The World Beyond (25 page)

She looked at him for a long moment. Neither of them spoke.

Salim looked down at his hands. He was engrossed in examining his fingers as he spoke. ‘I’ve some news for you, RayChal. I’ve learnt the firang - the English have managed to escape from the Residency. They are in Dilkusha at the moment. I think they’ll be leaving for Cawnpore tomorrow.’

Rachael sat up and looked at him incredulously.

‘Yes, RayChal,’ Salim added sadly. ‘The time has come to fulfil my promise. I shall take you to your folks tomorrow. We’ll have to leave just before the break of dawn, while it’s still dark.’

Rachael clapped her hands with glee. ‘So finally I’ll be able to see my parents again. Oh God, I’ve waited so long for this day.’

Salim got up, picked up a rose from the posy on the wall, twirled it, then put it back. ‘Yes, finally,’ he answered as he choked back a lump in his throat. Ya Ali, the time had come to tell her about his involvement in the uprising. He could not put it off anymore. She would understand, he was sure of that.

Chapter Twenty-Five

R
ACHAEL

Rachael stood beside her bed, looking at Salim playing wistfully with her fingers. She felt a twinge of sadness as the initial excitement at the thought of seeing her parents again died away. This was their last night together. God knows when they would meet again. What if they never met again? No, she mustn’t think like that.

She cupped his face in her hands and felt his stubble prick her fingers and palm. Salim looked at her, gently removed her hands and walked abruptly to the earthenware pot. He poured himself a glass of water, which he drank noisily, spilling some on his chin. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he walked back to where she stood, watching his every move. She smiled as he put his hand in his pocket, two lines appearing between his eyebrows. He held out his fist in front of her. She looked at him, questioning.

‘Go on, open it.’

Now what game was he playing, she wondered as she slowly opened his fist. He offered no resistance. As she pulled back his fingers, seven rings with seven jewels sparkled cheerily at her. Jade, sapphire, amethyst, diamond, ruby, topaz and emerald.

‘A ring to match your every dress,’ he said, as he put them on the bed beside her. Then he picked up the sapphire ring.

‘And this one to match your eyes.’ So saying he knelt down before her. ‘RayChal, will you marry me?’

Rachael turned red and clasped her face with her hands. She looked at him. His eyes were hypnotic, imploring. She could not look away.

‘Oh Salim, yes I will.’

‘I swear to you, by everything I hold sacred, that I will never marry again. You will be the only begum in my harem,’ he said, as he slowly slid the ring on her finger.

Rachael looked at the ring, then at his mesmerising gaze and whispered, ‘Salim, even if you had asked me to be your one hundred and twenty-first wife, I would have said yes.’

He got up slowly, his eyes not leaving her face even for a moment, and took her in a tight embrace. ‘Oh Ray …’ he whispered passionately, his voice muffled by her hair. He kissed her forehead, her eyes, her nose, her cheeks. He tried to move closer to kiss her lips, but broke off with a curse.

‘What
is
this?’ he asked in frustration.

Rachael laughed. ‘It’s the hoops, the crinoline.’

‘It seems more like a chas—’

‘Like a what?’ Rachael raised her eyebrows, smiling mischievously, her nose crinkling.

‘Never mind. You’re a lady and I mustn’t say it in front of you.’

‘What must you say, then?’ she asked as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

He came closer. ‘Your skin is glowing in this candlelight. Just like Noor Jehan’s.’

‘Who’s she?’

‘She’s this beautiful, graceful woman I met yesterday …’

Rachael glared at him. ‘What?’

He threw back his head and laughed. ‘She was Jahangir’s wife. Remember the story I told you about Salim and Anarkali?’

‘Oh yes. The one where that poor girl was buried alive?’

‘Yes, same prince. Legend has it that when Salim – or Jahangir, as he was later known – when his wife Noor Jehan ate paan, you could see the orange-red juice going down her throat, so clear and transparent was her skin.’

Rachael blushed. She put her head on Salim’s shoulder, twirling the ends of her hair with one hand. ‘I wonder what we’ll look like on our wedding day. You in your angarkha and me in my white bridal—’

‘Not white,’ Salim interjected.

‘Pray tell me why not? You want me to wear red?’

‘No.’ Salim’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Orange. The colour of fire. Do you know, when the sunlight touches your hair …’ He paused momentarily as he playfully covered his face with her hair. ‘It looks as though it’s on fire. You’ll look radiant in orange. Like the goddess of fire.’

‘Oh Salim,’ Rachael sighed as she sat down on the bed. ‘Do you think it’ll happen?’

Salim sat down beside her. He moved closer, his lips just an inch away from hers.

‘Salim.’

‘I love you.’

‘I love you too, Salim.’

‘Don’t stop me today, RayChal. Your lips have been made for kissing.’

‘Oh Salim,’ she groaned as his lips covered hers. Her heart was thumping so loudly, she could scarce hear her own voice.

Rachael stood under the arched doorway and tried to focus. It was a starless, moonless night. Salim was waiting for her at the bottom of the steps beside a carriage. He sprinted up the stairs as soon as he saw her, took her hand in his and led her towards the vehicle that was to take her to her parents. Neither of them spoke. Halfway down the stairs Rachael stopped and looked back. The palace loomed over her. It looked majestic, even though shrouded in darkness. She saw a silhouette against the window upstairs. She waved. The shadow waved back. It was Daima.

She stopped abruptly as she reached the last stair. Someone was tugging her chador. Her face went white as she slowly turned around. She was relieved to find it was just Salim, who had stepped on it. ‘Oh dear,’ she exclaimed as it slid to the ground.

With a sigh of exasperation Salim picked it up and draped it around her head and shoulders. ‘Well, it’s not exactly how it’s supposed to be, but it’s better than what you had done,’ he said.

Rachael grinned and stepped into the carriage. They rode in silence for a while, the clippity-clop of the horses’ hooves echoing through the still night. She almost fell off her seat as the carriage came to an abrupt halt and she looked questioningly at Salim. He was equally clueless why it had stopped. The coachman was hitting the horse with his whip and coaxing it to move on. Rachael listened. She could hear some voices and footsteps approaching. She looked at Salim anxiously. His forehead was covered with beads of perspiration.

The voices came closer. They were boisterous. Must be drunk. They were now talking to the coachman.

‘Where you off to in the middle of the night?’ said one of the voices.

‘Stolen goods?’ asked a second, laughing.

‘Or opium?’ guffawed a third voice.

Salim let out a sigh of relief. He gestured to her to cover her face with the chador. She did as she was told.

Salim lifted the curtain of his window. ‘Anything the matter?’ he barked authoritatively.

The sepoys peered at his face in the darkness, then hastily backed away. ‘Salaam, Chote Nawab,’ they said in unison, raising their right hands to their foreheads in a salute.

‘Nothing, Chote Nawab … nothing at all,’ said one of the sepoys.

‘Sorry, Chote Nawab, we didn’t know it was you,’ said another.

Rachael continued to sit still as she heard the shuffling of feet. Soon the voices died away.

Salim was now looking at the coachman. ‘What is the matter?’ he asked in a clipped tone.

‘Horse not moving, Huzoor,’ the coachman replied.

‘Don’t just sit there,’ barked Salim. ‘Do something.’

‘Yes, My Lord,’ the coachman mumbled. He got off the carriage and began tugging at the horse’s reins. The horse still didn’t move.

Lifting the curtain, Rachael looked out. ‘Pray tell me why the coachman is gathering straw?’ she asked. Still looking out, she added, ‘Oh no, now he’s lighting a fire.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Salim replied. ‘It’s to frighten the horse.’

Sure enough, as soon as the horse felt the heat from the fire, it began to gallop. Rachael took another quick peek from the carriage window. It was still dark.

‘Don’t lift the curtain again,’ Salim chided.

‘But these streets don’t look familiar.’

‘He’s taking us through some by-lanes. It’s safer.’

Rachael hugged the chador. There was a slight nip in the air. Her muscles tensed as they neared her home. Salim had agreed to take her to the cantonment first but made her promise not to spend more than a few minutes there. She stepped out slowly and took a long look at what had been her home. It looked like the ruins of an ancient monument. Not a house that had been bustling with life just a few months back. She blinked back her tears as Salim pressed her hand reassuringly.

She made her way through the tall wild weeds that had taken over the garden, shouting, ‘Brutus! Brutus!’ Where was he? She walked back to Salim and clutched his arm, her nails digging into it. ‘I think he’s—’

Then she heard it, the familiar bark. A second later he was all over her. He knocked her down in his excitement as he licked her face, her nose, her hands. Rachael laughed as tears rolled down her cheeks. She hugged and kissed him over and over again. ‘Oh my baby, I’m so glad you’re safe. I’m so glad. Thank you, thank you, God.’

‘Missy baba?’

‘Ram Singh! So good to see you. How is Sudha? How is Ayah? Have you any news of my parents?’ She patted Brutus who was now busy playing with her arm as though it were a bone.

‘Her relatives took her away. We fear the worst.’

Rachael got up, brushing away the mud and grass from her dress. She turned her back to Salim and Ram Singh, covered her mouth with her right hand as tears rolled down her cheeks. She remembered how brutally Sudha’s relatives had treated her the last time she saw her. But, even so, it couldn’t be true. No, nothing could happen to Sudha. She was meant to be with her always. God couldn’t take her away just like that. They had shared so much. She understood her needs even more than her own mother did.

Rachael felt a hand touch her shoulder. It was Salim. ‘I’m sure she’s fine,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll look for her.’

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ Rachael sniffed. She turned to Ram Singh. ‘My parents?’

‘Don’t know, baba. That day they have to leave in hurry. Parvati go with them. I go to look for you. Sudha stay here to look after house.’ He paused, staring straight ahead, as though reliving the horrors of that day. ‘Sorry, baba. The mob stop me. I can’t go to you. When I get back here, house empty, burning. It takes me long time to put out fire. Very long time. But finally I do it.’

Nodding her head quietly, Rachael walked into the house. Salim’s arm came around her protectively. She was too full of emotions to protest.

Much of the furniture was charred. All the books, the curtains, the clothes were now ash. She picked up the book from what had been her bedside table. The edges were black, but she could decipher the title. P.B. Shelley it said. She was aware of Salim’s eyes on her. She tried to smile and crinkled up her nose to keep those brimming tears at bay.

She yelped as she entered the living room. ‘My piano!’

Yes, it was intact. Salim and Ram Singh helped her to remove the rubble that had fallen over it and thus prevented it from getting burnt. She lifted the lid and began playing like a woman possessed. As she played, Brutus put his snout up in the air and let out a loud howl, then another and yet another. All of them burst out laughing.

‘I wasn’t aware we had a Tansen in our midst,’ Salim remarked.

‘Tan who?’

‘Tansen was one of the greatest singers of Hindustan.’

‘Then we shall have to rename Brutus. Tansen Brutus, how’s that?’

Brutus liked his new name. He wagged his tail and licked Salim’s hand.

‘Missy baba, I find Brutus under a pile of debris that fallen over his kennel and knock him unconscious. I have to make muzzle to put over his mouth whenever I hear crowd passing.’

Rachael held his hands. ‘Thank you, Ram Singh. Thank you ever so much.’

‘RayChal, we ought to leave now. Otherwise we might miss your parents. It’ll take us a while to get to Dilkusha.’

‘You no worry, baba. You go look for sahib and memsahib. I keep taking care of house and Brutus. I also put all money, gold, jewellery in trunk and bury it in bottom of garden. When riots finish, you come back for them.’

‘You are a good man, Ram Singh. Take care of yourself,’ Rachael said.

She then bent down and patted Brutus one last time. Sighing, she stepped into the carriage.

Rachael sighed again as she heard Brutus barking and running after the carriage. She was about to lift the curtain but Salim’s hand shot out to stop her.

‘It’s not safe,’ he said. ‘Daylight is breaking. We must be careful.’

She wished she could take Brutus with her. Salim had said her parents were leaving for Cawnpore. When would they come back to Lucknow? Everything was so uncertain. If only the Company had treated the Indians better. If only the sepoys had not revolted. If only …

She looked at Salim. He was looking at the engagement ring that he had put on her finger last night. He rubbed the sapphire with his thumb wistfully.

‘I have something to tell you,’ he said.

‘Yes?’

He cleared his throat and looked at her hesitantly. ‘You know this rising. This war between the sepoys and the Company …’

‘Don’t I know! It’s kept me away from my family for all these months.’

‘You weren’t happy in my palace?’

‘No, no. That’s not what I meant.’

Salim lowered his gaze. ‘Well …’ He started smoothing the folds of his angarkha. ‘I’m part of it.’

Rachael stared at him. He did not meet her gaze.

‘What?’

‘You heard me,’ he answered quietly.

‘You’ve been fighting with the rebels against the English?’ Rachael asked with disbelief. ‘Pray tell me it’s not true.’