Flowers in the Blood (55 page)

With shining eyes he stared at the far end of the tent, where his mother sat. The guests waited for her response.

“Amar is being a bit melodramatic. Too much water on the brain today, perhaps?” she said, arching her eyebrows. “All the children rode about on Shankara, and Amar took little interest in her until he was much older.”

Amar cocked his head in deference to his mother while everyone else sensed the time had come to chat among themselves.

Several ladies stood to leave, and each bid a good-night to the maharajah. He waved them off with a cordial word. Seizing the chance, I made my way to where he was lying with his head propped up by his hand. “Good night, dear Mrs. Salem.”

“Good evening, sir.”

“Why not stay for a while longer? I am in a philosophical mood tonight. We might share our views on marriage, for instance.”

“My views are that of my husband, and my husband is not here to share them,” I replied elliptically.

“What a profound statement you have made. Come and enlighten me some more.” He reached to pull me down beside him.

I resisted, pretending he had been trying to get to his feet. “No, don't bother to stand on my behalf, sir.”

He slumped down. “We are both alone. My wife is about to have her child. Your husband is off on an exciting mission.” He was slurring again. “I wonder which shall be delivered earliest—the boat or the baby?”

“Is your wife well?” I asked, hoping that a diversion to this subject would safeguard me.

He ignored the question and waved to the hookah. “Would you like some? A fine, light grade. It will help you sleep.”

“No, I never do.”

“Yes, yes, Winner told me that. Not good for ladies anyway. They sometimes become irrational. Nothing worse than an irrational woman . . .”

Unwilling to be drawn into a defense of my sex, I merely backed away.

I had almost reached the entrance to the marquee when he whined, “Sassy, please . . .”

Just then Dennis appeared from the shadows. “I'll escort Mrs. Salem back, sir. Don't worry about her.” He took my arm and I felt safe at last.

 

“You mustn't mind Amar when he gets like that.”

“What am I supposed to do?” I asked with a quaver in my voice.

“Exactly what you did. Be firm. Be polite. Be a lady.”

“Sometimes he frightens me.” I mulled over my next question, then dared, “Do you think his pipe influences him?”

“Except to make his speech impediment worse, I doubt it. Perhaps it might affect someone less accustomed, the way two toddies might affect a woman who rarely drinks.” He winked. “Not someone who takes a small amount on a regular basis. To me, the boy is a lamb who has suddenly been awarded giant horns. He hardly knows what to do with them, yet cannot resist taking a few stabs to see what sort of power he possesses.”

I could have taken the ram analogy further and asked what I should do if he directed those stabs at me, but held my tongue. “Thank you and good night,” I said as he delivered me to where Yali was holding a lamp.

“Good night, Mrs. Salem. Sleep well. Tomorrow is bound to be an exciting day.”

I was exhausted even though I had done nothing more strenuous than stroll around the encampment. Just being in the maharajah's presence was a strain. The more I was near him, the more I was reminded of Sadka's vile presence and saw myself in my mother's role. Yali unpinned my hair, helped me undress, then stepped outside to call for hot water. She gave a little cry. Thinking she had confronted a snake, I rushed to the tent flap.

“Amar! What are you doing here?”

“I like it when you call me 'Amar,' Sassy.”

“Pardon me, sir. I suppose the name came to mind because that is what Edwin uses when he speaks of you to me.”

“Don't worry, Mrs. Salem, we do not hand out fines here.” He stood inches from me. “As I said before, I would like to talk with you.”

Not expecting anyone, I had appeared in only my thin lawn chemise. I crossed my arms to cover my chest and shivered. “Please, not now and not here. Someone might see us.”

Ignoring my plea, he stared at me. My hair was cascading down my shoulders and blowing in the breeze. He touched the long tendrils and wound them around his hand, pulling me outside the tent. “Such beautiful hair, a shame to bind it. So soft, like silk strands. Our women's hair is thicker and coarser. But this, this is like threads of beaten gold.” He touched to his cheek the hand that bound my hair. “So soft . . . so soft . . . I have never met a woman like you: a woman of education, a woman of the city, a woman of wealth, a woman of virtue who has known more than one man.”

“But I haven't,” I protested.

“You said you were married before.”

“That was a mistake.”

“The marriage—or telling me?”

“Both, I suppose.”

“Does Winner know your little secret?”

“Of course! And it is not a secret. My parents arranged a match with another man about a year before I met Edwin. He turned out to be very unsuitable—he had an illness, something incurable he had not mentioned. This led to the dissolution of the marriage before it was consummated.”

Amar seemed disappointed by my explanation. “You intrigue me, Sassy. I cannot help myself. Even Winner would understand my fascination. Yes, Winner would.” He reflected glassily for a moment, then murmured, “Winner. Was there ever a more apt nickname? Didn't the poor fatherless boy win the prize?” With a swift gesture he wound another turn of my hair. My feet refused to budge, so my head strained toward him.

“Please, Sassy, I do not wish to harm you. Please, I only want to converse with you. I do enjoy our little chats. They stimulate me. Pray, think of me. Think of how alone I am. My wife gives birth any day now. I have not considered taking any more wives. I have no permanent mistresses. Now that I am maharajah, I suppose I should have some, but they do not amuse me.” He loosened my hair and stepped back. “I did not wish to be maharajah. Everyone knows that.” He gave a slight moan. “Now that I am, everybody wants something from me.

How shall I know my true friends? At least I thought I could trust Winner and his wife—and that they could trust me.”

“I would not be here if I were not your friend. I would not be here if I did not trust you.” I rubbed the spot where my hair had been tugged at its roots. “I shall forgive you because you were carried away by your inquisitiveness, but if you touch me again, I shall leave Travancore and never return, and neither will my husband.” I fought back fears.

“Now, now, Sassy. The hour is late. We are both tired.”

“Indeed.” The voice was that of Amar's mother. She appeared out of the blackness, her white gown a shimmering column in the moonlight. I could not make out much of her face beyond a reflection of her eyes and the flickering of some jewels that seemed suspended in midair as her dark arms blended into the obscurity. “Are you all right, Mrs. Salem?”

“Yes, thank you, your highness.”

“Good. I was afraid you might have caught a chill this morning. How kind of my son to check on you. He worries about his guests, especially ladies unaccustomed to this sort of hardship.”

“I am very comfortable.”

“I am glad for that. I think you will find tomorrow's events to be quite remarkable. Please join me on my howdah. We can share the adventure together.”

“I would be honored. Good night, madam. Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Mrs. Salem,” the maharajah said thickly. “I wish you a good rest.”

 

The maharajah had done me a favor. At last I knew that my concerns were not the idle speculations of a neglected bride. I fascinated Amar and he was used to having whatever he wanted. The British raj usually allowed native rulers a free hand with their states. If anything happened to me, it might be made to appear an accident, unless the Cliffords had some doubts. Amar was not stupid. Because of this, he could never force his hand with me. Nevertheless, terrible things could happen. He could pursue me to the point of scandal. There was little that went on in this camp that every servant, every guest would not soon know. If I were embarrassed, Edwin and I would have to leave Travancore. Our investment in the ship would be in jeopardy. And this might stir trouble between Edwin and me. I had no doubt that Edwin would come to believe my side, but I could not bear having to defend myself. I saw our marriage as being as perfect as an egg. The smooth white shell was the sturdy encasement of our love. If Amar managed to tap that shell, he might not break it, but he could inflict a hairline crack. Nothing would ooze out, yet the structure would be weakened. Forevermore, we would have to take care not to damage it further.

These thoughts prevented me from sleeping. As the night wore on, they became even more convoluted. Where was Edwin? What was he doing? When would I see him again? Every sound from the jungle, every footstep near the tent, every creaking of a rope or flapping of a canvas caused me to jump. Amar wouldn't dare come back, I consoled myself, but that did not calm my pulse. A pinkish light tinged the brass basin and lamp: dawn had come. I was safe. Only then could I fall asleep.

Yali wiped my face and hands and feet as though I were a baby. I looked like a mess, I knew. I could not have slept more than an hour. As she brought me tea in bed, a heaviness weighed me down. What was I doing here? How could I escape? And if I did, where would I go? Back to Trivandrum and the Orchid House? Back to our cottage in Cochin or to Mother Esther's claustrophobic room on Jew Street? Back to Calcutta and Theatre Road? That is exactly where I would have been, if not for Edwin. Or I might have made the choice to remain in Darjeeling with Silas. Yes, I could still be under the spell of the snows, with Euclid padding around morosely, Silas laid up with his headaches, and the eternal wind battering the exposed walls of Xanadu. I took a deep breath. The smell of oil frying popadoms filled the air. Sunlight streamed under the tent. Elephants trumpeted. I remembered my visit from Amar's mother and reminded myself I was not alone. The kindly Cliffords, the gentle professor, and the second-most-powerful person in the kingdom were on my side. As Yali slipped my gown over my outstretched arms and handed me my topee, I smiled.

With my head held high, I joined the party congregating outside the marquee. Everyone was munching crisp breads passed from silver trays and drinking cups of dark tea. The elephants were decked out in full regalia. A shikarri blew a brass horn, and the elephants trumpeted their reply. Amar was lifted into the royal howdah. Into the air the elephant-crested banner was lifted. The hunt was on.

37

 

T
he trap was a four-sided stockade constructed of split boards supported by rough logs that were bound with hide rope to the sturdiest trees. Though the barricade appeared flimsy, the very flexibility of the structure enabled it to resist me pounding of a captured beast by yielding to its onslaught. A curve in the river on one side and sharply rising cliffs on the other bounded the area. Beyond, on a hill overlooking the corral, all the guests, except the younger men participating in the roundup, were atop elephants—four or five to a howdah to spare as many beasts as possible for the work ahead. I sat behind the maharani and her attendant.

“What if the wild elephants notice us?” I asked Amar's mother.

“They say that elephants rarely look up. I suppose that is because they are already so tall they doubt anything higher is of interest to them.” Although I didn't reply, I realized she might have been describing herself and the maharajah.

After an hour we heard the distant shouts of the herders. The elephants were coming! The galloping of their heavy hooves thundered through the forest. Leaves trembled like warning rattles. Coconuts fell from swaying palms. Their tamed brethren swayed restlessly. Then a leading family of tuskers came into view. Halting at the riverbank, the largest squirted trunkfuls of water over his back. A cow lifted her baby. Blissfully unaware of their impending fate, two older calves pranced in the water.

“The one in front is a female,” Amar's mother explained, as more elephants arrived. “As in Travancore, elephants are a matriarchal society.”

“The large ones on the outskirts must be the males,” I commented.

“Right. Their function is to procreate, not to lead.” She grinned slyly. “As it should be, don't you think?”

Trumpets blared forth, announcing the maharajah's approach from behind the advancing horde. Once across the river, Amar directed a line of
kumkis
, his trained elephants, into a flank formation to prevent escape. Scenting danger, the lead cow bellowed madly. The others in her herd charged to the right, then to the left, looking for a breech. Seeing none, they lunged into the kumkis. For one terrible moment it appeared the herders could not prevent the marauding elephants from breaking the line. Prodded by their mahouts with the iron-tipped ankuses, the trained beasts held their ground. The confused wild herd reversed direction, and this time the line followed them toward the stockade and formed into a funnel shape as they advanced. The enclosure was well-camouflaged with fronds and bamboo, giving them the sense they were heading into acres of jungle.

When the herd was almost beneath us, the lead cow paused to sniff the air. A bull trumpeted. The maharani and I gasped in unison. From every side the beaters and clappers converged. Coolies with flaming torches formed a wide outside band. The kumkis stood firm. More than forty elephants passed through the narrow mouth of the funnel, and in so doing, crossed the line between freedom and captivity.

A drawbridge closed in the compound, locking inside a dozen of the most experienced kumkis and their mahouts. When the dust cloud from the stampede subsided, I could see Amar and some of his favorite courtiers in the center of the ring. Dennis Clifford and the rest of the guests who were assisting formed the next ring of protection. Darting eyes and excited grins betrayed their feelings, but they did not speak.

Because I had been told that elephants were never killed, only roped for taming, I was unprepared for the violence that followed. Mahouts furiously jabbed the heads of the wild elephants with their ankuses. Blood poured down the wrinkled faces, blinding the beasts even as they lunged at the rickety fences. The yelps of the animals mingled with the mahouts shouting,
“Maro, Maro!
Strike, Strike!
Dant do!
Spike him!”

Kumkis worked in tandem as monitors on either side of each newcomer. Leaning with their full' strength, they impeded the struggles of their wild brothers while the ropers crept forward with their nooses of oiled hide and slipped them on the hind legs of the captives. Each time a roper managed to hobble an animal, onlookers on the other side of the fence shouted,
“Arre! Arre! Hai-yai!”
partially to congratulate their coworker, as well as to distract the wild elephants while the roper clambered back up the hindquarters of his kumki to avoid the murderous feet of the hysterical tusker.

The choreographed dance of lithe men who leapt in and out between the massive moving columns of stamping flesh proceeded until the largest male vented his outrage. One powerful kick snapped his foreleg stay as if it were twine. The nearby kumkis stumbled backward while any mahouts on the ground scrambled to safety. The furious animal swung around, looking for an exit. As he did, something caught his eye and he looked up. Perhaps the bright clothes of the ladies or their perfumed scent riled him further, for he lunged into one of the main supports of the corral. Three or four poundings brought logs tumbling like twigs. They snapped beneath his feet. A wall crashed forward. Six kumkis moved into position to prevent the rest of the structure from collapsing, while the ropers rushed for ladders, gateways, and tree branches. Our own mount trumpeted and stamped, as did several more on the hill, but with tender words and familiar prods, our handlers calmed them.

The maharajah, who had been positioned on the far side from where this event was taking place, thought quickly. Rallying the mahouts in his area, he directed a frontal attack on the brute. His kumkis sensed the severity of the situation and moved to check any movement of the monster while the maharajah's troops drove him back with blows and spear jabs in his face and flanks. The circle tightened around him. He backed away until his hind legs became so crossed, he lost his balance and crashed to the ground. Thankfully, nobody was crushed under the heaving body. Once the rogue was down, brave men roped his neck and feet with double and triple bands.

“Amar was wonderful!” I said to his mother.

“He always has to be in the middle. He was never content to sit on the sidelines. That's why I believe he will make a good ruler.”

“I thought he did not want that job,” I said before realizing I might have spoken out of turn.

The maharani stretched her sinuous neck proudly. “Everyone wants to be the first. It is human nature. It is what helps us survive.” Her hands finished her words as obviously as her voice did.

Shouts rose in the visitors' gallery. “Look, someone is coming!”

“It is a palace courier,” the maharani said as the messenger galloped up to Amar and handed him a document. He waved to his mother and sent the courier in our direction.

In a few minutes a panting man bowed before us. “Joyous news. The wife of the maharajah has just given birth to a daughter.” The ladies on their elephants applauded.

After a slow descent on the slippery rock trail, we were back in the valley and a safe distance away from where the last captives were being bondaged. I transferred to Dennis Clifford's howdah.

“What will happen now?” I asked the Quilon resident.

“No doubt the maharajah and maharani will return to Trivandrum ahead of their guests.”

“Oh, that is too bad” is what I replied, while I thought: How wonderful! The festivities would continue, but Amar's attentions would no longer intimidate me.

 

Two days after our exhausting journey back to the capital, a messenger arrived at the Orchid House with a letter from the palace. Amar was requesting me to meet him in the elephant stableyard to see how the captives were faring. Jemima, who had not recovered from the ordeal entirely, had been advised to remain in bed. Her husband had returned to Quilon to attend some urgent matter. Other than Yali, there was nobody who could accompany me. I knew I could not refuse Amar's invitation without a good excuse, but I thought if I might find his mother, she once again would be my ally.

I sent a message to the maharani that I would be visiting the stable later that afternoon and wondered if I might stop by to see how she was feeling. The return response was affirmative.

Gardenias and camellias scented her walled garden, where we drank cool fruit drinks from coconut cups. Laughing like old friends, we compared aches and pains from the hard ride home. I shared my concern for Jemima's health and she promised to send her physician over.

“It must be time for me to view the elephants,” I said warily. “Would you care to accompany me?”

“No, thank you. I saw the captives this morning. They are adjusting well.”

“Even that rebellious tusker?”

“He is in a separate enclosure.” Her mouth curved upward without smiling. “In the end, he may turn out to be the finest specimen of the lot.” Her piercing eyes bore into me. “All true princes must have high spirits that resist initial attempts at taming. It will take an experienced mahout to gentle him without ruining his temperament.”

Was this also an explanation for her son's behavior in the camp? If so, who would tame him? Wasn't the Maharani of Travancore supposed to be the wise reins for the impetuous prince? No answers were forthcoming, and I left her presence dreading a reunion with her son.

As my cow-cart entered the stableyard, I noticed that many of the guests of the hunt also had assembled. Once again I had misinterpreted the situation. Amar had not summoned me for a private interlude. My imagination had taken hold because of the repugnant way he had touched me. Perhaps my uneasiness had made me too vigilant. After all, what had Amar ever done but try to please me? Even The scene at the tent could have been innocent. The lonely maharajah said he desired to talk with me. Was it so terrible, that he had wanted to touch my fine hair, which was so different from that of his race? Had my own resistance irked him into behaving as he did? I sighed as I joined the others. Everything was so much more difficult on my own. Surely when Edwin returned, my worries would be set right.

Whereas many of the smaller elephants roamed the pens with loose bindings on their hind legs, the larger tuskers were bound on all four legs, and two large bulls were tethered between trees by neck and leg ropes. Kumkis strode freely through the herd to keep them calm. Mahouts sauntered about, speaking softly to their charges. Keepers offered buckets of
gur
, or raw sugar, to two mothers and youngsters. Even the most reluctant cows found the flavor irresistible.

Up close, the animals were quite distinctive. Their faces ranged from alert to curious to angry to dull. Here and there some troubled types stood off on the side, sullen and depressed. A small sugar-swilling female was quite lively. While she was occupied with her gur bucket, a wizened old mahout climbed up behind her head and gave her a few gentle prods. She flapped her ears, but he was not unseated.

“She'll be the first out on her own,” predicted a knowing voice behind me. “Just like a woman to make the best of a bad situation.”

I turned and smiled at the professor. “Hello. How nice to see you here, Professor Dent.”

“And you, Mrs. Salem. I take it you have quite recovered.”

“I hope so.”

“Well, it shall not be long now before your cure arrives.”

“My cure?”

“Your husband, madam. If my calculations are correct, he should return this week, or the next at the latest.”

“How could you know?”

“I don't. It is an educated guess.”

“Since nobody around here is as educated as you, I certainly hope you are right,” I said, grinning.

The mahouts urged six of the kumkis to the edge of the corral and goaded them to raise their trunks in a royal salute as Amar appeared on the elephant I recognized as his beloved Shankara. She was decked out in a saffron garment with a crimson fringe. Resplendent in a. cream satin tunic with ruby buttons, the maharajah rode around the outer circle greeting his guests.

“In less than a year, almost every one of the newcomers will have mastered more than twenty-five commands and will have become useful citizens of the state,” the professor explained.

“Why do they do it? Why don't they rebel?”

“Elephants are intelligent beasts who find pleasure in service. They receive excellent rations and accommodation, they may live in family groups, they are never mistreated. Where would you prefer to live? Wild in the jungle, where you must forage for your food and fight for survival, or in the comforts of the Orchid House, where servants minister to your every need?”

I was about to say something about the Orchid House being another form of captivity, but I caught myself and replied, “I am not an elephant, thus I cannot speak for them.”

“Indeed you are not!”

The professor and I were laughing the moment Amar approached us. As we greeted him respectfully, I found the sunlight hurt my eyes. I had to shade them as I answered Amar's questions about my health and the welfare of the Cliffords.

Amar signaled his mahout to lift me up into his howdah. “So you won't strain your eyes,” he explained. I wanted to resist, since I did not wish to be singled out in front of this group, but before I managed an excuse, I was atop the elephant. “Now, isn't that better, Sassy? Come, let me show you my favorite acquisition.” We plodded around to the far side of the stables, where the mammoth rogue tusker was bound to the wall with four strands of chains. “He's coming around. Certain herbs are being added to his feed to make him more docile. By next week he'll be hobbled with ropes. We are certain he will respond quite well. The recalcitrant ones who refuse to eat are the ones who may never adjust.”