The Wedding Drums

by Marilyn Rodwell

  ‘I see you haven’t told Ma.’ Annan winked again.

  ‘And I am not going to, because it’s not for me.’

  ‘I know you must be feeling like shit today. It’s written all over your ugly face. But stay calm. Here’s an idea for you. You could get a job in oil. They’re setting up oil-drilling in a few places. When you go on the boat, you can see the oil rigs inland.’

  Parbatee brought the dinner, but Rajnath had no appetite.

  ‘Just eat a small piece of the roti with the pumpkin talkarie,’ she begged. ‘You must keep up your strength. I don’t want you to get ill again.’ She pleaded with her husband: ‘Can you see what you could do about this court case?’

  ‘There is nothing I can do,’ Kamal said, heavily. ‘Once they get this far, it is up to the judge. And they’ve not given us any time to get advice. Two days. Just two days!’

  That night, Rajnath left the house and went down the road to Sumati’s house to collect the bag of money he had left behind.

  ‘I know you are angry with me,’ he said to her, ‘but you couldn’t make me feel worse than I already do. I didn’t come for a fight, but you must understand that I can’t change what happened. I will regret sending you there for the rest of my life. Please help me and try hard to forget it. Just be yourself. Your children deserve that.’

  ‘At least I have them. Maybe it’s more than I deserve. You left your bag here.’ She pointed to it, untouched, in the corner.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of what other people say,’ Rajnath continued. ‘Everyone has faults. Yours are no bigger than anybody’s. Work out who you are, and what you want. One day it will happen. But you have to think about how to get there.’

  ‘Dreaming didn’t help me,’ she disagreed. ‘It only brought me trouble. Being myself didn’t work out either. I’m an Indian girl. I’m not supposed to fall in love. I’m supposed to be given away. Taken and owned by someone else for them to do with as they please. I’m supposed to do as I am told. You tell me to think. Why? Where will that get me?’

  ‘You must never stop thinking. You have a brain like any boy or man. One day it will show you a way. Think smart. And take all the opportunities you can get. I have something for you.’ He opened the bag and pulled out some cash and handed it to her. ‘Take this – for food and clothes. And don’t ask where it came from.’

  She looked shocked. ‘How much food and clothes do you expect me to buy?’

  ‘Buy some land and build a house,’ he said, turning to go. ‘You deserve it. And one day you will fall in love again, but make sure it is with somebody who deserves you and will look after you.’ He took one last look at her and the tiny twins then said, ‘I have to go.’

  FORTY-NINE

  It was the day of the court hearing, and Kamal Singh and Annan were accompanying Rajnath to Port of Spain. Parbatee had invited a gathering of friends and neighbours to help pass the time. She would have to cook and feed them, so she prepared paratha roti with a vegetable curry, biagan chokha with garlic and hot pepper, and fried bitter caraili, which was a favourite. She was up at three that morning, cooking by lamplight, for her husband and boys to have breakfast, and food to take with them for the day. It was bound to be a long and harrowing day. She boiled some rice, cooked thick dhal seasoned with salt and roasted garlic. She roasted the aubergines over the open fire till soft, peeled and mashed them, added a few crushed hot bird peppers, salt and coconut oil for the biagan chokha. Then she portioned the meals and placed them in a triple-stacked, enamel food carrier.

  She looked at her boys and picked up a hand from each of them, clasping their palms together. ‘Talk nice to them,’ she said, looking at Rajnath. ‘If the judge sees you are a respectable boy, he will have mercy.’

  Rajnath grunted. ‘If I murdered somebody I’d most likely get away with it. All I did was fall ill. This world has no justice.’

  ‘I’ve been talking to people,’ Kamal said. ‘And everybody is saying that the planters don’t fool the judges with their tricks these days. The ordinances the workers have to obey are too harsh, and bad enough without these prosecutions and punishments for no good reason.’

  ‘What are these ordinances?’ Parbatee asked her husband.

  ‘Ma, we don’t have time for this,’ Rajnath said, impatiently.

  Seeing that Parbatee was pale with worry, her husband answered her. ‘They are the plantation rules for the workers,’ he said. ‘You know some of them already. No one is allowed to drink liquor in the estate housing – that is, if they live in the barracks, nor allowed to use disrespectful language to anybody in authority. That includes the overseer, like me. It’s illegal to congregate outside the plantation, to discuss grievances. You remember when some of them tried to gather outside, protesting for more pay? They’re not allowed to do that. So that caused them to lose more pay instead. Nobody is allowed to disobey what is called reasonable orders. And that could be anything, to tell you the truth. If the owner isn’t satisfied with the work a labourer has done, he can make him do it again in the labourer’s own time, and again, till he’s satisfied with the work. And of course, an indentured labourer is not allowed to leave the estate without a written pass from the owner or the overseer. So the upshot is that breaking any of these ordinances will lead to a fine, or a fine and a jail sentence.’

  Parbatee was crying. ‘My son, I don’t want my son to have these troubles.’

  ‘But we all know how dangerously ill he was,’ Kamal said. ‘The judge will see this. The boy nearly died and the doctor said that right here. In fact, he himself didn’t want to give you a medical certificate. You remember?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Parbatee recalled. ‘I had to insist that he wrote one out. Then he did. So they can’t hold that against my Raj.’

  ‘That’s because the doctor thought he would die of TB,’ Annan said. ‘So that’s why he wouldn’t take the trouble to write out a sick certificate when he didn’t expect my brother to return to work.’

  ‘And what if they put me in jail anyway?’ Rajnath said. He was shaking. ‘Like they do to so many people. I know somebody who got jail for calling the overseer a modder-arse because the driver said he would have to do the whole weeding job again, without pay. But he was giving him a whole new piece of weeding to do, in a different place!’

  ‘I know it is unfair,’ Kamal said. ‘That kind of thing happens every day. But it’s one of the ordinances. No disrespectful language must be used to the planter, nor the overseers. No matter what unfair things they do to you.’

  ‘None of you seem to realise that it is the blasted British Governor-General who is perpetuating this unfair justice system,’ Annan growled. ‘But I heard recently that some judges are trying to make it fairer on the labourers.’

  ‘And how do you know that?’ Rajnath snapped. ‘You don’t even work.’

  ‘My eyes and my ears work,’ Annan said coolly. ‘And they are pretty reliable too.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Kamal said. ‘It’s about which judge or magistrate you get. That is what I hear too. Let us hope you’re lucky. We might see a lawyer before the case gets called.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ Annan prompted them. ‘We don’t want to miss the bus.’

  ‘Oh yes. There’s a bus now,’ Rajnath said.

  ‘Yes, there is a new Mail bus coming from Cedros, but we have to go quickly.’

  ‘Now, son,’ Parbatee said to Rajnath, ‘don’t lose your temper with people, no matter how much they provoke you. Even if you’re in the right.’

  The three men walked out before dawn with a torchlight. An owl hooted, and flew low across the sky in front of them, and Rajnath took it for a good sign. They reached the junction five minutes before double lights shone at them from a distance. Kamal Singh waved at it, and the Mail bus screeched to a halt.

  As they sat down, the smell of leather filled the air. The novelty of riding high off the ground and on the Mail bus reminded Rajnath of the letter he wrote to the San Fernando police – still hidde
n and unposted. He promised himself that he’d rewrite and post it as soon as he returned home.

  The view from the bus was very different to the one from the sloop. They whipped through sleepy villages, almost brushing past people walking to work, fetching water, or taking animals to be tied out to graze. As they drove on, he noticed the villages closer to San Fernando were more populated and with more shops dotting the roadside – Ramnarine’s Stores, Boodoo’s Rum Shop, and Patsy’s Parlour – a shack shop, all in one village.

  San Fernando itself was a stark contrast to rural life, with its majestic charm. The bus stopped on a smooth asphalt road in front of a white stone building. Annan was asleep bolt upright and Kamal was wide awake staring through the window, feeling lost. An hour later, the Mail bus was bowling along through miles of sugarcane plantation in the county of Caroni.

  Rajnath dozed off, only to be woken by a sharp turn in the road. Port of Spain greeted them with its sea of impressive buildings, painted different colours. The buildings dominated the streets, many fronted with wide, curved steps and with pillars framing the entrances. Rajnath had never seen anything quite like it even in San Fernando. The bus jerked to a stop inside the bus station. It took them by surprise when the driver shouted, ‘Larse stop. Everbody off de bus.’ They unstuck themselves from the leather seats, stood up and stretched, before dragging themselves down the steps and onto the pavement. After three hours on the bus, Rajnath felt stiff and nauseous. He called up to the driver and asked how long it took for a letter to get up here from Granville.

  ‘In all?’ the driver replied. ‘A few days.’

  The three men stood at the side of the road and looked at each other with the same idea of where to go. In the end, they paced the streets until they finally spotted their destination.

  ‘See that huge red building there? That must be the Red House,’ Kamal said. ‘The Court House will be there.’

  To get inside was a relief. The air was cool and the floors were tiled. The desk clerk asked the name of the lawyer representing them, but they didn’t know. At 10am, a white-reddish-skinned man in a grey pinstripe suit and bowler hat approached them. He pulled a watch from his pocket, and asked their names. They all replied together, ‘Kamalsingh.’

  ‘My name is Richard Guppy,’ the man said. ‘And I am a representative of His Majesty’s Court,’ he said. ‘Now, which one of you is Rajnath? I will be representing you today. Follow me.’

  They walked off towards one of the side rooms that lay behind big wooden doors.

  ‘There’s nothing to it,’ Mr Guppy said. ‘You will just answer truthfully when I ask you any questions. But that might not even happen.’

  ‘What about when the other lawyer asks him questions?’ Kamal enquired.

  ‘I see you know something about proceedings,’ Guppy replied, half-smiling.

  ‘A little. I’m a plantation overseer, myself,’ Kamal Singh explained.

  ‘Really? An overseer?’

  Kamal nodded, and Mr Guppy looked surprised.

  ‘Unusual! At least you will understand. I will do the talking for your son. He doesn’t have to say a word. In fact, it will be better if I did all the talking.’

  ‘Good,’ Kamal said. ‘Because this is all a shock for him. He has recently been very ill. The doctor said he could have died of TB – the consumption, you know.’

  ‘But it wasn’t tuberculosis, was it?’ Guppy asked, thumbing through his papers.

  ‘Well, the doc made a mistake, and it turned out to be real bad double pneumonia,’ Kamal said.

  ‘I was very ill,’ Rajnath added. ‘To be honest, I don’t remember much at all. I was barely conscious.’

  ‘Good,’ Guppy said, looking at Rajnath. ‘And I will cross-examine you and ask you that same question. The lawyer for the prosecution will more than likely want to know that too. Right now, I will go through some of the questions they might ask. The judge may well want you to speak. But we will see how it goes. At this point, I will tell you that the judge is Judge Samuel. He’s new, does not stand for this type of exploitation of plantation labourers. Changes are happening. There has to be an end to it. Last week, Judge Samuel made that quite clear at another hearing.’ He replaced the papers in his briefcase and closed it. ‘There is also a good chance the plantation will withdraw the case because of this. They must know they have very little chance of winning. However, you could end up with costs if they request that of the judge. It’s a bit much if you ask me, because it was they who brought the case to court. But at least you will get off. Jail is no place for a nice-looking young man like yourself at the start of your life.’

  ‘What is the chance of them withdrawing the case, Mr Guppy?’ Kamal asked.

  ‘I would say a very good chance. There is a letter from a doctor here – Dr Boyle. But I can’t seem to find any medical certificate. I took the liberty of getting hold of the doctor to ask about your situation. So it was a foolish thing for the plantation manager, Mr MacDonald, to even think of bringing this case to court.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’ Kamal asked.

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine, Mr Singh,’ Guppy replied. ‘Why indeed? Does he have some longstanding grudge against you? Mind you, it doesn’t necessarily follow. Men like him do it out of spite. But you must know the real answer to that.’

  ‘I do,’ Kamal Singh replied. ‘I am an overseer, and that would cause Rajnath’s overseer a problem. It is a racial thing. My plantation manager is fine about it, or he wouldn’t have given me the job. Sometimes the driver and the overseer are the ones causing the problems!’

  ‘I realise that,’ Mr Guppy tutted. ‘It’s the world we live in. The races will never be equal in everyone’s eyes, and it isn’t just white and black. It is any race and any other race. And it’s worse in England. My mother is Irish. But I normally keep that to myself in England.’

  ‘I didn’t know that about white people,’ Kamal said.

  ‘There’s a lot you probably don’t know about England, Mr Singh.’

  They were all silent for a while, looking at the floor and the walls; pondering about race, black, brown, white, position and power, riches, poverty, education, overseers, drivers, rivals, newcomers in a country, foreigners, judges and lawyers, Trinidad, England, and each other.

  ‘Well, it might never happen,’ Guppy said. ‘They will have to withdraw. I really cannot see Judge Samuel upholding this case because it would be a clear miscarriage of justice. And not what anyone in England wants to hear right now. Indentureship ended this year. Officially anyhow. This would cause the plantations labour shortage. These cases came to court and men and women were prosecuted for being unfit for work because of illness, and no one lost a single grey hair in the process. But things are changing. So, I suggest you relax. You have an hour before the cases are heard.’

  Rajnath and Kamal felt relieved. When Mr Guppy left, they ate some of their food and got a drink from the water fountain, which was a novelty.

  ‘Well you could be lucky,’ Annan said. ‘Or then again, you might just go to jail. But that white man is saying that he’s going to get you off.’

  Rajnath looked hard at Annan. ‘This is not the time or the place for your damn jokes. I thought for once in your life you might be some help, even if you just could keep your mouth shut.’

  ‘Stop it!’ Kamal said crossly. ‘The two of you could put your differences aside just for one day. Shame on you, Annan. Family must stick together. Who else will help us if we don’t help each other? In the end, blood is thicker than water – just remember that. And stop doing your best to water down the blood that’s running through your veins. It’s all we have.’

  Parbatee returned to bed after Kamal and the boys had left. She wanted just to lie down and think, instead of busying herself as usual with chores. She’d hardly slept since the letter, fretting constantly. She fell asleep until the village dogs began barking, calling and answering each other. Birds were chirping, doves cooing, squirrels skittering a
nd scraping over the galvanized roof. She woke abruptly, realising she had overslept. Later, as she returned from the bathroom to the house, she heard someone call.

  All morning, neighbours came and went. They came to help, to cook and to eat, to serve others, sixty in all that day. By the time it was dusk, Parbatee was exhausted, but the women were still passing the time singing Bhajans, and banging on makeshift drums. At nightfall, she lit a Cockset to keep the mosquitoes away, and sitting in the hammock, surrounded by a few friends, at long last must have fallen asleep.

  FIFTY

  Devinia was surprised to have a visit from Amrit Dass from San Fernando, although with every visit she had from anyone, she hoped that someone would help her make sense of her husband’s pointless death. She immediately began to apologise to Mr Dass about her husband’s decision to cancel the wedding, expressing her regret, and saying that they were now suffering for their selfish decision. Karma was paying them back, she said. Her tone was apologetic and friendly.

  The man listened to her pour out her heart before politely offering his condolences.

  ‘I don’t know how you are managing,’ he said. ‘It must be most difficult, with your husband and his business gone. He will have been making a good living, with all the jewellery there. I was quite shocked to hear it.’

  Devinia looked at him surprised. How did he know about Sankar’s death?

  ‘News travels,’ he said gently.

  ‘My husband was very well known.’ Her voice sounded relieved and unsuspicious.

  ‘Let’s say I took an interest,’ Mr Dass said smoothly. ‘I am in business myself, and you were soon to become family.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Let me come straight to the point about why I am here, Mrs Banderjee. As I said, your daughter would have been my daughter until your husband changed his mind. My son, poor boy, cried for days.’

  Devinia began to tense up, dreading what he was going to say next. How could she persuade Amina to reverse her father’s decision and accept the offer of marriage once again?