Amitav Ghosh - The Glass Palace

‘And what did you expect to find? Did you come here thinking to find me still a child? Someone who could take you back to your boyhood?’

‘I came because I could. Expecting nothing.’

Dolly fanned her face with her hands. She could smell the evening’s fallen frangipani dying on the grass around her. ‘Mr Raha.’ She was calmer now, breathing more evenly. ‘You are a rich man, I am told — a successful man. You have evidently lived a colourful life. I am at a loss to understand what it is exactly that has brought you here. I should tell you that, as far as I am concerned, this is my home and I have no other. I have spent twenty years here. I lead a very simple, practical life. There is nothing in me or the life I lead that can be of the remotest interest to someone like yourself.’

‘I would like to say, with respect, that that is not for you to judge.’

‘Mr Raha, it is best that you leave now.’

‘I could not bring myself to leave without telling you that you had misunderstood me tonight at the dinner table. That is why I doubled back on my way out. I have come a long way. I could not leave on that note.’

A shadow appeared in the distance, framed against the drawing room’s open window. It was Uma, calling out through cupped hands. ‘Where are you, Dolly? In the garden?’

Dolly lowered her voice. ‘Mr Raha, I am sorry if I said anything unjust or unkind. I am sure you meant no harm. But your coming here was a mistake and you would do best to put it behind you as quickly as possible. It is a pity that you have wasted so much time and effort.’

‘It was not a waste.’

‘There is nothing more to say Mr Raha.’ Dolly joined together the palms of her hands. ‘I must go now. I do not think we shall meet again, but I wish you well. Namaste .’

The Queen received the Collector, as always, seated in her ornate black armchair, with her back to the door. Her face was a painted mask, her lips a sunburst of red. Her ivory skin seemed almost translucent in the dim candlelight. She was dressed in a htamein of red silk and her stockinged feet were enclosed in black slippers, embroidered with fraying threads of gold.

Gesturing to the Collector to seat himself, she began without preamble, speaking in Hindustani. ‘It is His Majesty the King’s wish, Collector-sahib, that you be informed that our eldest daughter, Princess Ashin Hteik Su Myat Phaya Lat, is pregnant and that her confinement is perhaps just a week or two away. We would be grateful if you would convey the good news to your superiors in the Government of India.’

The Collector’s first instinct was to correct her. ‘But Your Highness this cannot be, for the Princess has no husband.’

‘Not to your knowledge perhaps.’

‘This is not a matter of opinion,’ said the Collector. ‘I have not issued a licence for the Princess’s marriage. Therefore she cannot be legally married.’

The Queen was silent for a moment and then a slight smile appeared on her face.

‘Collector-sahib, you keep yourself so well informed. I’m surprised that none of your spies have ever thought to tell you that children can be born without a licence.’

‘So you mean the child. .’

‘Yes. By your laws, the child will be a bastard.’

‘And the father?’

‘You’ve met him often.’ She fixed him with an unwavering gaze. ‘He is our coachman, a fine young man.’

It was only now that the Collector began to grasp the full import of what she had said. ‘But what am I to report? What am I to tell the Government?’

‘You will convey what you have been told: you will say that our daughter is soon to have a child and that the father is our coachman, Sawant.’

‘But, Your Highness,’ the Collector said, ‘consider the Princess’s reputation, consider your standing in society.’

‘Our standing? And what exactly is that, Collector-sahib?’ ‘Your husband is the King of Burma, albeit deposed. Your daughter is a Princess.’

‘I assure you, Collector-sahib, that you of all people need not trouble to remind us of this.’

He could feel the sweat breaking out on his forehead. There was still time, he told himself: the matter could be handled discreetly, without any inkling of it reaching the public. The young man could be persuaded to go quietly back to his village and family. If he made trouble, Mr Wright and his policemen would deal with him.

‘Your Highness, I beg you to reflect. Is it appropriate that a Princess of Burma should link herself to a household employee, a servant?’

A tiny, trilling laugh escaped the Queen’s lips. ‘Collector-sahib, Sawant is less a servant than you. At least he has no delusions about his place in the world.’

The Collector stared at her. ‘I am frankly amazed,’ he said, ‘that Your Highness should choose to make light of such a scandal.’

‘ Scandal ?’ The Queen’s eyes hardened as she repeated the English word. ‘You have the insolence to come here and speak to us of scandals ? There is no scandal in what my daughter has done. The scandal lies in what you have done to us; in the circumstances to which you have reduced us; in our very presence here. What did my daughters ever do, Collector-sahib, that they should have to spend their lives in this prison? Did they commit a crime? Were they tried or sentenced? We have heard so many lectures from you and your colleagues on the subject of the barbarity of the Kings of Burma and the humanity of the Angrez; we were tyrants you said, enemies of freedom, murderers. The English alone understand liberty, we were told; they do not put kings and princes to death; they rule through laws. If that is so, why has King Thebaw never been brought to trial? Where are these laws that we hear of? Is it a crime to defend your country against an invader? Would the English not do the same?’

The Collector knew that the appropriate response was to make a gesture of protest, a show of indignation. But under the Queen’s hard-eyed scrutiny he was unable to find the right words.

‘Your Highness,’ he said at last, ‘I am not your enemy. On the contrary I have acknowledged to you many times that I believe your grievances to be well-founded. The matter unfortunately is not in my hands. Please believe me when I say that I have only your best interests at heart. It is solely out of concern for you and your family that I am requesting you to reconsider your decision to accept this man — this coachman— into your family. I implore you, Your Highness, to think of how the public will view this — of the damage to your family’s reputation.’

The Queen tilted her head. ‘We are not public servants, Collector-sahib. To us the opinions of people at large are a matter of utter indifference.’

‘I see your mind is made up.’

‘Shame on you, Collector-sahib, that you should presume to judge the conduct of my children; shame on you that you should have the effrontery to come into this house and speak to me of scandal.’

The Collector rose to his feet. ‘Your Highness, may I mention one last consideration? I do not expect it to weigh very greatly with you, but I feel that I have the right none the less, to bring it to your attention. You should be aware that if this matter becomes public, as your custodian-in-chief it is I, in all likelihood, who will bear the blame. Indeed it would almost certainly mean the end of my tenure here as Collector.’

‘I assure you, Collector-sahib’—the Queen laughed—‘we are well aware of this.’ She laughed again, raising a tiny hand to cover her mouth. ‘I am sure you will find a way to preserve yourself. Public officials usually do. If not you’ll have only yourself to blame.’