The Widows of Malabar Hill

by Sujata Massey

  “They will be in heaven together.” Sakina reached out to stroke the girl’s hair. A loving gesture, but Amina moved away.

  Perveen told Sakina about Mr. Vaughan’s arrival and how he wished to know if she’d heard or seen anything unusual.

  Sakina gave her a rueful look. “What could we possibly see when we are on the secluded side of the bungalow? And we can’t hear much except for what’s right under our windows.”

  “It’s possible to see into the main reception room,” Perveen said, remembering the shape she’d spotted before.

  “The girls sometimes take turns peeking from the shoe cabinet,” Sakina said. “But neither they nor I were downstairs after you departed us.”

  “Mohsen wasn’t at his post. Do you’ve any idea why?”

  “After you departed, I had such a bad headache that I asked Fatima to see if he could go to the market and fetch some attar for me.” Sakina touched her hand to the side of her head. Perveen noted the widow had loosened her hair from the elegant topknot she’d worn before, and her long inky-black hair was wet and hung straight down to her waist. “I went to lie down. Do you think Mohsen’s absence led to this crime?”

  “Of course!” Amina said emphatically. “If nobody is guarding the gate, anyone could come in. And you are always sending him on this errand and that. We hardly have a guard at all.”

  “Don’t be insolent!” Sakina scolded.

  “It’s nobody’s fault,” Perveen said hastily, because Sakina’s hand had come up as if ready to slap the girl. “The police will surely need to know that Mohsen was away on official business, so thank you, Sakina-begum. Amina, it would be most helpful if you could tell me anything you heard outside of the ordinary. I promised the police I’d ask.”

  “I’m sure I heard a scream,” Amina’s answer came readily.

  “When?” Perveen was eager to hear more.

  “About a half hour after you left. I was in the garden with the other two, putting away Mumtaz-khala’s musical instruments because she was feeling poorly. I heard this scream. I didn’t know who it was.”

  “There is plenty of yelling on the street when merchants come through selling their wares,” Sakina said. “Perhaps it was one of them.”

  “I think I knew it was a man’s voice—but the shout didn’t sound like selling,” Amina said. “It sounded scary. But the others were chattering, so they didn’t notice it.”

  Sakina’s expression tightened, as if Amina’s description had worried her. “I heard nothing because I was resting in my room. You are a good girl, Amina, to help Perveen-bibi.”

  “I shall tell the police what you’ve said, and they may want to know more.” Perveen saw the tension on Sakina’s face. “What is it?”

  She shook her head. “This is such a terrible shock. I just can’t imagine how we are going to manage life by ourselves. And we haven’t got our money yet from the estate. That is your job, isn’t it?”

  “I’m sorry for the delay,” Perveen apologized, knowing that she had worked intermittently on the papers since December. “I was waiting for Mukri-sahib to provide me with creditors’ names. I’ll do it without him.” She paused, not knowing how the next part could come out without offending the child. “Amina, I beg your pardon, but I need to speak privately with Sakina-begum for a few moments.”

  Amina gave the two of them a look that was almost venomous. “And why can’t I be part of it? A man died. Do you think I won’t notice?”

  “There are things that are too much for someone your age,” Perveen said gently.

  “Very well then,” Amina said. “I’m going upstairs. There’s something I need to see.”

  “Your mother wouldn’t like to know you’re behaving like this,” Sakina told the girl.

  Perveen watched Amina tread the stairs up to the second floor, imagining the child would fit herself into some hidey-hole to keep listening. Turning back to Sakina, Perveen lowered her voice. “I heard your voice coming from Razia-begum’s room a few hours ago. What were you talking about?”

  Sakina’s eyes flashed with surprise. “You went upstairs on your own, without us knowing?”

  Her question made Perveen realize that her own behavior could look suspicious. Trying not to sound defensive, she said, “I was looking for my briefcase; that was all.”

  There was a rustle of silk, and Perveen looked up to find Razia had come from her prayers. Her face was drawn into long lines of exhaustion, and her eyes seemed sunken and despairing.

  “My condolences to you, Razia-begum.” Perveen felt awkward uttering the rote phrase. Faisal Mukri had come into Razia’s life and made it awful. The sympathy Perveen offered was a response to the shock Razia had suffered—and the fear of violence she would perhaps live with for the rest of her life.

  “I can answer the question about our conversation,” Razia said soberly. “This afternoon, Amina looked through the slot in the jali and saw a man lying in blood. She came running to tell Sakina because her room was closest. She told Sakina that the dead man was Mukri-sahib. Sakina told me and I called Mumtaz to join us.”

  Perveen wasn’t surprised that Amina knew what Mr. Mukri looked like. The girl had surely peeked through the jali at him. She had probably been the one watching Perveen through the shoe case the previous day. But if Amina had spied Mr. Mukri’s corpse, why hadn’t she mentioned this to Perveen? Amina had spoken of hearing a scream—but not encountering a horrific sight.

  “I was shocked and thought Amina could have been wrong,” Sakina said, cutting into Perveen’s thoughts. “Just because the man was dressed in an English suit, it didn’t mean he was our household agent. He could have been some enemy from the outside. To answer any doubts, I said we should have Fatima look. She has served him before, so she would know his appearance.”

  Razia sat down, giving the second wife a reproving look. “I didn’t agree with that. Amina was very upset, and I said that no other child in the house should see such a bloody death. I suggested Mohsen should go to look because he is a man accustomed to the hardness of the world. Sakina said he could not go because she’d sent him shopping.”

  Perveen noted the contempt in Razia’s voice, although Sakina did not visibly react. Perveen asked, “Did you consider calling the police and asking them to make the identification?”

  “To make that telephone call, we would have had to go downstairs and into the main house.” Razia dropped her gaze to her lap. “That was frightening because we did not know if the murderer was still on the property.”

  “We did the first thing that came to my mind: taking our children into our private rooms and locking the doors,” Sakina said, shivering as she spoke. “We stayed until we heard the sounds of police arriving. Did you call them?”

  “I did,” Perveen acknowledged. “Now, I’m wondering something: Do you have any knowledge of trouble between Mohsen and Mr. Mukri?”

  “I have not heard of any trouble,” Razia said. “Mohsen used to work for Farid Fabrics on the docks, but my husband shifted him to this job at the house when his wife died, because this was a safer place for children without a mother to grow up. We could direct them, as could Taiba-ayah. In the six years we’ve had Mohsen, I’ve spoken to him through the jali just a few times. Usually Fatima is the go-between.”

  “Perhaps you should ask Mumtaz. She was acquainted with Mukri-sahib when he went with our husband to see her on Falkland Road.” As Sakina mentioned the name of the entertainment district, she raised her eyebrows, as if to remind both of the third wife’s unsavory past.

  Mumtaz’s absence from their conference seemed to be another example of how she lived on the edge of the family’s framework. Perveen said, “Before I speak with Mumtaz, tell me which relative you’d like to come and stay.”

  Sakina was silent for a long moment and then shook her head. “My brothers are doing business in Poona, so it is impo
ssible. I don’t believe I can suggest anyone.”

  “Really?” Perveen was surprised because Sakina had such a dominant role in the house. “I am speaking of any relatives who could give company and also assist with needs you have. Or perhaps a good friend?”

  Looking tiredly at Perveen, Razia said, “The situation is a bit difficult because of Mumtaz.”

  “How so?” Perveen asked.

  “Our families look down on women who go about the world—and even more so on those who have entertained men,” Sakina said bluntly. “They believe to stay in the same bungalow with her would soil them. That is why we’ve had very few social callers in the last year. Our husband made a choice that has affected this house forever.”

  If this was the way both women felt, Perveen wondered if they had ever tried to convince Mumtaz to leave.

  Razia’s raspy voice interrupted Perveen’s thoughts. “Allah must be looking kindly on her for the care she gave our husband. She has nothing to do anymore. That’s why I suggested she teach the children to play music.”

  “Do you have a suggestion for the next household agent?” Perveen asked Razia.

  “My people are even farther than Sakina’s. They have an agricultural estate in Oudh. Amina enjoys them very much—we last visited two years ago. But it just isn’t possible for anyone to shift here.”

  “Are there friends in Bombay who could come?” The two remained silent. “If you can’t think of anyone, I’ll ask Mumtaz-begum for a suggestion.”

  Razia’s eyes widened, and Sakina gave a small exclamation of dismay.

  “Yes,” Perveen said. “Please think some more about who you’d like to have visit.”

  Maintaining a hard silence, Sakina guided Perveen upstairs to Mumtaz’s room.

  It took several knocks before Mumtaz responded. The room was dark, with curtains drawn across the jalis, and the air held a thick, musty odor.

  “Please turn on a light,” Mumtaz whispered from the rumpled bed where she lay.

  “I see you’re still not feeling well,” Perveen said, moving to the bed to take Mumtaz’s hand. “Shall I call a doctor?”

  “No need. I was feeling better,” Mumtaz murmured. “This will pass in some hours.”

  “I heard from the others that Mukri-sahib’s body was discovered before I came to the house and called for the police. Apparently the three of you talked about there being a body on the other side.”

  Mumtaz pulled the sheet closer around her body, as if shielding herself from Perveen. “Sakina-begum wanted me to look through the jali, because I’m the only one who’s seen his face. But I wouldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “To look on a dead man would bring the worst misfortune to future generations!” Mumtaz said vehemently. “I would not risk it!”

  If the belief was true, Perveen thought it just as well she’d been the one to see Mukri. She would never bear any children. “What did you do after Mukri-sahib interrupted us in the garden?”

  She shuddered and said, “It was just dreadful. I was so frightened I ran to my quarters and then went to take a bath.”

  “A bath?” Perveen found that hard to believe. It seemed like an indulgent act, in the midst of a storm. But both Sakina and Razia had retreated to their rooms.

  “While I’m in the bathroom, nobody will bother me. It is too far from the hallway,” she added.

  “I’ll tell the police where you were. However, can you recall any kind of noise or commotion in the time before the other wives called you for the discussion?”

  “No. The bathroom is close to the outside garden. I hear only birds from that place and sometimes people in the street.”

  Perveen caught an inconsistency. “How did you hear the other widows call you for the discussion, then?”

  “Amina came into my room and knocked on the bathroom door.”

  “Thank you for your explanation.” Perveen considered her next words carefully. “Can you think of anyone trustworthy to come here as a household guardian?”

  “Must we have a new man staying here?” Mumtaz sounded alarmed. “Who will choose him so we don’t have such a terrible time again?”

  “It doesn’t have to be a man. However, unless one of you decide to give up purdah, you will require someone to get money from the bank and deal with merchants and other officials. I will help as best I can, but I regret to say I cannot stay here as a household guardian.”

  After a pause, Mumtaz said, “I have a sister who is married; her husband is a good man who makes his living building sitars and veenas. I think they would gladly come. But the other wives would never allow it.”

  “A lady with a husband sounds like a good idea,” Perveen reassured her. “And neither Sakina-begum nor Razia-begum have made suggestions yet, so I will bring this to them.”

  Shyly, Mumtaz said, “If they are willing, I would like to speak to my sister Tanvier. Can you send word to her to come?”

  “If you give me her name and address, I’ll send a messenger.”

  Mumtaz gave her an address, which she duly wrote down. Then Mumtaz said, “It’s all so frightening, to have had this happen. I can’t think how someone could have entered the bungalow without Mohsen stopping him.”

  “Mohsen was away from the gate running an errand for Sakina-begum,” Perveen said.

  “He does that for us,” Mumtaz said, nodding. “Always keeps a bit of the money for himself—the service fee. But what choice do we have?”

  The widows had lived a life at the mercy of men who were supposed to serve them, Perveen thought as she left Mumtaz and emerged into the dappled light of the zenana hallway. She walked slowly down the hall and descended the stairs. Fatima was there, apparently waiting for her.

  “What is it?” Perveen asked. “Is your brother all right?”

  Looking about as if to make sure no one was watching, Fatima whispered, “Yes, I told him you would help us. Razia-begum wants to speak to you alone.”

  The timing wasn’t good; Perveen wanted to tell Vaughan the brief reports she’d received from all of the women. “I shall be back to speak with her in just a bit—”

  “But Razia-begum must see you now. She’s waiting in your car.”

  “Inside my car?” Perveen was stunned. Did Razia want to leave the bungalow—and if so, would she take Amina?

  “I suggested the car to her because it’s parked so very close to the zenana entrance.”

  “But my driver doesn’t know about the customs of ladies in purdah!”

  “He’s not there,” Fatima said quickly. “I went out to that driver and said your father needed to speak with him. He went in the bungalow. When he returns, I shall tell him you are inside and ask him to stay away until called for.”

  “How clever,” Perveen said, patting Fatima’s small shoulder. Despite her youth, she was a master of subterfuge. But then again, such a talent could prove suspicious.

  Razia was in the back seat of the Daimler with the window rolled up. Perveen peered in from the other side of the passenger row, watching the widow’s bent head and her moving lips. Her eyes were closed, and it looked as if she was whispering a prayer. A veil covered much of her head and face. Perveen supposed it was for protection against the gaze of Arman and any other men who might come by.

  Perveen tapped on the glass, not wanting to startle her by suddenly opening a door. “It’s only me. Shall I come in?”

  Razia turned toward the window and nodded.

  Perveen opened the car door and spoke in a whisper. “This car is very warm. May I roll down my window? Nobody else is nearby.”

  “Are you certain?”

  Perveen turned all the way around to survey the scene. Arman had come out of the main house but was sitting on the step, too far away to see or hear them. “It’s all right. Tell me, did you come out to my car because you want me
to take you and Amina away?”

  “No. I’ve something to tell you that I didn’t before.”

  Razia’s face was drenched in perspiration—either from the warmth of the car or her emotion. Perveen’s suspicion of some connection between her and Mukri’s death was growing.

  Looking sick, Razia murmured, “I’ve come because I want to confess. Tell the police not to question anyone else about Mukri-sahib’s killing. I am the one who did it.”

  19

  The Guardian’s Scheme

  Bombay, February 1921

  Perveen took a deep breath, allowing herself time to respond to Razia’s shocking announcement. Razia certainly had motivation to want the household agent dead—but it seemed unbelievable that she’d have had the strength and skill to carry out the heinous act.

  “To whom did you tell this?” Perveen asked, hoping against hope she hadn’t spilled to Amina.

  “Nobody.”

  “All right, then.” Perveen tried to sound calm as she opened up her briefcase and took out her notebook. She was sitting in her own car with a confessed killer; this was something many lawyers had experienced. “Let’s make a timeline together. It was about three-thirty when Mukri-sahib interrupted my consultation with Mumtaz-begum. Where were you?”

  Her words tumbled out. “I was with Amina on our veranda. We overheard what he yelled at you through the jali into the garden.”

  “He was quite put out,” Perveen said, giving her a half smile. “After departing the zenana, I went to the main entrance and told Zeid I had come to speak with Mukri-sahib.”

  Razia’s eyes widened. “But weren’t you afraid?”

  “I wasn’t thinking about myself. I was quite worried he might take out his anger on the three of you. I tried to remind him it was my duty to your husband to explain your assets to you, and also the way that mahr and the wakf operate. But my words did not calm him, so I left.” She would not tell Razia that Mukri had almost struck her. That would make her seem vulnerable when she needed to appear strong.

  “So, it must have been very soon after you left that Mukri-sahib rang the bell on the second floor.” At Perveen’s puzzled expression, Razia explained, “There’s a bell on either side of the jali; it’s a way to tell someone to come there to speak.”