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her. Thanks to Papa who had given him the nod. And the two families were now waiting for him to pop the question. Rachael felt irritated with herself. Even though she was not interested in him, why had she not discouraged him?
    ‘C’mon, have a bit more,’ Papa coaxed, as he saw her push the tray aside.
    She reluctantly ate another spoonful and felt her stomach protest. If she ate one more morsel, she would either burst or throw up, she was sure of that. She looked at Papa. The lines around his eyes and mouth looked deeper. He was tired. He was not used to staying up so late. But the thought of his hungry daughter had kept him up. She smiled affectionately at him. He was rash and hot-tempered all right, but he loved her immensely.

    How well he writes, Rachael thought, as she read ‘Ode to the West Wind’ for the third time. Sudha came into the room to put away the washing.
    ‘Sudha, tell the punkahwalla I want the fan.’
    ‘But memsahib, why you never pull cord tied to the punkahwalla’s big toe?’
    ‘I don’t feel right doing that.’
    Sudha lifted the khus mat hanging over the open window and called out, ‘Hey, Madan, get to work. Memsahib wanting fan.’
    Then she started sprinkling water on the khus mats hanging over the doors and windows. The velvet rectangular fan with golden tassels began to swish back and forth as Madan pulled the cords outside the room.
    ‘You know, memsahib, barre sahib not bad. He worry, that’s all. You see, Chowk not safe place for English girl.’
    Rachael sighed. The fresh cool smell of khus-khus was rejuvenating.
    ‘Barre sahib save me from becoming sati.’
    ‘What’s that?’ Rachael asked with disinterest. If only she would stop her prattle and let her get back to her book.
    ‘Memsahib, you see, when husband die, the widow burn herself on the funeral pyre an—’
    ‘What?’ Rachael closed her book and sat up.
    ‘Yes, memsahib. You see, I no love my husband. I married when I am child. He older than me. I do not like living with him, why I must die with him? I scared and try to run away.’ She continued sprinkling water on the khus mats. ‘But my family catch me. They drug me and pull me to the fire. I scared, memsahib, and the fire so hot …’ Sudha stopped speaking. She had finished sprinkling water on the mats and stared straight ahead. She looked pallid, as though reliving the nightmare.
    ‘Then?’ Rachael asked softly.
    ‘Then barre sahib come. He order them to stop and bring me here. I beg sahib give me job here otherwise my family surely kill me.’
    ‘I had no idea,’ Rachael murmured.
    ‘But now my whole village hating sahib. You see, they feeling English destroying our religion stopping sati.’
    Rachael walked over to the basin of water that stood in a corner and splashed cold water over her face again and again. How ghastly! Imagine having to immolate yourself on your husband’s pyre for the sake of religion. She shuddered involuntarily. Her eyes fell on the clothes Sudha was folding. ‘What’s that, Sudha?’ she asked, pointing to her father’s breeches.
    ‘Oh, those are barre sahibs. You see, I bring them here with the wash by mistake. I take them back now.’
    An idea began to formulate in Rachael’s mind. ‘No, just leave them here,’ she said. ‘And tell Kalyaan to keep my horse saddled tomorrow morning. I will ride as usual.’
    Sudha stopped folding the clothes and looked at Rachael dubiously. ‘But memsahib, barre sahib say you cannot—’
    ‘There is no way I’m going to spend another five days languishing in this room.’
    ‘But barre sah—’
    ‘He won’t come to know.’ Rachael smiled sweetly at her and winked. ‘Now go and bring me Papa’s riding jacket, braces, as well as his top hat.’
    ‘You getting me into trouble, memsahib,’ Sudha muttered as she left the room.
    Rachael held Papa’s breeches in front of her legs and grinned impishly at her reflection in the mirror. She wondered what it felt like to wear a