Tea and Spices (An Erotic Novel of Colonial India)

by Lane, Nina

  Devora had to smile and concede the point. “Yes, that is indeed the case.”

  Mrs. Thompson suddenly glanced at the doorway, where Rohan stood in all his stoicism. “Does he always just stand there?”

  “Well, no. Sometimes he drives the car.” Devora couldn’t hold back a grin. She looked at Rohan, hoping that her condescending words would take him down a peg or two.

  Mrs. Thompson lowered her voice to a whisper. “Be careful around him. Don’t let him wash your undies or anything. Some of these Indians get so excited about white women’s undies.”

  Now it was Devora’s turn to lift an eyebrow. “He’s not a dhobi,” she said. “He’s the head servant.”

  “Good. Still, it might behoove you to count your underclothes and keep track of them. There have been cases of stealing, you know.”

  “By women or men?” Devora asked dryly.

  “Both, of course. The women want to keep them, and I’m sure the men want to do disgusting things with them.”

  “Really? What kinds of things?” Devora watched with amusement as Mrs. Thompson’s skin grew a rosy shade of pink.

  “For heaven’s sake, Devora, I’m not going to explain them to you. Just don’t let the men steal your undies.”

  “I’ll do my very best to prevent such a mishap.”

  Mrs. Thompson glanced at Rohan again. “I hope you don’t let him run the place when Gerald is gone. We’ll have to find someone to stay with you.”

  “Actually, that’s really not necessary. I’ll be fine alone.” Devora wasn’t entirely convinced of her own words, but she also didn’t want a nanny. She changed the subject so that Mrs. Thompson wouldn’t press the issue. “Isn’t there a picnic tomorrow or something?”

  Mrs. Thompson’s expression brightened. “Oh, yes! We’ll come pick you up around noon. We’re going to a nearby temple site, so you should bring your sketchpads or paints or whatever it is you use.”

  “Oh, good. I’ve so been wanting to visit a temple.”

  “Now, you know, dear, that you can call on myself or Reginald for anything you need. I just hate to think of you all alone here.”

  “I’ll be fine. Thank you for stopping by.” Devora walked Mrs. Thompson back outside and stood on the porch watching as the horse and carriage chugged away in a cloud of dust.

  She turned to go back inside. Rohan was standing right behind her near the doorway. Devora gazed at him for a moment, never failing to be intrigued by the sculpted planes of his features and the depth of his eyes.

  “Where are you from?” she finally asked.

  “Punjab, memsahib. In the north.”

  Devora knew that was why he was taller than most other Indians and had fairer skin. “Is your family still there?”

  “My parents are both dead. My sister is married and living in the city of Jaipur.”

  “I see. I’m sorry. About your parents, I mean.”

  “What for? Death is simply a move into a different existence.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t be sad about it.”

  “That would be pointless.”

  Devora shrugged and moved past him. “To you, all emotion seems pointless.”

  She wasn’t surprised when he didn’t reply.

  “He’s practically left her all alone.” Kalindi poured a small pool of coconut oil into her palms and began to massage it through Lota’s long, black hair. “Can you imagine?”

  “Rohan stays in the servants’ quarters at the back of the house though, doesn’t he?” Lota asked. She was sitting on the floor at Kalindi’s feet, glancing through the pages of a magazine that the memsahib had given them. Neither Kalindi nor Lota could even read Hindi, let alone English, but the pictures were quite lovely.

  “Yes, but I’m surprised the sahib entrusted his wife solely to Rohan’s care,” Kalindi explained. She picked up a comb from the bedside table and tugged it carefully through the tangle of Lota’s hair. “Although I did hear that fat cow Mrs. Thompson telling the memsahib they should get someone to stay with her.”

  “Really? Do you think they will?”

  “Probably. You know Mrs. Thompson. She’s such a busybody.”

  “What does Rohan think of this whole situation?”

  “I don’t know,” Kalindi replied. “He only talks to me to give me orders.”

  “Has the sahib visited you at all since his wife arrived?” Lota asked.

  Kalindi gave an unladylike snort. “No. I think he’s afraid of what she would do if she found out about us. They’ve been spending a lot of time in the bedroom, though.”

  Lota chuckled. “I can’t imagine why. Maybe she’s satisfying him enough so that he doesn’t need you.”

  Kalindi yanked hard on a particularly tight tangle in Lota’s hair, causing the other woman to give a yelp of pain.

  “Ow!” Lota grabbed her head protectively. “That hurt.”

  “Sorry.”

  Lota glowered at her. “Kalindi, you can’t have thought that he would still be with you when she arrived.”

  Kalindi shrugged. Truth be known, she had hoped exactly that. Of course, she didn’t harbor dreams of romance with a British man, but she had enjoyed her occasional visits to his bed. “No, I guess I didn’t.”

  “Didn’t they go to dinner at the maharaja’s palace recently?” Lota asked, returning her attention to the magazine.

  “Yes, just a few days ago. I heard the memsahib telling Mrs. Thompson that she found the maharaja to be very interesting.”

  “Really? I wonder what she means by that.”

  “Every woman finds the maharaja interesting,” Kalindi said. “With all that money, how could he not be interesting?”

  “I wonder if she knows about his harem and all his sexual preferences,” Lota mused.

  “I’m sure she’s heard rumors.”

  “I know. I wonder if she believes them.”

  ***

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Devora squinted as she gazed at the sun-burnished, stone temple. The surface of the large structure was covered with richly-detailed sculptures, although none with the kind of explicit eroticism that apparently characterized the Khajuraho temples.

  The sculptures were chipped and broken, some even appearing to have been vandalized by warring religious factions. They consisted of a multitude of gods and animals, with several large-breasted, female yakshi figures. The entire temple had fallen into disrepair, overgrown with weeds and vegetation. Still, it made for a very picturesque vista.

  This country is like an ancient history book. Devora wrote the words on a fresh page in her journal. It’s very mysterious and everything seems alive, as if gods and spirits are embedded so deeply within the fabric of the country that they are a part of daily life. There is holiness, to be sure, but a comforting kind of holiness, one that seems to inspire love rather than fear or simple awe.

  “Devora, would you like another sandwich?” Louise held out a plate of cucumber sandwiches.

  Devora looked up from her journal. “Oh, thank you.”

  She took a sandwich and closed her journal. They had spread a picnic blanket out underneath a tree near the temple, and several of the women had brought more food than they could possibly eat. Their party consisted of about eight people, all of whom were draped lazily over several embroidered, Indian pillows.

  “What is it you’re writing, Devora?” Reginald Thompson was leaning against the tree trunk, puffing on a pipe. He was a plump, jolly man with a thicket of gray hair and a handlebar mustache that curled at the ends.

  “Only my journal, that’s all.”

  “You know, you shouldn’t be alone in your bungalow without Gerald around.”

  “I’m all right,” Devora replied. “He’s only been gone for a day.”

  “Perhaps Billy should come and stay with you. He’s our son, you know. Back from a journey to Banares for the week.”

  “No, that’s really not necessary.” The last thing Devora wanted was another man staying with her
. She reached for her bag and took out a pencil. “Besides, it’s giving me time to work.”

  “On what?”

  “Some drawings and watercolors.” Devora opened her journal again and sketched the outline of the temple. She would have to return here alone to capture more details, but she was grateful for the opportunity to at least do some sketches.

  “You’re coming to the cricket match at the club tomorrow, aren’t you?” Mr. Thompson asked.

  Devora barely suppressed a sigh. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “Oh, you must come,” Louise said. Her reddish curls, tossed by the wind, made her look like a blue-eyed doll. “Cricket matches are always so much fun. And there will be a lovely luncheon too, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Devora, I meant to tell you that I’ll be happy to accompany you ladies to Agra this coming weekend,” Mr. Thompson said. “You’ll love the architecture of the Taj Mahal. One of the few things the Indians have done right.”

  “I think all of their architecture is beautiful,” Devora said. “And very unique.”

  “Of course, dear. Just a bit primitive is all. I mean, these people still worship gods in the form of animals, if you can believe that.”

  Devora leveled a long look at Mr. Thompson. “What’s wrong with that? Many cultures worship animals.”

  “It’s uncivilized, that’s what’s wrong with it,” Mr. Thompson replied. “Not to mention all of their monstrous gods. Very violent religion, Hinduism. Contains a great deal of blood-shedding.”

  Devora’s mouth twisted derisively. “Well, Christianity does too. For example, look at the Crusades and the mere idea of nailing a man to a cross.”

  Louise’s eyes widened in shock. “Devora, there’s no need to be blasphemous.”

  “I’m not being blasphemous,” Devora protested. “Simply pointing out that Hinduism isn’t the only religion that involves bloodshed. Just because it’s an Indian religion doesn’t make it uncivilized.”

  “Good God, Devora, you’re turning into a Indian sympathizer, are you?” Mr. Thompson said. His mustache quivered slightly. “If they’re so civilized, then why do they need the British presence to keep things in order? If it weren’t for us, they would be in total chaos.”

  “They managed fine without us for hundreds of years,” Devora murmured.

  “You’re an impertinent young woman, did you know that?” Mr. Thompson sniffed. “I really can’t believe that Gerald has left you alone.”

  “I’ll be fine, thank you. And Gerald appreciates the fact that I have opinions about things.” Devora didn’t exactly believe her own words, but she didn’t want Mr. Thompson to think her marriage was a conflicting one.

  “That doesn’t mean you should be criticizing the British presence here,” Mr. Thompson retorted. “Dissent in our own ranks, even from a woman, is the last thing we need.”

  “That’s quite true, Devora,” Louise agreed. “We must be loyal empire-builders.”

  Devora turned her attention back to the crumbling temple. A bird alighted on one of the outstretched arms of a sculpture.

  “I do understand that, but don’t you think it would behoove us to learn something about Indian culture?” she asked.

  “Frankly, some of these curries are about all the Indian culture I can handle,” Mr. Thompson replied.

  “How long have you been here, Mr. Thompson?”

  Mr. Thompson blew out a puff of smoke. “Nearly ten years now. I’ve put in for a transfer back to England, but it’s been refused. Looks like they need as many of us on the civil lines as they can get.”

  “Why?” Devora asked. “Have there been threats of revolt?”

  “There are always threats of revolt,” Mr. Thompson said. “Ever since the Sepoy Mutiny, we have to keep an eye out for violence. There are also a number of gangs who run about looking for trouble. This is what I’m talking about when I tell you the Indians are uncivilized.”

  Devora didn’t even bother to argue the point, knowing that Mr. Thompson’s opinions were unchangeable, no matter how irrational they were. “What does the maharaja have to say about that?”

  Mr. Thompson snorted. “Say about that? I suspect he’s funding them.”

  Devora’s eyebrows lifted. “Funding the gangs? Whatever for?”

  “To cause trouble, of course. The maharaja would love to see the British ousted from India.”

  “I thought he wanted to keep relations positive.”

  “That’s what he says,” Mr. Thompson replied. “What he does is, I believe, an entirely different matter.”

  “Then why does he even bother inviting us to dinner and the like?”

  “To put up a cooperative front,” Mr. Thompson said. “But he doesn’t trust us, and we don’t trust him.”

  Devora didn’t find his words terribly difficult to believe. She was, however, surprised that she found the idea of a rebelling maharaja more intriguing than worrisome.

  “Kalindi, would you keep this place dusted, please?” Devora drew her finger over the sideboard and held it up coated with dust. “This is unacceptable.”

  “My apologies, memsahib. I am telling Lota to dust while I prepare dinner.”

  “Please do.” Devora stalked out of the bungalow onto the back veranda, where Rohan sat writing a shopping list. He stood immediately when Devora stepped onto the veranda.

  “Memsahib.”

  “Kalindi is failing to carry out her duties,” Devora said icily, crossing her arms over her chest. “Simply because the sahib isn’t here is no reason to stop working. I intend to keep this place in order.”

  “Of course. I’ll speak to Kalindi straight away.”

  “Please do. And I want you to trim these hedges.” Devora waved her hand towards the abundant junipers growing by the veranda railing. “Do that by the end of the day, please.”

  “Yes, memsahib.” Rohan turned, glancing towards the road that led to the front of the house. “I believe you have a visitor.”

  Devora followed his line of vision to the sleek, black car speeding up the road. She frowned. “Whose car is that? I don’t think I recognize it.”

  Rohan stepped off the veranda and walked around to the front of the house. Curious, Devora went after him. They both paused to watch the car pull up near the steps and come to a halt. A driver dressed in a pristine, white turban and a silk jacket got out of the car to open the back door.

  To Devora’s shock, the maharaja himself emerged from the vehicle. Dressed in a dark blue, embroidered kurta and jamas, he fairly exuded regality. Devora stared at him, wondering what on earth he was doing here.

  “Ah, my dear Mrs. Hawthorne.” The maharaja approached Devora with his arms outstretched and a smile on his face. “How delightful to see you.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Devora replied. She nodded in greeting, painfully conscious of Rohan’s presence beside her. “To what do I owe the honor of your presence?”

  “I’ve heard that your husband is away, and I simply cannot stand the idea of you being alone here,” the maharaja replied. “I came to see if you needed anything or if I could be of any service whatsoever.”

  “Thank you, but I’m fine,” Devora said. “May I offer you a cup of tea?”

  “I would be delighted.”

  Devora looked at Rohan, who was already heading back inside to start the tea. She led the maharaja inside, silently cursing Kalindi for not having cleaned the place thoroughly this morning. Still, she was pleased when the maharaja commented on the tastefulness of the decor.

  “Please, my dear, you must not hesitate to call upon me if you require anything while your husband is away,” the maharaja said as he settled onto the sofa. “I am at your service.”

  “Thank you very much, but Gerald will be away only for a short time. I’m quite fine, really.” Devora perched on the edge of a chair, somewhat nervous at suddenly having this man in her house. “You didn’t have to come all this way just to check on me.”

  �
��I also came to see if you will do me the extreme pleasure of having lunch at my palace tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Oh.” Devora was taken aback. “Lunch?”

  The maharaja chuckled. “Yes. I would be greatly honored. I can send a car to pick you up around noon, if that would be suitable.”

  Devora had a feeling that the answer no would simply not be acceptable. One didn’t say no to a maharaja. Not that she had any intention of doing so.

  “I’m flattered, sir. I would love to have lunch with you tomorrow.”

  “Good.”

  Rohan appeared with a tea tray, glancing once at Devora before pouring tea for them.

  “Rohan, I’ll be lunching with the maharaja tomorrow,” Devora said. “Please cancel my plans for the day.”

  She knew perfectly well that she had nothing scheduled for tomorrow, but it wouldn’t hurt if the maharaja thought she would cancel plans to have lunch with him.

  Rohan nodded. “Yes, memsahib.”

  Devora settled back in her chair and sipped her tea. “I greatly enjoyed your dinner party the other night.”

  “Thank you. I enjoyed your company. And how do you find India?”

  “As you know, I’m very intrigued by it. I think it’s fascinating.”

  “And have you been sightseeing yet?”

  Devora shook her head. “Not really. Gerald hasn’t been able to take me because he’s working constantly, and most of the British people prefer to have cricket games. We were thinking of taking a trip to Agra, but I’m afraid I’m at the mercy of other people.”

  “No, you couldn’t go alone,” the maharaja agreed. He set his teacup down and stood. “I’m afraid I shall have to take leave of you now. I have other people to call upon, but I will see you tomorrow afternoon. I do look forward to a nice, long visit with you.”

  “Thank you for the invitation. I look forward to it as well.”