Page 128 of A Thousand Painted Hours

The servant opened Channan’s door and went in. I waited in the corridor, book in hand. Within, I heard an exchange in Punjabi, and then the woman was back, waving me in. “I will bring tea,memsahib,” she said in Hindustani. “Would you like cake?”

“Oh, please!” I answered and then left the shadows for a sunny room that faced south. Tiny Channan sat on a chaise, legs covered with a blanket. Her hair was braided in a long fall over her shoulder, and she wore a simple dressing gown in a soft peach shade, with ribbons in red. Without her veil, I could see the uneven terrain of her hairline. A tiny black cat curled in a ball at her ankles, opening one eye as I came in.

I bowed in deference to her status. “Hello, MaharaniSahiba.”

She shook her head slowly. “I have already said we shall dispense with titles, my dear. Please, come sit with me.”

I took a comfortable chair nearby the chaise. “I did try to leave you alone,” I said, smiling, “but I admit my mother always said that, when I was a little girl, I so required conversation that I made up names for teapots and dishes and had conversations with them.”

She laughed lightly. It made her cough, and she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and spit into it. “Forgive me,” she said, touching her chest. “I have weak lungs.”

“I shall endeavor not to make you laugh, then,” I replied.

“Oh, please, I’d rather laugh and cough than not laugh at all.” She measured me for a moment. “You are much invigorated after your long sleep.”

I laughed. I’d almost forgotten that I’d slept for two days upon arrival. “I am so sorry I slept through your welcome dinner and our morning appointment. Will you forgive me?”

“Nothing to forgive. You looked quite wan when you arrived.” She inclined her head. “Is it being back in India at last that enlivens you? Or”—a sideways glance—“have you left your husband, then?”

Startled, I gaped at her. “I—er—”

“I have been told I speak my mind too frankly,” she said, “but life has taught me that the things we think matter so much are not the right things at all.”

I met her straightforward gaze, feeling humbled. “I welcome your frankness. It has sometimes been a flaw of mine, as well.”

“You sayflawwhen I believe you meanvirtue.”

I chuckled. “Yes.”

“So, have you left him?”

I took a breath. “Yes. He is a decent man when he’s not drinking, but he’s very cruel when he is.”

“Did he hurt you?”

A sting of tears made me look away. “He did,” I said at last. “But I would ask that knowledge remain between us.”

She nodded, reaching for my hand. I tugged my chair closer so that I could easily hold it. “Your truth is my secret.”

“Thank you.”

“My husband said you watched the meteor shower together the other night.”

“It was so beautiful. I’m sure you’ve seen it.”

“Once or twice. I am not terribly fit for stairs, and there are a great many to the roof.”

I nodded, but in fact, my fingers were itching with the need to sketch her. I took my sketchbook from my deep pocket. “Do you mind if I sketch you as we talk?”

“Not at all.”

“Do you have family nearby?” I asked, drawing a line from the top of her head to her toes, then back up.

“No, they live quite far away, near Udaipur. I sometimes see my sister in Jaipur, but—” She spread her fingers. “They find it hard to look upon me. Without Gurdaya, I would be quite lost.”

I absorbed the shape of her chin, the angle of her neck. “Must Tanveer travel often?”

“Yes, but—oh, it is not the company of a man I long for. I miss my sisters.”