by Gay Courter
“Well . . .”I shrugged slightly, hoping that that minor acknowledgment did not give offense.
“Quilon may seem sleepy, but it is a strategic location—the sole location south of Cochin suitable for a port.”
“That sounds promising.”
“Indeed. However, the maharajah is a provincial fellow who cannot see beyond his own navel. He is well-matched by the British resident to Trivandrum, a kindly old codger, but one whose fondness for the past has clouded his vision for the future.”
“How frustrating for someone with progressive ideas.”
Mr. Clifford's eyes widened. “You are very perceptive, Mrs. Salem. What do you think would be the way to relieve the difficulty?”
“I suppose the solution would be to move from the sidelines into the center of power.”
“You think I belong in Trivandrum.”
“Forgive me if I spoke out of turn.”
“Not at all. I asked for your opinion. I was only wondering how you knew so much about politics. Is your father involved in Calcutta's raj?”
“No, he is a man of commerce.”
“Then what would you know about sitting on the sidelines?”
“Why, Mr. Clifford, that knowledge is every woman's birthright.”
His lips twitched with amusement, but he did not laugh at me. “Then, from one bench-sitter to another, let me just say that at the moment, life in Trivandrum is an exceedingly tedious round of pompous rituals. Distasteful moments of intrigue punctuate the doldrums while a few delicious bites from the apple of privilege sweeten the pot.”
I looked confused.
“The maharajah is old, sickly, and set in his ways—some of which are difficult for anyone with European sensibilities to appreciate,” he said with a touch of disdain. “Sir Mortimer Trevelyan is old, but in perfect health and as wily as they come. He is an old crony of the former governor of Madras, and he will remain in place until the maharajah's successor takes over. After that—”
“Now, Dennis, after two days on the water these young people would probably prefer lighter conversation,” his wife said. “Mrs. Salem, forgive me, but I am hungry for news from the outside world. I hear you are recently out from Calcutta.”
“You know more about me than I do you,” I said good-naturedly.
“When the young prince passed this way a few weeks ago, he told us about you both.”
“Of course,” I said with relief, and settled back on the settee. As the tropical darkness enveloped us, I found it surprisingly easy to tell Mrs. Clifford about how Edwin and I had met, and our two weddings. “There is no way out,” I concluded. “Two ceremonies in less than a month have sealed my fate.”
“Poor darling, is that a complaint or a boast?” Edwin interjected in a husky voice that caused my pulse to leap.
“Sounded like a boast to me.” Dennis Clifford chuckled. “Now we had better adjourn inside, or instead of dining as guests of the residency of Quilon, you will be the feast for the carnivorous winged beasts who crave visiting delicacies.”
As he spoke the words, I became aware that some of my romantic sensations might have been the result of an insect attack. Swatting my arms, I followed the Cliffords' lead.
“After the journey, I thought you might like to bathe,” Mrs. Clifford suggested.
“Oh, yes.”
“Baths have been prepared in the room adjacent the nursery.”
“How many children do you have?”
“Seven at last count,” she replied. “And one more on the way. Tomorrow you might allow me the honor of introducing you to them. They do so like to see a fresh face now and then.”
“I'd like very much to meet them.”
“That's good, because the house is too small to hide them from you.”
Side by side Edwin and I bathed in a room with two large metal tubs in the center. On the pegs lining one wall hung sacks embroidered with the children's initials and containing their toiletries. Slippers, from the smallest on the left to the largest on the right, were placed underneath the sacks.
“Isn't that adorable?” I said. As I lathered myself, children's calls filtered through the wooden walls. “I am beginning to admire Mrs. Clifford.”
“Would you like a house filled with so many children?”
“I wouldn't mind. I've always lived in a large family. There were three of us, then came Ruby, then Zilpah's boys, and finally Seti.”
“What do you think of the resident?”
“Awfully nice. Do you know anything about him?”
“I seem to recall Amar saying that he is the nephew of the former viceroy, the Marquis of Ripon, and I believe his wife is the daughter of an earl. Makes one wonder why they are stuck in this corner of the empire.”
“He thinks Quilon is about to boom.”
“That hardly seems likely,” Edwin said with a laugh. He stood up and poured a pitcher of water over his head, then shook himself off like a dog, spraying me.
“Edwin!”
With a fluid gesture he stepped out of his tub and into mine.
“Edwin!”
“Hush.” He bent over and kissed me, and soon his intentions were clear. He knelt over me.
“Edwin . . .” I whispered. “The walls are too thin. There are children running about.” He paid me no mind and proceeded to lick my nipples. Sloshing water over the side of my tub, I propped myself up slightly as he maneuvered above me. Just then we heard a creak.
He started and leapt out of the tub, banging his ankle. “Ow!” He rubbed the spot and looked at me dolefully.
I shook my head. “Bad boys get punished.”
He pouted as he wrapped himself with a towel.
“Later,” I promised.
The table gleamed with silver. Jemima appeared in a yellow gown edged with coral silk ribbons around the bodice, waist, and hem. Her husband wore a white dinner jacket with a frayed cuff.
“What a joy to have you with us,” Jemima said, clasping my hand as she led me to my place.
“Indeed, indeed,” the resident added, smiling broadly in my direction.
The servants placed bowls of a clear broth in front of us. “I must warn you, the soup is not only hot, but quite spicy. I am a firm believer that chilies protect against tropical disease. Most of the cooking here is my alteration of home recipes with local condiments.”
I took a tentative sip. At first I tasted only a chicken stock. Then an assault fired the roof of my mouth. Another sip seemed smoother to the tongue, but then I was accosted with a second volley that caused boiling tears to form. I blinked, but not before Dennis noticed.
“My dear, I do think Cook has overdone it this time.”
“No, it’s delicious, really,” I protested.
Jemima passed me a plate of rolls. “Try one of these with it.”
The bread was superb, soft and yeasty, with a touch of sweetness that was the perfect foil to the broth. “You must tell me how to bake these,” I said.
“Do you have a cook?”
“No, not yet. Yali and Hanif do almost everything for us.”
“I counsel many new girls just out from England. They expect to have everything as they did at home, so that is the hardest adjustment. For you, the most important step will be reconciling to the peculiarities of the Malabar climate. Would you mind some counsel from a veteran?”
“I'd welcome it.”
With my encouragement, Jemima launched into advice covering everything from molds to fevers to training servants. “I have never had any difficulty. Just remember that an untidy mistress has untidy servants; a weak mistress has idle servants. I know some may think me cruel, but I keep back a portion of my servants' pay, partly to prevent them from running away at the least difficulty, and partly so I may dock small amounts in fines for various transgressions. At the end of a year, my good servants thank me, for they have a nice sum set aside.”
The serving of a large fish distracted her attention. With an astute eye she watched her
bearer remove the bones. I turned my attention to the discussion the men were having.
“Since the opening of the Suez Canal, there has been a veritable explosion of interest in the resources here,” Dennis said as he brushed back the tufts of hair that bristled above his ears. “Quilon is exceptionally well-situated to be a transit point for Ceylonese goods to be shipped to Europe.”
“Do you think more ships will be calling here?” Edwin asked earnestly.
“Absolutely. Mostly the ships come into Bombay, or, as a second port of call, Cochin. Nevertheless, the harbor of Quilon has splendid possibilities.”
Edwin leaned toward our host. “Really, sir, that is quite interesting.”
The resident had noticed that I was no longer occupied by his wife, so he turned to a new topic with me. “I understand this will be your first trip to Travancore, Mrs. Salem.”
“Yes.”
“When Prince Amar passed through here a few weeks ago, he mentioned you would be coming this way soon. And, of course, when he sent the royal launch, his men alerted us when to expect you. May I say how pleased I am you have offered the prince your friendship at this time.”
I looked at him quizzically.
“Then you do not know,” he said slowly. “I thought that might be the case. I should have guessed Prince Amar would not want you to feel obliged to accept his hospitality.”
“Is something the matter?” I asked nervously.
“Don't you know why Amar was in Cochin last month?” his wife interjected.
“I supposed he was seeing the Maharajah of Cochin,” Edwin offered easily. “They have such close ties.”
“Exactly so. The prince had come for advice about the transfer of power in case his uncle's health worsened.”
“Is the maharajah ill?” I asked.
“The man has had a weak heart his whole life. There was an episode before Christmas when some claim his heart stopped and his lips turned blue. They revived him with cold water and brandy.”
“It sounds serious,” I said, recalling Grandmother Flora's illness.
“Yes, quite.” The resident folded his hands and peered at Edwin thoughtfully. “The prince confided he has high regard for you, Mr. Salem. He told me he was hoping you would become one of his advisers someday. I must admit when I met you and your enchanting wife earlier today, I was a bit dismayed to find you so youthful. Now I realize you have much to offer the heir. May I speak frankly?”
Edwin nodded respectfully.
“Travancore is like most Indian states, with factions broken along religious and caste lines. Among the Hindus, there are several castes of Brahmins who are wealthy and contentious; the Nayars, the largest and most important section of society, from which all the royalty descend; the Iravas, who do much of the agricultural work; and the Shanars, who are the Tamil-speaking laborers. There is also a large colony of Syrian Christians, a smaller group of Muslims; several despised slave castes; and the odd Englishman like me—not necessarily in order, mind you.”
“And the maharajah must make decisions that satisfy everyone,” his wife added.
“I do not know if he ever satisfies anyone. At best, he pacifies. In any case, as a Jew you stand outside these factions, giving you a neutral position. When the new maharajah takes the throne, everyone will plead his own interest and Amar will lose perspective. Where will he turn for advice? To a prime minister, who may have been corrupted . . . to his mother, who will have ideas of her own . . . to the resident, who must represent the crown above all? No, a man looks to his friends, often his boyhood friends. Who better than you, especially since your friendship began when there was little chance he would ever be maharajah?” He stared at Edwin with eyes the hue and toughness of steel.
“That may be true,” Edwin replied carefully, “but my wife and I have no intention of making Trivandrum our home. This is merely a trip to introduce Dinah to Travancore and to spend time with an old friend.”
“I thought the prince gave you the Orchid House,” Jemima stated bluntly.
Edwin's hands waved in the air as if he was dismissing the idea. “Merely a gesture, part of a wedding game.”
“That's not the way I heard it,” she replied crisply.
“Well, my dear, we have been told only Prince Amar's version, and we both know how impetuous a young man he can be. Just let me say I believe it is possible you will be on the scene when a transition takes place.” He hesitated and watched the effect his words had on Edwin.
“Then, sir,” my husband replied somberly, “would you have time to speak with me tomorrow and advise me on the particulars?”
The waiters removed our plates and served a pudding. “Yes, let's leave this business until tomorrow,” his wife suggested earnestly. “Remember, Dennis, these two are on their honeymoon.”
“I don't know how long a honeymoon lasts,” I said. “Edwin's mother says that it ends when the children come. Do you agree?”
“Certainly not,” Jemima exclaimed. “Or I would not have had quite as many.”
In the morning, while Edwin met Dennis in the resident's study, his wife introduced me to five of her children.
“Paul and Mary are away at school. I am considered a renegade, since I would not permit them to leave before twelve, but I believe a child needs his mother until then and the rest of the world is wrong-minded on that score. Besides, I am perfectly competent to tutor my own.”
“I am certain you are right,” I replied with conviction, since I could not imagine having to leave home at five or six and not see my parents for some years, like many of the English girls I had known.
A toddler climbed on her lap and pummeled her chest. “Mooky, mooky.”
“Oh, Sebastian.” With a demure shrug she put the boy to her breast. “If you will permit me one more piece of advice, may I suggest you feed your own children when the time comes? I have not lost a single child, and this is because my own sanitary habits are far beyond what one can expect of any native ayah. Besides, a child should have but one mother. That is not to say I don't have help with the children. We employ two ayahs at present and I'll bring on a third for the new baby. Someone else can wipe its bottom or wash its clothes, but only a mother can nurture and educate.”
My thoughts turned to my mother dozing on the veranda at Theatre Road, the mouthpiece of the hookah cupped in her hand. “Not every mother is as skillful as you, Mrs. Clifford.”
“You will be a fine mother, Mrs. Salem.”
I heard footsteps behind me and turned. Edwin and the resident were standing in the hallway. “We must get ready to depart,” Edwin called softly.
With her free hand Jemima clasped mine. “I wish you could stay longer.”
“We will pass through Quilon on our way back to Cochin,” Edwin said.
“You must plan to remain longer next time,” Dennis insisted ' graciously.
At the wharf, the men had a few final words together while I rearranged the cushions and told the porters where to place the baskets of fruit we had purchased.
“Don't forget my suggestions,” the resident said as he shook Edwin's hand. “And remember to advise me if the situation changes. I would rather not wait for official tidings.”
“Don't worry, sir, I am most happy to oblige.”
The next section of our journey took us through a series of tunnels carved in the mountains that crept close to the waterways, and in a few hours we came to Varkala. The village sat quietly at the foot of red hills streaked by water spurting from sharp clefts.
“Above here are three springs of sanctity and purity that have always attracted pilgrims,” Edwin pointed out. “Once I climbed that hill, called the Mountain of Shiva, for the splendid view. Sometime I will take you there, and also to see the math, the hermitage where a Hindu mystic they call Narayana Guru presides. Amar is quite taken with his preachings, which declare that Hindus should break free of the caste system. 'One caste, one God, one religion' is his motto.”
“Doesn't th
at sound familiar?”
“Exactly. I'd say he was the Moses of Malabar. Actually, the guru is attempting to open the temples to all Hindus and abolish idols. To set an example, Amar has replaced the statues in his own home with mirrors to remind everyone that 'As we are, so are our gods too.' When Amar becomes maharajah, I would not be surprised if he enacts laws to that effect.”
“Is the maharajah really dying?”
“That is Dennis Clifford's opinion, but who knows? He has dozens of doctors and healers who attend his every breath.”
“Did Amar give you any hint of this?”
“No. If I had known the situation, I probably would not have brought you here.”
“Why? Don't you agree it would be good for Amar to have a friend nearby?”
“Situations involving power are complicated. I am no expert in royal politics, but I have heard enough to guess the intrigue is exceedingly unpleasant. Amar has dreaded this for many years, ever since his brothers died.”
“How did they both die at the same time?”
“Cholera. There was an outbreak in Travancore before the monsoon floods.”
“I still don't understand why you would not have come if you had known.”
“Because if the old maharajah dies, anything we do or say will be deemed suspicious. Everyone will think we have come for personal gain.”
“The prince sent for us.”
“We know that. Others might think we manipulated him into giving us the Orchid House or that we are vultures hovering outside the palace walls.”
“Is that what the resident suggested?”
“No, but even Clifford wondered if we knew the situation before we arrived in Quilon. Now he does not believe those are our motives. However, he wanted me to see how we would be perceived. He gave me suggestions on how to proceed if the worst happens. Let's just hope it doesn't.”