Zemindar by Valerie Fitzgerald

Author:Valerie Fitzgerald
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9781781859537
Publisher: Head of Zeus
Published: 2014-09-15T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

We descended another staircase, traversed several cavernous corridors and at last Mr Khan opened a door and ushered us into our apartment, a suite of three lofty rooms, opening one off the other in a line, with, at the end of them, the usual gussulkhana or bathroom.

We were at ground level again, and each of the rooms opened on to a small courtyard completely enclosed by the blank, windowless walls of the house, in the centre of which stood a hideous marble fountain and a couple of lemon trees. There were no doors between the rooms, merely high Moorish archways cut in the walls; chandeliers of great splendour depended from the ceilings of the three large rooms (also candleless, I noticed gloomily) but, apart from these, several fine Persian carpets and a few bolsters, the rooms were empty. Later, three string beds were brought to us and, as a concession to Western habits, three circular cane stools. The rooms were cool, however: huge frilled punkahs flapped dangerously near the chandeliers, operated by coolies sitting on the inner corridor, for I saw the ropes disappear through holes in the walls in that direction. Of course, if this section were truly part of the zenana, no punkah coolie could sit on the ladies’ verandahs, and later, when we had time to examine our surroundings, we noticed that the courtyard could not be overlooked by any curious eyes. We were certainly private, and by the time Wajid Khan, having besought us to make ourselves comfortable and promised us food, had departed, I realized that we were perhaps too private.

We discarded our dirty burqhas, washed and, when the food arrived carried on a huge brass tray by a thin female servant we attacked it with enthusiasm. Then, since it was the very hottest time of the day, we were thankful to lie down on the carpets and sleep until the cool of the evening restored us.

Wajid Khan came at nightfall to assure himself that we were comfortable. He was followed by the same servant girl, bearing a platter of elaborate sweetmeats donated by his wife; but nothing was said of our departure and, after a few moments of polite platitudes and shaky syntax, he left us.

The first two or three days passed quietly and not unpleasantly, despite our anxiety. Charles was inclined to grumble at being confined to the tiny courtyard for his exercise, and Emily discovered bugs in her bed, but I think we were all too worn out, physically and emotionally, to have any urgent appreciation of our position. Each evening Khan came in most punctiliously; and, each evening, he said that he was ‘Still thinking, but tomorrow, undoubtedly tomorrow, something will be occurring to me.’ Apart from him, we saw no one but the servant girl, and morning and evening a sweeper woman who slipped into the courtyard through a small door in the wall to perform her unenviable duties and refill the great earthen jar of water. Twice a

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