by Gay Courter
The paper fell from my hand. Edwin called for Yali to assist me and for Hanif to bring brandy and water. Then he took the letter from, me and read on in silence.
“Who is it?” I choked at last. “One of the children? Papa?”
“No, no. Nobody in your immediate family.”
“Who?”
Edwin stared at our servants. “There were two. An ayah called Selima, and . . .” He walked over to Hanif and took the boy by his shoulders. “I am sorry, Hanif, but your father has passed away.” The boy's eyes widened, but his face remained stony.
Yali and I hugged each other. “Selima!” We broke down in tears for the woman who had been my milk mother and Yali's closest friend.
I managed to calm myself while Edwin assisted the servants to their quarters. I retrieved the letter and, saw that Edwin had relayed only the news of the second paragraph. My heart pounded and legs rattled as I rushed to take in the devastating list. Edwin returned to find me numb with shock. The oldest of the Sassoon brothers, Uncle Saul, and his wife were gone. Also Uncle Jacob and four of his ten children—including my favorite, little Simha—had perished. Eight Sassoons felled by one scythe! Was that the final total? Or was the contagion spreading? My mind swirled with a chilling fear that more were to come.
The next hours and days are blank in my mind. Edwin brought me to Jew Street, where his mother and aunt administered to the bereft servants and me. I cried for Simha and Sultana's Miriam and for the other children, for my aunt and my uncles and for Abdul and Selima, and then I composed ghoulish lists of those I begged God to spare and those I was willing to sacrifice. When I reconsidered my vile thoughts—of wishing I could trade Aunt Bellore for Grandmother Helene or Zilpah for my father—self-hatred turned to sickness. No food would stay down and I thought I would never stop vomiting.
“I must go back to Calcutta . . . I must see everyone . . .” I begged Edwin.
“Impossible. I would never take you to a plague-infested city. I was ignorant of the scourge until I was in Bombay, but there it was confined to the most destitute. To think it has spread to homes like yours . . .”
Every day I would ask Edwin if the post had arrived and every day he would assure me that it had. A week later my father wrote a brief account of the funerals. There were no further reports of illness.
We have joined with the government in a voluntary effort to halt this devastating disease. Whole areas of bustees near the Hooghly, where there have been the largest number of cases, have been evacuated and the worst dwellings set afire. Our disinfecting program has halted the spread in the homes of our families and friends. In Jacob's house the scourge was passed by alarming conditions where the food was prepared. We have had to fight ignorance everywhere. In our case, Selima became ill while staying with her family for several days. Please be assured there has never been contagion at Theatre Road. Abdul has lived with his family for more than a year now. Both servants died in hospital. We all have accepted inoculations, thus you should have no further cause for concern.
He went on to commiserate with how I must be feeling so far away, although he added that he was content to know the distance meant I was out of any danger.
The pain of the losses eased, but my physical reaction did not. A doctor was consulted and my pregnancy was confirmed. Delighted, Edwin used this as an excuse to cajole me to eat more. Yali fed me broths, mild rice dishes, mashed bananas, and coconut milk, and my strength returned by degrees. When Edwin announced, though, that the time had come for him to return to Bombay to inspect the final work on the Luna Sassoon and see her off on her maiden voyage, I protested vehemently. The plague had started in Bombay! He could not leave me now! The spells of vomiting returned. Edwin was racked with indecision.
His Uncle Elisha offered his services. “You must remain with your wife. I can see that the construction meets your specifications and pay off the contractors. Also, I can supervise the goods that are shipped. Who knows that business better than I do?”
“Shall I let him go in my stead?” Edwin asked, hoping I would insist he do it himself, since he had not always trusted his uncle in the past.
“You have prepared everything admirably. The orders are finalized, the export documents complete. The ship is ready to sail,” I replied in the practical tone I knew would have more authority than a hysterical one. “I know how much you want to be there to see the ship off, and if it weren't for the contagion . . .” Despite my resolve, I broke down.
“I wish I could put your fears to rest, but I cannot, not after what has happened in Calcutta. And even if this was your imagination, the anxiety could harm you.”
“Will you stay with me?”
“Of course I will. Nothing is more important than your welfare.”
“Oh, Edwin!” I said, bursting into tears again. “I do not deserve you.”
“Nonsense. This is the most sensible course.”
I passed through the difficult first months of my confinement and began to bloom with expectation. The word came from Calcutta that the disease had been conquered. Edwin and I discussed whether I should make the trip to Travancore when the ship was due. I had vowed never to be apart from him again, and convinced him I would be well enough to make the trip. “Jemima went on an elephant hunt when she was further along than I will be.”
“If the doctor agrees” was all Edwin would promise, but I was feeling so energetic I was confident he would.
I looked forward to seeing Jemima in Quilon, for this time her child-rearing advice would be more pertinent. And I was content to visit with Amar and his mother once again, since any threat the maharajah had posed in the past would vanish with Edwin at my side and my child growing inside me. Hadn't the maharajah shunned his own wife during her confinement?
Thankfully, Edwin did not share that repugnance. Indeed, my changing shape fascinated him. I found my reactions to lovemaking more intense than before. After the Luna Sassoon unloaded in Travancore, we would have the perfect excuse to return to Cochin, where we would wait the final weeks until the birth. Our long-range plans included a trip to Calcutta as soon as the baby and I were able. My father had offered another private train car for that journey. The future, which only a few months before had seemed at the mercy of a lascivious maharajah and the death-dealing plague, now loomed rich with possibilities.
39
The Luna Sassoon, her holds laden with more than two thousand pieces of the finest of Europe's furnishings, was due to arrive in the port of Quilon no later than the third week of September 1892. If she made it by September 1, we would receive the bonus. Without consulting Edwin, Uncle Elisha had made a deal with the captain to receive half the five thousand rupees if he met the deadline.
“Isn't that an exorbitant amount to share?” I had wondered when Edwin told me about the arrangement.
“At first I too was shocked, but my uncle has good business sense. The entire matter of making the date is in the captain's hands—and God's. Weather permitting, the captain is the one who must spur his crew to keep the boilers stoked day and night. Besides, this will be a further incentive for him to remain on the Luna Sassoon and continue to do a good job for Salem Shipping Services.”
“Salem Shipping Services? Where did that come from?”
“I've been toying with it for some time. Do you like the three S's?” He reached into his pocket and showed me a design of the three initials entwined with waves.
On our way to Trivandrum, we rested in Quilon for more than a week. In my seventh month of pregnancy, I was carrying the baby high and experienced few discomforts, but I had been warned to take this break in the water journey.
Jemima wanted to indoctrinate me with everything she knew about raising children, and had even written out notes to guide me later. “Yali will be in charge of the child, but you will feed it,” she announced.
“Yes,” I agreed.
“Good. Do not listen to anyone who tries to persuade you that you have not enough milk or that it is p
oor in quality or that 'hardly anyone does it now.' The class of women who substitute for you are more prone to disease, and one must trust one's own hygiene in the end.” After my scare with the plague and Selima's fate, she did not have to convince me. The resident's wife seemed relieved. “I knew you would be sensible. Now, should you experience a sense of thirst—what we mothers call 'sinking'—do not resort to malt liquor or any stimulants. To my mind, there is nothing better than a cup of barley water cooled with new milk, or in hot weather, milk and soda water. Another point I must stress is the importance of keeping the infant with you at night. Your ayah can sleep by your bed and take it away for washing and changing. However, the baby must be warmed by the mother's body and comforted by the mother's heartbeat. If you require some time to sleep soundly on your own, there is no problem in handing the baby over after chota hazri or going back to bed anytime during the day. Will you remember that?”
I promised I would, then went over her notes on how to handle crying fits and rashes and weaning. “In Calcutta, you must stock up on Paget's Milk Food, which is concentrated and keeps indefinitely. However, you must supplement it with orange or grape juice, fresh bananas, and raw meat juice to keep the blood healthy. Now, as to the clothing, let us go over this list . . .”
Jemima's requirements were daunting. I dutifully asked questions even though it was difficult to imagine that an infant would require so many vests, flannel petticoats, yoked frocks, and nun's veiling. While we women contented ourselves with these necessities, the resident brought Edwin current with Travancore's political situation.
When we were alone, my husband confided to me that our plan to make a hasty exit after the ship arrived was prudent indeed. “It is more worrisome than I would have suspected, at least to hear Dennis tell it.”
“Do you think he might be bitter?”
“He never wanted the Trivandrum post.”
“And Amar never wanted to be maharajah.”
“You might be correct, but from what he tells me, the maharajah has shown more and more of an inclination to follow his uncle's habits.”
I had heard ominous rumors about the previous maharajah ever since we had first gone to Travancore, and I decided to have the matter clarified finally. “I thought he was supposed to have been a devout Hindu.”
“He was, but he had a weakness for the flesh. He had some—shall we say—peculiar habits.”.
“What do you mean?”
“Must I paint a more vivid picture?”
“What is the deep secret?” I said, exasperated. “I'm not exactly an innocent whom you must protect from the truth.” I patted my abdomen and grinned.
“The old maharajah became a devotee of the tantric cult of Hinduism. Have you heard of it?” he asked warily.
“Yes, it has something to do with a quest for knowledge, but how does it apply here?”
“Part of the belief system worships the human body as a microcosm of the world. They attempt to arrive at an ecstatic state through spiritual and physical intoxication. Some devotees use sexual rites to achieve this state. I suspect the old maharajah perverted the laws to allow him to do whatever he wanted.”
“There's nothing abnormal about maharajahs having many women.”
Edwin's face contorted. “When we were young, Amar and I hid on the balcony of the Shish Mahal and watched one of the rituals. Young girls and boys were brought in naked. Wine was poured on their bodies. The maharajah and his priests licked them clean. Then some animals were slaughtered and blood was poured on the children before they were used to satisfy the men's lust.”
My stomach churned with revulsion. “They did not harm the children, did they?”
“That depends on how you define 'harm,' but no, they did not kill any.” Edwin turned from my stricken face. “Now you know. You wanted me to tell you.”
“Amar did not partake, did he?”
“No, not while I was there.”
“Did you . . . ?”
“Of course not, Dinah!” His eyes blazed. “They would never permit me to participate in a Hindu ritual, and besides, I was a boy.”
“Did they smoke opium as part of the rituals?”
“Maybe they did. I cannot recall. Hookahs were present. What difference does that make? Wine and opium have their place.”
“You think of them in the same breath!”
Edwin shrugged. “I don't defend excesses of either.”
“I think Amar's personality is altered when he smokes his pipe,” I said before I could catch myself.
“In what way?” Edwin asked curiously.
Not wanting to divulge anything about what had happened outside my tent during the elephant hunt, I demurred. “I don't know. If s a feeling I have had . . .”
“Well, even if that is true, there is nothing we can do to change him.”
“So you think Amar has been involved in tantric rituals like his uncle?”
“No, but I think he hasn't been an angel either. All Dennis Clifford said was he heard that a whole flock of royal babies are expected during the new year.”
“I suppose that every time he gets one woman pregnant, he has to take on another.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He rejected his wife when she was expecting.”
“How do you know that?” Tension filled my husband's voice.
I backpedaled. “I guess I don't. It only seemed that way to me.”
“I am sorry I saw what I did, and even sorrier you forced me to tell you.” Edwin was taking pains to steady his voice. “Do me a favor, Dinah: don't try to understand what is happening with people whose customs are different from ours. On one level we can socialize, on another we can never participate. Even people like the Cliffords are foreign to us. Do you think they know what it means to be a Jew? Of course they don't. The differences fascinate everyone, which makes for interesting friendships, but in the end we can only rely on our own people.”
“That is why I never wanted to live in Trivandrum,” I added smugly, ending the conversation.
By the time we left Quilon, I had begun to think our return to Travancore had been a mistake. The late-summer heat was unbearable for a pregnant woman. I languished in the coolest part of the Orchid House, taking hourly sponge baths. Seeing I lacked the energy even to lift my head, Edwin would sit beside me and read aloud for hours on end. And when a messenger came to summon him to the palace one afternoon, I was thankful the invitation did not include me, for I could not have tolerated having to dress in finery.
That night I slept soundly and did not realize that Edwin had not returned until the next morning. When I awoke, he was getting undressed, but I thought he was dressing. Confused, I watched him bathe, then dress again. “Were you away the whole night?”
“Yes, I was.”
The color drained from my face as my mind flashed to an image of one of the old maharajah's rituals. Edwin knew at once what I was thinking. “Oh, don't be silly, it was an ordinary party. Well, perhaps not so ordinary,” he said, laughing.
After he coaxed me into the circular breakfast room, he continued, “Amar had some huge blocks of ice added to the water tank behind the palace. They were so enormous that young ladies in transparent gowns floated on them and served whiskey and snacks while we swam around in the cool water.”
My teacup clattered as I tried to set it on the saucer but missed. “Did you spend the night in the tank?”
“Just about.”
“And not in a hammock?”
“Dinah, I would never—”
I stared into his eyes for the truth. They were reddened and drooping, yet there was no hint of deception. I looked down at my own swollen body and began to cry. “I should have come with you.”
“No women—or rather, wives—were there, but I remained in public view throughout the evening.” He poured himself a cup of tea, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.
“Did you ever expect Amar to become this . . . ?” I searched vainly
for the right word.
“ 'Dissolute'?” Edwin offered. “ 'Vile'? 'Wicked'? 'Sinful'?” Preoccupied, he stirred three lumps of sugar into his tea.
“So . . . so consumed with his sex.”
“I suppose he sees no reason he should not have anything he wants.” He took a sip, made a puckering face, but continued to finish the cup.
“Why does he want to tempt you?”
“He doesn't tempt me. You tempt me.”
“I don't mean him. I mean his consorts.”
“Dinah, you have nothing to fear. Amar and I may have been boyhood friends, but he knows nothing of our ways,” he stated, beginning to peel an orange. “Just as we find some of his practices confusing, even detestable, he does not understand ours.”
“I'm sorry we ever came here!”
“Hush, Dinah. We must take the bitter with the sweet.” He handed me an orange section and popped one into his mouth. He chewed for a long time while he gathered his thoughts. “If you hate it so much, we need never return. In a few days our ship will be in port. We will receive payment and probably the bonus. Then we can leave.”
“You are confident, aren't you?”
“Reports have indicated fine weather. The ship left Marseilles three days ahead of schedule . . .” He grinned. “I don't care about the bonus—it. would be just the icing on the cake. In any case, Amar is grateful for what we have done. He told me so last night. All he wanted was for everyone to enjoy himself. He paraded about with a few young ladies, but frankly, I did not see him touch one. He does it to demonstrate that as maharajah, he can have anyone he wants. I haven't seen this harem, nor this special lady friend, that Dennis Clifford hinted about. There was more drinking and smoking than anything else.”
“How was his mood?”
“Frankly, Amar did not even seem happy. The first months of his reign were devoted to ritual, then he tried to satisfy his whims, and now that has become tiresome. I think his serious nature will prevail. If we stayed on, we could do more business here. Amar would always pay the top rate.”