A Sahib's Daughter

by Harkness, Nina

  “What, even Lady Chatterley’s Lover?” he teased.

  “No, not that one,” said Samira, blushing, “but only because I haven’t been able to get hold of a copy.”

  They were soon on the approach to Darjeeling. The weather stayed clear, but to Samira’s disappointment, clouds had built up over the Kanchenjunga Range. They drove past rosy-cheeked, slit-eyed children, who called and waved to them, playing on the roadsides with homemade go-karts and metal hoops. The town was spread over two mountaintops with palaces crowned with blue domes built on each one of them. Most of the buildings were constructed in colonial-style, gray stone. The town was inhabited predominantly by hill people, Nepalese and Tibetans. The Nepalese were short and wiry with slanted eyes and smiling faces. By comparison, the Tibetans were tall, powerful and solemn.

  There was a nip in the air, a respite from the heat of the plains. Already Samira felt better. She had barely given Ravi a thought all day. Justin asked if she would join him for lunch before he took her to her grandmother’s house. Samira accepted, unsure whether Prava would have a meal ready. She didn’t have a telephone, but Ramona had sent her a message via one of the neighbors to let her know that Samira would be arriving.

  Prava was sunning herself on her verandah when they arrived. Her graying hair was plaited into a long braid that was rolled up into a bun on the nape of her neck. She was gaunt, her face creased from years of exposure to the sun. She had long ago professed to having lost interest in her appearance, claiming not to have time for such trivial things.

  “Welcome, Justin! Samira, my girl, how thin you look. Come, come. Make yourselves at home. My, what a handsome man! As you can see, my house is so small. Let me make you some tea.” She was happy to have company.

  “Why don’t we take you out for some tea later on?” asked Justin solicitously, thinking that she might appreciate an outing, which, of course, she did.

  “I’m going to freshen up. Why don’t you change into something warmer, Gran?” suggested Samira, noticing that Prava was wearing a cardigan with holes at the elbows. Her clothes were a source of mortification to the family. When buttons went missing, she never replaced them, using huge safety pins instead. Sometimes, to Ramona’s extreme embarrassment, she would appear in a pair of Charles’ old socks she had sworn that she would only wear in bed at night. Her drawers were stuffed full of clothes given to her by Ramona, English lamb’s wool sweaters, cashmere shawls and woolen socks that she said she was saving for special occasions. Ramona always would exclaim,

  “But today is special! We are here. Look how we dressed for you!”

  Today, she gave in by putting on a decent sweater and a cashmere shawl for Justin’s benefit. She enjoyed the drive in his car, which was a rare experience for her, and strolling up Chowrasta for tea and cakes at Glenarys.

  “So, you’re from Northern Ireland,” she said, sipping her tea. “That’s close to Scotland, no? I once had a good friend from Scotland.”

  “Really, Gran? Who was it? I didn’t know you had a Scottish friend.”

  “My poor girl, you think you know everything about your old grandmother. You must allow me a few secrets.” She fluttered her eyelashes at Justin, flirting with him and spilling cake crumbs over herself.

  “Put this in a box,” she instructed the waiter in Nepalese, giving him her half-eaten macaroon. “Are you going to eat that, Sammy?”

  “No, Gran. You can have it.” Samira was mortified. “But why don’t we go into the bakery and buy some cakes and patties to take home?”

  Prava’s miserliness was legendary. Although she never quite starved herself, she deprived herself of good things to eat to such an extent that when she did eat well, her weakened digestion would cause her to suffer. She saved scraps for her next meal that most people would have thrown away.

  “If you insist on eating stale food, you must expect to be ill,” Ramona would scold her. But Prava couldn’t help herself. She was so much in the habit of thrift it was painful for her to waste anything. A penny saved was a personal triumph she derived more pleasure from than she did from spending it.

  “Wasting money!” grumbled Prava now, nevertheless allowing Justin to escort her into the bakery. They picked out an assortment of cakes and patties. Justin insisted on paying for them. The shop assistant remembered Samira and raised her eyebrows appreciatively over Justin.

  “Your husband?” she asked, to Samira’s extreme embarrassment.

  “Come on, Josie. I just left college a year ago. Justin is a friend of mine.”

  “Sorry, madam,” Josie said, not wanting to overstep the mark. “It’s good to see you again!”

  Samira was cross. Why did everyone want to marry her off? As if that was a woman’s only goal. After seeing Prava into the house, Samira walked outside with Justin, and he asked if she would like to have dinner with him that night.

  “I’d love you to come,” he said, but she demurred on account of her grandmother. “I understand. How about a walk in the morning?”

  “That would be lovely,” said Samira, thinking how nice it was to be pursued for a change.

  “All right, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He bent down and kissed her cheek.

  Samira ran into the house to find her grandmother.

  “So, you have a new boyfriend already?” Prava said. “What happened to the other boyfriend, the Punjabi? Your mother kept that very quiet. Always trying to keep things from me! But you can’t fool me. As soon as I saw the way Justin looked at you, I knew-romance!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Samira. “No one’s trying to keep anything from you. I’ve only know Justin a short time. You always think everyone’s in love with me! Oh, Gran.” She put her head in her grandmother’s lap. “It’s been awful, you have no idea! I think it’s all over with Ravi. I haven’t been able to talk about it to anyone. That’s the real reason I wanted to see you.” Her voice broke. It was sheer bliss to be able to unburden herself.

  “My poor child,” said Prava. “What went wrong?”

  “That’s just it, I have no idea,” she said, sobbing. “He stopped coming to see me, with no explanation. And I know there’s no one else.”

  “He needs to have his head examined,” said Prava. “But if I were you, I would have nothing more to do with him. Look at that nice Sahib Justin. So handsome and so polite! What manners! I tell you these Indian men don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  “Oh, Gran, you’re like a tonic, not always easy to take but very good for the system.” Samira smiled through the tears. “I should have come here sooner. I feel better already. But you mustn’t be too hard on Ravi.”

  “Ravi. Pah! I tell you, forget about him. You know nothing about his family even.”

  “I know even less about Justin’s,” smiled Samira. “And I seem to remember that you were opposed to mother seeing father at the start. You said Sahibs were not to be trusted.”

  “Now, who told you about that? Anyway, things are different for you. You’re a Memsahib.”

  “I’m not, Gran, as well you know. I could end up like Sandra Williams, with no one wanting me.”

  She had heard the story about how Geoffrey Peters had stood up her mother’s friend at the altar many years ago. After courting her and proposing marriage, he lost his nerve at the last minute, unable to stomach the comments people were making about him marrying an Anglo-Indian. Sandra had been humiliated in front of the entire school. For weeks, the choir had been practicing “The King of Love My Shepherd is” for her wedding. Sandra had already handed in her resignation and was ready to move to the gardens, and her replacement had arrived.

  Being St. Jude’s, though, they kept Sandra on and offered her replacement another position at the school. Eventually, she joined her mother who had retired and moved to a flat in Bangalore.

  “Your situation is very different from Sandra’s. And times have changed. You have more options now. I’m telling you, if I were you, I would have both of them! A girl like you sh
ould have twenty men running after her.”

  “Anyway, Justin is too old for me. He’s in his thirties.”

  “The older the better, my girl,” said Prava. “The older ones have more money and more sense. I can’t believe Ramona didn’t tell me about him.”

  She couldn’t let go of the idea that there was some form of conspiracy against her. “Now, let’s see what Ramchand sent me, and we can decide what to have for dinner.” She was excited about the basket of produce.

  Charles always joked that Prava had more growing in her tiny patch than they did in their entire mali-bari. Prava always had something in her garden to compliment her meals, coriander, mint, green chilies or tree tomatoes whose piquancy would fill the kitchen. Mark loved her orange tree, which was dotted with dozens of tiny Clementine during the winter. He would sit in its branches, popping them whole in his mouth, then spitting out the pips as far as he could into the street below.

  “Then you’ll be happy to know that I’m meeting Justin tomorrow before he leaves,” Samira told her, as they washed and peeled vegetables. “We’re going for a walk. I thought I’d show him the view from the top of the hill, if it’s not too cloudy.”

  “Yes, that does make me happy,” said her grandmother. “And I’m also very happy to have you here with me.”

  Chapter 18

  Darjeeling, India, 1978

  Ramona was in the kitchen supervising dinner and trying to explain to the cook that she needed a pilaf dish to take to the club the following day when she heard the sound of a motorcycle outside. Sure enough, Jetha came in to tell her that Ravi Sahib had arrived.

  “Typical,” she thought to herself. “Just when Samira leaves, he decides to visit her.”

  “Why, hello, Ravi,” she called out. “It’s been a while since we had the pleasure of your company. Would you like something to drink?”

  “Please,” he said, seating himself in one of the wicker chairs. “It’s very hot.”

  “Yes, it is. Especially on a motorcycle, I’m sure. Samira’s not here, I’m afraid. She just left for Darjeeling to visit her grandmother. You should have telephoned first.”

  “Oh, no,” he groaned. “I need to see her urgently.”

  Ramona regarded him coldly and wondered what could be so important after he had neglected her for so long.

  “I’m sorry, Ravi. I’m not sure when she’ll be back. I’ll let you know when she returns.”

  “No. No. That will be too late. Could I telephone her perhaps? Would you give me her number?”

  “Sorry, my mother doesn’t have a telephone.”

  “In that case I’ll have to go and see her,” he said. “Please, Mrs. Clarke, may I trouble you for her address? It’s really important. I need to see her urgently.”

  “I can’t think what could be so urgent after all these weeks,” said Ramona, conveying her displeasure.

  “But here is the address.” She scribbled Prava’s address on a piece of paper and handed it to him.

  “Thank you,” said Ravi. “And I’m sorry to have upset you. I’ll go and see her first thing tomorrow.” He looked disconsolate. “Good-bye.”

  “How odd,” thought Ramona, watching him drive away. “I’ve never know him to be so nervous and unsure of himself. What’s got into him, I wonder?”

  Samira awoke the following morning and flung her little window open, breathing in the sweet mountain air with a sense of anticipation. Being away from home was already renewing her sense of perspective, and she decided that she would start making arrangements to visit Aunt Pauline. She bathed in Prava’s dilapidated bathroom and put on an old white dress and her black sandals.

  Prava was on the verandah drinking tea in the morning sunshine.

  “Morning, Gran. How are you today?” Samira bent to kiss her.

  “Fine, thank you, my girl. You know how I am. As long as the sun shines, I’m right as rain.” She chuckled at her own wit.

  “Here’s your tea,” she said, pouring a cup for Samira.

  “Thanks. You know, I feel much better already,” said Samira. “I think I’ll go and check if the snows are out before breakfast, if you don’t mind. I won’t be long.”

  She gulped her tea and ran up the path to the Mall. The air was fresh and the street deserted at this early hour. Fine morning mists in the valleys below were dissipating as the sun gained strength. She took in the familiar view of the white mountain ranges and could see that it was going to be a gorgeous day.

  Prava was finishing her second cup of tea when she heard the sound of a motorcycle on the street below her lane. It roared past, stopped and then roared back again as though unsure of where it was going. Dogs barked at the sound and were loudly berated by their owners.

  “What a commotion,” Prava thought. She was cross. She hated these noisy plainspeople who descended on her town in increasing numbers, cluttering up the streets and filling the shops and restaurants. She was even more cross to find the owner of the motorcycle opening her gate and entering her property.

  “No parking!” she shouted, although his vehicle was not even within view. He was a plainsman, just as she suspected, and had black hair and olive eyes.

  “Excuse me, madam,” he addressed her politely from the path below. “I am looking for Samira Clarke. Is she here, please?”

  “And who are you?” Prava demanded, although she already had a good idea who he was.

  “I’m Ravi Anand,” he said. “A friend of Samira’s.”

  “Samira’s not here.” She wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “She went for a walk.”

  “Which way did she go, madam?” he pleaded.

  Samira was right, thought Prava. He was handsome, though she herself could never trust a man with eyes that color. No wonder the girl was breaking her heart over him! Well, she might as well put him out of his misery. He’d obviously driven a long way to see her.

  “She went up that way,” she pointed. “Turn left when you get to the Mall and make a right at Government House.”

  “Thank you very much, madam,” said Ravi, making his way quickly up the hill.

  She wondered what could have been so urgent for him to drive so far when Samira had only just arrived. He must have left at the crack of dawn. Maybe he was going to propose? Perhaps he’d heard she’d come with Justin? If she were Samira, which man would she choose? That was a tough one, now that she’d seen Ravi.

  Samira was enjoying the Sunday morning solitude. She hoped Justin would be up in time to see the snow-capped mountains, although they did not appear to be in any danger of being obscured by clouds today. She had formulated plans for her future during the night, deciding to travel around Europe for a year before returning to India and looking for a job in publishing.

  She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she almost jumped out of her skin when she saw Ravi, of all people, walking towards her. He looked upset.

  “Ravi,” she said, surprised. “What are you doing here? How did you know where to find me?”

  “Sammy, it’s so good to see you.” He put his arms around her and held her close. “With a little help from your mother and your grandmother who pointed me in the right direction, not very happily, I have to say.”

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I have something to tell you, I felt I should tell you personally,” he said. “I’m going to Delhi for a few weeks. My parents have made, well, certain plans for me that I feel obligated to follow. It’s not what I want for myself. It’s for the sake of the family. I need you to understand that.”

  “You’re not telling me they’ve arranged a marriage for you?” Samira asked, horrified. “You, of all people? I thought you said your family was very open- minded and wanted you to make your own choice.”

  “I know what I said, and I was telling you the truth. It’s not that I don’t…care for you.” He looked uncomfortable. “But for a marriage to work, people must share similar backgrounds and beliefs.”

  “That
’s poppycock! Are you saying that my background is so different from yours?”

  “Sammy, please don’t. Two months ago, I told my father of my intention to ask you to marry me.”

  “And what made you change your mind?”

  “What he and my mother said to me. Marriage is not about two individuals coming together, it’s about two families.”

  “I understand that, Ravi. I’m Indian, too, remember? I’ve lived here all my life.”

  “That’s just it, Sammy,” he said. “If you were Indian, there would be no problem.”

  “So, it’s because my father’s a Sahib?”

  “It goes deeper than that. You would never belong in Delhi with my relatives.”

  “Relatives!” scoffed Samira. “You live here, not in Delhi. And what does it matter what they think?”

  “Sammy, please believe me when I say I made all these exact arguments to my father. What my family thinks matters very much, and that’s maybe where we differ. I have a large family, large and closely knit. My relatives are all very dear to me, and I would never do anything to upset them.”

  “Not even marry the woman you love!”

  “It’s different for you. If I were to prick this little finger of yours,” he kissed it gently, “I know what I would find running through your veins, not blood but tea! You’ve known no other life. It’s different for me. I’m still trying to adjust to things here. And I like it well enough. But I can’t base my decision on the assumption that I’ll stay in tea forever.”

  “You’ve been brainwashed,” she said, accusingly. “This doesn’t sound like you at all. I’d go the ends of the earth for you, Ravi. You know that.”

  “Think about it,” he said. “Would you really be happy living among my Punjabi relatives? Would you, now? Can you see yourself wearing a sari and being one of the womenfolk?”

  “No, I can’t,” she said, tossing her head. “And nor would I have to. Delhi is full of modern girls, who wear trousers and dresses and who have jobs and careers.”

  “Try not to delude yourself,” he said. “You would not be happy in Delhi. Let me finish.” He held up his hand to stop her as she opened her mouth to speak. “Okay, we may be blissfully happy for a little while. What then? You would miss your own family, friends and way of life. You’d be miserable, and eventually you’d come to blame me.”