The Satapur Moonstone Page 21

  “My mother said that the late maharaja also loved this dancer. But she could not stay in the palace. There was risk to the line of succession because he did not have a proper wife and heir yet.”

  “Mirabai was chosen for him by the Agency,” Perveen remembered aloud.

  “Yes, yes.” Chitra nodded. “And his parents knew that they must not complicate that match.”

  “So—how is a curse involved?” Perveen’s thoughts returned to what Roderick had said about the maharajas dying too young.

  “The dancer was in the palace one day smiling and busy. But then she was gone.”

  “Does your mother think the dancer was killed?”

  “Maybe. Why would she willingly leave, when she loved the maharaja?” After a pause, Chitra added, “Haunting and curses come when there’s an unjust death.”

  If the dancer had died, Perveen’s burgeoning theory about Vandana was useless. “Did anyone see the woman being harmed or hear stories about that?”

  Chitra put down the hairbrush and looked into the mirror, her eyes serious. “I cannot give facts, because from what I’ve heard, the dancer was not human. She is a spirit, the daughter of the mountain goddess, Aranyani. The dancer had power to place nazar on the palace’s maharajas.”

  “Nazar” was an Arabic-origin word, but Perveen wanted to know Chitra’s interpretation. “Do you mean the evil eye?”

  Chitra took Perveen’s hair in her hands. “Yes. Your people know about it?”

  Perveen nodded. She did not want to get into the fact that she didn’t believe in it, because she didn’t want to stop the story. “Please tell me more about the goddess.”

  “Aranyani is a powerful protector of animals. People say she can also touch the sun, so the crops grow well after the rains.” Chitra’s voice was as strong as her hands twisting Perveen’s hair. “When Goddess Aranyani is happy, the maharaja can give the British their nuts and grains and still have enough left for the villagers.”

  “All right, then.” Perveen tried to pull the story together in her own mind. “The dancer disappeared, maybe going home to her mother, the goddess Aranyani?”

  Chitra paused to gather up an errant strand of Perveen’s hair. “My mother says that Aranyani wouldn’t take her daughter back, nor could she return to the palace. Therefore, the daughter haunts the forest around it. She can follow the royals to the edge of the forest, where she told a leopard to kill Prince Pratap Rao. And before that time, she was responsible for killing his father, who had not fought for her to stay.”

  As Perveen’s topknot grew larger, so did her questions. But she had to be careful not to sound disbelieving. “I was told the maharaja Mahendra Rao died from an illness he caught in a village.”

  In the mirror, Chitra’s face was serious. “Cholera is a sickness carried in water. And these goddesses have power over water.”

  “Do you think that Prince Jiva Rao’s life could be saved if he leaves this area for a little bit?”

  Chitra shook her head. “Not if his fate is written.”

  Perveen had written the legal opinion on Jiva Rao’s educational plan. Since that matter was finished, she could not help being curious about the dancer—whether she was a young Vandana, and, if not, what the wealthy woman’s exact connection was with the royal family. She would privately ask Vandana a few more questions before returning to the circuit house.

  A knock at the door made Perveen jump.

  “Oh! It must be Aditya-yerda,” Chitra said. “He told me he will come to bring you to Rajmata for the meeting.”

  “Just a minute!” Perveen called out. Then she picked up one of the three envelopes. Should she give it to Aditya or Chitra to post for her? She wanted the letter to be sent without being read first. She wasn’t sure of Aditya’s reading ability, but Chitra was illiterate, which would ensure more privacy. “Chitra, I have a special request.”

  “Yes?” The girl’s eyes were on the envelope.

  “The next time the postman comes, give him this letter. It is most important.”

  She nodded. “I will do that.”

  “Please do it quietly, without telling anyone. I don’t want any delay.” She reached into the cloth purse she wore on a ribbon under her clothes and gave the girl two annas. “I am thankful to you for the good care during this stay.”

  A letter in the post was her secret insurance policy for informing Colin about what she thought should be done about the maharaja.

  In case she didn’t make it back.

  17

  Audience with Two Queens

  “Will you go in?” Aditya asked.

  The two of them were standing just outside the zenana durbar hall.

  “Certainly,” Perveen said, but she heard the waver in her voice. Right then, she imagined the maharanis felt expectant. They would be tense, but not angry. That could easily change.

  Softly, he said, “I was afraid when I came here at age eleven. But there were so many servants to comfort me and teach me what I needed. They told me, ‘Act as if you belong, and you will belong.’”

  “That is good advice!” Perveen gave the buffoon a slight wave as she stepped inside. He stayed outside the room, as if he knew that for this event, such was his place.

  The durbar hall was as dim by day as it had been the previous evening when Perveen had stepped nervously inside for dinner. The grand room’s long windows were covered by geometric-patterned marble jalis that let in just enough light to reveal that the long dining table had been moved to one side of the room. The dowager maharani was seated at the room’s center on an ornate gilded ebony throne, with Mirabai ten feet off to the side, half-hidden behind a column. Perveen craned her neck to see that the junior maharani was rigidly perched on an ordinary upholstered chair, although a relaxed Ganesan sprawled on a small rug at her side. The room was vast, and Perveen could imagine that assemblies there could hold more than one hundred.

  Near the entrance to the room, four women sat cross-legged on large floor cushions. They wore jewel-toned silk saris with wide borders shot through with gold. They could not be servants; perhaps they were ladies-in-waiting to the rajmata. The rajmata hadn’t invited them to dinner the previous evening, but it was very likely that they were there now because they were meant to serve as witnesses.

  The big white dog raised his head and looked appraisingly at Perveen as she approached. She felt a similarly powerful gaze on her back from the ladies-in-waiting as she stepped forward to address the queens. Perhaps they were scrutinizing the foreign manner in which she’d draped her sari.

  Remembering how awkward it had felt to curtsy the day before, Perveen resolved to do better. When she was about fifteen feet from the rajmata, Perveen stopped and rested her briefcase on the floor. She folded her hands together and placed them at her chest and then raised them to her forehead, in a respectful namaste.

  Mirabai was looking affectionately at Ganesan, but the dowager maharani watched Perveen, all the while holding a golden scepter studded with rubies and moonstones in a death grip.

  Perveen wondered if she should have bowed her head. She did so, realizing that her feelings of awe at being before royalty had changed to something else: pity. She now saw the royal women as the survivors in a very wealthy, lonely family. They were a mother-in-law and a daughter-in-law locked into an unhappy union they hadn’t chosen, and the only way the rajmata could affirm power over the choti-rani was through the manipulation of Prince Jiva Rao.

  “What is that you have carried in?” the dowager maharani Putlabai asked curtly.

  “My legal briefcase. I brought it in case I need to refer to information within.” The truth was, she hadn’t felt safe coming without it. She didn’t want the briefcase to be an obstacle to her departure if she had to leave hurriedly.

  “A case made from what?” the dowager responded.

  Perveen glanced
at Mirabai, silently asking for guidance, and saw an expression of dread. Then Perveen understood. She should not have carried anything made from the hide of the animal sacred to Hindus. Only the buffoon had seen the leather briefcase when she entered, and he had let her pass. In a quiet voice, she admitted, “It is bridle leather from England.”

  “In our state, the only leather allowed is that from water buffalo or goats.”

  “Sorry, I did not think. Inside there is a paper I want to give you—”As she fumbled with the latch, all the papers fell to the mosaic floor. The ladies behind her giggled as she scooped up the papers, separating out the one she intended to read.

  After the case was closed again, the dowager said, “Someone must take that foul thing out.”

  Behind Perveen, the women began arguing—nobody wanted to take it. Perveen’s anxiety surged as she thought about the many confidential government papers inside. If only she had left the case in her room and just carried the recommendation in an envelope. But it was too late for regrets.

  Aditya eventually stepped through the door. After conferring with the ladies-in-waiting, he carried out the briefcase. Perveen thought of how she was going to have to confess to Colin she’d put the government’s documents at risk. But how much English could the buffoon read—and would he look through her things in public?

  “Now we can begin.” The maharani pointed a long finger toward the women waiting behind Perveen. “Bring her cushion!”

  A lady rose to her feet and came forward carrying a flat cushion covered in blue velvet, gold braid around its edge. She laid it near the room’s center, facing the throne, heightening the sense that Perveen’s position was that of a supplicant.

  “That is too far away.” The dowager maharani frowned at the lady. “Let her come close enough for my tired eyes to see.”

  “Thank you,” Perveen said as the girl placed the pillow just five feet before Putlabai. Despite Putlabai’s complaint, her eyes had been strong enough to focus on Perveen’s leather briefcase. The lady’s eyes were sharp as an owl’s—very different from those of Mr. Basu.

  Perveen remembered how easily Colin had sat cross-legged on the ground during his yoga practice. This was the dowager’s position, but Perveen hadn’t the same flexibility, so she settled on the cushion with her knees together and her feet tucked under one hip.

  She turned her attention from Maharani Putlabai to Mirabai. Why was the younger queen on a chair and not a cushion? Perhaps it was a statement of her middling position—that she was not high enough for the zenana throne, but she was respected enough not to be somewhat elevated.

  The dowager went into a coughing spasm. Perveen wondered about her health, but she stayed quiet.

  “I called you here to tell me what you think about our family.” The dowager’s voice was scratchy and hard to understand. “But I wonder how much you could learn. I hear you took ill at the sight of a dead animal and had to rest.”

  Perveen imagined the buffoon was likely still near the doorway, hearing his pet referred to in such a cold way. She took care with her words. “Yes, it was a shock to me. What sadness for Aditya to lose his dear little friend.”

  “He wishes to perform rites for the creature tonight. Since you are emotional, you may attend the ceremony.”

  Perveen had no intention of being around through the evening, but she’d share that information later. “Is a religious cremation customary for animals?”

  Caressing the jeweled scepter, the dowager shook her head. “It is not. However, that monkey was like a younger brother to Buffoon. Two playful little fools!”

  Mirabai spoke up from behind the column. “I cannot bear to think of Ganesan dying, but he risks his life every day. He should have the same honor when his life ends.”

  “You took the dog with you this morning on your ride!” Putlabai chided. “You are always taking him. Do you not care about the protection of your son?”

  “While our lawyer guest is here, he’s fine.” Mirabai stretched down an arm to stroke her dog’s white head.

  Perveen’s heart sank. Did Mirabai want her to stay? She decided she’d better make her intentions clear. “Rajmata and Choti-Rani, I’ve prepared my recommendation. It is here in my hands.”

  “At last. You have been wasting our time. Speak!” the dowager commanded.

  Remembering how she’d planned to compliment both of them, Perveen ran her tongue over lips that had gone dry. She wasn’t in the right frame of mind for it. “Rajmata, I would like to first compliment you on the care you’ve taken with both your grandchildren. Your knowledge of the proper traditions for monarchs has been passed to them. I have seen how Princess Padmabai loves books, and your grandson knows so much about Satapur’s history.”

  “Yes, it’s true.” The dowager maharani shifted on her throne, looking more at ease.

  Perveen’s gaze turned toward Mirabai. “And I understand that as the mother of the future ruler, you have allowed him to enjoy being a boy. Flying kites and enjoying animal life are natural at his age. And your hope for expanding his circle of friends is sound.”

  Mirabai nodded very slightly, but she did not smile. She must have understood the decision wouldn’t be straightforward. Ganesan seemed to have picked up her mood and uttered a low growl at Perveen as she held up the paper.

  “I have written my recommendation in both Marathi and English to serve as a permanent record for you to keep in the palace.” Perveen bent her head to read the words she had written in very formal language less than an hour before. “The document reads as follows: ‘I, Perveen Mistry, a partner at Mistry Law, Bombay, working on behalf of the Kolhapur Agency, gratefully accepted access to the Satapur palace from October tenth to eleventh, 1921. During this time, I sought interviews with many residents of the palace, including Maharani Putlabai, Maharani Mirabai, and the maharaja’s tutor, Mr. Arvind Basu. His Highness Prince Swaroop is not a household resident, but, as uncle to the prince and as prime minister, had an opinion.’”

  “My brother-in-law’s opinion has no bearing on this! He would only take her side,” sputtered Mirabai.

  Perveen raised her voice and continued reading. “‘Most important, I spoke with and observed the maharaja Jiva Rao. I found him to be a healthy, intelligent young man of ten years. He excels in verbal communication and confidently asserts his will.’”

  This was a delicate way to get around the fact that he did not have polite social manners. Perveen continued, “‘The maharaja knows Marathi history well and has a special interest in animals and the outside world. However, he is unwilling to participate in a daily lesson plan, and his tutor has given up on pressing for such a study schedule including more than very basic subjects. To fulfill the maharaja’s potential, I recommend that his education expand to include modern biology and science, mathematics, writing, and literature. If he achieves fluency in English, that will put him in the top tier of Indian rulers.’”

  “What are you saying about changing his lesson plan?” the dowager maharani interrupted, sounding irritated.

  “Just give her a minute!” Mirabai snapped.

  Putlabai’s sharp eyes narrowed as she turned to look toward her daughter-in-law. “You! Disrespectful!”

  Perveen was stunned when Putlabai took the jeweled scepter and threw it with a shaky arm toward the column. The heavy scepter landed with a crash inches from Mirabai. The younger maharani screamed in shock, and Ganesan sprang from his place and rushed the short distance to stand in front of the dowager. He bared his teeth and growled.

  Now the dowager screamed and put her hands over her face. Her fleshy arms shook.

  “You deserve it!” Mirabai muttered. “Ganesan knows your true nature. You throw this symbol of our land and family like it’s a stick that means nothing. It means everything—and so does my son.”

  Ganesan was continuing to menace the dowager, barking and showi
ng his teeth. The ladies seated on the cushions shrieked, and one small woman ran forward, gasping and half-crying as she retrieved the scepter from the floor. Several moonstones had fallen off and remained on the mosaic tiles.

  “Please call him off!” Perveen begged Mirabai. The rapprochement Perveen had hoped to bring about had gone terribly awry.

  Mirabai gave Perveen a resentful look, then clucked her tongue. “Ganesan. Stand down!”

  As quickly as he’d taken off, the dog trotted back to her. Perveen was impressed; he appeared to be a very well-trained guard dog with the ability to scare off attackers. The lady-in-waiting returned the damaged scepter to the rajmata, who clutched it and looked venomously at Mirabai. It was as if she were a small child who had forgotten she’d started the fight.

  “Good, Ganesan!” Mirabai said, smiling as she patted his back.

  Perveen calmed herself, and then continued. “‘An excellent education for the maharaja can be obtained at a number of fine schools throughout the world. However, it is too late in the academic year for the maharaja to be granted a place at a suitable school in Britain. The best possibility is for him to enroll at one of India’s many fine boarding schools. By studying inside India, he will gain a richer knowledge of biology and history that is specifically useful to governing—’”

  “Studying in India!” Mirabai cried out in English. “How could you go against me? Over my dead body will I allow it.”

  “What is she telling you? What secrets are you keeping?” the dowager complained in Marathi. A wailing came up from the ladies-in-waiting. Perveen couldn’t guess which maharani’s side they favored, but she understood that nobody liked her recommendation.

  Striving to ignore these outbursts, Perveen soldiered on. “‘If he lives at boarding school, the maharaja will become acquainted with other nobles and young men destined for important roles in Indian politics and business. He will have true friends he can turn to when he is making decisions about moving Satapur forward. He shall also benefit from schooling side by side with some British students and having British teachers. He will learn the English language to the point of fluency.’”