The Satapur Moonstone

by Sujata Massey

  Perveen decided that the least she could do was ask some more questions. Discreetly opening the notebook she’d carried in, she began writing. “When exactly did Prince Swaroop leave this palace?”

  The dowager glanced at the notebook. “Yes, write what I say, because it is the truth. Sometime midafternoon. It was after the letter was read.”

  “The letter?” Perveen repeated, not understanding.

  “My son brought me a terrible letter Chitra was sending out of the palace. It was to the English telling them that this palace is run by criminals.”

  She felt herself flush hot with embarrassment. “I wrote the letter, and it certainly did not say that. I included the information that I already expressed to you on the maharaja’s education. I also mentioned the possible poisoning I described to you and other concerns Maharani Mirabai shared with me. Chitra should not have been jailed for agreeing to post this letter.”

  As Perveen was talking, Swagata had come forward from her crouch against the wall and prostrated herself on the floor. Not looking up, she murmured, “Please, Rajmata. Kindly let my innocent girl go back to her work.”

  “Do not tell me what to do!” the dowager shot back.

  Disheartened by the reaction, Perveen turned to look over the assemblage of ladies-in-waiting and maids. The maids all had their faces toward the floor, as if they shared Swagata’s pain, but a couple of the ladies-in-waiting had hands over their mouths, as if hiding laughter. Trying to sound neutral, Perveen addressed the noblewomen. “Here’s a question for you. Who traveled here with Prince Swaroop, when he came in his car?”

  “We are always staying in the zenana. How can we know?” Archana asked with a shrug of her narrow shoulders.

  Perveen pointed to the jali windows. “The jali screens allow intelligent women to see and hear every visitor.”

  Beaming slightly, a chubby maid spoke up. “I have good ears and eyes! Aditya told us that he brought three guards.”

  “Did they leave by car?”

  “Yes, they were going back to his palace on the good road. He wished to gather weaponry and horses from there for trekking through the woods.”

  The search would have been immediate if the men had used horses and whatever weapons they wanted from this palace. Why had Prince Swaroop insisted on going to his own palace first?

  Perhaps he had found the maharaja along the way and put him somewhere for safekeeping—or killed him. Perveen considered the idea and dismissed it. With three witnesses, it would have been a great risk for the prince to pull off any malign action.

  But Roderick Ames had been in the hills over the past two days, so he was suspect. “Have you ever heard of an electrical engineer called Roderick Ames?”

  The young maid shook her head. “No. Is he an Englishman?”

  “He’s actually an Anglo-Indian. And he was on the hunt where the last maharaja was killed.” She looked toward the ladies-in-waiting. “Perhaps someone saw this man through the jali screen.”

  “I have heard the name. He is the man who went to fetch the doctor after the hunt,” Archana said. “Remember, Rajmata?”

  “The doctor who did nothing.” The dowager coughed, a racking, dry sound. Perveen saw that the normally pale lady’s face was quite flushed.

  “It must have been a very painful time.” Perveen remembered how Mirabai had been shut out of washing the prince’s corpse, but Maharani Putlabai had not. “On my way to the circuit house, I stopped at the lodge. The servants have preserved the late maharaja’s clothing, but there is no jacket. I wonder if you saw his jacket when he was brought back here to be bathed?”

  Maharani Putlabai stared at Perveen for a long moment. “No, it was not there. He was carried inside by Prince Swaroop, and he’d already wrapped him in a silk sheet. After we bathed him, he was dressed in a new suit that I’d planned to give him for the next Diwali. The collar had rubies. I took the stones from my own collection, so he could always have a part of me with him when he wore it.”

  Perveen had not expected the dowager to be so forthcoming. She stayed silent as the dowager continued, her voice gaining strength.

  “The new suit was a little large for him yet—but there was no time for tailoring. It was time for the rites.” The dowager pressed the moonstone at her neck, as if for comfort. “We traveled to the palace temple that evening, all of us except Mirabai, who was too weak to manage. I told Jiva Rao to light the funeral pyre, and he cried that he would not do it.”

  “Why?” Perveen asked softly.

  She gazed past Perveen, as if seeing the tragic scene again. “He did not understand the custom. He feared that his brother would wake up and cry out from pain.” Putlabai fiddled restlessly with the pendant. “I never thought I’d see my own son die. And after that, a grandson. I cannot bear to see Jiva Rao’s corpse. I’d rather die myself.”

  “Rajmata, please don’t speak like that. There’s a very good chance we will find him!”

  The maharani shook her head, and there was a sad half smile on her face. “If he is lost, the way to find him is to send the buffoon. He regularly travels carrying messages for me.”

  Perveen was heartened to know the dowager believed her words, but it was surprising that the maharani didn’t know Aditya’s whereabouts. “But the buffoon is not here. I thought you sent him to the circuit house, because he arrived there last night.”

  “Do not tell me I’ve done things I have not done!” The dowager struggled up to her elbows to better glare at Perveen. “Prince Swaroop promised he would find you—why should Aditya also go? This is a bad time for him to be away. The guards are gone. We have only children outside with knives that could be taken from their hands.”

  Of all the people she’d met at the circuit house, Aditya seemed closest to the children. So it didn’t surprise her that he had gone looking for the maharaja, even without the queen’s permission. “Aditya-yerda was at the circuit house yesterday evening, a few hours after Prince Swaroop arrived. Prince Swaroop thoroughly searched the property to verify that the maharaja was not there. Today the prince is traveling with the Satapur agent, Mr. Colin Sandringham, to Poona. They will ask for the military to join the search. That is how seriously he feels about the disappearance.”

  “But why Poona? We have a fine cantonment here. In the old days, they only served at the maharaja’s pleasure.” The dowager’s voice was sour.

  “Yes, those are exactly the men whom we want to join the search,” Perveen reassured her. “The government must send orders for their deployment. Mr. Sandringham thinks Prince Swaroop can personally make the best case for it.”

  The dowager fondled the moonstone at her throat, which like her face was reddened. “My son is a good leader. If he had been in charge, none of these deaths would have happened.”

  Perveen decided to hide her disagreement on Swaroop’s skills. “I hear that the maharani Mirabai is also out searching. That was very brave of her to go, but I am quite worried. She has been gone so long and not returned.”

  “The fool disobeyed me when she left. She broke purdah!” The dowager’s voice was a snarl.

  “Doesn’t that always happen when she rides—breaking purdah, I mean?”

  “She believes it is not breaking purdah if she is not recognized. I’ve been told she dresses as a man when she rides. She wears a royal uniform. But surely people know.” She muttered, “To think I got rid of one bad woman only to get another.”

  There was an uncomfortable rustling in the back of the maharani’s room, and Perveen wondered what her words had meant. One bad woman only to get another. Was she referring to the dancer?

  “It has been hard for you.” Leaving her notebook on the stool, Perveen rose from and approached the queen’s bedside. “What was her name?”

  As the dowager stared at Perveen, the queen’s face twitched. “Devani.”

  Perveen felt
a surge of adrenaline because she knew that if she was careful, she could draw out the truth from the old woman. But she could not appear too aggressive. “A Hindu name. What is the meaning?”

  “Devani means ‘goddess,’” the dowager said. “But she was a demon. With evil eyes. I see her in you also!”

  It was all coming together in Perveen’s mind. Vandana meant “worship.” Yazad’s name, in the ancient language of Avestan, meant “divine angel.” And they lived at Heaven’s Rest.

  “People told me not to talk about it, but you should know. Her evil eyes were always on my jewels.”

  “I brought back your moonstone pendant,” Perveen said, trying to reassure her. “I am not a demon.”

  “Although it is not expensive, I always treasure the moonstone because it calms the emotions. For a young woman, the moonstone is said to be especially beneficial; that must be why she seized it. And her evil eyes trapped two of our family’s men! How many more would she take?” The dowager shifted against the forest of pillows behind her. “I did it to save them. She is no more.”

  The words were cryptic. Had she ordered a murder? Perveen needed to know more but not put the dowager on guard. “Who took Devani away from the palace?”

  “Palanquin bearers. Not in the palanquin with the royal crest—an ordinary one taken from the village. Isn’t that what happened?” The queen peered into the back of the room. Perveen shifted her gaze to the group, which was nodding and murmuring assent. But Archana’s mouth was grim, and her face seemed unhappily frozen. What did she know?

  “Archana, pour me some more tea,” the dowager commanded, and Archana swiftly went forward to do as she was told. After the dowager had her fill, she coughed heartily. “Devani was a threat to all of us: my husband, my sons, and thus Satapur. She should not have come back.”

  Perveen could not tell whether the queen already knew the dancer was living in luxury just two hours’ riding distance away. Because Prince Swaroop had spoken about Yazad Mehta, it was possible. “If I am guessing right about the lady, she did not seem vengeful. She was most insistent that I bring the moonstone back to you, although she did not tell me the history behind it. I truly believed she’d bought it in Paris.”

  “Devani is alive?” The dowager’s voice came out in a croak. “You are telling me you saw her? What about her son?”

  Perveen felt jolted. She realized that if Chitra’s story about a dancer who was pregnant was true, there could be a child. And if that child was male, he could arguably have a claim on the throne. But this was all supposition. “I’m not sure if she’s alive. I would like to investigate further. That can be done after we have found the maharaja.”

  The dowager squinted at her, as if she was searching for something. “Your speaking of this lady’s survival can only be another sign of your nazar.”

  Perveen moved closer to the dowager’s bedside, so Putlabai could get a better look at her face. “I came only to help your grandson and to try to help all of you find some peace and happiness.”

  Grimacing, Maharani Putlabai turned her face away from Perveen. “I am so very tired. My heart hurts. I want you to leave my room.”

  “Yes, you have done enough. Go!” Archana said, including Perveen in her gaze as she pointed to the door.

  “You also, Archana. You have served me well. But I command you and all the other ladies to let me rest alone.”

  As she shuffled out with the others, Perveen took a last glance at the reclined dowager. It was unsatisfactory having to leave this way without having secured Chitra’s release from the palace jail, as well as with the half-drawn picture Perveen was getting of Vandana.

  Outside the maharani’s room, the ladies-in-waiting began dispersing, their voices raised as they talked about what was for dinner and which maids would arrange their hair. Perveen asked Swagata, “How long does she usually sleep?”

  “Very short times. We could wait here in case she wakes,” Swagata said.

  “I will wait then, too.” Archana glared sternly, as if she suspected they might go back inside the room.

  Perveen was annoyed. She’d wished to ask Swagata some questions about Devani but felt censored by Archana’s presence. In any case, she knew she should not be tarrying. The best course was to get back on her horse with Rama at her side and make straight for the lodge. Yet if she wasn’t here when Colin arrived, he would be worried.

  Perveen opened the notebook she had brought from her room. Leaning against a marble column, she turned to a fresh page without existing notes and dated it.

  “What are you writing, another private letter?” Archana asked sarcastically.

  Perveen looked coolly at Archana. “No, this is a document of record. I will keep it myself.”

  Archana shook her head and went back to stand close to the dowager maharani’s doorway. Perveen decided to ignore her, because she had much to write. First, the information Padmabai had given her about Jiva Rao’s intention to reach his uncle’s palace and, second, the dowager’s revelation that she had tried to kill a servant whom she believed was pregnant with a half-royal child. She would not mention her own thoughts about Vandana because nothing had been verified. Nor did Perveen have any hard evidence yet of whether Pratap Rao’s death was foul play.

  Perveen was still writing when Swagata tapped her on the shoulder. The senior maid’s face was twisted with worry. “Archana thinks she heard the queen retching. She has gone in the room.”

  Perveen looked toward the open bedchamber door down the hall, and in the next instant, there was an anguished scream.

  “Oh, my queen! Oh, my queen! What has happened!” Archana wailed from within the room.

  All along the hallway, the closed doors to the rooms where the ladies-in-waiting had repaired for their relaxation creaked open. A sea of women flooded into the dowager maharani’s chamber.

  Perveen and Swagata pushed their way in along with the others. The dowager maharani was lying on her side in the bed, a pool of vomit in front of her. The dowager maharani’s face, which had been flushed before, was now very red.

  “Rajmata, Rajmata!” said Archana helplessly. Looking at Perveen, she said, “Rajmata has fallen very ill!”

  All around her, the ladies-in-waiting rushed forward again to look closely at the maharani. Swagata’s voice rose clearly above the worried chatter. “It could be poison. Choti-Rani always said there was a poisoner in the palace!”

  Perveen’s panic was now rampant. “Someone must fetch a doctor!”

  “Our priest is the only one who gives medicine. But he is away at one of the villages!” Archana’s pallid face had gone even whiter.

  “Memsahib, weren’t you saying there was someone who came with you?” Swagata asked.

  Perveen had almost forgotten about Rama. She felt a wave of relief. “Yes! Can someone run for him?”

  The assorted women looked at one another, but nobody moved.

  “Do you not want help because you want her dead?” Perveen exploded in frustration.

  Archana spoke stiffly. “This is a zenana. A woman’s world. It is difficult to bring a man inside without the maharani’s permission even for such matters. Our priest is known to us. Your man is not.”

  “But he is a Brahmin who knows Ayurvedic treatment. Come with me, Swagata!” Perveen ordered, and with the maid behind her, she hurried down the steep staircase, almost twisting her ankle as she went around a landing. She slowed slightly, not wanting to become a casualty. Then it was through the gold jali door and through a bewildering succession of long halls. As she hurried along, she wondered if the maharani had naturally fallen ill, or if it could be something else.

  Perveen was sweating and breathless when she made it to the front gate. At first she didn’t see Rama anywhere. Then she saw the horses’ tails gently waving, and realized he was standing between them, stroking both.

  “Rama, I
need you!” she called.

  He emerged from between the horses with a questioning look on his face.

  “The dowager maharani has fallen ill. I need you to treat her.”

  His brow creased with concern. “What kind of illness? I may have something with me, or I could ask for something to be gathered.”

  “I don’t know. It was very sudden. She sent everyone out of the room because she said she felt tired. Then she vomited and became pale. She is not responding to voices or touch, but she has a weak pulse.” To illustrate, Perveen touched the inside of her own wrist, which was pulsing rapidly.

  Reaching into the saddlebag on the horse he’d ridden and taking out two bottles, Rama said, “I have an ointment that can sometimes help people regain their wakefulness. The only other remedies that I carry while traveling are for snake, animal, and insect bites.”

  Perveen nodded. “I understand. Come quickly!”

  He shook his head, looking down at his dusty sandals. “How can I? I am not clean enough to enter the room of a queen.”

  “Do not worry about your dress and shoes. You must come!” Tears of frustration came to her eyes. She could not force him to go against custom; she could only speak from her heart. “You saved Colin’s life. You have a gift from God—he would want you to serve him and save the maharani!”

  Rama undid the first few hooks of his rough cotton coat, exposing the sacred thread he wore across his skin from shoulder to waist. The palace attendants would understand that this humble-looking man was of the priestly caste. He spoke, and his voice held its usual calm strength. “First, I must thoroughly wash.”

  The maids showed him a washroom in the old palace, while Perveen waited impatiently outside. Looking uncertain, he disappeared through the door decorated in gold leaf designs. Perveen realized he had likely never been in such a splendid place and felt embarrassed by it.

  At last he emerged, his skin damp with water and shining clean. He had cleaned the dust from his clothes, and his feet were clean and bare. As they hurried to the dowager’s chamber, Perveen related a quick description of the dowager’s collapse. “I hope that what I told her wasn’t too upsetting. But she was also drinking tea when I was in the room, and she vomited. There could have been something—”