She had the first gift she had prayed for: her son saved.
The second heavenly gift was the removal of the twin poisons from the palace, the dowager maharani and Aditya.
But this third gift—to become the one to take charge in Satapur?
That she had not expected.
Perveen Mistry had spent many afternoons talking with her, first explaining the decision of the Kolhapur Agency in her favor and then going into the various roles of a regent.
But the Satapur train was her own grand idea. With regular trains, newspapers could come to Satapur every day. Just as people could leave to find work in the city, and businessmen could come in and start to build the schools and shops her husband had always spoken of. But she would take the train’s maiden voyage home to Satapur.
While she waited on the platform, she sat on a fine cane chair with Chitra standing nearby, shielding her from the sun with a parasol. The parasol was a nod to propriety, because she had not wanted to wait indoors.
On the other side of the track, she saw a small crowd waiting to board the train to Bombay. A number of the people, especially the English, were gawking at her. At first she felt uncomfortable, remembering all that had been said to her about keeping pure through purdah. But then she thought about how they liked to see their own royalty so much. So she gave a small wave.
The applause and cheering told her the people did know who she was—and that they knew the Kolhapur Agency had decided to appoint her as regent. Two days ago, she’d seen Jiva Rao happily settled in Gwalior, and Padmabai was going to attend the same girls’ school she had loved so much. It would be better for both of her children to have the attention of good teachers and friends their age. That was how she’d felt when her husband was alive, and it was now even more true, because she’d have scant time for anything other than governing. But she would not compromise on her morning horse rides; those would continue as a necessity. Riding had pulled her from depression before, and she knew that surveying her state on horseback would settle her before the difficult decisions of each day.
Across the platforms, a familiar figure with a specially draped sari caught her eye. Mirabai raised her lorgnette and saw it was indeed Perveen, who was reaching into her briefcase for something or other. The woman was entirely too consumed with papers, Mirabai thought with affection. Then a new figure swam into her gaze—a tall foreigner with a slight limp.
Mirabai recognized him as Colin Sandringham, the Englishman who was the political agent for Satapur. He had met with her several times, and after they had both overcome the awkwardness, she had wound up talking with him for two hours about the things that she wished for Satapur. Some of these ideas would be shared with the Kolhapur Agency. But not all. It was better that way, he’d said.
Now she looked at Perveen, who was putting a paper in Colin’s hand, which he examined and tucked into his jacket’s breast pocket. Mirabai could tell from the way that Colin’s face was turned toward Perveen that he was talking about something quite serious. Perveen listened but had her body half-turned away, as if she didn’t want to hear.
What were they talking about? Surely nothing to do with the Satapur crown. That was all settled.
And then Mirabai understood. They were having trouble saying goodbye to each other. He was English, she was Indian, and of course they could not be together; but in some way, they had bridged that impassable river.
“Your Highness, the train is due in five minutes,” said Archana. “Whom do you wish to ride with you in your car?”
“Swagata and Chitra,” Mirabai said, enjoying the shock that creased the noblewoman’s smooth brow. But why shouldn’t she spend the ride ensconced with the two women she trusted most at the palace? They were going to help her plan a large party, just like in the old days. It would be as good as a coronation.
The Bombay Mail arrived with a large clatter and blocked her view of Perveen. The train stood for five minutes. As it pulled away, she saw that Colin Sandringham was still on the platform. His eyes followed the train until it was completely out of view.
But all was not lost, Mirabai thought with a smile.
Colin Sandringham was duty-bound to attend her party.
And she would add one more name—Perveen Mistry, Esquire—to the invitation list.
Glossary
Aai: mother
Avestan: the language of Zoroastrian scripture
Ayah: child’s nanny or maidservant to a woman
Ayurveda: systems of plant- and animal-based medical treatment and disease prevention
Bandar: monkey
Beater: someone who drives animals from hiding for a hunter
Brahmin: the highest caste in Hinduism, that of priests and their families
Datura: genus of nine species of poisonous, night-blooming plants in solanaceae family
Dharma: behavior and conduct for the right way of living
Dravidian: relating to a family of languages spoken in southern India and Sri Lanka, or the peoples who speak them
Durbar: gathering of nobles within a royal palace
Durwan: guard
Gaddi: throne
Gandhiji: respectful term for Mohandes Gandhi
Gara: heavily embroidered silk-satin sari; the embroidery is usually done in China or Gujarat, and these saris are historically favored by Parsi women
Jali: decorative wall meant to provide privacy and limited observation, usually in zenanas
Kande Pohe: popular breakfast dish in Western India featuring beaten rice, onion, and spices
Karma: the result of one’s behaviors
Kolhapur Agency: British colonial government’s grouping of 25 princely and feudal states in Western India that later became known as the Deccan States Agency
Kumar: prince
Kusti: Zoroastrian’s sacred cord that is worn wrapped around waist
Kurta pajama: man’s clothing of tunic top and coordinating drawstring-waist trousers
Lathi: stick used for fighting
Lungi: male garment; a rectangular cloth worn around the lower torso
Mahābhārata: epic story of the Bhārata dynasty to be read after the Rāmāyana
Maharaja: ruler of a Hindu state or kingdom
Maharani: mother or wife or daughter of a ruler
Maratha Empire: Western India’s warrior clans who defeated the Mughal rulers and dominated much of the Indian subcontinent from 1674 to 1818
Marathi: language spoken by Maratha people
Memsahib: polite address form for a woman of upper class, mostly for Europeans, but also for wealthy Indians
Mitha paan: sweet and sharp-tasting betel leaf delicacy
Mofussil: rural area
Monsoon: rainy season lasting several months
Pagri: turban
Parsi: Indian-born follower of the Zoroastrian faith
Poona: important town in British India
Puja: worship celebration
Purdah: a style of living in some orthodox and Muslim and Hindu homes where the women and children stay in a separate section. Women in purdah can visit with other females but they do not show their faces to men outside the family
Rajkumari, Kumari: princess
Rajmata: mother of the ruler
Rāmāyana: ancient epic poem that tells the story of Prince Rama, his wife Sita, and the demon king Ravana
Choti-Rani: a maharani married to a maharaja who lives in a household where there is already a rajmata
Roti: whole-wheat bread cooked on a griddle; its plural is rotis
n Ghats
Sardarji: respectful term for a Sikh gentleman
Satapur: fictional princely state within the Kolhapur Agency
Sherwani: fancy long coat with a banded collar worn by men
Susu: urination
Wagh: another name for “tiger”
Yerda: idiot or fool
Zenana: section of a home designated for women only
Acknowledgments
The Satapur Moonstone is set in a fictitious state within the actual Kolhapur Agency, an administrative group run by British India that oversaw the life of royals in many small princely states in Western India. Although Satapur is a pretend place, my aim was to present a realistic portrayal of royal life in pre-independence India. This would be an impossible task were it not for the assistance of scholars, friends, colleagues, and family in the United States and India.
Firstly, I want to thank Amrita Gandhi of New Delhi; Madhu Kumari Rathore, and her daughter and granddaughter, Suneeta and Shalini Rana, of Falls Church, Virginia; and Nigel Sequeira of Baltimore, Maryland, for sharing knowledge and their connections with some of India’s royal families. I continue to appreciate the insights of legal historian Mitra Sharafi; Jehangir Patel, editor of Parsiana; Perzen Patel of bawibride.com; and Farida Guzdar, a Parsi friend nearby.
Kudos to my trustworthy driver, Namdev Shinde, who safely transported me via car and horse to Matheran, Lonavala, and Khandala in the Sahyadri Mountains. I also appreciate Manjiri Prabhu for introducing me to her beautiful and culturally rich hometown, Pune, and connecting me with India’s writing community.
Vicky Bijur, my longtime agent, has my eternal gratitude for encouraging me to write the Perveen Mistry series and bringing it to its main home at Soho Press and overseas to India, Italy, Finland, Korea and perhaps even more. Anyone who has worked with Juliet Grames knows that having her as an editor is like having an inspired and protective angel by your side. I am indebted to Juliet, Bronwen Hruska, Paul Oliver, Monica White, Rudy Martinez, Rachel Kowal, and the rest of the gang at Soho Press, as well as the committed, energetic Penguin Random House team who convinced booksellers to take a chance on Perveen.
I am thankful for Ambar Saihil Chatterjee, my editor and dear friend at Penguin Random House India, as well as his colleagues in publicity, Varun Tanwar and Smit Zhaveri.
Every Perveen Mistry book starts with historical research, and I was fascinated by several memoirs from bygone days: Cornelia Sorabji’s India Recalled; The Hill of Devi by E. M. Forster; and The Autobiography of an Indian Princess by Sunity Devee, Maharani of Cooch Behar. I learned about the management of India’s kingdoms by the Indian Civil Service in Princely India and the British: Political Development and the Operation of Empire by Caroline Keen. A fascinating look at the personal histories of several pioneering princesses can be found in Maharanis by Lucy Moore. The Raj on the Move: Story of the Dak Bungalow, by Rajika Bhandari, helped me imagine the circuit house down to the ten versions of chicken. I continue benefiting from the kind assistance of David Faust, librarian for South Asia and Middle East Studies at the University of Minnesota.
As always, my family in India and the United States have helped me make a road map of how and where to search in India for the missing pieces in my stories. From the bottom of my heart, I thank the Banerjees, Parekhs, and Parikhs for the contributions you have made to my writing over the last decades. There are many of you—and you know who you are! Last but not least, to my nuclear family, Tony, Pia, and Neel, I love you all so much and am grateful to you for pulling together and walking the dogs while I’m on the mean streets of Bombay with Perveen.
I welcome conversations with readers about India. Send me a message by visiting http://sujatamassey.com or by sharing your thoughts in the public comments on my Sujata Massey Author Facebook page. To find out when I am running special promotions or touring in your area, sign up for my occasional letter delivered straight to your inbox at http: sujatamassey.com/newsletter.