The Satapur Moonstone Read online

  “I’ve known them ever since I arrived here. Why do you ask?”

  She blushed. She didn’t want to share her suspicion that the Mehtas were counting on him to turn a blind eye to their development actions when she did not know all the facts. After she returned from the palace, she would try to learn from Vandana if her husband really hoped to go forward with the metaled road.

  Colin’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Perveen, we’ve got something else to talk about.”

  “We do?” She wondered if something she’d said had caused offense.

  “I’ll be in Bombay for two weeks in November.” His eyes seemed to glow as he looked at her. “All of the area’s political agents have been called in for a meeting with the governor’s councillors.”

  “That may mean Sir David,” she said. “I’ll have to prepare you for him. He’s got a misunderstanding of who you are.”

  “All right.” Colin shifted his posture in the way she’d noticed before, as if he was looking for grounding. “My days are likely to be filled with official business, but I want to invite you to a lecture on India’s man-made waterways at the Asiatic. As I said, I’m part of a club there called Thinkers for the Future. Would your family allow you to attend a Thinkers for the Future lecture with me?”

  “I certainly am free to attend lectures,” Perveen said after a beat. “But I don’t know if it’s a wise idea.”

  “Why not?” His eyes bored into hers.

  Perveen struggled to figure out what to say. “Is this lecture invitation social?”

  “Yes, it has nothing to do with the ICS or the Kolhapur Agency. It would be lovely to go together. I could call for you at your home.”

  She could predict her parents’ reaction. Trying not to cringe, she said, “The social life in Bombay is less free than the one you lead here. I’ll have to give my regrets.”

  He regarded her, his face coloring the way it had when she’d pointed out the problem with the unsavory children’s book the previous evening. “So you’re saying that we can be friendly here but not in Bombay? Even though you yourself socialize freely with Alice Hobson-Jones, an English councillor’s daughter?”

  Perveen looked straight at him. “A woman who hopes to maintain a respectable image within the legal community can’t go around town with a bachelor of any nationality.”

  “Not even if his intentions are honorable?” Colin was scrutinizing her. “I said that I would call on your parents first.”

  Perveen felt panic rush up in a wave, threatening to take her breath away. “No. You mustn’t.”

  “What is the main problem about me?” His voice was tight.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Is it that I’m a peg leg, or simply that I’m English?”

  Perveen felt her heart break at the ugly words. “Neither! You’re a very fit, bright, and ethical man!”

  “If you think that, why wouldn’t you give me the same chance at friendship that you would any other person?”

  She had tried friendship with a highly attractive man once before—and it had failed on many levels. This was a lesson she could not afford to forget. Sadly, she said, “We live in a world with rules governing both our behaviors.”

  “For God’s sake, this isn’t Oxford. The chaperone laws are gone!”

  But she made her own laws. She had wrapped herself in a code of behavior that surrounded her as securely as her sari. Grimly, she said, “I chaperone myself.”

  “Why?” he retorted. “If you trusted me enough to stay here, why can’t you see me again? You know that I’m not married.”

  The way he was pushing made Perveen’s irritation rise to the point where she could no longer mince words. “Bully for you. I’m not as fortunate.”

  “What?” His eyes widened as he absorbed the information. “Are you saying that you’re married?”

  She didn’t want the ICS knowing, but she had to stop him. “Yes. It’s confidential information for your ears only.”

  He faltered, leaning to the left as if he’d lost his balance. Righting himself, he asked, “Do you mean—you’re actually Mrs. Mistry? Why didn’t you say that?”

  She shook her head. “My estranged husband has a different surname. I use my maiden name for professional work.”

  “What about your husband? Doesn’t he mind you traveling about like this?” The questions came out rapid fire.

  “That is not your business,” Perveen said tightly. “In the time we’ve wasted arguing about spending time together, the sky has begun looking even darker. I’d best get on my way.”

  Colin looked at the sky and nodded. “I want you to travel safely.”

  She had to protect herself—not just her body, but also her heart. Slowly, she said, “When I return in a few days, I think it’s better that I accept Vandana Mehta’s offer to stay the night with her.”

  Colin’s eyes narrowed. “Have you forgotten the report that you’re due to give me? We’ve got business to do.”

  “That is the reason I came here!” Perveen felt like weeping. Everything had gone so terribly wrong. This was why women weren’t supposed to travel without their husbands or fathers; whomever they met would regard them as available. All the old stories were proving true. “I never came looking for a friend or a beau. I will pay a call on you the next morning and present my report. Then I will go straight to Khandala Station.”

  He gave her a scornful look. “All right, then. I wouldn’t want you to stay where you don’t want to be.”

  Perveen thought of the space in the circuit house visitors’ book where she was supposed to write comments. What could she say after all that had happened? She would not leave a lie saying that the experience had been pleasant. She’d leave the area by her name blank.

  Rama carried her trunk to the palanquin, along with a tiffin box. His mouth was drawn downward, making his wizened face look even older. She wondered what he disapproved of—her swift rejection of Colin, or her decision to stay with the Mehtas?

  Perveen took a rupee from her purse—standard behavior for a guest staying in another’s residence. A bit of money was thanks for the extra work cooking and cleaning. But Rama put his hands behind his back.

  She had offended him. Perveen put the coin back in her purse and turned to the waiting carriers. The ones at the front, who had seen the rupee she’d offered Rama, smiled broadly. She imagined the carriers were anticipating good tips. However, she planned to pay only at the end of a successful round-trip journey. This was the way her father had taught her was best.

  Perveen climbed into the little box, which smelled of sweat and something organic she couldn’t define. Was it rotting bamboo? A dead mouse? There was an array of slightly damp cushions and dark hairs on the thin mattress on the palanquin’s floor.

  She decided to lay out a shawl between herself and the surfaces and made sure the end of her sari covered the back of her head as she leaned back on the lumpy cushions. One of the bearers pulled the curtains shut, buttoning them down the center.

  “No!” She put a hand on the curtains. “I’m not in purdah. I want to look out.”

  “But you could fall.” Lakshman’s expression was dubious.

  She shifted her body so she was as close to the curtained opening as was possible in the hellish little box. “I will be very careful. If it gets too difficult, I will button up the curtains, though cotton cloth will hardly keep anyone from falling out.”

  “You must not touch it. You must call for us to stop.”

  Perveen grumbled her assent. Then Lakshman disappeared from view, and the men hoisted up the palanquin on their shoulders. It felt like there was unevenness between the front and back, with the front a bit lower than the back, so she had to hold the sides to keep from sliding into the wall. The angle was exacerbated by the fact that the beginning of the journey w
as downhill.

  Perveen tried to ignore the uncomfortable rising and falling of the palanquin. Having parted the dirty curtains on the palanquin’s left side, she had an approximate two-foot-square picture of the outside world. The growing mists were thick, allowing a view of only about twenty feet. All she could see were small, twisted ironwood trees that seemed to range on forever in the distance.

  As the palanquin approached the village where she’d been the day before, people came out to stare at the palanquin. Feeling embarrassed to be the burden on the carriers’ backs, Perveen shrank back from the opening and closed the curtains. Despite her declaration that she was not in purdah, she didn’t like being gawked at.

  Children’s voices sang out, “Give, mother, give!” Their litany continued at the exact pace of the palanquin. They weren’t going to leave. She felt heartless ignoring them, so she tossed out two paisa coins, which were swiftly caught. On a whim, she also threw out a pencil from the box she had holding half a dozen. The pencil could be used by a person working in a shop, or perhaps by someone trying to learn writing.

  After the village, the journey continued through a green valley and then into a different kind of landscape. The trees became more varied; there were large peepuls, with heart-shaped leaves, and black plums. Despite the isolation, the jungle was noisy, filled with sounds from singing birds and clicking insects. Parrots screeched, and other unknown animals howled, making her skin prickle. She believed it was too early in the day for cats to be prowling. If a tiger sprang out of the trees, she wondered, would the men try to beat it off—or would they drop the palanquin and run? What would she do if she were carrying a palanquin with a stranger inside? Would she make an instant decision to protect that person with her own life, knowing both might die?

  It was too frustrating a philosophical question to ponder. Maybe Colin’s Thinkers group could take it on. Better to think about such things in libraries than in the jungle itself.

  After about an hour’s ride, she spied a small Hindu temple with a stone statue of a female, arms bent and fingers touching in a classic dancer’s pose.

  Abruptly, the men dropped the palanquin. She hadn’t been prepared for how hard the landing would be and rubbed her bruised tailbone. Gingerly, Perveen crawled out of the window, inhaling the good smell of champa flowers. But she pulled back her hand quickly as she almost touched a gigantic brown spider. “My God!”

  Lakshman picked up his lathi and struck the spider so hard the palanquin made a cracking sound. As he swept away the smashed legs and torso, she felt the shaking in her body slowly subside.

  “Thank you.” She was no longer sure she should climb out, but it had been an hour of claustrophobia and jouncing, and she knew she needed a stretch. So she took the hand Lakshman offered and clambered to her feet.

  “There—see it? The altar for Goddess Aranyani. Will you make an offering?” Lakshman’s voice was eager.

  Perveen remembered what Vandana had recommended about leaving an offering. She suspected Lakshman had brought her here with the expectation she’d leave something of value that the team could later scoop up for their own benefit. She didn’t like the idea of this; it interfered with her plan to tip them fair and square at the end of the journey.

  She hesitated and then came up with an excuse not to give. “I’d better not do it. I’m not a Hindu.”

  “It is for safety. Religion does not matter!” His voice was urgent.

  “To my priests, it would matter.” Standing before him in the unfamiliar terrain, she felt tense. Would he see through her excuse?

  He nodded and went to the men. They conferred for a while, shooting her disapproving looks, and then Lakshman walked off toward the statue. He put something inside a bowl set in front of Aranyani. Perveen guessed it was the money she’d paid him for assisting with her trip to the village the day before. He had given because he believed the protection of the goddess was essential. A feeling of guilt swept over her, and when he came back, she said, “I will give you and everyone else baksheesh at journey’s end.”

  He shook his head as if her words were tiresome. “Memsahib, we will all eat now. Please take your tiffin near that kombadnakhi tree.”

  They’d been gone from the circuit house for only an hour, but she didn’t think the men would be happy if she ordered them to keep going. They had put the palanquin down; they wanted to eat.

  Picking up the brass meal container that Rama had given her, she surveyed the small tree, which had a mass of exposed roots that reminded her of claws. “What an interesting-looking tree.”

  “Kombadnakhi means ‘the hen’s tree.’” Lakshman spread out a light bamboo mat on the ground. “Sit here. There are many creatures about.”

  “Are there wild hens in these woods?” she asked as she opened the top section of the brass tiffin box to find two puris and two hard-boiled eggs.

  “No, memsahib. The tree is named that because its roots are like hen’s claws.” Smiling slightly, he curled his fingers into claws. “When the roots are chopped, they are used to heal wounds. Also good against scorpion bite.”

  Was he trying to help, or just make her nervous? Probably both. Moving on from the boiled eggs to a serving of kitchuri, Perveen ate with her right hand because no fork had been provided. She listened to the birdcalls, trying to distinguish what was new to her, and what was familiar. A number of parakeets were flying about, cawing like her parrot, Lillian. She thought she heard the sound of koels and the faraway tapping of woodpeckers. A family of bonnet macaques scampered right up to her, stopping to regard her food with beady, avaricious eyes.

  “I shall leave you something,” she said, trying to make peace before they sprang onto the mat.

  “They do not understand language,” a bearer said, smirking as he passed her.

  That was obvious, but she had hoped the tone of her voice would cause them to scramble off. It was an unpleasant feeling to have the monkeys circled around as if she were their prey. In the end, Lakshman shouted and waved a stick, and the monkeys loped off.

  Perveen was embarrassed he’d rescued her. “How far to the palace?”

  “A little more than two hours.” Lakshman gestured with his hand. “I looked at those bushes. No snakes.”

  It took a moment for Perveen to understand his meaning. She hadn’t used the outdoors as a privy since a childhood trip to the mountains. It was unsanitary and also embarrassing that the men would know what she was doing. But as she walked hesitantly to the designated area, she knew that Lakshmant must have guided hundreds of travelers to do the same thing.

  When she returned, the carriers had surrounded the palanquin, the ones who’d guarded before now taking the poles. She sucked in her stomach to crawl through the narrow entrance into the palanquin box. Lakshman called out, and the box rose up sharply.

  Thunder rumbled, and the sky became dark. It was just her luck to get caught in the last edge of the monsoon. Raindrops began pounding the palanquin roof, and she drew the curtains closed. The men moved more slowly through the forest now, being careful about what was underfoot. They kept singing, though. She could understand only a few words of their Marathi-based dialect, but she sensed the song was cheerful and meant to keep them feeling strong.

  They continued for another hour, and toward the end, an argument broke out among some of the men about whether they should stop or keep moving. Lakshman was in favor of pressing on, but the men complained so angrily that she felt herself becoming nervous. And then, suddenly, the men stopped, and the palanquin dropped, unevenly, with a splintering sound.

  The men clustered together, shouting and arguing. Unlike the previous time they’d stopped, Lakshman didn’t come to the window to help her get out. Was it only because it was raining? With a sinking feeling, she listened to the rumble of his voice among the others’. After a long five minutes, she got out to see that the pole on the right side had cracke
d and was barely in one piece. The palanquin bearers were sopping wet, and the way rain was falling on her, she knew she would soon be just as bedraggled.

  “Oh dear,” she said in English. Some rough Parsi curses also came to mind, but the bearers wouldn’t have understood those either. She wondered if the break had occurred when Lakshman had hit the spider on the palanquin with his lathi. Perhaps it was her fault for overreacting.

  Lakshman’s thin lips drew down in a grimace. “The new bamboo piece has failed. But no worry, madam. We can carry on holding it carefully.”

  She shook her head. “But it’s bound to completely break since it’s already started.”

  “We must go on. It is not safe to stay a long time in this part of the forest.”

  Perveen looked around the rain-drenched landscape. “Surely we can shelter somewhere and wait out the rain.”

  “No.” His answer was sharp. “My brother saw remains of a monkey that looked like it was eaten by big cats. Tigers and leopards hunt at night. We should go on.”

  Brushing water out of her eyes, Perveen asked, “Would it be easier to carry the palanquin without my weight? I can walk, and perhaps someone can carry my trunk?”

  “But your shoes.”

  She glanced down at her kidskin boots. “These are strong enough for walking and to guard against snakes.”

  He still looked wary. “It’s not right for you to walk.”

  “We must go. I don’t want to be eaten by a tiger any more than you do.” Perveen tried to laugh, but it didn’t sound convincing.

  “Please let me talk to the others.”

  She could hear their voices, a rumble of disagreement and anxiety. She nodded, and he took leave.

  “Four men will journey to the nearest place to get what’s needed for repairing the palanquin,” he said upon his return. “The others will carry your trunk to the palace. I will walk beside you.”

  “So we’ll reach the palace in less than one hour’s time, then?” she asked hopefully.

  Lakshman shook his head. “No. That hour is running time. We cannot run if you are walking with us, and the weather is bad. It will take two hours or more. Depending on you.”