Before the Rains

by Dinah Jefferies

‘Now, I hope we will become great friends. We live next door.’ Dottie gave a little smile. ‘So you know where to come, you know, if …’

  ‘Indeed,’ Eliza said, and returned Dottie’s warm smile. The woman was possibly in her late thirties, had kind eyes, and a firm handshake.

  ‘Clifford has told us so much about you.’

  ‘Has he?’ Eliza said and felt surprised.

  ‘I do admire you. I’d be terrified to go off on my own as you have. I didn’t even know women could be photographers. How did you get into it?’

  Eliza smiled. ‘We were on our honeymoon in Paris, my late husband, Oliver, and I, when we went to two or three exhibitions.’

  ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’

  ‘Thank you … One of the exhibitions was photography. Something just clicked inside my head when I heard a woman photographer talking about her work, and when Oliver saw how enamoured I was he bought me my first camera as a wedding present. I owe it to him really, though I still have a lot to learn. Anyway, I hope to make a decent fist of it here.’

  Dottie smiled. ‘I’m sure you will.’

  Eliza didn’t speak but gave a little nod to acknowledge Dottie’s comment.

  ‘Well, you’re brave. I can see that. What’s it like? I’m positively itching to know.’

  ‘The castle?’

  ‘We haven’t lived here that long but I’ve been there, of course, though just as a visitor, usually when there’s a durbar or something like that. It must be utterly fascinating to live there.’

  ‘I’ve not seen enough to be able to say much. People have been kind, so far.’

  ‘Well, you know Clifford would do anything for you. He’s so good like that. Helped Julian and me out so much when we first arrived … finding servants, that sort of thing.’ She paused and pulled a bit of a face. ‘Have you met the Maharani yet?’

  ‘The Prince’s wife?’

  Dottie nodded. ‘Priya.’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘I’ve heard gossip about her, and if the rumours are right, you’d better keep an eye out. For a man called Chatur too. From what I hear he manages the entire castle affairs.’

  ‘Oh?’ And Eliza remembered that Jayant had mentioned the man.

  ‘Clifford does such a good job and, if you ask me, has the patience of a saint, but he’s had endless trouble with this Chatur chappie. Digs his heels in. Won’t follow orders. You know the usual type. Hates the British.’

  They moved across to the window, where a table had been laid with canapés and jugs of fruit-filled punch. Dottie poured two glasses and then held up a plate of canapés. ‘Shrimp all right for you?’

  Eliza bent her head slightly to look at them.

  ‘They’re fine. Canned, of course. We’re too far from the sea for anything else. You’ll be offered mutton here and there, but of course it’s actually goat. Stick to the vegetarian food at the castle. That’s my advice. My husband has had to deal with a lot of upset British stomachs over the years, so I should know.’

  ‘Thanks, but if you don’t mind, I think I’ll give the shrimp a miss,’ Eliza said, and turned to survey the room, where she spotted a sturdy-looking man with a neat moustache smiling across at them.

  Dottie clapped her hands. ‘Oh look, there’s Julian. You must meet him in a minute. He and Clifford are great pals and, as I get the impression Clifford thinks the world of you, I rather think we’ll be seeing lots of you here.’

  Eliza frowned. ‘Really? Clifford knew me as a child but I’ve hardly seen him for years. At least, not until recently.’

  Dottie smiled. ‘Well, anyway, now you know where we are, do feel you can drop by. Any time.’

  ‘That’s very kind.’ And Eliza really felt that it was, and, who knew, from time to time she might well need an escape into a familiar world she did, more or less, understand.

  ‘The men often get up a table for poker,’ Dottie said, then smiled again, almost apologetically. ‘Well, it’s awfully dull for me so you’d be most welcome. There are so few Englishwomen in these parts.’

  ‘I had rather intended immersing myself in the Indian world.’

  ‘You’ll need breaks. I’m sure of it. Now come and meet Julian. I’m sure you’ll get on like a house on fire.’

  The day after the cocktail party, Eliza developed her first photographs and was delighted by the results, especially the early shot of the man with the haunted look in his eyes and the child with its black hair sticking up. There had been something eternal about the man, dignified and yet sad too. She loved the way a photograph could tell an entire story and preserve it in a single moment. She hoped she’d be able to take more pictures inspired by her heart and not just by her head, and, if she could manage to get out and about and grasp something of the mysterious quality of the ordinary people, she’d be happy.

  She had received a hand-written message from Chatur, whom she still hadn’t met, informing her that the first photographs had to be of the royal family, as anything else would be most disrespectful. She had been planning to do that anyway, so she didn’t mind. It would be a clear record of who was who before she attempted shooting in the more intimate recesses of the castle. And while Clifford would probably only be concerned that she captured everything for the archives, she was determined to use her creativity.

  A red-turbaned courtier wearing white directed her to a spacious courtyard surrounded on three sides by the screened balconies of the zenana. While the women of the zenana were no longer restricted by the veil, many still remained behind the screens, and a tingle of apprehension ran through her when she realized everything she did was being watched.

  A tall upright man with an impressive moustache, heavy untrimmed eyebrows and baggy shadows under his eyes walked towards her. She could have sworn this was the same tall man she’d seen laughing at the polo match after the Prince’s accident. She had wondered about mentioning it to Clifford, but, worried she was probably adding two and two and making five, hadn’t wanted to look naïve.

  ‘I am Chatur, the dewan or senior court official,’ he offered in a haughty tone of voice. He didn’t wait for her to reply nor hold out a hand, but carried on imperiously. ‘I have the final say on what does and what does not have a place in the castle. I organize everything. Do you understand? Everything you wish to do must go through me.’

  Though a commoner, the man had the stern bearing of a king and, Eliza decided, he was clearly a man who thought a great deal of himself. She held his gaze, though it wasn’t easy, and she had to force herself not to shrink from something shady in his dark eyes. That he had a reputation she’d already heard from Dottie, and his attitude now seemed to prove it. He looked as if he was scrutinizing her, though she had no idea if there was a particular reason or not.

  ‘If you follow my guidelines you will find I can be very helpful, Miss Fraser. If not, well …’ He spread his hands in a shrug.

  ‘I understand,’ she said, deciding that to acquiesce was the best policy, at least for now.

  ‘We shall be seeing a lot of each other,’ he said, giving her something resembling a half smile. ‘I expect you to ensure the association is a harmonious one. We don’t appreciate strangers poking their noses into castle affairs.’

  ‘I can assure you I won’t be poking my nose, as you put it. I’m only here to take photographs.’

  ‘So you say, Miss Fraser. So you say. I shall be keeping a strict eye on you.’ And after that he spun on his heels and left.

  The short exchange hadn’t helped vanquish Eliza’s nervousness, but she resolved not to brood.

  She had considered a number of locations that might provide the right light, but had been told this was the only time and place she would be allowed, and she had been given just a thirty-minute period in which to take the shots. She’d also needed to consider the background, preferring something simple to allow the eye to focus on the subjects of the picture, the people. It turned out most of her ideas had been vetoed by Chatur as ‘highly unsuitable
’. The result was that the photographs would have to be taken against an elaborately decorated wall. This would require care.

  As soon as she had identified the optimal position for the camera, she began to assemble her equipment. Today she would use her large field camera, a Sanderson ‘Regular’. Though not large compared with many plate cameras, she had brought it with her as the best compromise between a lighter weight, and obtaining the quality of image she sought. She also always carried her trusty Rolleiflex for hand-held opportunities. Luckily the Sanderson’s rise and fall, while tilting the front plate, gave her control over perspective and the plane of focus she needed to enable her subjects to stand out.

  It took a while to set up, as it required a heavy mahogany and brass tripod, and possibly the use of flash powder to provide a bright burst of light. She mounted her Agfa flash lamp on a second tripod and attached the remote release, consisting of a long rubber tube with a rubber bulb that she would squeeze. That bit of pressure would trip the flint-striking mechanism to ignite the flash powder. She walked around studying the location to decide on the amount of flash powder she would need. She might only have time to take three or four, no more than six photographs, so she decided to mix the flash powder in advance to save time, rather than mix it for each shot. This had its dangers, as once mixed it could go off unexpectedly. A combination of magnesium powder and potassium chlorate, it had singed her hair more than once, but if she placed her subjects under the shade of the tree it would fill in the shadows.

  Once it was done and as if on cue – confirming that feeling of being under continual observation – four servants came out carrying what looked like a throne. She’d heard of these sumptuous cushioned seats. It was a showy red and gold gaddi, not to Eliza’s taste at all, and if it reflected the Maharajah’s personality she couldn’t help thinking that Jayant and his brother Anish must be as different as chalk from cheese. She pointed to a place beneath the tree and they set the throne down alongside several other chairs. Another servant came out to sprinkle rose petals around the spot.

  She heard the lyrical sound of a flute, followed by the heavy beat of a drum, and she recalled being told that in Indian mythology the drum beats creation into existence. Then she heard a rustle of silk and glimpsed the royal family entering the courtyard by way of a semi-concealed ground floor archway. Eliza felt awed by the grandeur as they solemnly walked over, and that increased her nervousness. The Maharajah seated himself and only then acknowledged Eliza’s presence.

  Anish, the Maharajah, was a large man who was dipping his chubby fingers into a box of Turkish delight that his sour-faced wife, Priya, kept open on her lap, sending clouds of sugar powder flying as he popped one piece after another into his mouth. His eyes were a little bloodshot and Eliza wondered if he might be a drinker as well as a glutton. Her mother used to say she believed the excesses of the Indian Princes were due to the appalling practice of polygamy. Her mother despised polygamy with a passion.

  Both Priya and her husband wore multiple rings and further jewels about their clothing, and for once Eliza was glad she could not record the scene in colour. If she’d thought the gaddi was ostentatious, these two were a hundred times worse. Probably in her late thirties or early forties, Priya was not a beautiful woman in a traditional sense; she had a stiff expression on her face, with no trace of a smile, but she was arresting, with deep-set eyes and a slightly hooked nose. Her clothing consisted of a blouse, a gold and red embroidered skirt or ghagra, with a matching silk shawl covering her hair, a string of sparkling rubies at her throat and, part of the way up her arm, poonchees, heavy silver and gold bracelets.

  Eliza glanced to her left as Jayant entered the courtyard together with a broad-shouldered shorter man with ink-black hair and dark eyebrows. Wearing a long fitted coat to the knees, made of black satin with delicate gold embroidery and a stand-up collar, and black trousers, Jay was also in his finery but it was of a more restrained style. It was the first time she’d seen him wearing a turban, but what really surprised her was how dignified and elegant this ‘outdoors’ man could look. When he smiled at her she realized she had been staring and, embarrassed to have been caught, turned to fiddle with her camera. At the sound of footsteps behind her she twisted round. Indira had entered from yet another semi-concealed archway and now came to stand beside Eliza.

  ‘I am instructed to offer assistance should you require it,’ she said. ‘Theek hai?’

  ‘Yes, that’s fine,’ Eliza replied.

  But this was a different Indi: the effervescence gone and with eyes lowered, her demeanour was much more cautious. By the look on the Maharani’s face it seemed clear that the older woman was the reason why; Priya didn’t acknowledge the girl’s arrival but gave her a pitying look, then pointedly turned her back on her. While Eliza was wondering who the other man was, Jay’s mother, Laxmi, and the Maharajah’s three daughters were the final members to join the group. Jay’s younger brother was at school in England and would not be joining them.

  Eliza grouped them together closer than it seemed they wanted to be, while the Prince’s friend stood out of view. Priya sighed repeatedly and after only a few minutes got to her feet. With her back to Eliza she turned to Laxmi.

  ‘Surely the Englishwoman has finished? I need to go to prayers.’

  ‘Her name is Miss Fraser,’ Laxmi replied gently. ‘The agreement is that she should be free to do whatever she wishes.’

  ‘Your agreement!’

  ‘Let’s have no arguing on this beautiful day,’ the Maharajah said. ‘The sky is blue, the air is fresh, the birds are singing. She may do whatever she wishes, but naturally …’ He smiled at Priya. ‘Within reason, my dear.’

  Priya gave her husband an aggrieved look, curling her lip in a sneer. ‘And, of course, you always do what your mother wishes.’

  Anish frowned. ‘I’m sure Miss Fraser will not be much longer.’

  Eliza swallowed her nerves. This lot were tricky. ‘Not long now. If you don’t mind taking your seat again, Princess, I’ll hurry along.’

  She was aware that during the preceding few minutes Jayant had completely ignored the argument and had been whistling quietly under his breath. He stood nonchalantly, framed by the sun, and as if without a care in the world. But the divisions within the family and the contradictions gathered there were becoming clear. Eliza couldn’t afford to make enemies, not now that she’d sunk so much into buying her equipment. Her continuing progress was slow, as for every picture the plate had to be changed. She fumbled more than was usual and, with a sensation of immense relief, finished the job without anything jamming. It was a small blessing, because otherwise she’d have had to retreat to complete darkness to try to sort it out, and that would have delayed the shoot. She preferred using her Rolleiflex outdoors, and would do so for more candid shots, but today had been designed for formality. It was what the royal family were accustomed to and she didn’t want to scare them off at this early stage by taking the kind of informal pictures she really wanted and that she had specifically been asked to produce. Clifford had said right from the start that it was to be as true a picture of life in Rajputana as possible and should not be dictated by the royal family’s penchant for formal, unsmiling shots.

  As the family wandered off, Jay took Anish aside and Eliza could hear that they were disagreeing about something. She heard the name ‘Chatur’ mentioned several times and, looking out of the corner of her eye as she dismantled her equipment, she could tell Jay was fuming. At one point he placed a hand on his brother’s arm and seemed to grip him tightly. Anish shook Jay’s hand off and then spoke in a raised voice. ‘Do not interfere. How Chatur chooses to run castle affairs is up to me, not you.’

  ‘But you give him too much power.’

  At that point Eliza moved her tripod and they noticed her, lowering their voices, but it was clear to her that Jay didn’t approve of Chatur.

  Anish then left and Jay stood quite still for a few moments before coming across and
assuming a normal voice. ‘Not bad. In fact quite impressive,’ he said.

  ‘You’ve not seen the pictures yet,’ she said, bristling at the opinionated tone in his voice.

  ‘Professional.’

  ‘You expected something different?’

  ‘Well, by sending a woman photographer …’ He paused and looked at her searchingly, and now he seemed gentler. ‘What I mean to say is that it is unusual, is it not? And we are less accustomed to seeing a woman of class doing a job of work.’

  ‘A woman of class?’ she said and blinked.

  He nodded.

  ‘I’m an oddity at home too, but I intend to make a name for myself,’ she said, privately thinking how much she valued the release of work. ‘And I won’t be deterred.’

  ‘Your desire for recognition may well be your downfall.’

  ‘Along with my use of water, I suppose.’

  He gave her a half smile.

  ‘You think I shouldn’t try?’

  ‘There needs to be balance. A filtering out of what matters from what does not.’

  ‘And you’ve achieved that?’

  He glanced away. ‘I wouldn’t say that. By the way, this is my old friend, Devdan. Dev for short. We met at a camel fair when we were boys. I like to go incognito when I can. It gives me a greater sense of freedom.’

  ‘Not to mention that if the traders don’t know who he is he gets a better price. I had no idea who he was when we met,’ the shorter man said with a broad smile. ‘Anyway, gift of the Gods, that’s me, or, at least, it’s what my name means.’

  ‘Firebrand, it should be.’ Jay laughed and thumped him on the back.

  ‘And here to do a spot of hawking, hunting antelope, and camel racing with my Rajput friend here. Honour above all, that’s the Rajputs, isn’t it, Jay?’

  Jay smiled, but Eliza could see his amber eyes had darkened, his thoughtfulness concealing something that made her feel that beneath the confidence lay something less certain. She waited for him to speak and kept her eye on the noisy monkeys in the orange trees.

  ‘Indeed. Those were the days! Suicide rather than defeat,’ he eventually said, and only after a slightly awkward pause added, ‘Before we became so timid.’