Sari Caste

by Catherine Kirby

  Then I spotted Dinesh borne forward by the noisy crowd, limping and tripping between their eager hands. He was waving and yelling at people as he searched desperately. He was looking for me! At first I was afraid, but then I reasoned that there was nobody restraining him, or chasing him, none of Mona's men. What was the matter with me? He had done nothing for me to mistrust him. I tried to open the window so that I could call to him. It was stuck. I pushed my way to the entrance of my compartment. The train was crammed full. The guard blew his whistle. Dinesh was still too far off to reach me. I took a deep breath to call out but I was so parched I produced only a croak. I looked around desperately. Behind me an old woman was drinking something from a cup. I grabbed it. She stared at me and drew back in her seat. I leaned out of the train gulping the sweet cha in such haste it slopped down my chin. I screamed out to Dinesh in a desperate voice I hardly recognised as my own. He was now only yards away. He looked straight at me and pointed me out. The crowd went wild. I didn't understand what was happening. He lost his balance momentarily but the guard and a couple of steadfast followers caught him. They hurled him forward and pushed him aboard beside me as the train rumbled and pitched forward.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Dinesh leaned out of the window to wave to the people who had helped him reach the train. Then he turned to me. Spreading his hands wide he shrugged, "No fruit. No drinks." He closed his eyes to take a long breath. The general chatter and clatter inside the train made it easy for us to talk freely.

  "Why have you been so long? I thought something bad had happened." I snarled both angry and relieved.

  "I saw Assad, the Arab. I don't like that man or his uncle. I waited until he was in conversation at the kiosk. Then pushed my way through the crowd to the platform. I couldn't find you. Forgive me, Manasa, when the train came I acted rashly, telling people around me," he hesitated apologetically, "that I was looking for my sister, who is sick in the head. I told them I was taking you back home. It was all I could think of to get their help."

  I began to laugh. "I felt sick in the head waiting for you. I was so relieved when you returned." We were silent a moment. "Assad? Did he see you?"

  "Oh, no. Anyway he was not expecting to see me."

  "I am glad you are here." I smiled. "When you spoke of taking me home, just then, it made me think of my father." I felt suddenly very lonely. "Is a cruel heart a sickness too?"

  "A cruel heart?"

  "My father's. Could that ever be cured, do you think?"

  His gaze was kind but quizzical. He said gently, "His duty to himself and his family is to pluck out the bad from the very roots, like a weed, so that the good in him can flourish. Everyone has good in them but not everyone finds it."

  Could it be that simple? Was there good in my father? Although father would never see his beautiful granddaughter, I knew that would not matter to him. I could see his face in my mind. His mouth twisted into a derisive sneer enjoying my present distress. I turned away. Mummy, you would love Lipika. She knows all your songs. She has something of you in her movements and gestures. Tears made my eyes ache so I looked down at my lap. You will not win with me, father, just because you have with my mother, I vowed. How I ached to see mummy again.

  Dinesh's tone changed and I became aware that he was still talking." ... If they discover there is a connection between us all, they will question her. They might even take the stall from her."

  "Who?"

  "From Sharmila, of course. But we will talk about these things later."

  I was glad. I was too exhausted for anything more. Squeezed onto the end of the opposite bench from Dinesh, I leaned back and found myself melting away into sleep, despite everything.

  Hours later I woke up. The train had ceased to rock. It was the passengers who now bustled about. Dinesh, who was also sleeping, began to stir. The train seemed to have come to a permanent stop. We climbed out to look around us. As we walked along the platform, the train disgorged a trickle of passengers like someone spitting betel juice. Ahead of us a huge bird swooped unexpectedly into a field of sugar cane to fasten on its prey, I shivered. Dinesh went off to bargain for fruit, nuts, and most welcome of all, water. I turned back to look at the silent train. Like a loyal beast of burden, it had sunk down at the end of the line awaiting its master's next command.

  "We must find out where we are. The ticket collector will direct us."

  The ticket collector sat crossed legged on a stool. He was curious about his new arrivals and took a long time greeting us, finding out our names, where we had come from, and whom we had come to see. He confirmed that we had arrived at Lalgola. We explained we had taken the wrong train when we had become separated from the rest of our family. Concerned, he insisted we go home with him to refresh ourselves. He would direct us to Darjeeling; we had no need to worry. I was impatient to continue our journey immediately, desperate to know Lipika was safe but we needed whatever help we could find. We stayed chatting with him until, with a lot of ceremony, he locked his stool in a tiny dark hut. The fields of sugar cane around us reminded me of home and of Patap. We skirted dense, sleepy fields, which seemed to isolate us from the rest of the world. On through a thin copse of trees, inhabited by curious monkeys, to a cluster of mud and wood houses, a good distance from the station. This was where Milap, the ticket collector, lived with his wife, children, parents, grandparents, uncles, brothers, and their families.

  They all gathered round us to hear our story. "We were rescuing our orphaned cousins from a bad woman who tried to sell them as slaves." Dinesh told the shocked group encircling us. "Mona is a wicked woman. She came after us with her rich foreign masters." They concentrated on his every word in awed silence. I began to feel uncomfortable. They might not believe him, though even if they did, they might be too frightened to help us. "The Calcutta streets are always crowded, even so, they almost caught us. The rest of the family had gone ahead. We hid from our pursuers, for a time, but in our rush to escape we took the wrong train. We are most anxious to join up with our family in Darjeeling where we were planning to go, before we got separated."

  "Who is this Mona?" Milap asked.

  "She is a very bad women, very bad. She is involved in all kinds of illegal dealings and she will do anything to satisfy her own greed. We are especially anxious about the children. The aunties they are with have never been to Darjeeling. We have no family settled there."

  "Then why did they take children to such a place, with no one to welcome them or take them in? This is foolishness."

  "Except for each other, we have no family left. We chose a place we hoped never to be found."

  There was a lull, in which Milap looked thoughtful. He called the other men aside. They gathered into a huddle, talking rapidly, looking over to us from time to time and gesticulating to each other. It became quite a heated argument. It was a strange story for country people to hear. What would they decide? They wandered over to us.

  "You have not been sensible. These people, who are looking for you, what do they want now that the aunties have claimed back the children?"

  I had not expected this question and wondered how we could answer, without telling them things they would not easily understand. Dinesh had a reply. "They claim they bought the children from their parents, before the parents died and that they own the children now. The children need our protection. We will never let them be sold."

  "What happened to the parents?"

  "We don't know. Mona's people are evil, capable of any kind of lie."

  "How can we know you are not lying to us? Why should we believe you?"

  "We are alone with little money and no transport. Why would we put ourselves at your mercy with such a lie?"

  Milap turned to the menfolk and nodded at them. Some heads nodded back some wobbled from side to side. "You are our guests and we must help you find your family. If those people you speak of come to the station asking about you, we shall say we haven't heard of you. Now come and eat supper wit
h us. We shall ask the goddess, Durga, for protection."

  With great relief Dinesh thanked him. We insisted on contributing our small food store to the meal they offered us. I must have drunk ten cups of ghol but they showed no impatience with providing more each time. Their hospitality was simple but warm. Now that they had accepted our story, nothing was too much trouble. After supper, Dinesh went off to smoke with the men. I was to sleep in the kitchen, with the other women and the children. Watching the children laughing and chattering, while they snuggled down with their mothers for the night, stirred in me a deep yearning to be safely reunited with Lipika. I let myself cry softly into my sari, sure that the darkness would protect my privacy.

  I didn't expect the tiny hand on my shoulder, as one of the little girls climbed into my lap, to hug me, and snuggle down to sleep. How could I find comfort without knowing whether my own were safe? But then, I said to God, "I know that I am not an important person, yet the challenges you have given me in this life have been very big. Why must I accomplish such difficult tasks? I don't wish to show you any disrespect, although I admit I have not been a religious person. Is that why you punish me? I don't understand but I shall try to complete these difficult tasks so please keep my family safe. Please spare Lipika and the twins. Poor little Ch'en. Why have you taken him from us? And in such a cruel way, Why? We loved him." I lay silent with tears doing their own work until I slept a little.

  As soon as I could begin to see vague shapes around me, I got up. The little one had crawled back to her mother. Everyone seemed to move with maddening lethargy. After refreshing myself with a simple wash I tried to be helpful, all the time looking for Dinesh and Milap. I was unable to complete anything. The other women kindly took over each task I began, finally bidding me to sit and drink cha while I waited until Dinesh called me.

  It had been decided that, in return for a little money to pay for fuel, Kulin, Milap's nephew, would take us in their rusty but prized old truck, as far as Siliguri Town station, where we would catch the bus to Darjeeling. It was a wonderful offer, which we gladly accepted. They supplied us with a huge metal bowl of rice, dhal, a few small oranges, and ghol to drink on the journey. What kindness, after all the shame and meanness I had experienced at the brothel, this was like being wrapped in silk or lying down to sleep on a cloud. We had friends. They insisted we visit Milap's cousin, Badal, in Kalimpong only a short journey from Darjeeling to give him a gift of a family photograph that had been taken some time ago and of which Milap was obviously extremely proud. He assured us that we would receive a warm greeting in return. We assured him that we would. Kulin did his best to get us to the bus stand at all possible speed. The stony road was full of dips and bumps. All I can remember of the rest of the journey is gritting my teeth to withstand the bumping about on the hard springless seat, while carefully guarding the precious photograph. I barely noticed where we were going. My only thought was of getting there as soon as possible. I hoped the others would be safely in Darjeeling.

  How was Supriya coping with Kajal and Lipika, and the children? I was sure Kajal was too strained and frightened to be helpful. I hoped Semanti was not creating problems, with all her questions and eagerness to be swept off to the wonders Assad had poured into her head. It made me feel useless to think about what might be happening. I had to believe in Supriya. She had always been good to me. At least she was free of the brothel now and not all alone on the streets.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  It was a tense journey. Kulin sounded his horn constantly. He kept all his concentration for negotiating the road, which was more like a rough river with rocks and falls, and river monsters. It was wonderful to reach Siliguri Town and then just a little further to the bus stand. He would not take anything more in payment. It was more important to have been trusted with a man's job, when he was still so young. He could not have been more than sixteen, although age is very hard to tell sometimes. He was going to stay with some relatives, who lived nearby, for a few days, before returning home.

  We waited only a very short time for the bus. It was about noon when it arrived. Finally, we were heading for the end of our journey. It was a beautiful ride snaking up into the mountains. At one time, we ran parallel with the little toy train that moved so slowly, it would have been as quick to walk alongside with the peddlers who sold food through the windows. I was so tired I kept dosing, and shivering myself awake to gaze at the green and wonderful mountain views. I was fully awake by the time we neared Darjeeling bus stand. People became busy chattering and gathering their children and belongings. Everyone pushed and jostled, as usual. Dinesh looked surprisingly fresh. I felt a new surge of energy and expectation as we got off the bus, all the time looking for Supriya and the children. Foolishly, I had been sure they would be waiting for us. I looked helplessly at Dinesh.

  "We'll sit here." He suggested kindly, lowering himself awkwardly to sit on a rock.

  "What shall we do then?" He made room for me and I sank down beside him. The chill in the air caused me to shiver. Dinesh continued our broken conversation.

  "We'll wait. We will see them coming soon. They will guess we have taken the bus, since we were unable to take the train with them." It was easy for him to be calm. He had not parted with a child so young, anything could have happened to her.

  I felt such disappointment and helplessness there was no energy to protest. Listlessly I looked about me. It was a beautiful place but cold. I had never seen hills and mountains green and stately like these. The tall pines surrounded us with a mild clean scent. It was much cooler and calmer here than Calcutta, yet the beauty seemed alien. Despite its beauty without Lipika and Kajal it was a grotesque monument to our failure to protect the children, to our exploitation at the hands of those who had bled our very lives away. I stopped looking and stared at the ground. Dinesh clucked his tongue at me in disapproval.

  "What a pity you are too sad to embrace your daughter, sister, and friends. Look they are running to greet us!"

  In my eagerness I dashed forward but then I heard the twins laughter behind me as they tried to beat each other to reach us first. Lipika stretched out to me from Supriya's arms. Kajal trailed wearily behind. In my heart, I thanked god and asked him to please understand my ignorance of him, and that we still needed help. It was a rapturous welcome from them all. Only Kajal and Dinesh remained aloof. We hugged and laughed all trying to speak at the same time. Supriya told us excitedly how, on the train the previous day they had chatted to a middle-aged couple. At Siliguri, the couple was met by relatives who had insisted on giving them all a ride to Darjeeling on the back of their truck together with a couple of goats and a crate of hens. They had eaten a meal with their new friends, and then come to the bus stand to wander about and wait for us. They had hoped we would take the bus, the quickest transport. There was still some money left but it was clear that simply to survive, we must do something about getting more, as quickly as we could.

  "I will go back to Calcutta." Dinesh decided. We all looked at him waiting for him to make us understand. "No one will suspect that I am connected with you all. I must keep my business in the market so that, every few weeks, I shall visit and bring you money. You'll need that. I shall be happy knowing you are all safe and no longer with Mona, no longer being used and hurt."

  "Will you stay with us aunty?" Then turning to Supriya, "Will you stay?" Madhu demanded. Her small face tense.

  "You must understand children that Manasa, Supriya, and Kajal have rescued you from great dangers. They'll love you and care for you while you must be dutiful in your obedience. I'll care for you all too. You'll have a happy and good future."

  "But I will marry Assad soon. Then I shall leave with Madhu." Semanti looked confused.

  "No. He is a bad man who lied to you. You will not understand now, but one day you will and you'll be glad you came here with us." The girls listened in silence while Semanti clung miserably to her sister's arm. I gathered them into me.

  "Are you goi
ng now?" I asked Dinesh still shocked that he had planned to return to Calcutta.

  "Yes. It's best. How else will I support you all? Wait here and I'll find out when the bus leaves."

  Madhu slipped her arm through mine and looked up at me with a cheeky grin. "Aunty I like it here. Maybe there is a market somewhere. We can all go there every day if we like. There will be less work to do, less cooking, and no ugly aunty Mona to shout and complain if we laugh."

  "It will be very happy once we get to know this place properly." I pinched her cheek lightly. I knew I must keep attuned to the children's need for reassurance. Indeed, it seemed I could learn from Madhu's readiness to accept the changes we all had to make. Dinesh had done his best. Thankfully, he still had some time left with us. I knew he was right about returning to his flower stall in the market now that there were so many mouths for us to feed. We spent the last few hours together looking for some work to employ, at least, some of us. We needed many things, especially warmer clothes, somewhere to sleep, and of course food. But money was paramount without it we could have none of these things and it might be some time before Dinesh's return.