The World Beyond by Sangeeta Bhargava Page B

sparkled as she flashed him a quick smile and tried to look demure. Papa dismissed the sepoy and turned towards her. He did not say anything. Merely took the pipe out from his mouth and raised a single brow questioningly. He looked funny whenever he did that. He had thick eyebrows – straight rather than curved. And when he raised them, they looked like caterpillars marching up a hill.
    Be serious, Rachael, she chided herself as she flashed him another smile and covered the distance between them. ‘Papa, don’t worry,’ she said as she straightened the creases on her dress. ‘I’ve been responsible. I didn’t go to Chowk or any such place.’
    A hint of a smile flitted across Papa’s face. ‘But you went out without a chaperone. Where’s Sudha?’
    Rachael gave a sigh of relief. Papa seemed a little distracted. He had forgotten she was supposed to be home nursing a headache. ‘I have some good news,’ she piped as she put her arm through his.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘I’ve found my music teacher.’
    ‘And she is?’
    ‘He’s … he’s good.’ She clutched his sleeve and looked him in the eye. ‘Oh Papa, pray do let him teach me. He’s a perfect gentleman.’
    Papa looked at her thoughtfully as he put the pipe back in his mouth. ‘Oh well … as long as it stops you from gallivanting off to places like the Chowk. But the lessons must take place here, and only after I have spoken to …’ He waved the pipe in the air looking for the right word. ‘Your … err … teacher. And approved of him.’
    ‘Oh thank you, thank you, my sweet Papa,’ Rachael exclaimed and planted a kiss on his cheek before running off indoors, the footman running after her with the chador.

Chapter Nine

    S ALIM

    Salim followed Ram Singh as he led him to Colonel Felix Bristow’s study. The door was open. He entered the room apprehensively as Ram Singh stepped aside to let him pass. He wondered why the colonel wanted to see him. Did it have something to do with RayChal coming to his palace yesterday without permission?
    He squared his shoulders as he looked at the colonel. He was seated behind a huge oak desk immersed in some papers. Not a single hair on the top of his head was out of place. Each hair stood exactly as the other – like a row of soldiers standing at attention. Salim swallowed. There was something about that man that made his nerves rattle. He coughed slightly. Colonel Bristow looked up. ‘Good morning, sir,’ Salim said, extending his hand to the colonel.
    The colonel ignored his hand and brusquely replied, ‘Morning. Do be seated.’
    The chair made a scraping sound as Salim pulled it back and sat down gingerly.
    ‘So you want to teach my daughter music?’ the colonel asked as he lit his pipe.
    Oh, so that’s why he wanted to see him, Salim thought with a sigh of relief. ‘Sir, with your kind permission,’ he replied.
    He shifted uncomfortably as the colonel looked him over. The smell of tobacco made him yearn for his hookah. He turned his gaze to the bookcases that lined three walls of the room. They were made of dark wood and lent a sombre atmosphere to the room.
    The colonel finally spoke. ‘I was expecting someone older. What instruments can you play?’
    ‘Sir, I can play most Hindustani instruments – tabla, dhol, sarod, sitar, harmoni—’
    ‘That’ll do. You speak good English for a native.’
    ‘I was sent to Calcutta when I was little, for my education.’
    ‘Who’s your father?’
    Just then the swishing of skirts distracted Salim and he looked towards the door. It was Rachael. She was frantically waving her finger and mouthing the word ‘no’.
    Puzzled, Salim turned back to the colonel and said, ‘Umm … my father …’ He again looked at Rachael. She shook her head from side to side and mouthed ‘no’.
    The colonel raised his brow. ‘It takes you that long to remember your father’s name?’
    ‘H-he’s,’ Salim stammered as perspiration ran down his face. ‘Ustad Junaid Ali