2Promises

by Phil Armstrong

  “Miss Beth, are you ready to begin the day?” he said.

  “I am, let’s go.”

  Beth climbed into the back of the white taxi as Sanjeev held the door open. Sanjeev closed the door and walked around to the driver’s seat. As Sanjeev got into his seat he leaned over to the front passenger’s side. He straightened up and leaned back to offer Beth a bottle of water.

  “Keep drinking, it’s very hot, and you’re not used to it,” he said.

  Beth accepted the water and thanked Sanjeev. She tucked the unopened bottle into the pouch of the back seat. She reached for the paper containing the address from her jeans. Sanjeev was talking with the guards. After some conversation they pulled out of the hotel.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 7: Remove the obstacles

  “Where to Miss?”

  “We need to go to the Calcutta Muslim Orphanage, it’s located at 2 Shariff Lane, Park Street,” said Beth reading the page.

  “I know it, no problem,” said Sanjeev.

  “I need to speak with Amba Chawla.”

  “Amba Chawla,” repeated Sanjeev, “let’s go and find her.”

  “Her,” thought Beth, “It’s a her.”

  Beth looked at Lord Ganesha still sitting on the dash. She ran her fingers over the lump in her pocket. “Remove the obstacles,” she thought.

  Sanjeev was speeding along. He darted in and out of traffic while sounding the horn. They were passing an area green and lush, before turning onto Outram Road. “Not far now Miss.”

  A few turns and they were traveling down a narrow run down street. Sanjeev pulled in front of a brightly painted blue building with white accents. The building was only a couple of floors high and looked like a motel. It had an entranced flanked by blue railings and a blue colored security gate. The gate was at the end of a tunnel made of blue steel bars. It was unclear if this was meant to keep people out or in? Above the tunnel was a bright yellow sign in a semi circular shape.

  A.K. Fazul Haque Girls Higher Secondary School.

  English Medium.

  A Project of The Calcutta Muslim Orphanage.

  Sanjeev rolled the window down to speak with the guard hovering at the gate. He looked annoyed leaving his comfortable shaded chair. He walked slowly towards the taxi, “Yes sir?”

  “We’re looking for Amba Chawla, very important, Miss Martindale needs to see her immediately,” explained Sanjeev.

  The following set of exchanges was not in English but Beth heard Sanjeev say, Amba Chawla and wondered if he was getting through. Finally the guard walked away to open the gates. Sanjeev turned to Beth and started to explain. “Mrs. Chawla is in today. She’s teaching a class and you can see if she will talk with you.” As Sanjeev pulled inside there was nowhere for him to go. He entered the gates and stopped almost immediately. Sanjeev got out of the Taxi to open Beth’s door. “I will come with you in case you need any help.”

  “Thanks, that’s good,” said Beth climbing out of the car into the heat. Beth and Sanjeev headed into the blue and white building. It was cool inside but not air-conditioned. The guard had clearly alerted the front door. A smart looking woman in a purple sari arrived to greet them. She started to talk with Sanjeev before turning to Beth.

  “Hello, I understand you’re looking for Amba? Is she expecting you?”

  “No, she doesn’t know me,” explained Beth. Beth asked the woman to mention to Amba the following information. She had been sent by Anwar Patel and needed to talk urgently.

  “Let me see if Amba is available,” she said in a voice tinged with a faint English accent. Before she left she motioned to a small area filled with seats.

  Beth took a seat. Sanjeev looked at Beth, “Miss, I’ll be in the car. Call for me if you need anything.” Sanjeev took his leave and left Beth in the reception area. It was a quiet building like the inside of a library. The walls were white and cool. Occasionally she could hear distant conversations but they didn’t seem to be in English. Beth was rehearsing how she might approach Amba when a small Indian woman appeared wearing a green sari.

  Beth stood and stretched out her hand in greeting. “Amba, my name is Beth Martindale.”

  The young woman looked at Beth coldly and ignored her hand. “You’re the friend of Anwar Patel yes?”

  “Yes,” said Beth dropping her hand.

  “Amba will see you now. Please follow me,” she said turning and walking away.

  Beth followed the woman and noticed the length of her hair. The hair flowed down her back held only by a cloth ring. They continued down a long hallway, up a stairwell, and down another hallway. They stopped at a wooden door painted white. The woman knocked meekly and opened the door slightly. She said something and stood aside allowing Beth to move forward.

  “Come on in please,” said a warmer voice from inside. “Good afternoon, Amba Chawla. I heard you were looking for me, how might I be of assistance?” said a heavyset woman sitting behind a desk.

  The room was ridiculously small. It had a large desk facing the door with only one chair in front of the desk. Behind Amba was a window allowing sunlight to stream in. The desk supported neatly stacked paper piles of all shapes, sizes and colors. Around the desk were wooden shelves brimming with binders and books. The wall housed a row of battered metal filing cabinets. The room looked like an overloaded library about to explode. Beth accepted her invitation to sit signaled by a hand gesture. She sat and looked at a mature woman with silver hair pulled back from her face. She wore a rich brown sari with gold flecks that caught the light.

  “My name’s Beth Martindale, I’d like to ask you how you knew Anwar Patel?” inquired Beth.

  “I knew Anwar from my time in London, England many years ago. I’ll never forget him. I was taking a Masters in Education and could not afford to continue. I was in jeopardy of not completing my term. Anwar was a complete stranger; he didn’t know me at all. He had heard through the Indian community that I was taking a Masters. When completed, I wanted to return to India and teach orphaned girls.” Amba partially covered her mouth with her hand. She could not hide the smile as she recalled Anwar. She looked down at her desk and the papers that lay spread in front of her.

  Beth looked over her shoulder and saw a framed sign hanging on the wall, it read, “He who gives to Orphans lends to God.”

  Beth took the opportunity to speak. “Please continue it’s important for me to know. Then, I’ll be happy to tell you why I’m here.”

  Amba collected her thoughts and regained eye contact with Beth. Dropping her hand she continued. “Anwar heard about my situation and sent me a letter. At first I thought it was a hoax but attached to the letter was a check. I cashed the check. It paid for three years worth of rent and tuition in one payment. I never got a chance to thank Anwar in person. I tried. I tried to meet with him and ask him how I could repay his generosity. He wrote me a couple of times and told me that to repay him I must make good on my promise of teaching orphans. I have dedicated my life to that and it’s always been my passion,” said Amba. “I never got a chance to meet Anwar. I tried to imagine if he was old or young. All I know is that it was a significant amount of money to give to a complete stranger. There were no strings attached. Now, tell me how you know him and what is your business with me?”

  Beth explained what a wonderful man Anwar was and how he grew Roses. She told of his failing health and the story of Aklina and Rose. She detailed her assignment and finally revealed that Anwar had sent a letter. Amba sat and listened intently. She never moved. She just breathed steadily and concentrated on every word.

  “I’ve received his letter and I feel sad. The only assumption I can make is that Anwar knew he was days away from death. Unfortunately he will never get to meet his beloved Rose. I have this letter signed by Anwar giving me this address and your name. This is the location of the orphanage that Rose Akhter attended when her Mother, Aklina, passed away,” explained Beth.

  Amba looked at the letter and Anwar’s signature. �
�Of course I will help my you,” said Amba. “What you have to realize is that the situation has changed over the years. The girls that come here now had a rough start to life but they can consider themselves fortunate. Thanks to this facility and generous donations they have a fighting chance. Beth, back then, being an orphan left you vulnerable. Being a female orphan could mean a couple of things both options were bad. We have records that I can look at to see if Rose Akhter attended. I might have records of where she went.”

  “I would really appreciate it if you could locate her records.”

  “You know it’s a real coincidence that Anwar helped me. He didn’t know that he would indirectly help the orphanage that his daughter came to. The same place, what a coincidence, no?”

  “There are no coincidences,” responded Beth without thinking.

  Amba smiled, “Please wait here. I’ll be right back.” Amba left the room and headed down the hallway. Beth looked around the small office full of papers and books. It smelt musty; Amba was obviously not a neat freak. Beth sat still; she could hear the faint sound of birds chirping in the tree outside of the window. The sun was bright and the air was getting hot. On a cluttered wooden shelf was a brightly colored statue. The figurine had many arms. It played a flute and had peacock feathers behind its head. It looked both female and male. It was hard to tell. Amba came back into the room and caught Beth’s gaze.

  “It’s Krishna,” explained Amba as she sat. “I have the file right here. She was left here as a newborn with a small donation. She was raised by one of the orphanage helpers. Rose was transferred to the Kalam family at the age of seven. Beth, I don’t know who the Kalam family is? I don’t even know if this is legitimate?” Beth looked at Amba and fixed her with a stare.

  “Amba, you’re talking to a girl raised in the green hills and valleys of the Yorkshire Moors. If a fight broke out in a pub then stick with me but when it comes to Indian subtlety I’m lost. You’ll need to be blunt and explain this to me.”

  “I will Beth, as best I can,” said Amba. “In India when you have a child, Indian culture values sons over daughters. We are talking thirty years ago Beth but times haven’t changed that much. Many orphanages are full of girls. Mothers often abandon their daughters in railway stations or high traffic areas knowing that they will be found and hopefully cared for. Social workers often bring them to orphanages, if they’re lucky.”Amba looked down at her desk and continued.

  “Some Mothers went the direct route and brought their daughters directly to the orphanage. Under a dowry system the bride’s family would pay the grooms family a specified amount of money or property to ensure the union takes place. You’ve probably heard of the dowry system? After the marriage the wife is the responsibility of the husband and goes to live with the husband’s family. The dowry system was made illegal in 1961, yet it’s still commonly practiced today. This would explain why baby girls continue to be abandoned. Beth, being an orphan in India has a far greater stigma than elsewhere. It’s due to the importance society places on family, lineage, caste and religion. As an orphan you’re truly an outsider. Many decide to spend their entire life in the orphanage,” said Amba. “Beth my dear, these are the unfortunate ones. What I’m not telling you about are the truly wretched. Years ago when money was scarce some desperate orphanages would select, then sell, young girls at about 11 or 12 years of age. They were desperate for the money. Local women would come and ‘adopt’ girls for a fee,” Amba looked down ashamed.

  “Like the Kalam family with Rose,” said Beth?

  “Most of these women were Madame’s. They would take the girls and they wouldn’t be seen again. The girls would be housed in brothels and live that life until they died,” explained Amba.

  “Are you saying that’s what happened to Rose?”

  “I don’t know what happened to Rose. Every adoption needs a home address. No address was ever checked. Things are different now. I have an address on file and it’s probably legitimate. What may not be legitimate is that a family actually lived there with Rose? The only thing I can do to help is giving you the address and let you continue your investigation from there. I shouldn’t do this but Anwar has helped me in my life and I want to help you.”

  Amba wrote down the address and gave it to Beth, “Good luck! You should know your odds are slim. I’m sorry Beth, I have to get back to class.” Amba stood and walked to the door. Beth moved out of the little office to give Amba a chance to exit. “I will walk you to the door,” said Amba.

  No words were spoken during the walk down the hallway and the stairs. When Beth got to the door she turned and shook Amba’s hand. The look on Amba’s face told Beth that she suspected this would not turn out good. Beth did not say anything but she smiled and walked out of the door clutching the piece of paper that Amba had given her. Beth emerged into the sunlight. She saw Sanjeev opening his door and moving quickly to open the rear passenger door. She fought back tears as she entered into the back seat and fastened her seat belt.

  As she sat she could feel Lord Ganesha in her jeans, “Remover of obstacles,” thought Beth looking at the dashboard figurine.

  “Where now Miss?” said Sanjeev, unaware of the gravity of the situation and its possible outcome. At that moment Beth hated men. Sanjeev was helpful but he was a man. “Back to the hotel?” he inquired.

  “Yes, back to the hotel,” snapped Beth, going with the suggestion.

  Beth was silent through the ride back. Sanjeev sensed his place was to remain quiet and drive. He did this admirably. As the taxi approached The Astor Hotel the gate staff performed the familiar security check. Sanjeev reminded Beth that he was at her disposal. Beth strode into the lobby feeling deflated and a failure. This was not the way it was supposed to be. Beth had thought that Rose would still be working at the orphanage and they would later meet for tea at The Astor Hotel. This would be where Beth delivered the envelope to Rose. This was turning out to be harder. It did not sound good for Rose. Amba felt Rose’s chances were slim. Beth was starting to feel down. She felt like a failure. She had let everyone down before she even got started. In all the excitement she had forgotten to ask about the Shell or the portal. Nothing that Amba told her related to the portal.

  “Great job, failed on two counts,” said Beth quietly to herself.

  “Welcome back,” chirped the desk attendant, “its happy hour at Plush our lounge bar, two drinks for the price of one.”

  “I could murder a drink,” thought Beth as she respectfully declined and walked towards the elevator bank.

  Beth was in her room quickly enough and placed the plastic card in the slot in the wall. Beth placed the address page on the desk before taking her heavy clothes off and slipping into bed. She could not sleep but she did cry. Eventually Beth did fall asleep and she knew who would be there to greet her. Beth wanted to fall asleep, she wanted to hear a familiar voice and get some reassurance.

  “You don’t need to cry or feel bad Beth. You’re doing what you can. Let’s talk this through. So far you’ve made it to India, started your search and got a new lead. That’s a decent start. You’ve confirmed Rose was alive up to 11 or 12 years of age. All you have to do is keep going and follow the trail until you find her,” Subra reassured.

  “I thought it would be easy, all obstacles cleared, because this is so right,” argued Beth. “It’s really shaken my confidence.”

  “I was always looking outside myself for strength and confidence, but it comes from within. It’s there all the time,” Subra responded. “You have to have confidence in your ability, and then be tough enough to follow through.”

  “I’ve lost an opportunity today, don’t you see Subra?”

  “Opportunity is missed by most people because it’s dressed in overalls and looks like work.”

  “I didn’t find Rose and I’m sorry but it seems I can only do one thing at a time. I didn’t discover anything about the portal or the Shell. I’m useless,” thought Beth dejected.