The World Beyond by Sangeeta Bhargava Page B

by the vehemence with which he spoke. ‘Look, I teach simply because I enjoy the company of children.’ She picked at her pagoda sleeve. ‘Perhaps because I never had a sibling to play with. I lost my three-year-old brother when I was born.’
    ‘I’m sorry.’
    She looked at him. He did look repentant. Her face softened. ‘Do not vex yourself. I was too little to be affected.’
    ‘You can borrow some of mine. I have over forty brothers and sisters.’
    Touching her right cheek theatrically, Rachael exclaimed, ‘Ya Ali,’ with mock horror.
    Salim threw back his head and laughed. Still shaking with laughter, he looked at her. He stopped laughing abruptly. He was gazing at her lips, now her eyes. Rachael lowered her gaze and wished he would not stare at her like that. She felt he could look right into the core of her heart, into her very soul, and she found it disconcerting.

    Rachael wondered gloomily where Salim was. The last six days had flown so fast. Papa would be back home tomorrow. Then she would not be able to see Salim again – for how long, she could not tell. She looked out of the window of the music hall at the high wall that surrounded the zenana. How time had flown. Why, it was just yesterday that Salim had led her into this room for the first time. She thought of all the unique structures he had shown her since then. The darbar hall, the vaulted ceilings, the portraits, the little balconies from where the begums could sit behind a purdah and watch the court proceedings. But there was a section of the palace that was still a mystery for her. The zenana.
    Daima entered the room. ‘Chote Nawab will be here soon … can I get you anything?’
    ‘Daima, pray can you take me to the zenana?’ She clutched her hands urgently. ‘Please, Daima?’
    ‘I’m not sure Chote Nawab would approve.’
    ‘I’m sure he won’t mind.’
    ‘Ah well, follow me.’
    ‘Oh thank you, thank you, Daima.’ Rachael hugged the old woman and was about to kiss her cheek, but then, seeing the sombre look on her face, she kissed her hand instead. Daima tilted her head slightly like she often did when admonishing someone, but her face had the slightest flicker of a smile.
    Rachael adjusted the hijaab that Daima had tied over her head, before entering an inner courtyard. It was deserted, perhaps because of the heat of the sun. Even though it was still winter, the afternoon sun was scorching hot.
    The courtyard was flanked on all sides by long corridors. The corridors on the left and right led to several doors which in turn led to the rooms of the begums. The doors right in front opened on to a splendid hall which was packed at the moment.
    A strong smell of ittar greeted Rachael as she entered this hall. Mother always wore a perfume from back home. It had a light, flowery fragrance, as light as a butterfly alighting on a petal. So unlike the perfume these natives wore. It clung to you and filled your nostrils with a smell so strong it ceased to be fragrant at all.
    Rachael looked about her with undisguised interest. Some of the begums sat gossiping; some were playing chaupad, some chess. There was a small stage at one end of the hall. A small group had gathered there and were listening to the domnis narrating tales of yore. Loud voices made her turn. The two begums playing chaupad were squabbling.
    ‘I refuse to put up with your cheating anymore,’ shouted the fair begum with long hooped earrings, as she angrily took a puff on the hookah.
    ‘Oh yes? Don’t try to play the innocent with me,’ spat out the other begum. She paused, chewed her paan furiously before continuing. ‘Shakina found some chillies and lemon under my mattress this morning. Don’t I know who’s trying to do voodoo on me! And then she pretends to be an angel!’
    Rachael looked at her with interest. Her paan-stained lips were the same colour as her dress.
    ‘I should have married a grass-cutter,’ said the begum with the hooped earrings. ‘I would