She didn’t normally think about such things, but in recent weeks she had never felt so alone in the company of her servants and guardians. Perhaps that was a result of her constant contact with the up-timer woman, Priscilla, and the strange ideas about how a just society worked that seemed to have infected the others from the United States of Europe, but she had felt discontented these last few weeks. It seemed the more power she obtained, the less content she was with the lot that Fate, Father, and God had ordained for her.
The drums in the advance guard changed tempo as one of her servants delivered news of her presence—as if that couldn’t be determined by the size of her escort—to whomever was manning the entrance to Mission House. The drums changed tempo almost as soon as they had slowed, signifying that someone knew their business and was allowing them immediate entry. She heard the mounts of the guards at the head of her party set out but Ran Bagha did not move to follow after the expected interval.
She was about to ask Gopal what was going on when she heard him in a whispered argument with someone standing below and beside Ran Bagha.
Old ears must have prevented Smidha from hearing the whispers, because she loudly questioned Gopal’s fitness to serve when they did not immediately start to move.
“I beg your pardon, Begum Sahib,” the mahout said from his position before the howdah, “but there’s no way we can get your howdah through the gate.”
The look of recrimination Smidha gave her mistress was so expert that despite brimming with unspoken I told you so’s her expression remained entirely bland, even pleasant.
Happy that the afternoon air was relatively cool, Jahanara set about fixing her veil so that she could see for herself what predicament she had thrust upon her servants.
Smidha was far less sanguine and grumbled as she shifted position to help her mistress.
“Begum Sahib, if you’ll give us a few moments we will sort this out,” Damla said. “We had not anticipated the strange construction of this…palace the up-timers have built.”
“I can walk, you know,” Jahanara said, tempted to open the curtains and see for herself what this gate that so delayed them looked like.
“With respect, none has said otherwise, Begum Sahib. I ask your indulgence as I doubt your slippers would survive the experience. There is a great deal of filth and dung in the street outside the gate to Mission House.”
Glad of her veil and that Smidha was behind her, Jahanara scowled.
Damla was being overly familiar but, to be entirely fair, the young guard commander had asked permission to scout the path before they went. Jahanara had refused her, wanting to be spontaneous and surprise the up-timers in their home.
Smidha was being very quiet, which served to annoy Jahanara all the more. Knowing that both activities would prove equally ineffective, she chewed her lower lip instead of barking at her entourage. Then again, barking at her entourage might have been more satisfying, but disgruntled servants rarely served well.
The exceedingly mild afternoon sun managed to slowly warm the howdah as they sat waiting.
Jahanara heard a rapid stream of English she thought might be curses then Damla speaking in a level voice to someone who either spoke very quietly or didn’t speak.
Tired of waiting, Jahanara twitched the curtains aside and looked to the head of her entourage. Even at first glance it was plainly obvious Mission House had not been constructed with elephants in mind: the gate that pierced the wall before them was barely sufficient for a mounted horseman, and would never admit an elephant, let alone one surmounted by howdah. To add insult to injury, the gate was only twenty gaz or so from her elephant, close enough she could see Damla and another of her servants just beyond the gate speaking to the up-timer giant, Rodney. At least, she assumed it was Rodney, as his head was lost to view beyond the lower edge of the gate.
“Begum Sahib, we were just about to arrange for a litter,” one of the new eunuchs promoted to her guard said, trying to be helpful.
“Forget that. Bring me a horse and let’s get this farce done with.”
Smidha tutted.
Frustration getting the better of her, Jahanara turned on her oldest and most trusted advisor. “One word, Smidha, and I will have you clearing the filth from our path home with your bare hands.”
Smidha’s answer was to bow her head in complete and perfect submission, which made Jahanara feel a good deal worse. Taking out her temper upon a servant wasn’t proper, especially when all the servant had done was offer good counsel. Counsel she’d willfully chosen to ignore. Mother had taught her better.
“Forgive me, Smidha. I am anxious to see Atisheh and did not listen to your wise counsel regarding this visit.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Begum Sahib. I felt your impatience, and should have done better to foresee this inconvenience rather than complaining or obstructing your will.”
Jahanara reached out and took one of the older woman’s hands in hers. “Nonetheless, I ask your forgiveness.”
“It is given freely and with a full heart, Begum Sahib.”
Wishing Azar, her pulu pony, was in the procession, Jahanara watched as a tall white Marwari was brought up beside the massive Ran Bagha.
Gopal directed the war elephant to kneel as two strong eunuchs stepped forward to assist Jahanara transition from howdah to horse. The well-trained horse stood still despite the unusual method of mounting, the nearness of the strangers, and the bull elephant casting a baleful eye over the entire process. In an almost laughable display, her drummers at the van struck up again as soon as her posterior touched the saddle.
Once again happy for
