Page 44 of The Henna Artist

“I don’t know. Maybe they just smile more.”

“Hmm. They certainly have better teeth than theAngreji.”

“Everybody has better teeth than the English!”

They laughed.

After a pause, Radha said, “That’s the first film I’ve seen in color.”

“I thought you told me it was your first film ever.”

“Arré!You don’t have to remember everything I tell you.”

Malik chuckled.

“Although,” Radha mused, “maybe her teeth look whiter because her lips are so red.”

For a moment I heard only the jangle of stainless steel plates. Then: “Radha, does lipstick have a taste?”

“How should I know?”

“I saw you. When I was doing errands. You were standing at the polo grounds of the Jaipur Club. You had lipstick on.”

“You were spying on me?” Radha’s voice was sharp.

“Ow!”She must have pinched his earlobe. “No! I’m too busy to spy on you!”

After a pause, Radha said, “Kanta Auntie wanted me to try it on. She often has me try on her things.”

I felt my chest tighten. Kanta was encouraging my thirteen-year-old sister to put on lipstick?

“You know what Gopal says about lipstick, Radha? The girls in Bombay are born wearing it. Saves time when they become film stars.”

I heard Malik’s throaty chuckle and Radha’s deep laugh. She sounded happy.

The Jaipur Club was where the elite played polo and tennis and sipped cocktails on the veranda. It wasn’t the kind of place I had ever been invited. Kanta and Manu belonged to the club, but they hardly ever went there because Manu didn’t play tennis or polo. If Kanta had taken my sister, surely she would have mentioned it. I didn’t want to confront Kanta about indulging Radha too much; I would appear ungrateful and petty. It would seem as if I were jealous of the joy Kanta was bringing to my sister’s life.

But I didn’t want Radha to become obsessed only with superficial things. I wanted her to have the higher education I never had. It was too much to hope she could study abroad like Kanta, but it was within my reach to hire tutors to supplement her studies at a government school and pass the difficult exams for a local college.

I took a deep breath; school was starting in another week and Radha’s head would be filled with math equations and scientific theories instead of what brand of toothpaste Marilyn Monroe used.

After two weeks of treatment, Maharani Latika had begun to get the bloom back in her cheeks. Today, her dresser had chosen a red georgette sari shot with fine silver threads. The ruby shade of Her Highness’s lipstick complemented her black hair, which had been teased in the manner of a film star. A silvermaang tikkain the center part of her hair ended in a teardrop ruby. The transformation was breathtaking. Bearing no resemblance to the queen in low spirits I had first encountered, this woman radiated good health and well-being. The treats I’d been feeding her, as well as the oils I massaged her with, had done wonders for her mood.

It was time to put the finishing touch on my henna design. In the center of her left palm, I drew her name in Hindi:Latika. On the right palm, I wrote her son’s name in henna:Madhup. When I lifted her hands so she could see what I had done, she gasped.

“When you think of your son, Your Highness, you need only bring your palms together to be close to him.” It was a risk, I knew. Reminding her of what she’d lost could backfire, trigger another depression. But as I’d tended her body these past few weeks, I’d sensed the steel of her muscles, the resolve in her tendons, the strength of the current in her veins. She was a woman who would always look forward despite setbacks, and I’d set in motion the healing she needed to guide her there.

Her eyes filled and a tear trickled down her cheek. One of her ladies dabbed her face with an embroidered handkerchief.

“Lakshmi,” she said. Since she had started talking again, her voice had become stronger.

I wasn’t aware that she knew my name. “Your Highness?”

“Thank you.”

The heat I felt behind my eyes was relief—and pride—for summoning every skill I’d developed to soothe her ravaged soul. I didn’t trust myself to speak. I lowered my eyes and tipped my head slightly to acknowledge her gratitude.

“Maharani Indira tells me you have a younger sister.”

---