In the City of Gold and Silver

In the City of Gold and Silver by Kenizé Mourad, Anne Mathai in collaboration with Marie-Louise Naville Read Free Book Online Page B

Book: In the City of Gold and Silver by Kenizé Mourad, Anne Mathai in collaboration with Marie-Louise Naville Read Free Book Online
Authors: Kenizé Mourad, Anne Mathai in collaboration with Marie-Louise Naville
repeatedly warned Lord Dalhousie. The governor general would not listen. After eight years in India during which he successively annexed the states of Satara, Punjab, Jaipur, Sambalpur, Jhansi, Berar, Tanjore and Karnataka, he is about to leave, and is particularly anxious to cap his efforts by offering the state of Awadh to the British Crown. To achieve this end, he is willing to use any possible means, including breaking the treaty that binds them.
    The colonel has every intention of preventing the situation from deteriorating to such an extent. The king is more concerned with poetry than politics, and his mother is an intelligent woman, who will soon understand where her family’s interest lies.
    At the entrance to the palace, he is saluted by women guards dressed in black kurtas and
churidars
, 32 a cartridge belt strapped across their chests. Being short and corpulent himself, the colonel always feels uneasy with these dark, muscular Amazons, who are far more imposing than his own soldiers. Nicknamed “the black cats,” they are said to be of Abyssinian origin. The first ones are supposed to have come to Awadh during the time of Bahu Begum, Wajid Ali Shah’s ancestor, who had maintained her own army. They are efficient and completely loyal, unlike the eunuchs, who are ceaselessly plotting. The only problem is they often fall pregnant . . .
    Inside the palace, the resident is released to another group of female guards, Turkish this time, with milky complexions. They precede him, shouting “
Purdah karo!
” 33 in order to warn the women of a stranger’s presence. He is led through a labyrinth of vestibules giving on to small, shady inner courtyards, up and down narrow staircases, without meeting another living soul. However, Sir James has the clear sensation of being watched by hundreds of pairs of eyes.
    Finally, they reach the audience room, the Hall of Mirrors. The colonel has heard of it, but this is the first time he is actually entering the place. At the threshold he stops, dazzled: lit by high crystal candelabras, the walls and ceiling are covered with mosaic and thousands of tiny mirrors, depicting the gardens of paradise, sparkling with a profusion of multicoloured flowers and birds.
    At the centre of this splendour, sitting on a simple white sheet, two black shapes are awaiting him.
    Purdah, of course! He had forgotten; it is going to be easy to converse with shadows! The colonel feels his irritation rising, all the more so as in all traditional interiors, the hall is devoid of chairs, and despite the cushions the servants bring, he is unable to sit comfortably. What else? He has to remove his shoes as well? That is out of the question! It is the custom in India, and even considered the most elementary courtesy, but he is an Englishman and sees no reason to comply with the traditions of the natives.
    The Queen Mother receives him with a long formula of welcome, transmitted to the interpreter by the dark silhouette seated next to her. It would be improper for a man to hear the Queen Mother’s voice. 34
    While the interpreter responds with a flowery speech, Colonel Outram arms himself with patience. Experience has taught him that in India, and especially in Lucknow, the heart of the matter is only approached after long detours and to want to hurry things along only results in delaying them further.
    Young girls enter the hall carrying silver platters filled with acidic-coloured delicacies. He has to refuse them seven times, as etiquette dictates. He will only accept a glass of “lemonade,” a very sweet juice of lemon and rose. Despite his efforts, he has never managed to acquire a taste for this refreshment, but he has mastered the art of wetting his lips while seeming to drink it.
    An hour passes interspersed with trivial comments and long silences. Finally, the Queen Mother makes up her mind:
    â€œIs it true, sir, that the honourable East India Company, which you

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