“The pleasure was truly mine, Your Highness.”
When I was dismissed, I found Gopal and told him to send the gifts to my sister.
“It’ll be more expensive than a letter,” he warned.
“How much more expensive?”
“Two anna.”
I gritted my teeth. “Fine.”
The gifts wouldn’t be the same as having me, but at least Anu would understand that what I was doing, I was doing for her.
Chapter Twelve
When the other Durgavasi returned from visiting their families, my name was on the rani’s lips wherever we went. She asked for me to read to her every night. Sometimes, I read from Shakespeare’s First Folio, other times from Charles Dickens’s latest work, and since we were the only ones who understood English, none of the other women joined us when we laughed or cried. It was just as Sundari had hoped. Kahini’s plan to punish me had worked out in my favor. The rani and I were becoming true friends.
Kahini behaved as if nothing extraordinary was happening. Even when Rajasi made an ugly face in the courtyard after the rani asked me to accompany her to the stables, Kahini remained composed. I thought she had made peace with the changing of the currents. But it wasn’t peace she was making: she was damming the river so that the waters would stop entirely.
“I see you’ve become quite close with the rani,” Jhalkari remarked before bed one evening.
I glanced across the Durgavas to see who might be listening. Most of the other women were asleep.
“She’s very compassionate, and I think sometimes she’s in need of a friend.”
“She’s the rani. She has plenty of friends. But you’re making enemies.”
I sat at the edge of my bed and waited for her to explain.
“Sita, don’t think the other women aren’t jealous.”
“Which other women?”
“All of them!”
“You?”
She didn’t say anything.
“Are you upset that I’ve become closer to the rani?”
“It is petty of me, but it hurts. I thought we were close.”
“Of course we are!”
She shrugged. “Well, my jealousy isn’t dangerous to you. But Kahini’s is.”
Still, it didn’t seem as if Kahini cared. Then, two days before Diwali, our largest, most joyful festival celebrating the return of Lord Rama after his triumph over the demon king Ravana, a physician arrived to check on the rani and her growing child. Since this was a weekly occurrence, there was no reason to suspect that anything out of the ordinary might happen. I was sitting in the queen’s room with the other Durgavasi, when Sundari appeared looking terribly grave.
“There is news from the court physician,” she said.
We were so silent I could hear Moti’s heavy breathing from the other side of the room.
“Two messengers arrived from Bombay, carrying a pestilence. Both men were sick on their arrival, and they died immediately after entering Jhansi. The physician wishes to examine each of you today. If you are ill there will be signs in your throat.”
“If it came from Bombay,” Kahini said, “it must be Dalit’s curse. So many Dalits live—”
“This is not the time,” Sundari warned.
The room settled into tense silence. It was several minutes before the physician arrived. In that time, most of us tried not to breathe. If this new disease began in the throat, then it was obviously borne on the breath as well.
“Namaste, Doctor,” Sundari said.
He was an old man, with hair as thick and white as spun wool. There was an image of Dhanvantari, the physician to the gods, around his neck. We all pressed our hands together in namaste, but the physician made no acknowledgment of our presence. Instead, he said matter-of-factly, “I’d like everyone in this room to stand in a line. When I come to you, open your mouth as widely as you can so I can see to the back.”
Imagine the embarrassment we felt at being asked to do this! Bad enough to stand with your mouth gaping like a washed up fish, but to do it in front of a man . . .
“Fine,” he kept saying as he went down the line. “Fine.” Then, when he came to Jhalkari, he said, “Please stand to the left.”
“Is the rani sick?” Kahini asked when it was her turn.
“No, and her child is well. But anyone with symptoms will be dismissed until they have recovered.”
I had read an account of the black plague, which killed off a third of Europe’s population. What if this was a kind of plague?
The physician came to Moti. “Fine,” he said, and she released a staggered breath. But when he came to me, his forehead crinkled. “Stand to the left, with her.”
My heart thundered in my chest. When the physician was finished, three of us had been separated from the others. Myself, Jhalkari, and Mandar.
“What have you found?” Sundari asked. Her feline eyes darted about the room.
“These three.” The physician shook his head. “Dismiss them for a month—at least.”
Mandar exclaimed, “This is nonsense! Two riders die and suddenly I’m ill? Have we met these men? Did they step foot in the palace?”