Free The World Beyond by Sangeeta Bhargava Page B

walked over to his desk. He twirled the quill pen that lay on it, before returning to Daima. ‘I would never go against your wishes, Daima. If you don’t want her to come here, so be it. But just consider this – I gave my word to that woman and I’m honour-bound to keep it. You know as well as anyone that in all these years I’ve never broken a promise.’
    Daima’s face softened. ‘What do I have to do?’ she asked quietly.
    Salim gave her a tight hug. ‘Thank you, Daima.’
    Shrugging out of his embrace, Daima replied, ‘Now tell me what you want me to do.’
    ‘Miss Bristow’s parents will leave for church on Sunday at two o’clock. You must reach her house at ten past two. Just go up to the gatekeeper and tell him you need to speak to Sudha. She will take care of the rest.’
    ‘I hope Ramji will forgive me for committing this crime,’ Daima said, shaking her head.
    Salim smiled at her remark but chose not to say anything lest she change her mind. As the call for the evening prayers wafted in through the window, he knelt down facing Mecca. He raised his arms, muttering the holy verses under his breath. Then he lowered his forehead to the ground as he finished his prayers.

Chapter Eight

    R ACHAEL

    As the carriage trundled down the street, Rachael looked at the older woman seated across from her. ‘Pray tell me, what I should call you?’ she asked.
    ‘Everyone in the palace calls me Daima,’ Daima replied curtly, revealing crooked yellowing teeth. Her breath smelt of betel nuts and betel leaves.
    An awkward silence ensued as Daima turned her back towards Rachael and looked out of the window. She must have been beautiful when young, Rachael thought, what with her oval face, broad forehead and sharp nose. She wondered what Papa would say if he discovered she had again gone out without permission. Her thoughts flew back to the afternoon when she had just got back from the forest.
    ‘Tea laid out in garden, missy baba. Sahib waiting,’ Ram Singh had announced.
    Swallowing, Rachael made her way slowly towards the garden. She stopped by the eucalyptus tree. She rested her palm against its smooth straight trunk as she watched her father. He sat alone, stirring his coffee. As he stirred, his anger brewed, or so she imagined. She took a deep breath in, then breathed out.
    ‘Good afternoon, Papa,’ she said, as Ram Singh held out a chair for her.
    Papa pulled out his watch from his pocket, looked at it and then at her. ‘Good evening , Rachael. Did you have a good day?’ he asked pointedly.
    ‘Yes, Papa, I …’ she cleared her throat. He didn’t look angry. Maybe he didn’t know that she had gone riding by herself to the forest and been escorted back by the nabob’s son.
    ‘Oh yes, I know,’ he said, reading her face, a twisted smile marring his sculpted features. ‘How old are you?’
    ‘Umm … eighteen?’
    ‘Exactly. You’re now an adult, Rachael, and I’ve decided not to treat you as a child anymore. Even though you insist on acting like one.’
    Crinkling up her nose, Rachael looked out of the carriage window. She had managed to wriggle out of mass and tea at the Wilsons’ that afternoon by feigning a headache. So she had done something childish again. But how could she have said ‘no’ to such an exhilarating prospect? Besides, she’d do anything for music. Even if it meant invoking Papa’s wrath. Or suffering the presence of that arrogant prince.
    She watched as the carriage passed through the Kaiserbagh gateway. It was intricately sculpted with mermaids and fishes. She marvelled at how the tiles placed on the low wall and the wavy lines on the parapet made it appear as though the mermaids were frolicking in the sea. The entire complex looked like a tent city.
    ‘Pray tell me, what is it called?’ she asked Daima, as they passed a building which looked like an airy tent in concrete. Its eight towers looked like pegs holding the tent to the ground.
    ‘Lanka,’ Daima replied.