5

Land’s End

Bombay, August 1916

Sitting in the ladies’ car on the Western line, Perveen ruminated on the various rules she was breaking. She was riding a train alone, which she’d never done before. She’d only ever ridden one in the company of chaperoning relatives or teachers. But this was hardly anything compared to her misdeeds of the past week.

She’d met Cyrus Sodawalla in the Sassoon Library garden three times. Then he had managed to have Esther Vachha invite her to join a chaperoned group of young people for a cinema matinee. Somehow, Cyrus had wound up seated next to her at the show. The whole time, she felt energy radiating out from his arm lying on the rest. He didn’t touch her, but she could not stop thinking about what that might feel like.

Today’s was the boldest rebellion. Cyrus had repeated his desire to go to the beach before his family left Bombay. She hadn’t asked him whether anyone else would come. She sensed that he wished to be alone with her to tell her the outcome of his marital interviews. Hearing about such dismal news at a place called Land’s End seemed fitting.

Stepping out of the darkness of Bandra station, Perveen saw Cyrus waiting. He was holding his fetah in one hand and had unbuttoned the neck of his jacket, giving him a comfortable look. He seemed a part of Bombay now. The crowds moved around him, not giving a second glance to the confident young businessman.

“Finally!” he said happily as he greeted her. “I’ve been worrying for the last half hour about why it would take so long for you to travel one stop from Dadar to here.”

“Sorry. I left from Churchgate station, not Dadar.” She was still going to Elphinstone every morning, keeping her parents clueless.

“I’ve been here since nine-thirty, but that’s given me time to find a suitable tonga. The driver said the best views are at the Bandra bandstand. What do you think?”

“Let’s go!”

Perveen made small talk about Bandra’s history in the tonga, feeling nervous the driver might deduce that they weren’t married and either scold them or refuse to drive them any farther. She was relieved that Cyrus did not say anything personal. Instead, he brought up the news of the Sodawallas’ new contract to send bottled raspberry sodas to a restaurant in Bombay.

“It’s very surprising, because there are plenty of soda factories in Bombay,” he said. “But we’ve got the better price.”

“Even with the cost of transportation added?”

“They’ll have that cost split up in many small parts when they are billed,” he said with a wink. “In any case, the contract’s signed.”

“Might you stay in Bombay to expand the business?”

“Not a chance. I’ve got to take over the operation in Calcutta when my father retires, which will very likely be in the next ten years.”

“Won’t you tell me about your family?” It was a question she loved to ask. She knew all about the Yazdanis’ dreams for young Lily, Gulnaz’s mother’s health problems, and Hema’s competitive relationship with a perfect older sister.

“There’s Nived, my elder brother. He’s well married and settled in Bihar with a son and a daughter already.”

“How nice. But your mother must miss her grandchildren.”

“She does miss them,” he said, smiling at the children playing alongside the road. “Nived had to leave when we bought a bottling plant in Bihar. My father sent him there to set up the business. He was the only one my father trusted to go—I was too young and about to start at Presidency College.”

“Then you are the only two children?” Perveen was intrigued by the similarities between her life and Cyrus’s.

Cyrus looked straight ahead as he spoke. “I had a younger sister, Azara, but she died at fourteen. It was the worst thing that ever happened to our family. It was another reason I didn’t marry at the typical age.”

“What happened to her?”

At her question, Cyrus stiffened, making her realize she was intruding on too much pain.

“Cholera,” he muttered. “It was during monsoon. It’s common to fall sick when streets flood and filth is floating everywhere.”

“I’m so sorry. I can only imagine what it’s like to lose a sibling. And so terribly young.” Without realizing it, Perveen had put her hand atop Cyrus’s tight fist. He looked at her gratefully, relaxing his fingers so they could weave into hers.

Perveen felt light-headed: exultant yet terrified of this act committed so daringly in public. The tonga driver had his back to them, so he wouldn’t suspect, but when she glanced at the cart driver on their right, he glowered and curled his lip as if he considered her a harlot. Instead of averting her eyes, as she would have in the law classroom, she glared at the driver until he looked away.

“We’re all right now but very careful about cleanliness, especially during rainy season,” Cyrus said soberly. “So many times I’ve tried to convince my parents to move somewhere less congested, but they would never move from Saklat Place because of the fire temple being close by.”

“Are your parents quite observant?”

He nodded. “After losing Azara, they found great comfort in the old prayers.”

“Azara is such a lovely name. I don’t know anyone called that.”

“It’s from Persian and means red. Just like the color of those roses along the roadside. Bandra is quite beautiful!” He sounded as if he was trying to divert her from the sad topic.

The tonga had been slowly, steadily climbing up Hill Road, passing pastel-painted, tiled-roof bungalows built in the Portuguese fashion. After they passed St. Andrew’s Church, the sea spread out before them. What a picture it made—the vast, shimmering stretch of blue edged by sharp black rocks. Seagulls wheeled overhead as if dancing on the winds.

“Would you ask the driver to stop here?” Perveen suggested, prudently releasing his hand from hers. “We’re very near the bandstand, where the best view is.”

He laughed. “Fair lady, your wish is my command.”

As Cyrus paid the bill, Perveen strained to hear the music from the bandstand. Happily, she said, “It sounds like a military band. Let’s see how many players there are.” 

“I don’t know if we should. They’re always looking for men to join up!” Cyrus said with a laugh as they walked in step with the music.

“Have you thought about enlisting?” Perveen asked.

Cyrus snorted. “Even if I were demented enough, my father wouldn’t allow it. There’s no Parsi regiment.”

“Or perhaps he’d rather not lose his son.”

“I’ve seen enough of your bandstand,” Cyrus said. “Let’s get our feet wet in the sea.”

“I’ve been here with my family, but we’ve never walked down to the water,” Perveen said, looking warily at the steep, rocky landscape. “Straight from here, it looks too difficult. But I’ve heard about people walking down through the watchtower ruins.”

When they reached the blackened arch in a fragment of broken wall, they found they could get down close to the water by traversing steep, uneven land punctuated by rocks. Perveen was wearing sandals, so she had a more precarious journey than Cyrus, who was wearing sturdy laced brogues. At the edge of the water, both of them took off their shoes and held them, letting the cool seawater creep up past their ankles. A light current swirled, and she realized that if she kept going deeper, the water could probably pull her into its luscious, cool embrace.

“What are you thinking?” Cyrus asked.

“A dying man clutches at sea-foam,” she said. “Do you know that saying?”

Shaking his head, he said, “I don’t.”

“It means a desperate man clutches at any straw.”

“I never learned to swim, given the hazardous nature of Calcutta’s Hooghly River.” He turned to smile at her. “Make me stop talking about what we can’t do. We must enjoy this day.”

Looking into Cyrus’s eyes, Perveen felt as if she were sinking into something deeper than water. His words were true. Although he would be gone in three days’ time, she would always have the memory of their secret excursion.

They walked about a mile along the sea’s edge, investigating the tiny crabs crawling around the rocks and naming the storks, egrets, and pigeons. All the birds hunting for a meal reminded Perveen it was after lunchtime, and she thought of saying something to Cyrus about going back up to buy a bhel poori snack before returning to Bandra station. She wasn’t especially hungry, but she was nervous being so far from the city. And she didn’t want to cause complications for Cyrus, who surely would need to be back in South Bombay by midafternoon, as he usually did.

It was two-thirty, but Cyrus didn’t seem ready to leave. Perveen thought this might be an indication that his parents had settled on a bride.

The strong breeze ruffled Cyrus’s curly black hair. Privately, she admired this—as well as his noble profile. Cyrus, the ancient Persian king, had looked like this in the paintings she’d seen.

“Let’s sit down,” Cyrus suggested. “Look, that’s a nice place.”

The wide, flat rock was behind an outcropping of higher stone that shielded them from view of everyone at the bandstand, as well as the few fishermen with nets on the sand. Sitting down, Perveen felt the warmth of the stone underneath her, all along her thighs and that private place that sometimes pulsed when she thought about Cyrus at night.

He gave a long, relaxed sigh. “Perveen, thank you for bringing me. I’ve always wanted to face the Arabian Sea. This endless blue is what my grandfather saw when he was coming to India. I wanted to see it for myself.”

“I wish I knew my family’s migration story as well as you know yours,” Perveen said wistfully. “Nobody knows exactly when we came, but it might have been five to seven hundred years ago. And then, in the seventeenth century, the British called on Parsis to leave Gujarat to travel here and build up an old, ruined Portuguese fort into a modern walled city.”

Cyrus shifted closer so the sides of their bodies were touching. “Why did your father shift away from building to law?”

The feeling was electric. Perveen spoke rapidly, trying to seem unaffected. “My father was the youngest of three sons, and the other two had joined Mistry Construction already. He pointed out that a construction company needed legal protection and, if he became a solicitor, he could provide it for them free of charge. Because my grandfather saw this as a way to show status, he sent Pappa to Oxford for his studies. Fortunately, he got a top-notch education. Pappa thought Rustom might follow his pattern, but he was a chip off the old block and went into Mistry Construction.”

Cyrus snorted. “So your brother’s defection forced you to continue your father’s business.”

“I hated law school,” she said with a shudder. “However, working as a solicitor would be thrilling. I’ll admit to that.”

“I suppose so,” he said with a shrug. “But if women lawyers can’t yet appear in court, I don’t see the point of your studying law.”

“That’s not exactly true. Solicitors don’t have to argue in court. And most legal business is routine—contracts and wills. My father expects me to help him straight after finishing the law course,” she added, feeling the familiar guilt weigh on her.

Sounding sympathetic, he said, “My parents sent me to college to study what was most important to them: commerce. But the teachers at Presidency were fools! Everything I know about business I learned on the outside. And look at how well things are going now. My father’s never been prouder.”  

“That’s grand.” Perveen sighed, leaning forward to put her chin in her hands. “I wish law worked like business.”

He looked keenly at her. “Our ancestors weren’t supposed to leave Persia, but they did. They took a chance on a better future.” As he spoke, his arm crept up and gently cradled her back.

Perveen whipped her head around, looking to see if the fishermen had noticed or if anyone else was coming down along the rocks. They were still alone.

“I want to ask you something.” Cyrus’s voice was quiet, so she had to strain toward him to hear.

“What?” she asked breathlessly.

“If you are able to give up law, I’ll give up something, too.”

Her eyes widened. “What is it?”

“I want to tell my parents I won’t marry the stupid girl they chose for me two days ago. I am so lonely. I will be only lonelier if forced to be with someone I don’t love.”

Perveen put a hand to his lips. “Don’t say such things. If a marriage is set, it must go forward. And please know that I never meant to divert you from that purpose. It would be wrong.”

“My darling.” He kissed her hand.

Pulling it away, she said, “You mustn’t call me by endearments!” She did not want memories of him promising her the moon to haunt the rest of her life. Better to cut things short.

“Don’t fight it, Perveen. Just think how your life is opening—as wide as the sea,” he said, taking up her hand again. “Now that you’ve left law school, you are free to be with me!”

She let him hold her hand, but she would not look at him. “I’m not. You’re going more than a thousand miles away.”

“Stop talking for just one moment.” Cyrus’s voice rose. “I’m telling you clean that I want you to be my bride.”

He had proposed. She was overwhelmed with happiness that was quickly followed by pain. Turning to look at him, she said, “But your marriage—your marriage is already—”

“They chose, but I haven’t agreed. Now they are pressing me to explain why.” Cyrus gazed deep into her eyes. “I haven’t said anything about how we’ve been meeting. But I told them that Esther introduced me to a friend of hers at college who’s better than all the other girls.”

His words gave her an idea: if he could stay a few weeks longer in Bombay, they could become acquainted under proper chaperonage. Hesitantly, she said, “Perhaps my parents would consider a long engagement. But I must earn some kind of degree first! I’m supposed to be an example for the rest of the community.”

“My parents won’t wait, and yours won’t think I’m good enough! They would rather match you with Bombay old money: a Tata or a Readymoney.” Cyrus picked up a stone and threw it toward the sea.

Perveen watched the stone bounce off another rock. Sadly, she said, “I don’t know whom they’ll suggest. But having met you, I don’t know how I can marry another man and be happy.”

“Perveen, do you realize what’s happened? We chanced to meet and fall in love!” Cyrus spoke breathlessly. “Our parents will be surprised that we found each other without their guidance, but we can tell them that God did the arranging.” 

Perveen nodded, thinking they had many similarities. Cyrus was full of energy and had an impetuous nature. He looked at things in a fresh way and took risks. He was the match fated for her. She almost felt that he was a yazata: an angel sent to bring her happiness. And now it would end.

“Tell me. Am I wrong to have been so bold?”

Perveen felt tears starting at the corners of her eyes. “No. I am glad for these days we’ve had. I won’t ever forget them.”

Cyrus took Perveen’s face in his hands and leaned in until their lips touched.

She should have pushed him away, but she felt riveted by expectation. Finally, the thing she’d dreamed about was happening. She might miss him the rest of her life, but she would have this moment.

Cyrus’s lips were smooth, warm, and insistent. He kissed her until she understood that her mouth could part, and then she could taste him: his lips, his tongue, and a delicate, inward essence that tasted of fennel and alcohol.

Her excitement rising, Perveen kissed him back. She could not get enough.

The rock was hot as he pressed her down on it, covering her with his own body. His kisses moved from her mouth to her neck, and she felt something blooming. Was this love?

Yes, she decided. True romantic love must be an overpowering desire to meld two essences into one.

Cyrus’s hands slipped underneath both her blouse and the gossamer white lace sudreh. This hidden stretch of her body was prickling with sensations. He touched her breast, and she gasped from the pleasure of it.

While reading a novel, she’d once come across the phrase “wanton woman.” It had sounded awful. She had traveled to Bandra fearful that Cyrus might take liberties. Now she reveled in them. She was taking her own liberties with him. Was this liberation?

Abruptly, Cyrus lifted himself, and she felt desolate. Wrapping her arms around herself, she came up to a sitting position.

“I’m so sorry,” he panted. “I shouldn’t have done such things to a girl like you before marriage. But I want every bit of you so much. And now we know that we are meant for each other. Our marriage will be blessed with this—passion.”

Perveen was trembling. She wanted him to crush up against her again—to never stop touching her.

“I’ve fallen for you, Perveen,” Cyrus said, stroking her hair away from her face. “Now I know what love is.”

Perveen’s breathing slowed. The excitement she’d felt was transforming into serenity. A person had only one soul mate. Who was she to disregard this truth? Looking at him, she whispered, “It’s been fast. But I think I fell in love, too.”

“Please accept my proposal. I’ll throw myself into the sea if you don’t.”

Perveen stared at the Arabian Sea. Cyrus was daring her to follow her heart—to venture on her own journey just as their ancestors had, risking all for a golden dream.

She turned back to Cyrus and put her hands in his. “Yes. I would like to marry you. I don’t know that our parents will ever agree—but it’s my heartfelt wish.”

“My family will adore you,” Cyrus said, stroking away the hair that had fallen on her face. Kissing her brow, he said, “My mother has been missing having a daughter so much. Once she meets you, she’ll not want to let you go.”

As he pulled her close again for a dizzying kiss, the crash of waves that followed sounded like applause.