‘And Indira?’
‘Yes, indeed.’
‘Do you want to tell me about her?’
‘Best you should see for yourself. By the way, I take back what I said about your hair. In the sunlight it is reddish or maybe gold, not camel-coloured.’
‘Honey,’ she muttered, but couldn’t resist smiling.
They passed a few settlements huddled around their own wells and, now and then, small villages where peasants grew maize, lentils and millet, and when they passed herds of goats, sheep and even camels grazing on nutritious grasses, he spoke again.
He pointed to the land beyond his window. ‘Where you see those grasses, khimp or akaro, you can tell that deep beneath there is water. Sometimes vast reserves of water. But it may be more than three hundred feet below.’
‘I suppose drilling is expensive.’
He nodded. ‘Some of the women walk miles every day to the big water tanks and reservoirs. I am interested in water. We are dependent on monsoons to fill reservoirs and this year we had little rain, not much last year either. Life can be harsh. You cannot conquer a desert, you can only do your best to protect it.’
‘I need water to develop my photographs.’
‘And that very thing may be your downfall.’
That night Eliza and the Prince sat cross-legged around a campfire with dignified men wearing colourful patterned turbans. The air was cool and soft, with a slight breeze carrying the scents of sand and dust that mingled with the spices from the cooking pot suspended over the fire. Surprised to be so readily accepted by them, she realized it was only because she was with Jayant. As he offered her a tall glass of milk, she noticed that his skin shone amber in the flickering firelight.
‘Camel’s milk,’ he said. ‘Very nutritious, but it sours rapidly so you have to drink it straight away. They never make it into cheese.’
She sipped the milk and agreed that it was good.
‘But don’t drink the asha, whatever you do.’
‘What is it?’
He laughed. ‘A powerful fermented drink. It’ll knock your head off. I speak from experience.’
One of the men was playing some kind of drum, another softly ringing some prayer bells and, as smoke rose into the air, Eliza felt intoxicated by the utter timelessness of the scene. The servant girl who sat beside her would also be sharing her tent, so although Eliza felt a little nervous of being out in the wilderness with so many men, she didn’t actually feel threatened.
The next day, after a surprisingly cool night sleeping on one of two charpoys, traditional woven beds, Eliza woke to a silvery dawn and the sound of voices. She stretched out, intending to enjoy the moment, but the aroma of food was too enticing and, as she was absolutely ravenous and the girl was already up, she threw on her clothes without a thought for washing and made her way out of the tent. And in those few moments the light had changed. A morning of extraordinary beauty greeted her, the sky blushing deepest pink on the horizon, rising to pale peach, with not a cloud in sight. The delicate light cast a gentle glow over the flat land that seemed to stretch for miles, filling her with a sense of endless spaciousness. She spotted what she assumed was a temporary goatherd’s dwelling constructed from wooden poles, with just a tarpaulin of some kind thrown over for shade. It was surrounded by dozens of goats chewing on the sparse bushes and though the nomadic life must have compensations, Eliza thought it must be very lonely too.
She was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a smiling Prince Jayant, the proud angles of his face softer than before. He held out a hand to indicate where they were to eat. But it wasn’t just his face, everything about him had changed and she realized that this new relaxed person was a man born for the outdoors. He wore dark European-style trousers with just a loose open-necked shirt in deep green. Later she would ask if he minded her taking a photograph of him.
During a satisfying meal of dahl and rice cooked over the fire by one of the men, he laughed and joked with the others, didn’t stand on ceremony and was clearly well liked. Eliza noticed the laughter wrinkles fanning out from his eyes, and thought the increased stubble on his chin and jaw added something that made him seem more accessible.
‘Do you often camp?’ she said.
‘As often as I can. It’s my escape, you see.’
‘You need to escape?’
‘Don’t we all?’
She realized how true that was, but also how different he was today. ‘You don’t stand on ceremony. I thought you might, but you’re no ordinary Prince, are you?’
He inclined his head. ‘Maybe not, but one never really forgets where one comes from.’
‘That’s unfortunately correct.’
‘I think you should see Udaipore at the start of the rainy season. It would be the best place to see the dark clouds rolling in. It’s the city of lakes.’
‘I’ve heard.’
‘Maybe I’ll accompany you there to take photographs,’ he said. ‘It is one of the most beautiful places in Rajputana.’
When they reached the foothills of the forested Aravalli range, Eliza stiffened at the sight of blue bulls wandering freely.
He laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Miss Fraser. They won’t come near us. They’re long accustomed to caravans of goods and people passing through since ancient times. We are part of the old trade routes that crossed this desert bringing goods from afar. In exchange we sold our sandalwood, copper, camels and gems.’
‘I wish I could have seen it back then.’
‘They were dangerous times, with the states constantly at war with each other. And life can be harsh out here.’
Eliza spotted a group of vultures on a rocky outcrop.
He grinned. ‘See what I mean. You’d never have had a chance if you were taken ill back then.’
‘Golly, perhaps I’m lucky to be here now.’
‘No doubt about it. But look at how beautiful the landscape is. These hills stretch for miles and miles. The vegetation is mainly tropical thorn, and mixed deciduous and dry teak species, but I worry about future deforestation.’
‘Is that likely?’
‘It’s already happening.’
As they talked more about life in Rajputana, the Prince seemed very relaxed. He clearly loved the land of his birth and, despite his British education, it was obvious that this was where he belonged. The early tension she’d felt when they set out the previous day had completely dissipated and by the end of the second day in his company, Eliza was feeling relatively content.
As they approached the fair on the final day they passed a man with an enormous handlebar moustache and a haunted look in his eyes. He was leading a camel on which a woman sat side-saddle, her red scarf billowing out but still covering her face and hair and with tinkling bangles circling her ankles. Clasped to her side was a tiny child with black hair sticking up around its head. The bright colours of their clothing stood out in sharp contrast to the incredible blue of the sky.
‘Can you stop,’ she said. ‘I have to take a picture.’ Though sadly the colours could never be seen in her monotone photographs.
‘Ask the man’s permission first,’ Jayant said, and put his foot on the brake. ‘I was told you speak the language. Though I have no idea how.’
‘I lived in Delhi as a child.’
‘No, wait,’ he said, as Eliza opened the car door. ‘Better if I ask. The dialect is different here.’
Prince Jayant climbed out, and after a dialogue with the other man during which both were smiling he handed over some coins and came back to the car.
‘All set,’ was all he said.
She took the photograph using her Rolleiflex, hoping she’d caught the haunted look of the man, and they continued on past a lake, disturbing enormous white birds with impossibly long beaks. As they took off in unison from the surface of the water, she gazed in wonder at their huge wingspan and the beautiful black feathers at their tips.
‘How incredible!’
‘Pelicans,’ he said. ‘
You’ve not seen them before?’
‘Not in the Cotswolds,’ she said and could see that he smiled.
‘The level is lower than it ought to be,’ he said, as he gazed at the water.
When they neared the fair Eliza gasped at the sight of hundreds of camels spread across the flat land. Men sat in small groups beside smoking fires and, when the Prince stopped the car and she climbed out, the smell of smoke and dung was overpowering. She had expected to feel conspicuous, but the place was heaving and nobody noticed her.
‘Don’t stand near the back side of a camel,’ he said with a grin as he pulled her aside. ‘They are windy creatures. Grumpy too.’
On the other side of a narrow track she saw cattle, goats and horses. ‘I didn’t realize they traded all kinds of livestock here. How does anyone ever find what they want?’
‘Camels have different qualities. If you know what you’re looking for it’s not difficult.’
‘What are you looking for?’
‘Ah,’ he said, and with a wry smile on his face he paused. ‘That might take a lifetime to understand. And another lifetime to explain.’
She glanced at him. There really was something of the philosopher about this man. When she looked back at the animals she saw that they were an assortment of different sizes and different colours and mentioned it to him.
‘Just like us, wouldn’t you say? There are hardy breeds and more delicate animals too. Let us look for Indira.’
Eliza stuck close to the Prince, wondering how she should address him. So far he insisted on calling her Miss Fraser and it made her feel uncomfortable. She had avoided calling him anything at all, so decided to ask.
‘Call me Jay,’ he replied. ‘Everybody does.’
She frowned.
‘Well, not everybody, but you may.’
‘Isn’t it rather informal?’
‘I didn’t expect you to be bound by tradition. You certainly aren’t in your manner of dress. In fact it almost seems to me as if you dress with disregard.’
He was looking at her with an intent gaze and she was shocked to realize she felt indignant that he had somehow seen inside her. ‘That’s rather …’
‘Not very British, you mean, but I am not British, despite the attempts of Eton to make me so.’
‘Is that what they did?’
‘What do you think?’
She looked at the ground before lifting her head, realizing that the shadows of the past could still be present even on the sunniest day. ‘It’s Mrs Cavendish, by the way. But I’m using my maiden name, Fraser, instead.’
He glanced at her ring finger.
Though shocked by the loss of Oliver, it was not the loss of true love. In the circumstances, how could it have been? But her father; that had been a knife to the heart; so deep she couldn’t function. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. And for several months could not even speak. And the knowledge of her own culpability had left her the victim of terrible nightmares.
‘I’m a widow,’ she said.
He raised his brows.
‘I didn’t intend to dissemble. It just happened.’
‘Best keep it between us, I think. People still believe widows bring bad fortune and things have a way of getting out.’
‘I’d prefer to tell Laxmi. She’s been so kind and I don’t want her to find out later and think I came here under false pretences.’
He shook his head. ‘People believe that outliving your husband means you didn’t look after him properly and that it’s generally your own bad karma at fault.’
‘As if I don’t already feel bad enough.’
‘You are expected to do penance for the sin, you are meant to eat only plain rice and never remarry, even though the law does now permit remarriage. It’s antiquated, I know, but it could make life difficult for you. They would also expect you to wear white and shave your head.’ He grinned at her.
‘I thought those beliefs were dying out.’
He inclined his head and shrugged as if to refute what she’d said. ‘And even though the British made suttee illegal it still happens. Old habits die hard, Miss … I mean Mrs Cavendish.’
‘I think you’d better just call me Eliza.’
As he nodded a young woman brushed past Eliza and ran up to Jay, where she gave an exaggerated curtsey and then laughed. She was very slight and at first Eliza thought she must be a child, a relative of some kind, but then she saw the young woman’s face: paler than Jay’s, it was a face of such extraordinary beauty Eliza could only stare. The girl’s loosely tied long hair floated down to her waist and her eyes were the most incredible green, not unlike Eliza’s own greenish-grey eyes but lined with something dark. And yet where Eliza’s were soft gentle English eyes, the colour of ponds, this girl had emeralds for eyes. They sparkled, catching the light while she laughed and chattered with enthusiasm. And joy, Eliza thought to herself. Sheer effervescent joy. She wore a nose jewel and was covered in bangles and necklaces. After a few moments Jay took hold of her hand and, smiling broadly, came across to Eliza.
‘Indira,’ he said. ‘This is Eliza, Miss Fraser to you. Eliza, this is Indira.’
‘Namaskār,’ the girl said, and placed her palms together close to her chest.
Jay interrupted. ‘She was educated at the castle and speaks good English, Eliza, so don’t let her fool you.’
As the day faded, Jay drove the three of them back to the summer palace beside the lake. It wasn’t as Eliza expected but was in rather a poor state of repair, with peeling walls within and crumbling walls without. He told her he owned a palace in a similar state of repair in Juraipore state, and that he was thinking of having it restored for the day when he would have a family of his own.
‘It is called Shubharambh Bagh.’
Eliza knew bagh meant a place with a garden and orchard, specifically one containing fruit, and shubharambh meant auspicious beginnings.
‘It could be beautiful there,’ he continued. ‘But it might be useful if you would consider taking photographs of it as it is.’
She nodded her agreement.
As he showed her around the predominantly blue and dusty arched hallways she gazed with genuine astonishment at beautifully crafted latticed screens with a design of foliage rising from a tall vase.
‘The jali,’ he said. ‘These were the women’s quarters. The openwork screens allowed the women to see out without being seen themselves.’
Eliza’s first thought was that far from being kept behind a screen, Indira seemed keen to lead the way, occasionally placing a proprietorial hand on Jay’s arm. Nothing demure about Indira, she decided. Was the girl signalling her prior claim on the man? She certainly had no shame about touching him occasionally and Eliza wondered if the two might be lovers, or if Indira was some kind of concubine. Or maybe they were just behaving as if they were siblings? Then she remembered Laxmi had said the girl was a miniaturist, an artist of great talent.
‘We rarely use this place,’ he said. ‘So I am meeting a potential buyer while we’re here to raise funds. On my brother’s behalf. He doesn’t like to travel.’
‘You seem to have palaces everywhere.’
‘My family does, but I have just the one. You will love the arcaded loggia there, or perhaps I’m exaggerating and should call it a porch. The floors are white marble, but are now sadly crumbling.’ He sighed. ‘The whole place needs much restoration.’
‘It sounds beautiful.’
‘I need light and air with room to breathe, which our main castle with its maze of corridors and dark staircases doesn’t allow. On this point I fully agree with the British.’
On the terraced roof someone had laid out large cushions surrounded by flaming torches and on one side a screen of diaphanous curtains. The three made themselves comfortable and a feast of fruits, dahl, rice and meats was carried up by two young girls. Beneath the scattering of stars the scents of night drifted over and mingled with the aroma of food and their warm bodies. Touched by a disquie
ting sense of magic that surely had no place in the real world, Eliza gazed up. If anything the night shone brighter than the day, and, as the breeze gently blew, the screen of curtains fluttered. At risk of wanting to linger for ever, she had to remind herself she was not here to be seduced by the enchantment of India, but rather to capture it, and that the romance of the desert could, at a moment’s notice, be blackened by harsh sandstorms: that it could become the desert of death in the blink of an eye. And although the pulse of life beat strongly, if death lived on your doorstep it was little wonder you’d want to believe, as the Hindus did, that your life simply completed one leg of a journey towards oneness with the universe. At that moment Indira began to sing a sad lyrical-sounding song that touched Eliza so deeply, she couldn’t prevent a rising sense of envy at yet another of this girl’s talents.
4
‘I’m sorry we didn’t get to say hello at the polo match but I am so pleased to meet you,’ the tall, dark-haired woman was saying as she held out a hand, her bright blue eyes shining with pleasure. ‘Anyway, I’m Dottie. Dottie Hopkins.’
Eliza had arrived at a cocktail party consisting of a small gathering of British people, held at Clifford’s villa on the smarter side of town. The interior, as she had expected, was elegant and filled with sunlight. The large French windows had been thrown open, the scent of freshly mown grass drifting in and mingling with cigar smoke. But for the heat she could have been in a British country house on a summer’s day.
‘Your husband did a good job with that poor woman,’ Eliza said.
‘Yes, it was all a bit awful really. She was incredibly lucky it wasn’t worse. Did you stay to the end?’
‘Yes, but because Clifford had to rush off when it finished, so did I.’
‘He needed to investigate foul play, I imagine. My husband tells me there had been. Though it’s all blown over now. They think it was something to do with those British hangers-on. Anyway, Clifford won’t want a fuss made if it was down to one of us.’
Eliza remembered what she had thought she’d seen. It was probably nothing, but she would certainly keep her wits about her at the castle.
Before the Rains Page 4