Page 2 of A Shimla Affair
In the management of the everyday—the rooms that had to be cleaned, the delicacies that had to be laid out, the small talk that had to be kept up, I somehow forgot my small indignances. I erased my hope for a purpose to make sure my life amounted to something, that I was held in worth, but mostly, my insatiable desire to live and dream of all the lives in the realm of possibility.
Yet, the hypocrisy of our position and the limits of our physical reality frustrated me. I ached for something that would help me understand why it must be so and what I could be.
On a mundane summer afternoon, while I wallowed in self-pity and boredom at the hotel reception, draped in a pale pink sari and ready to listen to the demands of our guests, I was summoned to Noor’s office. She wore a plain white sari, and the ringlets of curls that all three of us inherited escaped her tight bun no matter how much she tried to tame them. She had dark, expressive eyes and, just like our sister Afreen, turned heads everywhere she went. For a long time, I had been indignant that the Lord didn’t make me as beautiful as my sisters. But he gave me the most brilliant of smiles instead and I learned to make peace with that.
Immediately upon arrival, I could see that Noor was seething, and it was my cue to be as inconspicuous as possible before she started lashing out at me. She paced up and down the room, the jasmine she put in her hair every morning on the brink of falling off.
‘Nalini, go to the police station,’ Noor said, her voice shaking with anger. ‘This is the worst timing! I can’t go; five sets of guests are arriving in an hour, I have to manage everything with Khushilalji.’
‘What happened?’
‘They have taken in Begum Jaan. A boy just brought the news. Go and speak to them; see what’s going on. Check if a servant is free to accompany you.’
‘I can go on my own, don’t worry!’ I said, perhaps too fast.
Noor raised an eyebrow at me. ‘All right. Then come straight back and don’t talk to anyone you don’tneedto talk to. There is enough to be done here without you gallivanting about. Understood?
I nodded vigorously and left after grabbing my shawl, unable to stop myself from skipping down the hill as I made my way into town. I loved any excuse to head there, especially when I was supposed to be working.
It was a crisp, spring day, cold but sunny, and I could smell the fresh scent of pine. I crossed the tower of Christ Church. The snow-flecked mountains behind it cast a deep blue hue over it, making its walls look more sombre than they actually were. The town around it with the little stone houses, colourful roofs, people bustling about, helped liven up its austere tones. Rickshaws rushed ahead, trying to jostle for place alongside the pedestrians. Finally, upon reaching the Mall, I walked through the crowd of women going about their shopping. There was bustle typical of a marketplace—large signboards placed outside shops, windowpanes displaying polished wares, and people pausing to gaze through. I walked to the edge of the Mall and climbed up the steps leading to the police station.
There was a flurry of activity around. People sitting on the floor pleading with havildars, officers at their desks being served tea, the sounds of drawers opening and closing. After convincing the havildars that I was a respectable hotel owner and creating a considerable amount of fuss, I was finally taken to the constable, a no-nonsense Sikh whom I had met several times before. He was sifting through some papers, and upon seeing me raised his eyebrows and gestured for me to come over.
I folded my hands in greeting, and he gave me a courteous nod.
‘What can I do for you, Madam?’
I outranked him socially, but he betrayed no signs of letting that come in the way. He had the upper hand here, with the backing of the British.
‘Your havildars have arrested Begum Jaan, Singhji. She works for us, running the Oriental Bazaar at the hotel, where she sells many wooden handicrafts, ceramic pots, stoneware—all the things the White sahibs like. She makes it all with her own hands. Please release her so she can go back to the Oriental Bazaar. It is an important part of Royal Hotel Shimla, especiallyduring the tourist season. We don’t want to lose out on business, now that the season festivities have been limited as it is with the War.’
Singhji’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and he signalled one of his havildars. ‘Who is it again?’
‘Begum Jaan,’ I repeated with an impatient tone. ‘You know who she is. Some call her the Queen of Spies.’
Legend has it that she had once been the Begum of a notorious, high-ranking officer who treated her cruelly, choosing to keep his animals in better shape and form than his wife. Until one day he went missing, making her all-powerful. Not a leaf moved in Shimla without Begum Jaan getting to know about it. Most feared her, thinking her to be a witch, and steered clear of her. But others, like my sisters, who found use for the information Begum Jaan provided through her informants, welcomed and protected her.
‘Ah, and you want me to release the Queen of Spies, Madam? Why is that?’
‘It’s just a name Singhji, you know that. She is innocent! What has she even been charged with? She’s just a woman selling some wooden artefacts!’
He surveyed me. ‘She has been arrested for spitting in the path of an English officer, Madam.’
‘She must not have seen him, Singhji.’
‘I doubt that is the case. Anyway, it is not up to me … the Sergeant will come and check the details and then decide whether a case will be filed or not.’
It didn’t matter whether he wanted to or not, he could not release her.
‘May I please speak with her?’
He conceded, and I was led to one of the cells in the rear.
Begum Jaan was sitting on the bare floor in her burqa, where several other women squatted near her. Her face was unveiled, athick line of kohl beneath her eyes, her salt-and-pepper hair in a bun and her lips dark.
‘Nalini Bibi, welcome. To what do I owe the pleasure?’ she smiled amusedly.
As I approached the bars, I could see the other women trying to listen in, ‘It’s a rare woman that smiles in jail.’
