The World Beyond (13 page)

Then it was the turn of the rhinoceros. Another exotic beast sold at a bargain price. The Company claimed that it was selling the animals as it could not afford to feed them. But then why sell them so cheap? It made no sense.

But then nothing made sense anymore, not since the day that cursed Resident Outram set his foot in the palace premises. The new treaty made no sense, neither did the way Abba Huzoor left Avadh without a fight. Nothing made any sense or mattered anymore.

He remembered the story Daima had told him when he was little about his forefather, Nawab Nasir-ud-Din Haider. He used to take great pride in collecting animals from all over the world. He had a black stallion that was so strong that it was made to fight a tiger. It threw the tiger off its back with such force and kicked it so hard that its jaw broke. The poor frightened tiger ran away. What would the king say if he saw the plight of all the great beasts now?

Salim looked at the remaining animals. Some elephants were trumpeting and throwing dust on their backs. One of them was trying to tear off a jackfruit from the tree. The horses were swishing their tails to shoo away the flies. Of the two hundred elephants, one hundred and seven camels, two thousand horses, seven hundred other animals like lions, cheetahs, antelopes, rhinoceros and two lakhs of pigeons, just a handful remained. The exotic birds were one of the first to go. Abba Huzoor was so proud of his rare collection. There were talking parrots and mynahs that sang. All gone. Within minutes. Ya Ali, he hadn’t realised until now how transient life could be.

The kotwal who had just bought several hundred pigeons approached him. ‘Chote Nawab, I’ve bought them to give them back to His Majesty when he returns.’

Salim’s eyes turned moist. He could merely nod his head in gratitude.

‘You’re here, Salim mia? Do you know what is happening in your beloved music hall?’ It was Ahmed.

‘What?’

‘They are taking away all the instruments. To auc—’

Salim did not wait for him to finish. He had flung himself on Afreen and kicked her hard. He did not stop until he reached Kaiserbagh and strode into the palace.

Chilmann came running after him. ‘Chote Nawab, I tried to stop them but they didn’t listen to me. I told them how upset you’d be. They said His Majesty should have thought about it before getting in arrears.’

Pushing him aside, Salim entered the music hall. The room was almost empty. All the instruments had been taken away. The few that remained were broken and cast aside. Salim felt as though his heart had been ripped out and thrown into the Gomti. His eyes were red and smarted with unshed tears.

He looked down at a broken dhol. Abba Huzoor used to play it so well, especially on the seventh day of Muharram. Dressed in black, he would head the procession. He would play the dhol, tied around his neck, beating it faster and faster, in time with the beat, as though in a trance. Now his own city lay ransacked and there was no one to mourn its destruction. Even the dhol lay broken, mute, discarded. For once Salim wished he was a woman so he could find solace in tears.

He picked up a flute. It was slightly chipped at one end. He ran his fingers over the holes then put it to his lips. He remembered Abba Huzoor playing it when enacting the role of Krishna in Rahash, a dance drama based on the eternal love of Radha and Krishna. He could still feel Abbu’s breath on it. He kissed it and put it down. Then he started to leave. At the doorway he turned around and took one last look at the room. He grabbed hold of the curtain and yanked it to the floor. ‘I hate these firangis,’ he muttered through clenched teeth.

A hand touched his shoulder lightly. It was Daima. She handed him a piece of paper. Salim looked at her and then at the note. It was from Rachael. She wanted to see him urgently.

Chapter Thirteen

R
ACHAEL

Rachael knew it was Salim. She could tell by his footsteps. She had not seen him since her last visit to the palace in January three months ago and yet … Why did every part of her being become alert the moment she sensed his presence? He stopped a few paces behind her. She turned and their eyes met. Salim hastily looked away. She did not say anything but watched him quietly as he began to scrape the bark of the neem tree beneath which he was standing. A crow alighted on one of its branches, cawed for a while, then flew away.

‘I understand you wished to see me urgently,’ he finally said.

‘Umm … yes.’ Rachael fiddled with her ring nervously. She looked at Salim for help as she fumbled for the right words, but he merely stood there with his arms folded, feet apart, his chin jutting out, eyes wary.

‘I heard about what happened to our music room and your father’s animals,’ she said.

‘I’m glad you’re aware of what your people have been doing to us.’

‘East India Company, Salim. I’m not one of them.’

‘No?’ Salim looked at her pale face, then at her hands and smiled sarcastically.

‘No, I’m not. And you cannot even comprehend how sorry I am about all that has happened.’

Rachael felt smoke pricking her eyes and the smell of wood burning. She looked towards the edge of the garden. The gardener was burning some dried leaves and twigs. She turned back to Salim.

‘Pray believe me, I’m your friend, and whatever happens, I will always remain one.’ She untied the ribbon of her bonnet and gently massaged the red mark it had left under her chin and waited for Salim to say something.

Nothing. He merely bent down and picked up a leaf that had fallen.

Rachael pursed her lips. Fine, if that’s how he felt about her, then woe to her if she ever tried to meet him again. She spun on her heels and moved towards her carriage. Salim’s hand shot out to stop her. He looked at her then, his eyes intent, as he whispered, ‘Thank you.’ He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her ring. ‘Thank you for being there for me.’

Rachael pulled the chador further down over her head and looked surreptitiously around the Kaiserbagh gardens. She did not want to be recognised. Since the nabob had left Lucknow, the relationship between the natives and the English had become even more strained. She wondered where Salim was. He was not usually late. She smiled with relief as she saw him trotting towards her.

‘I’m sorry to have kept milady waiting,’ Salim panted as he got off his horse. ‘Just as I was leaving, I got a letter from Abba Huzoor.’

‘How is he?’ Rachael asked.

‘He’s better now. Still in Calcutta. He will soon be leaving with Janab-e-Alia for London, to plead his case before Queen Victoria.’

‘Does he know about his animals and other effects that have been auctioned off?’

‘He has written to the governor general. Told us not to worry.’ He took off his cap, ran his fingers through his hair, then put it back on again. ‘You know, when Abba Huzoor used to hold court, or when he went out in procession, his men would carry two silver boxes in which anyone could put their petitions and grievances. Complaint boxes used to be placed even on the streets. And Abbu used to address each one of them himself. Now he, the dispenser of justice, has to plead before the queen.’

Rachael walked silently beside Salim for a while. As they reached the banyan tree, she pointed to a marble bench under its shade and asked, ‘Shall we?’

‘After you,’ Salim gestured.

She sat down and turned to him. ‘We are leaving for Mussorie tomorrow.’

‘To get away from this heat?’ Salim asked.

‘You know what Mother is like.’

Salim did not say anything but tried to reach one of the many thick string-like structures hanging from the tree.

‘Do you know what these are?’ he asked. ‘These are the aerial roots of the tree. As you know, most trees grow upwards from the seeds planted in the soil.’ Salim patted an aerial root of the tree. ‘But the banyan tree sprouts from seeds that have been left behind high up on a tree and grows downwards with the help of these aerial roots.’

‘That’s fascinating,’ Rachael replied as she grabbed an aerial root with both her hands and tried to swing.

‘And these trees live for hundreds and hundreds of years.’

‘You mean to say, if I come back here with my grandchildren, the tree will still be there?’ Rachael asked as she let go of the root.

Salim did not answer but grinned instead, his eyes twinkling.

‘Pray tell me what you find so amusing?’

‘I was just imagining you carrying my child.’

Rachael glared at him, shocked at his insolence, blushed and looked away. A fresh breeze from the Gomti blew her hair across her face. The leaves of the trees shook excitedly in the crisp breeze. She found Salim watching her as she brushed her hair aside with a finger.

‘My daughter will have long golden hair like you and I will brush it every morning. I will make her wear beautiful dresses and cry my heart out when she gets married,’ he said.

‘You Indians are so sentimental.’

‘What’s wrong with that? We’re not ashamed of our emotions. What we feel inside, we show outside. And anyway, what’s so great about the English stiff upper lip?’

Rachael thought of her mother and said quietly, ‘Nothing, nothing at all. That’s why I love … Hindustan.’

Salim walked over to the tamarind tree and picked up a couple of dried pods. He came close to Rachael and shook them right next to her ear. They sounded like a baby’s rattle. She ran away laughing, then plucked the tree’s feathery foliage. It had a peculiar sour smell. She crept back to Salim and tickled his ear from behind. He lowered his ear to his shoulder to stop her tickling him, while his hands grabbed her arms.

Rachael stopped laughing and stared into his eyes. He too had stopped laughing and was looking at her. He lowered his gaze to her lips and muttered, ‘Ya Ali.’

Rachael closed her eyes. He smelt of musk, perspiration, tobacco. Not the usual tobacco smell, but tobacco that has been sweetened for the hookah.

Eventually he let her go.

Rachael lay on her bed the next day, staring at the ceiling listlessly. The air was heavy and languid. The fan was moving slowly, rhythmically, lethargically. She could hear a bee buzzing in the garden. The mango tree that stood just outside her window was laden with blossom. Every time the warm wind blew, the scent of mangoes wafted into her room.

It was no ordinary tree, this mango tree, as it bore fruit twice a year. Once at the start of summer, and once before the rains came. Ayah was sure the tree had been planted by Bhagwan Ram’s brother Lakshman, after whom Lucknow had been named. Hence it was twice blessed.

Rachael wondered why she felt so incomplete whenever she was not able to meet Salim. And then it hit her. She was in love. No! It wasn’t true. Then why was she thinking about him constantly? Why did she start missing him the moment he left her side? Why did she not get angry when he said he was imagining her carrying his child? Why? No, she could not be in love.

Just then she heard a bird singing on the mango tree. It was the same bird that always seemed to call her –
RayChal RayChal
– the same way Salim called her. She ran to the window and tried to spot it, but it was hidden by the dense foliage. Rachael smiled dreamily and shook her head. Everything reminded her of Salim these days.

She was awoken from her reverie by loud voices coming from the drawing room. She entered the room just as a shoe hit the new servant on the forehead and almost knocked him down.

‘Papa!’ Rachael exclaimed.

‘Son of a pig,’ Papa spat out.

‘Papa, your language.’

‘Rachael, you keep out of it.’ He held out a painting for Rachael to see. ‘This moron cleaned it with a wet cloth. I had bought it at an auction in London last year. Bloody dim-witted creatures,’ he muttered through gritted teeth. He threw the painting aside and stormed out of the room.

Rachael looked at the watercolour. It was just a jumble of colours now. She did not know whether to laugh or cry.

The servant stood trembling and wiping the blood from his forehead.

‘It’s all right. Go inside and ask Ram Singh to put something on it,’ Rachael said gently.

The servant looked at her gratefully. ‘Yes, memsahib.’ He bowed and crept out of the room.

Rachael sighed. No, she mustn’t fall in love with Salim. They couldn’t possibly have a future together.

Rachael took a bite of her grilled beefsteak. The meat was tough and difficult to chew. As usual, it had a liberal sprinkling of pepper. She sneezed, then groaned inwardly. A heavy breakfast like this on a warm May morning was a recipe for lethargy.

Brutus came yapping into the room and sat down at Mother’s feet, tail wagging and tongue salivating expectantly.

‘Rachael, make sure your bags are packed before you go to bed tonight,’ said Mother. ‘We shall be leaving for Mussorie early in the morning.’

‘Yes, Mother,’ Rachael replied.

‘Seems the nabob has backed out. He’s not going to London after all. He’s sending his mother and brother instead,’ chuckled Papa as he took a sip of his coffee.

‘I hope the queen gives her verdict in favour of the nabob,’ said Rachael.

‘Why would you say such a thing, dear?’ asked Mother as she patted her lips with the serviette. ‘Ram Singh, close the windows. Flies are coming in,’ she added as she tried to shoo the flies with the back of her hand.

‘Because East India Company had no business to annex Oudh.’

‘Who says so?’ asked Papa.

‘Any and everyone in their right mind thinks so, Papa.’

Papa raised an eyebrow. Rachael finished her mouthful before replying.

‘It’s true, Papa. Even the former Resident, Colonel Sleeman, had emphatically stated that the English had no right to confiscate Oudh. To do so would be dishonest as well as dishonourable.’

Papa looked at Sudha and pointed to his empty glass. Sudha hurriedly brought the jug and poured water into it. He then turned his attention back to Rachael. ‘Oudh needed better administration than that singing dancing nabob could provide. Why, even his own people wanted to see the back of him.’

‘Oh Papa, you’re so out of touch with the sentiments of the people,’ Rachael cried. ‘His people loved him. They resent us. And talking of administration, what improvements have we made in the last two months? All I see is the demolition of buildings, the royal family being forced out of their homes, the destruction and dispersal of the nabob’s property and belongings. This is improvement?’