The Maharani wishes to see you and you must look your best.’
I was led into her quarters and gave my usual deep pranaam of respect.
‘Please, sit down, child, and you too, Tira,’ the Maharani indicated.
We both sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her.
‘I’ve received a letter this morning from Ayesha, the Maharani of Cooch Behar. She tells me that her daughter Indira became close to you, Anahita, when you were together at the Coronation Durbar. Is this true?’
I considered her question, unsure how to answer it. Perhaps she saw my friendship with another princess as a slight against her own daughter. I looked at her face for clues, but as always, it was impassive and betrayed little emotion.
So I decided I must tell the truth.
‘Yes, Highness, we became close.’
‘So close, in fact, that the Maharani writes that Princess Indira is apparently refusing to eat until you are allowed to go to her. She has, according to her mother, become quite unwell.’
Whether the Maharani believed this or not, I couldn’t be sure.
‘Is she very ill?’ I asked anxiously.
‘She’s certainly sick enough for her mother to request of me personally that you travel up to Cooch Behar immediately to see the Princess Indira.’
I turned my glance to my mother, whose face was also impassive.
‘How do you feel about this, child?’ asked the Maharani.
I did my best to look sombre and concerned, deciding it wouldn’t be pertinent to tell her that the fire that had been dimming in my soul had suddenly re-ignited like a thousand fireworks.
‘Of course, I’d be honoured to help Princess Indira if it is the case that she needs me,’ I said, my head bowed low so neither woman could see the sheer delight I was certain glowed in my eyes.
‘And you, Tira?’ the Maharani asked. ‘Are you prepared to let your daughter go far away for many weeks?’
My mother, being my mother, already knew my heart and where it lay. She nodded. ‘Like Anahita, I’m honoured to let her do Her Highness’s bidding.’
‘I’ve already spoken to Princess Jameera, and she also agrees that Anahita should go,’ added the Maharani.
I stopped myself from raising my eyes to the heavens to give thanks. It was no surprise that Jameera hadn’t put up a fight to keep me. She needed a far more malleable companion than me.
‘Then if all of us are agreed, Anahita, arrangements will be made by the Maharani of Cooch Behar for you to travel there.’
‘Thank you, Your Highness,’ I said, bowing my head again. ‘When will I leave?’ I couldn’t stop myself from adding.
‘As soon as the arrangements have been made.’
My mother and I backed out of the room. As soon as we were out of sight, she put her arms around me. Tipping my chin up towards her, she stared into my eyes.
‘This is what you want?’ she asked me.
‘More than anything, Maaji.’
9
And this, my darling child, as the astrologer had predicted, really did begin a new chapter in my life. An aide-de-camp had been sent to accompany me from Jaipur to Cooch Behar. As I disembarked from the train, which was set on a single-track railway that had been built to access Cooch Behar, the most north-easterly of Indian provinces, I glanced up and saw the outline of the great Himalayan mountains in the distance scalloped against the sky. With a porter carrying the battered suitcase which once had been my father’s, I saw a horse-drawn tonga had been sent to meet me.
Before I had left Jaipur, I had read what I could about Indira’s faraway province. It’s hard
for anyone who has never been to India to imagine how one country can encompass such a vast number of differing climates and landscapes. India is a land of contrasts, each individual state containing a myriad different cultures, languages and people. Even though we are so often lumped together as one country, everything about our great nation is dramatic and varied.
As the driver helped me aboard, my clothes instantly clung to my damp skin. The climate here was hot and humid, so unlike the dry, suffocating heat of Jaipur.
As we drove through the town, I saw the houses were basic, built of bamboo and thatch, their roofs covered with abundant plumes of hibiscus. They were perched on stilts to protect them from the great monsoon floods. No one wasted money here building the solid stone houses of Jaipur, which could last two or three hundred years. In Cooch Behar, their owners were all too aware there might be yet another flood or earthquake that would sweep their homes away without trace.
As the horse clip-clopped along the dusty red roads, I stared eagerly out of the window for my first glimpse of the palace. We were some way out of town by the time I saw it. It looked enormous, with two great wings leading off a huge dome in the centre. We began to drive through the park, its lush manicured lawns stretching away on every side. I heard the trumpeting of elephants from the pilkhana and saw a lake which ran the entire length of the palace.
Even then, to my untrained eye, I didn’t think the palace looked very traditionally Indian, and I was to find out later that the exterior had been modelled on an English stately home. From the outside, at least, the sturdy brick construction and the lack of delicate Indian latticework at the windows made it look austere in contrast to the prettiness of the Moon Palace in Jaipur.
I’ve always found the contrast in the atmosphere between the outside and the inside of India’s palaces curious; to the onlooker, they seem deserted, because almost all activity takes place within the many shaded courtyards designed especially to shield their occupants from the searing Indian sun. As I write this, it occurs to me that perhaps this is also an apt metaphor for human beings; often, their silent, serene outer skin doesn’t betray the liveliness of spirit that exists inside.
The Midnight Rose Page 11