The World Beyond

by Sangeeta Bhargava

‘Let’s take him to another world, to a world beyond the reach of hatred and brutality,’ Rachael added.

  Salim took Rachael’s hand in his and kissed it tenderly. He looked up when he heard the shuffling of feet near the door.

  ‘Have the others left?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Yes,’ Rachael whispered.

  A soft smile spread across his face as his thoughts turned once more to his baby.

  Salim knew it was a bright sunny day. He could sense an orange glow through his vacant eyes as he entered the church. He fidgeted with his collar as he waited in front of the altar, with Ahmed beside him. It was cool inside the church. He could smell incense, candles burning and fresh roses and lilies. The church bells began to ring and someone started playing the organ.

  ‘She’s here,’ Ahmed whispered as he nudged Salim with his elbow.

  ‘What’s she doing?’ Salim asked.

  ‘She’s entering the church slowly, on Ram Singh’s arm. He’s feeling ill at ease in a suit,’ he chortled.

  Salim wiped the sweat from his brow.

  ‘Nervous, Salim mia?’

  ‘Ya Ali, why should I be nervous? I’m not a girl,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Tell me, how’s she looking?’

  ‘Like a lovely orange jalebi, dipped in lots of syrup,’ Ahmed gushed.

  Salim shook his head in exasperation. ‘Ya Ali, tell me the colour of the dress she’s wearing.’

  ‘It’s orange, the colour of kesar …’

  Salim covered his mouth. ‘Yes! I knew it. She must look like the sun at dawn, slowly rising in the east, to start a new day, a new life.’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  RACHAEL

  Rachael looked around the church pensively. It was a small deserted church. Two candles burnt at the altar. All except the first row of pews were empty. Since she was a little girl she had imagined walking into a packed church on Papa’s arms, a large banquet and lots of dancing.

  ‘My Rachael’s wedding’s going to be so grand the whole of Lucknow will be talking about it for days. Even the nabob,’ Papa used to say.

  She fidgeted with her veil as she heard Salim ask Ahmed what she was wearing. Today, more than ever, she wished he could see. She wanted him to see his bride. Why, oh why, Papa, did you do it? And what was worse, he didn’t regret it. ‘I could have done worse. I could have killed him. After all, he was a rebel,’ he had said.

  She stole a look at Salim. He looked charming in a cream angarkha with fine gold embroidery and cream wide-bottomed pyjamas. His cap and pointed shoes were the same colour and were also embroidered in gold. He had tied a black cloth over his eyes, which gave him a mysterious charm.

  Rachael looked at Mother. She had promised she would come for the wedding when she went to invite her. Since her outburst that day in Alambagh, Mother was making an effort to reach out to her daughter. She still wasn’t able to display her affections much, but the ice that had gathered around her heart all those years ago was slowly melting. She did not approve of her marrying a native, and him an invalid too, but agreed to go with whatever Rachael wanted. Earlier Rachael would have put it down to indifference. But now she knew it was her way of saying that in Rachael’s happiness lay her happiness.

  Mother looked at her just then and their eyes met. She smiled and gesticulated that Rachael was looking lovely. Rachael smiled back at her. The priest commenced the sermon and she turned back to look at the altar.

  He was now reading the marriage vows. Rachael’s hands shook a little as she put the ring on Salim’s finger.

  After they were pronounced man and wife, the small party traipsed back to the country house.

  Rachael walked over to the basin. The room used to be a guest bedroom. Now it was being used as a changing room for the bride. She splashed some cold water on her face. She hoped the nikaahnama would be over soon so she could slip into some light cotton garments.

  ‘The moulvi is here … are you ready?’ said Daima, coming into the room.

  Rachael blushed as Daima looked her over from head to toe.

  ‘My, how lovely you look … I’m sure Chote Nawab couldn’t take his eyes off you,’ said Daima. Then realising what she had just said, she became sober. She gave her a box carved intricately in silver and lined with velvet. ‘Open it … It’s yours.’

  Rachael opened the box. There was a magnificent gold necklace inlaid with rubies and diamonds with matching earrings and bracelets.

  ‘This is beautiful, Daima. But I can’t accept it.’

  ‘You can’t say no, as it belongs to you … It has merely been in my safe keeping for the last eighteen-odd years.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  Daima smiled. ‘When Salim was about five, he saw me getting dressed on Eid … my husband was alive then … Salim saw this necklace … Janab-e-Alia had given it to me as a wedding present … I was about to put it on when he said, “I want to wear it.” I said to him, “This is a girl’s necklace … everyone will tease you and call you a girl if you wear it.” He pouted … I could not see him sad … so I said to him, “I’ll give this necklace to your wife, all right, Chote Nawab?” He nodded … A few days later, when I wore the same necklace for a wedding, he scolded me: “Daima, why are you wearing my wife’s necklace?” … After that I never wore it again.’

  Rachael hugged the old woman. ‘I don’t know what to say. Thank you. Thank you ever so much.’

  Daima led her into the living room. The room had been divided into two by curtains. Rachael sat down demurely on the takhat with Daima. The moulvi was seated with Salim and Ahmed on the other side of the curtain. He began reading the nikaahnama. She couldn’t comprehend a word of what he was saying. She looked at Daima bewildered.

  ‘Don’t worry … just imitate me,’ said Daima.

  Daima lowered her head. Rachael lowered hers. Daima nodded. Rachael nodded as well.

  Just then the moulvi’s daughter appeared at the door and gestured to Daima. Daima nodded, then waved at her. Rachael nodded and waved. Daima smacked her head lightly. Rachael stuck out her tongue and grinned.

  The nikaah was soon over and food was served. Rachael was still eating when Mother approached her. ‘I ought to leave now or your papa will get suspicious.’ She clutched her hands. ‘You must leave Lucknow soon. Tomorrow night. Somebody whispered to your father that you’re planning to marry Salim. He’s been looking for him since.’

  ‘Yes, Mother, we’ll leave tomorrow.’

  ‘I shall be here at midnight.’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’

  Later that night, Rachael looked at Salim as he sat back against the oblong pillow and locked his hands behind his head. She put her head on his lap. Salim placed his hand gently, then firmly, on her belly. ‘My son,’ he said possessively. ‘We’ll call him Rahim. “Ra” from RayChal and “im” from Salim.’

  ‘What about the “h”?’

  ‘Ya Ali, let the poor child have at least one letter that he can call his own.’

  Rachael laughed. ‘And pray tell me, what is my say in the matter?’

  He caught hold of a tendril of her hair and twirled it around his finger. ‘My love, you will get to fill his life with a ray of sunshine, the sound of music and the fragrance of love.’

  Rachael smiled. Rahim. Son of Rachael and Salim. She liked the name. Walking over to the mirror, she looked at her reflection. Her stomach was still flat. She could not feel him at all. But she knew he was there, growing steadily. Soon she would feel him move, feel him hiccuping, feel his kicks, which would become stronger with each passing day.

  ‘I think we’d better get some sleep tonight. I know not how long it’ll be before we’re able to get a good night’s sleep again.’

  He clasped her hands. ‘A groom is supposed to give his wife a present on this special night. But I have nothing.’

  ‘But you already have,’ she replied as she placed his hand on the necklace she wore.

  Salim felt the gold, the smoothness of the rubies, the
diamonds. ‘Is it? Ya Ali, it’s the necklace. Daima remembered? She still had it?’

  Rachael ruffled his hair. ‘You were just five! How sweet. You’re blushing. You’re actually blushing.’ She placed something in his hands. ‘I’ve something for you as well.’ She watched him as he ran his fingers over the holes.

  ‘It’s the flute I gave you,’ he said.

  ‘Play it,’ she said softly. ‘It’s been so long since we heard the sound of music. Pray bring it back into our lives.’

  Salim put the flute to his lips. She watched him, fascinated. She had not seen him so serene for a long time. It was as though he was in a trance. There was so much pain, so much passion and longing in the tune he played. Tears sprang to her eyes and flowed down her cheeks.

  The room went quiet as he finished playing. ‘That was heart-wrenching, Salim,’ she said. He merely patted her hand and put down the flute.

  Rachael walked over to the window and opened it. The crescent moon hung low in the sky. A refreshing breeze wafted in. So too did the sound of hyenas howling in the distance. The smell of leftover food emanated from the kitchen. She wondered what it must feel like to sleep outside.

  As though reading her mind, Salim said, ‘You know, when I was about four or five, I’d often sleep on the terrace with Daima on nights like this. It used to be heavenly. The moist breeze from the Gomti lulled us to sleep and the sweet call of the peacocks woke us up. I’d lie there until late at night, counting the stars. Daima would point to the brightest of the lot. “See that star,” she’d say. “She’s your princess. You’ll marry her some day.” I would look at her perplexed and say, “What? Marry a star?” And she’d reply, “Don’t worry, she’ll come down to earth when the time is right.”’

  Rachael laughed and turned away from the window. ‘So I’m a star?’

  ‘Yes,’ Salim whispered. ‘My guiding star.’

  ‘Oh Salim, I love you,’ she said as she slipped her arms around him.

  He cupped her face in his hands. ‘I can’t live without you, RayChal. I don’t think I would have survived without you.’

  Rachael stepped out of the country house, a bag in hand. Salim, Ahmed and Mother were already there. Ayah was helping Daima put the pitaras and bags in the carriage. Rachael glanced at Mother – how frail and white she looked in the moonlight. Dropping her bag, she went and hugged her.

  ‘It’s a pity you’ve got to leave like this. Without saying goodbye to your father. He loves you, you know,’ said Mother.

  ‘I know. But I also love Salim,’ Rachael replied.

  Mother fidgeted with the lace on her collars, then licked her lips. ‘I, too, love you. Always have … Just wasn’t good at expressing it.’

  Rachael took her hands in hers. She pursed her lips and held back her tears. It was a pity – just when she was beginning to know her mother’s love, they had to part. ‘I know, Mother,’ she said, pressing her hands. ‘I can feel it. Pray do not worry about me. I shall write to you once we settle down.’

  She hugged her hard. Mother held her for a long moment, sobbing softly. Finally she kissed her forehead and let her go.

  Rachael swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat and turned towards Ayah who had stepped forward to touch her feet. She pulled her up and embraced her. Mother coughed uncomfortably and walked away a few paces.

  ‘I’ll miss you, Ayah, I’ll miss you so,’ she sobbed.

  ‘Hush, baba,’ Ayah whispered in a hoarse voice. ‘You mustn’t cry. You starting new life. You start it with happy thoughts. No tears.’

  Rachael nodded. ‘Give my love to Ram Singh and Brutus. I wish I could see them before going.’

  ‘You no worry, baba. I tell them. We be fine.’ She touched Rachael’s belly gently. ‘You write letter when baby coming. I come to help.’

  Rachael smiled and nodded as she walked over to the carriage. She climbed into it, followed by Daima. She watched Salim hug Ahmed and thump his back.

  ‘Take care, Salim mia. Inshah Allah we shall meet again,’ said Ahmed, as he helped him onto the carriage.

  ‘Of course we will, Ahmed.’

  The carriage trundled down the grieving streets. They were now in Lucknow, passing through Chowk. Rachael remembered how she had been jostled by the crowd three years back as she made her way to Bade Miyan’s shop. The street was bare now, the silence unnatural. The shops were either shuttered or broken and bare. A pariah dog, the sole inhabitant of the bazaar, looked up at the sound of the carriage, then went back to drinking the muddy water in the drain.

  Rachael touched Salim’s hand as she remembered the first time his had touched hers, in this same bazaar. Salim pressed her hand reassuringly. She wondered what was going through his head.

  He started singing softly:

  ‘Babul mora naihar chuto hi jaye,

  Chaar kahar mil mori doliya sajave,

  Mora apna begana chuto jaye.’

  ‘It sounds beautiful. Pray tell me what it means.’

  Salim’s lips moved as he began to recite: ‘“O father, I’m leaving my home behind, four men have gathered to lift my palanquin. My near and dear ones will soon become strangers, my home unreachable …” Abba Huzoor wrote these lines when he was leaving Lucknow.’

  Rachael looked at him. His face was blank as he stared straight ahead. She brushed aside her tears with the back of her hand. She looked around at the city she was leaving behind. A city that had resounded with the sound of dance and music, poetry and revelry, a city she had grown to love with its numerous palaces and gardens. In their stead stood ruins and innumerable slums and a silence so loud as to tear one’s heart apart.

  And for once she was glad Salim could not see.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  SALIM

  Salim plucked the strings of the sitar one by one. No, the last one didn’t sound right. He tightened it and listened to it again. Yes, brilliant. He played the tune he had composed the night before. Then put down the sitar with a satisfied smile. Yes, it would be the perfect piece to play at the finale of the concert. He leant back against the window sill and listened. He loved this time of the day, when his little cottage slowly woke up and started getting ready, while he sat in front of the huge window, practising his music.

  He could hear little Haydn. He was banging the door. ‘Melody, hurry up, I need to go badly.’

  ‘Come along all of you, breakfast is getting cold,’ Rachael called.

  ‘Stand still, Sargam,’ Daima grumbled. ‘How many times have I told you to stand still when I plait your hair?’

  Yes, he had settled down in his new life in Nainital. Sooner than Rachael had expected. Perhaps it was his stoicism that had helped. Or perhaps it was the strength he drew from Rachael’s presence …

  He was content, surrounded by RayChal and his four children. Even the children in the neighbourhood loved him. They called him ‘pirate uncle’ because of the black patches he wore over his eyes. But once in a while, when it rained heavily and memories invaded his brain like the children invaded the kitchen cupboards as soon as they got back home from school, he thought of his life in Lucknow, of Abba Huzoor, Ahmed …

  He had gone to Lucknow a year back with the children and had enquired about Ahmed. No one had seen him for a week. Together with some of the neighbours, Salim had broken into his house. He had found Ahmed’s dead body on the floor. Apart from the velvet curtain that hung over the doorway, the house had been bare. Everything had been sold. Ahmed had been too proud to admit that he did not have enough money to buy food and had died of starvation.

  Salim swallowed. He heard a patter of feet and the scraping of chairs as his family gathered around the dining table for breakfast. Soon all of them would be off to school, giving him a couple of hours to practise for the concert before his students arrived.

  Sometimes he wished he could see again – watch Rahim play cricket, watch Melody’s golden pigtails bob up and down whenever she ran, or see how little Haydn’s face reddened whenever he spo
ke.

  He wondered what RayChal looked like. Had her hair begun to turn grey? Did she have lines around her mouth and eyes? She would look beautiful even when she was ninety, he was sure of that. She still smelt of lavender and fresh starch. And kept her hair long. Did she still fiddle with her ring?

  Salim sighed, covered his eyes with his palms and groaned loudly, ‘Ya Ali.’ Rachael was at his side within seconds. ‘Salim, what happened?’ She tugged at his hands. ‘Oh pray tell me you’re all right.’

  Salim gave a sudden roguish grin and pulled her onto his lap. ‘You haven’t given me a kiss all morning!’

  ‘Oh, you wicked …’ She boxed his chest playfully as she scrambled to free herself from his grip. ‘Pray let me go. I haven’t finished preparing for my lecture today.’

  ‘What are you teaching?’

  ‘We are doing Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.’

  ‘Ah, I could help you with that. I could even act it out for you.’

  Rachael pulled his nose. ‘That’s kind of you, Mr Romeo, but no thanks.’

  He smiled. He knew she was smiling and crinkling up her nose as she ran to collect her notes.

  ‘Rahim, Haydn, hurry up and get your bags, otherwise we’ll be late today,’ she called over her shoulder. Soon the sound of feet running down the steps died down and Salim went back to his music. His forehead creased in concentration as the strains of Raaga Bhairavi wafted across the room.

  Author’s Note

  All the main characters in The World Beyond are fictitious, other than Nawab Wajid Ali Shah, the last ruler of Avadh, and his wife Begum Hazrat Mahal, who played a prominent role during the uprising of 1857.

  Nawab Wajid Ali Shah did not come back to Lucknow after he left the city in March 1856. He built a mini-city called Metia Burj on the outskirts of Calcutta, where he lived until his death in 1887.