The Satapur Moonstone

by Sujata Massey

  He stroked his mustache as he pondered the question. Then he spoke in a measured tone. “That is an interesting question. Teachers will always be annoyed by a prince behaving like the boy he is, rather than a future ruler. The maharaja’s antics remind me of my own,” he said with a small smile. “Basu has sound knowledge, and I don’t know if another teacher could do any better.”

  “Boarding school is a possibility. There are many teachers there.”

  “Ah yes. If he goes away to school, he won’t be guarded the way that he is here. That could be dangerous.” He paused, as if continuing to mull over the question. “Yet he would study under many teachers and make some friends who could prove helpful later in life. He could even find himself chums with some of your people.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Perveen felt her hackles go up.

  “The Parsis are the wealthiest community in India.”

  She would not address that because the point was the maharaja’s education. Striving for a mild tone, she said, “Boarding schools usually have students with various religions and even nationalities.”

  “But Parsis are the ones behind hydroelectric power, steel plants, and so on,” he persisted. “I am in Bombay often—I meet them at the racetrack and hear stories.”

  She wanted to defend her community, to retort that Parsis were more than just hard-nosed business types, but she could not let herself get derailed. “It sounds as if you would like him to make connections that could lead to change for Satapur.”

  “It is embarrassing to be the only princely state in the western region without a full-service railway station. A railway track was laid during my father’s reign, but when my brother ascended, he was too busy furnishing the new palace to provide the capital needed for trains to go on the tracks. Everything stopped.”

  “Since you arrived in that splendid car, surely there must be a road?”

  “You saw my Mercedes Cardan.” He gave a smile of pride. “Yes, there is a rough road that runs between our palaces and out to the hunting lodge and on to Poona. But there should be more roads in addition to a full railway.”

  “But you are prime minister. Have you considered moving forward?”

  He shook his head. “Not without permission of the sleeping bear.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The Satapur agent is in a deep sleep, not wanting to do anything substantial until the maharaja he guards comes of age. Then the agent will assure my nephew the government will build wonderful roads and dams and a railway as long as he pays more in taxes and crops. He will not know any better but to agree.”

  This was a different way of looking at Colin’s relationship with the state. “You are not so fond of the British.”

  “Nor are they of us. To the English, we’re a nursery of spoiled children.” Prince Swaroop’s words were delivered with a sad half smile. Perveen wondered how many times he’d felt belittled. She’d heard maharajas bought fleets of Mercedes and Rolls-Royces to prove they had more wealth than the British officers who controlled them.

  She could bet that at an English school, some students would be rude to Maharaja Jiva Rao. But the prince would also develop friendships and social skills that would serve him well. And if the school was a good one, he’d receive a broad liberal education. In her case, it was after her studies in England that her dedication to the freedom movement had solidified.

  Perveen could have shared this, but she doubted the prince wanted Indian independence, because it would surely end the princely states. Even though he resented the sleeping bear.

  “I don’t have access to the accounting books here, but it’s possible that some of your family’s assets could pay for improvements without taxes needing to be raised. Are there any unused palaces in the state?”

  “Of course. And we have a house in London and several properties in Poona and Bombay. But to sell those would mean losing face.”

  He didn’t want to give up these properties, and it made sense for such a big, expensive decision to wait for the future maharaja, the true ruler. Who knew what the situation would be in eight years’ time? “May we talk more about the maharaja? Do you notice a difference in his mood and behavior since his brother’s death?”

  “Of course. It has saddened the whole family. That is to be expected.”

  He was regarding her as if she were slow, and that made her finally decide to confront him. “I hear that you were with the hunting party when Pratap Rao died.”

  “Yes, and I blame myself for the events.” His voice was somber.

  “In what way?” Perveen’s pulse quickened. What was he about to confess?

  “He insisted on carrying the hunting pistol and running ahead.” Prince Swaroop’s fingers moved restlessly on the edge of the table, as if he was uncomfortable going back to this memory. “The doctor’s finding was that he fell down and was stunned—perhaps hitting his head on a nearby fallen tree. This was why he did not answer our calls. And his vulnerability led the depraved animals to find him.”

  She thought about what Mirabai had said about the suspicious nature of the death. Why wouldn’t Prince Swaroop, who’d been on the scene, have the same misgivings?

  Perhaps because he was the cause of the so-called accident.

  Trying not to show her apprehension, Perveen asked, “And then—the next day—were you the one who found him?”

  He looked searchingly at her. “Is your concern about a prince who’s already died or one about to ascend the throne?” When she remained silent, he said, “Did you know that if the British believe there’s corruption or disarray in a state without a ruling maharaja, they have the right to take it as a possession?”

  He could have been going on the offensive because he feared she suspected him. But truly, there was no evidence. Perveen took a deep breath and spoke in a gentle tone. “I have not heard any such talk.”

  “Such land grabbing has happened many times on the subcontinent. It’s how the British took half the land.”

  “You are correct about that point.” Perveen could have talked about military force, and about pressure put on landowners to gift or sell the British property, but that would hardly do for someone hired by the British, even temporarily. She would stay professional. “I greatly appreciate your taking the time to talk to me. You have been so very helpful.”

  “You are brave to travel alone,” he said patronizingly. “I wonder what a lady solicitor can do when she is alone in a princely state with none of her people to back her.”

  It sounded almost like a threat. As Perveen stared at him, she wondered how she would get away if he wished her to be destroyed. One would think he’d fear British retaliation, but she could always fall ill, or have an accident. She swallowed, pushing down her fears. “As a representative of the imperial government, I feel as secure in protection as the viceroy himself. However, I’m not so sure of the maharaja’s safety. I saw him running along the palace rooftop with the buffoon. Highly dangerous behavior!”

  “But the roof is the best place for flying kites!” Prince Swaroop said with a mischievous smile.

  Perveen understood why Jiva Rao liked his uncle. Smiling despite herself, she looked past the prince at two large-winged white birds swooping through the trees and landing on the courtyard grass. “Are those vultures?”

  The prince stood and walked a few feet from the table to look at the birds, which were pecking at something. “Yes, the white vultures that are common to this area. But don’t watch them. Their behavior is disgusting.”

  It was too late; she’d followed him closely enough to see the scavengers huddled near the tuberose bush where she’d thrown the pohe earlier in the morning. They pecked energetically at a gray monkey who lay on its back, its limbs stretched tautly as if paralyzed. Its dilated pupils stared blankly upward.

  16

  An Ugly Sight

>   As Prince Swaroop shouted for a servant to come and clean things up, Perveen retreated to her chair. She was nauseated both by the sight of the carnage and the certainty that the food she had thrown under that very bush had caused the demise of the gray monkey she’d seen earlier playing happily in the garden.

  Prince Swaroop came back to her with a hand over his mouth and nose. In a muffled voice, he said, “What a stink. The creature gave up all he’d eaten, along with his life.”

  “Do you mean that you saw vomit?” Perveen asked.

  He nodded and sat down heavily, as if his body hurt.

  She decided to trust his word, rather than go over to look. Now she thought about how the waiter had urged her to eat the palace specialty. She wanted to identify him. “Do you know everyone who works in the palace?”

  “Of course. They were either here when I was growing up or are the children of such servants.”

  “A very round-faced young man waited on me this morning. I don’t think I saw him waiting at the table last night.”

  The prince looked quizzically at her. “Were you eating in the new palace or the old yesterday?”

  “The old palace.” She felt herself sweating as she had a new thought: Was the urge to vomit due to horror at the monkey or an actual poison within her?

  “The old palace waiters are different. There are different kitchens for the two palaces, so the food is delivered more quickly and to each maharani’s taste.”

  Mirabai was the one who’d been worried about poison, and this poison had probably come from her kitchen.

  In the next moment, the same round-faced man who’d served her in the morning emerged through the dining room doors into the garden. Head bowed, he addressed Prince Swaroop. “You were calling for someone?”

  “There’s a dead monkey here. You are not taking care of the grounds!” Prince Swaroop shook a finger at him in the same autocratic manner characteristic of his mother.

  The bearer took a few steps toward the bush, looked at the monkey, and shuddered. Returning to Swaroop, the bearer said, “But I cannot touch that. It is the job for a sweeper.”

  Was that the real reason? Or did the bearer know there was some kind of poison spread about? He had been bossy toward her before, but now, with the prince present, he was entirely deferential.

  “Get a sweeper, then!” The prince sounded exasperated. “Don’t you see how sick this sight is making our guest?”

  “One minute,” Perveen said weakly through her nausea. “What is your name?”

  “Lalit,” the waiter answered, nervously shifting from one foot to the other.

  There were many reasons the monkey could have died. If she falsely accused Lalit of poisoning the breakfast, he could lose his position. She needed to know more. Looking from the bearer to the prince, she said, “I must learn what made a vigorous animal die so quickly: whether it is from natural causes, illness, or something else. It is all part of my survey of the safety of the palace for the maharaja.”

  “Get a sweeper!” Swaroop directed Lalit. Then he waved his arms angrily at the vultures, so they hopped several feet away from the carcass. When the bearer was out of earshot, the prince turned his attention back to Perveen. In a churlish tone, he asked, “What is this all about? You had not spoken of investigating safety before—just education!”

  The prince had not yet arrived at the palace when she’d breakfasted. He could not have placed poison into the food with his own two hands, but she didn’t trust him. In a reasonable tone, she said, “The maharaja is an official ward of the government. Of course his safety is my concern. His mother told me yesterday that he fell quite ill from food served to him last week. And I know that monkey was in very good health an hour ago.”

  From a few feet away, one vulture watched them with bloodshot eyes. The vulture seemed eager for a chance to return to its meal. Perveen stared at the vulture, knowing there was no way to communicate that the meal it wanted so dearly might result in its sickness or even death.

  “The strong prey on the weak. That’s how it always happens,” the prince said over her shoulder.

  “Another possibility is a cowardly person has used poison to achieve his or her aim,” Perveen answered tartly. The prince gave her a sharp look but didn’t answer.

  Two men dressed in shabby lungis appeared carrying a small broom and a bundle of newspaper. Prince Swaroop pointed toward the bushes, and the sweepers began their unpleasant task.

  Perveen understood that with animals, power determined who ate dinner and who became the meal. But that was not how human societies were supposed to work. The Satapur royals didn’t have the right to dispatch someone who threatened their autonomy. Not in the twentieth century. She decided to remind Prince Swaroop of this. “Your Highness, we are both supposed to be protectors. You were appointed prime minister to take care of people’s well-being. I am a lawyer sworn to protect my clients.”

  “I am doing just that, but your theory of intentional poisoning is—hysterical!” He half-shouted the last word in English.

  “I am not the one with a raised voice,” Perveen said evenly.

  He sucked in his breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was normally pitched, but cold. “This is too hard a job for the Kolhapur Agency to have given a lady. I’ll call for tea now, and then you can be released. Don’t worry—I can arrange for the royal palanquin to take you, since you have none.”

  “No thank you! There is no problem whatsoever with my continuing this job.” She wanted nothing he had offered her. And how could she abandon the maharaja? If someone wanted her dead, it probably meant he was at risk. She needed to stay long enough to deliver the school recommendation and convince the maharanis something was afoot within the palace.

  Prince Swaroop shook his head, as if at a petulant child. “If I cannot convince you the monkey’s death was an act of nature, there is no point in talking to you about anything.”

  Perveen got to her feet. The anger she felt toward the prince had made the nausea subside. As she looked toward the palace, she felt relieved to see Aditya standing inside the doorway.

  “Good morning! I see you have met the children’s uncle. What do you call him in the English storybooks—Prince Charming?” Aditya laughed merrily, clearly having no idea how charged their discussion had been.

  “Escort memsahib to her room,” Prince Swaroop ordered. “She’s feeling poorly after having seen the ugliness the men are cleaning up over there.”

  “What happened?” Aditya regarded the sweepers bent over by the bushes.

  “A vulture was eating a dead monkey.” The prince scowled, bringing the ends of his stiff mustache downward. “It is a natural occurrence in the forest but not inside a palace—so our guest wants an investigation.”

  Aditya’s friendly expression froze. In a faltering voice, he asked, “A monkey died?”

  Perveen realized what he was afraid of. “He was not dressed in clothing. Don’t worry.”

  “Let me see!” Aditya hurried to the bushes and pushed aside the servant who was shifting the animal’s corpse into a newspaper bundle. Then he came to an abrupt halt. “Aiyo! It’s my Bandar!”

  “It can’t be,” Perveen said, feeling her head spin. Please let it not be true. The death of a pet was entirely different from that of a wild monkey.

  Prince Swaroop came to stand over the grieving buffoon, who was kneeling by the corpse. “You are mistaken, Aditya. He is an ordinary gray bonnet monkey, not yours.”

  “No, it is he!” Aditya’s retort was anguished. “I know the white mark between his eyes as well as the birthmarks on my own body. He is mine.”

  “Your pet, Bandar, wears a coat. This one is clearly an untamed monkey!” Prince Swaroop argued. Even though she disliked him, Perveen longed for him to be right. If only Bandar would pop out of hiding; then the buffoon’s tears would stop.

&nb
sp; “This morning, before I could dress him, he ran from me. He was angry I took a biscuit away from him.” Aditya burst into wrenching sobs. “Why did he have to die? He’s only three. Bonnet monkeys live more than thirty years.”

  She could have elaborated on her suspicion about the poisoned breakfast dish. But that would mean she’d have to admit throwing pohe in the bush and being the agent of Bandar’s death. Aditya had seemed to be the most natural and friendly person within the palace, but if he learned her actions had led to his pet’s death, he would never forgive her. She already could not forgive herself. Perveen had missed her pet parrot, Lillian, many times since she’d been away. And she took comfort that large parrots like Lillian lived more than fifty years; Perveen was counting on having a long-term friend.

  As guilt washed over her, she saw Swaroop looking at her with concern. Wordlessly, she shook her head. If she declared to Aditya she thought there had been poison, it would add to Swaroop’s impression of her hysteria.

  “What happened to him?” Aditya wailed. “How could this be?”

  “He was dead before we came outside, so we do not know exactly. I suspect the monkey fell sick and the vulture took advantage.” Swaroop kept his gaze averted from Perveen.

  Aditya’s eyes hardened. “Where did the bird go?”

  “Over there.” Swaroop pointed to the corner where the vultures waited.

  Angrily, the buffoon rushed toward the large birds, pulling from the folds of his clothing a short, sharp dagger. Sensing danger, the vultures all rose, screaming out warnings, and flew off.