Ravi the Unknown Prince

by Rookmin Cassim

  I am thankful to be alive; and standing there. Although I never met them some how I felt connected to them and they would always be a part of me.

  I intended to do my own investigation before I made a conclusive decision whether to hold on to this coin or buried it into one of my ancestors’ grave.

  There were other graves of Hindus and Muslims dotted around in various plots of land around me on this reef; they all came from India.

  No one came to visit them; only the cows and sheep that ate the grass around their graves paid them a visit.

  They all came here with one intention; to work for five years and then to return home but that did not happen. They were robbed of their exit papers.

  After I left the reef I got back on to the mud dam and rode home. I sat for a while on the back steps of my parent’s house, which was now mine and began to question myself.

  Was an orphan a bad person to be left alone in this world to take care for his or herself?

  I was glad that it was me and not my sister Inderah or my brother Rohan. Eight years on, and she would now be 12 and Rohan 15.

  I decided not to spend that night alone in case I dreamt of the dead again and woke up frightened.

  I went out looking for my two school friends to keep me company before the sunset; they reckon that the devils came out at that time.

  My friends had stayed with me before, whenever we went out fishing for sweet water fish in the creek after dawn, but this time we were not going fishing.

  In the mean time, I prepared one of my hens for supper. I had to either eat them or give them away before I left the country.

  I put all the spices together and mixed in the meat and left it cook on the wood burning stove outside the main kitchen.

  Then I secured the door before I left, in case the other hens got inside looking for food.

  When I arrived at James’ house his mother told me he went for a job interview and should be home soon, and that she would tell him that I called.

  I rode on to Ramnarine’s house, he was at home, and I asked his mother if he could come over for the night and that I was cooking a fowl.

  His younger brother invited himself. His excuse was that he wanted me to explain some Geometry to him.

  He could not fully grasp what his teacher was on about, sir was going too quickly, he told his mother.

  His mother agreed on those terms and she said that it was alright and the three of us then rode to my house.

  The chicken was already cooked, so I dished up our supper in three enamel plates and the three of us sat on the steps eating.

  While we were eating Ramnarine’s father brought us some roasted sweet potatoes and I added that to our evening meal of bread, curried fowl, boiled plantain, and the sweet potatoes.

  After he had left James arrived and he joined us, at the end of our meal the boys told me they were going to miss me when I left West Coast and this brotherly group that we had formed.

  I was thinking much the same, that I was going to miss them, but I had to move on and do something positive for my future.

  I had a home, ten acres of land to grow rice, a fishing net my father used for catching fish and some coconut trees that could provide me with cooking oil.

  I could utilise all these resources and make a fairly good living out of them, but I was not a farmer and if the land failed to produce I would have no one to support me or ask for help.

  I was going to do what I knew best, and to follow my destiny and see where it would lead me to.

  That night the four of us slept on three mattresses in the sitting area of the house.

  We moved all the sofas and chairs to one side of the room, and placed each mattress on the floor.

  The two brothers slept on the double, and me and James slept on the two singles. I kept a kerosene lamp burning.

  Before we went to sleep, James told us that a black man who recently moved into their village was a vampire; he changes into a large bat and went out into the night looking for blood to drink.

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “People gossiping,” he answered, and that was the reason that he was moving away from the village, he said.

  Ramnarine said, people cannot survive on different types of human blood. James replied, “So you are a doctor now? Since when did you get qualified?”

  “If he was a white guy, then I would almost believe it,” I remarked, “like the legendary tale from Transylvania.

  A famous story of the past, when the sun goes down the vampires would wake up and come out.

  They slept in coffins during the day in this large house with a draw bridge at the entrance.

  They drove their horse and carriages looking for their next blood victim. They would prowl about all night till dawn; it’s a myth and a folk tale.”

  “How do you know all this,” questioned the three boys.

  “I read a book about it,” I answered.

  “Where is Transylvania Ravi?” Ramlal brother of Ramnarine asked.

  “It is a place in the North West Romanian capital, Bucharest, a long way from here.”

  Our friendly sleep over night became a night of horror stories. Then Ramnarine said his grandfather told them a story about a white headless man on a white horse. He would come out every full moon.

  He rode along that road outside from Bath Estate to Blairmont Estate at around 3am, many people saw this headless ghost.

  “How they knew that he was a white man if he got no head?” James questioned.

  “We asked my grand-dad that same question and he said; “Only the white masters rode horses in those days.

  And they wore helmets, riding boots, and carried a cane, but this one wore no helmet, because he got no head.”

  “I wonder who took his head off,” I said jokingly.

  We were all laughing and then the light of the hand lamp went out which made us more frightened.

  James had a battery torch under his pillow. He quickly got it out and shone it around the room.

  The kerosene had run out from the lamp we used in those days, I got it up and running again.

  After I filled up the small barrel below the wick, and then we all settled down to sleep.

  That night I dreamt of my parents and two siblings, they were the same ages as they were when they died and had not aged, which disturbed me.

  My brother and sister were smiling but my parents were not, I was asking them how they were but no one answered.

  I called after them and was crying as they were walking away from me and then they vanished.

  I woke up with tears in my eyes, and was perspiring profusely, my other friends were fast asleep and then I went back to sleep until it was dawn.

  While James and Ramnarine tidied the house and put the furniture back in its place, Ramlal and I cooked eggs for breakfast.

  He told me that he had enjoyed spending the night with us, and he wished he had friends like us.

  After breakfast the boys went home and I continued with my daily chores for the day.

  That Sunday I went to visit the old lady whose name I did not know in the Corentyne area of Berbice.

  I was looking for some information regarding the gold coin in my possession, perhaps the old woman might shed some light on it and the many other issues I was about to ask her.

  I left early that morning and caught the first ferry to New Amsterdam, and then a taxi that was going to Spring-lands at the end of the road.

  I came off at the beginning of the Village Muna had told me about and I asked a few women for the Uddin family house.

  After 10 minutes walk and with the heat of the morning sun I stopped to get a cold drink.

  I asked the man behind the counter, and he told me to count 20 houses on the left side of the road and the next one with a black wrought iron gate would be where the Uddin family lives.

  He asked me whether I was a relative and I told him that I was visiting an old lady, she used to live a few doors from
me on the West Coast of Berbice.

  After I finished my drink, I thanked the shopkeeper and left. On the 21st house I saw the black wrought iron gate like the man had described.

  I called at the gate and a woman in her thirties came out and said, “We are not buying anything today.”

  I told her that I was not selling anything, I came to see the old lady if she was still around, and explained who I was and gave her my name.

  She opened the gate and let me into the yard and under the shade of the house, and went indoors again.

  The front garden was very colourful; there were hibiscus trees, white flowering jasmine plants, a carpet of forget-me-nots, with its bright blue flowers, there were red, pink, and white oleander shrubs, as well as white lilies.

  The bees and humming birds were busy collecting nectar from this beautiful garden of various plants and shrubs.

  The woman now wearing a blue stripped apron came back and took me indoors into a downstairs room where the old woman was sitting on a rocking chair padded with cushions.

  She got up when I walked in and said “Little Ravi, you grown into a handsome young man.”

  “How are you grand-ma?” I asked as I shook her hand, and she gave me a kiss on both my cheeks and gestured for me to sit on the sofa next to her.

  I had not seen her for six years, she was looking well with more grey hairs on her head.

  The room was well ventilated and smartly decorated with a cream and pink three piece sofa, two large vases with red plastic flowers on each corner of the room, curtains and rugs that matched the furniture.

  The wooden walls were painted with cream coloured paint, and there were pictures of trees and ocean sceneries hanging on opposite sides of the wall.

  I was wondering what sort of job these people do for their livelihood to have such a lovely room, a car on the drive and a beautiful house from the outside.

  I gave the basket I was holding to the old lady. I had made it myself from platted coconut branches and held together with strips from the bark of the branches woven into the shape of a small basket.

  In it I had a dozen eggs, limes, and some mangoes from my yard, those items were the old woman favourite.

  She would always ask me for eggs and lime with the intention of paying but I would give her for free and she would give me a plate of food in return.

  It was a good way of doing business with her, and I missed all of that when she left; from then onwards I had to fend for myself.

  She removed the cover and looked inside the basket, “Oh eggs, lime, and some mangoes my favourite,” she remarked.

  As she spoke I saw her face lit up, “You are a good boy Ravi, and may God rewards you,” she said looking closely at me.

  Then I told her that I was leaving for America and I came to say goodbye, because I did not know when I would return.

  We talked on various issues regarding my parent’s house and land, and she told me about my mother.

  She was an only child, daughter of a baker; a beautiful woman with a lovely smile.

  She talked about my uncle Rajesh. He lived some where in the Demerara region, his father was not too fond of him and he would come to visit his mother after his father died.

  She said my grand-mother would visit her every day and she would cry a lot after grand-dad had passed away.

  I took out the gold coin and showed it to her. “Can you tell me anything about this coin?” It once belonged to my great grand-mother and my father told me to hold on to it.

  She smiled, “I am going to tell you what I heard from your grand-mother and I only saw your great grand-mother once.

  She was the daughter of a Maharaja [king]. Which one I don’t know, he had many wives, and he would give each daughter a gold sovereign on their wedding day.

  Your great grand-mother was married to a Maharaja [king]. I don’t know his name either.

  He had many wives and concubines, in those days men had hundreds of women.

  A war took place and her husband and son never came back and then she ran away with her maid to Calcutta.

  They got on board a ship and came here for five years like every one on that ship.

  She wanted to calm down from whatever she was escaping from, but this place was a land of no return.

  Her maid died during the long voyage, which added more grief to her life.

  Their masters kept them here to work; destroyed their papers and told them that they were lost.

  Mohana married her, she was a very beautiful woman; light skinned in complexion, slim with beautiful green coloured eyes, and long hair.

  She was much older than he was, and they had three children two sons and one daughter.

  She died in Bath Estate, Raghu [Babbu] your grand-father, brought her body and buried her on his land in the first reef.

  He and his father Mohana then went to Surinam and brought back a cinnamon plant and planted the tree by her head.

  When she was a little girl she used to play in the palace garden of her father under a Peepar tree, a sweet smelling flowering shrub.

  Mohana could not get that tree so he gave her that cinnamon tree instead, I felt sad after hearing that part of her life story.

  Raghu your grandfather, [Babbu was his other name] was the youngest, Shuli was the middle girl and Gupta was the eldest.

  She named her sons after the Gupta Dynasty some century way back, which she was descended from.

  Her life was sad, from a palace life to living in a logy in Bath Estate, that was her destiny, but she was happy with Mohana, after she died Mohana told her story to his children.”

  “What is a logy grand-ma?” I questioned.

  “It is a long wooden building on the ground with a partition for each family and workers, with an outside kitchen. I was born in one of them, she answered.

  If you want to look at one of them, they still have them at Blairmont Estate; people planting sugar cane for the Estate still lives in them.”

  Bath Estate was demolished and everyone moved to the main road, now known as Bath Settlement.

  Bath is a place in England, where the white Master was born and grew up; the white masters put their names to the places that they were born and to the various Estates they owned.”

  While we continued our conversation, the house-maid brought us some cold drinks, and the old lady handed her the basket I brought for her.

  When she left I was eager to find out more about my late ancestors, whom I had never met, their story was intriguing and remarkable.

  I asked the old woman what I should do with the gold coin, she told me to keep it, or bury it with the Royal lady.

  It would not serve me any purpose in this century, she said and it would be difficult to prove who I was, if I went in search of my ancestors in India.

  “You have no paper work to prove who you are; only the words of an old woman, you are an orphan but a Prince,” she remarked.

  I thought I had covered all the angles, and asked all the questions, I had in mind to ask the old lady.

  Then I asked her about the family she was living with, she told me they all gone to Nickeri [a place in Surinam] by ferry from Spring-lands.

  They travelled across the Corentyne River to the other shores to visit relatives and friends, and to buy spices, they should be home before dark.

  She said that her grand son-in-law was a dentist in Skeldon and her grand-daughter worked with him doing the booking and office work, and that they had two sons.

  It was lunch time, and the maid called us in to eat. She had prepared rice with chicken curry, salad with fresh mangoes and cold lime juice drink.

  The dining area was next to where we were seated, there were pictures hanging on the white painted walls with a clock below it and a hand basin with clean towels.

  The large dining table was covered over with a plastic covering. There were also six chairs and a few stools

  The wooden floor had a large floral rug, and a few potted flowering plants that a
dded some fragrance to the room.

  After we washed our hands and sat down, the old woman told me to help myself. I was too shy to touch the dishes and I told her to dish the food.

  “A growing young man like you must eat well,” she said as she dished up for both of us.

  We continued our conversation throughout lunch, she told me about herself, after her husband had passed away.

  My grand-parents would make regular visits to see that she was all right and would sit and chat with her.

  They were lonely themselves, and then my parents came to live with them. I was six months old when my father came to live there.

  He took care of every-thing, his parents, the land and the cattle, your uncle Rajesh took money instead of land from your grand-parents for his inheritance.

  He came back for more after your grand-father died, and your grand mother would give him money whenever he visited her.

  There was so much history in my family one could not imagine. I made some notes as she was talking so that perhaps one day when I had children of my own I would pass on all that information to them.

  After we had eaten, ten minutes later the old lady told me she was going to pray.

  She opened the back door and told me that I could sit outside in the garden under the large shady tree which looked like a banyan tree with birds nesting in its trunk.

  As I sat on the wooden bench and gazed at the neatly tended flower beds in front of me, I thought that this old lady had not forgotten her God.

  What about me? It was time I went in search of the God who created me and everything around me.

  The garden was covered with all types of flowers, roses of various colours and smells, when the wind blew in my direction its fragrance felt heavenly.

  If this earthly garden felt like this; what must Paradise feel like? I questioned myself once again.

  Honey suckle lined the green heart wooden fence at the far corner of that large garden.

  Bees, butterflies and two humming birds were all competing for the nectar from each and every flower in the garden.

  Suddenly the old lady appeared in the door way and was walking towards me. She greeted me with Salam before she sat down and I responded like-wise.