A Sahib's Daughter

by Harkness, Nina

  By this time, two gardeners, assisted by Ram and Kala, with much ado and heated discussion, were pushing the car, which still refused to start. Finally, Charles emerged from the driver’s seat mopping his brow and said to Ramona.

  “Looks like we’re not going to make it today. I’m sorry, darling. We’ll have to give up the idea. Perhaps we can try again next week.”

  He knew how much she looked forward to these trips, not just because of Prava, but because it meant she could visit shops and restaurants and be among people.

  Samira awoke dazzled by the sunlight and puzzled to find herself alone in the car. She stuck her head out of the window and shouted,

  “Daddy, Daddy! Let me out!”

  “I’m coming, darling,” Charles laughed, lifting her out of the back seat. “Our silly old car wouldn’t start today, so we’ll have to go see Grandma another time. Let’s go find Mummy.”

  They walked into the house, and Ramona reappeared on the verandah with Mark in her arms, looking hot and disheveled in her Darjeeling clothing.

  “To think we sat in the car all that time scarcely daring to breathe,” she said, indignantly.

  “And look at us in these warm clothes,” said Charles. “You have to see the funny side of it.”

  “Well, I might, but our bacon certainly won’t,” Ramona told him, “It’s just eggs for breakfast, I’m afraid.”

  “Why don’t we go for a whole weekend sometime soon?

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” said Ramona. “I’ve got a better idea. How about getting a new car, one that actually goes?”

  “What? And get rid of the Silly Old Car?” Charles bantered, using Samira’s nickname for the Ford.

  “Perhaps we could buy a proper car,” suggested Ramona, smiling, “an Indian one that starts first time?”

  “I agree,” said Charles, sarcastically. “If we’re quick and put our names down immediately, we could have a new car in as little as five years.”

  That was true. The waiting list for new vehicles was endless. Ramona groaned. “Perhaps the Silly Old Car isn’t so bad after all.”

  “Perhaps not,” agreed Charles. “All she needs is a little tender loving care.”

  Ramona stepped into the verandah where breakfast had been laid out on a yellow and white checkered tablecloth. In the garden below, Ramchand was watering the flowers, but his attention was elsewhere. She could hear sounds coming from the lawn on the other side of the house and wondered what was going on. She walked the length of the verandah to investigate and could scarcely believe her eyes. The children were running on the grass, shrieking with excitement, with three tiny animals in pursuit. They didn’t look like puppies or kittens, she thought, and then she gasped. They were leopard cubs! She ran down the steps toward them.

  Samira saw her and screamed, “Mummy, Mummy, come and see!”

  The cubs were adorable, only a few days old, covered in downy fur and playful as kittens.

  “Be careful, darling,” she said to Mark, who was trying to lift one of them by its tail. “Where on earth did they come from?”

  Just then she noticed an old Nepalese man crouched in the shade by the bungalow. He rose and saluted.

  “Where did you get these animals?” she asked, in Nepalese. “Where have you come from?”

  Before he could answer, Charles, home for breakfast, appeared.

  “Why, Gurung, what are you doing here?” he spoke in Hindi, not having mastered Nepalese.

  “Salaam, Sahib. I bring these to show your babas,” Gurung said, in English. “I think they like.” He had walked three miles to do this.

  “That’s very kind of you, but where did you find them?”

  “The mother she die, Sahib. My friend find cubs. Mother shot in number six area, Sahib. She practically dead.” Gurung was proud of his mastery of English, which he’d acquired during his days as a Gurkha in Burma.

  “What the hell do you mean, ‘practically dead’?” asked Charles in sudden panic. An injured leopard could limp around for days, striking terror in the villagers and putting lives in danger.

  “Is she dead or isn’t she?”

  “Oh, yes, Sahib. She dead, practically dead. One day or two maybe.” He held his nose to demonstrate.

  “Thank heavens for that. The question is who shot her?”

  He turned to Ramona who was as taken with the cubs as the children. “And what’s going to happen to these little blighters?”

  “Can we keep them, Daddy?” cried Samira. “Please?”

  “I wish we could, sweetheart, but they grow into the most ferocious creatures. Let’s get the camera, so you can show Rachel pictures of them when she comes this summer.”

  Ramona ran indoors to fetch the camera and a tip for Gurung. It was touching that he had come such a long way just to show the cubs to the children.

  Meanwhile, Charles was heading toward the garage. The area of the plantation Gurung was referring to too close for comfort. He wanted to be certain the leopard was as dead as he claimed. The children posed for their pictures with Gurung and the cubs. They would be excited about this for weeks.

  “I’d better go and check things out,” Charles said to Ramona. “I’ll be back for breakfast in a bit.”

  “Jetha!” he called up to the house. “Bring my gun! Hop in, Gurung.”

  The cubs were safely ensconced in a cloth bag on Gurung’s lap.

  “Good-bye, little leopards,” said the children, sadly.

  Gurung’s faced glowed with excitement and a sense of importance. He had been photographed with the children by the Memsahib, she had given him a very generous tip, and now he was in the front seat of the Sahib’s beautiful car, being driven by him through the estate for all to see!

  In their excitement and concern for the cubs, the children could barely eat breakfast. Ramona spent the morning reassuring them that they would be looked after by the nice man and that the animals were not excessively sad over the death of their mother. In the end, Mark agreed that the cubs had seemed quite cheerful “and smiling.”

  Life on the plantations seemed to resist the development taking place elsewhere in the country. To Ramona, the news bulletins on the BBC World Service and All India Radio may as well have been from another planet. The rebirth since Independence was slow to permeate the remote plantations in the Dooars. The effects of self-rule were barely felt here. Now and then, violence broke out on the labor lines, and there was the occasional skirmish between laborers and management, even when management was increasingly represented by new Indian Sahibs. All of which created in Ramona feelings of despair. Ironically, the tea labor force, rebelling against taking orders from white Sahibs, was often just as affronted by orders from fellow Indians.

  She was undecided about this new breed of Sahib. She sometimes resented the attitude of the young Indian planters, freshly graduated from St. Xavier’s or St. Columbus, ready to defy old patterns of existence in what they considered one of India’s backwaters. On the other hand, she was proud of their assertiveness and youthful determination, without which Independence would not have been possible.

  And here she was married to a British Sahib, one of the remaining few, and mother to children who were both English and Indian. Samira had inherited Charles’ color, his light brown hair and eyes and his pale skin, yet her features were Ramona’s. Mark on the other hand, had Ramona’s black hair, but his features were those of Charles. Ramona had often gazed at her babies in wonder, marveling that they could be hers, her beautiful children with names chosen by their grandmother.

  She thought back to her whirlwind romance and courtship with Charles. Everyone had been skeptical of his intentions, especially her mother and Sandra, warning her to take it slow and be careful. But how could she be? The weekends when Charles came to visit couldn’t come soon enough. They were crazy about each other.

  “Marry me now!” he urged, unable to return to the solitary existence he’d led since he left home. He couldn’t bear to be wi
thout her. But they had to wait till the end of the school year to marry in a small civil ceremony attended by Prava, Bob Jameson, Sandra, Geoffrey and Sandra’s mother, Cheryl.

  Ramona sighed as she wandered among the roses in the fragrant dusk. When summer came her amaryllis lilies, sweet sultans, oleanders and maidenhair fern would be battered by the heat and monsoon rains. There were days when she spoke to no one but the servants. The house was silent after the children left home, first Samira and then Mark. Life could be unbearable for women who couldn’t adapt to the isolation, despite their efforts to recreate ‘home’ in the alien landscape.

  Ramona had discovered a passion for her garden, to the delight and relief of Ramchand, the young gardener who regarded the landscaped acre as his personal property. Memsahibs would come and Memsahibs would go, but he, Ramchand, would remain, just as his uncle, Bijoy, did before him. This was the Chota Bungalow, and he knew it was only a matter of time before Charles was either promoted to Burra Sahib and the Burra Bungalow, or else transferred to another plantation. His biggest fear was that a Sahib or Memsahib would curtail his annual supply of seeds from Calcutta.

  He had once visited the annual flower show at the club with his uncle to assist with the Burra Bungalow entries. He had never been more inspired or amazed by the sights he saw that day, displays of fruit and vegetables and fabulous flower arrangements! The scent of flowers and vegetables inside the club and in the tent outside was intoxicating. Beautiful Memsahibs arrived with strange wonderful bouquets, and little girls in colorful dresses made sweet posies that were entered in a contest of their own. He couldn’t stop talking about the sights he’d seen. Ramchand’s dream was to enter a flower show and win First Prize and a red medallion, or even be “Highly Commended.”

  When Ramona, not realizing any of this, showed an interest in his flower beds and vegetable patch, it awakened his dreams of glory. She ordered seeds for flowers and vegetables he’d never planted before, corn flowers, pansies, geraniums, Brussels sprouts and celery. She designed new flowers beds and asked Charles to let them have a second gardener. Life had never been better. Ramchand became Ramona’s devoted slave.

  In the golden twilight, Ramona saw the electric lights being switched on in the house and realized that Jetha had arrived for his evening shift. Charles would be home from the factory soon, and the best part of the day would begin. She heard the jeep arrive at the gate and ran over to meet Charles and Greg.

  “Hello, Charles. Greg, how are you?”

  “Just fine thanks, Ramona,” said Greg. “And how much longer is it now?”

  Ramona knew he was referring to the children’s half-term holidays, knowing how she counted the hours until their return. . Rachel, his own daughter, was at boarding school in England, pining for her pony and the familiarity of Ranikot. Rachel’s time with them during her summer holidays and occasionally at Christmas, was brief and precious.

  “Two days, Greg. But it’ll seem like two weeks,” Ramona said.

  “I must remember to send Raja for Sammy to ride while she’s here. He could do with the exercise.”

  “Thanks so much. She’ll be thrilled.”

  “Well, I’d best be off. By the way, Charles, don’t, whatever you do, forget to ask the mechanics to take a look at the Sirocco tomorrow. We don’t want her playing up with the superintendant coming next week.”

  “Will do,” said Charles “Thanks for the lift.”

  He put his arm around Ramona as they stood and waved good-bye. Greg and Lorna Moorhead were from Aberdeen and had lived in Ranikot for seven years. Greg’s ‘Pukka Sahib’ attitude and abrupt manner could sometimes cause offence, but after a few scotch and sodas he would mellow and entertain everyone with a seemingly endless supply of jokes. Lorna, the more conventional of the two, would be driven to despair. The couple had always been supportive of Charles and welcomed Ramona with open arms. Ramona and Lorna had become pregnant within months of each other.

  “I could do with a hot bath,” said Charles, as they walked toward the house. “What’s for dinner, by the way?”

  “Mutton cutlets with mint sauce. But dessert’s a surprise.”

  Dessert was always a “secret” in the Clarke household, especially when the children were home. The cook was sworn to secrecy and took great delight in keeping Sammy and Mark in suspense over their favorite part of the meal.

  “Oh, go on.”

  “Absolutely not. Actually, I can’t even remember,” said Ramona. “And before I forget, we’re almost out of coal.”

  “Write me a chit.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Then don’t blame me if I forget.”

  “How does Greg put up with you?”

  “With difficulty, I imagine. Anyway, unlike you, he had no choice in the matter.”

  “Now you tell me.”

  They smiled at each other, very much in love.

  Chapter 5

  Dooars, 1964

  “Mummy, wake up, Mummy.” Mark stood patiently beside the side of the bed, clutching his toy monkey. Ramona stirred and woke to see Mark’s anxious eyes and quivering lower lip.

  “What is it, darling? Did the elephants wake you?” The trumpeting of elephants could often be heard from the jungle beyond the labor lines, loud and discordant and especially terrifying in the middle of the night.

  He shook his head and she saw that he had taken his pajama bottoms off and realized that he had wet the bed again. She sighed, reaching over to pick him up and cuddling him to her. His body was cold and damp, and he clung to her for warmth. She decided to send for the doctor baboo in the morning even though it was Diwali. Her heart ached at having to send them to boarding school so young. When Samira first returned from school, she was tongue-tied and couldn’t speak to either parent for two whole days, even though she had yearned for them and asked her matron every day if this was the day her mummy was coming to fetch her. She had buried her face in Ramona’s arm, hungry for her comfort, but unable to say anything.

  At school, they were each permitted one toy. Samira fell asleep sobbing each night, clutching Maryanne, her doll. When the ayahs smacked her for crying, she would bury her head in the pillow, so they wouldn’t hear her sobs. The pain in her heart for her mother constricted her chest and sometimes wouldn’t allow her to breathe. She was small for her age and taunted by the bigger, tougher girls. When they raced up the four flights of stairs to their dorm, she couldn’t keep up with them and would cling to the banisters gasping for breath.

  While Samira grew increasingly shy and withdrawn, Mark became more sensitive and vulnerable. His eyes would fill with tears at the slightest provocation, and he sucked his thumb to the bone. Ramona was driven to distraction. But there was no alternative short of home-schooling the children.

  Samira came to her mother’s bed for cuddles and morning tea and knew at once that Mark had had an “accident” when she found him there asleep. Charles had left for the factory. She leapt onto the bed on the other side of her mother.

  “If I had three children, one of you would have to sit on top of me,” smiled Ramona. She hugged her tightly, happy that Samira had come to see her, sensing the child’s gradual withdrawal. But Samira did not like to be hugged or kissed for long. Ramona released her and said,

  “It’s Diwali, so we have a busy day today.”

  “Yay, Diwali!” Samira cried. “Will there be fireworks?”

  “Of course, and sweets and lots of little lights.”

  “Can I have sparklers, please, please?”

  “If you’re really good.”

  “I’ll be good,” promised Samira, happily.

  “The doctor baboo’s coming today but not to see you, so don’t worry.”

  Whenever the doctor baboo arrived to give the children vaccinations or injections, Samira would run away and hide. She would tear round and round the bungalow, and Ramona would send Ram or Didi to catch her. Kicking and screaming, Ramona, Didi and the hapless doctor would have to hold her down.


  After breakfast, Ramona supervised the placing of little oil lamps along the verandah and down the front steps. Gifts of sweetmeats and dried fruit had been arriving daily from their vendors. Later in the morning, after the doctor baboo left promising to send his latest bedwetting remedy, Ramona and the children went to Mal Bazaar to buy fireworks and provisions. Mark was wearing the soldier suit Ramona had ordered for his birthday because he never stopped talking about being a soldier when he grew up. This was inspired by the military convoys during the war with China. They had to wait for the interminable military vehicles to pass and would stare apprehensively at the soldiers with their rifles sitting in the back of the trucks. Mark decided that he wanted to be one of them, a brave soldier with his own rifle.

  He had his toy rifle over his shoulder and clutched his toy monkey which went everywhere with him. Samira wore her red pinafore frock with little blue boats on it. She liked it because the front had a big pocket with slots for each hand. Her hair flowed down her back with the weight and luster of Ramona’s black tresses. At school, her hair was tightly braided each day by the school ayahs. If she wriggled or fidgeted, they would smack her across the back of her head till her eyes welled with tears, but she never told anyone. All the little girls suffered the same fate.

  Kala parked the car beside a row of shops in Mal Bazaar. It wasn’t much of a town, just a smattering of makeshift buildings and a petrol station that had sprung up beside the thoroughfare. Trucks and buses sped past, blasting their horns at the disorderly cyclists and pedestrians who were oblivious to any sense of urgency. As soon as the old Ford V8 was parked, it was accosted by peddlers and beggars. Although initially appalled and dismayed by the sight of them, Ramona and the children had grown inured to the beggars’ disfigurements, tossing coins into their tin cups. Peddlers thrust cheap plastic playthings, water balloons, grotesque dolls, flutes and rubber bouncing balls under their noses. Sometimes, Ramona would humor the children with the purchase of some shoddy toy that would be in pieces within the hour.