Джеффри Арчер - And Thereby Hangs a Tale

‘Nothing that can’t wait, I’m sure,’ said his mother smiling up at her son, ‘because among our guests tonight is someone who I know is very much looking forward to meeting you.’

How Jamwal wished it was he who was saying those same words because he was about to introduce his mother to Nisha. But he doubted if petals would ever be strewn at the entrance of this home to welcome his bride on their wedding day.

‘Mother, what I have to tell you can’t wait,’ he said. ‘It’s something that has to be discussed before we sit down for dinner.’ His mother was about to respond when Jamwal’s father came out of his study, a broad smile on his face.

‘How are you, my boy?’ he asked, shaking hands with his son as if he’d just returned from prep school.

‘I’m well, thank you, Father,’ Jamwal replied, giving him a traditional bow, ‘as I hope you are.’

‘Never better. And I hear great things about your progress at work. Most impressive.’

‘Thank you, Father.’

‘No doubt your mother has already warned you that we have a little surprise for you this evening.’

‘And I have one for you, Father,’ he said quietly.

‘Another promotion in the pipeline?’

‘No, Father. Something far more important than that.’

‘That sounds ominous, my boy. Shall we retire to my study for a few moments while your mother changes for dinner?’

‘I would like Mother to be present when I tell you my news.’

The Maharaja looked apprehensive, but stood aside to allow his wife and son to enter the study. Both men remained standing until the Maharani had taken her seat.

Once the Maharani had sat down, Jamwal turned to his mother and said in a gentle voice, ‘Mother, I have fallen in love with the most wonderful young woman, and I want you to know that I have asked her to be my wife.’

The Maharani bowed her head.

Jamwal turned to face his father, who was gripping the arms of his chair, ashen-faced, but before Jamwal could continue, the Maharaja said, ‘I have never concerned myself with the way you conduct your life in Delhi, even when those activities have been reported in the gutter press. Heaven knows, I was young myself once. But I have always assumed that you were aware of your duties to this family, and that in time would marry a young woman not only from your own background, but who also met with the approval of your mother and myself.’

‘Nisha and I are from the same background, Father, so let’s be frank, it’s not her background we’re discussing, but my caste.’

‘No,’ said his father, ‘what we are discussing is your responsibility to the family that raised you, and bestowed on you all the privileges you have taken for granted since the day you were born.’

‘Father,’ said Jamwal quietly, ‘I didn’t fall in love simply to annoy you. What has happened between Nisha and me is something rare and beautiful, and a cause for celebration, not anger. That is why I returned home in the hope of receiving your blessing.’

‘You will never have my blessing,’ said his father. ‘And if you are foolish enough to go ahead with this unacceptable union, you will not be welcome in this house again.’

Jamwal looked towards his mother, but her head remained bowed and she didn’t speak.

‘Father,’ Jamwal said, turning back to face him, ‘won’t you even meet Nisha before you make your decision?’

‘Not only will I never meet this young woman, but also no member of this family will ever be permitted to come into contact with her. Your grandmother must go to her grave unaware of this misalliance, and your brother, who married wisely, will now become not only my successor, but also my sole heir, while your sister will enjoy all the privileges that were once to be bestowed on you.’

‘If it was a lack of wisdom that caused me to fall in love, Father, so be it, because the woman I have asked to be my wife and the mother of my children is a beautiful, intelligent and remarkable human being, with whom I intend to spend the rest of my life.’

‘But she is not a Rajput,’ said his father defiantly.

‘That was not her choice,’ replied Jamwal, ‘as it was not mine.’

‘It is clear to me,’ said his father, ‘that there is no point in continuing with this conversation. You have obviously made up your mind, and chosen to bring dishonour on this house and humiliation to the family we have invited to share our name.’

‘And if I were not to marry Nisha, having given her my word, Father, I would bring dishonour on the woman I love and humiliation to the family whose name she bears.’

The Maharaja rose slowly from his chair and glowered defiantly at his youngest child. Jamwal had never seen such anger in those eyes. He stood to face his wrath, but his father didn’t speak for some time, as if he needed to measure his words.

‘As it appears to me that you are determined to marry this young woman against the wishes of your family, and that nothing I can say will prevent this inappropriate and distasteful union, I now tell you, in the presence of your mother, that you are no longer my son.’

Nisha had been standing by the barrier for over an hour before Jamwal’s plane was due to land, painfully aware that as he was returning on the same day, it could not be good news. She did not want him to see that she’d been crying. While he was away she had resolved that if his father demanded he must choose between her and his family, she would release him from any obligation he felt to her.

When Jamwal strode into the arrivals hall, he looked grim-faced but resolute. He took Nisha firmly by the hand and, without saying a word, led her out on to the concourse, clearly unwilling to tell her what had happened in front of strangers. She feared the worst, but said nothing.

At the taxi rank, Jamwal opened the door for Nisha before climbing in beside her.

‘Where to, sahib?’ asked the driver cheerfully.

‘The High Court,’ Jamwal said without emotion.

‘Why are we going to the High Court?’ asked Nisha.

‘To get married,’ Jamwal replied.

Nisha’s mother and father held a more formal ceremony on the lawn of their home in Chanakyapuri a few days later to celebrate their daughter’s marriage. The festivities had gone on for several days, and culminated in a large party that was attended by over a thousand guests, although not a single member of Jamwal’s family attended the ceremony.

After the newly married couple had danced seven times around Pheras, the final confirmation of their wedding vows, Mr and Mrs Rameshwar Singh strolled around the grounds, speaking to as many of their guests as possible.

‘So where are you spending your honeymoon, dare I ask?’ said Noel Kumar.

‘We’re flying to Goa, to spend a few days at the Raj,’ said Jamwal.

‘I can’t think of a more beautiful place to spend your first few days as man and wife,’ said Noel.

‘A wedding gift from your uncle,’ said Nisha. ‘So generous of him.’

‘Just be sure you have him back in time for the board meeting on Monday week, young lady, because one of the items under discussion is a new project that I know the chairman wants Jamwal to mastermind.’

‘Any clues?’ asked Jamwal.

‘Certainly not,’ said Noel. ‘You just go away and enjoy your honeymoon. Nothing’s so important that it can’t wait until you’re back.’

‘And if we hang around here any longer,’ said Nisha, taking her husband by the hand, ‘we might miss our plane.’

A large crowd gathered by the entrance to the house and threw marigold petals in their path and waved as the couple were driven away.

When Mr and Mrs Rameshwar Singh drove on to the airport’s private runway forty minutes later, the company’s Gulfstream jet awaited them, door open, steps down.