The Road Back

by Liz Harris

  ‘This is to help baby. Before she take Chospel out of house, she will rub butter on his head and put soot and oil between his eyes. This keep evil spirits away. Chospel will wear long robe that she make for him, and a woollen hat with a silver om on it.’

  ‘Aren’t babies born in the summer very hot in those clothes?’

  ‘Most babies are born in the summer,’ he said. She looked at him in surprise. ‘Is very good way to spend long, dark nights,’ he added dryly.

  She laughed, and they walked along in silence for a little while.

  ‘Where’s her husband?’ she asked suddenly. ‘The only man there was Tenzin. They’re not both married to your brothers, are they?’

  ‘She not married. We all look after Chospel – my parents, my brothers, people in village.’

  ‘You mean she’s an unmarried mother, and no one minds?’

  ‘I not sure what you mean, Patricia,’ he said, as they went out of the village and walked slowly towards the golden fields where the ripening barley was rippling gently and swaying in the hot afternoon breeze. ‘We walk along stream to go back to post house. It take longer, so I keep you longer with me. But what you mean when you say, and no one minds?’

  ‘Doesn’t anyone think it’s wrong for her to have a baby without being married?’

  He shrugged his shoulders, and took her hand as they stepped off the track and walked alongside the tall barley. ‘Is better to have husband, yes, but sometimes man and woman feel strongly for each other. They not married but they have sex. There may be a baby. Is better for woman to have husband when there is a baby, but we care for baby anyway, like we do every other baby.’

  ‘That’s the perfect way of looking at it. Unfortunately, people in England don’t feel the same way about such a situation.’

  ‘What do people feel in England?’

  ‘That it’s a disgrace to have a baby if you’re not married. Do you understand what the word disgrace means?’ He shook his head. ‘In England, you’re not meant to go to bed with – to have sex with – a man unless you’re married to him.’

  ‘So in England, woman not ever have sex with man unless he is husband?’

  ‘They shouldn’t, but they do, of course. And if they get pregnant, everyone knows that they’ve had sex when they shouldn’t. It’s seen as a disgrace, something terrible. Things are starting to change now, but most families would still think it a huge disgrace if an unmarried daughter had a baby. They would feel ashamed.’

  ‘This is not good. And people like you and me, who cannot get married? They must not ever have sex?’

  ‘Being unable to marry doesn’t alter a thing. So you see, just as you say that you’re not a very good Ladakhi man because you wear trousers, not robes, and because we hold hands, I’m not a very good English girl.’

  ‘I very happy about that, Patricia,’ he murmured, smiling into her eyes.

  She stopped walking and turned to him. ‘I love you, Kalden. I love you so much.’ She lifted his hand and put it to her lips.

  ‘And I love you, too, Patricia. I not know before that I could ever feel like this – so happy, so close to someone, so always wanting to be with her, every minute of day, every minute of night.’ He put his arms around her, pulled her close to him and hugged her tightly. ‘Every day, I look at the barley and I see it rising higher, growing more golden, and I know that I am one day nearer to the day you leave me. The harvest soon begins, and when the harvest is finished, you go to England and I go to the monastery. And I am hurting now.’

  She took a step back and looked at him. ‘And I am hurting, too,’ she said. ‘So why are we going to do what is going to hurt us both?’

  He raised his hand to her face and ran his fingers slowly down her cheek.

  ‘Take your hands off my daughter!’

  They spun round.

  Crushing the delicate barley stalks beneath his feet, the Major stood in the golden field, his hands on his hips, legs astride, his eyes white with anger.

  The blood drained from Patricia’s face.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Follow me, Patricia,’ the Major said curtly.

  His face grim, he strode down the path, flung open the front door and walked into the post house.

  ‘Say something, won’t you, Father?’ Patricia pleaded, half running down the path after him.

  Hesitating on the threshold of the house, she hovered a moment in the doorway, caught among the shining particles of dust that swirled in the lengthening rays of the afternoon sun. Then she stepped into the dark interior of the house and closed the door behind her, shutting out the warmth of the day.

  ‘You didn’t say a word all the way back here, Father,’ she said, moving closer to him. ‘I’m really sorry. I wanted to tell you about Kalden and me, but … ’

  ‘There is no Kalden and you, madam,’ he cut in sharply, his voice bitter-cold with anger. ‘You have disappointed me more than I can say. You are an educated girl from a family of some standing. Kalden is a peasant. There is no common ground between the likes of us and peasants. In behaving as you have done, you’ve cheapened yourself, and by association, you have demeaned your family.’

  ‘Father …’

  ‘My sole comfort is that your mother knows nothing of your reprehensible conduct. But that is cold comfort. When Wangyal brings us our food this evening, I shall make it clear to him that I wish to speak with Kalden after breakfast tomorrow. At that time, I shall inform you both of my plans. You may go to your room now. I have nothing more to say to you.’ He walked over to his chair and sat down heavily, his back to her.

  ‘I’m not a child any longer, Father,’ she said very quietly.

  ‘That is a moot point, Patricia. You’ve just turned eighteen years of age, which is three years short of the age of majority. You have yet to embark upon your course of higher education, and whilst this will equip you to support yourself in the future, for the present you are entirely dependent upon me. No, I would not define your state as one of adulthood. Nor would I describe your underhand behaviour as adult behaviour. You will now go to your room, please.’

  For a moment or two, she stared at her father’s rigid back, then she slowly turned away in despair, crossed the room to the stairs and climbed to the upper floor.

  Throughout the long night, she lay on her bed, her eyes wide open, unable to push back the panic that crawled through her body and tightened its fingers around her heart.

  ‘Kalden,’ she whispered into the bleak emptiness that surrounded her.

  ‘And that is what is going to happen,’ the Major announced with clipped precision, his eyes narrow as he surveyed them both with distaste. ‘My decision is irreversible. I trust that I have made myself clear.’

  Standing side by side, neither Patricia nor Kalden said a word.

  ‘Is that quite clear?’ he repeated icily. ‘Kalden?’

  ‘Is clear, Major-le, but is not possible. I understand you want me go to Leh with you while you arrange for you and Patricia go back to England. Journey to Leh takes two days, maybe three days if weather not good. It take two days in Leh to make your arrangements, perhaps more days if no one is at airport. Then journey back take two more days.’

  ‘We shall be gone for as long as it takes. And you’ll kindly refer to my daughter as Patricia-le.’

  ‘In next few days, everyone in my village is needed because we get ready for harvest – we help other families and other families help us – and for me this is also very important time as I start preparations to go into monastery. It is not possible for me be out of village for many days.’

  The Major opened his mouth to speak, but Kalden continued.

  ‘I find you pony-man in Alchi, Major-le, and I take you to pony-man. I ask pony-man bring you back here after Leh. But I do not go to Leh with you. I stay with my family and I do what I must do in my village.’ His face resolute, he met the Major’s eyes.

  ‘What do you mean, preparations to go into the monastery?’ th
e Major snapped. Kalden glanced sideways at Patricia, resignation etched in his face. Then he pulled his gaze away and looked back at the Major. ‘I become a monk, Major-le. I not marry like my brothers. I go into monastery near this village. This year I must go with monks into our Spirit Room for two-day festival of Skangsol. This is festival we have when harvest ends. After Skangsol, I leave my family and go live with monks.’

  ‘I see.’ The Major stroked his moustache with cold deliberation. ‘I see,’ he repeated. ‘I must confess, I had wondered what your position would be, knowing the traditional status of the fourth son in a Ladakhi family. It had occurred to me that you might choose to be a coolie since you obviously enjoy walking in the mountains.’

  ‘I not want to be coolie. I choose to be a monk.’

  ‘A somewhat surprising choice, given the manner in which you were holding my daughter yesterday,’ the Major retorted icily. He paused, pursing his lips thoughtfully. ‘Very well, Kalden,’ he said finally. ‘I accept that, given the circumstances, it would be difficult for you to accompany me to Leh. Indeed, I am now wondering whether a better plan would not be for Patricia and me to move out of the post house in the next day or two and go together to Leh. We could stay there until the day of our flight. I trust you would be able to arrange suitable accommodation for us?’

  ‘I try, but is not easy at harvest time. There not be many houses to stay in Leh, and people from these houses go back to villages for harvest and Skangsol. There be no one to get food for you and look after you. But if you wish, I try to find house that is not too much worse than post house. I ask pony-men in Alchi if they know something not too bad.’

  An idea sprang into Patricia’s mind. She felt a sudden surge of hope and stood very still, her mind working fast.

  The Major turned to her. ‘I think we can allow Kalden a couple of days in which to arrange for a pony-man and for the provisions that we’ll need on the journey to Leh, also to find us some accommodation there, can we not? That would allow us almost two days in which to pack our possessions. Have you any objections to such a plan, Patricia?’

  ‘No, Father,’ she said, injecting a note of despair into her voice and letting her shoulders visibly slump. ‘I can be ready to leave in two days.’ She paused, and looked at her father, concern on her face. ‘I’m a bit worried, though, that we might not be able to get a flight out of Leh for at least a couple of weeks. I think you said the airport’s only used by diplomats and soldiers, didn’t you? I don’t know how you go about these things. I assume you’ll have to get in touch with Gordon’s contact, won’t you? But that could take some time, especially if he isn’t here at the moment. I suppose it doesn’t matter, though, if we have to be in Leh for three or four weeks – there’s bound to be some accommodation there that isn’t too uncomfortable, and I’m sure we can manage to look after ourselves. Anyone can get used to anything.’

  The Major frowned. He looked around the room, his expression thoughtful. His stance relaxed a little.

  ‘Shall I start packing now, Father?’

  ‘Just wait a minute, will you?’ he muttered irritably. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if I’m hurrying us out of here with unnecessary haste. If Kalden is to be engaged with the harvest and the monks, there might not be any need for you to accompany me to Leh at this point. We could revert to my original plan, which is that I leave you here, go to Leh to arrange for the earliest flight possible, and then return here until it’s time to leave for the airport. I should not wish to find myself living in discomfort for what might be, as you quite rightly point out, as long as a month.’

  Neither Kalden nor Patricia moved.

  ‘If there were anyone here at all who spoke English – apart from Kalden, that is,’ the Major said stiffly, ‘I would consign you to his charge during my absence, Patricia. But since I am unable to communicate my wishes to anyone in the village other than through Kalden, I must adopt an alternative strategy.’

  She held her breath.

  The Major turned to face her. ‘I have conscientiously brought you up to know the difference between truth and falsehood. I pride myself that I have set an example of rectitude before you, and that you – my daughter – are incapable of speaking anything other than the truth. If I leave you here tomorrow and go alone to Leh, do I have your word, your solemn word, that you will remain inside the post house until I return and that you will not communicate in any way at all with Kalden during my absence?’

  Relief flooded through her. She lowered her head. ‘I promise, Father,’ she said quietly.

  The Major glanced at her. A curl of satisfaction twisted the edge of his lips, and he turned to Kalden.

  ‘You have overstepped the mark in that your behaviour towards my daughter, whether or not she was a willing party, has been inappropriate, to say the least. Apart from our journey together to meet the pony-man in Alchi, I do not wish to see you again. You will not come near this house, unless instructed to do so by me, and you will not contact my daughter in any way. I want your word – the word of a man who is about to take up the life of a holy man – that you agree to this.’

  Patricia glanced surreptitiously at Kalden. His head bowed, his body conceded defeat. She looked back at her father, and then down at the floor.

  ‘I not want to bring trouble to you and Patricia-le,’ she heard Kalden say, the tone of his voice bleak. ‘And I not want to bring disgrace on ama-le, aba-le and my brothers. It does not make me happy to agree, but I will agree to this.’ He walked over to the door, paused and looked back at the Major. ‘I be here after breakfast tomorrow. I take you to Alchi.’ And he left the room.

  Patricia’s eyes stayed fixed on the stone slab beneath her feet.

  It had been a long day.

  From the moment that her father had set off for Alchi on the first leg of his journey to Leh that morning, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him being with Kalden, and wondering if they’d spoken to each other on the journey and what would happen when Kalden got back. No matter how hard she’d tried to occupy herself, she’d been unable to think about anything else all day. And she still couldn’t. She’d never felt so helpless and so restless in all of her life.

  And an equally long evening stretched out ahead of her.

  She stood up – she’d have to find something to take her mind off Kalden. It wasn’t worth writing to her mother as she’d probably see her before the letter reached her. She’d get her notebook from upstairs, and read it through.

  She ran up the stairs, picked up her notebook from the shelf in her room and took it back downstairs with her. She lit a couple of candles, and then sat down and started to read through everything she’d ever written in the book.

  When she came to the end, she let it slip through her fingers to her lap and stared ahead of her, lost in thought. The girl who had filled the pages of that book had been a very different person from the girl who was sitting alone in the post house, weighed down by the knowledge that her father had gone away to arrange the journey that would take her from the man she loved, and would always love.

  That girl had spent so much time trying to please her father and get his attention, that she’d neglected her mother and had failed to show her that she loved and valued her.

  That girl had been so certain that after years of being in the shadow of her father’s love for her brother, she had stepped out from that shadow and been seen for herself, and that her father had finally appreciated having her as his daughter.

  As she’d sat in England, wide-eyed and eager, writing down the Ladakhi words that her father had chosen for them to learn that week or adding to the schedule of places that they were going to visit or jotting down her thoughts about their forthcoming trip, she’d been so confident that they’d genuinely bonded at last, and that their relationship had been growing stronger with each passing day, fed as it was by their mutual interest in a country that only he had visited, but that she increasingly longed to explore.

  But now, littl
e more than three months after they’d arrived in Ladakh, that relationship was in tatters and she was the object of her father’s contempt.

  Perhaps if he had known that she truly loved Kalden and that he loved her, he might not have dismissed their relationship as merely a casual tryst. Hope had stirred as she’d lain in bed throughout the long night, thinking about her father’s anger that afternoon when he’d found her in Kalden’s arms, and she’d agonised about whether to tell him in the morning, before he left for Alchi, what Kalden meant to her, wondering if he’d feel differently if he knew that theirs was a real love and that they wanted to stay together forever.

  Assuming that Kalden did want her to stay with him forever.

  Once, only once in the night, had she allowed herself to wonder if he felt as passionately about her as she felt about him, but that moment had swiftly passed as she’d seen in her mind the love in his eyes whenever he looked at her. No, he cared about her as deeply as she cared about him, and if her father realised that, there was a chance that he might accept them as a couple.

  But the word ‘peasant’ had swum into her mind, followed by the expression on her father’s face as he’d said the word, and her hope had died before it had been properly born – he would never let her marry a man whom he thought inferior in every way.

  Knowing in her heart that to be true, her eyes wide open, she’d lain on her bed, dreading the coming of the day.

  When the morning had finally come, she’d had one glimpse of Kalden – just one fleeting glimpse to last her all day, and for a lifetime.

  She and her father had just finished a silent breakfast when there’d been a knock on the front door. It would be Kalden, she realised, come to take her father to the pony-man in Alchi. She’d immediately got up to open the door, as she always did, but her father had ordered her to go up to her room: the door would not be opened for as long as she was downstairs.

  She’d opened her mouth to object to the way in which he was treating her, but she’d bitten back the words lest she antagonise him and make him re-think going to Leh by himself. Instead, her head bowed in visible submission, she’d gone slowly up the stairs, her eyes surreptitiously on the door behind which Kalden stood. When she’d been three-quarters of the way to the top, the Major had opened the door and gone out to join Kalden. He’d closed the door behind him as quickly as he could, but it had been open long enough for her to see that Kalden’s face was drawn and strained.