Tea and Spices (An Erotic Novel of Colonial India)

by Lane, Nina

  “Oh,” Devora said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  None of them replied, and Devora realized they probably didn’t speak English. She couldn’t believe the room itself, with its rich furnishings of velvet and gold brocade. A dressing table held lacquer boxes overflowing with gold jewelry and precious gems. Devora suddenly felt almost frumpy in her beaded dress and pearl earrings.

  “You are the maharaja’s memsahib, are you not?” one of the women asked. Devora recognized her as the woman who had approached her in the lounging room during her first lunch with the maharaja. What was her name? Alpana.

  “No, I’m not,” Devora said. “I mean, I was…” Her voice trailed off.

  “He has spoken of you,” Alpana said. “He has said that you were not good enough for him.”

  “More that he has been cruel to me,” Devora replied. “I discovered that he is not a kind man.”

  Alpana’s expression darkened. “No, he is not.”

  Her voice was so certain that Devora looked at her in surprise. She wondered what odd perversions Alpana had suffered at the maharaja’s hands.

  “You are lucky,” Alpana said. “I advise that you stay away from him. You are free now, yes?”

  “I…yes.”

  Alpana waved a hand towards the other women. “We are not. Perhaps we never will be.”

  “I-I’m sorry.” The thick scents of smoke and incense made Devora slightly dizzy. What was this woman telling her? “Excuse me.”

  She hurried back out onto the mezzanine, relieved to discover the maharaja was no longer there. She paused by the railing to collect her composure before following the sound of voices back to the reception room.

  “Excuse me, Gerald, but may I speak with you?” Devora put her hand on Gerald’s arm as he stood talking with a group of British officers.

  “Of course, darling.” Gerald followed her to a corner of the room. “What is it?”

  “I’m feeling rather ill,” Devora explained. “Would you mind terribly if we returned home now?”

  A crease of concern appeared between Gerald’s eyebrows. “What’s the matter?”

  “I just have a bit of a headache. I’d really like to go home.”

  “Darling, I have some important business to discuss here,” Gerald said, glancing back towards the group of men. “Can’t you stay for a little while longer?”

  “No, I’m really not well.”

  “Well, why don’t I ask Rohan to drive you home, then? I can return with the Thompsons after dinner.”

  “Yes, I would appreciate that.”

  “I’ll go and fetch him while you apologize to the maharaja.” Gerald headed for the front entrance.

  Devora had no intentions of seeking out the maharaja again, so she quickly told Louise that she would be leaving and asked her to convey her regrets. Then she went outside, breathing in a rush of fresh air as if it could cleanse her of another repulsive incident.

  “All right, darling?” Gerald came towards her. “I’m sorry I can’t return with you, but this has to do with the maharaja’s politics.”

  “No, no, it’s all right,” Devora assured him. “I’ll be fine.”

  Rohan drove the car up to the entrance and opened the door for Devora. Gerald kissed her on the cheek and helped her inside.

  “You’re not well, memsahib?” Rohan asked as he guided the car onto the road.

  “I’ll be fine,” Devora repeated. “Just a little sick to my stomach, that’s all.”

  Rohan glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Does this have to do with the maharaja?”

  Devora gave him a sharp look. “Why do you ask?”

  “I recall you were quite distraught the last time you left him,” Rohan explained. “It would not surprise me if he was the cause.”

  “Why? What do you know about him?”

  “I know that he is very tyrannical,” Rohan said. “And as you know, rumors abound.”

  Devora thought of the harem women. Alpana had been right. At least she was able to free herself. Heaven only knew just how intense the maharaja’s tyranny could get.

  “Was that the reason you kept trying to prevent me from visiting him?” she asked Rohan.

  “Of course. I wanted nothing to happen to you.”

  Devora considered his words. Rather than being annoyed by them, however, she found them oddly comforting. “Then I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.”

  Rohan shrugged philosophically. “Often people do not heed words,” he said. “They must discover the truth for themselves.”

  “Well, I certainly did that,” Devora replied, turning to look out the window. “He’s an unpleasant, greedy man. I think he is so used to people obeying him that he has completely ceased all regard for others.”

  “Yet, it took you some time to discover that for yourself,” Rohan said.

  Devora nodded, not finding his words to be particularly offensive.

  “It’s a very romantic idea, meeting a maharaja,” she admitted. “I suppose I was rather taken by the notion. Unfortunately, the man himself quickly destroyed any illusions I might have had.”

  “Perhaps it is better that he did so sooner rather than later,” Rohan suggested.

  “Yes, perhaps,” Devora agreed. The sun still shimmered over the horizon, coating the plains in crimson. A distant river ran parallel to the road, bordered by trees and tall reeds with a small temple standing on the banks. “Rohan?”

  “Yes, memsahib?”

  “Would you pull over to that river, please? I’d like to stop for a moment.”

  Rohan guided the car off the road and parked underneath a tree near the river. Both he and Devora got out and walked to the river. The air was much cooler now than during the day, creating a refreshing, sweet breeze.

  They stopped close to the river, whose undulating waters moved swiftly south. The only sounds were those of the river, the rustling trees, and the chirping of birds. The purity of the riverbank and the air washed away the garish opulence and noise of the maharaja’s party. Devora took a deep breath, cleansing her lungs of the cloying scents of incense and perfume.

  “What river is this?” she asked.

  “The Ganges, memsahib. The holiest of India’s rivers. The waters are known as amrita, the nectar of immortality.”

  Devora looked at the temple, which was so close to the river that its steps descended beneath the water’s surface. A half-naked man stood on the steps, waist-deep in the river, pouring water on his head with a small pot. Several flowers floated on the water around him.

  “It is considered that bathing in the Ganges washes away one’s sins,” Rohan explained, following her gaze to the worshipping man. “The Ganges is said to have come down from the heavens onto the head of Lord Shiva. For thousands of years, the waters spread through his hair before descending onto the earth. If you look at the Shiva Nataraja statues in which he is performing the cosmic dance of creation, you will see a small, female figure in his hair. That is a personification of the Ganges River.”

  “That’s fascinating,” Devora said. “Do you know all of this from your studies? You play the piano so beautifully, you know so much about Indian religion and philosophies, and yet…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Yet, I am merely a servant,” Rohan finished.

  “It does seem a bit strange,” Devora admitted.

  “There is no shame in servitude,” Rohan replied. “There is no shame in any job, no matter how menial. If the duties are carried out properly and the job is done well, then one should take pride in that.”

  “But, haven’t you wanted to be something more?” Devora asked. “Haven’t you wanted to be a teacher or a doctor or even a…a concert pianist?”

  “The piano I learned when I was a child, as I told you,” Rohan explained. “I play for enjoyment. As for teaching, I teach English to a group of school children twice a week in the village. I am happy doing what I do. No, I have not wanted for more.”

  “Well,
I think you could be much more than a servant,” Devora said. “What about all of the Indian mythology that you know? Did you learn that in school?”

  “Ah, India.” Rohan shrugged. “One learns through life.”

  “Are you very religious?”

  “I am not as devout as perhaps I should be.”

  “Do you believe in things like karma and reincarnation?” Devora asked.

  “Of course. And destiny.”

  “I don’t believe in destiny. I dislike the idea of assuming that one’s path is already set and unchangeable.”

  “That is not the destiny of Hinduism, memsahib,” Rohan said. “If that were the case, we would all be idle. Destiny is the result of one’s actions in previous lives, that is true. However, destiny is insignificant without exertion. One must take action in order to follow one’s path.”

  “Well, that makes more sense,” Devora said. “Otherwise, what is the point of karma?”

  “Exactly, memsahib. One must act well in this life in order to secure happiness for the next life. My father always told me that.”

  “Were you close to your father?”

  “My father?” Rohan sounded surprised. “Yes. I loved my father very much.” He paused. “And your parents?”

  “Yes, I have wonderful parents. They’re both alive and living in Tunbridge Wells. My father is a retired professor.”

  “What did he teach?”

  “English literature. Hence, I was brought up with Shakespeare and Chaucer.”

  “Two decent enough chaps to be brought up with.”

  Devora smiled. “Yes, that’s very true.”

  “You live in London now?”

  “I did before I moved here,” Devora said. “I miss it sometimes, especially the coolness and the fog. I do love the fog. It makes everything very mysterious and soft-edged. In India, the sun is so hot and strong. It seems to expose every tiny detail, illuminating things that would perhaps be better left hidden.”

  Rohan didn’t reply, but Devora could sense him looking at her. She wrapped her arms around herself and gazed towards the man standing in the river. He began to chant, his cryptic words rising on the mild breeze. His arms lifted with graceful movements as he bathed in the holy waters. There was a strange beauty in his isolated devotion.

  “Would you like to see the temple?” Rohan asked.

  Devora looked at the worshipper for a moment longer. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t wish to disturb him.”

  “You will not. People worship on the ghats all the time.”

  Devora shook her head. She couldn’t imagine intruding upon the man’s piety, if only through her presence. “No, it’s all right. I’ll come back some other time.”

  She turned and started back to the car. Rohan followed, reaching out to open the car door for her. Just before she got into the car, Devora glanced at him. He was looking at her so intently that she was surprised.

  “What?”

  Rohan shook his head, his lips curving into a slight smile. “I find you to be very intriguing, memsahib.”

  “Is that a good thing?” Devora asked.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  Swiftly, he bent his head and brushed his lips over hers in the lightest, most delicious movement. A hundred butterflies took flight in Devora’s soul. She responded with a rush of affection, enchanted by the silent holiness of their surroundings and the pure spontaneity of his kiss.

  She pulled back to look at him. “What was that for?”

  Rohan’s dark eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her again. Devora’s heart swelled. That smile of his affected her like nothing ever had before, perhaps because it was so beautiful and so rare.

  “You have an old soul, memsahib.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You have a soul that has been reincarnated many times on earth,” Rohan explained. “It means you possess a deep understanding of many of life’s mysteries.”

  Devora wasn’t certain of that at all, but the idea was captivating. “That’s lovely,” she said. “Thank you.”

  He put his palm against her cheek for a brief instant before moving away. Devora climbed into the car, realizing that something quite powerful had just happened between them. Rohan closed the door and got into the driver’s seat. He started the car and guided it back onto the main road towards the enclave of British-owned bungalows.

  They fell silent for the remainder of the ride, but Devora occasionally felt Rohan’s enigmatic, mirrored gaze on her as if it were a reflection of herself.

  ***

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Gerald will be gone for three days,” Devora said. “Please?”

  “This is a very bad idea.” Rohan picked up a broom and carefully urged a lizard back out onto the veranda.

  Devora noticed that he didn’t say no. “Why is it a bad idea? No one will find out.”

  “You are naive to think so,” Rohan said. “You know your fellow British.”

  “Yes, but they don’t come to visit every single day,” Devora replied. “Besides, I just had them over for tea earlier this afternoon, so they should leave me alone tomorrow.”

  “It is highly improper for a British woman to travel with an Indian man.”

  “We won’t be traveling with each other,” Devora persisted. “We’ll just be in the same car.”

  He gave her a derisive look. “There is a difference?”

  “Yes, if we pretend you’re simply the driver.” She approached him and reached out to put her hand on his arm. “If we leave before dawn, no one will see us go. From what I understand, it should take us a few hours to reach Agra. We can spend the day there and return in the evening. We won’t even have to stay there overnight.”

  “Memsahib, I find you to be most maddening.”

  Devora chuckled. “So I’ve gathered.”

  She took the broom out of his hand and tossed it aside, then wrapped her arms around his waist. “Don’t you think it would be fun, just the two of us? And I would love to get away from here for awhile.”

  Rohan shook his head, but reached up to brush a lock of hair from her forehead in a tender gesture that almost surprised her. “You are much too headstrong, do you know that?”

  Devora gave him a cheeky smile and let her hands drift down to his buttocks. “But you like me that way.”

  She tilted her head to look up at him, her gaze drifting over the sharp planes of his face and the square set of his jaw. And those eyes. How she loved his eyes, coal-black and filled with hidden fire and mystery.

  “I’ve been wanting to see Agra since I first arrived,” she continued, pressing her pelvis lightly against his. “Don’t make me go with the Thompsons on one of their boring outings.”

  “There is the matter of Kalindi and Lota.”

  “Tomorrow is Kalindi’s day off,” Devora said. “As for Lota, we’ll give her the day off as well. I’m sure she and Kalindi will find some way to occupy their time.”

  “They will become suspicious.”

  Devora thought of the manner in which the two women were certain to occupy their time off. She smiled. “I don’t think they will. Even if they do, they won’t say anything for fear of being dismissed. And I do so want to see the Taj Mahal.”

  Rohan rested his palm against the side of her face. “Your husband can take you.”

  “When? He’s always off on tours or census-taking. Besides, I don’t want to go with him. I want to go with you.”

  Rohan was quiet for a moment. “We are making a mistake.”

  “Does that mean we’re going?”

  “All right. I will take you to see the Taj Mahal.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Devora hugged him tightly and stood on tiptoe to press a kiss against his cheek. “We’ll have a lovely time. I just know it.”

  Thrilled, she hurried into her bedroom to pack a bag for their journey tomorrow. Finally, she was going to see the famous mausoleum! And not only would she not have to tolerate her compatri
ots, but she would have Rohan all to herself for an entire day.

  After packing a few things, she went into the kitchen where Lota was busy scrubbing laundry in a pot of soapy water.

  “Lota, you don’t have to come here tomorrow,” Devora said. “I’ll be going out for the day, so there’s no need for you to work.”

  “Really? Thank you, memsahib!” Lota’s bright eyes sparkled with pleasure. “Will you be returning to the maharaja’s palace?”

  Devora frowned. “Heavens, no. Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Oh, forgive me if I offend you, but you have been spending some time with him.”

  “Yes, well, I won’t be in the future.”

  Lota nodded. “That is a wise choice. We have heard that he is a wicked man.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that too,” Devora muttered. “I’ll be going on an outing with a friend tomorrow. You and Kalindi can spend the day together.”

  A flush rose to color Lota’s cheeks as she quickly turned her attention back to the laundry. “Thank you.”

  Devora thought briefly of telling the younger woman that she had nothing to be embarrassed about, then decided against it. For all she knew, Lota had also been one of Gerald’s mistresses in her absence.

  That evening, Devora ate a light supper alone and went to bed early, leaving the curtains open so the sun would wake her. Instead, she woke to the touch of a male hand.

  “Memsahib, wake up.” Rohan’s low voice spoke in her ear. “We must leave soon.”

  “Mmm.” Devora hugged the pillow against her, trying to wipe away the threads of sleep. “I’m getting up.”

  “You have fifteen minutes,” Rohan ordered gently. After a brief hesitation, he bent and brushed a kiss against her cheek.

  Devora’s lips curved into a smile as she heard him leave the room. She pulled herself out of bed and washed quickly before dressing in a green, cotton dress and matching shoes. As the rumble of the car engine sounded from outside, she grabbed her hat and hurried out to the front porch.

  “Maybe waking up before dawn wasn’t the best idea.” Devora yawned and patted her lips as she watched Rohan unlock the car door. He looked almost annoyingly handsome this morning, dressed in black trousers, a tie, and a crisp, white shirt. Devora thought it was rather unfair that he didn’t appear the slightest bit rumpled, even at five in the morning.