Page 84 of A Thousand Painted Hours

“Do not,” she said fiercely. “Do not defend this thing between you two. I should never have allowed it. It is impossible, Elsie. For both of you.”

My youthful optimism bloomed and spoke. “I shall return to India. It will be less challenging there.”

“Will it?” She turned to me, her eyes brilliant bright jewels. “Let me speak plainly, Elsie. You have no money, and will have none unless you marry into it. The Talwarpur estates are as poor as Herewich, if not more so. Do you not remember the crumbling rooms in the palace?” She pressed her finger into my thigh. “He is the second son and will earn his way on his wits, which are considerable, but he also has need of a wealthy marriage. Neither of you has a penny.”

The words sounded so harsh in her spitting voice. It was desperately rare for her to speak in such a way to me, and the shock of it made me feel as if I should fall weeping on her lap. But I liked less what she said.

“This is not some old novel, Mother. It’s the modern world. Things are changing. What need have we of riches?”

She literally groaned, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Of all the idiotic—” She pressed her lips together. “You might not need riches,” she said with an exhausted tone, “but you shall need something. Money does not rain from the sky, and only a girl who has had everything provided for her all her life could be so blind. How will you buy paint? Canvas? Brushes?”

A stone filled my gut, and I reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. We rode in silence for some distance, the only sound the clopping of the horses hooves on the gravel of the road.

Outside the carriage, the fields were green and gold, and balls of sheep dotted the grassy hills. Her words made me acknowledge the precariousness of my position, the foolishness of my dream of having a life with Tanveer.

“It isn’t some fleeting love affair, you know,” I whispered, trying to hold back tears. “It is a rare and beautiful connection we’ve woven. It’s real and true, and I don’t know how I can be happy without him.”

She took my hand then, and I could see she was fighting tears, too. “I know. But that does not change a single fact.”

A sensation of breaking ran through my entire being, my heart, yes, but my lungs turned to glass, and my head, and my eyes, and all of them shattered. I collapsed against my mother, trying not to fall to a pile of shards on the carriage floor.

Somehow, I would have to see him before he returned to India. At least we should be able to say our farewells.

—42—

July 28, 1914

London

[In Urdu]

Dear Elsie,

I cannot even think of a good thing, one tiny beauty, one single moment of joy because I will not see you again before my father whisks us back to India. He fears war will break out and prevent our return, so he insists we leave immediately. I have pleaded, but he will not listen.

Write to me, soon. I fear you will misunderstand my sudden silence. I am wretched and shall miss you every moment of every day. You are my dearest, dearest love. I do not know how I shall survive without you at my side.

With all my love,

Tanveer

August 7, 1914

London

[In Urdu]

My dearest love,

War has been officially declared, so it appears your father was correct.

I returned to London the day after your ship sailed, and wept for a day at missing the opportunity to wish you farewell. How could we not even have been afforded that single thing, a chance to say goodbye?

I am wretched,rooh ke saathi.

My brother is threatening to marry me off to a man I don’t even know. The only glimmer of hope I see is in the truth that all the young heirs will march off to war to do their duty. I wish no ill on any of them, but perhaps it buys both of us a little time.

We have made no promises, Tanveer. We have not even discussed what a future together might be—and perhaps it is impossible, but I find I cannot entirely give up on the possibility that we might find a way. Am I a fool to dream such?