The Widows of Malabar Hill

by Sujata Massey

  “Baby Jum-Jum is the largest inheritor, taking thirty-five percent. The daughters each get seventeen point five percent and the widows a touch more than four percent apiece. If Mumtaz’s baby survives, the distribution percentages will change.”

  Alice shook her head. “I feel sorry for those widows. Except for Razia-begum, who owns the land, which the other wives don’t have. Now her daughter’s missing. Revenge, perhaps?”

  “She might have been taken because she knows too much. Amina is such a smart little girl—and she is more outspoken than any of her elders. I’d think that we should have heard something from the relatives in Oudh if the theory about her journey was true.” Perveen paused, feeling a stab of guilt at letting the widows keep her from sounding the alert about Amina.

  “What are you thinking?” Alice looked at her soberly.

  Alice could give her insight into the architectural plans, not Amina’s fate. Sighing, Perveen asked, “What do you make of the bungalow’s design?”

  “Looking at the walls and windows, it appears there’s no connection between men’s and women’s territories inside the house—but of course, there must be. How else would the husband visit the wives at night?”

  Perveen explained about the brass jali door between the two sides. “Supposedly Mr. Farid held a key. It must be somewhere.”

  Sounding pensive, Alice asked, “Which room did Mukri sleep in? ”

  From her time observing Sub-Inspector Singh, Perveen could easily remember the orientation of the hall and the room where Mr. Murki appeared to have slept. She pointed on the drawing to answer Alice’s query. “There appear to be five other bedrooms in that section of the bungalow, but for some reason, he chose this room.”

  “Because he saw himself as lord and master.” Alice studied the plan a while longer. “On one side of the master bedroom, it looks like the wall is quite a bit thicker than the other walls. Do you see that?”

  Perveen craned her neck. “It might not be a solid wall. It could be a storage area.”

  “It’s strange to have this construction difference on just one side of the house. Other than this, the house is extremely symmetrical,” Alice said.

  Perveen tried to see the master bedroom again in her mind. She was walking through it, looking around. She’d put her hand on the bathroom doorknob when Singh had stopped her from going further. She studied the architectural drawing and recognized the bathroom and another door to its left.

  “That can’t be a closet,” Alice said, following her gaze. “Unless it’s the only closet in the bungalow.”

  “Indians use almirahs to hold their clothing and other possessions,” Perveen said. “Of course, there are always storerooms within a bungalow.”

  “But those are clearly marked as very small rooms.” Alice traced the lines on the paper with her finger. “If you look at the wives’ rooms in the zenana, each of them has a door going into the same thicker exterior wall. And then, there are windows showing on the exterior wall—”

  “What if there’s a passage?” Perveen interrupted. “The fact is, the widows’ rooms only have windows on the western side.”

  Alice stared at her. “I think you’re right. Looking from my own bedroom window at the bungalow, I’ve seen those small windows.”

  Perveen felt gripped by excitement. “A passageway gives a husband access to various bedrooms in the zenana without his going down the main hallway and catching the notice of others. It allows discretion.”

  “And what about the converse?” Using her finger, Alice mapped a reverse journey. “The wives could have easily gone to the other side. They could have walked over, spent the night with their husband—or later on, Mr. Mukri—and nobody else would have known.”

  “I don’t know that any of them would have willingly gone to Mukri,” Perveen said with a shudder. But she could imagine any one of them using the passage to advantage—if she intended to commit murder.

  30

  The Second Act

  Bombay, February 1921

  Perveen woke at six-thirty the next morning and was too restless to stay in bed.

  Her hip still ached slightly as she got out of bed and opened the doors to her balcony. The sky was slowly lifting its black veil. Something different was in the air: a feeling of something charged, almost electric.

  Perveen stared at the changing sky, trying to think of all the small pieces of information she’d read and heard. The answer to Mukri’s death was contained within a couple of pieces of this mosaic—and possibly, the answer to Amina’s disappearance, too.

  But although she and Alice had dwelled for more than two hours on the plans, they couldn’t know anything more without going to the bungalow itself. That had been impossible, because Alice’s mother expected her to attend a cards party, and Perveen had promised her father she’d stay home.

  Lillian squawked from her cage, clearly aware of Perveen’s presence.

  “Go fly about the garden. There’s plenty of food to find; look how busy the other birds are,” Perveen scolded.

  But Lillian remained, beating her wings to rise up a few inches and then come down hard on her perch bar. Over and over she did it, as if to irritate Perveen even further.

  The bird wanted her breakfast in a dish because she’d never developed the skills to hunt grubs or pick fruit.

  Perveen had once believed the Farid widows were similarly helpless, but she didn’t anymore. It must have been maddening to have a household agent thrust into their world. Razia had the most powerful motivation against him: keeping her child from being married off. Sakina might have gone against Mukri because she hadn’t liked the way he’d threatened Razia, and she might have feared for the future wellbeing of her own daughters. And Mumtaz would have wished him gone if there was a chance that he could claim parental rights to her child.

  However, Perveen couldn’t see how the women could have been involved in her kidnapping. They knew their home and its secret places but not the vastness of Bombay.

  Thinking of this conundrum made her want to speak with her father, who had not arrived home by the time she’d fallen asleep. If she’d woken Lillian, she might as well wake her father.

  Tying a wrapper over her nightdress, Perveen walked the short length of the hall to her parents’ room. The door was ajar, and she saw her father was already dressed and standing in front of the mirrored almirah working on his cravat.

  “Good morning!” he said, tugging at the edges of his bow tie. “You are awake early.”

  “And you are, too. When did you arrive home yesterday?”

  “Well after you were asleep, and Mamma and I decided it was better to let you rest. Let us talk together while eating breakfast downstairs.”

  In the dining room, sun was slanting in from the eastern windows, casting a pattern across the mahogany table. As Perveen sat down, John brought coffee and toasted brun maska buns. This was a far cry from the large breakfast that would be served to the rest of the family at nine-thirty, but it was just right for the hour.

  “What did you do yesterday?” Perveen yawned as she picked up her cup of coffee.

  “I went to Sea View Road,” he said casually. “I wished to check on the welfare of Mumtaz-begum, who wasn’t observed by Gulnaz the other evening.”

  “And what about Amina?” Perveen asked. “Were you permitted to go to the jali screen to speak through it to Razia-begum?”

  “Certainly,” her father said, looking slightly affronted. It was surely a surprise to have her questioning his procedure. “Sub-Inspector Singh was walking in, and I suggested that the two of us ask the young maid if all the women could come to their side of the jali screen for a conversation on the second floor. He didn’t think they would—but when they heard I was your father, they agreed.”

  Perveen was too anxious to enjoy the pride she’d normally have felt in such a situation
. “Did you mention Amina’s disappearance in front of the sub-inspector? The family doesn’t want a police investigation.”

  “I did not ask, although I am growing concerned that we should mention it. If the child has come to harm from a household member, I wouldn’t wish to be charged with aiding and abetting.”

  Perveen’s coffee went down the wrong way. Coughing out the fluid, she thought with horror about being charged for an offense when she’d thought she was in the right. Who knew? And say she wasn’t charged—how could she live with herself if Amina died?

  After looking at her reprovingly, Jamshedji spread more butter on his bun. “By the by, Mumtaz didn’t come with the other two women to speak at the jali screen. Razia-begum said it was due to not feeling well—and remembering what you told me about her pregnancy, I suggested to Singh that we let her rest.”

  Again, Perveen was worried about her father’s possible intrusion. “Please tell me you didn’t mention the pregnancy—”

  “Of course not!” he said briskly. “However, Singh stated concern that she should perhaps consult a doctor if she could not come to the window with the others. Razia-begum said she would call the doctor, although she could not promise Mumtaz-begum would be willing to be seen.”

  “What was it like speaking to them through a jali? Could you tell their voices apart?”

  “Of course. Razia-begum’s voice is lower and not as melodious as Sakina-begum’s.”

  “What else did you learn in the conversation?”

  “Singh questioned them about whether they had called you at Mistry House. Razia-begum said she hadn’t and in fact did not have the business card any longer.”

  “If she looked for it, she might have thought of calling me.”

  “Sakina-begum denied ringing you. She and Razia agreed that Mumtaz was in her rooms all evening and did not call. This led to my asking whether they had any concerns for safety, and both agreed that they wished to have the durwan Mohsen continue guarding the gate.”

  “But will the police let him out?” Perveen asked.

  “He’d been released and was on duty when I arrived.”

  So the police had acted on what she’d learned about Mohsen. He was reunited with his children, and the gate was secure. Perveen felt a small bit of pride for her part in this.

  “You may recall that Farid Fabrics’ office provided me the home address of Mrs. Mukri,” Jamshedji continued, starting in on a bowl of sliced papaya. “Before going to catch the train for Poona, I checked your briefcase and found Sakina-begum’s family address. I planned to call on both households during my day-trip. It wasn’t until I was settled on the train and looking through the papers that I realized the addresses for Mrs. Mukri and Sakina-begum’s father were the same. I would be making a condolence call—and an investigatory call—at the same compound.”

  “But that’s remarkable! Are Faisal and Sakina-begum brother and sister?” Perveen was astonished.

  Jamshedji dipped one corner of his brun maska in the coffee and ate at a leisurely pace. “No. The parents are siblings—which means Faisal Mukri and Sakina Chivne were first cousins. The house belongs to Sakina’s grandparents, but when Mrs. Mukri became a widow in 1910, she and her children, including twelve-year-old Faisal, moved into the compound.”

  Perveen noted that her father had dropped the honorific for Sakina—he was scant on formality when they were in private conference. It felt as if the first important piece of the mysterious mosaic had emerged. The blood relationship was why Sakina had trusted Mr. Mukri so absolutely, no matter how unpleasant he might have been to everyone else.

  “What was their relationship like as children?” Perveen asked

  “Mrs. Mukri didn’t say anything, and as she is mourning for her son, I couldn’t press her. Sakina’s father, Mr. Chivne, said they became close as brother and sister, and Sakina missed him very much when he went away to school. When I stopped to speak with Sakina’s younger brother Adnan, whom I met in the garden when I was leaving, I was able to learn a bit more.”

  Perveen had a number of burning questions, but she didn’t want another pause, so she kept still.

  “He said that when Faisal joined the household, he became the oldest boy in residence, and he attempted to gain the privileges that had been Adnan’s.”

  “What kind of privileges?”

  “Adnan chuckled about it—but I could tell, since he remembered so well, that it must have bothered him greatly,” Jamshedji said in the relaxed tone he used when reading aloud. “Adnan Chivne said that after his cousin Faisal arrived, he received less choice pieces of chicken and lamb, and he no longer received many new clothes every season. Now Faisal got these things, because he was the oldest. Faisal also charmed Sakina, who favored him rather than her brother—to the point that their closeness became somewhat alarming to the family. Faisal officially left the zenana a year after he’d come to the household—but instead of staying on the other side of the house and going to school in town, he was sent to live at a madrassa.”

  “A religious boarding school!” Perveen said, thinking about the school Faisal Mukri had said he was going to build. Here was the root of his interest in such places.

  “Sakina was heartbroken when Faisal went away. During school breaks, when Faisal returned to the bungalow, he was allowed to visit the zenana to see his mother—but wound up mostly with Sakina. Seeing that the affection between them was growing and might cause problems, Sakina’s father accepted the proposal of a wealthy man he heard was looking for a second wife. This was Mr. Farid, who married her when he was thirty-nine and she was fifteen.”

  Perveen was trying to put together a timeline in her mind. “When was Faisal Mukri hired by Mr. Farid?”

  “Three years after he’d married Sakina.”

  “Sakina-begum would have been eighteen—and she’d already delivered Nasreen and Shireen. Faisal Mukri would have been nineteen years old.” Perveen thought some more about it. “I wonder if Sakina-begum suggested to her husband that he hire her cousin. It’s an ordinary enough request.”

  “It’s likely. As I’ve mentioned, the Farid Fabrics accounting supervisor thought Mukri was a relative of Mr. Farid’s.”

  Perveen remembered Sakina’s steadfast support of the proposition that she turn her personal wealth over to the wakf. Mukri could have promised her that in exchange they’d live their lives in luxury—and perhaps without the others. Mukri had the power to arrange marriages for the other widows; the household could have been stripped of everyone except for the two of them and Sakina’s own children.

  If Razia knew all of this, she might have realized Mukri was a threat to the household’s existence. Would she feel the same way about Sakina—or would she continue to tolerate the second wife?

  The only way Perveen could understand the truth of whether Razia had killed Mukri was by going directly to the women. “Pappa, I know you’ve been worried about me. I stayed home quietly yesterday and went to bed very early. I feel revived. I’d like to do some interviewing at the Farid bungalow today.”

  Jamshedji drained the last of his coffee and then looked at her. “I would be glad to accompany you, but I’ve got Mr. Reddy’s trial today. Therefore, office work would be best for you today.”

  Perveen swallowed hard. After leaving Calcutta, she had pledged to herself not to disrespect her father. He’d taken her back without question, paid for her to study in England, and hired her as his employee when no other law firm in Bombay would. Jamshedji had delivered her second act.

  But in her second act, she was a solicitor duty bound to do the best thing for her client, Razia Farid. Perveen looked her father in the eye. “While your work in Poona has brought out some great information, your experience speaking through a jali has not yielded information we need to ensure the widows’ safety. I am the only one who can speak to Sakina privately about her relationship with Mr.
Mukri and also to Razia and Mumtaz to determine if they knew about the family tie.”

  “That could be done another day, when I’m able to accompany you.” Jamshedji laid his napkin aside, a subtle indication to Perveen that he was readying himself to move on to court. She was losing advantage.

  “Another reason I wish to visit Sea View Road is to establish whether there’s private access between the master bedroom and any of the wives’ chambers. That’s something that would be improper for you to try.”

  Jamshedji’s gray eyebrows drew together in concern. “What is this about private access?”

  Perveen decided to speak boldly, as if her actions of the day before were entirely natural. “Remember my request for the architectural drawings? I asked Alice to look at the plans with me. She noticed some inconsistencies and raised the possibility of a hidden passage—although it could also be a very thick wall.”

  “I wouldn’t have expected you’d show Miss Hobson-Jones the drawings.” Jamshedji’s voice was stiff with disapproval.

  “I contracted her services as a temporary employee.” In response to her father’s incredulous look, she said, “I paid her a sovereign and took a receipt. I knew Alice’s mathematical acumen would be helpful with regard to the plans.”

  “Her father is the governor’s councillor!” Jamshedji sputtered. “Didn’t you think she might tell him about this and cause all manner of havoc?”

  “Alice advised me she would not divulge a bit of it—and since she’s our employee now, the court couldn’t make her say anything.”

  Jamshedji was silent for a long moment. “As long as the police are still at the compound, you may visit. But don’t go alone.”

  Perveen was flooded with relief—not just at being allowed to go, but also at his tacit suggestion that Alice be included. “Thank you very much for the permission, Pappa. And is there anything more I should know?”

  “The autopsy was released. Sub-Inspector Singh informed me that Mukri’s death was caused by a violent severing of his spinal cord.”