The following day she wrote to him from on board the Jal-Azad:
How I wish you were with me to share the comforts of this journey – that would be paradise indeed. I have a two-berth cabin to myself, with everything in it to please a woman’s heart – except you. In fact, I have so much luxury that I am ashamed and feel I ought to be travelling second-class – but I could not get such a passage.
The ship is well out in the English Channel now but the sea is not rough. I have a ‘boy’ to look after my cabin and he is nicely trained. He walked all round the ship looking for me to give your letter to me, rather than just leave it in the Cabin. There are some very kind Indian ladies aboard, including an Indian Jewess (I did not know such a thing existed!).
People say that this ship is not as good as P&O steamers, but really it is most comfortable and the food is very well cooked. There is everything to make life pleasant. My poor, tired body and mind will both get a good rest and, I hope, if we go up to the hills together, you will get a rest too. I do so wish you were with me.
Now my head is nodding and I must go to bed. Goodnight Beloved Star.
Each day at sea, she added to the letter. On the 23rd she wrote:
I am told that this ship is unlikely to reach India before 12th May at the earliest. If we stop at Naples it is likely to be a day or two later, but if I can get more definite news I shall send you a cable.
I find I am very good at doing nothing at present – I have not been seasick, but I have felt not very well inside, but it will pass and I shall feel fine after a day or two. The sea has been miraculously calm up to now – it must know that I must be delivered to you in good order.
The food is very good and I am sure I shall gain a pound or two, so that if I lose it in the Indian heat it will not matter. I do hope you are not nearly killing yourself trying to get everything ready before I come – you are far more important to me than anything else!
On the 24th:
When I got onto this boat I was weary worn, but two days of complete rest have worked wonders already and I am beginning to look quite presentable again. I do not think I have had such a complete rest before. Even on holiday I have always walked dozens of miles each week, but here five times round the deck is about the limit. I have not been seasick, but some of the more delicate ladies have been very sick – you are marrying a tough little alley-cat!
When people have asked my reason for coming to India I have just said ‘to be married’, but have not enlarged on it. I have had to declare on the outside of my trunks, which have been seen by the officers, our small wedding presents, so the purpose of my trip was very apparent.
In a letter written on the 25th and 26th, she wrote:
Today I have sent you a cable telling you that I shall be arriving about the 12th. I thought you might like to make your leave start a little later in view of this. I won the money for the cable (shameful hussy!) by hazarding one shilling on Housie-Housie [bingo] games! What a woman!
There are all kinds, classes and castes of Indian ladies on this boat and I can honestly say that we are all getting along in a most friendly spirit – I am quite surprised at it.
And then on the 27th:
Last night as I lay in bed I was thinking deeply of you and somehow I had a very strong feeling that, in coming to marry you, I was doing right. Sometimes one does not know where a path will lead one and yet instinctively one knows it is the right path. Perhaps between us we shall breed another great Prime Minister for India – God has his own ways of arranging matters so that his purposes may be carried out, and he has a habit of making the right mixture to produce the men he wants when he wants them. I do not suppose that Mahatma Gandhi’s mother knew that in her arms lay the inspiration of millions, when first the child was put into her arms.
At the moment, however, this little woman is concentrating on such deep intricacies as how to make a hot house cool and pleasant for her best beloved and on what he would like for breakfast. These deep matters of state are the subject of much cogitation – of course, that is supposing she is not banished to durance vile in Bombay.
Friday the 28th:
Yesterday I had to stop writing suddenly because I had to go on deck and stay there – I felt so sick. I stayed out some six hours in the dark, but it saved me being sick. The sea was roaring past and the ship kept pitching. Today it is better. Up to now I have taken each day at least one Indian dish – but feeling so sick yesterday evening and today, I could not. In fact, I could not eat anything much.
I am taking life very quietly and not doing much at all. The other first-class passengers get very drunk and noisy, which stops my sleep, but I shall go to bed early tonight and be asleep before they start.
The nearer I get to you the more I miss you but it is only about a fortnight now. I seem to have been waiting five years instead of five months.
29 April:
This is a funny disjointed letter, but that is inevitable because it is really a series of letters. It will serve, however, to show that each day I thought of you and that my love for you is very much alive, that, of all things in life, my dear brown man is most precious to me. I do hope there is news for me at Port Said – it is surprising how apprehensive one becomes when one is cut off from news particularly at this time when you are trying to do so much.
Very many students are coming home in this ship and it is touching how much they want to do something for India. I am afraid the disillusionment for many will be bitter, but such a constant flow of enthusiasm must act like a leaven in the solid weight which is India, raising it no little.
30 April:
Last night I was invited to 2nd Class to have a dance and I went and danced merrily with the students, which was a great relief after sitting every evening watching the 1st Class get tight. 2nd Class is a trifle less comfortable but infinitely more fun. You would have liked last evening. There was a general air of merriment which made one feel most cheerful. The fact that half the students haven’t a clue about dancing didn’t matter at all.
I expect that today you are stretched out on your bed reading detective novels. I expect I shall need a shovel to dig my way through to the flat, it being buried in detective novels!
Now I am learning Gujarati, I know how you can make the servant understand. Cheat, Rogue! The two languages are so similar that anyone having a good knowledge of Hindi could make himself understood in Gujarati. Scallywag!
1 May:
I am getting so excited at the thought of really being with you that my legs feel quite weak at times. I am so afraid and yet at the same time so happy.
It is not yet even uncomfortably warm in the ship, but I suppose tomorrow will be quite hot and the next day very hot, so I shall know when going through the Red Sea how hot ‘very hot’ is.
Today I swam in the little swimming pool which they have erected. It was very cold but I was most glad to have some exercise. The doctors on the ship all say we must take a walk or a swim every day no matter how hot, both on the ship and in India.
When the Jal-Azad docked at Port Said (the northern terminus of the Suez Canal on 2 May, there were three letters waiting for Helen, which Avadh had written on 22, 25 and 27 April. In them he apologized profusely and begged forgiveness for suggesting that Helen might ever sue him, then told her the good news that Kashi had accepted the sum he had offered to pay her in maintenance. This led to an amicable dissolution of the marriage. While Avadh’s Doctor Brother had managed the negotiations, Kailash, the lawyer, took over the final legal arrangements for which my parents were eternally grateful.
Helen’s name would change to a Hindu one when she converted to the religion before her marriage, and she had invited Avadh to choose one for her, but he wrote: ‘Whatever your name changes to, somehow I love your present name and I think you will allow me to call you by that name. Otherwise we shall think of a suitable and lovely name for you – but no name can be lovelier than the present.’
With great excitement, He
len replied:
My darling Husband to be,
Last night at Port Said I had your letters and they brought with them such a breath of love and affection that I was almost overwhelmed and hardly knew how to put into words the love I feel for you.
I am relieved Kashi has accepted the money – it shows at least that she is in a more reasonable frame of mind. I do not want her to be bereft of money or affection and if she has a little from us, she will not be unwelcome in her parents’ house or feel quite helpless.
Dearest I know I have chosen the sweetest and best of men for my husband and I have no doubts and no regrets about it. God knows what storms may face us, but, in them, I would rather have you by my side than anyone else. I have seen much of men and women in my chequered career and the number I would trust are indeed few, but even if I did not love you, I would trust you; since I both love and trust you I am really happy.
Should anything unforeseen happen and you were not at Bombay to meet me, e.g. train is late or something, I will leave my address with Scindia by telephoning them.
All the Indian ladies are complaining that today is very hot, but it cannot be more than 90° [32°C] as the ship makes a little draught. It is hot enough to make my hands and back perspire, but it is good to be warm. Time enough to moan when it is intolerable.
4 May:
I went ashore at Port Said, but could not wander as the party I was with was bent on shopping. They bought bags of nylons and so forth, but the only thing I wanted was a cigar case for you – which request simply flattened Port Said, it being about the only thing on earth they had not got! So I went with 15/- and came back with 15/-.
The river, however, looked beautiful, lit with the light of many vessels and with stars and a full moon glittering above. Jal-Azad looked like a bejewelled queen surrounded by scurrying ladies in waiting. She was reloaded with oil, water and food. Before going ashore, a sort of Army Captain arrived like an invading German general, scrutinized our passports, stamped them and demanded if there were any Jews aboard, to which the Purser said airily and disgustedly ‘no’ as if Jews were something with which he never did business – there must be at least six aboard! They took our passports from us while we were ashore and these were guarded by a couple of bored-looking soldiers – this was to make sure we came back – they seemed frightened of infiltration of spies or refugees – although I know in England we take similar precautions.
Only two years earlier, the State of Israel had been established in what had been British Palestine and war broke out between Arabs and Jews of the region. Following the ten-month hostilities, around 700,000 Palestinians were expelled from the territory now occupied by Israel and the atmosphere was still tense when Helen passed through the Suez Canal in May 1950.
On 5 May, Helen wrote of some advice she had had from the Indian Jewess she had met, whom she discovered was to be employed at the hospital in Ahmedabad, where her employer would be Professor Cosmic Rays:
Dr Solomon was telling me that in Ahmedabad it is essential that one should sleep under nets and take some Paludrine each week as the mosquitoes are malarial. Perhaps you already do so – it is more important that you should not be ill, than that I should not, as you are the breadwinner.
6 May:
I was determined that there was going to be no love in this letter, since I can express it in person, but I have literally nothing to write about so I suppose I must say I love you and I love you, although I am almost too hot to say anything. Your favourite devil looks at the moment as if she had just popped up from hell! She is sweating like a Chief Stoker!
The temperature of the sea itself is 90° [32°C] – the air must be about another 15° [9°C] up. Not a breath of wind stirred in my cabin at the beginning of the day but this evening a breeze sprang up and life was again liveable.
7 May:
Next Sunday will be our first full day together – it seems so long since we were together – and sometimes I wonder how I have survived and I think often very deeply of the struggle you have had and I do appreciate it. No man could have done more for the girl he loved and she loves him all the more for it.
8 May:
I was very tired yesterday as I danced too long on Saturday evening, but it was only healthy fatigue. I am very well indeed now and I hope to remain well in India. I do not want to ever be so exhausted again as I was in England. In India at least I shall have time to eat.
I am getting used to being damp with perspiration – getting washed and dressed, however, is quite a test! One must shut the cabin door and draw heavy curtains across the porthole as otherwise one is too public. Without a fan the temperatures seems to rocket up and I am usually running with perspiration by the time I am dressed. I do manage, however.
9 May:
What shall I tell you today – make you suffer from swelled head by saying that I am haunted by thoughts of you, that all I can think of is you, that I simply cannot live without you, all of which are true, or shall I tell you of things about what I eat, drink or do, which will also be true. Somehow I feel you would prefer the former, and I shall leave it written and let you get swelled head!
10 May:
Today I have been on a tour of the ship with the chief engineer. I have sweltered in the engine room, sweated in the laundry and merely perspired out what juice was left in me in the kitchens. The engine room was 110° [43°C] without a breath of air moving or rather gusts of heat ascending every minute or so. The laundry was small but I examined their work and it was excellent, although they did not work very fast! In the kitchens, they have a butcher, baker, vegetable cooks and goodness only knows how many general factotums. They have a potato peeler, refrigerator, cold store and automatic mixer.
11 May:
The more I solemnly write this letter the more it amuses me now I am quite certain I am most in love with you – I am either that or quite mad – otherwise I am sure I should never do such a crazy thing! I must have held multitudes of conversations on this boat with English, Indians, French, and Germans and the more I learn of them the more I think what a lucky woman I am to have you.
12 May:
Someone once wrote that it is sweet to look on the face of the Beloved and tomorrow will be filled with sweetness, for I shall be doing just that. It is the beginning of a great adventure and we do not know quite where it will lead us, but at this moment a Psalm comes to my mind which was sung by a king in the wilderness and it is what I believe – not literally but in the spirit of it: The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me down to lie in pastures green; he leadeth me the still waters by. In him shall I trust.
So soon to kiss your dear face.
Your,
Chutney.
PART III
Chapter Fifteen
Your flesh is my flesh, your mind my mind, and your spirit my spirit. We are each other.
As the Jal-Azad approached Bombay, Helen would have seen an impressive vista. On the water’s edge was the famous Gateway to India, the twenty-six-metre-tall white basalt arch built to commemorate the visit of George V and Queen Mary in 1911. Just to the left of that was the elaborate domed Taj Mahal Palace Hotel, and stretching away around the bay was Marine Drive, lined with glamorous Art Deco buildings. Those sights were an impressive introduction to the grandeur of India, but docked them the culture shock began.
For almost any Westerner, arriving in India for the first time is jarring to the senses. The teeming masses of people seem to be in constant, confusing motion. With many men dressed in gleaming white and women brightly clothed in a riot of colour, under the sub-tropical sun the effect can be literally dazzling. Then there is the noise of people talking rapidly and loudly, voices often cutting across multiple other conversations. And finally the air is hot, humid and fragrant with pleasant, and some not-so-pleasant, smells of life lived far more in the open than we are used to.
As the Jal-Azad moved closer to the dock, Helen’s excitement about her imminent reunion with Avadh
must have been almost overwhelming. In a photograph, we can see her standing still on the deck looking out at the chaotic scene. She hasn’t picked Avadh out of the crowd yet, perhaps because his face is hidden behind the camera. As she descended the gangplank, there could have been no doubt in her mind that she had entered a new world.
Avadh had warned her that it was not customary to kiss in public, and I don’t know whether the custom was observed on this occasion. In Thursday’s Child, my mother wrote of Peggie’s reunion with Ajit when her ship docked in Bombay: ‘Ajit had bounded up the gangway as soon as he was permitted to do so, caught my hands and looked into my face, while porters and passengers fought around us. Words did not come easily to either of us, but we both knew a wave of feeling. I knew I had come home.’
Avadh’s Doctor Brother accompanied him to meet Helen; months later he confessed that his job had been to ensure she was well-bred and would be acceptable to the family before they gave the match any further blessing. She apparently passed with flying colours.
The couple stayed in Bombay for several days after her arrival. Avadh took Helen to an Arya Samaj temple and when the monks realized that she had read a lot about Hinduism – in fact, she was more knowledgeable than many people born into the faith – they welcomed her and gave her further instruction. Knowing that she wished to be married in the faith and accepted by her parents-in-law, they gave her the Indian name Jamunadevi, which means ‘Daughter of the Jamuna River’, the sacred river that flows just behind the Taj Mahal.
Arya Samaj’s monotheistic approach, together with a dedication to the education and empowerment of women, within a Hindu context, fitted well with Avadh’s modern views. For Helen, brought up in the Church of England, it provided an accessible entry point into Hinduism. According to her Certificate of Conversion, she ‘applied on 14-5-1950 for conversion into Vedic Religion wholeheartedly after full understanding and vowed to act accordingly hence she was admitted into Vedic [Hindu] Religion after due Religious conversion ceremony.’
Passage Across the Mersey Page 21