Sakina looked at her for a long moment. “Who told you that?”
“Your family explained the situation to my father. They didn’t want you to marry.”
“They thought they knew better than us.” Sakina’s voice was wistful. “But I loved Faisal, and he loved me.”
It was hard for Perveen to reconcile the unpleasant man she’d met with this lover that Sakina had pined for. But men could change their ways—Cyrus was proof of that. “Was Faisal going to marry you after iddat was over?”
“That was what he said at first.” Sakina, who was leaning against the passage’s wall just a few feet away, gave Perveen a pained look. “But not after you visited—and we learned about what he could and could not do. Because of my questions, he became angry with me. He seemed to forget he would never have had a career in Bombay or a life in a mansion without me.”
“Yes, in those early days when Faisal came to Bombay—you must have impressed your husband with information about him.” Perveen strove to sound admiring. “After all, he later granted him the most important position, as household agent.”
“Yes. I suggested he hire Faisal for the accounting department,” Sakina said with a sad smile. “I told him about Faisal’s degree, his good character, and that there were no opportunities for him in Poona. My husband took pity on him but thought it better for nobody to know that we were cousins. The other wives would have been jealous.”
And they’d have been rightfully suspicious when he moved into the bungalow. Softly, Perveen said, “I saw the drinking glasses by his bed. You went to stay with him at night, didn’t you, using this passage?”
“I gave him the privileges of a husband.” Sakina rested her head against the wall. “And at first, I felt nothing but amazement at my turn of fortune. But then I began to see how Faisal had changed.”
“Tell me,” Perveen said, stroking Amina’s hair as she spoke. She wanted to scoop up Amina and rush out—but the passageway wasn’t wide enough for her to carry Amina and get past Sakina. She’d also noticed Sakina was keeping her right hand nestled in the folds of her sari, which could mean she was armed.
Sakina spoke in a rush, as if she had longed to unload her story on someone. “When we were young, he was so daring and funny. Now he was always cross. He could not easily understand the expenses of this household. But he promised me that after iddat was finished, we could marry and live very well.”
“With the addition of everyone’s mahr funds,” Perveen said. “I don’t think he planned to use anything for a boys’ school. One thing I don’t know is whether he would have let the other begums and Amina stay after your marriage.” Perveen wasn’t sure, but she thought she felt Amina stirring at her touch.
“No. He would have chosen their husbands—and one for Amina. But then, in the last few weeks, I realized it might be impossible to get them married.” Looking soberly at Perveen, Sakina said, “Mumtaz was tired and smelled of sickness. I know what that means. Faisal must have planted the seed in her.”
Perveen remembered Mumtaz’s anxiety about Sakina finding out she was carrying a child. She’d been right about that fear. “How can you know she carries Faisal’s child?”
“If I could not trust his intentions toward me, how could I trust him with anyone else?” She raised her eyes heavenward. “He had already seen her at that filthy place where she used to play music.”
“We don’t know the baby is his child,” Perveen said, avoiding commentary on the Falkland Road lounge. “If the baby is born in August, it could very well be your husband’s.”
“I don’t believe it.” Sakina was trembling. “Her child taking a share of the inheritance? It’s not fair.”
Perveen thought carefully about how to sound like an ally. “Seeing the baby, once he or she is born, will tell us the truth. We cannot guess at it now.”
Sakina looked back the way Perveen had traveled, as if remembering her own past journeys. “In the month just after my husband passed, I believed all that Faisal said. But when you spoke to me and showed me the papers and spoke about Razia, I realized that he could not use funds as he said.” A tight grimace twisted Sakina’s beautiful face. “We would have lost our security. He deserved to die for taking everyone’s money.”
When Perveen had rushed to see Cyrus at the bottling plant, she had felt as if she were being carried in a dark, furious cloud. Nobody could have stopped her from getting to him. “Sakina, I know the pain of betrayal. Is that how you felt? Is that why you killed him?”
The passion must have come through in her voice, because Sakina looked at her with a hint of surprise in her eyes. “Yes. When you drove away that afternoon, I made up my mind that I had to rid us of Faisal. I sent Mohsen off to buy something so he would be away from the gate, and everyone would think a criminal had slipped in. I had this already. It is a family piece that I keep in my safe for protection.” Now she brought her right hand out so Perveen could see the long silver dagger. The weapon had an elegantly worked handle and was highly polished; it looked like a relic from the Mughal period, something that should have been in a museum.
Thinking of the ugly cuts Sakina’s beautiful dagger had made a few days earlier, Perveen swallowed hard. “If you wanted to make it look like an outsider had killed Faisal, why did you leave Razia-begum’s letter opener in the back of his neck?”
“Razia shouldn’t have had the wakf!” Each word was a bitter jab. “I did it to teach her that I could speak out and blame her at any moment. She understands that I’ve become the family’s head.”
Sakina’s style of vengeance revealed something about her. She was filled with emotion—not just the pain she felt at being betrayed by a boy who’d grown into a tyrant, but also resentment of the other two women who’d treated her like their middle sister. Perveen would work with this understanding. “Nobody knew how intelligent you were. In fact, it is likely that Mumtaz-begum doesn’t know this passage exists, because your husband didn’t use it to visit her. He stayed in her room all the time, didn’t he?”
“Mumtaz doesn’t know about the passage.” Sakina sounded contemptuous. “Of course, Razia knows it exists—but she will not say a word about it, lest she be accused of using it herself. Because Faisal tried to take Razia’s precious wakf, and then her daughter, anyone would think she’d be the one who killed him.”
“I see. Did you go through the passage to surprise him in his room?”
“Yes, as I had done many times before.” Sakina sighed. “When I saw him, I began crying about how Razia controlled the wakf. He took me in his arms, never seeing what was in my hand.”
“Did he fight?” Perveen asked, remembering the many wounds.
“He screamed, and he did try—but he was already too injured to do much. I didn’t enjoy it,” she said, looking sadly at Perveen. “He wept as he died, as if he could not believe what I’d done. And I felt the same.”
The sight of Mr. Mukri’s bloodied body would be in Perveen’s memory forever, like a curse. Trying not to let the image rattle her, she said, “But you didn’t confess.”
“No, of course not! I needed to save our family. I took everything off and cleaned myself in his bath. I was afraid to bring the sari into my own room, so I left it in the passage. Nobody would have known if it hadn’t been for Amina.”
At the sound of her name, Amina shifted. Perveen gave the girl a warning pat, willing her not to move again. “Did Amina speak to you about it?”
“No. I found her looking at my ruined sari. I did not know for certain if she’d guessed, but I told her that we would have a glass of falooda together in my room and she could ask me anything she liked—that I would just tell her, because she was more clever and brave than anyone. After half a glass, she fell unconscious. It was no trouble to pull her right back into the passageway.”
“And then you took her belongings so it appeared she might have run away.�
�� Perveen spoke in a soothing tone. “Just as you made it look as if I were kidnapped by a common criminal. You had Mohsen grab me, didn’t you?.”
“He was allowed to use the telephone from the station to speak to me,” Sakina sounded defiant. “He said you were investigating everything. I told him to get rid of you; he said he had a key hidden at the docks to a place where nobody would ever find you.”
“He did this all for you because you promised him a share of the sales of your jewelry,” Perveen ventured.
“He told you that?” Sakina looked panicked. “I’ll have to sack him.”
As Sakina spoke, Perveen thought she heard something. Had it been a turning doorknob? If Mohsen was coming into the passageway, both she and Amina were done for.
Now there were footsteps. In the moment that Sakina turned to look toward the corner, Perveen shot up from her kneeling position and flung herself at the small widow. As she knocked Sakina to the ground, the woman struggled against her. Silk tore as Perveen used her superior weight to hold Sakina down, all the while trying to keep track of where the dagger was.
“You ruined everything!” Sakina screamed. Perveen dug her nails hard into the woman’s right hand, and the knife finally clattered out.
With Alice leading them, Sub-Inspector Singh and the constable came rapidly around the corner. Everyone stopped short at the sight of Perveen atop Sakina.
“The knife,” Perveen said. “Take it!”
Alice dragged a wrinkled handkerchief out of her pocket and used it to pick up the dagger while the sub-inspector and constable surrounded Sakina. Perveen could barely get past them in the narrow passage to reach Amina, who was trying to pull herself up but had flopped back down.
“Am I dreaming still?” Amina asked in a slurred voice. “I had such a bad dream. It was about Sakina-khala—”
“Thank God she’s all right. How long has she been here?” demanded Alice, who was still holding the knife.
“Sakina-begum gave Amina morphine the evening of Mukri’s death. The child has been lying here with no food or water for more than three days!” Perveen looked gratefully at her friend. “I’m so glad it was you.”
“I knew you were going to explore the passage—when Sakina-begum went off and didn’t return, I became nervous. I asked Razia-begum if she knew about the passage. She said she didn’t, but when I showed her the architectural drawing, she admitted she had heard of it. She said that if I went inside there, I’d better bring the police.”
“I’m glad you came,” Perveen said to Sub-Inspector Singh. “I’d also like to state that I am representing Razia-begum in this matter—not Sakina-begum.”
His head swiveled from Sakina to her. “So you will answer all my questions?”
“I’d rather speak with you than Inspector Vaughan,” Perveen said shortly. “But could we have the interview later? Amina must get to her mother, and then a doctor should be called. I don’t know what effect the morphine might have—”
“Put your hands behind your back, Sakina-begum,” Sub-Inspector Singh said in formal Hindi. He was trying not to look into Sakina’s tear-stained face, as if the fact he had to arrest her was profoundly embarrassing. Perveen thought it unlikely he’d ever arrested a woman—let alone a purdahnashin.
“But I am a respectable woman—you must not touch me,” Sakina pleaded as the constable awkwardly fitted handcuffs around her wrists.
“Gentlemen—just a moment.” Perveen gently lifted the end of Sakina’s sari and let it fall so it covered her face. It was a small thing to do, but it preserved her dignity.
“Thank you,” Sakina whispered. “Tell them I will go to their prison. And to please not touch me again.”
33
A Waning Life
Bombay, March 1921
“I believe I owe you an apology.”
From the depths of the plush armchair, Perveen regarded the man seated behind a highly polished mahogany desk. It was a week after the incident and she’d come in expecting the worst, especially since Alice had been on the scene when the police apprehended Sakina. “But Sir David—whatever for? You have been nothing but kind.”
“I am speaking of your effort to work with those women within the house. The police would probably never have been able to gather the necessary evidence and confession that you could behind the curtain.”
Perveen felt herself stiffen. “I’m not trying to be the police’s helper. My concern has always been for the family’s safety. In the end that meant looking carefully at all three women, as well as others within the house.”
He nodded. “I accept that. How is the little girl doing?”
“The doctor says she must continue treatment at Cama Hospital for a few more days, but she’s chattering happily. Her mother is with her every day, and you must know that Alice has been teaching geometry to Amina and accounting principles to Razia-begum.”
“Speaking of my daughter, she has informed me that she has taken on a part-time consultancy at the law firm. I’d like to know more about that.”
Here was the reason for the conference. “My father and I both think the world of Alice. I know that helping us is not the ideal career for an Oxford-trained mathematician. The thing is, Alice is not confident you’d approve of her becoming a lecturer at a local college.”
After a pause, Sir David said, “I’m not against it, as it would keep her in India at least.”
“You should tell her,” Perveen advised, thinking how much his support would mean to Alice. “And at least until she’s found a position, we would be grateful for her assistance. Her mathematical acumen can be put to use in calculating inheritances and other matters.”
“As long as she’s not going about Bombay alone. But her mother is understandably anxious about the dangers that are inherent in this city.”
“Is Lady Hobson-Jones relieved two suspects were caught and taken away?”
Sakina had spent one night in the ladies’ cell. She’d been released on bail into the care of her parents at their home in Poona. Her trials would take place in a few months’ time: the first for murder of Faisal Mukri and the second for attempted murder of Amina. Mohsen faced charges for abduction of Perveen. He would not be allowed out of prison before the trial.
“She’s not just relieved, but has now taken it upon herself to set up a fund for widows with young children. But tell me, what is the situation with the other two widows? I understand the house isn’t occupied.”
“Razia is staying in my home, and we are engineering ways for her to spend the last few weeks of iddat without running into my father and brother,” Perveen said. “Mumtaz has gone to stay at a maternity hospital, where she’s being pampered and feels much better. The two widows are thinking of selling the property, but that cannot be done until Sakina’s trial is done and Mumtaz’s baby is born.”
“I imagine you’re waiting to see if it’s a boy or girl,” he said.
Sinking a bit deeper in the overstuffed chair, Perveen said, “In either case, the child will inherit something.”
Studying her, Sir David said, “Muslim law is all about mathematical fractions—Alice will be a champion with such numbers. Is it true that Parsi estate law is even more complicated?”
Perveen chuckled. “While I feel there are still a few regrettable aspects of Parsi law, one of the best parts is the long-standing vast distribution of inheritance. A deceased’s wealth is shared with so many relatives that it’s allowed many in our community to become financially stable.”
Sir David gave her a wry half smile. “And you Parsis have stabilized Bombay as well—building hospitals and schools, projects that my people overlooked.”
There were so many things she could say about what the British should do, starting with granting Indians self-rule. But she sensed she would have Sir David’s ear again. “Good thoughts, good words, good deeds is the Parsi
credo; however, there is no monopoly on it.”
“Goodbye, Miss Mistry,” he said, putting a hand out to her. “Although I’m certain it’s not for long.”
Two days later, Perveen climbed into the Daimler with Gulnaz, reflecting on what Alice’s father had said about Parsi philanthropy. She was on her way to one of these laudable places that Parsis had built: the B. D. Petit Parsee General Hospital.
Gulnaz had checked with the hotel registrar and confirmed that a thirty-two-year-old man named Siyamak Azman Patel was staying in the ward for incurables. She had insisted on going along to help Perveen overcome any red tape.
The car rolled along, passing a young girl in a ragged sari picking through a small mountain of rubbish for pieces of glass. The ragged urchin made Perveen think of Fatima, whose fate might have brought her to the same place. But the widows had kept her and Zeid.
Perveen had visited Mr. Farid’s bank and, using her legal authority, paid out every rupee of the mahr due to Razia and Mumtaz. Taiba-ayah’s and the cook’s salaries were once again being paid—with a bonus for the months they’d served without pay. With the widows and children away from the house, Fatima’s and Zeid’s duties had lightened, and the two were even able to attend a community school several half days per week.
“I looked up the meaning of the patient’s first and middle names in the Persian name book,” Gulnaz said, interrupting Perveen’s warm thoughts about Mohsen’s children.
Perveen turned to her. “What is it?”
“Siyamak means ‘alone in the world.’ And Azman means ‘infinite.’ Quite mysterious, isn’t it?”
Cyrus had told her at Bandra how lonely he felt in his world. She was sure this was another message.
At the hospital, Gulnaz breezed through reception and into the critical care ward. The head nurse, though, was not as accommodating as the receptionist. The nurse said they could not see the patient, who was too weak to see visitors.
The Widows of Malabar Hill Page 36