Page 37 of A Shimla Affair
‘It’s a pleasure to have you here, Sir,’ Afreen said. ‘Everything is ready, please follow me.’
Noor and I stood rooted to the spot until Afreen and the men disappeared and then busied ourselves arranging tea and refreshments for Fraser’s staff. Noor said that Fraser wanted to convince Deodar to encourage more Indian men to join the British troops in Europe; that hard times were coming. It was an ironic location for the agenda of the meeting.
‘Hard times are indeed coming,’ Noor said, handing me a tray to carry down to the car on my own.
The breeze hit my face as I walked down the hill through the forest, the air smelt of pine and horseshit. The car was still parked, and the man who drove it sat inside. An Indian, he was dressed impeccably in his driver’s suit, a turban around his head. He seemed to have not noticed me approaching as, when I reached closer, I appeared to have caught him in a particularly vulnerable moment. He had on a hat, which was likely Fraser’s, and was miming and playing the role of the car’s owner, holding his head up high and barking orders at invisible servants next to him. I was quite amused by his performance, for I thought it quite authentic. At some point he noticed me and lost character immediately, getting out of the car flustered, bowing his head.
‘I’m sorry, Sahiba, I am so ashamed, please forgive me,’ he said, his head hanging in shame. I could see he was young, barely twenty, and had very handsome features. He obviously assumed that I would consider it offensive that he dared to don the hat of his employer, even in private.
‘Brother,’ I said, stepping forward, ‘There’s no need to ask for my forgiveness. You did nothing wrong. If I had to drive a car so beautiful, I too would like to sometimes feel that it belonged to me.’
The car shone in the brightness of the day, and as he still seemed mortified at having been discovered, I talked to him a bit more, handing him the tray of his food as he thanked me profusely.
‘So, you are the driver for the Governor? Do you find it easy to drive around the city?’
‘It’s not easy. One would think that if yours is the only car on the roads, it would be easier, but that’s not the case. There are always people crowding around the car, to see it up close. And occasionally, I drive for the Viceroy, too,’ he added with some pride.
I nodded. ‘And perhaps you and the other drivers had to have some training?’
‘For months! Me and five more, they taught us how to drive. There are two drivers for each car, and we have to be ready at all times to drive. It’s an important job, for we take them around everywhere they need to be.’
‘Yes, of course, brother,’ I agreed.
He suddenly broke into what seemed to be a chuckle. ‘In fact, that’s why I had to drive the Viceroy around a few times.’
I didn’t understand him.
‘Because the Viceroy didn’t want his wife knowing where he was going,’ he said by way of explanation, looking self-important. ‘She can question his drivers, but me—she never knows when I drive him.’
‘And why does he want to hide where he is going from his wife?’
‘There is only one reason a man wants to hide where he is going from his wife, isn’t there, Sahiba?’
He seemed rather proud to have shocked me, as the realization of what he was trying to point out dawned on me. Was he perhaps hinting that the Viceroy was adulterous? I couldn’t believe it of him, yet why wouldn’t the Viceroy indulge in an affair if the rest of Shimla did? Charles had said that the British crowd here enjoyed their dalliances. The Viceroy wasn’t any more noble or gallant than the rest of them. My mind raced ahead of me; did Charles too perhaps look around for women to involve himself with? No, I pulled myself out from that train of thoughts.
‘Are you quite sure of what you say, brother?’ I asked.
‘You called me brother, would I ever lie? But it’s just talk between you and me, Sahiba. For me, this job is everything.’
‘Of course,’ I rushed to assure him, ‘Worry not, I will keep your secrets. I am just curious … who is this woman?’
He put up his hands. ‘This, I couldn’t tell you. No, it has been a well-kept secret. I just know that when I am invited to drive him, that’s where he is going. But it’s never to the same place. No one can know everything!’
To believe him was too tempting. Perhaps it would be more prudent to take information such as this with a hint of salt; townsmen gossip, more than anything … but he was the driver driving these cars after all. If anyone knew, it would be him. I stared at him, trying to read him. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be discreet about these kind of matters, brother?’
This time, he looked straight into my eyes, one corner of his lips folding into a smirk. It’s amazing how a little knowledgecan alter your perception so much. He no longer appeared vulnerable and embarrassed but instead seemed smarter and much more in the know of things than I could ever imagine him being. ‘One should be discreet, Sahiba, but Shimla is calling. Can you hear it?’
If the Viceroy was having an affair with someone, it was in our interest to find out more about it. We debated sharing the driver’s information with Guruji but ultimately decided to find out the truth on our own. We had already agreed to help the Shimla Circle, but if we had something to twist the Viceroy’s arm, we might have another way to retain our hotel. After all, if we knew for sure he’s having an affair, would he still be so daring as to take the hotel away from us? I wondered how the Viceroy and his mistress managed to hide it, with all the people that he was constantly surrounded with. It was hard to keep a secret in a place like Shimla, filled with gossip and eavesdroppers, especially with someone like Begum Jaan around.
The next chance we got, Noor and I went to the police station. If there was anyone in the city who would know the Viceroy’s mistress, it would be Begum Jaan. Noor had recently been informed that, following the protest at the hotel, the police had found Begum Jaan. Fortunately, as her former employers, we were allowed to see her.
She sat on the floor of the room, her arms crossed around her legs, her burqa wrapped around herself, her customary kajal missing. There were two other women with her at the back of the cell, apparently asleep. She gave a wry smile upon seeing us, this time seeming much more bogged down by the weight of the world.
‘Are you being looked after well, Begum Jaan?’ Noor asked.
She threw back her head and laughed, and then turned to the side, spitting on the ground.
‘I’m sorry that you are here,’ I said. ‘But last I remember you said that it was an honour to go to jail.’
