Page 41 of The Henna Artist

When I felt her arms go limp, I hazarded a look at Her Highness. She had fallen asleep. It wouldn’t last, but, for the first visit, this was as much as she could handle.

When I’d gathered my supplies, an attendant escorted me through another set of hallways to a room made of glass and filled entirely with orchids. The air was humid here, the temperature much warmer than the air-conditioned palace. I felt a fine layer of sweat gathering above my upper lip.

With a tiny pair of silver scissors, the elder maharani was trimming dead leaves from a plant. Half-moons of sweat stained the underarms of her silk blouse.

Without turning, the Maharani Indira said, “The sooner Latika recovers, the sooner I can get back to my babies.” From a nearby table, she picked up a glass filled with ice and a clear liquid and jiggled it. “Gin and tonic. Care for one, Mrs. Shastri?”

I was tempted, but had never taken alcohol before. “Thank you. No.”

She looked at me, smiling. “Are you sure? The British left us some lovely things, and this one is, by far, the loveliest.” She took a sip. “More so because it keeps malaria at bay.”

She moved to the next plant, and began turning over the leaves to inspect them. Satisfied, she took a large swallow of her cocktail. “Come meet my darlings.”

I moved closer.

She pointed to a yellow flower with green stripes and an outstretched wing on either side of its body. The wings were dotted in black. “That is a lost lady’s slipper. But I call hertitlibecause she looks like a butterfly. And this blue vanda over here, I’ve named Sita.” She tenderly caressed a petal with her finger. The hothouse appeared to be the maharani’s nursery in more ways than one. “Rumor has it that Lady Sita used to twist blue orchids into her hair during her exile. A rare species she is.”

Maharani Indira crossed the room and brushed her fingers against tiny pink flowers—about twenty in all—emerging from a single stalk. “Now this was a gift from the Princess of Thailand. I’d wanted to name him after my late husband until the princess told me she hadn’t been able to get the stalk to grow, and I thought, that hardly sounded like my husband!” Delighted with her bawdy joke, she delivered a deep and throaty laugh. The dowager maharani seemed to have found a sanctuary within her narrow confines. The poor weren’t the only ones imprisoned by their caste.

“I have a secret to make anything grow.” She poured a few drops of her drink around the base of a plant. Her lips curved in a conspiratorial smile as she glanced sideways at me.“Chup-chup.”

I laughed, unable to help myself.

She sipped from her glass. “So, Mrs. Shastri, tell me when can I return full-time to my orchids?”

I’d thought about this while attending to the younger queen. “Your Highness, if you please. Before my work can truly help her, the Maharani Latika needs to trust me. Were I to work with her every day at the same time for two, three weeks, I believe we would make progress.”

“And did you make any progress today?”

“I believe so. I’ve started preparations for a henna pattern that I’ll add to every day. By the time it’s complete, I believe Her Highness will be feeling much better.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. “What’s the cost of this resuscitation?”

I clasped my hands in front of my sari. “Whatever you deem appropriate, Your Highness.”

The older maharani looked me over. “Every morning, when you finish with Her Highness, I’d like you to give me a report. If you see progress, we’ll continue. If not, we’ll try something else. On your way out today, give the bursar this.” She passed me a slip of paper. “He is to pay you five hundred rupees every day you come.”

I felt as if I might faint. In one hour I had earned the amount I made during a busy week of henna appointments. Two weeks would amount to seven thousand rupees! The humidity was stifling and my forehead was slick with perspiration. I needed to get out of there.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

She dismissed me with a nod, and turned to inspect the plant in front of her. As I left the room, I heard her say, “Drooping again, Winston? Am I not giving you enough attention, pet?”

Malik was waiting for me at the palace gates. He rushed forward to relieve me of my tiffins.

“You’re smiling, Auntie-Boss. Success?”

“You could say that.” I smiled. “And the palace chef? Did you enjoy your time with him?”

“To tell the truth, Auntie-Boss, except for tamarind candy, I’m not much for sweets. But Madho Singh is. That bird ate most of myrabri. He might be sick tonight.” He swung the tiffins by their handles as we walked to the next street to flag an ordinary rickshaw. I shook my head. What good would it do to admonish him?

“So what did you do while you were with the chef?”

“I didn’t stick around. I ran my errands, took orders, made deliveries.”

I stopped in my tracks. “Malik! You deliberately disobeyed Her Highness’s orders?”

Malik turned to face me. He was grinning. “No bother, Auntie-Boss. When the attendant told him to makerabrifor me, Chef looked like he wanted to slice me in two with his knife.” He whistled for a rickshaw. “So I thought, how can I make him as happy as I make Auntie-Boss every day?” He laughed when he saw me raise my eyebrows. “I asked him how much the palace paid for cooking oil. When he told me, I said, ‘Baap re baap!You’re being robbed.’”

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