Belonging

by Umi Sinha

  The next morning, to my surprise, Jagjit came over on his own. Aunt Mina called me down from my room where I was reading.

  ‘It’s that Indian boy,’ she said. I could tell from the set of her lips that she wasn’t happy. ‘I’ve put him in the library and I’d like you to stay in the house. I want you within earshot.’ She gave me a meaningful look that annoyed me – what did she think he was going to do to me? But I went into the library feeling surprisingly anxious, wondering how I could entertain him. I was used to being in the background while he and Simon talked.

  He was standing looking at the books and turned as I came in. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Lila. Simon’s gone into Brighton with his mother to buy school shoes, so I thought I’d come over.’

  I noticed that although he had almost lost his accent he said ‘i-school’ instead of ‘school’, just as Afzal Khan used to. For some reason it made me feel easier with him. I smiled and shook my head.

  ‘Your aunt didn’t seem very happy to see me.’

  I rolled my eyes.

  He laughed. ‘What shall we do? Do you want to go out?’

  I shook my head again and cast about for something. My eyes fell on the Parcheesi board and I pointed at it.

  ‘Ah, but I’m a champion,’ he said. ‘Are you sure you want to risk it?’

  It was restful being with him. He didn’t talk all the time like Simon, and didn’t seem disturbed by my silence. When I took one of his pieces, instead of getting cross or sulking he smiled that funny lopsided smile.

  ‘I think you’re a hustler, Lila. I can tell you’ve played this before? Was it in India?’

  I nodded, remembering the games with Afzal Khan, and Father when he was home.

  Jagjit was watching me. ‘Do you miss India? Mrs. Beauchamp said you lived in Peshawar, not so far from us. You know what it would be like there at this time of year… those winter evenings, when everyone is coming home from their day’s work…’

  He paused as though visualising it and I could see it too: the band of white mist rising from the warm earth as the evening air cooled, leaving the tree tops floating like dark clouds on a white sea; the great orange ball of sun flattening over the horizon; the wooden wheels of hay carts creaking along the dusty paths, the bullocks’ white coats tinted pale violet in the slanting golden rays; the smell of woodsmoke, and the graceful women in bright saris – peacock-blue, emerald and pink – supporting their water pots with one hand, their elongated shadows stretching across the sun-baked earth as they returned to their Untouchable village.

  My eyes filled with tears.

  He reached out and rested his hand on mine, warm and consoling. I looked into his dark eyes and for the first time since leaving India I felt comforted.

  Henry

  7th January 1869

  Aunt Mina went to Father’s room in the night. I had just finished writing down what happened at the chaplain’s, which took ages, so it must have been very late. I was getting ready for bed when I heard her knocking on Father’s door. I went to my own and opened it a crack. Aunt Mina was standing there with a candle, but she looked so much younger that at first I didn’t recognise her. Her hair was loose and she had a colourful shawl wrapped around her.

  Father opened his door. He said ‘Cecily?’ very loud as though he was shocked and she said, ‘It’s Mina, Arthur. I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to startle you.’ Even her voice sounded different, softer. She said she couldn’t sleep and wanted to talk to him.

  Father didn’t say anything for ages. I could hear him breathing hard, and then he apologised for leaving the chaplain’s house like that and said, ‘It was just that you sounded so… so like her.’ Aunt Mina said she was sorry too, and that she’d forgotten Cecily used to sing that song. She asked if she could come in, just for a minute, and he let her in and closed the door.

  I went out on to the verandah and slid along the wall between my door and his. I know it was wrong but I thought they would talk about Mother and I wanted to hear. I pressed myself flat against the wall by his door. I heard Father say that he still misses her, and dreams about her. He said he sometimes finds himself fantasising that she was taken, that she is alive and living in a bazaar somewhere, and that he still looks at the hands of women in burkhas, hoping to recognise hers. Aunt Mina said surely he could not wish such a wicked thing, and even death would be preferable to that, but I don’t know what she meant.

  She told him everyone was saying that he cared more for the natives than his own people and asked how he could forgive them after what they had done. Father said he did not think there was so much difference between them and us, and that we were just as guilty – he more than most, for he had betrayed the trust of a better man than he would ever be.

  Aunt Mina said surely they deserved everything that was done to them and Father said the thing he always says to me when I complain about anyone: ‘When you start pointing the finger of blame it goes all the way back to Adam.’ Then he said it was late and they were both tired and why didn’t they talk tomorrow?

  Aunt Mina began to cry and said she had waited eleven years to talk, and in all that time he had hardly written to her even though when they first met she was the one who had talked to him most, and everyone had been surprised when he chose Cecily. She said Cecily had always charmed everyone and got her own way, that she was indulged and spoilt, and how did he think she’d felt when he’d asked Cecily to marry him when everyone had expected him to ask her. Father said he was sorry if he had disappointed her but it was all water under the bridge now. And then Aunt Mina said there was still me to think of and didn’t he think that I needed a mother? I almost stopped breathing but Father said surely she must know by now that he wasn’t good husband material and, anyway, he suspected that she was not cut out for Indian life and would be happier at home.

  She didn’t say anything for ages, and I could hear her crying, and then she said, ‘You’ve put her on a pedestal but she didn’t deserve it. She never could bear anyone else to have something she didn’t, and as soon as she got it she changed her mind. She never loved you.’

  I didn’t want to listen any more then, but I didn’t dare to move in case they heard me, and then Aunt Mina said she was sorry and Father said, ‘No, don’t apologise. You’re right, Mina. She didn’t love me. She deserved someone young, like that boy Peter. I should have known better, because India is full of foolish old men who’ve married silly young girls and it never ends well.’

  I heard Aunt Mina leave and I wanted to go to him and say that whatever had happened I knew it wasn’t his fault, and that I was sure my mother had loved him, but I knew he wouldn’t like me to have heard. I had just starting sliding back along the wall towards my room when he walked out on to the verandah and over to the top of the steps leading down to the compound. I pressed myself against the wall, hardly daring to breathe. He rested his hands on the pillars on either side of the steps and bowed his head, and from the back he looked just like the figure above the altar in church.

  I heard him say ‘Cecily’ and then he called out ‘Ram! Ram!’ and his shoulders began to shake and I knew he was crying. I don’t understand why, because Ram is the name of a Hindu god.

  8th January 1869

  Last night I had the dream again. It’s always the same: I am in a small hot space, with something covering my face so I can’t breathe. My eyes, nose and mouth are filled with darkness and in my ears there is a terrible screeching and I open my mouth to call for help, but no sound comes.

  Then Father was there, holding me in his arms and rocking me. ‘Wake up, Henry. It’s all right. You’re safe now. It’s just a dream.’ My heart was pounding so hard I thought it would leap out of my chest, and then I heard Aunt Mina’s voice, sounding shaky and frightened, outside the door. ‘Is everything all right, Arthur? I heard someone screaming.’ And Father said, ‘It’s all right, Mina. It’s just Henry, having a nightmare.’ And I said, ‘You won’t send me away, Father? Promise you won’t send me
away.’ And he said, ‘I promise, Henry. Go back to sleep now. You’re not going anywhere.’

  Cecily

  Cuttack, 3rd December 1855

  Dear Mina,

  There is so much to tell you, I don’t know where to begin! I am writing to you from our new home in Cuttack. The journey took just over a fortnight by pony cart, and palanquin in the places where there were no metalled roads. I do not know why people complain about travelling in India for to me it seems quite delightful, like an extended picnic. We spent the night in pretty little rest houses, called ‘dak bungalows’, which provided everything we needed – a simple meal of an omelette or chupatties, and a curry of meat or lentils. Afterwards we would sit on the verandah talking until it got dark.

  We arrived in Cuttack just as the sun was setting. There is no dusk here – night falls suddenly, like someone blowing out a lamp. And then, out of the darkness, we saw pinpricks of light, like fireflies floating towards us and growing brighter and brighter. Then drums started up and there was shouting and cheering and a crowd of men in colourful uniforms and turbans appeared out of the dark, bearing torches. They were Arthur’s men, come to greet us. They garlanded us both with gardenias and marigolds and tied a gold turban on his head. Then they lifted him on to a white horse and led him ahead of us through the streets with the band playing, and people threw rice at us as we passed. It was so romantic – like being in a story from the Arabian Nights!

  But I have told you nothing of Cuttack and the house. Briefly, then, Cuttack is a pretty town strung out along a river, with a church, a mosque and a temple, and the cantonment is full of little white bungalows with small gardens bursting with flowers. It all looks quite English and very clean, with straight roads and neat white fences.

  Our house is the same as all the others. The drawing and dining rooms are connected by double doors, and there are two bedrooms with their own dressing rooms and primitive bathrooms. Arthur has a study at the back, and a verandah runs all the way round the house. The rooms are high, with cloth ceilings, which are removed in the hot season to allow the heat to rise and punkahs to be hung. The kitchen and servants’ quarters are behind the house in the compound. It is so strange to see things that I have only heard talked of, or read about in books. It is all very bare but Arthur says I can order anything I want from the catalogues and make it just as I want it, for he knows ‘women like their fripperies’. He has ordered me a piano as my Christmas gift. He is so very kind and thoughtful and I am determined to love him, and I know I shall when we know each other better.

  Give my love to Mama and Papa and tell them I will write to them soon.

  Your loving Cecily

  P.S. I almost forgot to say Merry Christmas (although I know you will not receive this till nearly February).

  1st January 1856

  Darling, darling Mina,

  Thank you so much for the beautiful shawl, which is perfect for these cooler mornings. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw it. How ever did you find the time to embroider it all? Whenever I feel homesick I shall wrap myself in it and feel comforted.

  I wore it to church on Christmas Day but I am afraid I heard nothing of the service for all my thoughts were with you at Home. I kept picturing Mama and Papa and you in our little church. Do you remember the time Peter put burrs down the back of my dress and Mama sent me out of church for fidgeting? And now you are engaged! Oh, Mina, I am so happy for you both. Please do give him my love and my congratulations on his commission. I am sure you will miss him when he goes away but, as you say, it is important for him to establish his career before he marries.

  I am afraid I am not managing my household tasks very well – with so many servants it is hard to remember who does what, so I am forever getting it wrong. It is all so complicated. You can imagine how nervous I am at the thought of having to oversee them all. Arthur says I should leave it all to the khitmutgar, but the other ladies tell me I must not or we shall be shamefully cheated and taken advantage of. I wonder if I shall ever learn to be a good ‘mem’. Arthur says if I do he will divorce me!

  Your loving Cecily

  5th March 1856

  Dear Mina,

  I have just received your reply to my foolish letter from Calcutta and, although I know I deserved it, I thought it very unkind. It is true that you and Mama warned me I was too young to marry and travel so far from home, but it is never nice to hear someone say ‘I told you so’!

  I know I should not have written to you about such private matters, but we have always told each other everything, and there is no one here that I can confide in. But, as you rightly say, matters between a husband and wife should remain between them, so you need not worry about my involving you in my troubles again.

  Your chastened sister, Cecily

  23rd April 1856

  Dear Mina,

  I am so sorry for not writing to you for over a month. Arthur has been ill with malaria and I have been so afraid. I had no idea what a terrible illness it is. The doctor says there is nothing to be done except to keep him cool and quiet and dose him with quinine.

  I don’t know how I would manage without his native officers. His subhedar and jemadar have been coming daily to visit him and give him news of the men. They even take it in turns to sit with him through the night so I can rest. It is such a comfort. His subhedar is called Durga Prasad, which means ‘gift of the Goddess Durga’ (she is the goddess of war, appropriately enough), though he does not look at all fierce but the very image of the old Indian with a turban and white beard on the box of that old wooden puzzle in our nursery! The jemadar, Ram Buksh, is quite young, with flashing white teeth and a handlebar moustache, like a pirate. He speaks English quite well and tells me that Arthur has had malaria before. They have told me many stories of his bravery and it is clear that they both respect and admire him. How I wish I had known him when he was young!

  The doctor has told me that I am to take him to the hills, where it is cooler, as soon as he is strong enough to travel. I will write again from there.

  Your affectionate Cecily

  P.S. I am learning some Hindustani now, for Ram Buksh has been giving me lessons. I know Arthur will be pleased.

  Lila

  I thought of Jagjit often in the three and a half months between Christmas and his next visit at Easter. I felt closer to him than anyone I had met since coming to England, because I knew that he, like me, was missing his home. He had told us how strange things seemed to him when he first arrived in England – all the things I too found odd: the grey skies and fogs, the bland food and the lack of sounds and smells. But he said the queerest thing of all was arriving at Tilbury and seeing white men on the dock acting as porters, dockers and sweepers. He couldn’t believe it when he got into a taxi to the station and the driver called him ‘sir’.

  I would have liked to know more about his home and family, but Simon wasn’t interested enough to ask and, although the Beauchamps always enquired politely after his parents and brother, they left it at that. The main subject at their lunch table was politics. Keir Hardie, who had just resigned as leader of the Labour Party, was a frequent visitor. He supported free education, women’s suffrage and home rule for India and Ireland, and was a close friend of Mrs. Pankhurst. Her sister, Mrs. Clarke, lived in Brighton and was often there too, so the talk was usually of matters that had been raised in the House: as well as the causes close to his heart, they talked of Germany’s growing militarisation and the fear that the situation in Bosnia and Servia would lead to a European war. I was surprised by Jagjit’s grasp of history and politics. The adults treated him like an equal and he often joined in the discussions, especially when the subject of India arose.

  Aunt Mina stayed silent on these occasions. She disapproved of both the Labour Party and the Votes for Women movement and would have preferred to keep me away, but she did not want to offend the Beauchamps.

  One Easter Sunday, we went over for lunch after the service. There were no other visitor
s that day, and during the course of lunch Mr. Beauchamp asked Jagjit what he planned to do when his schooling was finished. Jagjit told him that his father wished him to go to university and study law, with a view to joining the I.C.S.

  Mrs. Beauchamp laughed. ‘So you’re going to be a civil servant! Do you know, I was in the village yesterday and the baker’s wife asked me if it was true that you were a prince! Actually,’ she went on, ‘an Indian prince did come here once, before I was born. I remember my grandmother mentioning it. She said he was very cultured and quite charming. I believe he even stayed at the Devil’s Dyke Hotel. You might remember that, Miss Partridge,’ she said, turning to Aunt Mina.

  For a moment Aunt Mina did not reply. Then she said quietly, ‘Yes, I do remember him. He was charming. And a snake, and treacherous – as they all are.’

  Mrs. Beauchamp’s eyes widened.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Mr. Beauchamp said, glancing at Jagjit, ‘but he wasn’t a real prince, was he? As I recall he was called something Khan… began with an A? Azim? Wasn’t he from Cawnpore, something to do with…’