Tea and Spices (An Erotic Novel of Colonial India) (9 page)

 
“I’m sure she’s heard rumors.”

 
“I know. I wonder if she believes them.”

***

CHAPTER FIVE

 
Devora squinted as she gazed at the sun-burnished, stone temple. The surface of the large structure was covered with richly-detailed sculptures, although none with the kind of explicit eroticism that apparently characterized the Khajuraho temples.

The sculptures were chipped and broken, some even appearing to have been vandalized by warring religious factions. They consisted of a multitude of gods and animals, with several large-breasted, female
yakshi
figures. The entire temple had fallen into disrepair, overgrown with weeds and vegetation. Still, it made for a very picturesque vista.

 
This country is like an ancient history book
. Devora wrote the words on a fresh page in her journal.
It’s very mysterious and everything seems alive, as if gods and spirits are embedded so deeply within the fabric of the country that they are a part of daily life. There is holiness, to be sure, but a comforting kind of holiness, one that seems to inspire love rather than fear or simple awe.

 
“Devora, would you like another sandwich?” Louise held out a plate of cucumber sandwiches.

 
Devora looked up from her journal. “Oh, thank you.”

 
She took a sandwich and closed her journal. They had spread a picnic blanket out underneath a tree near the temple, and several of the women had brought more food than they could possibly eat. Their party consisted of about eight people, all of whom were draped lazily over several embroidered, Indian pillows.

 
“What is it you’re writing, Devora?” Reginald Thompson was leaning against the tree trunk, puffing on a pipe. He was a plump, jolly man with a thicket of gray hair and a handlebar mustache that curled at the ends.

 
“Only my journal, that’s all.”

 
“You know, you shouldn’t be alone in your bungalow without Gerald around.”

 
“I’m all right,” Devora replied. “He’s only been gone for a day.”

 
“Perhaps Billy should come and stay with you. He’s our son, you know. Back from a journey to Banares for the week.”

 
“No, that’s really not necessary.” The last thing Devora wanted was another man staying with her. She reached for her bag and took out a pencil. “Besides, it’s giving me time to work.”

 
“On what?”

 
“Some drawings and watercolors.” Devora opened her journal again and sketched the outline of the temple. She would have to return here alone to capture more details, but she was grateful for the opportunity to at least do some sketches.

 
“You’re coming to the cricket match at the club tomorrow, aren’t you?” Mr. Thompson asked.

 
Devora barely suppressed a sigh. “I’ll have to think about it.”

 
“Oh, you must come,” Louise said. Her reddish curls, tossed by the wind, made her look like a blue-eyed doll. “Cricket matches are always so much fun. And there will be a lovely luncheon too, of course.”

 
“Of course.”

 
“Devora, I meant to tell you that I’ll be happy to accompany you ladies to Agra this coming weekend,” Mr. Thompson said. “You’ll love the architecture of the Taj Mahal. One of the few things the Indians have done right.”

 
“I think all of their architecture is beautiful,” Devora said. “And very unique.”

 
“Of course, dear. Just a bit primitive is all. I mean, these people still worship gods in the form of animals, if you can believe that.”

 
Devora leveled a long look at Mr. Thompson. “What’s wrong with that? Many cultures worship animals.”

 
“It’s uncivilized, that’s what’s wrong with it,” Mr. Thompson replied. “Not to mention all of their monstrous gods. Very violent religion, Hinduism. Contains a great deal of blood-shedding.”

 
Devora’s mouth twisted derisively. “Well, Christianity does too. For example, look at the Crusades and the mere idea of nailing a man to a cross.”

 
Louise’s eyes widened in shock. “Devora, there’s no need to be blasphemous.”

 
“I’m not being blasphemous,” Devora protested. “Simply pointing out that Hinduism isn’t the only religion that involves bloodshed. Just because it’s an Indian religion doesn’t make it uncivilized.”

 
“Good God, Devora, you’re turning into a Indian sympathizer, are you?” Mr. Thompson said. His mustache quivered slightly. “If they’re so civilized, then why do they need the British presence to keep things in order? If it weren’t for us, they would be in total chaos.”

 
“They managed fine without us for hundreds of years,” Devora murmured.

 
“You’re an impertinent young woman, did you know that?” Mr. Thompson sniffed. “I really can’t believe that Gerald has left you alone.”

 
“I’ll be fine, thank you. And Gerald appreciates the fact that I have opinions about things.” Devora didn’t exactly believe her own words, but she didn’t want Mr. Thompson to think her marriage was a conflicting one.

 
“That doesn’t mean you should be criticizing the British presence here,” Mr. Thompson retorted. “Dissent in our own ranks, even from a woman, is the last thing we need.”

 
“That’s quite true, Devora,” Louise agreed. “We must be loyal empire-builders.”

 
Devora turned her attention back to the crumbling temple. A bird alighted on one of the outstretched arms of a sculpture.

 
“I do understand that, but don’t you think it would behoove us to learn something about Indian culture?” she asked.

 
“Frankly, some of these curries are about all the Indian culture I can handle,” Mr. Thompson replied.

 
“How long have you been here, Mr. Thompson?”

 
Mr. Thompson blew out a puff of smoke. “Nearly ten years now. I’ve put in for a transfer back to England, but it’s been refused. Looks like they need as many of us on the civil lines as they can get.”

“Why?” Devora asked. “Have there been threats of revolt?”

 
“There are always threats of revolt,” Mr. Thompson said. “Ever since the Sepoy Mutiny, we have to keep an eye out for violence. There are also a number of gangs who run about looking for trouble. This is what I’m talking about when I tell you the Indians are uncivilized.”

 
Devora didn’t even bother to argue the point, knowing that Mr. Thompson’s opinions were unchangeable, no matter how irrational they were. “What does the maharaja have to say about that?”

 
Mr. Thompson snorted. “Say about that? I suspect he’s funding them.”

 
Devora’s eyebrows lifted. “Funding the gangs? Whatever for?”

 
“To cause trouble, of course. The maharaja would love to see the British ousted from India.”

 
“I thought he wanted to keep relations positive.”

“That’s what he says,” Mr. Thompson replied. “What he does is, I believe, an entirely different matter.”

 
“Then why does he even bother inviting us to dinner and the like?”

 
“To put up a cooperative front,” Mr. Thompson said. “But he doesn’t trust us, and we don’t trust him.”

 
Devora didn’t find his words terribly difficult to believe. She was, however, surprised that she found the idea of a rebelling maharaja more intriguing than worrisome.

 
“Kalindi, would you keep this place dusted, please?” Devora drew her finger over the sideboard and held it up coated with dust. “This is unacceptable.”

 
“My apologies,
memsahib
. I am telling Lota to dust while I prepare dinner.”

“Please do.” Devora stalked out of the bungalow onto the back veranda, where Rohan sat writing a shopping list. He stood immediately when Devora stepped onto the veranda.

 
“
Memsahib
.”

 
“Kalindi is failing to carry out her duties,” Devora said icily, crossing her arms over her chest. “Simply because the
sahib
isn’t here is no reason to stop working. I intend to keep this place in order.”

 
“Of course. I’ll speak to Kalindi straight away.”

 
“Please do. And I want you to trim these hedges.” Devora waved her hand towards the abundant junipers growing by the veranda railing. “Do that by the end of the day, please.”

 
“Yes,
memsahib
.” Rohan turned, glancing towards the road that led to the front of the house. “I believe you have a visitor.”

 
Devora followed his line of vision to the sleek, black car speeding up the road. She frowned. “Whose car is that? I don’t think I recognize it.”

 
Rohan stepped off the veranda and walked around to the front of the house. Curious, Devora went after him. They both paused to watch the car pull up near the steps and come to a halt. A driver dressed in a pristine, white turban and a silk jacket got out of the car to open the back door.

 
To Devora’s shock, the maharaja himself emerged from the vehicle. Dressed in a dark blue, embroidered
kurta
and
jamas
, he fairly exuded regality. Devora stared at him, wondering what on earth he was doing here.

 
“Ah, my dear Mrs. Hawthorne.” The maharaja approached Devora with his arms outstretched and a smile on his face. “How delightful to see you.”

 
“Thank you, sir,” Devora replied. She nodded in greeting, painfully conscious of Rohan’s presence beside her. “To what do I owe the honor of your presence?”

 
“I’ve heard that your husband is away, and I simply cannot stand the idea of you being alone here,” the maharaja replied. “I came to see if you needed anything or if I could be of any service whatsoever.”

 
“Thank you, but I’m fine,” Devora said. “May I offer you a cup of tea?”

 
“I would be delighted.”

 
Devora looked at Rohan, who was already heading back inside to start the tea. She led the maharaja inside, silently cursing Kalindi for not having cleaned the place thoroughly this morning. Still, she was pleased when the maharaja commented on the tastefulness of the decor.

 
“Please, my dear, you must not hesitate to call upon me if you require anything while your husband is away,” the maharaja said as he settled onto the sofa. “I am at your service.”

 
“Thank you very much, but Gerald will be away only for a short time. I’m quite fine, really.” Devora perched on the edge of a chair, somewhat nervous at suddenly having this man in her house. “You didn’t have to come all this way just to check on me.”

 
“I also came to see if you will do me the extreme pleasure of having lunch at my palace tomorrow afternoon.”

 
“Oh.” Devora was taken aback. “Lunch?”

 
The maharaja chuckled. “Yes. I would be greatly honored. I can send a car to pick you up around noon, if that would be suitable.”

 
Devora had a feeling that the answer no would simply not be acceptable. One didn’t say no to a maharaja. Not that she had any intention of doing so.

 
“I’m flattered, sir. I would love to have lunch with you tomorrow.”

 
“Good.”

 
Rohan appeared with a tea tray, glancing once at Devora before pouring tea for them.

 
“Rohan, I’ll be lunching with the maharaja tomorrow,” Devora said. “Please cancel my plans for the day.”

 
She knew perfectly well that she had nothing scheduled for tomorrow, but it wouldn’t hurt if the maharaja thought she would cancel plans to have lunch with him.

 
Rohan nodded. “Yes,
memsahib
.”

 
Devora settled back in her chair and sipped her tea. “I greatly enjoyed your dinner party the other night.”

 
“Thank you. I enjoyed your company. And how do you find India?”

 
“As you know, I’m very intrigued by it. I think it’s fascinating.”

 
“And have you been sightseeing yet?”

 
Devora shook her head. “Not really. Gerald hasn’t been able to take me because he’s working constantly, and most of the British people prefer to have cricket games. We were thinking of taking a trip to Agra, but I’m afraid I’m at the mercy of other people.”