She cupped his face in her hands and felt his stubble prick her fingers and palm. Salim looked at her, gently removed her hands and walked abruptly to the earthenware pot. He poured himself a glass of water, which he drank noisily, spilling some on his chin. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he walked back to where she stood, watching his every move. She smiled as he put his hand in his pocket, two lines appearing between his eyebrows. He held out his fist in front of her. She looked at him, questioning.
‘Go on, open it.’
Now what game was he playing, she wondered as she slowly opened his fist. He offered no resistance. As she pulled back his fingers, seven rings with seven jewels sparkled cheerily at her. Jade, sapphire, amethyst, diamond, ruby, topaz and emerald.
‘A ring to match your every dress,’ he said, as he put them on the bed beside her. Then he picked up the sapphire ring.
‘And this one to match your eyes.’ So saying he knelt down before her. ‘RayChal, will you marry me?’
Rachael turned red and clasped her face with her hands. She looked at him. His eyes were hypnotic, imploring. She could not look away.
‘Oh Salim, yes I will.’
‘I swear to you, by everything I hold sacred, that I will never marry again. You will be the only begum in my harem,’ he said, as he slowly slid the ring on her finger.
Rachael looked at the ring, then at his mesmerising gaze and whispered, ‘Salim, even if you had asked me to be your one hundred and twenty-first wife, I would have said yes.’
He got up slowly, his eyes not leaving her face even for a moment, and took her in a tight embrace. ‘Oh Ray …’ he whispered passionately, his voice muffled by her hair. He kissed her forehead, her eyes, her nose, her cheeks. He tried to move closer to kiss her lips, but broke off with a curse.
‘What is this?’ he asked in frustration.
Rachael laughed. ‘It’s the hoops, the crinoline.’
‘It seems more like a chas—’
‘Like a what?’ Rachael raised her eyebrows, smiling mischievously, her nose crinkling.
‘Never mind. You’re a lady and I mustn’t say it in front of you.’
‘What must you say, then?’ she asked as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
He came closer. ‘Your skin is glowing in this candlelight. Just like Noor Jehan’s.’
‘Who’s she?’
‘She’s this beautiful, graceful woman I met yesterday …’
Rachael glared at him. ‘What?’
He threw back his head and laughed. ‘She was Jahangir’s wife. Remember the story I told you about Salim and Anarkali?’
‘Oh yes. The one where that poor girl was buried alive?’
‘Yes, same prince. Legend has it that when Salim – or Jahangir, as he was later known – when his wife Noor Jehan ate paan, you could see the orange-red juice going down her throat, so clear and transparent was her skin.’
Rachael blushed. She put her head on Salim’s shoulder, twirling the ends of her hair with one hand. ‘I wonder what we’ll look like on our wedding day. You in your angarkha and me in my white bridal—’
‘Not white,’ Salim interjected.
‘Pray tell me why not? You want me to wear red?’
‘No.’ Salim’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Orange. The colour of fire. Do you know, when the sunlight touches your hair …’ He paused momentarily as he playfully covered his face with her hair. ‘It looks as though it’s on fire. You’ll look radiant in orange. Like the goddess of fire.’
‘Oh Salim,’ Rachael sighed as she sat down on the bed. ‘Do you think it’ll happen?’
Salim sat down beside her. He moved closer, his lips just an inch away from hers.
‘Salim.’
‘I love you.’
‘I love you too, Salim.’
‘Don’t stop me today, RayChal. Your lips have been made for kissing.’
‘Oh Salim,’ she groaned as his lips covered hers. Her heart was thumping so loudly, she could scarce hear her own voice.
Rachael stood under the arched doorway and tried to focus. It was a starless, moonless night. Salim was waiting for her at the bottom of the steps beside a carriage. He sprinted up the stairs as soon as he saw her, took her hand in his and led her towards the vehicle that was to take her to her parents. Neither of them spoke. Halfway down the stairs Rachael stopped and looked back. The palace loomed over her. It looked majestic, even though shrouded in darkness. She saw a silhouette against the window upstairs. She waved. The shadow waved back. It was Daima.
She stopped abruptly as she reached the last stair. Someone was tugging her chador. Her face went white as she slowly turned around. She was relieved to find it was just Salim, who had stepped on it. ‘Oh dear,’ she exclaimed as it slid to the ground.
With a sigh of exasperation Salim picked it up and draped it around her head and shoulders. ‘Well, it’s not exactly how it’s supposed to be, but it’s better than what you had done,’ he said.
Rachael grinned and stepped into the carriage. They rode in silence for a while, the clippity-clop of the horses’ hooves echoing through the still night. She almost fell off her seat as the carriage came to an abrupt halt and she looked questioningly at Salim. He was equally clueless why it had stopped. The coachman was hitting the horse with his whip and coaxing it to move on. Rachael listened. She could hear some voices and footsteps approaching. She looked at Salim anxiously. His forehead was covered with beads of perspiration.
The voices came closer. They were boisterous. Must be drunk. They were now talking to the coachman.
‘Where you off to in the middle of the night?’ said one of the voices.
‘Stolen goods?’ asked a second, laughing.
‘Or opium?’ guffawed a third voice.
Salim let out a sigh of relief. He gestured to her to cover her face with the chador. She did as she was told.
Salim lifted the curtain of his window. ‘Anything the matter?’ he barked authoritatively.
The sepoys peered at his face in the darkness, then hastily backed away. ‘Salaam, Chote Nawab,’ they said in unison, raising their right hands to their foreheads in a salute.
‘Nothing, Chote Nawab … nothing at all,’ said one of the sepoys.
‘Sorry, Chote Nawab, we didn’t know it was you,’ said another.
Rachael continued to sit still as she heard the shuffling of feet. Soon the voices died away.
Salim was now looking at the coachman. ‘What is the matter?’ he asked in a clipped tone.
‘Horse not moving, Huzoor,’ the coachman replied.
‘Don’t just sit there,’ barked Salim. ‘Do something.’
‘Yes, My Lord,’ the coachman mumbled. He got off the carriage and began tugging at the horse’s reins. The horse still didn’t move.
Lifting the curtain, Rachael looked out. ‘Pray tell me why the coachman is gathering straw?’ she asked. Still looking out, she added, ‘Oh no, now he’s lighting a fire.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Salim replied. ‘It’s to frighten the horse.’
Sure enough, as soon as the horse felt the heat from the fire, it began to gallop. Rachael took another quick peek from the carriage window. It was still dark.
‘Don’t lift the curtain again,’ Salim chided.
‘But these streets don’t look familiar.’
‘He’s taking us through some by-lanes. It’s safer.’
Rachael hugged the chador. There was a slight nip in the air. Her muscles tensed as they neared her home. Salim had agreed to take her to the cantonment first but made her promise not to spend more than a few minutes there. She stepped out slowly and took a long look at what had been her home. It looked like the ruins of an ancient monument. Not a house that had been bustling with life just a few months back. She blinked back her tears as Salim pressed her hand reassuringly.
She made her way through the tall wild weeds that had taken over the garden, shouting, ‘Brutus! Brutus!’ Where was he? She walked back to Salim
and clutched his arm, her nails digging into it. ‘I think he’s—’
Then she heard it, the familiar bark. A second later he was all over her. He knocked her down in his excitement as he licked her face, her nose, her hands. Rachael laughed as tears rolled down her cheeks. She hugged and kissed him over and over again. ‘Oh my baby, I’m so glad you’re safe. I’m so glad. Thank you, thank you, God.’
‘Missy baba?’
‘Ram Singh! So good to see you. How is Sudha? How is Ayah? Have you any news of my parents?’ She patted Brutus who was now busy playing with her arm as though it were a bone.
‘Her relatives took her away. We fear the worst.’
Rachael got up, brushing away the mud and grass from her dress. She turned her back to Salim and Ram Singh, covered her mouth with her right hand as tears rolled down her cheeks. She remembered how brutally Sudha’s relatives had treated her the last time she saw her. But, even so, it couldn’t be true. No, nothing could happen to Sudha. She was meant to be with her always. God couldn’t take her away just like that. They had shared so much. She understood her needs even more than her own mother did.
Rachael felt a hand touch her shoulder. It was Salim. ‘I’m sure she’s fine,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll look for her.’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ Rachael sniffed. She turned to Ram Singh. ‘My parents?’
‘Don’t know, baba. That day they have to leave in hurry. Parvati go with them. I go to look for you. Sudha stay here to look after house.’ He paused, staring straight ahead, as though reliving the horrors of that day. ‘Sorry, baba. The mob stop me. I can’t go to you. When I get back here, house empty, burning. It takes me long time to put out fire. Very long time. But finally I do it.’
Nodding her head quietly, Rachael walked into the house. Salim’s arm came around her protectively. She was too full of emotions to protest.
Much of the furniture was charred. All the books, the curtains, the clothes were now ash. She picked up the book from what had been her bedside table. The edges were black, but she could decipher the title. P.B. Shelley it said. She was aware of Salim’s eyes on her. She tried to smile and crinkled up her nose to keep those brimming tears at bay.
She yelped as she entered the living room. ‘My piano!’
Yes, it was intact. Salim and Ram Singh helped her to remove the rubble that had fallen over it and thus prevented it from getting burnt. She lifted the lid and began playing like a woman possessed. As she played, Brutus put his snout up in the air and let out a loud howl, then another and yet another. All of them burst out laughing.
‘I wasn’t aware we had a Tansen in our midst,’ Salim remarked.
‘Tan who?’
‘Tansen was one of the greatest singers of Hindustan.’
‘Then we shall have to rename Brutus. Tansen Brutus, how’s that?’
Brutus liked his new name. He wagged his tail and licked Salim’s hand.
‘Missy baba, I find Brutus under a pile of debris that fallen over his kennel and knock him unconscious. I have to make muzzle to put over his mouth whenever I hear crowd passing.’
Rachael held his hands. ‘Thank you, Ram Singh. Thank you ever so much.’
‘RayChal, we ought to leave now. Otherwise we might miss your parents. It’ll take us a while to get to Dilkusha.’
‘You no worry, baba. You go look for sahib and memsahib. I keep taking care of house and Brutus. I also put all money, gold, jewellery in trunk and bury it in bottom of garden. When riots finish, you come back for them.’
‘You are a good man, Ram Singh. Take care of yourself,’ Rachael said.
She then bent down and patted Brutus one last time. Sighing, she stepped into the carriage.
Rachael sighed again as she heard Brutus barking and running after the carriage. She was about to lift the curtain but Salim’s hand shot out to stop her.
‘It’s not safe,’ he said. ‘Daylight is breaking. We must be careful.’
She wished she could take Brutus with her. Salim had said her parents were leaving for Cawnpore. When would they come back to Lucknow? Everything was so uncertain. If only the Company had treated the Indians better. If only the sepoys had not revolted. If only …
She looked at Salim. He was looking at the engagement ring that he had put on her finger last night. He rubbed the sapphire with his thumb wistfully.
‘I have something to tell you,’ he said.
‘Yes?’
He cleared his throat and looked at her hesitantly. ‘You know this rising. This war between the sepoys and the Company …’
‘Don’t I know! It’s kept me away from my family for all these months.’
‘You weren’t happy in my palace?’
‘No, no. That’s not what I meant.’
Salim lowered his gaze. ‘Well …’ He started smoothing the folds of his angarkha. ‘I’m part of it.’
Rachael stared at him. He did not meet her gaze.
‘What?’
‘You heard me,’ he answered quietly.
‘You’ve been fighting with the rebels against the English?’ Rachael asked with disbelief. ‘Pray tell me it’s not true.’
‘I’m afraid it is.’
‘I had no idea. So I have been living with the enemy.’
‘But Ray—’
‘All those rebels firing at the Residency. You were one of them?’
Salim nodded.
‘Even after you came to know my parents were there?’
‘Ya Ali, it had nothing to do with your parents, RayChal. We’re fighting for a cause, for justice, for what rightly belongs to us. Surely you can understand that.’
Rachael wrung her arms in despair. ‘They’re my people, Salim, my family. I cannot not support them!’
Salim did not say anything but stared straight ahead.
‘And now you’re telling me? After you’ve proposed to me? How could you, Salim, how could you?’
The carriage stopped. Rachael lifted the curtain and looked out of the window. They had reached Dilkusha – the summer palace of the nabob and the imperial hunting grounds. At the moment it looked more like an army camp. She could see the tent doors flapping in the breeze.
She alighted from the carriage and looked around. She saw Papa talking to one of the soldiers and sprinted towards him. ‘Papa,’ she cried as she embraced him. He looked haggard. He seemed to have aged suddenly.
‘Oh heavens, my princess,’ he said, as he looked at her for a long moment then hugged her again. ‘I can’t believe it’s you. We thought we’d lost you. How did you reach here? Where were you all these days?’
‘Oh Papa, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.’ She walked back to where Salim stood.
‘I hate you, Salim. I never want to see your face again. You’re deplorable.’
Salim gripped her arms urgently. ‘But RayChal, let me explain.’
Rachael looked at him and their eyes met. His eyes were beseeching, hurting, repentant. She hastily looked away. Then jerking his hands away from her arms, she turned on her heels and walked away.
She saw the look of concern on Papa’s face. He was just a few paces behind her and had witnessed the exchange between her and Salim.
‘Rachael, what happened, poppet?’ he asked.
‘Papa, I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Did he harass you?’
‘Worse,’ she replied as she stomped off towards the group breakfasting under the mango tree.
Yes, what Salim had done was worse than harassment. He had stolen her heart, made love to her and even proposed to her, while knowing there was no way she could marry a rebel.
Chapter Twenty-Six
SALIM
Dilkusha, the royal hunting grounds, looked more like an army barracks that day. The rows of happily growing carrots had been trampled on. There was no sign of the barking deer, the black buck or the sambar. Most of them had been roasted and washed down with alcohol by the English soldiers the previous night. A strange smell o
f decay and fresh food pervaded the air.
‘RayChal, wait,’ Salim cried out desperately, raising his hand to stop her. He let it fall limply to his side as one of the soldiers called out to her.
‘Rachael.’
‘Christopher.’
Salim watched her animated face as she chatted to Christopher. He felt a stab of jealousy as Christopher held her elbow and led her away. He stood transfixed, watching his life walk away. It was as though he were watching his own janaza, his own funeral.
He watched her as she weaved in and out among her own kind. She threw her head back and laughed at something Christopher said. Now she was clasping an old woman’s hands and smiling at her gently. Her Indian outfit looked conspicuous amidst the hooped skirts and crinoline dresses. But she was back where she belonged – a world where there was no place for him. He lowered his gaze, then looked back at her again. She was again talking to that Christopher. He felt like an outsider. Yes, she fitted in perfectly with them, he thought with a pang. Not in his harem. But then, she had adjusted so well in the palace as well, as though she had always lived there.
He sighed and licked his parched lips. She was oblivious that he still stood there. In the last few months they had come close to each other and he felt he knew her well. At least that’s what he had thought. And now, suddenly, she felt like a stranger again – he knew her no more.
His shoulders slumped as he turned to leave. A hand appeared out of nowhere and caught hold of his collar. It was Colonel Bristow. ‘How dare you lay your dirty brown paws on my daughter!’ he hissed.
‘I only—’
‘You’re even worse than I thought.’
‘I just escorted her here—’
‘And that’s precisely why I’m sparing your life. Else you’d be dead by now. Now get lost, you miserable wretch.’ So saying, he shoved him out of the gate and walked off.
Salim looked at his receding back, astounded. These firangis had a strange way of saying thank you.
Slowly he made his way back to the carriage. He sat hunched, gripping the edge of the seat with both hands, as the lonely carriage trundled over cobblestones. So what if she’s gone, he mused. He had a good life before he met her. And it would carry on the same as before. He grimaced. Who was he trying to fool? Life would never be the same again. She had changed it for ever. He swore under his breath. Never again would he get involved with a woman. Especially if she was English. This pain, this loss, this grief, it was simply not worth it.
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