But Firoze wouldn’t give it to him. When Cyrus protested, Firoze said warmly, “The Mistrys always pay their bill monthly. Surely they will want to cover the cost of a relative’s meal.”
Perveen glanced at Firoze, who looked almost stern. She realized his putting the meal on her family’s tab was a way that he could remain her father’s ally. She might even have to explain if her father asked who had eaten so much with her that the bill was one rupee, three annas.
Sighing, she said, “It’s true. We never use money here. Let’s go outside, and I’ll introduce you to Ramchandra. Grandfather likes him so much he gifted him a cycle rickshaw from Hong Kong. Ramchandra is probably the only cycle-rickshaw driver in all of Bombay.”
“Cycle rickshaws are everywhere in Calcutta,” Cyrus said, walking her out the restaurant. Then, he said firmly, “I must see you to home.”
“You don’t!” Perveen gestured toward Mistry House. “I’m just going across there.”
For a long moment, Cyrus gazed at the vast Gothic stone mansion. “That big place?”
“My grandfather built it in 1875. He’s still there, staying in some rooms on the first floor now that his legs are weak.”
“Not at home with you?” Cyrus sounded confused.
“We’d like him to stay with us, but he won’t leave. He vowed he will enjoy the house he built until the angels call him to their home.”
“But it looks like a fortress!”
Perveen felt the familiar mix of pride and embarrassment over her family’s ancestral home. “I suppose so. But it was really built as a kind of exhibition piece.”
“What do you mean?”
“My grandfather wished to show all of Bombay the artistry and quality he could offer. He hired James Fuller to draw the plans—he’s the English architect who built the High Court,” Perveen added. “All the furniture is imported from Hong Kong or crafted by graduates of Sir Jeejeebhoy’s School of Art. It’s a bit much to live in, but it’s nice to use as a law office. My father’s practice is on the first floor.”
At last, a look of understanding passed over his face. “Your father and grandfather are together every day. That’s very good.”
“I think so. And while my grandfather might seem like a show-off, he’s still got a laborer’s head. I’ve seen him glance at a perfect-looking pillar and know without even touching it if the wood inside is rotten.”
“He sounds like an intelligent man,” Cyrus said approvingly. “Will you show me more of Bombay tomorrow?”
Perveen looked at him incredulously. “How can you sightsee when you’ve got all the bridal meetings stacked up?”
“My mother is a late sleeper, so my mornings are free.”
“You’ll ruin your chances, and I’ll ruin my reputation!” But inside, she couldn’t help feeling regretful that the only young man who’d ever asked her opinion of anything was passing so swiftly through her world.
“Perhaps Esther or one of your friends could come with us?” he suggested casually.
“But it’s a Wednesday. We—I mean, they—must attend classes.”
“Then suggest what I should do. I’d like to get a full view of the Arabian Sea. We have a big port in Calcutta, but it’s crowded with ships and buildings. We’ve no swimming beaches.”
Perveen thought of Land’s End. It offered breathtaking views of the sea. However, it was north of the city and probably too far for him to find on his own. “Chowpatty Beach is easy enough. Any rickshaw-wallah will know the way.”
“All right, I’ll go. But what will you do starting tomorrow, now that you’re not studying?” Cyrus’s warm hazel eyes were fixed on her.
Perveen considered the question. She couldn’t stay home with a feigned illness for more than a day or two. Yet she didn’t feel ready to say she’d quit—her father would go straight to the dean and send her back to classes.
No. For the time being, it was wise to behave as if she were still studying and use the time to organize a plan.
“But we must meet again!” Cyrus said.
Perveen hesitated. “I’m in enough trouble. But if you want to say hello, I’ll be inside the Sassoon Library, which is just next to Elphinstone. I shall ride into town every morning with my father, just like always.”
His smile was glorious. “I shall bring my own book, and I promise not to ruin your reputation.”
Watching Cyrus Sodawalla leave the café and head toward the rickshaw stand, Perveen felt slightly dazed.
She’d started out the morning hating all young men. Then she’d become so angry with her law professor that she’d quit school. Finally, she’d gone to eat rice with a man she didn’t know. But Cyrus Sodawalla’s perspective had lifted her mood and helped her understand what was needed to be true to herself.
Cyrus was really something. She had never met anyone who was both handsome and frank talking. After their heartfelt conversation, she doubted any arranged marriage candidates could hold a candle to him.
Perveen reminded herself of Esther’s words. Cyrus Sodawalla was in Bombay to look exclusively for Parsi women under the age of eighteen. He couldn’t have eyes for anyone who wasn’t on his parents’ list.
5
Land’s End
Bombay, August 1916
Sitting in the ladies’ car on the Western line, Perveen ruminated on the various rules she was breaking. She was riding a train alone, which she’d never done before. She’d only ever ridden one in the company of chaperoning relatives or teachers. But this was hardly anything compared to her misdeeds of the past week.
She’d met Cyrus Sodawalla in the Sassoon Library garden three times. Then he had managed to have Esther Vachha invite her to join a chaperoned group of young people for a cinema matinee. Somehow, Cyrus had wound up seated next to her at the show. The whole time, she felt energy radiating out from his arm lying on the rest. He didn’t touch her, but she could not stop thinking about what that might feel like.
Today’s was the boldest rebellion. Cyrus had repeated his desire to go to the beach before his family left Bombay. She hadn’t asked him whether anyone else would come. She sensed that he wished to be alone with her to tell her the outcome of his marital interviews. Hearing about such dismal news at a place called Land’s End seemed fitting.
Stepping out of the darkness of Bandra station, Perveen saw Cyrus waiting. He was holding his fetah in one hand and had unbuttoned the neck of his jacket, giving him a comfortable look. He seemed a part of Bombay now. The crowds moved around him, not giving a second glance to the confident young businessman.
“Finally!” he said happily as he greeted her. “I’ve been worrying for the last half hour about why it would take so long for you to travel one stop from Dadar to here.”
“Sorry. I left from Churchgate station, not Dadar.” She was still going to Elphinstone every morning, keeping her parents clueless.
“I’ve been here since nine-thirty, but that’s given me time to find a suitable tonga. The driver said the best views are at the Bandra bandstand. What do you think?”
“Let’s go!”
Perveen made small talk about Bandra’s history in the tonga, feeling nervous the driver might deduce that they weren’t married and either scold them or refuse to drive them any farther. She was relieved that Cyrus did not say anything personal. Instead, he brought up the news of the Sodawallas’ new contract to send bottled raspberry sodas to a restaurant in Bombay.
“It’s very surprising, because there are plenty of soda factories in Bombay,” he said. “But we’ve got the better price.”
“Even with the cost of transportation added?”
“They’ll have that cost split up in many small parts when they are billed,” he said with a wink. “In any case, the contract’s signed.”
“Might you stay in Bombay to expand the business?”
“Not a chance. I’ve got to take over the operation in Calcutta when my father retires, which will very likely be in the next ten years.”
“Won’t you tell me about your family?” It was a question she loved to ask. She knew all about the Yazdanis’ dreams for young Lily, Gulnaz’s mother’s health problems, and Hema’s competitive relationship with a perfect older sister.
“There’s Nived, my elder brother. He’s well married and settled in Bihar with a son and a daughter already.”
“How nice. But your mother must miss her grandchildren.”
“She does miss them,” he said, smiling at the children playing alongside the road. “Nived had to leave when we bought a bottling plant in Bihar. My father sent him there to set up the business. He was the only one my father trusted to go—I was too young and about to start at Presidency College.”
“Then you are the only two children?” Perveen was intrigued by the similarities between her life and Cyrus’s.
Cyrus looked straight ahead as he spoke. “I had a younger sister, Azara, but she died at fourteen. It was the worst thing that ever happened to our family. It was another reason I didn’t marry at the typical age.”
“What happened to her?”
At her question, Cyrus stiffened, making her realize she was intruding on too much pain.
“Cholera,” he muttered. “It was during monsoon. It’s common to fall sick when streets flood and filth is floating everywhere.”
“I’m so sorry. I can only imagine what it’s like to lose a sibling. And so terribly young.” Without realizing it, Perveen had put her hand atop Cyrus’s tight fist. He looked at her gratefully, relaxing his fingers so they could weave into hers.
Perveen felt light-headed: exultant yet terrified of this act committed so daringly in public. The tonga driver had his back to them, so he wouldn’t suspect, but when she glanced at the cart driver on their right, he glowered and curled his lip as if he considered her a harlot. Instead of averting her eyes, as she would have in the law classroom, she glared at the driver until he looked away.
“We’re all right now but very careful about cleanliness, especially during rainy season,” Cyrus said soberly. “So many times I’ve tried to convince my parents to move somewhere less congested, but they would never move from Saklat Place because of the fire temple being close by.”
“Are your parents quite observant?”
He nodded. “After losing Azara, they found great comfort in the old prayers.”
“Azara is such a lovely name. I don’t know anyone called that.”
“It’s from Persian and means red. Just like the color of those roses along the roadside. Bandra is quite beautiful!” He sounded as if he was trying to divert her from the sad topic.
The tonga had been slowly, steadily climbing up Hill Road, passing pastel-painted, tiled-roof bungalows built in the Portuguese fashion. After they passed St. Andrew’s Church, the sea spread out before them. What a picture it made—the vast, shimmering stretch of blue edged by sharp black rocks. Seagulls wheeled overhead as if dancing on the winds.
“Would you ask the driver to stop here?” Perveen suggested, prudently releasing his hand from hers. “We’re very near the bandstand, where the best view is.”
He laughed. “Fair lady, your wish is my command.”
As Cyrus paid the bill, Perveen strained to hear the music from the bandstand. Happily, she said, “It sounds like a military band. Let’s see how many players there are.”
“I don’t know if we should. They’re always looking for men to join up!” Cyrus said with a laugh as they walked in step with the music.
“Have you thought about enlisting?” Perveen asked.
Cyrus snorted. “Even if I were demented enough, my father wouldn’t allow it. There’s no Parsi regiment.”
“Or perhaps he’d rather not lose his son.”
“I’ve seen enough of your bandstand,” Cyrus said. “Let’s get our feet wet in the sea.”
“I’ve been here with my family, but we’ve never walked down to the water,” Perveen said, looking warily at the steep, rocky landscape. “Straight from here, it looks too difficult. But I’ve heard about people walking down through the watchtower ruins.”
When they reached the blackened arch in a fragment of broken wall, they found they could get down close to the water by traversing steep, uneven land punctuated by rocks. Perveen was wearing sandals, so she had a more precarious journey than Cyrus, who was wearing sturdy laced brogues. At the edge of the water, both of them took off their shoes and held them, letting the cool seawater creep up past their ankles. A light current swirled, and she realized that if she kept going deeper, the water could probably pull her into its luscious, cool embrace.
“What are you thinking?” Cyrus asked.
“A dying man clutches at sea-foam,” she said. “Do you know that saying?”
Shaking his head, he said, “I don’t.”
“It means a desperate man clutches at any straw.”
“I never learned to swim, given the hazardous nature of Calcutta’s Hooghly River.” He turned to smile at her. “Make me stop talking about what we can’t do. We must enjoy this day.”
Looking into Cyrus’s eyes, Perveen felt as if she were sinking into something deeper than water. His words were true. Although he would be gone in three days’ time, she would always have the memory of their secret excursion.
They walked about a mile along the sea’s edge, investigating the tiny crabs crawling around the rocks and naming the storks, egrets, and pigeons. All the birds hunting for a meal reminded Perveen it was after lunchtime, and she thought of saying something to Cyrus about going back up to buy a bhel poori snack before returning to Bandra station. She wasn’t especially hungry, but she was nervous being so far from the city. And she didn’t want to cause complications for Cyrus, who surely would need to be back in South Bombay by midafternoon, as he usually did.
It was two-thirty, but Cyrus didn’t seem ready to leave. Perveen thought this might be an indication that his parents had settled on a bride.
The strong breeze ruffled Cyrus’s curly black hair. Privately, she admired this—as well as his noble profile. Cyrus, the ancient Persian king, had looked like this in the paintings she’d seen.
“Let’s sit down,” Cyrus suggested. “Look, that’s a nice place.”
The wide, flat rock was behind an outcropping of higher stone that shielded them from view of everyone at the bandstand, as well as the few fishermen with nets on the sand. Sitting down, Perveen felt the warmth of the stone underneath her, all along her thighs and that private place that sometimes pulsed when she thought about Cyrus at night.
He gave a long, relaxed sigh. “Perveen, thank you for bringing me. I’ve always wanted to face the Arabian Sea. This endless blue is what my grandfather saw when he was coming to India. I wanted to see it for myself.”
“I wish I knew my family’s migration story as well as you know yours,” Perveen said wistfully. “Nobody knows exactly when we came, but it might have been five to seven hundred years ago. And then, in the seventeenth century, the British called on Parsis to leave Gujarat to travel here and build up an old, ruined Portuguese fort into a modern walled city.”
Cyrus shifted closer so the sides of their bodies were touching. “Why did your father shift away from building to law?”
The feeling was electric. Perveen spoke rapidly, trying to seem unaffected. “My father was the youngest of three sons, and the other two had joined Mistry Construction already. He pointed out that a construction company needed legal protection and, if he became a solicitor, he could provide it for them free of charge. Because my grandfather saw this as a way to show status, he sent Pappa to Oxford for his studies. Fortunately, he got a top-notch education. Pappa thought Rustom might follow his pattern, but he was a chip off the old block and went into
Mistry Construction.”
Cyrus snorted. “So your brother’s defection forced you to continue your father’s business.”
“I hated law school,” she said with a shudder. “However, working as a solicitor would be thrilling. I’ll admit to that.”
“I suppose so,” he said with a shrug. “But if women lawyers can’t yet appear in court, I don’t see the point of your studying law.”
“That’s not exactly true. Solicitors don’t have to argue in court. And most legal business is routine—contracts and wills. My father expects me to help him straight after finishing the law course,” she added, feeling the familiar guilt weigh on her.
Sounding sympathetic, he said, “My parents sent me to college to study what was most important to them: commerce. But the teachers at Presidency were fools! Everything I know about business I learned on the outside. And look at how well things are going now. My father’s never been prouder.”
“That’s grand.” Perveen sighed, leaning forward to put her chin in her hands. “I wish law worked like business.”
He looked keenly at her. “Our ancestors weren’t supposed to leave Persia, but they did. They took a chance on a better future.” As he spoke, his arm crept up and gently cradled her back.
Perveen whipped her head around, looking to see if the fishermen had noticed or if anyone else was coming down along the rocks. They were still alone.
“I want to ask you something.” Cyrus’s voice was quiet, so she had to strain toward him to hear.
“What?” she asked breathlessly.
“If you are able to give up law, I’ll give up something, too.”
Her eyes widened. “What is it?”
“I want to tell my parents I won’t marry the stupid girl they chose for me two days ago. I am so lonely. I will be only lonelier if forced to be with someone I don’t love.”
Perveen put a hand to his lips. “Don’t say such things. If a marriage is set, it must go forward. And please know that I never meant to divert you from that purpose. It would be wrong.”
The Widows of Malabar Hill Page 5
