‘Have you told the police?’
‘Yes, but the agent has disappeared and no one can find him. The shipping agents refuse to let us leave without papers. They say we must wait here until someone from India arranges our return. But there is no one. Our brother died at Mount Arafat. He was wounded when they fired the guns, and there was no one to tend to his wounds and …’ She began to cry, clutching her sister who had also begun to cry.
Winifred looked at them — they were little more than teenage girls. If they were left behind, heaven knows what would happen to them. There was no work to be had. The shops were only tiny openings in a wall run by the owner. Restaurants were nothing more than a piece of meat skewered on a stick and sold by the road. In private households there was no need to hire domestics, the women of the house did the work. If the girls were forced to stay, without money or friends, they would be abused and end up as prostitutes, unless they walked into the sea. Winifred thought of going to the police, but the last of the boats was preparing to leave. If she missed it she might be left behind. Karum Bux had all their money. She and Pansy would be destitute.
‘Go down to the water,’ she told the girls. ‘Stand in the centre of the crowd, facing the boats. I will follow with my daughter. I will divert the officer’s attention. As soon as you see him turn to talk to me, get into the boat. Don’t be afraid. Nothing will happen to you. When he sees you already in the boat later, he will think your papers have been checked.’
Winifred waited until the young women had merged into the crowd and then she walked behind, holding Pansy by the hand, pushing her way through the waiting line until she was behind the official. She raised her hand and hit him between the shoulder blades. He turned, his eyes blazing, and then recognised her.
‘What right have you to keep me waiting, after the way I have been treated!’
‘But, madame, we left you quietly on the beach. We were letting you wait until the last. We plan to send a special boat for you. These boats are too crowded.’
As Winifred watched, the little boat pulled away and she saw the two young women were on board, standing among the passengers because there was nowhere to sit.
‘Very well,’ she said, and sat on the edge of the jetty to wait until a police launch pulled up. She handed Pansy to one of the police on board and then took his outstretched hand and stepped into the boat.
There was no examination of papers on board the ship and she was relieved. She could not see the girls and she imagined that they must have hidden themselves. Karum Bux had found a spot beneath an overhanging boat. It was not a pleasant trip, though it was cooler on deck. Below decks the heat was almost unbearable.
The journey through the Red Sea was an ordeal. Winifred began to notice the long bundles that were tossed overboard by the crew. It did not take her long to realise that they were the bodies of people who had died. She discovered that cholera was rife.
‘They gorged themselves on bad meat at the sacrifice,’ Karum Bux said. ‘Many died at Jedda before we left. I did not want to worry you. We ate little meat. We should be all right.’
The ship became a death ship. Winifred watched women struggling to the latrines, dragging their shalwars in the filth because they were too weak to hold them up. A vile stench permeated everything, though the crew hosed down the latrines daily.
This time there had been no stop at Kamaran to break the monotony of the voyage and have a cool bath while their clothes were fumigated. If there had been, Winifred thought, there would not have been so many deaths. But the quarantine station was only to prevent disease entering the country. What happened to the pilgrims when they left was of no account.
For the most part Winifred and Pansy kept themselves isolated. Even though the weather cooled as they neared Karachi, they remained on deck and swathed themselves in blankets. Her husband mixed with the other men, talking and smoking, but he kept his distance from her. She wondered if it was out of consideration in case he was carrying the disease, or whether he was still angry with her. She thought about what she had said about their marriage. She was not sure whether she regretted marrying him or not. She knew he had never loved her. She had been useful to him and he to her. But he had spent a lot of time away from her in Oodnadatta. Now they had been living in each other’s pockets for weeks. He had looked after her and Pansy, seeing to their comfort, but she noticed that he had become increasingly irritated at her actions. She thought that perhaps he would divorce her when they arrived back in Australia. She had no claim on him, and for a Moslem man divorce was just saying the words, ‘I divorce thee. I divorce thee. I divorce thee.’ But she kept her thoughts to herself, sensing that the time was not right for ironing out their differences. When they got home would be time enough.
Their ship eased quietly into the Karachi dock. There was no frenzied crowd bearing garlands of flowers as there had been when they left for the pilgrimage. Before they were allowed to leave the ship, immigration officers came on board. They counted the passengers, and after deducting the seventy who had died on board, discovered that there were two over. A search revealed the two girls. The rest of the passengers were allowed to leave the ship, but they were forced to remain.
When she saw their plight Winifred refused to leave the ship. Reluctantly Karum Bux stayed with her while the girls were interrogated by the immigration officials. Also present were three members of the Khalifat, who were there to see to the interests of the returning pilgrims. Winifred recognised them. They had been there when she thrashed the woman doctor before they embarked on their voyage. After an hour of questioning they decided that the girls must return to Jedda and threatened to punish Winifred for aiding and abetting them to board the ship.
Once again Karum Bux was very angry. ‘Why did you not ask me first? I would have warned you of the dangers of your action!’
‘And what if they had been your sisters? Would you have left them stranded, to be ill-used by some man? I thought that being a Moslem meant being kind … I can see I made a mistake.’ She gathered Pansy in her arms. The child felt hot and was starting to cry. ‘Hush, little one,’ she said. Then she turned to one of the men. ‘My daughter is tired and thirsty. Is there no water?’
Hastily, a servant poured some water into a glass and handed it to Winifred, who held it to Pansy’s lips so that she could drink. She could see that they were concerned. The leader of the Khalifat group said, ‘Could you bring some tea?’
With a cup of tea on the table by her side and Pansy in her arms Winifred saw that the mood had changed and she pressed home her advantage. ‘Sirs, when you saw me before we sailed on the Istophan you charged me with the care of the women. You trusted me and I was proud of that trust. Now you tell me I did wrong in helping these girls to return to their own country. It was not their fault that their papers were stolen. Do you not know what happens when so many thousands of pilgrims are treated as prey? Do not take it on my word alone. Ask others. Ask my husband.’ She looked across to where Karum Bux was sitting with head bowed.
‘Is it as your wife says?’ one asked.
He raised his head. ‘Yes, she speaks the truth. We were set upon and only saved by the grace of Allah. Others were not so lucky.’
‘Why have we not heard of these things before?’
Winifred said, ‘Because we were told that on the hadj we must endure all things without complaint. If someone does us an injury we must not retaliate.’
‘But mem-sahib, these men you speak of are also Moslems.’
‘Perhaps their perception of Allah differs from ours.’ Her voice trailed away. She was too tired to argue. Pansy had fallen asleep and was a dead weight in her arms. ‘Do what you will,’ she said, ‘I can go on no longer.’ She lay back feeling faint, the faces staring at her swimming in front of her eyes. She was never sure what happened next except that she found herself lying down in a room with an overhead fan. Pansy was asleep on the bed beside her, and Karum Bux was sitting in a chair.
‘
Where are we?’ she asked.
‘You fainted. We are in the British India Hotel. There is a bathroom, and when you are ready they will send in dinner. We are the guests of the Khalifat.’
Winifred looked at him. His face was set in stern lines and there was no warmth in his eyes.
‘Are you angry with me?’
‘Not angry, but ashamed. You know the rules of the hadj. You should have kept what happened to yourself. You wanted to go. I told you it would be hard but you would not listen. These trials are sent by Allah to strengthen our faith. But you are a woman … and British. You are not one of us. How could you understand?’
Winifred looked at him without speaking. Then she rose and carried Pansy into the bathroom where they splashed in the water and came out refreshed. Later two of the men from the Khalifat called to see her. She was alone. Karum Bux had gone out as soon as they had dined.
‘We have been thinking, mem-sahib. We feel we owe you an apology. We asked you to look after the women and you fulfilled your side of the bargain, even though it was at danger to yourself. Now we want to thank you.’
‘What happened to the two girls?’
‘They are on the train, on their way back to their families, with their tickets paid and a few rupees over.’
Winifred smiled. She had been vindicated.
Before she could speak, one of the men said, ‘We have an invitation for you, mem-sahib. You and your family are invited to spend a few days at the palace of the Khalifat in Bombay. Our leader, Maulana Shaukat Ali, wishes to meet you. Tomorrow a car will call for you and take you to the station.’ Without waiting for her reply they bowed and left.
24
IN THE PALACE OF THE KHALIFAT
A CAR MET THEM AT Bombay Railway station and drove them to the palace. There they swept up the drive and into a large pavilion which led up a flight of steps. At the top were two huge mahogany doors studded with brass nails in an Arabic design. They were wide enough for two cars to pass abreast. Beyond lay a great hall, the walls hung with ornate tapestries embellished with exotic birds and flowers, and lit by domes of coloured glass set into the ceiling. The floor was tiled in pink and black and in the centre was a sunken pond in the shape of a star, full of clear water for the ceremonial washing of the feet of guests who might happen to be there at prayer time.
The atmosphere was one of peace and reverence and the family stood quietly until they were ushered into another room in a hexagonal shape, lit by windows of red and green leadlight glass. Huge carved marble pillars ran from ceiling to floor.
Here they were welcomed by Maulana Shaukat Ali, head of the Khalifat. ‘First you must rest, hadjana, and then we will talk. I am interested in what is happening in the Moslem community in Australia. Many of our countrymen have gone there … many have not returned home as we had expected.’
He looked at her two sons and smiled. ‘You are wondering about this place? It is not really a palace but an office where we print two newspapers for our people in their own tongue. The people who work on the presses, the journalists and the editors all live here with their families. Then there are private quarters for guests who come through Bombay. And my wife and her family. This place is like a beehive. It is quiet now because the presses have finished for the day. If you hear a rumbling, as if a river is rushing underneath, you will know that it is the machinery turning over.’
He laughed and turned to Winifred. ‘I will arrange for someone to show your sons over the office. I am sure it will be of interest to them.’
They were shown to their quarters, with the boys placed in the care of one of the servants, while Pansy remained with her parents. Winifred was reluctant to part with her boys. They had had an emotional reunion the evening before. She was assured she would see them again after prayers. Later an ayah came and took Pansy into the garden where her brothers were playing with some other children.
When the time came for prayers Karum Bux went to join the men, while Winifred was taken to meet the begum, Maulana Shaukat Ali’s wife, a slight elderly woman with a perfect command of English. She took Winifred’s right hand and kissed it, placed it on her forehead and then on her heart. ‘I salute you, hadjana, you have made the hadj … perhaps some day I too may make the journey.’
The buttercup-yellow silk headscarf, which matched her long flowing gown dropped to her shoulders.
Winifred saw the flash of diamonds as she lifted her hands to smooth her dress, which was embroidered with silver thread in a pattern of waterlilies. She led Winifred out into the garden where they bathed their hands and feet and joined the other women of the household for afternoon prayers.
Later, she showed Winifred over the women’s quarters. The first room was in the shape of a heart and had walls of carved pink marble under a ceiling of green glass. Two shallow steps led to another part of the room with high stained-glass windows to the roof. Low divans with embroidered cushions were scattered about and there was a miniature reading desk of gold, bearing an open copy of the Koran. By the doorway stood a huge brass jar full of drinking water and a blue vase decorated with a white stork and large enough to hold a man. Winifred was surprised to see a gramophone, which seemed out of place here. She was to discover the begum had travelled the world and had met Queen Mary in England, even going to the races with the royal family and winning fifty pounds.
She laughed at Winifred’s look of astonishment. ‘Moslem women are not always what they seem. We are not in purdah here. But we prefer to spend some time in our women’s quarters where we can relax. I do not come to Bombay often. I have residences in Bangalore, Mysore, Delhi and Baroda. But my husband wanted to meet you.’
There were seven women in the apartments, two were sisters of the begum and the others daughters of the house. Winifred met them over tea, which was served with sweet cakes as they sat in a circle on the floor. She found it uncomfortable and her legs developed cramps, but she did not like to complain for fear of offending her hostess, who was intent on hearing about the hadj. She felt flattered by her interest. Just the same she was relieved when they moved into the garden where the children were playing and they could walk about. Below she could see the ocean, and the smell of burning sandalwood drifted across from a nearby mosque to mingle with the perfume of roses and oleanders. To Winifred it seemed like some fantastic dream.
Mixing with high caste Indians was a new experience for Winifred. They had been educated in English schools and spoke English beautifully and yet they had retained their customs, which varied according to their religion and place in society. Now she was to learn that the country was in turmoil as it struggled to rid itself of the British. From her earliest days at school in England she had taken it for granted that India was a British possession. Her father had pointed out the words ‘Empress of India’ on the coins bearing the likeness of Queen Victoria, and the red parts on a map of the world that showed how far the British Empire stretched. She had thought it rather grand and was proud to be part of it.
Foremost among the Indian leaders was Mahatma Gandhi, who had come to the palace for a meeting with Maulana in an effort to unite Hindus and Moslems in the fight for Home Rule. Winifred was walking in the garden when she saw Maulana Shaukat Ali approaching with an emaciated looking man in a dhoti, a length of white cloth draped over his shoulders, and yellow sandals. They stopped in front of her and Maulana said, ‘Gandhi, this is Hadjana Karum Bux. She has just returned from Mecca and is resting here before returning to Australia. I am sure you will find plenty to talk about.’ He excused himself to mingle with the other guests.
Gandhi smiled and, putting his palms together, bowed to Winifred, then they sat down on a garden seat near the sea wall.
‘You are new to India?’ Gandhi asked.
‘This is my first visit,’ said Winifred as she began to fan herself with a sandalwood fan which she had dipped in the fountain. The breeze had dropped and there was still heat in the sun. Above, a sea eagle hovered and pigeons were pecking on the l
awn. There was a sense of peace. Winifred sat back feeling relaxed.
Gandhi touched her arm and she turned to face him. ‘Did you enjoy the pilgrimage? he asked.
‘It was hard. Often we did not have enough food.’
He did not reply and she gazed at him. He was so thin. She had heard of his hunger strikes. She was sorry she had spoken about food.
‘Have you seen the beggars who sleep in the doorways like pariah dogs because they have no home?’ He was watching her. His face was gentle.
Winifred was silent, thinking back to the car trip from the station to the palace. The children had been excited but she had been too tired to take much notice, remembering only the sound of someone tapping on the window when they stopped to avoid a bullock cart. She had opened her eyes to see a woman holding a child with no arms. The woman had stretched out one hand begging for money and then the car had moved off. She had turned away from the woman, putting her from her mind. But now that she had been reminded she felt guilty. ‘I have seen them,’ she said.
‘Then you understand. They call them the untouchables. In my religion, which is Hindu, they are regarded as the lowest of the low. And yet they are children of God.’
Before they could finish their conversation, the call to prayer came. Winifred rose and held out her hand and Ghandi took it and placed it on his heart. Then, with his palms pressed together, he bowed. As she made her way to the women’s quarters she looked back. He was sitting on the lawn with his legs crossed. His head was bowed as if he was deep in prayer.
She thought about his words later. She had known poverty in England but people had somewhere to sleep, even if it was only the workhouse. Her own life had been one of deprivation and suffering but she had accepted it because it was all she knew. She wondered if the people in India were the same.
The day before she and her family were due to leave for Australia, Winifred had another meeting with Maulana Shaukat Ali. It took place in a small private chamber with a desk and a few easy chairs covered in brown leather. Arched windows led into a secluded garden with a magnificent view over the ocean, where there were several ships at anchor. Soon all this would be forgotten, Winifred thought. She would return to Oodnadatta, tending the shop, looking after their small hut and the children. She had had her great adventure; soon it would be only a memory.
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