Dishonored (17 page)

“Ramesh, I wanted to speak to you this morning,” Shiva said, placing the last paper in the file, “because I have something
that I want you to do.” He looked up at his grandson. “Your excellent English will be most beneficial.” The sarcasm in his
voice was humorless and Rami turned away for as long as he dared to cover his exasperation. His spirits sank.

“The maharajah has some guests arriving at the palace bungalow this afternoon, Ramesh, an English couple, Major and Mrs. Mills.”
Rami turned back. “The maharajah decided earlier this year that he needed some professional advice on the security arrangements
for his wedding. He contacted the Duke of Cumberland who sent out Major Mills, his personal equerry.”

“That’s right! Viki said something about it the other day, he—” Rami stopped as Shiva raised an eyebrow. The royal family
were always addressed by their titles not their first names; Shiva disapproved strongly of overfamiliarization.

“The maharajah said that Major Mills is bringing back his new wife. Is that right?”

“Yes, that is quite correct” Shiva smiled. “And that is where I would like your assistance, Ramesh.”

“I’m sorry?” Rami watched Shiva’s face; it was cold and impassive. He had no idea of what was going on in his grandfather’s
mind.

“I would like you to offer your friendship and hospitality to Mrs. Mills for a few weeks, look after her, Ramesh. She will
be at odds in a new country and will probably feel homesick. You can show her the city, entertain her, relieve her boredom
to some degree.” Shiva faced his grandson. “Is there something the matter with this?”

Rami was silent. He averted his gaze but kept his face respectfully toward his grandfather. There was a great deal the matter
with this. He had been expecting to be given a real job, to be included in the business, not asked to be nursemaid to an Englishwoman.
Rami could feel his grandfather’s impatience, the force of Shiva’s irritation made him reticent to say anything, but his disappointment
fueled him. He had been independent for a long time now, it was difficult to suddenly take on the mantle of his grandfather’s
wishes.

“Is this not a thing that my sister could do, Dadaji?”

Shiva uncrossed his legs and stood, walking away to the window to show his dissatisfaction. “I am sorry. Do you have a problem
with this, Ramesh? It is not suitable for your sister to do, it is what I want you to do, therefore I have asked you.”

“Yes I know, but I had thought…” Rami stopped. He was talking to Shiva’s back and suddenly felt deflated. He may have
lived in England, be qualified in English law, but he was still an Indian son; it was a question of respect. “I will visit
these people tomorrow,” Rami said quietly.

Shiva turned and smiled for only the second time at his grandson. “Good, it is settled then.” He came back to the divan. “I
think that is all for now, Ramesh,” he said. Rami stood; he had been dismissed.

“Will you be in for dinner, Grandfather?”

Shiva walked across to the desk and glanced down at his diary, open at the day’s page and marked with a slither of silk. “No,
not tonight, Ramesh, I have an appointment. But tomorrow.” He looked up. “I will be here tomorrow night and you must invite
the Mills for drinks at the club, as our guests.”

“Yes, fine.” There was never any time for the family, always meetings, appointments, drinks with guests. Rami folded his palms
before turning toward the door. “
Namaste,
Dadaji,” he bowed his head and walked across the room.

“Ramesh?”

Rami glanced back.

“Your father would have been proud of you,” Shiva said.

“Thank you.” Once more he bowed and then silently he left the room. My father would have been proud, Rami thought, but never
you, and, removing his tie along with his jacket, he went in search of his mother and the easy, idle chatter of his sisters.

Phillip had hold of Jane’s arm as he steered her aggressively through the crowd. He was hot, confused and very irritated.
He gripped her elbow, his fingers pinching her bare skin, and she clutched her handbag tightly to her chest as he’d told her
to do, looking from right to left, mesmerized by the noise, the animation and color of India. She wasn’t watching where she
was going.

“Mind your step, Jane!” Phillip tripped badly behind her and swore at a small group of men squatting on the ground, still
pinching her elbow. “Bloody place! Jesus!” Again, he stumbled and yanked on Jane’s arm as he did so. “Christ! These bloody
people! It’s a bloody madhouse! Where the hell is that man from the palace? The maharajah…”

“Major Mills! Major Mills!”

Phillip stopped and put his hand up to his eyes. He was sweating profusely and the underarm of his shirt was saturated. He
had begun to smell. “Did you hear that Jane? Where…?”

“Please! Major Mills! Over here!”

It was the final leg of their journey and they were changing platforms for the last train that day to Baijur. Phillip darted
his eyes over the station, heaving with bodies, bicycles, baggage, live chickens and hens in baskets, produce, great sacks
of grain and boxes of vegetables and saw, much to his amazement, an elderly Indian gentleman dressed in a baggy cream linen
suit standing three feet above all of this on a pile of boxes stacked up on top of each other and about to topple. He waved
his arms about frantically and as soon as Phillip spotted him, he threw his own arms up in the air and shouted, “We’re over
here!” He shut his eyes and waited for the crash but nothing came. “This way, Janey!” he said with relief, and wiped his face
with his handkerchief. “Not before time.” He took her arm again. “You’ll have to get used to this.” He steered her once more
through the throng of people as she smiled back at the mass of Indian faces grinning at her. “This is India,” he finished
crossly although she couldn’t really see what all his fuss was about. “Nothing ever goes right.”

“Oh my God! Major Mills Sahib! Oh thank God for that! And Mrs. Mills! Oh what relief! I have been looking for the last hour
and was thinking that I had lost you both!” The small Indian reached them, smiling and wringing his hands, and had said all
this before he actually stopped. He took off a battered old panama with the Ghurka colors on the band. “This is a great pleasure,
Mrs. Mills, Major Sahib. Dr. Bodi Yadav, at your great service.” Then he folded his palms together and bowed his head.

Jane smiled, her widest and most spontaneous smile, and held out her hand. “How lovely to meet you, Dr. Yadav.”

“Oh, madam, a pleasure to meet you as well!”

Phillip looked on, keeping his own hand by his side; he never shook with the natives if he could help it.

“I have a porter, Major Sahib, over here. Please, this way. Your baggage? It is with the station master?”

“No, it’s with a porter on the platform that we came in on. I was trying to locate someone before we moved it. You can go
back for it when we get to the train.”

Jane winced. She saw Dr. Yadav flare his nostrils but he kept his face indifferent. She had never seen Phillip behave like
this. It must be the heat, she thought, removing his hand from her elbow, and the travel, he was tired, exhausted probably.

They followed the Indian across the station, up a flight of steps and on to a rickety ironwork bridge that swung as they crossed
it. They walked over to the other platform, Jane noticing that few Indians did the same, most preferring to take the easy
route across the rails and up onto the train. They walked the length of the locomotive to the end, to the last carriage where
already a small crowd had formed expecting to see someone important.

“We have taken the whole carriage,” Doctor Yadav said, as the door was opened for them, “so that you will not be bothered.”

Phillip nodded and made way for Jane to climb on board, but she hung back for a few moments. “You go on, Phillip,” she said,
glancing up at the pristine first-class carriage, “I’ll follow in a few moments.” Phillip raised an eyebrow and Jane saw a
distinct flash of irritation cross his face but she ignored it. She wanted to look back at the train already laden with people
and what looked like the entire contents of their lives, she wanted a couple of minutes to enjoy the wonderful chaos of the
station, the noise, the colors, the smells. She noticed Dr. Yadav on her right and said, “It seems like the whole of India
is traveling from this station.”

He smiled. “Wherever you go in this country it feels like that. You always have the whole of India with you.” Then he laughed,
a short, round chuckle, and Jane knew that she liked him. “Most Europeans are hating it,” he said. “What do you think, Mrs.
Mills?”

“Me?” Jane turned away from the noise, from the people crowding into carriages, squeezing in baskets with chickens squawking
and passing up shouting, wriggling children. “I think it’s wonderful,” she answered, “But for God’s sake don’t ask me why.”
They both smiled.

“Shall we?” He motioned for her to climb into the carriage.

“The luggage?”

“It is taken care of.”

“But?” Jane hadn’t even seen him look away for a moment, how on earth had he organized the luggage? She turned to him, puzzled,
but he simply smiled and tipped his hat.

“After you, Mrs. Mills, please.”

Jane climbed up the three steps and went on into the carriage where Phillip had already seated himself and was reading a three-day-old
copy of
The Times.
“Ah, Jane!” He glanced at her over the top of the paper. “All right?”

“Yes, thank you, Phillip.” She sat down, placing her bag on the floor and looked behind her at Dr. Yadav. “What time does
the train pull out?”

The doctor felt in his top pocket and pulled on his gold watch chain, lifting a large round watch from his waistcoat “Ten
minutes ago,” he said, perfectly seriously.

Jane laughed. She leaned her head forward to the window, straining to see out then said, “Does this open?”

“Yes, please, allow me, Mrs. Mills.”

“Oh, thank you.” Jane moved back while Dr. Yadav yanked the window down, letting in a rush of warm air and the noise and smell
of the station. Phillip tutted and lowered
The Times
. “Janey, really!”

“Sorry, Phillip.” Jane went to lift the window again but couldn’t. “Oh dear, it appears to be stuck.”

“Typical! Dr. Yadav? Would you be so kind as to help my wife.”

Jane flushed but Dr. Yadav ignored Phillip’s tone and stepped forward a second time. “Please move to the side, Mrs. Mills.”
He placed both hands on the window lever ready to tug. “Goodness me! It is a very stubborn thing, oh dear…” He lost his
balance momentarily as the train jerked into life, then all of a sudden fell backward into Jane. “Oh goodness! Mrs. Mills,
please, oh my God! Are you all right, dear lady?”

Jane managed to right them both, holding the profoundly apologetic Dr. Yadav from the back in a sort of bear hug. She started
to laugh. “Yes I’m fine. Hey, the train’s moving, isn’t it?”

“Yes, here, please to have a look!” The doctor moved away and Jane hurried forward, sticking her head out of the window. She
stared behind her at the rest of the train, packed with bodies hanging on to the doors, sitting on the roof, leaning out of
windows and all waving, smiling and shouting as the train left the station. “My God! It’s…” Jane darted her head back
in again, her face already dotted with grit. “Phillip! Come and look at this! I’ve never seen anything like it!”

But Phillip really was too tired. He lifted his paper and ignored his wife’s behavior. Jane sighed and went back to the sight,
waving herself at the people behind her. She hung out of the window for several kilometers down the track, waving both arms
and smiling and finally came back into the carriage some way away from the station. Her face was streaked and smeared with
dirt and grime.

“Oh Lord, Janey!” Phillip let out an exasperated sigh, then attempted to cover his irritation with a smile. “Here!” He handed
her his handkerchief and she took it, spitting on it and then wiping her face. She saw Dr. Yadav suppress a smile.

“Dr. Yadav, is there a bathroom that I could use?”

“Yes, certainly. Please, Mrs. Mills, please to be calling me Bodi, that is my first name.”

“Thank you, Bodi!” Jane flicked a look at Phillip and saw that he’d gone back to his paper. For the first time since she had
met him, Jane experienced the slightest feeling of exasperation at Phillip. She decided to put it behind her. “And you must
call me Jane,” she replied to Bodi and saw the irritated rustle of
The Times
to note Phillip’s disapproval.

It was a glorious morning, hot and fragrant with a cool breeze rustling the leaves on the flame trees every now and then and
the sun dancing on the sprays of water from the fountains, sending up a rainbow of colors into the air. Jasmine scented the
wind and rose petals were scattered over the grass. It was a rich, perfumed and gold-spun Indian day.

Jane woke early. She lifted the gauze of the mosquito net and climbed out of bed, walking barefoot to the carved sandalwood
shutters that were closed over the French doors. She folded them back and stood in the brilliant sunlight, looking out over
the white marbled terrace to the palace gardens beyond, to the sprays of the fountains just visible in the distance, sending
jets of water high up into the azure blue sky. She rubbed her eyes, pulled on her robe and opened the doors, then she stepped
out into the morning and smiled; she had never seen anything so beautiful.

“Good morning, Jane.”

She started and looked to the right. Phillip was lounging on a cane sofa in riding breeches and a shirt, drinking tea. He
stood and came across to her, lightly kissing her cheek. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you, I did.” Phillip had decided on separate bedrooms. Jane had been disappointed but he had managed to convince
her. He would be working long hours, he said, and with the unbearable heat, his difficulty sleeping and his snoring, he thought
it was better all round to sleep separately, just sleep, of course. In the end he had convinced her; she was still disillusioned
though.