Flowers in the Blood (54 page)

“Yes. I want fewer chests and tables, softer chairs in hues of yellow and gold, more color and light.”

“Until last night I never realized there was such a thing as too much light,” I said with a laugh. “My eyes must be too sensitive.”

Two aides simultaneously replaced our cooled teacups with steaming ones. “Did Amar have an opportunity to speak with you last night?” she asked with a sudden change of mood.

I froze in the motion of reaching for my next cup. “About what?” Could she have known about our moments alone in the darkened room?

“Anything about elephants?” she hinted coyly.

“Not that I recall.”

“Good. I was to invite you, but when I saw him approach you, I supposed he had decided to do it himself.” My puzzled expression spurred her on. “We both know you are lonely with your husband away. We decided you might benefit from a diversion. That is, if you are well enough . . .” She paused to give me an opportunity to fill in an explanation. “. . . for this is apt to be a strenuous journey.”

Intrigued, I reassured her I was in the best of health. “What sort of trip is this?”

“Amar is arranging an elephant hunt. He has wanted to have one for some time and has had his scouts out searching for a herd ever since the coronation.”

“Who else will attend?”

“His retinue and the honored guests of the state.”

“Will you also be going?”

“Certainly. In my brother's reign, we had hunts infrequently. He much preferred a life of what he called 'contemplation.' His predecessor, the. uncle who had no sisters or aunts, was quite a sportsman.”

“Do they kill the elephants?”

“Oh, never! Or at least not unless somebody's life is endangered. The purpose is to capture a wild herd and bring them in for taming. Without elephant labor, much of the forestry and building around the state could not be accomplished.”

“And Mrs. Clifford, will she receive an invitation also?”

“Of course. Sir Mortimer has declined. His weak back cannot tolerate the rough terrain. Mr. Clifford will take his place on the second howdah.”

“How long does it last?”

“That depends on the elephants. We should be away for a week or more. May I tell Amar you will join us?”

The idea of leaving the confines of the court and the cloister of the Orchid House appealed to me immensely. “Yes, I will, but how I wish Edwin was here!”

36

 

I
rode to the hunt with Professor Dent. We sat side by side on a swaying howdah shaded by white umbrellas. The long journey was uncomfortable, but I found the professor's explanations distracting.

“If we don't thin the herds, they multiply rapidly. The last hunt was more than five years ago; therefore we are overdue, for already there are reports of the destruction of sugarcane crops in the south.”

“Can't fencing or walls control them?”

“My dear Mrs. Salem, no field can be fenced against a herd of determined pachyderms.”

“Determined pachyderms? I like that.”

The professor puffed with the compliment. “A curious thing about the elephant is that he seems unaware of his strength when working with humans. We coexist because of their tractable nature. Once captured, an elephant seems to thrive as man's muscular assistant, felling trees, hauling logs, lifting timbers.” The professor trilled the R in “thrive,” then glanced at me for approval. I gave a little laugh at having caught him in his mock pomposity.

He chuckled in return. “Soon, my dear lady, you will experience a
kheddah
, the roundup in which they capture the beasts. The
shikarris
located a wild herd months ago and by now have provoked the beasts in our direction.”

“How do they do that?”

“During the day they stalk the herds, and at night they maneuver them with torches. Fire is one of the few things elephants fear.”

“How do they capture them?”

“Geography assists this endeavor. There is a wide waterway on one margin of the territory, and the high cliffs of the Western Ghats on another, which narrow the elephants' choices.”

We had reached a bluff from where I could view the long line of trained elephants, followed by more than fifty carts laden with supplies. The professor explained that many more had gone to set up before us. “Do you see that bend in the river?” He pointed to the horizon. “That is where we are heading. You'll find the camp comfortable enough.”

After more than ten hours of traveling, with a brief stop for tiffin, we arrived at a lakeside clearing. More than a hundred tents were already in place. A large marquee in the center was garlanded in flowers and lined with thick Persian carpets. Shelves cleverly rigged from bamboo and wire housed a small library. Desks around the perimeter were available for the maharajah's staff, and in the center, soft armchairs formed circles around a platform topped with a silver-and-ivory throne. Amar was nowhere around, but his musicians were already playing raga after raga. The sweet sounds of the strings trailed into the blustery wind and were quickly dispersed by the commotion of the arrivals.

I was taken to my tent, where Yali awaited me with a basin of tepid water and a fresh frock. I washed away the dust, sipped my favorite tea, ate a few pastries, then lay down for a short rest.

My ayah woke me after dark. “Dinah-baba, you must be ready for dinner soon.”

Disoriented, I sat up. Candles in silver holders cast long shadows on the undulating surface of the tent. Stiff with aches from the journey, I dressed with Yali's assistance. Outside, a guard in a white turban escorted me to the maharajah's marquee. Hundreds of fluttering lamps lit paths and demarcated doorways. Beyond the perimeter of the encampment, blackness loomed. We could have been on an island in the midst of a vast sea.

My seat at the long table was next to Dennis Clifford and across from his wife. Fortunately, Amar was more than ten places removed. The most prominent positions were given to the men who were jockeying to become the next dewan, or prime minister. The current dewan had remained in Trivandrum to handle the affairs of state. The maharani sat on the ruler's right. To the soothing strains of the music and the tinkling of fine crystal, a meal with more than a dozen courses was served. In the palace such luxury was taken for granted. In this wilderness it was astonishing.

Afterward we were escorted into a smaller pavilion, where chessboards were set up on camp tables. Cheroots and Madeira were served around as Amar greeted each of his guests. When Jemima stepped forward, he asked after her children, then turned to me. “What do you think of my little diversion? I realize it hardly makes up for not having Winner by your side, but perhaps it will return the bloom to your cheeks?” While he had made every attempt to be precise with his words, they came out stilted.

“You know as well as I do how disappointed Edwin will be to have missed this,” I responded formally.

The maharajah drew his mouth into a thin line. His heavy lids were half-closed. He did not seem to have heard me. The trip must have exhausted him as much as me. “Do you play chess?” he slurred.

“Only a few games with my first husband.”

The maharajah's eyes snapped open. He stared at me for a long moment, then spoke with elaborate politeness: “A refresher course must be in order.” He gestured to the chess table set up on a platform.

I cringed at the idea of having to play in front of the courtiers and guests, but there was no chance of escape. I had made no claims to proficiency at the game, so I could not be embarrassed by my playing. In fact, my naive moves should lead to a game so boring, I expected that Amar would release me after the first defeat. I took a long breath and moved my white king-pawn forward. The maharajah moved his matching black pawn.

“The game of chess is a battle; the chessboard is the battlefield,” Amar began to pontificate. “Diagrams for combat, like Hannibal's plan for the Battle of Cannae, could have been represented on a chessboard.” He prattled on while I made predictable moves to his gentle leads. “Good development of that knight,” he complimented.

Nodding absently, I concentrated on the game. Amar's physical presence no longer worried me, since observers surrounded us. I had no hope of winning, but perhaps I would avoid looking foolish.

“Ah, an aggressive move!” He lowered his voice. “You are showing real promise, Sassy.”

“You could win this game,” Professor Dent said as he moved closer to me.

“The maharajah has been very generous to a novice.”

“Only until now.” Amar's eyes gleamed in the torchlight, and he rubbed his hands together. “Professor P., why don't you assist her? The professor is the one who taught me the game, and he has not lost his touch.”

“That would be very kind,” I said, hoping this would bring the evening to a swift conclusion.

When Amar pinned my knight on his next move, Professor P. said softly, “Do not fear, we have a plan of our own.”

I smiled playfully. “We do?”

The professor made the next move for me, checking Amar's king on the diagonal. There was only one move Amar could make. His eyes blazed. “You should have considered the pawn at white's queen-bishop two,” Percy Dent chastised with a smirk.

Assisted by the professor, three of my white pieces had maneuvered Amar into a checkmate. For a second the maharajah was confounded.

“At least the king is never physically taken,” he said in a jolly tone. He stood and stretched.

I took this as the cue that I might rise.

“Sleep as late as you wish. Our beaters will work through the night to bring the herd closer to us. There are three possible places we might corral them. This camp has been set nearest the most likely spot. If all goes well, we should have an easy ride late tomorrow, then a few exciting hours.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” I said, and retreated as swiftly as I could.

 

The next morning the valley filled with a thick fog. Bearers brought chota hazri to our tents. The thick, damp air made the world outside so uninviting, I lay on my charpoy and fell back to sleep. It was almost noon before I strolled through the encampment. After a few minutes of looking for someone I knew, a downpour began. I ran to the largest marquee, where I found Jemima having tea with several fashionably attired ladies and the few gentlemen—mostly older fellows like the professor, who remained in camp.

While the rain poured off the canvas in silvery sheets, we munched on freshly fried popadoms dipped in hot sauce, and drenched our throats with steaming cups of sweet tea. Aides ran about tightening ropes and resetting poles as pockets in the roof filled with water.

“The poor men will be soaked,” one of the ladies said, more out of politeness than concern.

“Men love that sort of thing,” another added. “They're like little boys when it comes to mucking about.”

“I hope they don't do the job without us. I have heard the final corral is quite exciting and rarely seen,” Jemima said, turning toward the professor. He had been standing by an open flap smoking his cheroot. “Isn't that right, Professor?”

“Yes, yes. I remember one in particular, Amar's first, when he was about twelve. You must ask him to tell you about it this evening.”

The rains diminished by late afternoon and we were treated to a radiant sunset over the river. The men had trekked into camp well-splattered, but pleased to have stirred the elephants in our direction, even though they had not gained as much ground as they would have if the weather had been clearer.

After the formal dinner, Dennis ushered us to cushions clustered around the maharajah's makeshift throne. Musicians played plaintive ragas in the background. Amar sat cross-legged at the throne's base, leaning his back against it. The men were smoking cheroots. A hookah was passed among some of the courtiers, and I recognized the perfume of opium. I tried not to react when I saw Amar take some puffs of the gilded pipe. Fortunately, it was not proffered to the ladies.

“An excellent smoke,” someone murmured.

Jemima remembered the professor's suggestion and asked the maharajah to tell about his first hunt. “Ah, yes, of course,” Amar said, launching into his tale with enthusiasm. “My great-uncle—this was the Rama Varma, who came before the late maharajah—had an elephant called Jummo that he claimed was more than a hundred years old. The beast had served three maharajahs before him and was always decked in gold, from the plugs in his tusks to the paint on his legs to the gold tassels that swung from the silk cloths that covered his flanks. Even his forehead was painted with golden sunflowers. On the occasion of my first hunt—and on that occasion only—I was invited to ride in the maharajah's howdah atop Jummo. That was when my two brothers preceded me in line for the throne, so nobody had paid much attention to me. Anyway, this elephant had a son, a huge tusker even bigger than himself known as Ganesha—after the god with the elephant head, Mrs. Clifford.” When she nodded in understanding, he went on, “Ganesha led us as we journeyed throughout the night. By then we had been on the road for over a week to cover the hundred miles to the hunting grounds on the eastern trail toward Madurai, and the maharajah was impatient to get there. Ganesha must have picked up the scent of a tiger, for he stopped with such a violent lurch that his mahout was shaken out of his perch and landed under the bull's feet. Unfortunately, he was crushed to death. Now, as most of you are aware, a bond between a mahout and his beast lasts a lifetime. My great-uncle warned the shikarris to expect the bull to act unpredictably until he had recovered from the loss. Ganesha was taken to the end of the line, where two dousing mahouts were employed to keep him cool in hopes that his mind would not wander to the loss of his friend.”

“Do elephants really have such deep feelings?” the Dutchman's daughter asked.

“Anyone who has worked with an elephant is captivated by their uncanny sensitivities,” Amar stated firmly, then continued. “While the maharajah and his party were scouting for the elephants, word came into the camp that the shikarris had sighted three tigers. An elephant had to be dispatched to find out if the maharajah wanted to turn back for some sport. Ganesha was one of the few remaining in camp, and the new mahout in charge assured everyone he was behaving quite normally. I suppose the lad was trying to distinguish himself as a man worthy of being assigned to this noble beast. To prove his point, he jabbed the elephant with his
ankus.
Ganesha tossed his trunk in the air, trumpeted a hideous bellow, and plowed into two shikarris. One was trampled under the massive feet, another ran to climb the nearest tree.

Other servants rushed in every direction. In the mayhem the rampaging beast seriously wounded two more.”

“How horrible!” Jemima cried. “What did they do?”

“He had to be put down, of course. My great-uncle himself pumped more than seventy bullets into his thick skull. I cannot remember ever weeping more in my life. Curiously, back in Trivandrum after the hunt, faithful old Jummo died in his sleep. Some say he died of a broken, heart, for he had been in perfect health.”

The mood at the table was somber. Determined not to let his party sour, Amar hastily added, “Nevertheless, that is not what I recall most from that hunt. You know my Shankara. She was the youngest of the animals rounded up that very week. When I saw her she looked at me with those wonderful warm eyes, and I will admit, she was the first female to steal my heart. 'Do you like her?' my great-uncle asked. I told him she was the most beautiful elephant I had ever seen. 'Then I shall give her to your eldest brother. It shall be his elephant.' You can imagine how disappointed I was, yet what could I say to him? My brother was thrilled, of course, and like most children with a special possession, he did not permit his next brother or me to touch her.” Amar looked at his guests with a downcast expression. “As much as it pains me to admit this, when my brothers died, I had little concern for what it might mean to someday assume the musnud. I thought only of Shankara and that now she would be mine.”