Tea and Spices (An Erotic Novel of Colonial India)

by Lane, Nina

Devora took a breath, trying to quell a sudden onslaught of nerves. “To the maharaja’s palace, please.”

  He gave her a strange look, but shrugged and urged the horse forward. Devora sat back and watched the British bungalows pass by. She did regret the way things had turned out, but she was also glad she would no longer have to define herself by proprieties constructed by a group of very narrow-minded individuals. She passed several British women, who were either walking or riding in their own carriages. In each case, their expressions changed to shocked horror as they recognized her. Then they turned away and whispered to each other behind their hands.

  Devora let her thoughts drift to Rohan. She wondered what had happened to him in the few days since his encounter with Gerald. Had he found a place to stay, or was he being shunned by the Indian community for his intimacy with a British woman? Perhaps such an association was considered to be consorting with the enemy. Her hands tightened on her pocketbook. She hoped above everything that Rohan’s life hadn’t been that badly damaged by their relationship.

  The carriage driver passed through the village and onto the road leading towards the palace. Devora looked at the flowing Ganges River parallel to the road, remembering when Rohan had told her she possessed an “old soul.” If that was indeed the case, then her soul was not cooperating to reveal her understanding of life’s mysteries. Instead she was beginning to feel both afraid and very alone.

  “It’s your own fault,” she muttered to herself.

  The driver pulled up to the entrance of the palace and glanced back at Devora. “You wish me to announce you, memsahib?”

  “Yes, please. My name is Devora Hawthorne.”

  The driver hopped off the carriage and went to talk to one of the palace guards. He looked at Devora, nodded, and then disappeared into the palace. After a moment, he returned.

  “The maharaja says you may enter.”

  “Thank you.” Devora followed him inside, her nervousness increasing as she realized that she was willingly entering the lion’s den. She had no escape here, but she also had no other choice than to talk to the maharaja.

  The guard led her into the dining room, where the maharaja was seated at the head of the table with an array of dishes spread out before him. A pretty, young woman sat in a corner of the room, lavishly dressed in silk and gold. Devora recognized her as Alpana, the woman who had hinted that Devora was lucky to escape the maharaja’s cruelty. Alpana eyed Devora curiously, but made no comment.

  The maharaja glanced up from his plate of curry and rice, but did not bother to stand. “Well, Mrs. Hawthorne. To what do I owe this honor?”

  The guard pulled a chair away from the table. Devora sat down, clutching her hands together as she tried to think of a way to phrase her question.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see me. I have a small problem.”

  The maharaja swallowed some water and chuckled. “Yes, I have heard. I would call it a big problem, wouldn’t you?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “You find a servant to be more satisfying than a prince, do you?”

  Devora winced slightly. The last thing she wanted was contempt from the maharaja, although she should have expected it. He knew everything that went on in the district, so it stood to reason he would have been one of the first to hear of the scandal.

  “As you know, I’ve left my husband,” she said, ignoring the question. “I’ve come to ask for your help.”

  The maharaja’s eyes widened slightly as he stared at her. Then he started to laugh, his belly shaking. “My dear Mrs. Hawthorne, you must be joking. You want me to help you? After you abused me so?”

  Devora’s fingernails dug into her palms as she tightened her hands into fists. “I didn’t abuse you. Both times, you were forcing yourself on me.”

  The maharaja spread his curry-stained hands out in a gesture of supplication. “Now, how is that possible after we had been so intimate? You are terribly mistaken.”

  Devora fought the urge to argue with him. She couldn’t afford to insult him right now. “Well, regardless of what happened then, I need your help now. I want to return to England, but I don’t have enough money for passage back.”

  “And you want me to fund your return to England? Why should I help you escape this hornet’s nest that you are responsible for stirring up?”

  Good question, Devora thought.

  “What about a train ticket to Bombay?” she asked. “No one knows me in Bombay. I can at least start a new life there.”

  The maharaja shoveled rice into his mouth and shook his head. “You cannot start a new life. You are ruined, you know. A tainted woman.”

  He seemed to enjoy telling her this.

  “Yes, so I’ve been informed,” Devora said. “Look, I haven’t asked any of the British because I know most of them would refuse my request. I think the Thompsons would loan me the money, but I don’t want to be indebted to them any more than I already am.”

  “Hence, you have come to me, thinking you can sweet talk me into helping you.”

  “I’m not trying to sweet talk you. I’m simply asking for your help. I’ll pay you back once I’m settled again and making money. I know a return ticket to England would hardly make a dent in your fortune.”

  “I dare say that money is hardly the element in question.”

  “Then what is in question?” Devora asked.

  “What you are willing to give me in return.”

  “If you’re asking me to have sex with you again, I won’t,” Devora said, pushing back her chair. “I can see that coming here was a waste of time. I’ll be leaving now.”

  She headed for the door, but the maharaja’s voice stopped her. “Wait, Mrs. Hawthorne. I will pay for your return ticket to England.”

  Devora turned and eyed him suspiciously. “What do you want from me?”

  The maharaja picked up a piece of naan bread and swirled it around on his plate to soak up the curry juices. “I believe you are aware that a number of Indians have been arrested for rioting.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that.”

  “I want a list of their names,” the maharaja said. “As well as the names of people who are under suspicion.”

  Devora’s eyes narrowed. “Why? So that you can help release them, and then offer them protection?”

  The maharaja ripped off a piece of bread with his teeth. “You see, Mrs. Hawthorne, the anti-British movement is increasing daily. If we can accumulate enough manpower on our side, it will not take long before the British are compelled to leave.”

  “So you’re saying you want me to help you build forces against the British.”

  The maharaja shrugged. “Call it what you will, Mrs. Hawthorne. You can get the lists for me, I’m sure. After all, you are staying with one of the senior British officers.”

  Devora hesitated, but she knew that she had no other choice. She nodded. “All right, I’ll try. I want the money first.”

  “Oh, no. How do I know you won’t leave without fulfilling your end of the bargain?”

  Another good question, Devora thought.

  “I’ll bring you the information by the end of the week, then,” she said. “And you are to tell no one.”

  “Do not worry. I would not admit to an association with you.”

  “Nor I with you,” Devora retorted. “May I use the powder room before I leave?”

  “Yes, you know where it is.”

  Devora left the dining room and walked out onto the mezzanine of the inner courtyard. She went into the bathroom and pressed a damp cloth against her neck. Nerves stretched in her stomach. Would she be considered a true traitor if the British discovered her subversion?

  Devora looked at herself in the mirror, wondering if she even recognized the woman who returned her gaze. She wouldn’t falsely accuse an Indian man of assault, but she was willing to help strengthen anti-British forces? She was almost becoming a stranger to herself.

  She left the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Her startl
ed gaze met the dark eyes of Alpana, who stood outside next to the railing. She appeared to be waiting for Devora.

  Devora looked at her for a moment, not knowing what to say, then turned to leave.

  “Wait, memsahib.” Alpana approached Devora cautiously, pulling a fold of her sari over the lower half of her face.

  “Yes?” Devora asked.

  “Take this.” Alpana thrust a small, silk purse at her. “Quickly!”

  “What—”

  “Take it!” Alpana peered frantically down the mezzanine, as if expecting someone to appear at any second.

  Devora closed her fingers around the purse. The Indian woman turned and rushed off, disappearing behind an open door.

  Confused, Devora looked at the purse and started to open it.

  “Mrs. Hawthorne, are you ready to leave?”

  Devora looked up at the approaching maharaja. She quickly opened her pocketbook and hid the silk purse inside. “Yes, thank you.”

  He walked her outside and waited while she climbed into the carriage. “I will expect to hear from you at the end of the week.”

  “I’ll return on Friday.”

  The maharaja snapped a few words of Hindi at the carriage driver, who guided the horse back out to the road. When they were a good distance away from the palace, Devora opened her pocketbook and removed the silk purse. She unfastened the button and peered inside. Her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of the glittering jewels that lay within.

  What on earth…?

  Stunned, Devora spilled the contents out onto her lap and found herself staring at a gold necklace embedded with precious gems, several gold bracelets, and a pair of diamond earrings. She pressed a hand to her chest in sheer shock. Why would Alpana have given her all of this? This was worth a fortune.

  Devora turned and looked back at the fading oasis of the palace. She remembered seeing Alpana not only during her first lunch with the maharaja, but also during her last visit to the palace when she had entered the woman’s room by mistake.

  Devora remembered the overflowing boxes of jewelry and gems she had seen on the dressing table. If that cache was anything to judge by, what she held in her lap now was a minuscule part of the maharaja’s fortune. And of his harem’s ornamentations.

  Her heart pounded as if she had run a mile. She carefully replaced the jewelry in the purse and put the purse back into her pocketbook. Alpana must have realized the maharaja would never miss these few riches. But why would she give them to Devora?

  Devora clutched her pocketbook tightly and tried to reason out such an extraordinary gesture. Innately, however, she knew that she would never be able to. Perhaps Alpana’s first-hand experience with the maharaja’s cruelty had caused her to sympathize with Devora’s plight. Or perhaps she didn’t want to see him manipulate a woman anymore.

  What had Alpana told her that night? You are lucky. You are free.

  And Devora held the fortune against her chest and realized that indeed she was.

  ***

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “I’ll be leaving tomorrow,” Devora said. She swallowed the last of the wine, feeling more relaxed and secure than she had felt in weeks. She knew she had to leave the district of Calipore as soon as possible, lest the maharaja discover what had transpired between her and Alpana. The sooner she left, the better.

  Mrs. Thompson frowned. “Where will you go?”

  “I have enough money for a train ticket back to Bombay,” Devora explained. “From there, I’ll obtain passage back to England.”

  “How do you possibly have enough money for that?” Mr. Thompson asked.

  “I have just enough,” Devora said, thinking that was quite an understatement. She managed to sell two of the gold bracelets to a merchant in the village, and he had given her a far greater amount of money than she had expected. “You’ve been very kind to me, but I really must leave.”

  “Yes, it’s a bit difficult, being the center of a scandal,” Mrs. Thompson said. She patted her forehead with her napkin. “Well, I suppose it’s best that you leave soon. Then Gerald can get on with his life. I expect people will still be talking about you, but the gossip will die down more quickly if you’re not here.”

  “Yes, my thoughts exactly. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go and pack my things. My train leaves at ten tomorrow morning.”

  Devora stood and returned to her room. She finished packing her things, then changed into a dark blue dress and a pair of flat-soled shoes. She took a blue, silk scarf and wrapped it loosely around her head, then sat on the bed and waited for dusk to melt into pure darkness. After an hour, she heard the Thompsons retire to their room.

  Slowly, Devora made her way into the sitting room and went out the front door. She closed the door behind her and hurried down the steps of the bungalow. Her heart beat with silent fierceness as she walked to the road. She knew the dangers involved in a woman walking alone at night, but she had no choice. Trying to ignore the stares of passing men, she flagged down a tonga wallah and told him to take her into the village.

  Even at night, people wandered around the village, purchasing goods from the few stalls that remained open. Goats and cows wandered aimlessly about, oblivious to everything but the possibility of food. Devora directed the tonga wallah to Kalindi’s room and told him to wait.

  She knocked on the front door, relieved to see a light on in the window. “Kalindi! Open the door.”

  The door opened. Kalindi stared at Devora in shock for a moment, taking a step backwards. “Memsahib!”

  “Kalindi, do you know where Rohan is?”

  “Oh, memsahib, I am so sorry!” Tears filled Kalindi’s eyes, and she pressed a hand against her mouth. “The sahib forced me to tell what I knew! I did not want to hurt you.”

  “Never mind, Kalindi, it’s over and done with.”

  “Please, please forgive me,” Kalindi begged as the tears spilled over.

  “Yes, I forgive you,” Devora said, glancing behind her with fear that someone would recognize her. “Kalindi, I need your help now. Do you know where Rohan is?”

  “This is all my fault!” Kalindi wailed.

  Devora stepped forward and grasped the young woman by the shoulders, giving her a gentle shake. “Kalindi, please! I forgive you. This isn’t your fault. I was the one who had an affair with Rohan. You had no choice when you told my husband, I know that. But I need your help now. Where is Rohan?”

  Kalindi hiccupped and swiped at her tears. “Rohan?”

  “Yes. He was dismissed, and he said he would find a room here in the village. Do you know where he is?”

  “Oh, wait. I think he informed Lota.” Kalindi went back into her room, then returned with a happy expression. “Yes, memsahib! Lota knows where Rohan is.”

  “Wonderful! Where?”

  “Oh, you want to know where. Wait, I will ask.” Kalindi hurried back to ask Lota. “He is here in the village. You want to see him?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I tell the tonga wallah where to go, yes?”

  “Yes, please.” Relieved, Devora climbed back into her seat as Kalindi conversed with the wallah. Then Kalindi came around and looked at Devora with her wide eyes and tear-streaked face.

  “Memsahib, you are leaving forever?”

  “Yes, Kalindi, I’m afraid so.”

  “I am very distressed by this.”

  Devora smiled and reached out to put her hand on the younger woman’s cheek. “Don’t be. I think I’m going to be quite happy. None of this is your fault, Kalindi. Please remember that.”

  Kalindi sniffed and nodded. “Goodbye, memsahib.”

  “Goodbye.”

  Kalindi said something to the wallah again. He began peddling towards the center of the village. After about fifteen minutes, he stopped in front of a small, whitewashed bungalow next to a spice shop. Devora paid the wallah and went to the front door. Her heart raced wildly, but she forced herself to knock. No answer.

  “Come on,”
Devora muttered, knocking again with more force.

  After an infinite moment, the door opened to reveal Rohan clad in loose, cotton trousers and a white shirt. An overwhelming relief flooded through Devora like an ocean wave.

  Shock flashed in Rohan’s expression. “Memsahib.”

  “Hello, Rohan.” Devora wanted to throw herself into his arms, but she forced herself to remain calm. “May I come in?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” He pulled the door open wider to let her pass, then closed it. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  “Kalindi told me.” Devora entered his room, which was about the size of the Thompsons’ bathroom. There was room only for a bed and a small desk. Rohan’s clothes hung neatly on hooks from the walls, and his shoes were lined up underneath the bed. “Did you have a difficult time finding a room to rent?”

  “No. This belongs to the father of a good friend. He has kept the rent low for me.” Rohan gestured to the desk chair. “Please, sit down.”

  “That’s kind of him.” Devora sat, her eyes drinking in the sight of him. He looked good, at least, if a little tired. His face had become so familiar to her over the weeks that now she noticed the lines of fatigue bracketing his mouth and eyes. “Have you found work elsewhere yet?”

  “No, I am still looking,” Rohan said.

  Devora sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  “I have told you there is no need for apology. I am as much at fault. The time for regrets has passed anyhow.”

  “Yes, I believe you’re right.”

  “Where have you been staying this past week?” Rohan asked.

  “With the Thompsons.”

  “Good lord. Now, for that, I am indeed sorry.”

  Devora smiled for what seemed like the first time in years. “At least they’ve been good enough to let me stay. I doubt any of the other British would, not with the scandal I’ve created.”

  Rohan sat down on the bed and gave her an amused look. “I suppose you have finally let the world know that you are different.”

  “Corrupted is the word I’ve been hearing,” Devora replied. “And scandalous.”