The Satapur Moonstone

by Sujata Massey

  Perveen’s curiosity shot up. “Are you part of Satapur’s royal family?”

  “Is she ever!” Yazad said merrily. “My wife almost married the late maharaja. But I stole her heart.”

  “He’s exaggerating.” Vandana’s rouged cheeks went even more pink. “I’m not a princess at all. But my family has always had ties to the palace, and I grew up spending lots of time there.”

  Roderick stretched out his legs in the long planter’s chair. In a serious voice, he said, “There’s a superstition about the Satapur royals being fated for early death. If Mrs. Mehta had stuck with tradition, she might have turned into a very young widow.”

  Perveen already had heard about the maharaja’s death from cholera and his first son’s death in a hunting accident. Was Roderick Ames implying there had been other tragedies?

  “That superstition is bunk,” Colin said, cutting in sharply. “The late maharaja’s younger brother, Prince Swaroop, is still alive and kicking at his own palace.”

  “And at the Bombay racetrack,” added Vandana, grinding out her cigarette’s end inside the ashtray set on the tea table. “If that playboy dies early, it will probably be a suicide due to gambling debt.”

  Perveen studied Vandana, who was sitting bolt upright with her shoulders back and her chest slightly forward. She looked ready to spring, not to relax with a drink. Perveen decided Vandana’s forthrightness could be helpful; she might provide insights into the palace.

  “Where are your children this evening?” Roderick asked Vandana, and although he smiled, Perveen wondered if he was insinuating that women should not be concerned with matters outside the household.

  “We have none,” Vandana said tartly. “The Parsis made it clear to Yazad they would not recognize his children as members of the faith, and my people, if they were still alive, would have done the same.”

  “It’s hard to be adrift in the world without acceptance of family,” Perveen said softly, because she sensed pain behind Vandana’s crisp reply. She noticed that Roderick Ames had blushed and settled more deeply into his chair, as if he hadn’t expected such a response.

  “Frankly, our lives are quite busy without children.” Yazad put his hand on the small of Vandana’s back, touching her skin. “My wife and I met in Paris, which we thoroughly enjoyed. We’ve lived in London and spent many holidays in Switzerland. We go here and there like vagabonds. We are not suited to be parents.”

  “I’ve visited Paris, too.” Perveen smiled, feeling solidarity. She, too was hindered by the Parsi marriage law. The law said she and Cyrus did not have grounds for divorce, which meant she could never marry again. The closest she would ever come to being a mother was in roles like this—serving as a guardian to the maharaja and his sister.

  Rama appeared with a small silver tray holding a variety of drinks. The men and Vandana all picked glasses of golden liquid that was likely whiskey. Rather than take the last glass, Perveen shook her head at him. She didn’t want to be overly relaxed. “Do you have sweet lime?”

  “In a moment.” He gave her a nod and disappeared.

  “Aren’t you a good girl?” Vandana said with a giggle before taking a copious drink. After she’d swallowed, she continued, “My favorite places in India are our dear Heaven’s Rest in Satapur and our lovely bungalow in Bombay. Our Bombay residence is near the Willingdon Club. I play tennis there, and I ride at the Royal Western India Turf Club. Do you belong to either place?”

  “We’re in three Parsi social clubs, but not because we are sporting. None of the Mistrys have the speed for tennis, although we do tuck away mutton dhansek very quickly.”

  Everyone laughed except Roderick, who stared into the depths of his glass.

  “Is something wrong, my boy?” Yazad inquired in an avuncular tone.

  The engineer shrugged. “I’ve no money for club memberships on my ICS salary. I’m from Kharagpur, where a visit to the Railway Officers’ Club is a privilege.”

  Perveen felt chagrined. She hadn’t meant to show off but realized how her words to Vandana could be interpreted.

  “Hear, hear!” Colin gave him a sympathetic glance. “I share your pain. The only institutions I belong to in India are libraries: the Sassoon and Asiatic.”

  “You’re a director of a club within the Asiatic Library, I hear,” Yazad said with a wink. “Quite impressive!”

  “I’m just a cofounder,” Colin corrected, as if the praise embarrassed him. “Thinkers for the Future is a group of Indians and Europeans who meet fortnightly to hear lectures from scholars—many of them Indian, some British, others from various nations. Of course, I miss most of these lectures due to my remote posting. But I hear the club has evolved into a friendly gathering that makes people comfortable enough to speak freely. Have you heard of Thinkers for the Future, Perveen?”

  She shook her head, thinking it sounded rather fun—like the clubs she’d been part of at Oxford. But that seemed like a long-ago world.

  “This is truly a special evening with Perveen here,” Yazad said. “I wish a photographer could commemorate it. Where are those people when you need them?”

  “Thank you very much.” Perveen felt flattered. “Actually, I’ve got a camera. Not fancy—just a Kodak Brownie.”

  “We could take the picture on the western veranda, where the light is good. Let’s hurry!” Colin got up from the table and waved for everyone to follow him.

  Perveen fetched her camera and met the assembled group. There was a nice view of the hills on one side and a bit of the circuit house on the other. From underneath a bush, the handsome Hanuman watched as if they were actors assembled to amuse him.

  “All right, everyone, get together!” Perveen directed.

  “But what about you, Perveen? The point of the picture is to celebrate your arrival!” Vandana cried.

  “And Roddy’s,” said Colin quickly. “Why are you not gathering with the rest of us?”

  “No need for it.” Roderick Ames was standing several feet away from the Mehtas and Colin. “But an engineer knows his way around a camera. I’d be glad to take the picture.”

  “But you are also a guest, Mr. Ames. You must be included.” Perveen was aware of how the Mehtas had hardly spoken to him, even before he’d made the comment about the water streams. “Could Rama take our picture?”

  The bearer had been standing in the shadow of the veranda almost unnoticed. He came forward at Colin’s urging, and Perveen demonstrated how to focus the camera and click the shutter. As they posed, Ames stood rigidly at Colin’s right side, looking as unhappy as during all the time since Perveen had met him.

  As Perveen looked away from him to pose for the camera, she thought about the engineer’s strange social behavior. Roderick was from the Bengali town of Kharagpur, where British India’s trains were both made and repaired by a workforce that was mostly Anglo-Indian. This railway employment scheme was resented by full-blooded Indians, who were mostly hired for menial railway positions. But the railway positions that had been set aside for Anglo-Indians also meant they stayed in one field. For Roderick to have landed a sophisticated ICS engineering job meant he’d won scholarships and worked very hard. And wherever he had studied, Roderick had likely been excluded by whites and mocked by Indians.

  After two pictures had been taken, the group stepped apart. Perveen put her camera away in her room and came back to find everyone sitting on the veranda around a card table.

  “Tell me, how are you traveling to the palace?” asked Vandana.

  “By palanquin, if it ever is fixed.” Perveen explained the palanquin’s breakdown in Lonavala. “I wish I could ride a horse there.”

  Yazad shook his head. “This area around the circuit house is fine, but as you travel south, the forest is not entirely safe.”

  “Pish, pish, why say such things?” Vandana interrupted sharply. “Honestly, you’re overworried.�
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  “Please tell me more about the forest.” Perveen sat forward in the planter’s chair she’d taken, which felt too large for her.

  “There have been quite a few sightings of men who aren’t local.” Yazad’s voice dropped to a low, dramatic tone. “They may be men who are sought by the government of British India. They live in the forest because they’re beyond the reach of law there.”

  “Is their existence actually documented?” Perveen asked, feeling dubious.

  “Oh, it’s very real,” Yazad said, slapping a mosquito that had settled on his jacket. “I’ve encountered them once myself. I was on horseback and surprised them foraging for food. Immediately, one chased after and grabbed my horse by the reins. The other pulled out a dagger straight from the Arabian Nights. They cleaned my pockets not only of the twenty rupees I was carrying but also my checkbook. Though they certainly haven’t presented a check to the Bombay bank.”

  Perveen wondered why Vandana wasn’t concerned about the forest when her husband had experienced such a close call. Did she not love and worry about him? Perveen glanced at the lady, who seemed busy righting the position of the heavy diamond solitaire on her left ring finger.

  “You should have told me so I could put it in a report!” Colin interjected. “I’ve got precious little to say that’s considered important by the Kolhapur Agency.”

  “I must say I’m feeling a bit nervous,” Perveen said, casting her eyes over the green hills that rose up behind the garden. Was someone watching them?

  Colin looked seriously at Perveen. “It’s likely that what happened to Yazad was an isolated incident. After all, I’ve made the trip out to the palace twice without seeing anyone. And I’ve made precautions for your safety. Four men will carry the palanquin, and there will be four alternate carriers alongside who will be armed. And then there’s Lakshman!”

  Perveen wondered why the dour man who’d escorted her was being lauded. Sarcastically, she asked, “Does Lakshman have special powers?”

  “In a sense,” Colin said. “He has no need of weapons. He is the respected leader; he knows every tree and trail.”

  “Yes, we have hired him to help with transportation of our visitors,” Vandana said. “Lakshman is shy with outsiders, though. He will be very pleased if you ask him to bring you to the right place to make your offering.”

  “An offering? To whom?” Perveen felt a prickling in her spine. She hoped this would not be some sort of sacrifice.

  “Aranyani.” Vandana said the name slowly, as if she understood this was the first time Perveen was hearing it. “She’s the mother-protector to all the animals of the forest. The local people celebrate her with a puja just before rainy season comes. She is respected all over India, but the ones here know that she controls the rains—if it’s a very bad rainy season with floods, it’s because someone has hurt an animal.”

  “Isn’t it enough to worship the major gods and goddesses—some of whom have a good many more than two arms?” Roderick said with a laugh.

  Perveen imagined he was a Christian, but this was not a good joke to make in mixed company. How could Ames not know that people were protective of their own beliefs? She would never say such a thing aloud to a Hindu.

  But Vandana gave him a demure smile. “The more gods, the better. This is a lonely place. I feel sorry for you Christians with your one God to pray to. How can He hear everyone?”

  “It’s the same trouble for us, isn’t it, Perveen?” Yazad chuckled. “That’s why I’m doing as Vandana says and leaving a few rupees for Aranyani when I pass the shrine. She must be the wealthiest single woman in Satapur.”

  Perveen noted the easygoing approach Yazad had toward Hinduism and his own Zoroastrian faith. But if he’d married out of his community, he might have been disowned by his family and the priests of their agiary.

  “I’ve never seen any coins at that so-called shrine,” Roderick said with a shrug. “Aranyani or someone else must have taken them for shopping money.”

  “Just because you didn’t see coins, it’s not a reason to avoid leaving the offering,” Vandana chided. “Aranyani’s protection might keep those bandits from killing travelers passing through. Perveen, bring a few sweets for Aranyani tomorrow, and some paise, too.”

  Perveen took another look at the hills, which were changing color as the sun began to set. It was really quite beautiful. Although she was nervous, she sensed she would be glad for the experience of traveling through a place she’d never been—the mountainous jungle.

  Yazad finished his second drink and beckoned to Rama for another one. “When can we start playing cards? That’s what you called us for, Colin!”

  “I did, but you may regret it. Perveen was an experienced player in Oxford circles,” Colin said with a wink.

  She rolled her eyes, wondering why he remembered so well an evening she had forgotten. “That’s an exaggeration,” she said quickly. “However, we’re only five people, so we can’t play bridge.”

  “I could sit the game out,” Roderick Ames offered. “I’m a wretched cardplayer.”

  “No. You are here, so you must play—and Dr. Andrews is coming to make the sixth.” Vandana turned her gaze from Ames back toward the circuit house. “Must we play bridge? We could play paplu. It doesn’t require an even number.”

  Colin snapped his fingers. “Otherwise known as Indian rummy! Rama taught me during the long afternoons of rainy season.”

  “Last time I played it was with my grandmother. But why not?” Yazad said with a chuckle that Perveen was beginning to find grating.

  Nevertheless, Yazad was better company than Roderick Ames.

  Why didn’t the engineer fit in? Perveen wondered. He was an Indian Civil Service officer who had an absolute right to stay at the circuit house, and Colin seemed to welcome him like an old friend. Yet Roderick Ames appeared to be doing his level best to remain outside the party. Perhaps it was because the Anglo-Indian was neither Hindu, Parsi, nor English, nor was he wealthy.

  Prejudice in India was not as simple as whites lording it over Indians. The sickness was also spread by Indians ranking one another in terms of skin shade, religion, and mother tongue. She imagined that having been born in India with dark skin and an English name must have been a source of endless comments.

  7

  Playing One’s Cards

  Perveen had always thought card games were a window to the soul. And sure enough, fifteen minutes after Colin had dealt the cards all around, Yazad’s avuncularity disappeared and was replaced by a tight, barking temperament. Vandana was distracted, throwing in cards without strategy while hammering Perveen with questions about various society people in Bombay. Despite his professed lack of interest in cards, Roderick Ames knew the game and played skillfully, every one of his moves frowned at by Yazad.

  Colin, on the other hand, seemed indifferent about winning or losing, sipping his drink more slowly than his guests, and occasionally casting a wry look at Perveen. She wondered what the look meant.

  An outbreak of animal howling outside made her shoulders go up. Rama appeared with a stooped European gentleman. He was almost bald, with a fringe of red hair ringing his head, and his fair skin was mottled with red marks and sunspots. His eyes were small and a watery blue. It was impossible to tell if India’s sun had aged him, or if he was more than seventy years old. In any case, he did not look well.

  “Good evening, Dr. Andrews!” Yazad rose and gave a mock-courtly bow to the physician, who was dressed in a heavily wrinkled drill suit. “Our champion player has finally arrived. We started playing without you, I’m afraid, and the game has gone to hell.”

  “No matter. You may as well carry on.” The doctor sank into a side chair away from the table.

  Colin put down his hand of cards, poured a cup of tea, and brought it to the man. “You must be fatigued after a long day’s work.”

 
“Two more children dead from cholera,” he said, accepting the tea with a grateful nod.

  “But Perveen here went into the village today!” Vandana said, looking with worry at Perveen. “Did you bathe afterward?”

  “I—” Perveen hesitated, not used to talking about such personal issues with people she didn’t know well. “I had a sponge bath before meeting you. Nobody there said anything about people being ill.”

  “There is no sign yet of epidemic, but care must be taken.” Dr. Andrews frowned at her. “Who are you? What business have you in these parts?”

  Colin interjected, “Miss Perveen Mistry is a government lawyer on her way to the palace. The Kolhapur Agency sent her out, and I’m very glad she’s here.”

  “Government lawyer” wasn’t an entirely accurate description, but Perveen didn’t think it worth arguing. Now she knew what she should say to explain her position.

  “If you are going to the palace, it’s quite important that you are well.” Dr. Andrews looked searchingly at her. “They have suffered enough. You must not transmit infection.”

  “We’ll all wash our hands and faces as a precaution,” Colin said. “There’s a washroom just off the dining room. Rama can serve dinner early, if you have the appetite.”

  “But the game!” Yazad protested.

  Colin said, “I don’t mind if we end now. What is there to win, anyway?”

  Vandana patted her husband’s arm. “Too many nights, we play cards because they are the only excitement. Tonight we have the largest gathering of people since last spring. Let’s enjoy that.”

  Perveen wasn’t surprised that the main dinner course was roasted chicken. Rama served a chilled tomato soup first, as well as rice, two vegetable pickles, potato curry, and dal. Two bottles of wine were opened: a claret from the same year as the one they’d had the previous night, and a bottle of champagne. Nobody took water except for the doctor.

  “I employ a chef trained at the Taj Mahal Hotel in Bombay,” Vandana confided to Perveen. “Won’t you come to see me tomorrow? I’ll give you breakfast or lunch, if you prefer.”