Chapter Six

RACHAEL

Rachael couldn’t help giggling at the look of shock on her captor’s face. He looked so familiar – those eyes, that long black hair, that firm chin. Where had she seen him before? Who was he? He was the only native she had come across who was taller than her. He must be a prince, she decided.

He abruptly let go of her.

‘I’d stopped for just two minutes to pick up some wild flowers – you know, those yellow flowers? And the moment I got off the horse, he just galloped away …’ Rachael trailed off as she found him staring at her hands.

She looked at him perplexed, and nervously played with the ring on her finger. He stared at them even harder, before clutching them.

‘Ya Ali, were you playing the piano a few days back at Colonel Bristow’s house?’ he asked urgently, as he turned her hands over and over, as though looking for a clue to some hidden treasure.

‘Yes, I’m his daughter.’

‘And were you in Chowk a few days back in a burqa?’ he asked as he gently rubbed the diamond on her ring.

Rachael shifted uncomfortably and took her time before answering. She remembered now why he seemed familiar. She had seen him at Bade Miyan’s shop.

‘Maybe,’ she answered softly.

‘I knew I’d recognise these hands anywhere.’

‘My hands,’ said Rachael.

‘Yes?’

‘You’re still holding them.’

‘Oh, I’m s-sorry …’ the prince stuttered as he let go of them.

‘Sir, I had no intention of stealing your horse.’

The prince raised a brow.

Fiddling with her ring, Rachael answered, ‘I was simply borrowing it as my own horse has run away. So if you would be so kind, lend me a horse and I’ll quietly take my leave.’

‘I’m afraid not, ma’am,’ the prince answered in clipped tones. ‘You’re my responsibility now. As long as you’re with me, you’re not going anywhere alone. You shall join us for breakfast and then we shall safely escort you home.’ His voice was deep, confident, authoritative.

Rachael groaned inwardly. Now she was in even more trouble. Not only had she left home when she shouldn’t have and been stranded in the forest by her runaway horse, but now she was going to be escorted home by the nabob’s entourage. She could just imagine the look on Papa’s face when he saw her regal homecoming. Not to mention how horrified he was going to be when he saw what she was wearing. It felt so liberating, though, wearing breeches, not having to sit side-saddle in an irritating long skirt over which she often tripped. How she wished she was a man.

She had not intended to stray so far. Since she was taking her meals in her room, she would not be missed as long as she managed to sneak back before late afternoon. After all, everything had worked out smoothly on the last two occasions she had sneaked out of the house. But now she was in big trouble, and all because of that prince! Rachael’s forehead creased slightly. What was his name? Not that she cared. If he had not caught her and insisted there was no way she was going out of the jungle alone, she would be home by now. That arrogant man! He had annihilated all chances of getting back home unnoticed.

Walking about restlessly, she hit the trees with the long twig that she had found. She swung it in the air, brandishing it like a sword, then poked the stones lying buried in the earth with it. Then with a sigh she sat down on the stump of a tree and watched the servants bustling about preparing breakfast and laying out the food. There were others who were busy dismantling the machan and folding the tents where the party had slept last night.

The diamond on her ring sparkled as it caught a beam of sunlight filtering in through the leaves of the tree under which she sat. Just then she noticed something glittering at her feet as well. She picked it up and dusted it. It was a black, velvet, bejewelled cap. It must belong to the prince. She put it on and walked over to the watering hole.

Peering down at her reflection, she said in a gruff voice, ‘As long as you’re with me—’

‘Interesting, very interesting,’ a voice chuckled behind her.

Rachael hastily turned around. It was the prince. With him was a rotund young man in an angarkha and wide-bottomed pyjamas. He wore a pearl necklace, earrings and a huge stone on his forefinger.

‘I’ve never met anyone like you before. An English girl in men’s trousers, wearing a nawab’s cap,’ said the prince.

Rachael gave an embarrassed grin and took off the cap.

‘May I be so bold to ask whether you work for the theatre, ma’am?’ the prince’s companion asked, looking down.

‘For heaven’s sake, no. Pray, whatever gave you the idea?’ replied Rachael.

The young man looked at the prince then cleared his throat. ‘Well, the first time we saw you, you were in a burqa, the second time you were in a dress and now … or perhaps you work for a costume company?’

Laughing, Rachael picked up her stick and began making patterns on the ground with it.

‘Myself called Ahmed,’ the rotund young man continued. He touched his cap lightly as Rachael nodded her head. ‘I hope everything’s all right?’ he asked.

‘How could any—’ Rachael was about to hurl a tirade of abuse at the prince, but stopped short. She gathered her hair and twisted it into a knot at the top of her head. Turning to the prince she asked, ‘Are the nabob’s hunting parties similar to this?’

‘Not at all,’ the prince replied. ‘This was an emergency hunt. No frills. You ought to have seen Nawab Asaf-ud-Daula’s hunting parties. He was the ….’ The prince paused and rubbed his chin. ‘Yes, he was the fourth nawab of Avadh. His hunting parties had no fewer than eight hundred elephants. One elephant was used simply for carrying all his rifles. There’d be dancing girls, singers, musicians and hawkers selling all kinds of wares. It looked more like a caravan than a hunting party.’

‘And Nabob Wajid Ali Shah’s?’ asked Rachael.

‘He’s not keen on hunting … It’s no longer what it used to be. Anyway, breakfast will be served soon. Do let me know if you need anything,’ said the prince.

Then the two men touched their caps slightly, bowed and left.

Rachael thanked the servant and sat down on the rug spread out for her. She swallowed as she looked at the breakfast spread before her. She had never imagined breakfast to be so lavish, and that, too, in the forest. There were cakes, biscuits, fried fish, boiled fish, different types of curry, parathas, rogni rotis, pickled salmon, sausages, tea, coffee, wine. This was a feast! She felt full just looking at it.

The servants were fussing over the prince. They called him Chote Nawab. She wondered what it meant. He smiled at her as he took a bite of the rogni roti.

‘What took you to Chowk the other day?’ he asked.

‘How can you be so sure it was me?’

The prince looked her straight in the eye, then glanced at her hands and replied quietly, ‘I’m sure!’

Rachael pecked at her paratha, wiped her lips with the serviette then answered, ‘I’d gone to ask Bade Miyan whether he knows someone who can teach me Hindustani music.’

‘You want to learn Hindustani music? Why?’

‘Because … I don’t know. I suppose because I love it.’

She shifted uncomfortably and wished he would not stare at her like that.

He collected himself and, looking at his food, said, ‘I could teach you.’

‘You could? But where?’

‘At my palace, of course.’

‘Father would never give me his permission.’

‘I will teach you on one condition.’

‘What?’ Rachael asked suspiciously.

‘That you teach me how to play the piano.’ His face was serious as he spoke. But his smouldering eyes – they were teasing her, baiting her, goading her to accept the challenge.

A couple of hours had elapsed since Rachael had finished her breakfast. Although it was mid morning, it felt like dawn, as the trees shut out most of the sunlight. Rachael watched with interest as the men tied the tigress to either ends of the pole. It was such a beautiful creature. Even in death it looked regal and awe-inspiring. Once the tiger had been secured and lifted onto the shoulders of six sturdy men, the party was ready to move back to Lucknow.

She smiled as a servant trotted up to her with a horse. So Chestnut had been found. She patted her horse lovingly and thanked the servant. As she mounted Chestnut, she glanced at the prince. He was explaining something to the man who rode right in front. Perhaps explaining a shorter way to reach Lucknow, she hoped. Even though it was still morning, it was already warm. Mother must have made sure all the windows had been shut and the khus mats sprinkled with water. Rachael watched the prince as he took one last look at the victorious hunting party, then trotted back to ride beside her.

‘Where did you learn to ride so well?’ he asked.

‘I spent many a summer with my grandparents. They live in a little village on the foothills of the Himalayas. I would spend all day just riding.’ She stopped speaking, as she remembered the hills, the undulating terrain, the evergreen foliage.

‘Why did you kill that tiger?’ she suddenly asked.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You killed a beautiful majestic beast like that for mere sport? Or was it to prove your manliness?’

‘I—’

‘I can understand if one kills to fill one’s belly. But you can’t possibly eat a tiger, so pray what was the need to kill him?’

‘Well, if I didn’t, we might have been its dinner,’ he replied and rode off in a huff.

Five minutes later he was back. He came dangerously close to her. She wondered at the thrust of his chin. Did his chin naturally jut out like that or was it plain arrogance?

‘Her,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘It was a tigress.’

With that he galloped away to join Ahmed in front of the hunting party.