small house on the edge of Black Town was also well known to the gentlemen of Calcutta. Many intimate friendships but no offers of marriage came her way until Demonteguy.
‘My Rita is not as an Indian woman who must think of suttee or living a life like the dead. In the ferenghi world, widows remarry. I also have done it three times. Only my karma is bad, as you know. All my husbands are dead along with my other babies. English blood is not suited to this climate. Hardly did I marry my husbands than they got fevers and died. Only in Rita is my blood strong; it has kept her alive.’ Jaya immersed herself in a new outburst of sobbing.
‘I shall fight them in court.’ She quietened suddenly. ‘There was no trouble until this will.’
‘Then why did you make it?’ Govindram asked.
Soon Mohini and Sati returned, a trail of servants behind them carrying further edibles. Mohini fussed about her husband. ‘Here is prasad from the Kali Mandhir. This afternoon I went there for you. It is time you also visited. Pray to the Goddess, it will take only a moment and please her,’ Mohini ordered.
‘We will also do a puja for Sati’s health.’ Mohini turned to Jaya.
‘Then see it is done properly this time. Last time that badmash priest took only money and did nothing,’ Jaya replied.
‘How do you know he did nothing?’ Govindram enquired.
‘Because last time when you went to Murshidabad I gave money for a puja for your well-being and what happened? You came back sick from that place,’ Mohini replied, pushing Jaya from the conversation.
‘Murshidabad.’ Jaya’s eyes became dreamy with memory.
‘What is so good about the place? When you lived there all you thought of was escape,’ Mohini snapped.
‘Some things were not so bad,’ Jaya answered. Distilled by time, Murshidabad offered itself to memory now in a series of sensual images: clothes, jewels, caresses and the indolence of hot afternoons. There were the constant thrusting demands of the raja, the oiled hands of the masseuse and the perfume of unguents; flesh and its multifarious satisfactions had possessed the day and possessed her also. Above all his women, for a short time, the raja had desired her. At first she had fought these demands, but soon all she waited for, all she could think of, was that he should fill her body. Even now, as the flesh sagged about her, her insides were fired by the memory of those sensations. She could not explain this to a woman like Mohini.
‘That is not what you told us,’ Mohini replied. ‘Before your eyes one hundred and twenty women were slaughtered while you hid in a trunk, and you say it was not so bad? I do not understand you.’
Jaya shrugged. It was useless to waste words on Mohini. She watched Govindram pick up her will and store it away in a small wooden chest, which he locked with a substantial key. She wonderedif she should bring all her diamonds to Govindram to store safely for her in his home. But the thought of Mohini’s sarcastic remarks abruptly ended this idea. She could imagine Mohini’s expression if she ever saw the diamond jewellery Jaya had secured under her clothes as she fled the raja’s palace.
Since that long-ago day she had managed, in one place or another, to hide the fabulous gems away. Now she had dug the treasure out of the mud wall of her hut behind which it had lain for so many years. None of her husbands had known of the existence of these rare gems, nor had they known of the raja or her incarceration in his seraglio.
The idea of a will had come to her suddenly and would not go away. The lawyer had demanded to see her assets so that he might weigh and list them correctly. After he had examined the diamonds, Jaya had re-buried them in the wall and gone immediately to pray at the Kali Mandhir, but the balance of things already seemed changed. Vulnerability stalked her. The gleam in the lawyer’s eye as he turned her gems in his hand remained in Jaya’s mind. Now she was
‘My Rita is not as an Indian woman who must think of suttee or living a life like the dead. In the ferenghi world, widows remarry. I also have done it three times. Only my karma is bad, as you know. All my husbands are dead along with my other babies. English blood is not suited to this climate. Hardly did I marry my husbands than they got fevers and died. Only in Rita is my blood strong; it has kept her alive.’ Jaya immersed herself in a new outburst of sobbing.
‘I shall fight them in court.’ She quietened suddenly. ‘There was no trouble until this will.’
‘Then why did you make it?’ Govindram asked.
Soon Mohini and Sati returned, a trail of servants behind them carrying further edibles. Mohini fussed about her husband. ‘Here is prasad from the Kali Mandhir. This afternoon I went there for you. It is time you also visited. Pray to the Goddess, it will take only a moment and please her,’ Mohini ordered.
‘We will also do a puja for Sati’s health.’ Mohini turned to Jaya.
‘Then see it is done properly this time. Last time that badmash priest took only money and did nothing,’ Jaya replied.
‘How do you know he did nothing?’ Govindram enquired.
‘Because last time when you went to Murshidabad I gave money for a puja for your well-being and what happened? You came back sick from that place,’ Mohini replied, pushing Jaya from the conversation.
‘Murshidabad.’ Jaya’s eyes became dreamy with memory.
‘What is so good about the place? When you lived there all you thought of was escape,’ Mohini snapped.
‘Some things were not so bad,’ Jaya answered. Distilled by time, Murshidabad offered itself to memory now in a series of sensual images: clothes, jewels, caresses and the indolence of hot afternoons. There were the constant thrusting demands of the raja, the oiled hands of the masseuse and the perfume of unguents; flesh and its multifarious satisfactions had possessed the day and possessed her also. Above all his women, for a short time, the raja had desired her. At first she had fought these demands, but soon all she waited for, all she could think of, was that he should fill her body. Even now, as the flesh sagged about her, her insides were fired by the memory of those sensations. She could not explain this to a woman like Mohini.
‘That is not what you told us,’ Mohini replied. ‘Before your eyes one hundred and twenty women were slaughtered while you hid in a trunk, and you say it was not so bad? I do not understand you.’
Jaya shrugged. It was useless to waste words on Mohini. She watched Govindram pick up her will and store it away in a small wooden chest, which he locked with a substantial key. She wonderedif she should bring all her diamonds to Govindram to store safely for her in his home. But the thought of Mohini’s sarcastic remarks abruptly ended this idea. She could imagine Mohini’s expression if she ever saw the diamond jewellery Jaya had secured under her clothes as she fled the raja’s palace.
Since that long-ago day she had managed, in one place or another, to hide the fabulous gems away. Now she had dug the treasure out of the mud wall of her hut behind which it had lain for so many years. None of her husbands had known of the existence of these rare gems, nor had they known of the raja or her incarceration in his seraglio.
The idea of a will had come to her suddenly and would not go away. The lawyer had demanded to see her assets so that he might weigh and list them correctly. After he had examined the diamonds, Jaya had re-buried them in the wall and gone immediately to pray at the Kali Mandhir, but the balance of things already seemed changed. Vulnerability stalked her. The gleam in the lawyer’s eye as he turned her gems in his hand remained in Jaya’s mind. Now she was
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