—64—
The train station was the same one where we’d arrived for the maharaja’s birthday so many years before, and for the first time I felt true joy. “No elephants?” I said as a car was brought around.
“Elephants?” Gurdaya asked.
Tanveer grinned. “The party for Baoji when everyone came. Elephants brought everyone from the station to the palace.”
“I had forgotten! What a spectacle!”
“My mother was so thrilled,” I said and remembered Rocky’s lover Grayson, long ago at the picnic, asking Tanveer about riding elephants. Grayson, who’d been a boor, but now was a dead one. He’d been one of the first to die in our group.
I brushed the memory away. A rising sense of possibility filled me as the desert passed by the windows.
The siblings chatted back and forth in their mix of languages, perhaps making plans, perhaps something else.
I caught a sentence here and there but mostly let the mingled languages wash over me, bringing with them sunstruck memories of childhood.
“Do you ever go to Nainital now?” I asked.
“I haven’t been there since we were children,” Gurdaya said.
“I have been. We still hold the house there for summer. Channan has not been able to make the trip for some years, but I have been a few times. Would you like to visit? It could be arranged.”
A dangerous place in my current state. I lifted a shoulder in pretend disinterest. “Perhaps. I just thought of it.”
“The swimming,” Gurdaya said, and sighed.
I dared not look at Tanveer, but felt the heat crawl up my neck. He banged my knee with his, and I looked up to slam into a bland expression, a quick, sidelong glance. I banged him back and scowled. “Is your husband’s palace far? I should love to swim in your pool.”
“It is a journey,” she said with a sigh. “And I will not linger long at Talwarpur, only a day or two. My children will want their mother back.”
“And their mother wants them back,” Tanveer said.
“It was good of you to make the trip.”
“It wasn’t good of me,” she protested. “I couldn’t bear to wait until you could come visit me. This way, I will have a little taste of your company, and you might come in a few months to stay with me. They can’t have you all to themselves.”
A few months! When I’d fled Cairo, I had not considered how long I would be here. I covered her hand. “I shall.”
As we approached the village outside the palace, the car slowed. The driver said something I didn’t quite catch.
Tanveer muttered under his breath, peering out. “It’s a small group. Carry on.”
“Protesters again?” Gurdaya asked.
“Yes.”
“What are they protesting?”
“The British, the wealthy, the laws.” He shook his head. “Legitimate, but dangerous. Last month, they attacked a car outside of Jalandhar, and the family barely got away. They set the car on fire.”
As we passed through the crowd, it parted, but a rock hit the car, and then another. Nothing else. We made it to the palace, and the gate closed tight behind us.
The palace was as massive as I remembered, but shabbier.
How thrilled I had been that first visit to have a sketchbook in my hand at all times, drawing the various forms of tile work, the arches and the hallways, courtyards with their tinkling fountains and bougainvillea.
A blaze of flowers still climbed the walls, and as we stepped out into the blast of heat, I heard a fountain nearby.
And there, waiting for us, was a small woman in a soft blue sari. Tanveer took my hand and drew me to her realm. I towered over her—she could not have been more than five feet tall—and she’d draped her face with her veil. As I came forward, she pulled it away and held out her hands.
I’d been afraid of what I might see—burning and scarring and misshapen features. All of those things did exist. One eye and her mouth pulled toward each other in a web of scarring, and long white scars marred the other side of her face. Even her hairline had been shifted by that injury long ago.
But she held her chin proudly, and there was such a glow of joy and welcome in her expression that all the rest was swept away. “Dear, dear Elsie. I am so glad you’ve come.”
I bowed my head, offering a namaskar. “Maharani Sahiba.”
“Please,” she said. “We shall not stand on ceremony. You are the sister of my sister. Come inside. I wish to show you the studio I have prepared.”
She reached out her hand. It, too, was scarred, the flesh white and brown and pink. I took its smallness in my own. “I cannot wait to paint you,” I said, and meant it very much.
Tanveer had hung back, and now he said, “I shall leave you to it.”
“We shall have an intimate supper,” Channan said. “Gurdaya, come with us to see the suite.”
The rooms were in a tower. Channan rested every fourth step, and I protested. “I’m sure Gurdaya can show me the room!”
“I have been anticipating this moment.”
“As you wish.” But I slowed my steps more fully.
We made our way, and entered a suite of rooms through a pair of tall carved wooden doors.
It was bright and airy, high up, with open archways in the tower portion.
Through the arches, I could see in all four directions.
Across the plains, the austere desert with dusty trees, all the way to a line of mountains in the distance.
From another angle was a courtyard of the main palace, and from another, the open balcony of another tower.
Last, the fourth direction looked on the ruined tower I had painted so often. “Do griffins still nest there?”
“They do,” Channan cried. “And you will see pigeons, too.”
The bedroom was richly appointed with a wide bed and curtains threaded with silver. An adjoining room was furnished with a wide table and an easel. “Will that do?”
“It’s beautiful, Channan. All of it.” I turned to her. “I feel like a princess myself.”
“An earl’s daughter is not such a low form of life,” Gurdaya said drily, picking things up and putting them down, rounding the room as if inspecting it.
“The earl died, and so did his heir, I’m afraid, so I am anointed no longer.”
“Nonsense. You were born as you were born.”
A sense of depletion suddenly flooded my limbs, and I sat down suddenly.
“You must rest,” Channan said. “And drink water. I’ll send a servant to bring you water for a bath before dinner.”
I nodded. I’d brought two gowns suitable for dinner at the palace, which would see me through for a bit. “Thank you.”
Channan paused at my side. “I will see you tomorrow in my chambers at nine.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll send my servant to lead the way.” Her hand rested on my shoulder. “I am very glad you’ve come, Elsie. Thank you.”
Gurdaya waited until she departed. “Do you need anything? Your luggage is very thin.”
I glanced at the small cases. “And most of it is paint,” I said with a rueful smile.
“As I thought. I shall see to it.”
“Thank you.”
“Elsie,” she said. “He hurt you, did he not?”
“I am all right now that I’m here.”
“I could have him killed, you know.”
The offer was so surprising, I burst out laughing. She raised her eyebrows.
“I know,” I said, still smiling. “Perhaps that won’t be necessary.”
She shrugged and left me.
I awakened from the deepest sleep, slightly confused about where I was. It was dark, and the bed was deeply soft. A shadow stood over me, and I bolted awake, terrified, scooting backward. “Leave me alone.”
“Shh. Elsie, it’s me.” The voice was familiar but out of place. He leaned in, spoke in Hindustani. “I did not mean to frighten you.”
Tanveer. The world coalesced. I was in India, in the tower room Channan had prepared for me. “What are you doing here?”
“There is a meteor shower. I want you to see it.”
I blinked, took a breath. “Did I miss dinner?”
He chuckled softly. “Dinner and breakfast and dinner again.”
“I’ve never slept like that in my life!”
“A long journey,” he said. “Come, get dressed, and let’s see the Perseids. I have food waiting.”
That caught my attention. I pressed a hand to my empty belly. “I am hungry.”
“I shall wait in the corridor.”
I nodded, throwing the bedclothes off me, and hesitated. “Is it all right for me to go with you to the roof alone? Seemly?”
He nodded. “It is all right. I promise.”
I scrambled to wash my face and don a skirt and blouse I found in the cupboard, and the slippers that had been left in the bathroom. It registered for the first time, a luxurious space with a deep tub and tiled appointments. Very modern. In the mirror, I looked clear eyed.
Two days!
I joined Tanveer in the corridor. He wore a simple kurta and carried a lantern flickering orange, casting shadows on the walls. He held out his hand. “The way is shadowed.”
His palm and fingers enfolded mine, as if I were home.
And perhaps I was in a way. It had always felt that way with Tanveer, whether we were friends or mental sparring partners or lovers.
Now something more and less, friends who had shared a great deal of life.
At the thought, a tremendous amount of pressure soughed from my body.
He squeezed my fingers lightly, then held the lantern high so I could climb the stairs. Lizards darted in front of me, making me squeak and hold back. He paused. “They will not hurt you.”
“I know. They just startled me.”
“Of course.” When the way was clear, we kept climbing.
The steps opened to a rooftop. Another lantern sat on a small table, where I could see a pitcher and glasses and a tray of food. My stomach growled and without even knowing it, my body headed straight for it.
“Wait,” Tanveer said, touching my arm. “Take a moment to look up.”
I hadn’t yet noticed the sky. Horizon to horizon, it was dark, moonless, which made every star and galaxy all the brighter.
I took in a breath of wonder at the endlessness of it, tipping my head back to take it in.
The Milky Way was directly overhead, stretching across the midheaven in a display of endless galaxies, and even as I watched, a streak of red crossed it.
I cried out in delight. “I saw one!” And I spun, but felt overbalanced, and reached for his arm.
He offered his elbow. “Steady.”
I lowered my head, realizing that all I had to do was stand there to be absorbed into the endless array of stars. “I feel as if I am floating, as if I am a star myself.”
“We are stars,” he said quietly, looking upward. He pointed. “Another one.”
“And another!” This one was smaller, slight and pink.
“I was right to wake you, then.”
Startled, I looked at him. “Of course! How could you think anything else?”
“Good. Have something to eat, and we can lie on our backs. I brought cushions.”
I was famished, and filled a little plate with pakoras and wedges of paratha, nibbling them at first to test the heat after so long a time, but they were exquisite.
I washed them down with salty lassi, refreshing and sour, and guava.
Licking my fingers, I said, “I apologize for missing dinner. Did a servant come to wake me?”
“They did, but when they said you were still sleeping, both Gurdaya and Channan insisted you be able to sleep as long as you required.”
I gave a little snort of laughter. “Two days is a bit long.”
“It can be good to sleep at times of transition.”
Transition, I thought, finding a knot of sorrow in my throat. Had I truly left Peter for good? “I suppose that’s true.”
“I hope you will feel you can talk to me again, Elsie,” he said and offered a fresh date from a small bowl. “That we can find a way into . . . whatever form this takes now.”
I didn’t want to talk to him about what had happened with Peter. Even the thought of it made shame crawl up my neck, heating my ears. I looked away. “If I don’t, it has nothing to do with our trying to find a new footing.”
“Then what?”
Words welled and then caught in my throat. I shook my head.
We stretched out on cushions covered by patterned blankets, and the night was cool, so we wrapped up with the blankets, lying side by side. “I cannot believe how many stars you can see.”
“It is quite arid here, and that makes the view very clear.” He pointed. “Meteor.”
I watched it streak across. “What other constellations are we seeing now?”
“Garmi kā Musallas is the summer triangle, made of Vega, Deneb, and Altair.” He pointed toward each one, brighter than many around them. “Of course, Thurayyā, the Seven Sisters. Famous in poetry.”
“Mmm.” Some piece of me that had been taut for months, maybe years, began to unwind. “Why are they called the Seven Sisters?”
“Ah, that is a good tale. The sisters were the offspring of Atlas, who was condemned to hold up the sky, and Pleione, a sea nymph. When al-Jabbār, the hunter, saw them, he fell in love and pursued them across the earth.”
“He fell in love with all of them?”
“Gods have mighty appetites.”
“Ah.”
“When their father heard about the pursuit, the sisters were exhausted and weary. Atlas took pity on them and turned them into stars, where even in the sky, they huddle together for safety.” I watched him trace the cluster.
“Al-Jabbār pursued them into the sky, and now chases them for all eternity.”
“Justice for his greed.”
“Indeed.”
“You rhymed.”
“I did.” He glanced at me. “On purpose.”
Dying stars fell across the sky in red and white and green.
Next to me was the solid, breathing presence of Tanveer, whom I’d missed for literally years.
I’d missed the sound of his voice, his particular phrasings.
Missed his chuckle. Missed this way he had of telling a story at every turn.
It did not matter that we were not lovers.
I felt the tattered bits of my soul, shredded so badly over the years of struggle, begin to reweave themselves.
“I am very grateful you’re here,” he said quietly, reading my mind. “The world rights itself when I’m in your company.”
“Yes,” I said, and looked at him. “Has your world been akilter?”
“It has. A society in upheaval seems to always turn to violence, no matter how we try to structure it more carefully.”
“What of Mr. Gandhi’s nonviolence?”
“A good movement, but I do not know if it will be enough.”
“I’m sorry.”
“This, too, shall pass.”
I said, “And the stars will keep shining.”
“Long after we are no longer here to fight beneath them.”
“Or find joy in them.”
He looked at me, and feeling it, I turned my head. A faint smile lifted his mouth. “A good reminder. I am here now, under these stars, and you are with me.”
For a fleeting moment, I wondered if we were tempting ourselves too much in this exercise, but then he looked back up to the sky.
“Here we are,” I said, and let myself fly into the darkness lit by ten thousand stars.