Controlling my voice, I replied in a servile tone, “I beg pardon.”
I had half-turned when, eyes gleaming, he drew near, so quickly that I couldn’t take another step. With one hand he grabbed me by the waist, with the other, he caressed my breast. His lips almost met mine, one finger working through the folds of my sari. I drew back my hand and slapped him hard on the cheek. The force of that vibrated up my arm to my shoulder and made him wince. A hand hardened and made strong by kitchen work. He stepped back, gave me a baleful glare, then stepped away from me and slammed the door.
I retired to the kitchen and stood by the window until I could breathe normally again. The room was quiet, the air still. Jas and Pratap had abandoned their tasks and gone off somewhere. Idris squatted on the floor, lost in sorrow. Had he been an accomplice or was he blaming himself afresh for the tragedy? After a moment, he raised his eyes to me.
“What’s wrong, Maria?”
I poured out the details of my ugly encounter with Charles sahib. Testing to see how Idris would react, I said, “The sahib acted strangely, in a vulgar way, as though he was under severe pressure.”
Idris pulled himself upright. “Oh, but that’s normal behavior on the sahibs’ part, in case you haven’t noticed. We servants are the scapegoats. The masters vent their frustrations on us. Why would Charles sahib be any different?”
“Still I must say not everything is falling in place for me, like there are secrets—”
Idris cut in. “Look, we all have things to hide. You think I don’t know that you stole money for your trip to the market? Well, I do, but I didn’t tell anybody.” He paused. “We’ll never know for sure what happened with Bir.”
“Doesn’t the Royal Palace have an official to whom we can report the murder?”
“Yes, but the officer will turn a blind eye. I’m only a servant. If I make waves, I’ll cause trouble for myself and, worse yet, for my family. The official will likely ask me for a rose, a bribe. I don’t have any money to pay him.”
“I wonder if Job sahib might be able to help us.”
“No, being a foreigner, he doesn’t have the legal rights. Besides, I’m told he came down with a fever last night and has locked himself in his room. He’s not to be disturbed.”
“We can’t let the murder of one of our dear ones drop.”
“You’re very young, Maria. You’ll soon learn that sometimes it’s better to keep your mouth shut and bear the grief and injustice. I’ll advise you not to go anywhere near the sahibs’ quarters. Don’t roam the streets, either. I’ll ask the other servants to keep an eye on you. Anytime you need help, if someone comes at you, shout.”
I saw resignation in the lines of his face. Despite all the wisdom he’d acquired, he accepted whatever life handed to him; I found that difficult to accept.
I walked out of the kitchen and wandered around the courtyard. I looked up with awe at the exquisitely decorated exterior walls of this mansion. How much I’d grown to appreciate the beauty all around me. A perceived threat from Charles sahib couldn’t drive me out of here. I would continue to make this Factory my home, with its usual round of duties, however dreary, disordered, and dangerous. I wouldn’t let Charles sahib get away so easily for trying to touch me, or for murdering Bir, if indeed he was the culprit.
And yet on that day long ago, a hint of a breeze stirring and the sweet scent of bokul flowers floating about me, I found a tiny doubt about Job sahib creeping inside me. How much could I really depend on him, if he was always so unavailable?
SEVENTEEN
On my way to the kitchen a few days later, I came across Tariq. I hadn’t seen much of him lately and I was happy about it. Quietly, in a friendlier tone, he told me the details of Bir’s cremation ceremony, which he had been allowed to attend as the official representative of the Factory. With a crime possibly having been committed, the cremation had been conducted in secrecy on strict orders from the new Nawab.
“So a new Nawab is already in place?” I asked.
“Yes. Rafi Khan has been given the position by Emperor Aurangzeb.”
Nawab Khan was as tough and belligerent as the Emperor. A man with a foul temper, he was also known to dislike foreigners. “He might impose stricter rules on the Company’s trading practices.He might even send his army if we don’t comply.” His head bent, Tariq walked away.
I envisioned horsemen, guns, spears, and blood.
In the kitchen, I found pots and pans, several burning chulahs, and ingredients for the day’s meals. Only Pratap was present. The other cooks had apparently abandoned their posts. I picked up a pot, then put it back in its place. “Work is worship,” so went a local saying, but with Bir’s spirit, his easy laughter, his goodness, his vitality, hovering over this space, I couldn’t worship.
Suppose I stole out of here to visit Teema, to commiserate in our grief? I had learned from Idris a few days ago that she was hiding out in the women’s quarters. With Tariq in a gentler mood, this was the perfect opportunity. I asked Pratap if he could handle breakfast.
I withdrew to my room, opened a tin can that hid my few treasures, and fished out the gold mohur. There it was, the gift from the late Nawab, with its brilliance and the flowing calligraphy, the heavy weight signifying its monetary value. I wanted to give this to Teema; it was my only savings, but Teema needed it more. Besides, I owed her. Not long ago, she’d saved me from being discharged by Tariq when I was late for work. I stared at the glorious coin then gathered the ends of my sari train, tucked the coin in its folds, and held the bundle to my bosom. For eons we women have carried money safely this way, without arousing any suspicion. I pictured the surprise on Teema’s face as she received the mohur. She’d raise her shining eyes at me and smile. The coin would be enough to pay for her boat passage and get her started in a new town.
As my last act, I wrapped the chiffon odhni around my face with only my eyes peeking out. Wearing it gave me a sudden delight, a lightness of spirit, permission to be frivolous, what Teema had often wished for me.
As I stepped out the door, Idris’s warning echoed in my ears. Don’t go roaming the streets. For now, I blew my caution away, slipped through the gate, and headed for the women’s quarters. The flow of traffic, pedestrians, wooden oxcarts, and palanquins, was light. My face and body were well hidden, head-cover arranged above my eyes, and a sense of daring propelling me forward. I passed by a watchtower, several ponds, and brick edifices. Occasionally, I turned back to see if anyone was pursuing me, but saw no one.
Taking a right turn, I followed a road that offered a view of the market. Many of the shops were charred. Left behind were piles of gray-black ash, scaffolds, animal carcasses, and debris. The sights slowed me down; I walked as if in a haze. The air carried the nauseating odor of rotten flesh. Sorrowful and sickened, I wound my way farther to the east into a narrow alley to avoid the odor.
“Is that you, my darling?” a man’s voice called from behind me.
I swung around to see John Richardson. Cheeks sunken, the corners of his eyes reddish, his doublet soiled and wrinkled, he stared at me with an intensity that sent a tingling sensation throughout my body. I wanted to run, but my feet were unsteady, and this man would catch me in a second.
“Oh, you’re not Teema,” he said, with a laugh and a sneer, reekingof alcohol. “But you’re wearing her scarf? You’re her chum, right?”
“Yes, my name is Maria,” I said in a level voice.
“Where’s Teema?” His face withered, John Richardson looked bereft. “I haven’t seen her in days. Suppose you take me to her?”
I stood to my full height. My voice rose high, angry, and confrontational, as though I was speaking with someone my equal. “No, it would be best not to try to do that.”
“But … but she must know how … how much I adore her, how much I want to get her back.”
“That won’t happen, I am afraid.”
John Richardson’s eyes brimmed with repentance. He attempted to speak, but word
s didn’t form. I could have taken the opportunity to run away; in his distressed state, he wouldn’t have been able to catch me. But I lingered there, offering him an opportunity to collect his thoughts, and giving myself time to formulate a suitable remark. This would be my only chance to speak with him, to get my point across before we parted. If he understood how futile were his search for Teema, he would give her up.
“Can you imagine having no money, being afraid to go out and be seen in public, and not being able to get a job?” I asked.
He took a long moment to recover. His fingers curled as he rummaged in his breeches’ pocket. He withdrew some coins and pressed them into my hand.
Head bowed, I thanked him.
He turned and walked away, the scorned man. I stood for a moment then secured the coins in the bundle of my sari train.
This exchange had left me flustered, but I’d stood up to a man, an Englishman for that matter. I resumed walking, my legs stronger than I had expected them to be. The sight of a meadow lush with weeds, wildflowers, and sunshine lifted my spirits. Up ahead, a farmer in a ragged loin cloth sowed seeds in a rice field. The scene reminded me of my village; the mango trees, the jungles, the planting season, and my family. I recalled the faces of my family members—my parents, little brothers. It had been so long since I’d seen them. I halted, wiped away the moistness in my eyes and resumed walking.
Within minutes, the clean pleasant grass huts of the women’s quarters came into view. In a corner of the field that fronted the huts, wide-eyed, chubby-cheeked children flew hither and thither. A group of young women gyrated in a circle to the rhythms of a folk dance, their tresses sparkling in the morning light. They were dressed in matching, high-waist, long-sleeved bodices in various colors and prints with a flared skirt that fell above their ankles. They had designed their own clothing, I presumed. Miming motions of planting and harvesting, the women kicked, skipped, bent, and exclaimed in joyous outbursts, rattling their bracelets. Occasionally, they’d leap up and down, as though drawing heaven closer to earth. I stood under the shadow of a banyan tree and watched with fascination: women bubbling with happiness, enjoying their leisure time together to the hilt. As they twirled around, they seemed to look alike, and then a familiar face swung into view.
Teema.
Arms upraised, she whirled in frenzy at the center of the circle. Clad in a skirt sequined with silver and flaring around her, she spun currents of red, purple, and blue, her toe rings sparkling. She sported a spangle on her forehead, her hair was arranged into plaits secured with ribbons, and her hands were decorated with henna.
She spotted me, halted, and frowned. “Maria! Tariq didn’t send you, did he?”
“No, I came on my own.”
“Come! Join us!”
After a moment of hesitation—the footwork appeared dizzyingly complicated—I slid into the circle. The other dancers welcomed me in. I began imitating the movement of their legs and hands, and was soon caught up by the rhythm of the dance. I waved my hands and lifted my feet; I felt free, open, and powerful, as though I could gather up all the sunlight in my arms.
None of us, however, could keep up with Teema. So light were her steps, so nimble her feet that she seemed to float among the clouds. In a few minutes, she came lightly to a stop and so did we, catching our breaths, panting, smiling, and clapping. Teema sashayed toward me and pointed to a grassy spot under the banyan tree. “Shall we sit over there?
We squatted on the ground, our backs resting against the thick tree trunk. I gave her an account of Bir’s death and sat in silence, our eyes moist. As though to cut through the somberness, she said, “You look lovely in that scarf.”
I told her about my encounter with John Richardson.
“That bastard! He never gives up. Fortunately, my friends have given me a temporary refuge where he can’t find me. I still have the hope of gathering funds, quietly moving to Hooghly, and finding a punch house where I can be hired.” She sighed. “It’s only a dream.”
“Your dream might come true.” I untied the bundle of my sari train and held the shining mohur and the coins before her, telling her how the former was the Nawab’s gift to me and the latter were from John Richardson.
Teema leaned back. “I can’t take your mohur. You must save it for a rainy day.”
For a moment, I was tempted to withdraw my hand and take the lustrous coin back. Then, examining the pained expression on Teema’s face and assessing her circumstances, I said, “Please, this is a gift from me.”
I expected a word of thanks. Instead Teema shot back with: “Are you getting chummy with John?”
“No. And believe me, I am not taking his side either, although I had the chance to see the mental state he’s in. He’s broken. Take his money in good faith and spend it on necessities. That’ll give him some peace, if anything will.”
Teema sat still, the light in her eyes dimming. “Maybe I ruined him. Maybe that’s why he drinks so heavily. Maybe the stars intended it to be different and I didn’t follow their guiding light.” With a stiff hand, she scooped the coins from my palm.
“Send word when you settle down in Hooghly.”
Teema stood up decisively, her eyes glowing with quiet determination. “We shall meet again, dear friend.”
I rose and stepped out from the shadow of the tree. As I veered toward the path leading to the town, I looked over my shoulder and waved at Teema.
Smiling, her cheeks shining, she said, “Maybe, just maybe, wearing that scarf, you’ll get lucky enough to find the happiness that escaped me.”
EIGHTEEN
Alone in the kitchen, I stood stirring a large pot of rice pudding when Tariq glided into the room.
I nodded at him, but not without apprehension, then noticed the changes in him: a long face, a less confident walk, hunched shoulders. Was he still mourning Bir? Had he suddenly discovered the possibility that his life could end as abruptly? None of us had been the same since Bir’s death.
“This is only an hour’s notice, but Job sahib wants me to find an interpreter who can speak the dialect of Dhaka.”
His words sounded as divinely sweet as the rice pudding before me. Although my English lessons with Charles sahib had stopped, I still practised speaking English and nurtured the hope of becoming an interpreter. Silently, I thanked Goddess Durga.
“Oh, I speak that dialect fluently,” I said.
“Have you heard of a tiny kingdom named Virganj?”
I hadn’t forgotten Sal’s stories about Virganj. Literally the place of the brave, it was a tiny principality located east of here, barely more than a patch of villages governed by a queen known for her courage and governance.
“For sure,” I replied. “A famous queen governs it.”
Tariq stroked the tip of his handlebar moustache, his usual gesture before he launched into a long explanation. “Indeed she’s famous. Everyone calls her Rani Mata, Queen Mother. She’s one of the few independent monarchs in our province, not under the Mughal rule. Years ago, she was the chief advisor to her husband, the king. Our Nawab, not the one you met, but his predecessor, sent his army to take over the kingdom. The Nawab’s army beheaded the king and captured several members of his army.
“Although grief-stricken, Rani Mata, who was watching from the roof of her fort, took over from one of the remaining commanders. The amazing woman had studied the art of battle in her spare time. She wielded the sword, fought, defended her territory, and once again declared her independence. The mighty Mughal army retreated fast. She became the ruler of her kingdom.
“Rani Mata is called the ‘bravest man alive,’” Tariq added. “The spirit of her strength is equal to any man’s.” Although she was only queen until her son turned eighteen, two more years, she held much power and always would. She had a fortress and bighas of prosperous agricultural land around it and her people produced fine quality goods. Virganj was miles away from here. To keep Job sahib from having to travel such a long distance on hazardous roads
, she had come up with a strategy. She had disguised herself as a man and set off on a horse to the house of a wealthy landowner who lived only a few hours from here. She wanted to meet with Job sahib secretly in that house. Her intention was to arrange trade with the Company.
Tariq’s words ruffled me. We would defy the Nawab’s wishes by clandestinely meeting with the queen. As a girl of humble origin, I didn’t like to play such a dangerous, possibly unethical, game. It had been drilled into me since childhood to revere our ruler, the Agent of God on Earth, yet, here was an opportunity for me to prove my abilities by serving as an interpreter.
Silently, I wondered if I was up to this important mission. I had never seen a queen, nor had I ever expected to meet one.
I noted the hesitation in Tariq’s eyes; he didn’t trust my abilities and, indeed, I spoke limited English. I stirred the pudding vigorously once more. “I would be honored to accompany you and Job sahib and do the necessary interpretation.”
“Except for the dialect, I would have done it,” Tariq said. “But then my accent might betray me. I’m a Muslim; Rani Mata might see me as aligning with the Nawab.”
“So you believe that since the queen’s people worship Hindu gods, she would trust me more.”
Tariq nodded. “Also you’re a …”
“She might find it easy to speak with me as a woman. Since my writing skills are not up to standard, you might want to act as the scribe.”
If only for a moment, Tariq’s eye glinted in the flattery and with pleasure at my quick understanding. “But I must alert you to the perils of the road journey,” he said. “We’ll travel for several hours in a slow-moving palanquin, keeping ourselves well hidden. Tigers could attack us. Also the new Nawab’s horsemen have been patrolling the roads. They’re armed with bows and arrows. They keep watch on who goes where and for what purpose. If they suspect the Company has aligned with the queen, they’ll harass us.
“Worse still, the Nawab could revoke our trading concessions. It’s especially risky for Job sahib. As a foreigner, he could arouse suspicion of conspiracy against the Mughal throne. In the event we’re stopped, Job sahib could lose his head and so could we.” Tariq paused. “The sahib is unwell, but he doesn’t want to miss this opportunity. He’ll try to rest on the way.”
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