Read Online The World Beyond by Sangeeta Bhargava - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sangeeta Bhargava
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‘For heaven’s sake, no. Pray, whatever gave you the idea?’ replied Rachael.
The young man looked at the prince then cleared his throat. ‘Well, the first time we saw you, you were in a burqa, the second time you were in a dress and now … or perhaps you work for a costume company?’
Laughing, Rachael picked up her stick and began making patterns on the ground with it.
‘Myself called Ahmed,’ the rotund young man continued. He touched his cap lightly as Rachael nodded her head. ‘I hope everything’s all right?’ he asked.
‘How could any—’ Rachael was about to hurl a tirade of abuse at the prince, but stopped short. She gathered her hair and twisted it into a knot at the top of her head. Turning to the prince she asked, ‘Are the nabob’s hunting parties similar to this?’
‘Not at all,’ the prince replied. ‘This was an emergency hunt. No frills. You ought to have seen Nawab Asaf-ud-Daula’s hunting parties. He was the ….’ The prince paused and rubbed his chin. ‘Yes, he was the fourth nawab of Avadh. His hunting parties had no fewer than eight hundred elephants. One elephant was used simply for carrying all his rifles. There’d be dancing girls, singers, musicians and hawkers selling all kinds of wares. It looked more like a caravan than a hunting party.’
‘And Nabob Wajid Ali Shah’s?’ asked Rachael.
‘He’s not keen on hunting … It’s no longer what it used to be. Anyway, breakfast will be served soon. Do let me know if you need anything,’ said the prince.
Then the two men touched their caps slightly, bowed and left.
Rachael thanked the servant and sat down on the rug spread out for her. She swallowed as she looked at the breakfast spread before her. She had never imagined breakfast to be so lavish, and that, too, in the forest. There were cakes, biscuits, fried fish, boiled fish, different types of curry, parathas, rogni rotis, pickled salmon, sausages, tea, coffee, wine. This was a feast! She felt full just looking at it.
The servants were fussing over the prince. They called him Chote Nawab. She wondered what it meant. He smiled at her as he took a bite of the rogni roti.
‘What took you to Chowk the other day?’ he asked.
‘How can you be so sure it was me?’
The prince looked her straight in the eye, then glanced at her hands and replied quietly, ‘I’m sure!’
Rachael pecked at her paratha, wiped her lips with the serviette then answered, ‘I’d gone to ask Bade Miyan whether he knows someone who can teach me Hindustani music.’
‘You want to learn Hindustani music? Why?’
‘Because … I don’t know. I suppose because I love it.’
She shifted uncomfortably and wished he would not stare at her like that.
He collected himself and, looking at his food, said, ‘I could teach you.’
‘You could? But where?’
‘At my palace, of course.’
‘Father would never give me his permission.’
‘I will teach you on one condition.’
‘What?’ Rachael asked suspiciously.
‘That you teach me how to play the piano.’ His face was serious as he spoke. But his smouldering eyes – they were teasing her, baiting her, goading her to accept the challenge.
A couple of hours had elapsed since Rachael had finished her breakfast. Although it was mid morning, it felt like dawn, as the trees shut out most of the sunlight. Rachael watched with interest as the men tied the tigress to either ends of the pole. It was such a beautiful creature. Even in death it looked regal and awe-inspiring. Once the tiger had been secured and lifted onto the shoulders of six sturdy men, the party was ready to move back to Lucknow.
She smiled as a servant trotted up to her with a horse. So Chestnut had been found. She patted her horse lovingly and thanked the servant. As she mounted Chestnut, she glanced at the prince. He was explaining something to the man who rode right in front. Perhaps explaining a shorter way to reach Lucknow, she hoped. Even though it
‘For heaven’s sake, no. Pray, whatever gave you the idea?’ replied Rachael.
The young man looked at the prince then cleared his throat. ‘Well, the first time we saw you, you were in a burqa, the second time you were in a dress and now … or perhaps you work for a costume company?’
Laughing, Rachael picked up her stick and began making patterns on the ground with it.
‘Myself called Ahmed,’ the rotund young man continued. He touched his cap lightly as Rachael nodded her head. ‘I hope everything’s all right?’ he asked.
‘How could any—’ Rachael was about to hurl a tirade of abuse at the prince, but stopped short. She gathered her hair and twisted it into a knot at the top of her head. Turning to the prince she asked, ‘Are the nabob’s hunting parties similar to this?’
‘Not at all,’ the prince replied. ‘This was an emergency hunt. No frills. You ought to have seen Nawab Asaf-ud-Daula’s hunting parties. He was the ….’ The prince paused and rubbed his chin. ‘Yes, he was the fourth nawab of Avadh. His hunting parties had no fewer than eight hundred elephants. One elephant was used simply for carrying all his rifles. There’d be dancing girls, singers, musicians and hawkers selling all kinds of wares. It looked more like a caravan than a hunting party.’
‘And Nabob Wajid Ali Shah’s?’ asked Rachael.
‘He’s not keen on hunting … It’s no longer what it used to be. Anyway, breakfast will be served soon. Do let me know if you need anything,’ said the prince.
Then the two men touched their caps slightly, bowed and left.
Rachael thanked the servant and sat down on the rug spread out for her. She swallowed as she looked at the breakfast spread before her. She had never imagined breakfast to be so lavish, and that, too, in the forest. There were cakes, biscuits, fried fish, boiled fish, different types of curry, parathas, rogni rotis, pickled salmon, sausages, tea, coffee, wine. This was a feast! She felt full just looking at it.
The servants were fussing over the prince. They called him Chote Nawab. She wondered what it meant. He smiled at her as he took a bite of the rogni roti.
‘What took you to Chowk the other day?’ he asked.
‘How can you be so sure it was me?’
The prince looked her straight in the eye, then glanced at her hands and replied quietly, ‘I’m sure!’
Rachael pecked at her paratha, wiped her lips with the serviette then answered, ‘I’d gone to ask Bade Miyan whether he knows someone who can teach me Hindustani music.’
‘You want to learn Hindustani music? Why?’
‘Because … I don’t know. I suppose because I love it.’
She shifted uncomfortably and wished he would not stare at her like that.
He collected himself and, looking at his food, said, ‘I could teach you.’
‘You could? But where?’
‘At my palace, of course.’
‘Father would never give me his permission.’
‘I will teach you on one condition.’
‘What?’ Rachael asked suspiciously.
‘That you teach me how to play the piano.’ His face was serious as he spoke. But his smouldering eyes – they were teasing her, baiting her, goading her to accept the challenge.
A couple of hours had elapsed since Rachael had finished her breakfast. Although it was mid morning, it felt like dawn, as the trees shut out most of the sunlight. Rachael watched with interest as the men tied the tigress to either ends of the pole. It was such a beautiful creature. Even in death it looked regal and awe-inspiring. Once the tiger had been secured and lifted onto the shoulders of six sturdy men, the party was ready to move back to Lucknow.
She smiled as a servant trotted up to her with a horse. So Chestnut had been found. She patted her horse lovingly and thanked the servant. As she mounted Chestnut, she glanced at the prince. He was explaining something to the man who rode right in front. Perhaps explaining a shorter way to reach Lucknow, she hoped. Even though it
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