Smiling at the girl, Perveen asked in English, “Why did you say that Ganesan has taken the umbrella?”
“Dogs can’t hold umbrellas!” Jiva Rao shot back in Marathi. “He’s just lying there.”
“The dog puts umbrella in mouth and brings umbrella to the queen!” Padmabai said in English but using the officious tone of her grandmother. Then she picked up a kofta and threw it in her mouth.
“You have good aim and also good English, Rajkumari!” Perveen praised.
Princess Padmabai laughed, but Maharani Mirabai pursed her dry lips. “My son is also clever, but he needs the company of more boys to make him interested in learning. Too many women around weakens a man.”
Perveen nodded. She didn’t agree at all—but she understood that her praising the daughter before she’d said anything positive about the son had offended Mirabai. “Maharaja, may I ask what your favorite subject is?”
The boy pushed food around on his plate but did not answer.
“Do you like reading history, do you prefer calculating sums—or something else?” She remembered what Colin had said. “Aren’t you good at drawing pictures?”
He paused, and when he spoke, his voice sounded more relaxed than Perveen had heard in the time they’d been together. “A maharaja has no time for drawing pictures. I like flying kites. Aditya-yerda brings them for me, and when the sun shines, I can run and get the colors so high above the wall walk. Up with the birds.”
“Her question is not about playing!” said the dowager sharply. “It’s about the important things Basu-sahib teaches you.”
Jiva Rao grimaced and spoke in a sulky tone he’d used before. “I don’t like Basu. He’s too old and always coughing.”
“He coughs so much and doesn’t use his handkerchief!” chirped Padmabai. Then she proceeded to do a demonstration.
Her grandmother pointed a scolding finger at the child. “You are very lucky he can’t hear your rudeness! And this meal is done.”
At her words, the bearers, who’d been waiting along the walls, came forward to remove the plates. As they performed their duties, Perveen tried again to forge an alliance. Looking at both queens, she said, “If it’s permitted, I’d like to give the children some small presents after dinner.”
Padmabai bounced in her high-backed chair. “I knew she’d bring us something! Guests always do!”
“Did you bring me a kite?” Jiva Rao fixed an eager gaze on Perveen.
“No, sorry.” Perveen suspected that Jiva Rao was going to be very disappointed to receive a book.
“She gave me back the Satapur moonstone.” The dowager maharani caressed the pendant resting on her chest. “What did she give you?”
“She brought me gloves.”
From the flat sound of Mirabai’s voice, Perveen sensed the gift had been too little. Anxiously, she said, “I hope they fit you—”
“They’re big in the fingers. As if someone already wore them.” Mirabai looked warily at Perveen. “Are the children’s gifts in the guest quarters?”
Perveen nodded, almost certain the young queen would find fault with the books she had chosen. But there was no way to change things now.
Mirabai sighed. “We shall go together—after the finger bowls come again. Princess Padmabai’s hands are a mess.”
13
A Midnight Visitor
The wrapping paper Colin had offered for the children’s presents had a gay Christmas design of green holly leaves and red berries. Perveen hoped the Satapur royal family would not be offended by the paper’s connection to a Christian holiday, nor its age. When she was at the circuit house, Perveen had smoothed out the paper’s creases—it had clearly been used before—and wrapped the books as best she could, tying official red government document tape to make bows. But she shouldn’t have worried. The children took no notice of the paper and ripped it straight off to examine the books.
“My children are too excited. I’m sorry.” From her position lying on a divan, Mirabai watched them toss the paper across the marble floor. Chitra rushed to pick up every piece.
“I don’t mind,” Perveen assured them. “Let them enjoy the surprise.”
Jiva Rao quickly paged through The Wind in the Willows. When he looked up, his expression was mildly interested. “Why are these animals wearing clothes? And what are they?”
Padmabai, who had been looking over his shoulder, made her own assessment. “His animals wear boys’ suits. It is very strange!”
“How amusing. Will you bring both books to me?” Mirabai asked.
Perveen followed them and stood over the small family group. She was glad that the dowager hadn’t come—she would have soured the situation.
“You are getting a look at typical English dress for gentlemen,” Perveen said. “I can read a bit of each book to both of you, if your mother thinks there is time.”
“Why not?” Mirabai gave her a faint smile. “But their English is not strong.”
“Then I will translate to Marathi.” Perveen began reading, though a few of the words were untranslatable. In the corner, Chitra sat giggling behind the hand held over her mouth.
“Is this forest in England as big as ours in Satapur?” Jiva Rao interrupted midsentence.
“This forest in the book isn’t real, so it’s hard to say. However, the line of mountains that includes the Satapur jungle is many miles longer than even the island of England itself.”
“That is true,” Mirabai said, shifting on the divan so she could look directly at her son. “The Sahyadri mountain range—which is also called Western Ghats—starts all the way down south in Travancore and runs up through Gujarat. That is the place where Perveen-memsahib’s people arrived many centuries ago.”
“Have you studied geography and history?” Perveen said with interest.
“Oh yes. I had a proper education at a convent school, unlike my poor children.”
The queen’s lobbying for an overseas education was unsubtle. And it was understandable that a bright woman who retained so much of her education held a similar education as an important goal for her children. Perveen went back to reading aloud until she was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Probably her, trying to send them to bed,” muttered Mirabai.
Chitra gave the maharani an apologetic head bob before rushing to the door to answer.
But it was not the dowager maharani. Aditya the buffoon stepped into the room with Bandar on his shoulder. Seeing the assembled group, the monkey jumped to the ground and scampered up to them, settling in Padmabai’s lap just inches from Perveen. Despite having been charmed by Hanuman’s family and Bandar on Aditya’s shoulder, Perveen wished she could move a little farther away. She could not help feeling that one of the strange gargoyles carved into the stone exterior of the Bombay High Court building had come to life.
“And what are you people doing together?” asked Aditya, coming over to glance at the book. Perveen wondered if he was miffed not to have known the postdinner plan.
“Just reading,” Perveen said with a smile as the monkey reached out and grabbed the book from her.
Aditya wrestled the book from his pet and rapped him on his head. “Silly Bandar! You cannot read.”
“Bandar must be jealous we are looking at other animals!” said Padmabai with a giggle as the monkey climbed back on Aditya’s shoulder. “Aditya, you should buy Bandar a flat driving cap like Toad wears.”
“Do Satapur’s animals—the ones outside the palace—also wear clothes?” Jiva Rao asked Aditya.
“The tiger is our royal animal. Perhaps in the forest, there is a family of royal tigers wearing our colors!” The buffoon drew back his lips over his teeth to imitate a snarling tiger, and the two children laughed.
Mirabai’s face was unsmiling, and Perveen wondered if she was remembering how her eldest son had died.
It probably was painful each time her second son was called by his nickname, too.
“Next time you ride through the forest, look for any animals wearing clothing,” Jiva Rao commanded Aditya. “You can take Rajmata’s binoculars.”
“She won’t give them up. She’s too busy watching from the old palace for invaders.” Aditya put imaginary binoculars to his eyes and drew his mouth down in a perfect imitation of the dowager’s sour expression. Again, the children laughed, but Mirabai’s frown deepened.
“She may also be looking for Swaroop-uncle! He always brings wonderful gifts!” Padmabai said, peeking anxiously at her mother. The princess moved close to her, and Mirabai responded with a gentle smile.
“You must see your uncle often,” Perveen said. After all, he was the prime minister.
“Very often. He has no children, so he loves us very much.” Jiva Rao’s voice had a happy ring.
“One could call it love. I call it something else.” Mirabai’s tone was ominous.
What exactly did Mirabai think her brother-in-law’s motivation was? Her cryptic comment, obviously meant for Perveen’s ears, had left Jiva Rao and Padmabai both appearing downcast.
Perveen was glad when the buffoon spoke up. Brightly, he said, “Don’t you think it is time to close the books? I came to take the maharaja and rajkumari to bed.”
“You are not their ayah. It is not your duty,” Mirabai responded, stroking Padmabai’s hair. Perveen guessed the maharani had wanted the children to stay with her a bit longer.
“Rajmata told me.” He ducked his head apologetically. “As you know, she will be watching from the gallery of the old palace to see if the light goes on in the nursery.”
“Well then, it’s better to go. You may read more with Perveen-memsahib tomorrow.” Mirabai turned to Perveen. “And you shall see Mr. Basu teaching them his pitiful lessons.”
“What time are their lessons?” Perveen asked, noting that Mirabai had chosen to be obedient to her mother-in-law’s order regarding the children even though the lady wasn’t there.
She shrugged. “They study sometime after breakfast.”
“If it’s not raining, I’ll fly my kite instead. I will let you see it.” Jiva Rao sounded magnanimous.
“I’d like that so much.” Perveen smiled at him. She was getting an impression of the real boy who lay underneath the gold-embroidered royal costume. He liked animals and the outdoors; and he wasn’t comfortable with all the restrictions and formalities his elders wanted him to observe.
“Come along, little ones. You may take your books to your room.” Aditya bent to pick up the books from the ebony coffee table while Bandar kept a tight grasp on his shoulder. Perveen stared at the monkey’s hands, realizing they looked very human. She had noticed this about monkeys before, but in this situation, the way the monkey’s hands clung to his owner reminded her of a child with a parent.
The children rose reluctantly. Both hugged their mother and Chitra before going to the door.
“Might we trade books tonight?” Princess Padmabai asked Perveen. “Jiva Rao can read my book, and I’ll look at The Wind in the Willows.”
“No! What do I want with pictures of girls?” Jiva Rao scoffed.
“I shall take both books if you keep arguing,” Mirabai warned. Although her words were strict, her gaze was affectionate.
As the children took their designated books from Aditya, Perveen spoke to Mirabai. “Will you stay five minutes? I’d like to speak with you alone.”
“No.” The maharani arose, ignoring Chitra’s outstretched hand. “I am too tired, and tomorrow I rise very early.”
From the maharani’s wary expression, Perveen realized Mirabai might have taken offense at being asked to do something. Or perhaps it was melancholia that caused her to live in constant fear. “All right. Good night, then.”
Mirabai took a last glance around Perveen’s room. “I did not inspect this room before you arrived; it smells musty. You must open the doors to your balcony tonight to air it. When a room is closed up, it fills with mold. That is what happened to the old palace. It reeks of centuries of mold.”
“Ah,” Perveen said, remembering the smell that had hit her in the durbar hall. “The trouble is that it’s raining at the moment—”
“The rain will stop. Then you will enjoy the fresh air.”
Once she was in her nightgown and had had her hair braided for the night by Chitra, Perveen slipped out to stand on her room’s sheltered balcony. The chatter of tree frogs and crickets and pounding rain filled her ears like London traffic. But unlike in London or Bombay, here the sky was very black; the only light was a low-down pinpoint in the distance. Perhaps it was a guard’s lantern. This thought made her remember Lakshman and the other men who were sheltering in servants’ quarters. They were likely to be fast asleep after their tiring journey with a palanquin on their shoulders. They would not be worrying about the dark mountains surrounding them, or anything else.
Perveen had not been afraid at Colin’s bungalow, a small property in the heart of the forest—yet she’d not been safe, because someone had burglarized her room. Since that discovery, she had been on edge. Perhaps it was because of Mirabai’s talk of poison and hints of an unscrupulous brother-in-law; or it was because Putlabai had been such an antagonist. In any event, Perveen was more alone than she had been in a very long time, even in the secure palace complex filled with servants and guards.
She wondered if the dowager maharani felt that way, too. She’d been a widow for ten years, and suddenly suffered the deaths of her son and eldest grandchild. Her loneliness, and fear of other losses, must have been overpowering.
Sadly, the dismissive manner in which the dowager treated her daughter-in-law and Perveen was common. Perveen knew the secret anger that came from being on the receiving end of an older woman’s scorn. She would have to work hard not to react to Putlabai the way she had to Behnoush Sodawalla, her own faraway mother-in-law. A divorce from Cyrus would have meant a final departure from that woman and a tremendous psychic relief. But Perveen hadn’t been able to attain a divorce under Parsi law, just a legal separation.
Perveen took a deep breath and reminded herself she was not living in the past. She would be more careful about her words, about looking out for poison, and about sticking to her assignment. She withdrew her notebook from her valise and began making notes of what the two maharanis had said during the dinner. She wanted to be very clear about what each lady wanted, even though it would be impossible to please both.
That task took about half an hour, and when she was finished, she did not feel ready for sleep. Spying an ornately carved mahogany bookcase across the room, she went to see what it held. The books were in a mix of English, Hindi, and Marathi literature and, curiously, some books on mathematics and geography. There was nothing about the state itself. Perveen chose a lavishly illustrated edition of the Mahābhārata and carried it to bed, where she read the Hindi text by candlelight until she was tired enough to snuff out the flame. Too many names of sages and princes filled her head; she wondered if that was the reason Prince Jiva Rao was bored. She closed her eyes, let the sound of insects fill her ears, and drifted off.
It was still black out when she awoke. The room was silent—almost silent. She heard a soft sound: moving fabric and very light breathing.
Someone had entered her room at the circuit house, and she’d not heard. But this time she wasn’t missing it. But who had come? Should she give away that she was wakeful? That could force a confrontation. If she lay still, would they take what they wanted and then go?
Panic rising, she realized that this might just be wishful thinking. The person walking toward the bed with very soft steps could be an assassin sent to stop her from making the decision about Jiva Rao.
Fear swelled inside her, and she went immobile. She imagined Colin’s horror when she never returned. But the
thought of him made her recall a secret weapon. She reached beside her pillow for the battery torch.
“Who’s there?” she shouted, sitting bolt upright and shining the light into the blackness.
“Bhagwan ke liye! For the sake of God, hush!” a woman’s voice fiercely whispered back.
Pointing the yellow light in the direction of the voice, Perveen saw Mirabai. Her face was tense, but to Perveen’s relief, she was not carrying a knife or gun.
“You told me to keep the balcony doors open so you could break in!” Perveen was angry with herself for being so naïve.
“It is not breaking in when it’s my own home,” Mirabai retorted. “And you said to me that you wished to talk. Put that light away from my eyes.”
Perveen swung the light away and passed it over the room. She wanted to make sure Mirabai hadn’t brought any companions. Perveen had been so frightened that her body was still tight and trembling.
Swiftly, Mirabai moved to the desk and lit the lamp’s candle. Looking at Perveen, she said, “The electricity doesn’t run late at night. We have a limited amount.”
Perveen tried to gentle her voice, although she was still agitated about the intrusion. Mirabai was wearing salwar trousers under a very short sari—all in a soft beige silk shot through with gold thread. The fact that the maharani was wearing clothes that permitted her to climb like a man spoke of how daring this intrusion had been. “Why come at night rather than in the morning?”
Mirabai sat down in one of the velvet easy chairs. Instead of leaning back, she kept her back straight, as if formality was another form of defense. “Do you believe that I love my son?”
“Of course!” Perveen did not think the show of concern at the table had been false. But she needed to hear more from the maharani. Resolutely, she pulled back the mosquito netting around her bed. Swinging her feet down onto the soft fur of a rug, she stood and crossed the vast room to sit in the matching chair across from Mirabai. She saw Mirabai glancing at her plain white cotton nightgown. Perveen’s sister-in-law had begged her to bring a fancier gown trimmed in lace, but Perveen had protested that there was no need to worry about contact with royalty during bedtime hours.
The Satapur Moonstone Page 15