Waiting for the Monsoon by Threes Anna Read Free Book Online Page A

the stairs. And on the right the Royal Guard stands in readiness, wearing full dress and mounted on her father’s jet black horses. Directly in front of her she sees the long driveway flanked by men in red britches. They stand perfectly still, each holding a shield in his hand. The road itself is covered with carpets, and in front of the great gate there are gold bowls filled with burning incense. The heavy scent penetrates the room.
    Everyone is awaiting the arrival of Victor Alexander John Hope, the second marquess of Linlithgow and viceroy of India. In an hour Chutki, her sisters, and her mother, the maharani, are to have tea with the wife of the viceroy and her three daughters. Her father, Maharaja Man Singh, a great admirer of hunting and Sherlock Holmes novels, does not want his daughters involved in matters of state, only his sons. Chutki is jealous of her four brothers, who are wearing their official outfits, with new turbans. Her eldest brother, who is twelve, even has a sabre on his belt. The boys have already gone hunting and have seen their father shoot a tiger. Downstairs in the pink marble hall, next to the room where the reception will take place, her father’s passion for hunting is clearly visible. The walls are covered with the stuffed heads of bisons, lions, tigers, and deer. And above the fireplace hangs the head of an elephant; the tusks are inlaid with gold, and on the forehead of the elephant there’s a medallion with a photo of her great-grandfather encircled by diamonds.
    Outside, the horns resound. Through the opening between the curtains she sees a long line of large black motor cars, rolling slowly across the carpets in the direction of the Great Gate. The roll of drums drowns out the horns. One of the elephants trumpets.
    In the corridor she hears her father’s dry cough. Chutki knows that cough well: she has it, too. As well as the permanent sore throat and the difficulty swallowing. No one understands why Chutki and the maharaja have chronic laryngitis while the other members of the family do not. They all live in the same palace and their food comes from the same kitchen.
    For weeks now everyone in the palace has been especially busy. Extra palm trees have been planted near the Great Gate, and around the temple there are three new marble fountains in honour of Chutki’s grandfather. Outside, cars are stopping. Chutki hears the large drum being struck and the sound of the trumpet, which means that her father has appeared on the steps. And when she hears the double horn, she knows that the viceroy is about to get out of his car. Chutki takes a sip of water, swallowing with difficulty. Her throat hurts. The servants know that she must always have a glass of water within reach; even on a day like this, they have not forgotten. Chutki watches. She doesn’t enjoy talking. Talking hurts.
    THE VICEROY AND the maharaja are seated opposite one another at the long table. It is not the first meeting between the two men. They were officially introduced upon the viceroy’s arrival in India and met again at his inauguration in April. Now, as then, the maharaja is ill. For the fifth time, his hand unconsciously goes to his swollen throat and he coughs: a dry, raw sound.
    â€œI know a very good physician,” says the viceroy.
    The maharaja nods, slightly taken aback by such a personal remark.
    â€œA young man from Manchester,” the viceroy continues. “He’s made throat problems his specialty.”
    The maharaja coughs again; the servant standing behind him immediately pours cold water into his glass. He takes a sip and has to swallow several times. Never before has a viceroy adopted such a personal tone. The maharaja dislikes talking about his health, especially to an Englishman. “Please do not be concerned,” he says in a hoarse voice. “It’s just a slight irritation. I believe it’s what you call ‘a frog in the throat.’” He