Before the Rains

by Dinah Jefferies

  ‘You’re being very mysterious.’

  Indi laughed, linking arms with Eliza and also with Kiri, who was smiling broadly. ‘You’ll see. Do you believe in karma or destiny?’

  ‘Destiny? I’m not really sure what it means.’

  ‘I believe. We have something called adit chukker, the unseen wheel of fate. We are all about destiny here. And today is no exception.’

  At that point Eliza heard an English voice calling her name. She spun round to see Dottie looking red-faced as she ran towards her. ‘I thought it was you,’ the woman said. ‘Gosh, I’m out of puff. Rule number one, never run in this heat! But what are you up to, wearing that outfit?’

  ‘It is a bit odd actually. I’m going to some kind of funeral.’

  ‘Good grief, is it safe?’ She glanced around as though looking for assailants hiding in the alleyways.

  ‘I’m sure it is,’ Eliza said. ‘Anyway, how are you, Dottie? I was sorry not to see you at the durbar.’

  ‘I had one of my ghastly headaches. Julian gives me something but it just knocks me out.’ Dottie touched Eliza’s forearm and paused for a moment. ‘But seriously, traipsing about like this on your own …’

  ‘I’m with those two.’ She pointed at Indi and Kiri.

  ‘But I meant …’

  ‘I know what you meant, but I’m fine. Really.’

  ‘Would Clifford approve?’

  ‘Probably not. But look, why not come with us?’

  Dottie smiled. ‘You know, I rather think I’d like to, but actually I’m with Julian. He’s looking for a chess set.’

  ‘Pity.’ Eliza took a step away and glanced across at Indi.

  ‘Another time maybe?’

  Eliza nodded. ‘Sorry to dash, but I can’t hold them up any longer.’

  ‘Of course. See you soon?’

  Eliza heard a pensive note in the woman’s voice and realized Dottie might be a bit lonely too. She would make an effort to call on her soon.

  Dottie moved off and Eliza went back to the waiting girls.

  When they finally arrived at the outskirts of the town they reached a river bank. It wasn’t particularly wide and certainly didn’t look very deep, but here it seemed less dusty than the main town had been and Eliza felt a certain freshness in the air. And then she saw that a small crowd had assembled to watch a puppet show.

  ‘We’re here for this?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  The impressive sight of three-foot marionettes on a miniature stage, their heads carved out of hardwood and wearing elaborately made costumes, was like nothing Eliza had seen before. The semi-concealed puppeteer made sounds through what looked like bamboo to disguise his normal voice, and he moved the jointed limbs of the puppets by manipulating the strings attached to them. A woman next to him played the drum Eliza had been hearing.

  ‘It’s a dholak, the drum,’ Indi said. ‘These stories are about destiny. And love, war and honour. You can ask Jay about that. He knows all about honour.’

  Eliza wondered if there had been a hint of something in Indi’s voice but shrugged. She was probably imagining it.

  ‘These people are agricultural labourers from the Nagaur area, known by the name of the kathputliwalas. They usually perform the puppet shows during the late evenings, but this is different.’

  Eliza listened as the puppeteer hooted and whistled and the story was narrated by a second woman while the first one continued to sing and beat on her drum.

  ‘We’re here for a funeral,’ Indi continued.

  ‘Whose?’

  ‘He’s lying over there.’

  Though she had no desire to see a dead body, Eliza couldn’t help turning her head to look. She saw only Kiri, sitting on the ground beside another three-foot puppet lying on a bed of silk.

  ‘That puppet is old and too worn out to be used now.’

  Eliza watched as the show came to an end. The puppeteer went across to Kiri and kissed the top of her head, then he picked up the old marionette and carried it lovingly to the water’s edge, where he began to pray. Eliza caught the scene on her camera and then, as his prayers continued, he placed the puppet on the water with Kiri’s help.

  ‘The longer it floats the more pleased the gods will be,’ Indi said.

  ‘Why is Kiri helping?’

  ‘The puppeteer is her father.’

  ‘But she doesn’t live with her family?’

  ‘She cannot. To work at the castle she must live at the castle.’

  After the scene by the river the three wandered through the bazaars dodging the bicycles, the cows lying asleep, and the wares laid out on the pavements, only stopping to wrap brightly coloured scarves around each other’s throats and to try on necklaces, while posing and giggling.

  ‘You suit the Indian style of dressing, Eliza.’

  ‘But why did I need to dress like this? Surely I could have just covered my head?’

  ‘Yes. But I thought it would be more fun and fewer people would stare at you this way.’

  Eliza smiled. She was enjoying herself, if a bit conscious of her pale skin; unusually light-hearted and full of admiration for Indi’s knowledge of the town, she seemed to be discovering a different part of herself. Nobody bothered the girls and the streets throbbed with a mix of women still in purdah and those who had come out. They bought little cooked flour-balls or golgappe and also lentil fritters that Indira called daalbaatichurma, and went to one of the parks to eat them.

  By the time they reached the beginning of the hill it was dusk, and Eliza looked up in amazement. The entire fortress was now brilliantly lit and seemed to have been brushed with gold. Every sparkling window beckoned, and it occurred to Eliza that if she didn’t hold on she would drop into fairyland, never to return to the real world. It had been a lovely, happy day, a day to rejoice at how easy life could be when you didn’t have to try to protect yourself. Eliza hoped that she and Indi might become real friends. It was a long time since she’d had a real friend.

  8

  Eliza had been dreaming of Oliver in the night, and when she woke old forgotten feelings and memories came unbidden from the depths of her heart. She couldn’t stop thinking of the day she had met him. She’d caused him to drop the pile of books he’d been carrying when she’d accidentally bumped into him in a bookshop, or rather, walked backwards into him. When she’d bent down to help him gather them up, she’d seen they were all about art, including catalogues of exhibitions in London and Paris. She’d squatted on the floor gazing at the photographs and then he’d sat down beside her. At first she could only nod wordlessly but, after a few moments of talking about the weather, they’d both begun to laugh. It had been funny sitting on the floor with a complete stranger. And then he’d helped her up and invited her to join him at the tea shop next door.

  The good times hadn’t lasted and she thought of the day they had quarrelled so violently. All she’d said was that she wanted to become a photographer. He wasn’t supposed to die, but he’d been so angry, slamming the door and marching out into the street without understanding her reasons. She’d been afraid, as if punched hard in the pit of her stomach, and she had been right to fear: Oliver had not seen the bus that killed him and she had learnt to swallow the agonizing guilt.

  A knock at the door interrupted her memories and she was surprised to find the dewan, Chatur, waiting for her. He didn’t smile, and with a look of disdain held out a sheet of paper with just the tips of his fingers.

  ‘I have brought a list of the people you should photograph and the order in which it is to be done. You will see I have suggested suitable locations too.’

  ‘I see.’

  He gave her a cool smile. ‘I’m sure I can afford the time to be present on some of these occasions, but if I’m not available one of the guards will accompany you.’

  Resenting the intrusion, Eliza frowned. ‘I do like to choose my subjects myself and I thought I was to have free access.’

  ‘Up to a point, Miss Fraser. Up to a
point. Well, I trust you will find the list useful. I have some guards waiting to be photographed now. You’ll find them in the nearest courtyard.’

  As he bowed and turned to go Eliza thought about what Laxmi had said. Surely she was to be allowed to do whatever she wished, not follow anybody’s orders. She would simply ignore Chatur’s list.

  Out in the courtyard the three guards stood in a stiff formal line and nothing she could say made the slightest difference. She was racking her brain trying to work out how to get a more informal shot when Dev turned up and stared at her. She took in his hair, shorter than Jay’s, his eyes, which were darker, and, with a larger nose, his face had a rougher look about it. There was also a slightly odd feel to him, as if he was balanced on a fine line, though his fixed smile gave nothing away. He looked back at her warily at first but then, after sizing up the situation, seemed to change.

  ‘Need some help?’ he said.

  ‘Not really, though I can’t seem to get them to relax. I really want to catch them in an unguarded moment.’

  Dev glanced across at them and appeared to be thinking. Then he smiled. ‘I have the very thing.’

  He produced something from the bag he carried and also took out a small pouch. At the sight of it the guards came straight over to him. He spoke a few words and they nodded without a second glance at Eliza.

  ‘It’s a game,’ he told Eliza. ‘We call it challas.’

  He unrolled a large canvas square that seemed to be covered in silk with squares and designs all over it. Then he squatted down on the ground and the men joined him. He emptied tokens and cowrie shells from the pouch and she noticed that the board itself was truly beautiful.

  ‘You know your way around, don’t you?’ she said.

  He had his back to her but she saw him nod and then seem to forget she was there. It was very clever of him, because now she could take the shots she really wanted. But she couldn’t quite work Dev out. One minute he seemed to be almost suspicious of her and the next so very helpful. Why?

  During a short break in the game he got to his feet and came across to her. ‘It’s a game we’ve played for centuries. We used it to teach young men war tactics and strategy.’

  ‘Is that something you’re good at? Tactics, I mean?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘So what are you doing here today?’

  ‘I’ve just been doing a spot of hawking with Jay. Please don’t make life harder for him, Miss Fraser. He doesn’t have an easy time of it here as it is, and I’m not sure that his spending time with you will benefit his already troubled relationship with Chatur.’

  ‘Is Chatur really so powerful?’

  He nodded. ‘I’m afraid he is. Anyway, on another note Jay tells me you once lived in India.’

  ‘Just in Delhi when I was a child, but after my father died we went back to live in England.’

  He was looking at his feet and stubbing his toe into some pebbles, and didn’t speak.

  ‘Well, thank you for helping me,’ Eliza said. ‘I appreciate it.’ And she turned to pack up her things.

  The next day she found herself alone with Jayant again. This time she was climbing into an open-top sidecar attached to a motorcycle. She hadn’t known Jay would be the one to accompany her to the Indian village but apparently he had offered to do it, which surprised and delighted her. Today he wore a long Indian-style tunic shirt with European trousers, both in charcoal grey, and on his skin there was the faint scent of sandalwood, just like Laxmi, but with a tang of cedar too and maybe limes.

  ‘I like the motorbike,’ she said.

  ‘I used to have a 1925 Brough Superior but it was stolen earlier this year. This is a Harley-Davidson.’

  As they got going, sand rose in clouds from the wheels of the bike, but she focused on the road ahead and, only after she’d recovered from the strange feeling of self-consciousness, she decided to use it as an opportunity. There was so much she still didn’t know about Jay and about his world. Sometimes a kind of darkness surrounded him, but there was joy and vigour in him too, though there was also an edge. Definitely an edge.

  ‘I hope you’re not going to tell me this is another journey of several days?’ she shouted up at him.

  He laughed. ‘It’s really not so far, there and back by tea time, but there’s a great deal to see. It’s a perfect rural village and you’ll be able to see how life is lived and hopefully capture some interesting faces. It’s also where Indi came from.’

  As they rode through the Rajput countryside the air was still surprisingly moist. Eliza spotted goats grazing in the middle of the road, and they passed camels and buffaloes; it made her realize how quickly she was becoming acclimatized to this new world. She loved the smells of the desert sands and the wind blowing through her hair and the way it seemed to fill her up with the thing she had been missing for so long.

  ‘The simple life continues here as it has for many centuries,’ Jay shouted above the noise of the engine. ‘Craftspeople weave rugs of camel hair, as they always have, and make water pots of local clay. I like to come this way for the birds.’

  ‘You’re a birdwatcher?’

  ‘Not really, but we’re on the migratory path of many species. If you keep your eyes peeled, you’ll spot parakeets and peafowl.’

  The whole time he was talking Eliza was thinking and appreciating a new kind of excitement about life that she’d never experienced before. Every time they met, something new about him surprised her.

  ‘If we go out to Olvi lake there are waterfowl, herons, kingfishers, grebes and waders. Sometimes demoiselle cranes.’

  ‘Stop,’ she said with a laugh. ‘I’ve got a head full of sand and heat. It’s too much to take in and I can’t hear properly over the noise of the bike.’

  At that moment she spotted an animal she’d never seen before and he stilled the engine.

  ‘It’s the chinkara, an Asian gazelle, though you’re likely to see more black buck here.’ But he seemed distracted and paused as if thinking something through. ‘While it’s true that much of ordinary life is unchanged, for us – the rulers – you have to understand that the British have supplanted our powers with their own system of indirect rule.’

  She frowned but felt encouraged enough to question him. ‘But I don’t understand why the Princes signed the treaties with the British. Why did they give so much away?’

  ‘Rajputs originally came from beyond this region and needed to conquer lands that then became theirs. Everything came down to kinship and clan and the pursuit of territory. The different clans constantly fought each other in the hope of acquiring even more land and wealth. Our military strength increased through marriages arranged between different clans.’

  ‘At home the aristocracy only marry each other too. Weak chins, you know!’

  He laughed.

  ‘The British offered to take on the responsibility of safeguarding our territories, but in exchange we had to act in subordination to them.’

  ‘Strange that you agreed.’

  ‘I think we were sick of fighting each other and of how much it cost us. Your people used to fear challenges from the princely states, so they kept us isolated from each other. It’s a little better now that they are more sympathetic towards a co-operative relationship.’

  ‘We’re very different, aren’t we?’ she said. ‘The British and the Rajputs, I mean.’

  ‘Absolutely, though the British like the notion of nobility. But the differences are hard for some of us to assimilate. Educated in England, men lose their way when they come back to India and, with no real purpose, they turn to drink.’

  ‘And you?’

  He laughed. ‘A foot in both worlds and no real place in either. My brother is happy to be a fancy-dress Prince. Not I.’

  They were silent for a few moments, during which time Eliza turned it over in her mind and he lit a cigarette. She climbed out of the sidecar to stretch her legs, then watched him as he smoked sitting astride the bike. His hair was dishev
elled from the wind and his left hand was smeared with oil. He wiped it carelessly on his trousers, then smiled at her. He was a complex man who had spoken light-heartedly about his life but she didn’t believe he could be happy to live in such an aimless way. Though he was full of ease and charm, she guessed there was more to it.

  ‘But you are not happy either,’ he said, as if he had read her thoughts.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, feeling suddenly irritable. This was too close to the bone. Also the fresh moistness had left the air and the increasing heat was making her cross.

  ‘There’s something about you that suggests detachment, though I am beginning not to believe it.’

  ‘That’s rather blunt,’ she said, and made an effort not to sound upset. ‘And hardly any of your business.’

  There was a slight pause.

  ‘I told you: I’m not British.’

  ‘Clearly!’

  ‘The British think we have mended our wicked ways,’ he said, ‘but some of the old customs have simply gone underground.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I’m thinking of Indi, I suppose. And what could so easily have happened to her.’

  Eliza frowned.

  ‘She came to the castle because her grandmother once helped save my life. My mother gave her grandmother a miniature painting as thanks, and told her if she ever needed help to bring the miniature to the castle and ask for the Maharani.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Indi learnt to copy it.’

  ‘With the help of a Thakur?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But what might have happened to her?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later. We need to get going now.’

  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘before we go I’ve been wondering if I should say anything, but Devdan warned me off spending time with you, said I could cause trouble with Chatur.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘The thing is, I saw something at the polo match where you got hurt. I haven’t spoken of it before because I thought it might just have been my imagination, but I saw Chatur with another man seemingly laughing at your fall. I wondered if …’