There was a cheerful magic quality to these new surroundings. The children loved it despite their shivering. We passed the large smart hotels and smaller more modest ones, where the tourists stayed. I longed to go inside and rest. I felt weary in the thinner mountain air, but it cheered me to see Madhu and Semanti become excited when we eventually found a market, where we bought some woollen shawls and rugs. The twins darted about laughing and chasing each other, as they had in Calcutta. Dinesh chatted easily to one or two stallholders. We also met the kind people who had insisted on bringing Supriya and the others with them from Siliguri. Surprisingly, Milap's name was mentioned for they knew and respected his brother, and so we shared their meal of rice with hot spicy momos, a kind of meatball and delicious warming cha. It was good to be finding our way among these people. I felt proud of Dinesh. He was not wealthy or important but he had a truly wonderful smile, a warmth that lit us from within and bound us together as a family. He had become special to me. I remember thinking it was strange to be unsure what that demanded of me, and that we had no map to follow of what was expected of either of us in this situation.
Our market friends told Dinesh, he could have a little space to sell his flowers to Indian holidaymakers who came to Darjeeling for its cool climate, or to visit their children staying in expensive boarding schools. They suggested he think of other things to sell too. It was a beginning. We had several generous assurances of help. Until our new business was established and Dinesh could live with us, it was agreed that Kajal, Supriya, and I would begin finding things to sell. We left the market with the offer of a wooden shack for us to rent cheaply. Dinesh had to return to the bus. He took me aside, so that we could speak alone before he left.
"I'm overjoyed at your courage. It'll be a struggle to begin with, but I shall soon return and bring Sharmila with me. So many women for just one man to look after! I shall think of you every day until I see you again, dearest wife." That certain smile he reserved for me, so warm and loving, was, I knew, his pledge to me.
Although I mirrored his smile I still had some fears. "I wonder if she will agree to come back here. She never approved of me living in the brothel."
"She's your friend and you are no longer in the brothel. Don't worry, I employ her. She'll listen to me."
I relaxed a little. "I wonder why you have never asked about us leaving Calcutta so suddenly, Dinesh?"
"Supriya mentioned it was Assad. I have seen him in the market. I'd guessed there could be trouble for you with such men about, but of course, I hadn't expected it at that moment. I'm glad you've left. It's what I wanted so much. It was a very bad place for you to be."
I explained to him that Kajal's sudden return had made me decide to leave right away. His face was grave. I waited anxiously. Would this be too much for him?
"Money is all that matters to those people. We should have come here sooner but I knew you were not ready."
"Without poor Kajal how could I!"
"They must not find you. I have told Sharmila I was visiting a sick friend. Sharmila must decide, at once, about joining you."
"I hope she will not tell anyone where we are."
"She won't know where we're going, until we are on our way here."
I smiled "We shall be busy and free from Mona and that despicable place but I will not be happy until you return."
"At least, this time, I shall know the way." He grinned.
We all said our goodbyes and Dinesh left alone for the bus.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I was anxious for Dinesh to return and to know whether he thought we were all safe. Kajal was still adrift in her own private nightmare. This sad withdrawal into herself worried me. She hated the coldness of Darjeeling though it matched her icy moods. Nothing we attempted cheered her. It was a relief when, at night, she and the children slept. Supriya and I then sat quietly, swathed in woollen shawls chatting over cups of hot cha to insulate ourselves from the damp evening chill.
"You have become a special friend, Supriya. I am glad you insisted on leaving Calcutta with us even though I had not dared to ask you."
She looked thoughtful before nodding her understanding.
"Did you know it was Mona who provided our fares?"
She stared open mouthed. "Ah, you're teasing me. She held onto money like a bad smell she couldn't wash away. Why would she pay?"
"I encouraged her generosity," I grinned pausing a moment to watch her reaction," by helping myself to the wages she kept from us."
Supriya covered her mouth with her hands as she gasped, "What if she had caught you out? It was very foolish of you to take that risk No wonder you seemed unsure about me leaving with you that morning. You thought I might not approve." She was nodding her growing awareness. "I wonder what will be Mona's punishment for failing the uncle and nephew?"
"They will not trust her now. I hope they will punish her and send her away humiliated, as she deserves."
"I'm not sorry for her but I am sorry for the children we left behind. You were so good to them, Manasa. How many times has she slapped and humiliated them, or even us, and we have never known why? It's her turn to know what that's like."
"Yes. Poor little things, we could not help all of them could we?" We drifted into silence but I could not allow myself to think back to our past sadness. It would overwhelm me with grief and regret. Our present problems were enough to think of. "I wish we knew how to help Kajal."
"Could something have happened to her while she was away? When she's ready I'm sure she'll tell us."
Kajal seemed to her, like a valued plant that nurturing would restore but Supriya knew nothing of Ch'en's murder. It seemed unfair to weigh her down with that just when she was starting to make a happier life, besides, she might be tempted to confide such a terrible burden to someone else eventually. There was always a chance this might get back to our enemies. It seemed better to put all our energy into concentrating on our work and building strong bonds between us all.
Our flower business began slowly. People were kind with their advice but we had no experience. We did our best with the few flowers we could afford. We were clumsy. The flowers were sometimes wasted but we were determined to succeed. We observed the other stallholders and tried to think also of what else we could find to sell with our dwindling money. Even the twins helped, by looking after Lipika who delighted in running round the market with the other small children.
The twins Flopped down beside Supriya and I one afternoon. Lipika played quietly at their feet with odd bits of discarded flowers. Madhu nudged her sister who moved a little further away; each time she did that Madhu shuffled over to Semanti's side, as close as she could, to nudge her again. Glancing up for a moment's rest, Supriya and I caught each other's eye. Semanti, not realising we watched them both, pinched a small nip of her sister's arm, at that moment. Madhu ignored the pinch and continued to give her sister, who refused to acknowledge it, some kind of signal. Supriya and I got on with our work pretending not to notice. The girls' behaviour continued, slowly becoming louder and angrier. Finally, Madhu said crossly, "Aunty, I can learn to make flowers why don't you show me? Why must I ask you? Semanti is too shy to ask with me."
Supriya and I exchanged puzzled frowns. "There's very little work at the moment but you're both very useful when you watch Lipika, Aren't they Manasa?"
Madhu continued to scowl. "You won't say that to Lipika when she gets bigger. It's not fair. We want to help."
"Of course" I replied. "I'm pleased when you help with Lipika but we will show you how to do the flowers too. Wait until we have finished learning ourselves first but come and watch sometimes. That was how I began learning to weave when I was little."
"How long did it take your mother to teach you, aunty?"
"Mostly my sisters taught me. It took them a long time but I started young and gradually I learnt to manage without help."
"Our mother told us that those who work, eat and those who don't work are not worthy of any fa
mily."
I laid aside the marigolds garland I'd finished threading. "Madhu, Semanti you have been thinking about your family and your home. Has it made you worried? Although we would miss you I expect you want to return to them as soon as you can."
"No" Semanti squealed.
"We promised our parents we would go to school and learn many clever things but we haven't." Semanti's tears dripped onto her arm. She took a long sniff and wiped her cheeks with the backs of her fingers.
Madhu continued for her, "One day we will marry rich men and have sons. Then we shall have helped our family. Will you help us find such husbands?"
"Shall we help them Supriya?"
"Only if they make us some cha." She teased.
"Go on then and do not run with the water. You lose it all when you do that." I chided but intending only to make them feel needed.
"Come on Semanti." They skipped off with the plastic bucket. After a few steps Madhu turned round and called in a self-conscious but very serious manner, "When we return we shall make the very best cha for you Mummy and for you aunty Supriya."
We waved to them and, forgetting their promise, they turned and ran. Supriya and I laughed. "They are worried we will turn them away, Supriya."
"Madhu is a sensible businesswoman though. We need have no fears for her. She's preparing the way for good marriages for them both and making sure she has a father and mother to help her."
"And an aunty to make sure they do their duty properly." I smiled. I was glad the twins were so straightforward but the responsibility for their futures hung both heavy and light, for who could not find it in their hearts to love such character in the young? I felt the guilt too of having had quite a different attitude to being expected to assist Kajal with her marriage. For the moment though, I could not allow myself such thoughts. Our lives began to have purpose in its every day struggle. It had happened so swiftly, I think we all felt caught up in a wonderful dream which, unlike all of my past good dreams, was not threatened by my waking up. Never had there been that kind of hope in the brothel.
The hills and mountains held great fascination for me. I loved the vastness around me. The skyline so wide, clear, broken only by the mountains. What a wonderful place to fly a kite. Suddenly, I longed to see a kite flying high up to the clouds free and colourful with no fear of attack. I would make one. We would sell them. It became our new project but was not as simple as I had thought. We spent hours in the evenings putting tissue paper, bamboo canes, glue, streamers, and ribbons together to create kites that would fly. When finally we were successful in discovering how they balanced in the sky, we began to sell them faster than we could make them. Supriya was contentedly engrossed in our new life. I began to really feel equal with Dinesh now that the burden of our life was shared and the strain would not be all on his shoulders.
After supper, sometimes, while Supriya was busy with the children, I would sit silently by Kajal. She was not interested in conversation but I hoped she would tell me about Ch'en. I sat close enough for her to whisper. I waited. Her face was drawn and, as always now, set like concrete. I just did not know what to do to reach her and pull her back into our world.
One evening when, except for Kajal, we had all been laughing and enjoying each other's company almost hysterical with relief and joy in our new freedom, Lipika had begun to show off a little with her strange attempts at cartwheels. She had no respect for space. She tumbled into the nearest lap where she was fondly cradled until, impatient, she wriggled away to begin again. Not the least trace of warmth showed in Kajal's face. Finding myself unable to bear her being so disconnected from us I put my arm through hers and turned back to call to Supriya.
"Supriya, I want to talk quietly with Kajal."
Taking advantage of the children's noisy games I drew my sister into the furthest corner of the room. "You are so far away. I miss you." I said. She shrank away from me with a shudder. I refused the half-expected rejection. "What happened when you were filming? You must tell me, not keep it all inside you. You look very, very unhappy. Nothing that happened among those evil people could have been your fault, dear sister." Again a long silence followed which I did not attempt to break. I knew she would have shared it all with me by now if she was able. I continued to wait but there was no response at all. "Kajal, I am afraid. Let me help. I am your sister, your older sister. I want you to be happy."
She took a deep breath as if to speak, a small spark seemed to light her dead eyes for a second as they lifted level with mine, then a huge sigh escaped and all life closed down again. "I just can't. I don't know why."
"Maybe when we have been here a little longer you will feel safer and then we can talk by ourselves about it, when we are alone." But I knew, even then, this would not happen.
On the days Supriya and the twins took their turn at the stall I sat close to Kajal at home. Sometimes rubbing coconut oil into Lipika's hair and always singing mummy's songs. I was singing them more for Kajal than Lipika now; in the hope they might warm her and remind her of our mother's gentleness and love. As time passed, Kajal occasionally stirred herself to help or make an effort to chat, in a strange disjointed way. It was as if she had died and a worried old woman had climbed into her place. There was nothing any of us could do but to be patient and wait for her to recover. Every day we got up early to eat a simple breakfast, prepare the day's food, and take turns to look after the stall or stay with Kajal on the days she felt low. Supriya was discovering a gift for making garlands. If only we had more to sell.
Darjeeling's contrast of mountains and valleys was magnificent. It was a place of wonderful optimism. Populated by a great contrast of peoples who had adopted the place. There were Gurung farmers from West Nepal, Gorkas from East Nepal, fair-skinned Sikkimese, Lepchas, Bhutias, and Dukpas from Bhutan, mountain Sherpas, Indian, and some European tourists. We had found ourselves a colourful airy place where we could work and breathe instead of drained by the squalor and determined swelter of the Calcutta sun, smog and fumes. There were houses with gardens. We walked up and down for a whole afternoon staring at them. Pine filled the air, such tall, proud trees. I loved the simple lively village where I was born but it could not compare with the beautiful mountain greens and snows of Darjeeling.
Kajal complained often of being cold despite the warmer clothes we had bought. I occasionally noticed Supriya shiver beneath a woollen shawl wrapped around her shoulders but she did not complain. The children seemed hardly to notice. They were too busy with learning all they could about their new home. They were as fascinated as I was with the tourists, who seemed to have nothing to do, but spend large amounts of money and who did not work at all. What wealth they must own. I would not have had the courage to speak to them except that they were persistent in their wishes to talk to us. I became gradually bolder and decided to try to reply to some of them in the English that I had learnt from Mona's television and from Dinesh. I had difficulty finding the correct words but I could recognise large chunks of what they said. Some of it didn't make sense to me. They used unfamiliar expressions but I had a good memory and stored it all away. Everything here required effort. The Nepali that was spoken was also unfamiliar, but the efforts to communicate and work among the friendliness we encountered helped us to rebuild our lives. We had forgotten how to live like other people who held up their heads. It became easier now to remember what we could no longer hope to achieve, in the conventional way. Everywhere there were families. It was true we had a bond and a need to be together but we no longer had a daily enemy to resist. Mona was gone, I hoped, so now we had to make some other coherence of our own.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
One morning, I remember a blonde European woman in the market. I thought back to the sick European man I had cared for, and who had been kind to me, when I had first begun work at the brothel. A warm curiosity stirred inside me. What would this woman be like? She was quite tall and larger than the average Indian woman. She wore knee length linen trousers, a
shirt, and a strange white peaked hat perched high on her forehead. Her blonde hair was tied in clumps either side of her face. On her back she carried a big sack with handles and complicated fasteners of all kinds. She dealt sharply with the men who were getting too close. It made me feel both, admiration for her and shame for me. If only it had not been necessary to put up with being touched and handled intimately, by men I had not wanted. She must be wealthy to be able to refuse them. Then I realised they were asking her to buy from them! But why was she all alone, talking to these men? Whatever the reason, she could certainly look after herself. I waited eagerly to see if she would stop to look at our flowers.
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