Perveen’s heart pounded as Aditya shouted a stream of profanity at the birds. When they were out of sight, he turned to address the tiny cluster of bearers waiting with terrified expressions in a corner of the garden. In a low, ragged voice, he said, “Bring a fine cloth so I can wrap Bandar. Then I’ll take him to the temple for a proper ceremony.”
The buffoon loved Bandar enough to seek religious cremation by a priest? She had not known Hindus would do such a thing. But then again, there was a monkey god, Hanuman. Perhaps Bandar could be buried at a Hanuman temple.
Swaroop’s voice was warm in her ear. “He’s very upset. Let us leave him here. I shall escort you to your room.”
“That is not necessary.” Feeling sick, she turned to walk back into the palace. But despite her declining his offer, Swaroop strode beside her down the gleaming marble floors of the new palace.
“This way,” he corrected her when she paused. She followed, because the many turns and great rooms opening up along the halls had confused her. Her upset about the monkey had distracted her from her memory of the route.
As they continued toward the wide staircase she had walked down earlier in the day, she asked, “When Choti-Rani returns from riding, will you please ask if she could come to see me?”
He gave her a tight smile. “Remember, she keeps purdah. I cannot go to her.”
She had no idea if the laissez-faire purdah customs practiced by the maharanis really excluded brothers-in-law. But Mirabai might insist on keeping purdah from Swaroop because she disliked him. Whatever the reason, the prince’s comment reminded her that the maharanis were cut off from society in general. As she and Swaroop started to ascend the stairs, she asked, “Does she have any voice to the outside world?”
“Oh, she lets her feelings be known. Mr. Basu is supposed to write letters for her, but she wrote her own letter to the government. Your presence is the response.”
“Your own mother also wrote. If the two didn’t have opposing ideas, I would not have been called.” Perveen had climbed about twenty steps, and there were two more flights ahead. Looking sideways at the prince, she added, “I heard from Mr. Sandringham that he receives letters from a palace officer. Do you know whether the choti-rani speaks with him?”
“She does every day. Didn’t he tell you?”
Perveen was perplexed. “I haven’t met anyone with that title.”
“The children’s tutor, Basu, also serves as palace officer. He has worked inside the palace for over forty years. He knows what to tell the servants and how to settle disputes among the constituents.”
Perveen felt breathless, both from the climb and from the news that such responsibility was in the hands of the fatigued old man. “Has Mr. Basu been teaching and managing palace affairs all that time?”
“Only since the former palace officer, Jaqinder Dhillon, decided he’d like to work for me.”
“Why did Mr. Dhillon leave his important post for your place?” Perveen noted that his expression had seemed to become less confident.
“Why should I tell you any of my business?” he fired back. “You were saying your concern is about my nephew’s safety.”
Having a trusted palace official gone would have destabilized the situation there. And it had obviously slowed down the administration of the state. But should she throw fire on fire? No, it would not bring about anything helpful.
They had come to the guest wing, and she saw the door to her room was open. She didn’t want him to follow her in. Trying to sound reasonable, she said, “We don’t know what does or does not matter until we have all the facts.”
“From the health of monkeys to the names of the lowliest servants!” He shook his head and looked down with a most patronizing smile. “You ask about the most unusual things. What an investigation this will be.”
Not responding to the insult, Perveen stood with her back toward the open door, both blocking entry to the prince and signifying the end of their walk. “Thank you and goodbye.”
Prince Swaroop gave her a surprised look, as if nobody had ever told him that he was dismissed. But he whirled around on his heels and strode away, his slippers pounding the floor in a way that made her insides jump.
Chitra was standing at the open almirah when Perveen entered. The maid turned around and looked calmly at Perveen. “You are back for a rest, memsahib?”
When she had arrived at the palace filthy and wet, Perveen had appreciated Chitra’s kindness; but now she worried about what the maid had been up to. “What are you doing with my things?”
“I was only putting in the clothing that the dhobi finished ironing. Your clothes from yesterday.”
As Chitra held out the freshly laundered white lace blouse that had been a sodden mess the day before, Perveen relaxed slightly. “The laundry was done quickly—yet it was still raining when I went to sleep last night.”
“Yes, but we have a warm room where clothes hang to dry.” Sounding proud, she added, “The dhobi’s iron is burning hot!”
Perveen went to the almirah to look at the perfect rectangle of unwrinkled silk. She had been worried that Gulnaz’s sari was ruined, but it was more lustrous and smooth than when her sister-in-law had given it to her.
Chitra spoke quickly, as if she feared Perveen was angry. “Your blouse and underthings and nightclothes from last night have also been washed. Would you like me to send off the gara sari? It is not at all soiled, but I could have it lightly pressed.”
Perveen could hardly think of clothes at that moment. Tightly, she said, “No, too much washing and the color fades. Tell the dhobi that this laundry service for my clothes worn in the rain was appreciated. I’ll give you some baksheesh to give to him.”
Smoothing the top of the folded gara sari with her hand, Chitra offered a small smile. “Memsahib, I have good news for you. Some men have arrived with your palanquin.”
Perveen closed her eyes, making a silent prayer of thanks. She was not one for regular formal prayers, but at the moment, the arrival of the necessary transport seemed providential. “That is wonderful to hear. But is the palanquin mended?”
Chitra nodded. “They have left it near the gatehouse. The men will wait as long as needed, and then they will take you home.”
Perveen pictured the long rainy night in the forest they must have endured. “The poor fellows must be starved. And so tired!”
The servant looked at her curiously, and Perveen recalled Aditya’s surprised comment about her concerns. Probably it was rare for someone to comment on servants’ hardships. “They were tired, yes, and they have already been given food to eat.”
Perveen suddenly was panicked. “From which kitchen?”
Looking puzzled, Chitra said, “We servants have our own kitchen. It is a hut near the old palace. We are a different caste from the royalty. Actually, we are many different castes. But we must take different food and use different plates.”
“Are leftovers given from either of the main kitchens?”
“Never. That food is too fine for us. It is taken to the temple near the palace for devotees.” Chitra gently closed the door to the almirah and locked it. Then she put the key in Perveen’s hands. The gesture seemed to be one of reassurance, and that gave Perveen the encouragement she needed to press on.
As Perveen took the key with a nod, she said, “I have another question. I know the maharaja had a stomach illness last week. Today, I saw him running very close to the edge of the palace’s roof. Has he had any accidents or other illnesses?”
Chitra ran her tongue over her lips as if they’d suddenly gone dry. “I don’t know.”
“You see him every day, don’t you? What do you recall?”
“Children fall down. They get sick. I cannot keep track of it.” She hung her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Never mind.” Perveen could not decide if Chitra was stalling her
or speaking honestly. She would not force her view on the girl, who clearly had been trained to please.
Looking shyly at Perveen, Chitra said, “Memsahib, the bearers are asking how long you will stay here.”
This was a tricky question to answer. Perveen wanted the men to be prepared to go quickly, but she didn’t want to miss out on learning a little bit more about whether poisoning might have occurred. “If they are feeling well, I’d like to leave sometime this afternoon.”
Chitra’s face was anxious. “So soon?”
It surprised her that Chitra seemed to wish she’d stay longer. “I’ve finished my observations of the maharaja, but I need to have a conversation with the maharanis.”
The lines around Chitra’s mouth relaxed. “I am glad. Rajmata has asked you to join her at two o’clock. After that, there will be a special meal because of Prince Swaroop’s visit! You will taste the finest mutton curry and masala fish from our river. These are his favorite dishes.”
Now Perveen understood Chitra’s desire for her to stay—it was so the royals wouldn’t be angry with her. Yet the lunch presented too great a danger. “I will gladly visit the rajmata at two, but I must regret missing the lunch in order to reach the circuit house before dark.”
“Yes, memsahib.”
“Chitra, you are an expert lady’s maid. How long have you served at the palace?”
“All my life! My mother is also a princess maid, because she waits on the rajmata. The women in our family line are born for this work.”
Perveen noted the pride with which Chitra had spoken the title “princess maid.” “Is your father in service to male royalty?”
“He is a bearer at the royal hunting lodge. We don’t see him very often.” Her voice was low and held a hint of sadness.
“That is a shame you can’t see him. How long has your mother been working in the palace?” Perveen asked.
“She began doing small jobs for other princesses who aren’t here anymore when she was six. When one of those princesses left, she was given the position of service to the rajmata.”
Perveen realized the princess who left might have been Vandana. In any case, Chitra’s mother was a longtime observer. Perveen would have liked to speak with her—but if the mother’s loyalty to the rajmata was strong, it was unlikely such talk would be confidential.
Chitra was looking at Perveen as if expecting more questions. Perveen ventured, “So Basu-sahib was here as a tutor to three generations. ”
Chitra started to polish the brass base of the oil lamp on the table. “Yes. Rajmata likes him very much.”
Watching her, Perveen said, “I heard that Basu-sahib also has the position of palace officer because the man who had that role—Jaqinder Dhillon?—left to work for Prince Swaroop.”
“Yes. Sardarji ran away.” There was contempt in Chitra’s voice.
“Ran away?” Perveen mirrored the maid’s emotion. “Why?”
Chitra rubbed at the lamp with vigor. Without looking up, she said, “I’m sure Prince Swaroop invited Sardar Dhillon to go to his place. Prince Swaroop always favored the palace officer. He gave him much baksheesh whenever he visited.”
“So maybe he thought he’d earn more money there?” That was quite a normal reason for a person to change jobs.
Chitra shrugged. “I think he wished to leave. This place suffers from a curse. Our maharaja had lost his life to cholera, and a year later his son was killed during the hunting. This palace became a very sad place.”
“Would you go away, if you were given a chance?”
Chitra’s eyes widened. “Are you saying you would take me to Bombay?”
Perveen realized she sounded like she wished to poach the maid from the palace. “No. My words were clumsy. I was just wondering if you’ve thought of going elsewhere, either to work or to get married.”
Chitra stopped polishing altogether. She gave Perveen a look that was almost angry. “Outside of this palace, there are a thousand girls who dream of taking my place—and perhaps one hundred of them have some blood connection that could allow it. But if I leave the palace, what becomes of me? My father has no money for a dowry. I would be nothing.”
Maybe she had wanted to go to Bombay. Perveen felt heavy with regret for Chitra and all the longtime servants at the palace. She told Chitra she wished to rest but to return shortly before her meeting with the dowager.
The maid insisted on drawing closed all the long silk draperies—a formidable task since the room had sixteen windows. Once alone, Perveen opened the curtains closest to the desk and sat down with the legal notebook she’d been carrying all morning.
Slowly, she turned the ruled pages. The observations she’d noted the previous evening were penciled in a careless manner. She’d been weary, and it had been tricky to work by candlelight. Today she’d taken her notes in the presence of the children and Mr. Basu and Prince Swaroop. These were easy to read. The trouble was what importance to assign the opinions of the people to whom she’d spoken, because while some of their points seemed valid, others were very questionable.
She needed to write with the goal of bringing the women to agreement. But how could she do that when their minds were as separated as the two palaces? Also, she would have to face them without showing her suspicion that one of them might have tried for her poisoning.
Her favorite Parker pen was set up in its holder on the desk’s blotter, and nearby rested a small folio with palace stationery bearing the Satapur coat of arms. Soberly, she dated a piece of the stationery and wrote two paragraphs. The first was her recommendation regarding the maharaja’s education and her rationale for that recommendation. She signed the statement and copied it on a second piece of paper in Marathi. Then she wrote a third statement in English, with some added paragraphs about what had happened after breakfast, and the fears about Pratap Rao’s death that Mirabai had privately expressed. This letter would be for Colin’s eyes only.
Each letter went into an envelope. There was a small container of stamps, all featuring the likeness of Maharaja Mahendra Rao. Wondering when stamps would be reissued featuring the new maharaja, she pasted one on the envelope addressed to Colin Sandringham.
A knock on the door startled her. She called out, “Who is there?”
“It is Chitra again! Sorry to disturb your rest, but the time is ten minutes before two.”
Perveen opened the door and thanked the maid for the notice.
Bustling in, Chitra looked at the bed, which showed no signs of untucked covers. “You did not rest.”
“I remembered some writing that I had to do.”
Chitra eyed the envelopes Perveen was holding and the Parker pen in its holder “I wish I could write. Then I could send a letter to my father at the lodge. The postmen drive everywhere bringing letters when the weather is good.”
“I also wish you could do that. Will you please close the door?”
As Chitra did so, Perveen sat down on one of the lounge chairs where she’d been with Mirabai the night before.
“You’re not in trouble,” Perveen reassured her when Chitra returned to stand before her with a bowed head. “I only want to ask you about some palace history.”
Chitra mumbled, “Even if I could read, I would not be allowed to touch the history books in Basu-sahib’s rooms.”
“Earlier, you mentioned a curse. I would like to know more about it.”
“Yes.” Chitra looked anxiously toward the closed door to the hall. “But it is a long story, and your presence is requested by the rajmata in just a few minutes.”
Perveen looked at her watch. “This won’t take long, and I need assistance with my hair since I didn’t have your help earlier this morning. Not long curls like yesterday—just a simple topknot.”
Chitra’s face colored. “I am sorry I wasn’t here this morning. I will do my best.”
Perveen settled herself at the ebony dressing table fitted out with a mirror that stretched six feet upward.
“I might make some mistakes in the story. I know what my mother has told me.” Chitra began to pull out the pins from Perveen’s hair. “It all began with the late maharaja.”
“Maharaja Mahendra Rao?” Perveen asked.
In the mirror, she saw Chitra shake her head. “No. It was during the time of his father, Maharaja Mohan Rao, who was married to the rajmata. In the old days, life here between family and servants was more free.”
Perveen thought Chitra’s word choice was odd. “How was it free?”
“There was more enjoyment.” The maid picked up Perveen’s silver-handled travel hairbrush and began brushing out her hair. “Mother says there were more than two hundred servants; we were a town within the palace! Three buffoons made jokes, and there were twenty musicians and dancers. The rajmata and her husband arranged many parties, and nobles came to visit.”
“It sounds very exciting,” Perveen commented. This was the palace Gulnaz had expected for Perveen.
“Yes. But the trouble was that one of those palace dancers fell in love with the late Maharaja Mahendra Rao when he was a young man—before he became a ruler.”
Perveen felt her pulse race. Yazad had hinted that Vandana was supposed to marry Maharaja Mahendra Rao. “What was this dancer’s name?”
“My mother says not to speak her name because it brings bad luck.” She brushed Perveen’s hair more slowly. “The maharaja was just at the age of getting married. So it was wrong for him to be attached to the dancer. Especially wrong for her to be carrying his child.”
“But maharajas often have courtesans, and sometimes extra wives.”
“Such behavior looks bad to the family of a bride, if a maharaja is not yet married. And this dancer was not a young girl. She had done this kind of thing before with maharajas and other guests. She wanted to trap him.”
Perveen considered things. Could the dancer be Vandana? If so, she was far from the noblewoman Yazad believed her to be.
The Satapur Moonstone Page 20