The short exchange hadn’t helped vanquish Eliza’s nervousness, but she resolved not to brood.
She had considered a number of locations that might provide the right light, but had been told this was the only time and place she would be allowed, and she had been given just a thirty-minute period in which to take the shots. She’d also needed to consider the background, preferring something simple to allow the eye to focus on the subjects of the picture, the people. It turned out most of her ideas had been vetoed by Chatur as ‘highly unsuitable’. The result was that the photographs would have to be taken against an elaborately decorated wall. This would require care.
As soon as she had identified the optimal position for the camera, she began to assemble her equipment. Today she would use her large field camera, a Sanderson ‘Regular’. Though not large compared with many plate cameras, she had brought it with her as the best compromise between a lighter weight, and obtaining the quality of image she sought. She also always carried her trusty Rolleiflex for hand-held opportunities. Luckily the Sanderson’s rise and fall, while tilting the front plate, gave her control over perspective and the plane of focus she needed to enable her subjects to stand out.
It took a while to set up, as it required a heavy mahogany and brass tripod, and possibly the use of flash powder to provide a bright burst of light. She mounted her Agfa flash lamp on a second tripod and attached the remote release, consisting of a long rubber tube with a rubber bulb that she would squeeze. That bit of pressure would trip the flint-striking mechanism to ignite the flash powder. She walked around studying the location to decide on the amount of flash powder she would need. She might only have time to take three or four, no more than six photographs, so she decided to mix the flash powder in advance to save time, rather than mix it for each shot. This had its dangers, as once mixed it could go off unexpectedly. A combination of magnesium powder and potassium chlorate, it had singed her hair more than once, but if she placed her subjects under the shade of the tree it would fill in the shadows.
Once it was done and as if on cue – confirming that feeling of being under continual observation – four servants came out carrying what looked like a throne. She’d heard of these sumptuous cushioned seats. It was a showy red and goldgaddi, not to Eliza’s taste at all, and if it reflected the Maharajah’s personality she couldn’t help thinking that Jayant and his brother Anish must be as different as chalk from cheese. She pointed to a place beneath the tree and they set the throne down alongside several other chairs. Another servant came out to sprinkle rose petals around the spot.
She heard the lyrical sound of a flute, followed by the heavy beat of a drum, and she recalled being told that in Indian mythology the drum beats creation into existence. Then she heard a rustle of silk and glimpsed the royal family entering the courtyard by way of a semi-concealed ground floor archway. Eliza felt awed by the grandeur as they solemnly walked over, and that increased her nervousness. The Maharajah seated himself and only then acknowledged Eliza’s presence.
Anish, the Maharajah, was a large man who was dipping his chubby fingers into a box of Turkish delight that his sour-faced wife, Priya, kept open on her lap, sending clouds of sugar powder flying as he popped one piece after another into his mouth. His eyes were a little bloodshot and Eliza wondered if he might be a drinker as well as a glutton. Her mother used to say she believed the excesses of the Indian Princes were due to the appalling practice of polygamy. Her mother despised polygamy with a passion.
Both Priya and her husband wore multiple rings and further jewels about their clothing, and for once Eliza was glad she could not record the scene in colour. If she’d thought thegaddiwas ostentatious, these two were a hundred times worse. Probably in her late thirties or early forties, Priya was not a beautiful woman in a traditional sense; she had a stiff expression on her face, with no trace of a smile, but she was arresting, with deep-set eyes and a slightly hooked nose. Her clothing consisted of a blouse, a gold and red embroidered skirt orghagra, with a matching silk shawl covering her hair, a string of sparkling rubies at her throat and, part of the way up her arm,poonchees, heavy silver and gold bracelets.
Eliza glanced to her left as Jayant entered the courtyard together with a broad-shouldered shorter man with ink-black hair and dark eyebrows. Wearing a long fitted coat to the knees, made of black satin with delicate gold embroidery and a stand-up collar, and black trousers, Jay was also in his finery but it was of a more restrained style. It was the first time she’d seen him wearing a turban, but what really surprised her was how dignified and elegant this ‘outdoors’ man could look. When he smiled at her she realized she had been staring and, embarrassed to have been caught, turned to fiddle with her camera. At the sound of footsteps behind her she twisted round. Indira had entered from yet another semi-concealed archway and now came to stand beside Eliza.
‘I am instructed to offer assistance should you require it,’ she said. ‘Theek hai?’
‘Yes, that’s fine,’ Eliza replied.
But this was a different Indi: the effervescence gone and with eyes lowered, her demeanour was much more cautious. By the look on the Maharani’s face it seemed clear that the older woman was the reason why; Priya didn’t acknowledge the girl’s arrival but gave her a pitying look, then pointedly turned her back on her. While Eliza was wondering who the other man was, Jay’s mother, Laxmi, and the Maharajah’s three daughters were the final members to join the group. Jay’s younger brother was at school in England and would not be joining them.
Eliza grouped them together closer than it seemed they wanted to be, while the Prince’s friend stood out of view. Priya sighed repeatedly and after only a few minutes got to her feet. With her back to Eliza she turned to Laxmi.
‘Surely the Englishwoman has finished? I need to go to prayers.’
‘Her name is Miss Fraser,’ Laxmi replied gently. ‘The agreement is that she should be free to do whatever she wishes.’
‘Your agreement!’
‘Let’s have no arguing on this beautiful day,’ the Maharajah said. ‘The sky is blue, the air is fresh, the birds are singing. She may do whatever she wishes, but naturally …’ He smiled at Priya. ‘Within reason, my dear.’
Priya gave her husband an aggrieved look, curling her lip in a sneer. ‘And, of course, you always do what your mother wishes.’
Anish frowned. ‘I’m sure Miss Fraser will not be much longer.’
Eliza swallowed her nerves. This lot were tricky. ‘Not long now. If you don’t mind taking your seat again, Princess, I’ll hurry along.’
She was aware that during the preceding few minutes Jayant had completely ignored the argument and had been whistling quietly under his breath. He stood nonchalantly, framed by the sun, and as if without a care in the world. But the divisions within the family and the contradictions gathered there were becoming clear. Eliza couldn’t afford to make enemies, not now that she’d sunk so much into buying her equipment. Her continuing progress was slow, as for every picture the plate had to be changed. She fumbled more than was usual and, with a sensation of immense relief, finished the job without anything jamming. It was a small blessing, because otherwise she’d have had to retreat to complete darkness to try to sort it out, and that would have delayed the shoot. She preferred using her Rolleiflex outdoors, and would do so for more candid shots, but today had been designed for formality. It was what the royal family were accustomed to and she didn’t want to scare them off at this early stage by taking the kind of informal pictures she really wanted and that she had specifically been asked to produce. Clifford had said right from the start that it was to be as true a picture of life in Rajputana as possible and should not be dictated by the royal family’s penchant for formal, unsmiling shots.
As the family wandered off, Jay took Anish aside and Eliza could hear that they were disagreeing about something. She heard the name ‘Chatur’ mentioned several times and, looking out of the corner of her eye as she dismantled her equipment, she could tell Jay was fuming. At one point he placed a hand on his brother’s arm and seemed to grip him tightly. Anish shook Jay’s hand off and then spoke in a raised voice. ‘Do not interfere. How Chatur chooses to run castle affairs is up to me, not you.’
‘But you give him too much power.’
At that point Eliza moved her tripod and they noticed her, lowering their voices, but it was clear to her that Jay didn’t approve of Chatur.
Anish then left and Jay stood quite still for a few moments before coming across and assuming a normal voice. ‘Not bad. In fact quite impressive,’ he said.
‘You’ve not seen the pictures yet,’ she said, bristling at the opinionated tone in his voice.
‘Professional.’
‘You expected something different?’
‘Well, by sending a woman photographer …’ He paused and looked at her searchingly, and now he seemed gentler. ‘What I mean to say is that it is unusual, is it not? And we are less accustomed to seeing a woman of class doing a job of work.’
‘A woman of class?’ she said and blinked.
