The Satapur Moonstone Page 5

  Perveen read documents by candlelight until six-fifteen, when the sky lightened enough that through her window, she finally had something to look at: an impressive range of green hills. Perhaps she could get a picture of the sunrise. Dressing quickly in a comfortable cotton-silk sari, she picked up her Kodak Brownie and went out the door to the veranda, where a large white dog lay sprawled.

  In the pale daylight, the dog lifted his head and appraised her. She realized this must be the guard dog that Colin had mentioned.

  “Desi,” she cooed to him, trying to act as if they were already friends.

  Desi thumped his tail before lowering his head again. Perveen was glad he hadn’t perceived her as a threat. Had it been her confident greeting, or did the dog know that people coming out of the guest rooms were not dangerous?

  Stepping off the veranda’s last wide step, Perveen gazed around at everything she’d missed on arrival. The garden was planted with erratically spaced champa trees, rui shrubs, Burmese cassias, and tamarind. She surveyed overgrown stands of flame-colored hibiscus and purple orchids and tall grasses. It was hard to tell flowers from weeds; maybe there was little difference.

  After snapping a picture of the sunrise over the mountains, she walked around the bungalow and stopped short at the sight of animal movement on the grass. A whole family of lion-tailed macaques was gathered under a cassia. The large one that Colin had called Hanuman stood at the outward edge, giving her a look that felt challenging. Do not come too close.

  Slowly, she raised her camera to her eyes.

  “Go, go!” cried a young boy, running toward the monkeys. At his arrival, the monkeys scattered.

  Perveen stifled her desire to tell the boy off for spoiling her chance at an endearing photograph. “Are you Mohit or Hari?”

  “I am Mohit. I tell you, Hanuman and his family come just to steal our food.” The stable boy offered up a sweet grin. “Rama is making breakfast for seven, but do you wish it earlier?”

  Smiling back at him, Perveen shook her head. “No need! I’ll eat with Sandringham-sahib at seven. I’m just taking a walk.”

  “To where?” Mohit asked cheerfully. Clearly he hadn’t been trained to be seen and not heard like the waiters in the Royal Western India Turf Club. She liked that.

  “I hear Marshall Point has a grand view of the mountain range. How far is it?”

  “Mmm, a few minutes. Through the ironwood forest—there is a path. But be careful, memsahib. There are many snakes hiding in the leaves.”

  She lifted the edge of her sari, showing him the buttoned kidskin boots. “I will be careful. Thank you.”

  As Perveen headed from the garden into the forest, she thought about how the servant had seemed unruffled by the sight of her walking about so early. She wondered if other women travelers had come alone. If so, they had likely been British, stopping by on their way to join their husbands at their posts.

  Maybe British women wouldn’t be troubled by the thought of staying at this place with a bachelor. They didn’t have family in Bombay worrying about their safety and reputations. And the fact was, they might fancy Colin Sandringham’s company. He was neither too young, nor too old; and he had a straightforward way about him that she’d appreciated. She had disputed several points the previous evening, but he had not badgered her into agreeing that his opinion was right. He’d seemed to be a good listener.

  She thought all this while keeping a careful eye on the path. The sky was lightening, and ahead through the ironwood trees, she saw a grassy bluff. This must have been Marshall Point. But as she drew closer, she hesitated.

  On the bluff, she saw two human figures. Instead of standing upright, they were crouched just as the family of monkeys had been. Drawing closer, she realized they were two men, each positioned on a mat and apparently stretching. With surprise, she recognized the smaller man, who was wearing a dhoti and vest, by his thick head of silver hair: Rama. The Englishman with him was Colin. He wore loose cotton pajama trousers and the same kind of vest as Rama. Colin’s arms were finely muscled and his skin more golden than pink.

  “Push backward. Higher.” Rama spoke Marathi and laid his hands on either side of Colin’s waist as he contorted into a position that looked like a triangle.

  Perveen made her way quietly forward, wanting to get a better look. Colin had moved back down onto the mat and now was curved like a bow, his stomach on the ground. After some time, he moved from the bow position onto his side, and then he was standing. He and Rama faced each other; then they were laying their hands on the mat and stepping forward, shifting so that their haunches rose up, as a dog did after awakening. As she watched the men’s bodies flow, her own body suddenly felt tired, hunched, and inflexible. She considered how it might feel to stretch in such a way—which should have looked disgraceful but, in reality, seemed rather beautiful.

  Colin’s body stretched as flat as a board on the ground. He stayed there for a long minute. Then he pulled his body back into the strange curve that reminded her of an animal until one leg shot high and straight in the air. The pajama leg fell loosely away.

  Perveen blinked, not believing what she’d just seen.

  Colin Sandringham had a stump where the bottom half of his right calf and right foot should have been. Not a lame foot—no foot.

  She recalled him in the jodhpurs and boots the night before, using a cane from time to time. Because he had worn boots, she’d assumed he had a bad foot. Now she realized he must have worn a wooden leg in order to give the appearance of normalcy.

  It was strange; with all the camouflage he’d used the night before, his handicap had stood out to her. But now, as he flowed through exercises without his prosthesis, he seemed almost as strong and graceful as Rama.

  Colin was upside down now, with his head on the ground braced by bent arms on either side. She marveled at the strength of his abdomen and arms. How could one balance like that? As her gaze stayed on him, she suddenly realized that through his arms, he had seen her.

  She was too far away to read the expression in his eyes, but she saw his upper body toppling to the right; with a short step, Rama was there, righting Colin so he didn’t fall.

  Perveen turned and ran clumsily, wondering if he’d been able to identify her or just suspected some person had been looking. Would it be better to pretend she hadn’t been there, so he could feel reassured his privacy about his handicap hadn’t been violated?

  She wanted to say that she was sorry, to explain that she’d stumbled upon the sight of the two of them and been fascinated by the beauty of their exercise. But that was half the truth. She’d stayed because she’d wanted to fill her eyes with the sight of Colin.

  The question of what to do was answered when she stepped out onto the veranda for breakfast. Two places were set, each with a boiled egg, two chapatis, and a small bowl of purple berries. Rama came forward and stood silently next to the table.

  “Is Sandringham-sahib missing breakfast?” she asked uneasily in Marathi.

  After a pause, he answered her in the same language. “I don’t know if he will come. He was surprised that you watched us this morning.”

  Sensing the reproof in his tone, she began explaining herself. “I intended to take pictures of the mountains. I didn’t know you’d be there. Is that a morning custom?”

  “Yes. We practice there daily, when it is not raining.”

  She was embarrassed that her discovery might be keeping Colin from feeling comfortable facing her. But curiosity overcame her shame. “How long have you been teaching Sandringham-sahib those exercises?”

  “Almost a year.” Sounding defensive, he added, “It’s good for his health.”

  “I saw how strong you’ve made him.”

  The deep creases in Rama’s brow relaxed slightly. He nodded, as if accepting her praise.

  Perveen ventured a bit further. “Yesterday he said
he served in the war, but he didn’t say he’d lost his leg.”

  “The injury did not happen there.”

  “Oh?” She watched Rama, hoping for him to continue.

  “He does not talk much about it.”

  “I can see he functions very well,” Perveen said.

  Looking past her into the garden, he spoke in a low voice. “When he was working as a district collector, he once traveled to a hamlet. Many people had come to report their troubles, and there were unwatched children wandering the area. A girl got too close to a snake. A saw-scaled viper.”

  Perveen shuddered. “But that is one of the most poisonous snakes in the world!”

  “Yes,” he said shortly. “The snake hissed, and the people implored the girl to stay still. But the viper was still pointing toward her. Sandringham-sahib suddenly ran forward, wanting the snake to turn away from the child so she could escape. But it lashed out at him instead.”

  “It got him?”

  He nodded grimly. “The nearest doctor was two days’ ride. By the time we reached Dr. Andrews, it was very late. The doctor had to take his foot to save his life.”

  Perveen winced. “And after that, he was forced to keep working in the civil service?”

  “Nobody forced me to do anything,” said Colin in a cold voice. Perveen whipped her head around and saw he’d stepped out onto the veranda. “Sorry to interrupt, but I don’t fancy listening to stories being told behind my back.”

  Rama bowed his head as if ashamed of betraying Colin’s confidence.

  Flushing red with embarrassment, Perveen said, “I was the one who pressured him to explain. You see, I thought your exercises were splendid.”

  “Not today,” Colin said with a snort. “I almost fell on my face. Rama saved me, just as he did before.”

  “Do not say that,” Rama demurred.

  “It’s true. You saved my life by having me drink that god-awful tree sap on the journey out of the hamlet.” Colin settled himself at the table.

  “It is quite impressive that you are willing to stay in the mofussil,” Perveen said as the boy she’d seen in the garden appeared with a teapot.

  “Why shouldn’t I?” Spreading a cloth napkin in his lap, Colin said, “It was damned hard to get into the ICS. I could still work—just not run about. While I recuperated, my department head searched for a position where I wouldn’t need to continuously travel. This post was considered suitable because political agents here don’t have to travel for the six months of rainy season. And they were good enough to allow Rama to become my permanent bearer. I could have had a cook from the village, but I’ve liked what he’s made for me.”

  “It is an Ayurvedic diet. The proper food aids in healing,” Rama said as he poured tea into Colin’s cup.

  Perveen smiled her thanks as Rama poured for her. “And do you always practice those exercises in the dry months?”

  “If anything, I practice all the more in the bad weather. We can use the veranda.” Colin looked intently at her. “Ayurvedic food and exercise not only helps my body. It does something to my head. Makes me feel calmer.”

  Perveen watched Rama travel the length of the veranda and down the steps, disappearing into the garden. His soft-footed, fluid walking style reminded her of the unusual movement she’d witnessed. “Is there a name for those exercises?”

  “The proper name is yoga. Have you tried it?”

  “All I know of yoga is it’s a Hindu worship tradition done by holy men. I’m surprised that Rama knows it so well that he can teach you.”

  “Rama didn’t start as a servant.” Colin spread a little ghee on his chapati. “He was a priest in the area where I had my accident. The villagers called him for assistance, and he went all the way with me to the hospital. I found him comforting. And I could pay him—which was something the villagers could not. He and his family subsisted on very little; now he can send them money.”

  Perveen tasted the berries, expecting them to be sour but finding them pleasantly sweet. Rama’s story was the classic tale of why rural people abandoned their native places. Her own household employed six people, five of whom had left home in order to earn enough to support their loved ones.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Rama’s distant voice. She turned to see he was still in the garden but addressing a lean, muscular man wearing a threadbare vest and dhoti. She hadn’t known they had a visitor.

  Colin followed her gaze. “That’s Lakshman.”

  “Does he work here as well?”

  “No, he has his own business in the village. He is a highly experienced and dependable fellow who leads the team of men carrying the palanquin.”

  Rama’s voice dropped, and he and the man looked at each other for a long, silent moment. Then Rama walked back to the breakfast table. Gravely, he said, “Lakshman reports the palanquin and the bearers are not in station.”

  Colin frowned. “But he knows we scheduled the palanquin ride for today.”

  “Two days ago they traveled to Lonavala for a short job. They intended to return yesterday, but there was a problem with the palanquin. A carpenter is making a repair.”

  Perveen had always been loath to ride in a palanquin. It was not only embarrassing to be carried on top of men’s shoulders; it was bound to be uncomfortable. “Must I really travel by palanquin, when the palace is just twelve miles? I can ride a horse.” She pushed back the thought of all the challenges she’d had riding Dolly a few days earlier.

  Slowly, Colin shook his head. “It’s hard to make a horse go willingly through some parts of the jungle. Especially if it hears a tiger’s or leopard’s roar.”

  Perveen didn’t like the idea of hearing such sounds but wasn’t going to let on. “Could the postmen take me in their wagon?”

  Rama shook his head. “They’ve just left.”

  “Might another palanquin be hired?” she asked reluctantly.

  “The circuit house has some old carriages in the stable, but no palanquins,” Colin said. “I’ve always used Lakshman’s palanquin. But don’t worry. Eventually they will come, and you will be able to leave.”

  She hated the idea of arriving late to the palace. “Could word be relayed about the transportation problem to the Satapur palace? Surely they could send a palanquin for me.”

  “As Rama mentioned, the postal wagon’s gone, so I’m afraid we can’t send a letter,” Colin said. “In any case, I don’t think it’s wise to ask such a favor. It would make us beholden to them.”

  She hadn’t thought of that.

  “Another day here shouldn’t be a waste.” Colin’s voice brightened. “We can talk more about the palace situation. And tonight I could gather a few local people for dinner. They’d be thrilled to meet a woman lawyer, especially in these parts.”

  She didn’t want to be a burden on him—after all, he had expected her to be gone by nine. “Dinner with your friends is fine, but what else could I do today? Is there a village that I could visit?”

  “Yes, there’s a village nearby—but it’s not very scenic, and there’s little to buy. What are you looking for?”

  “I thought I’d check if someone knew about another palanquin. In case I could actually leave soon.”

  “I’m sorry—but I don’t think there is one,” he said.

  “One never knows. Might I ride there using one of the circuit house horses? I’ve brought my own riding clothes.”

  He looked at her warily. “You may, but I won’t be able to go with you. I’ve got a visitor coming today.”

  She realized he didn’t understand she was trying to make the situation easier for both of them. “That’s quite all right. I don’t need an escort.”

  He shook his head. “It’s easy to get lost or fall off a cliff if the mist rises. Lakshman must lead you there.”

  “Thank you.” Perveen finish
ed her breakfast thinking that the weather looked quite fine. It seemed suspicious that the transportation had suddenly fallen through. Colin wanted her to visit the palace, but what if someone else did not feel the same?

  6

  Subjects of the Maharaja

  Despite two weeks’ practice at the Royal Western India Turf Club, Perveen was still uncomfortable on horses. It seemed clear that Rani, the horse assigned to her by the stable boy, Mohit, knew this from the start. As did her guide, Lakshman.

  As they traveled through the forest on narrow paths that came close to the mountain’s edge, the scrawny spotted mare refused to heed the kicking of her heels or any pulling on the reins. After ten frustrating minutes, Lakshman, who’d been walking alongside, chewing paan that Rama had given him, took the reins in hand and led the two of them into the village. Perveen could understand Lakshman’s irritation. She had already asked if he knew anyone with another palanquin, and he’d said no.

  They proceeded through an area of broken, burned buildings. It looked as if people were living in the ruins; they’d cobbled together bits of wood and tin and cloth to make roofs. The monsoon had done its months of damage, raining straight through the holes.

  “What happened here?” Perveen asked Lakshman. “It looks like there was a fire.”

  “After the maharaja died of cholera, the royal soldiers burned everything.”

  Perveen was dismayed. “Is it necessary to burn buildings to control epidemics?”

  “Sometimes. But the palace was angry at us. We were the ones who polluted the maharaja and made him die.” Lakshman’s words were matter-of-fact.

  Perveen shook her head. She recalled Colin saying Maharaja Mahendra Rao had had an enlightened attitude toward public health and wondered if he would have disapproved of these actions taken after his death. “Is there a post office?” She thought a postmaster would be a reliable source of information on the existence of another palanquin bearer.