The Satapur Moonstone Read online

  “I’ve met Archana. She is not very pleasant.” Perveen thought about how a nobleman could go to a palace party, select a dancer for private entertainment, and enjoy himself without any thought of raising his offspring. And perhaps Archana’s coldness to Perveen had been because the lady-in-waiting had felt her investigation was threatening the palace hierarchy. Still, a question remained in her mind about the moonstone. “Did you really steal the moonstone, as Maharani Putlabai claimed?”

  Vandana took a deep breath. “I removed it from the rajmata’s bathroom in the zenana when I was told I had to leave.”

  “What happened with the maharaja Mohan Rao?”

  She looked down, an expression of pain coming across her face. “I was just fourteen. I did not try for it—he went after me, and even my mother said I must submit to him. They said it was an honor to be chosen. I was frightened because I knew I could not possibly refuse.”

  Perveen nodded. She understood how powerless a young female would have been against the wishes of all the adults around her.

  “I fell pregnant, and my mother made up a story about my needing to tend to my grandmother, who was retired in our ancestral village. She feared for my safety because Putlabai would not want her husband knowing about the baby. In the village, I gave birth to the most beautiful little boy, with eyes the color of all the Satapur maharajas’.” She looked past Perveen and out the window at the Poona racetrack. “The family that took him to raise were court-buffoon caste. They had not had their own son and were eager for one to continue the family tradition. They even kept the name I gave him, Aditya. I named him Lord of the Sun, because I wanted him to have something he could feel proud about, even if he would grow up to be an idiot or clown.”

  “How was it that you returned to the palace?”

  “To my surprise, the maharaja missed me and sent a messenger looking. There was very little food and few comforts in the village, and everyone pushed me to return.” Looking sadly at Perveen, she added, “Putlabai hated me, and I had to always watch food for poison, so I became very thin. My poor health was probably the reason I did not fall pregnant again! And I was aging. He tired of my body by the time I was seventeen. And inside my heart, I was always yearning for Aditya to grow old enough to come to apprentice as a buffoon at the palace.”

  “So you did not want to leave the palace in 1905,” Perveen guessed.

  “Yes, that is so. As I grew older, I concentrated deeply on dance and became the leader of the group. And there were so many interesting visitors from other countries coming to the palace. I learned to say a few things in English to them and even a few words of French and German. And then the maharaja’s son fell for me. He had seen me dancing since he was a small child, and he had his heart fixed on me. I was lonely, and I must admit, it gave me pleasure to frustrate his mother just a little bit. He gifted me with jewels, saris, and other luxuries. I understood what it would be like to be married to a wealthy man who loved me.”

  “Was there a pregnancy?”

  She nodded. “After three months, you could see the change in my shape, and gossip spread. I heard his parents wanted me banished. The day I was being thrown out, I ran through the zenana packing up all my dancing clothes and jewelry, which I thought I could sell later. I also took the moonstone necklace the maharani had accidentally left in the bathroom. I thought I could sell it to help with my survival.”

  Perveen was startled. “Was the plan for you to live in a new place? Maharani Putlabai thought you were killed.”

  “Yes, that was her plan. But one of the palanquin bearers who carried me off was crying. He told me they were supposed to drop the palanquin in the river.” Vandana stared out the window again. “I gave each of them a piece of jewelry in exchange for my survival. I believed my relatives in the village a few miles away would hide me—and I’d get to see my son. But the people there were too afraid to let me stay with them, and the buffoon family wouldn’t let me through the door.” She shook her head. “I heard Aditya laughing and playing inside their courtyard, but I could not see him.”

  “That must have been so painful. And you were pregnant and alone. An impossible situation!” Perveen said.

  “I thought of ending my life—but I realized that was exactly what the maharani and her husband would want. So I decided that my revenge would be survival.” Straightening in her chair, she smiled at Perveen. “In the next village, I found a midwife who fed me the proper herb. A day later I was no longer pregnant.” She gave Perveen a long look, which told her of years of unspoken sorrow. “Then I was free. I went to Poona. Because I spoke some English, I was hired as an ayah for a British family. I worked three years for them, and when they were returning to England, they brought me along. But on the ship, I met some interesting people, three Indian musicians traveling to become part of a very popular troupe playing in Europe.”

  “The Royal Hindustan Orchestra!” said Perveen, remembering.

  Vandana nodded, and an expression of pride came into her eyes. “They were intrigued to learn that I had once been a court dancer and challenged me to show them a dance. One evening, after the family I worked for was in bed, they set up their instruments and played on the deck. I had danced just five minutes when they implored me to join them. They assured me I’d earn more as a dancer in Paris than as a nanny in London. I got off the boat with the orchestra men in Calais. And then I reinvented myself as Madame Vandana of Royal Hindustan.”

  “It must have felt like a reincarnation,” Perveen mused. “Yet you came back to Satapur.”

  “Being married to Yazad has been wonderful. We enjoy our lives so much!” Vandana said, her eyes playing across the prominent band of diamonds on her left finger. “After I’d heard the maharaja Mahendra Rao had died, I suggested to Yazad we buy a property in Satapur. To him it was practical, because he has interests in developing hydroelectric power in the area.”

  “But what was the reason for you?”

  “I still often dreamed of my lost baby. I wanted to see him, to tell him I was sorry for leaving, to explain the circumstances.” Grimacing, she added, “I did not know that jealousy would overwhelm him and he would regard the royal children as his nephews and niece rather than his superiors.”

  “Aditya received different messages about belonging to the family,” Perveen reflected. “He became very close to the rajmata. She let him socialize in her private rooms and he played for hours with the children.” Perveen paused. “Did the rajmata suspect Aditya was your son?”

  “He said the rajmata never indicated this—but he came to believe that Maharaja Mohan Rao did know. Why else would he bring him to the Delhi Durbar? It was very special treatment.” Shaking her head, she said, “After he lost his father, he could only hate the other sons—and grandsons. I didn’t know until recently what he’d done to Prince Pratap Rao. I was horrified and frightened. I told him he should never do such a thing again.”

  Perveen believed her.

  The fact that Vandana had given a prompt and candid account and had fallen ill from poisoning by her son made it clear that she was also a victim of Aditya’s machinations. Nevertheless, Vandana had asked Perveen to record a statement of what had transpired with Aditya, painful as it was. The testimony would be kept private but could be used if Vandana was ever accused of wrongdoing. However, Perveen had been frank with her about the necessity of Colin’s knowing more of her story, and she reluctantly agreed before departing for Heaven’s Rest.

  It was three days after the conversation with Vandana. Perveen decided that now—with Gulnaz gone and Colin sprawled comfortably in the chair across from her—was the time to address the matter. She got up, closed the door that Gulnaz had left open, and returned.

  Colin raised his eyebrows. “Your sister-in-law won’t like that.”

  “I was not exaggerating when I said we had a confidential matter to discuss.”

  “As
do I,” he said. “But fire away.”

  “We have not spoken alone since the shooting at the hunting tower. You saw with your own eyes that Aditya attempted an assassination.”

  Colin nodded. “And that the maharaja’s mother saved the day.”

  “What are you hearing from the Agency about digging deeper?” Perveen was worried questions would arise about Aditya’s motivation to kill the maharaja.

  “It looks fairly cut-and-dried. Prince Swaroop was interviewed by several different administrators who see him as the most important eyewitness. The only question is whether Aditya had an accomplice. There was a fancy cigarette box found in the tower.”

  This was what Perveen had feared might be noticed. “It belongs to Vandana Mehta.”

  “What?” His eyebrows rose.

  “Vandana reported to me that Aditya attempted to drag her into helping him make a claim to the throne because of her ties to the British. Obviously, she refused. For that, he poisoned her cigarette.”

  “Datura poisoning,” Colin said, nodding. “I still don’t understand why she consorted with such a knave while being married to my friend.”

  “I’m married. I’m consorting with you.”

  His face pinkened.

  “Sorry, Colin, I could not resist.” Perveen was glad she’d disarmed him. She did not want to divulge Vandana’s blood relationship to Aditya unless it was absolutely necessary. “I think Vandana missed the palace community. Sometimes one takes up with someone without understanding their character until it’s too late. That was my own situation when I became suddenly engaged to a man no one in my family knew.”

  Colin gave her a long look, as if he had many more questions but had decided to hold back.

  Both of them were holding back.

  “Will the maharaja have to testify?” If this happened, the story about Aditya having royal blood might surface, and that could bring about the question of his mother’s identity. If Colin learned it was Vandana, he might feel duty bound to tell Yazad, and such information could destroy a happy marriage.

  “I am the children’s guardian,” Colin said. “I don’t think it is in their interest to face long conversations with Englishmen. Do you?”

  Perveen initially bristled at his statement about being the children’s guardian; but it was true. He was the Satapur agent, and she had been brought in temporarily to surmount the barrier of purdah. And now—hearing what he was doing to shield the children and Vandana—she felt relieved. “That makes sense. If he wants to talk about things, he can speak to his mother.”

  “Now, that’s the topic I wished to discuss with you.”

  He handed a copy of the Times of India to her. “There’s been some coverage of what’s being called ‘the mysterious affair in Satapur.’ It involves the death of a dowager, the kidnapping of a maharaja, and so on. In this newspaper, Maharani Mirabai is being lauded as a heroine.”

  Perveen glanced quickly at the sensational headline and then dug into the article. The report detailed a kidnapping of the young maharaja by a corrupt servant. The act of Maharani Mirabai to save her son’s life was being cited as a model example of the strength of Indian women. This gave her an uncomfortable thought. “Does all this attention to Maharani Mirabai bother Prince Swaroop?”

  “I’m not sure. Yesterday, he asked to be removed from his position as Satapur’s prime minister. He went straight back to his flat in Bombay without waiting for an answer.”

  “Mirabai said he was quite overcome with grief when he performed the last rites for his mother,” Perveen said. “He may need some time to gather his thoughts about all that has happened. But it will be a shame if he stays too long in Bombay. The children really do care for him.”

  “It could be that Prince Swaroop feels ashamed he wasn’t the one who fired the shot that killed the villain.”

  “That’s true. The article hardly mentions him and greatly praises the maharani.” Perveen read the glowing praise of the queen’s training with firerams during her childhood in Bhor that had led to years of hunting with her husband. She looked up to grin at Colin. “Apparently she bagged hundreds of birds, but she refused to kill leopards and tigers due to her affection for them. What this story doesn’t mention is how she found her way to her children.”

  “I had an interview with her,” Colin said. “She caught sight of you riding with her daughter. She followed you, taking a path through the woods, to make sure the princess was safe. She always carried a rifle when riding by herself. She did not understand what was happening in the tower until it was too late. She believed that if she stormed in, he would act quickly against the children. She had listened to you trying to talk him out of killing the children and concluded there was no more use for words. Therefore she bided her time until he came to the top of the tower and she had a clear shot.”

  So the maharani had patience. Wondering if Colin had the same reaction, she asked, “What do you think of the maharani’s character?”

  He thought for a minute before answering. “I’m sure she’s more forthcoming with you, but I do like her. She’s intelligent. She showed restraint in the situation when her children and you were in danger. She also had a great understanding of the challenges of the state and had some suggestions to make regarding the appointment of a new prime minister. All this was done in a very soft, pleasant manner.”

  A manner that would please the British—let them think she would be a compliant ruler. This was a good position to be in for a woman who wanted progress. Smiling, Perveen said, “You are making me think of a proposed change in Satapur’s governance. The Agency has quite wide authority in that matter, doesn’t it?”

  “That’s what I hear.” His brows drew together. “But who is proposing the change?”

  “You might be,” she said with a smile. “One of the rights of the British government is to select a ruler for the state if no heir is fit for duty.”

  He nodded, looking warily at her.

  “I think everyone would agree that it makes sense that the maharani be appointed the governing regent for Satapur until the maharaja ascends to the gaddi. If she likes, he could be educated at college before becoming ruler. She thinks her son deserves time to mature like her husband had. And look how popular she is with the country! This situation allows everyone to win.”

  Colin was quiet for a long moment. “I like the idea very much, but she’s a woman nobody knows because she was in various states of purdah during her life as a maharani. Therefore, the Agency might argue back to us that the local population would be angry about a woman regent.”

  Perveen understood he was predicting what might happen in a private conversation he’d have with his superiors, so she offered an obvious rebuttal he could use. “Purdah was always a custom observed in deference to her late mother-in-law’s wishes—not her husband’s. The maharani’s recent activities, such as riding through the forest to save her son and shooting dead a murderer, have proven her strength. People are praising her throughout India, and I imagine this story will play well in Britain, too!”

  “I agree about the current perception of Maharani Mirabai.” His voice was cautious. “But what about the supposed mental weakness that Dr. Andrews spoke of?”

  “I never saw any weakness. I saw reasonable suspicion that her son’s life was in danger—and now that the perpetrator is dead, she is not speaking of those matters anymore. She is quite ready to return to the palace after making an official statement of her desire for her son’s education in a proper school.”

  “Still wishing for England?” Colin asked. “I guess there’s nobody stopping her now.”

  “As I told you before, she rejected my suggestion of St. Peter’s School in Panchgani. But since being here in Poona, she’s heard good things about the Sardars’ School in Gwalior, established twenty-four years ago by its maharaja. She hears a good class of Indians are studyin
g there, and she will give it a chance.”

  “Let me think about it.” Colin looked past her and out the window at the bustling street and, beyond that, the tall green hills. At last he said, “It’s not unprecedented to have a woman rule a kingdom or state in India. Consider the Rani of Jhansi and, more recently, the Begum of Bhopal.”

  “That’s right. And all of us, Indians and British, were under Empress Victoria’s thumb when she reigned, and there could be another British woman monarch in the future.” She hoped it might be a woman who’d support the idea of India’s freedom.

  He was silent a moment. “I’ll introduce the concept of the maharani’s taking over as a regent. Of course, I would need to remain at the circuit house as the political agent connected to Satapur.”

  “Certainly. You have a good working relationship with her now; and it will only strengthen,” Perveen said.

  “Life and death matters build relationships, I hope,” Colin said, smiling at her. “In any case, when I speak to my director, I want you to be there with me. You will be better at arguing all the advantages. After all, you are the lawyer.”

  26

  Riding Home to Rule

  Mirabai, the maharani of Satapur, had no more patience for palanquins.

  If her late father-in-law had been forced to build a railway for the sake of moving agricultural produce, why shouldn’t the same track carry people? And it would start that very day with a new train painted in the colors of the crown—red and gold—bringing her home to Satapur. Roderick Ames, an engineer introduced by her brother-in-law, knew the railway people in Kharagpur who had managed everything.

  The coronation was two weeks from Sunday. That word—“coronation”—made her smile. She had thought about it twice before—first for Pratap Rao, and then for Jiva Rao. Jiva Rao had lived, and although he would not take power for years, the formal coronation would reassure Satapur’s population that the future would be good.