Chapter Twenty

RACHAEL

Rachael sat on the takhat in the room in her palace, stitching her dress. It had torn in several places during the scuffle with Sudha’s relatives. She wondered where she was now and what had become of her. What about Mother and Papa? She hoped they were safe. And Brutus? Was he with her parents? What if they hadn’t managed to take him with them? Rachael shook her head. No, she mustn’t think like that.

She heard some murmurings and listened, as the smell of incense and sandalwood floated into her room. It was the women in the zenana saying the namaz. They said it five times a day, she had been told. How could these simple, God-fearing people loot and kill the English? They must hate them.

What about Ayah and Ram Singh? And their home? It must have been reduced to ashes, along with her piano. She swallowed the lump in her throat. She remembered how alone and frightened she had felt that day. And the irony of it all was that she was living here, in the home of a native prince.

At least Salim was with her. She wondered where he was right now. She had been foolish to think he would have sent Daima to her parents with anything other than a marriage proposal. Had she lost her mind? He was such a gentleman, her Salim, and he was hers, only hers. She smiled, her face aglow with a soft gentleness, as she thought of him. Such thick long eyelashes he had. Did his upper and lower eyelashes not get entangled when he closed his eyes, she mused.

She wondered how long she would have to stay here. It was already a month and a half. Not that she was complaining. They were all polite to her. Too polite perhaps. All except Daima, who tried her best to avoid her. And when she did have to speak to her, she did so in monosyllables.

Rachael stopped stitching and frowned, her nose crinkling up as she did so. Now, how could she win her over?

Rachael tiptoed into Daima’s room and whispered, ‘Hello, Daima.’

Daima, who was bent over her work, jumped up with a start. ‘You gave me a fright, girl … What is it? What do you need?’

‘Nothing. I just want to … help you.’

Frowning at her, Daima narrowed her eyes in full concentration as she tried to thread the needle. Her mouth fell open as Rachael took the needle and thread from her hand, threaded the needle and handed it back to her without saying a word. ‘Thank you,’ she said gruffly and started stitching. Rachael sat down on the takhat beside her. Daima did not look up. Her fingers continued to zip up and down over the cloth.

‘Pray tell me, Daima, what are you making?’

‘Chikan.’

‘Chicken?’

‘Chikan is embroidery. Very fine and delicate it is.’

‘Will you teach me, Daima?’

‘You need a lot of patience.’

‘I have patience.’

Just then the laundry woman came in with a bundle of clothes. ‘Chote Nawab’s clothes,’ she said.

Daima turned to Rachael. ‘Excuse me; I have to put these away … Now that most of the servants have been sent packing, I have to do all these jobs myself.’

Rachael got up. ‘Let me help you, Daima.’

‘Look, girl, if you’re still harbouring hopes of marrying our Chote Nawab, you can forget about it … There’s no way I’m letting him marry you, not after the way your father treated me.’

Rachael looked down, fidgeting with her ring as she asked quietly, ‘Must children always have to pay for their parents’ sins?’

Daima was silent.

Rachael continued. ‘I know not what Papa did or said that day. But if I’d been there, I’m sure it wouldn’t have happened.’

Daima kept her silence.

‘I’m sorry, for whatever he said,’ she whispered. She took out a silver chain that she always wore around her neck. ‘My mother gave this to me when I was a few months old. I want you to have it.’

Daima stared at her for a few moments, then closed Rachael’s fingers over the chain. ‘No, my child, your mother gave it … It must mean a lot to you.’

‘You are Salim’s mother. That makes you my mother as well.’

‘That you should think of parting with something so precious for you, is gift enough for me,’ said Daima, her eyes becoming moist. ‘Now put it back around your neck before you lose it,’ she gently chided and left the room with a bundle of clothes.

Rachael watched the rains from the balcony of the palace. It was astounding how the monsoons transformed the entire country. The grass that had wilted and turned yellow just a couple of days back was now parrot green. The flowers that had drooped under the glare of the sun now smiled gaily like little girls in colourful frocks. As she watched, the rain slid down the domes and minarets of the palace and ricocheted off the waters in the pond below.

She wondered how Mother was coping. Mother could never decide whether she hated the Indian summers more or the monsoons. For the rains had a life of their own. They brought in their wake a swarm of fireflies, cockroaches, bats, lizards, red ants, frogs, white ants, moths, beetles and crickets, none of which Mother was fond of.

But the rains had a magical effect on Rachael. They lifted her heart and made her forget all her worries. As she continued to look out of the window, she noticed some children playing in the garden and ran down the steps to join them. The first few drops hit her hard, but once she got used to it, it felt wonderful. The children were surprised to see her. They went all shy and quiet at first, but seeing her exuberance, recommenced their games. They held hands and danced and skipped while the thunderous rain and her silver anklets sang in unison.

She was soon soaked to the skin and her clothes clung to her. But she didn’t care. She was having far too much fun to stop now. She saw some movement in the grass near the pond, and turning to her little friends, put a finger to her lips. Quietly she crept up to whatever it was that was hopping about, and picked it up. It was a frog.

She showed her catch to her new friends who had crowded around her. The frog stared at them with petrified beady eyes. Rachael stroked its slippery back. It was shivering. ‘I think he’s scared. Let’s put him back.’ She left it gently where she had found it and watched it hop into the pond croaking. Ribbit ribbit. The smell of rain, the smell of moist earth filled her senses. She sat down on the swing while her little friends pushed the swing higher and higher. She laughed and shook the droplets from her hair. She saw a peacock showing off its exquisite fan of feathers. Spreading her dupatta over her arms, she chased the peacock round and round the garden, much to the amusement of the children. Then a loud clap of thunder followed by a sliver of silver thread sent her and her little friends scurrying indoors. She splish-sploshed into her room, still laughing when she heard ‘RayChal’.

She swung around, her long hair flying, to find Salim standing at the door.