He shook his head. ‘And what has your father done?’
‘I haven’t told Pappa because I fear his reaction. He’s a big man in the legal community. He might try to fix things, and then it would be worse.’
‘But the fellows who are bothering you are absolute bastards!’ Cyrus wiped a napkin across his mouth and tossed it beside his plate. ‘And they would be the ones you’d have to work with in the courts later on.’
‘Yes, most of them will practise here.’ Perveen hadn’t thought about this detail.
‘They won’t speak to you, although they might very well mock you when speaking to others.’ His voice was heavy with anger.
Perveen realized she’d confessed too much. Not because he’d tell anyone, but because he was making her think hard thoughts. ‘I’m not sure I should have told you. I’ve ruined our tea.’
‘Perveen, I—’ Cyrus stopped, and his fair skin reddened. ‘Sorry. I should call you Miss Mistry.’
‘Not if we’re cousins,’ she said archly.
Cyrus cocked a fist at her and laughed. ‘We’re both of us in the fight for our lives, aren’t we?’
‘What’s your fight?’ Now she was curious.
‘Ensuring the rest of my life isn’t dreadful.’ At her uncomprehending look, he added, ‘I’m talking about the heartless marriage arrangements driven by my parents.’
‘So you don’t wish to marry?’ As Perveen said the words, she hoped her emotions wouldn’t betray her. She’d been feeling regretful that she’d have only this one meeting with Cyrus, who would very likely be engaged within days.
‘I want to be with a woman who suits my taste, not theirs.’ He looked intently at her. ‘Can you believe there are just sixteen acceptable Bombay girls that my family was able to arrange meetings with? I’ve got to agree to one of them and hope she’ll bear two sons or more and keep everyone happy for the next half century.’
Perveen giggled.
‘What is it?’ He sounded irritated.
‘I thought there would be a thousand Parsi girls on your interview list. There are so many of us here.’
‘Not of the proper age, complexion, family. And then we have to think of the proper horoscope,’ he added with a grimace.
Perveen looked across the table at the young man who felt himself in a predicament but had achieved the work of his dreams and surely would be matched with a satisfactory woman. ‘Don’t feel sorry for yourself. My parents will arrange my marriage in a few years. It’s part of life.’
Firoze Yazdani reappeared to coax them to sample the cafe’s baked goods. Cyrus tried a sticky, golden dahitan. Perveen asked for the simpler baked mawa cake. Firoze added a complimentary date-and-almond pastry. Between the sweetness of sugar and the heat of tea, Perveen was beginning to feel renewed.
After Cyrus had forked up the last crumb, he pulled out a gold pocket watch. ‘Damnation! I was supposed to be at the Taj Mahal Palace twenty minutes ago. I’ll call for the bill.’
But Firoze wouldn’t give it to him. When Cyrus protested, Firoze said warmly, ‘The Mistrys always pay their bill monthly. Surely they will want to cover the cost of a relative’s meal.’
Perveen glanced at Firoze, who looked almost stern. She realized his putting the meal on her family’s tab was a way that he could remain her father’s ally. She might even have to explain if her father asked who had eaten so much with her that the bill was one rupee, three annas.
Sighing, she said, ‘It’s true. We never use money here. Let’s go outside, and I’ll introduce you to Ramchandra. Grandfather likes him so much he gifted him a cycle rickshaw from Hong Kong. Ramchandra is probably the only cycle-rickshaw driver in all of Bombay.’
‘Cycle rickshaws are everywhere in Calcutta,’ Cyrus said, walking her out of the restaurant. Then, he said firmly, ‘I must see you to home.’
‘You don’t.’ Perveen gestured towards Mistry House. ‘I’m just going across there.’
For a long moment, Cyrus gazed at the vast Gothic stone mansion. ‘That big place?’
‘My grandfather built it in 1875. He’s still there, staying in some rooms on the first floor now that his legs are weak.’
‘Not at home with you?’ Cyrus sounded confused.
‘We’d like him to stay with us, but he won’t leave. He vowed he would enjoy the house he built until the angels call him to their home.’
‘But it looks like a fortress!’
Perveen felt the familiar mix of pride and embarrassment over her family’s ancestral home. ‘I suppose so. But it was really built as a kind of exhibition piece.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My grandfather wished to show all of Bombay the artistry and quality he could offer. He hired James Fuller to draw the plans, the English architect who built the high court,’ Perveen added. ‘All the furniture is imported from Hong Kong or crafted by graduates of Sir Jeejeebhoy’s School of Art. It’s a bit much to live in, but it’s nice to use as a law office. My father’s practice is on the first floor.’
At last, a look of understanding passed over his face. ‘Your father and grandfather are together every day. That’s very good.’
‘I think so. And while my grandfather might seem like a show-off, he’s still got a labourer’s head. I’ve seen him glance at a perfect-looking pillar and know without even touching it if the wood inside is rotten.’
‘He sounds like an intelligent man,’ Cyrus said approvingly. ‘Will you show me more of Bombay tomorrow?’
Perveen looked at him incredulously. ‘How can you sightsee when you’ve got all the bridal meetings stacked up?’
‘My mother is a late sleeper, so my mornings are free.’
‘You’ll ruin your chances, and I’ll ruin my reputation.’ But inside, she couldn’t help feeling regretful that the only young man who’d ever asked her opinion of anything was passing so swiftly through her world.
‘Perhaps Esther or one of your friends could come with us?’ he suggested casually.
‘But it’s a Wednesday. We, I mean, they must attend classes.’
‘Then suggest what I should do. I’d like to get a full view of the Arabian Sea. We have a big port in Calcutta, but it’s crowded with ships and buildings. We’ve no swimming beaches.’
Perveen thought of Land’s End. It offered breathtaking views of the sea. However, it was north of the city and probably too far for him to find on his own. ‘Chowpatty Beach is easy enough. Any rickshaw-wallah will know the way.’
‘All right, I’ll go. But what will you do starting tomorrow, now that you’re not studying?’ Cyrus’s warm hazel eyes were fixed on her.
Perveen considered the question. She couldn’t stay home with a feigned illness for more than a day or two. Yet she didn’t feel ready to say she’d quit. Her father would go straight to the dean and send her back to classes.
No. For the time being it was wise to behave as if she were still studying and use the time to organize a plan.
‘But we must meet again!’ Cyrus said.
Perveen hesitated. ‘I’m in enough trouble. But if you want to say hello, I’ll be inside the Sassoon Library, which is just next to Elphinstone. I shall ride into town every morning with my father, just like always.’
His smile was glorious. ‘I shall bring my own book, and I promise not to ruin your reputation.’
Watching Cyrus Sodawalla leave the cafe and head towards the rickshaw stand, Perveen felt slightly dazed.
She’d started out the morning hating all young men. Then she’d become so angry with her law professor that she’d quit school. Finally, she’d gone to eat rice with a man she didn’t know. But Cyrus Sodawalla’s perspective had lifted her mood and helped her understand what was needed to be true to herself.
Cyrus was really something. She had never met anyone who was both handsome and straightforward. After their heartfelt conversation she doubted any arranged marriage candidates could hold a candle to him.
Perveen reminded herself of Est
her’s words. Cyrus Sodawalla was in Bombay to look exclusively for Parsi women under the age of eighteen. He couldn’t have eyes for anyone who wasn’t on his parents’ list.
5
LAND’S END
Bombay, August 1916
Sitting in the ladies’ car on the Western Line, Perveen ruminated on the various rules she was breaking. She was riding a train alone, which she’d never done before. She’d only ever ridden one in the company of chaperoning relatives or teachers. But this was hardly anything compared to her misdeeds of the past week.
She’d met Cyrus Sodawalla in the Sassoon Library garden three times. Then he had managed to have Esther Vachha invite her to join a chaperoned group of young people for a cinema matinee. Somehow Cyrus had wound up seated next to her at the show. The whole time she felt energy radiating out from his arm lying on the rest. He didn’t touch her, but she could not stop thinking about what that might feel like.
Today’s was the boldest rebellion. Cyrus had repeated his desire to go to the beach before his family left Bombay. She hadn’t asked him whether anyone else would come. She sensed that he wished to be alone with her to tell her the outcome of his marital interviews. Hearing about such dismal news at a place called Land’s End seemed fitting.
Stepping out of the darkness of Bandra station, Perveen saw Cyrus waiting. He was holding his fetah in one hand and had unbuttoned the neck of his jacket, giving him a comfortable look. He seemed a part of Bombay now. The crowds moved around him, not giving a second glance to the confident, young businessman.
‘Finally!’ he said happily as he greeted her. ‘I’ve been worrying for the last half hour about why it would take so long for you to travel one stop from Dadar to here.’
‘Sorry. I left from Churchgate station, not Dadar.’ She was still going to Elphinstone every morning, keeping her parents clueless.
‘I’ve been here since nine-thirty, but that’s given me time to find a suitable tonga. The driver said the best views are at the Bandra bandstand. What do you think?’
‘Let’s go!’
Perveen made small talk about Bandra’s history in the tonga, feeling nervous the driver might deduce that they weren’t married and either scold them or refuse to drive them any farther. She was relieved that Cyrus did not say anything personal. Instead, he brought up the news of the Sodawallas’ new contract to send bottled raspberry sodas to a restaurant in Bombay.
‘It’s very surprising, because there are plenty of soda factories in Bombay,’ he said. ‘But we’ve got the better price.’
‘Even with the cost of transportation added?’
‘They’ll have that cost split up in many small parts when they are billed,’ he said with a wink. ‘In any case, the contract’s signed.’
‘Might you stay in Bombay to expand the business?’
‘Not a chance. I’ve got to take over the operation in Calcutta when my father retires, which will very likely be in the next ten years.’
‘Won’t you tell me about your family?’ It was a question she loved to ask. She knew all about the Yazdanis’ dreams for young Lily, Gulnaz’s mother’s health problems and Hema’s competitive relationship with her perfect older sister.
‘There’s Nived, my elder brother. He’s well-married and settled in Bihar with a son and a daughter already.’
‘How nice. But your mother must miss her grandchildren.’
‘She does miss them,’ he said, smiling at the children playing alongside the road. ‘Nived had to leave when we bought a bottling plant in Bihar. My father sent him there to set up the business. He was the only one my father trusted to go. I was too young and about to start at Presidency College.’
‘Then you are the only two children?’ Perveen was intrigued by the similarities between her life and Cyrus’s.
Cyrus looked straight ahead as he spoke. ‘I had a younger sister, Azara, but she died at fourteen. It was the worst thing that ever happened to our family. It was another reason I didn’t marry at the typical age.’
‘What happened to her?’
At her question, Cyrus stiffened, making her realize she was intruding on too much pain.
‘Cholera,’ he muttered. ‘It was during monsoon. It’s common to fall sick when streets flood and filth is floating everywhere.’
‘I’m so sorry. I can only imagine what it’s like to lose a sibling. And so terribly young.’ Without realizing it, Perveen had put her hand atop Cyrus’s tight fist. He looked at her gratefully, relaxing his fingers so they could weave into hers.
Perveen felt light-headed: exultant yet terrified of this act committed so daringly in public. The tonga driver had his back to them, so he wouldn’t suspect, but when she glanced at the cart driver on their right, he glowered and curled his lip as if he considered her a harlot. Instead of averting her eyes, as she would have in the law classroom, she glared at the driver until he turned his head.
‘We’re all right now but very careful about cleanliness, especially during rainy season,’ Cyrus said soberly. ‘So many times I’ve tried to convince my parents to move somewhere less congested, but they would never move from Saklat Place because of the fire temple being close by.’
‘Are your parents quite observant?’
He nodded. ‘After losing Azara they found great comfort in the old prayers.’
‘Azara is such a lovely name. I don’t know anyone called that.’
‘It’s from Persian and means red. Just like the colour of those roses along the roadside.’ He sounded as if he was trying to divert her from the sad topic. ‘Bandra is quite beautiful.’
The tonga had been slowly and steadily climbing up Hill Road, passing pastel-painted, tiled-roof bungalows built in the Portuguese fashion. After they passed St Andrew’s Church, the sea spread out before them. What a picture it made—the vast, shimmering stretch of blue edged with sharp, black rocks. Seagulls wheeled overhead as if dancing on the winds.
‘Would you ask the driver to stop here?’ Perveen suggested, prudently releasing his hand from hers. ‘We’re very near the bandstand, where the best view is.’
He laughed. ‘Fair lady, your wish is my command.’
As Cyrus paid the bill, Perveen strained to hear the music from the bandstand. Happily she said, ‘It sounds like a military band. Let’s see how many players there are.’
‘I don’t know if we should. They’re always looking for men to join,’ Cyrus said with a laugh as they walked in step with the music.
‘Have you thought about enlisting?’ Perveen asked.
Cyrus snorted. ‘Even if I were demented enough, my father wouldn’t allow it. There’s no Parsi regiment.’
‘Or perhaps he’d rather not lose his son.’
‘I’ve seen enough of your bandstand,’ Cyrus said. ‘Let’s get our feet wet in the sea.’
‘I’ve been here with my family, but we’ve never walked down to the water,’ Perveen said, looking warily at the rocky landscape. ‘Straight from here it looks too difficult. But I’ve heard about people walking down through the watchtower ruins.’
When they reached the blackened arch in the fragment of a broken wall, they found they could get down close to the water by traversing steep, uneven land. Perveen was wearing sandals, so she had a more precarious journey than Cyrus, who was wearing sturdy, laced brogues. At the edge of the water both of them took off their shoes and held them in their hands, letting the cool seawater creep up past their ankles. A light current swirled and she realized that if she kept going deeper, the water could probably pull her into its luscious, cool embrace.
‘What are you thinking?’ Cyrus asked.
‘A dying man clutches at sea foam,’ she said. ‘Do you know that saying?’
Shaking his head, he said, ‘I don’t.’
‘It means a desperate man clutches at any straw.’
‘I never learnt to swim, given the hazardous nature of Calcutta’s Hooghly River.’ He turned to smile at her. ‘Make me stop talking about what
we can’t do. We must enjoy this day.’
Looking into Cyrus’s eyes, Perveen felt as if she were sinking into something deeper than water. His words were true. Although he would be gone in three days’ time, she would always have the memory of their secret excursion.
They walked about a mile along the sea’s edge investigating the tiny crabs crawling around the rocks and naming the storks, egrets and pigeons. All the birds hunting for a meal reminded Perveen it was after lunchtime, and she thought of saying something to Cyrus about going back up to buy a snack of bhel puri before returning to Bandra station. She wasn’t especially hungry, but she was nervous being so far from the city. And she didn’t want to cause complications for Cyrus, who surely would need to be back in south Bombay by mid-afternoon, as he usually did.
It was two-thirty, but Cyrus didn’t seem ready to leave. Perveen thought this might be an indication that his parents had settled on a bride.
The strong breeze ruffled Cyrus’s curly black hair. Privately, she admired this—as well as his noble profile. Cyrus, the ancient Persian king, had looked like this in the paintings she’d seen.
‘Let’s sit down,’ Cyrus suggested. ‘Look, that’s a nice place.’
The wide, flat rock was behind an outcropping of higher stone that shielded them from view of everyone at the bandstand, as well as the few fishermen with nets on the sand. Sitting down, Perveen felt the warmth of the stone underneath her, all along her thighs and that private place that sometimes pulsed when she thought about Cyrus at night.
He gave a long, relaxed sigh. ‘Perveen, thank you for bringing me here. I’ve always wanted to face the Arabian Sea. This endless blue is what my grandfather saw when he was coming to India. I wanted to see it for myself.’
‘I wish I knew my family’s migration story as well as you know yours,’ Perveen said wistfully. ‘Nobody knows exactly when we came, but it might have been five to seven hundred years ago. And then, in the seventeenth century, the British called on Parsis to leave Gujarat to travel here and build up an old, ruined Portuguese fort into a modern walled city.’
A Murder on Malabar Hill Page 5