A Sahib's Daughter

by Harkness, Nina

  “So you’re marrying someone you don’t love? Are you leaving tea, too?”

  “No, I’m not leaving tea. I haven’t made up my mind about that yet. Please try to understand how upsetting this has been for me. And I’m not getting married yet. I’m going away to get engaged – maybe.”

  “Tell me this is not happening,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Tell me I’m dreaming, Ravi. Everything you just said undermines my parents’ marriage and their entire lives together. They had far less in common than you and I have.”

  “I’ve observed your parents,” he admitted. “And you’re right, they are happy. But they live in isolation on a lonely tea estate with no family to consider. Charles would never have been happy adapting to a Sikkimese lifestyle or Ramona to a British one. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, but it involves sacrifice on both sides, sacrifice and a lot of compromise.”

  All the beauty of the day was gone. Ravi had made up his mind. His protestations added up to one thing, something he would not admit. His relatives were opposed to his marrying an Anglo-Indian. They felt the stigma and did not want her offspring to be part of their family. The same thing that happened to Sandra Williams all those years ago was now happening to her. But in her case, she was being rejected by an Indian, not a British, Sahib!

  She could now understand his long silences and prolonged absences. She was hurt that he hadn’t considered confiding in her or even consulting her until the entire matter was a fait accompli. She thought their relationship had been very special, and she personally would have overcome any obstacle to be with him. Obviously, her feelings were not reciprocated. He preferred to marry a complete stranger, rather than her. What was the point in arguing? She couldn’t make him love her.

  So summoning up all her pride and dignity, she held out her hand and said,

  “Well, it seems there’s nothing more to be said. I can see your mind is made up. Thank you for having the decency to come and tell me face-to-face. I know this hasn’t been easy for you, either.” Her voice broke.

  “Good-bye, Ravi. Remember, I will always love you.”

  “Please don’t,” he pleaded. “I am desperately sorry to have hurt you, and it doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” His eyes gazed down into hers.

  “Please go,” she said. “I need to be left alone to think.”

  He walked away with a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t expected to feel such a heel about the whole business. His father had been so persuasive and convincing.

  “The days of mixed marriages are over, son,” he had said. “These are the seventies. Marriage is complicated enough as it is. We all have these flings, but in the end we marry women of our own kind and class. I can guarantee that you’ll be glad you did in the long run.”

  So he’d broken the heart of the woman he loved and would now have to wonder for the rest of his life if he’d done the right thing. He walked disconsolately back to his bike, spun it around and headed for the plains and the loneliness of his Chota Bungalow nestled amid the tea.

  Chapter 19

  Darjeeling, 1978

  After taking Samira and Prava home after tea at Glenarys, Justin drove to the Planters Club and checked in at the front desk. He was shown into his room by an ancient Nepalese bearer who had joined the establishment as a chokra more than fifty years ago. He had witnessed many changes in the club and in the town. One thing he was sure of, though, was that the Sahibs knew how to do things in style. It was not just that their tips were larger or that they were more polite, they had a respect for the order of things, which made serving them so much more satisfying.

  Dali had been trained to wait at table, serving dishes from one side and removing them from the other, setting the table with mysterious implements that had to be arranged in the correct sequence and keeping the impression of being invisible so as not to intrude upon the Sahibs and Memsahibs. It was all a mystery to the uncouth lad from a village near Sonada, but he mastered the intricacies of serving at table, pouring drinks at the bar and carrying tea and breakfast trays to guests’ rooms with an air of total anonymity.

  It upset his sense of propriety, therefore, when people swept aside the old niceties with no knowledge or respect for established conventions. New staff members were impossible to train, not understanding why they should do things a certain way when guests did not expect it of them. Dali would be confused and unsure. He was too old to adapt to change.

  But this was a real Sahib today, and there weren’t many of them left. It would be a pleasure to serve him at dinner tonight. The older Indian Sahibs were also a pleasure to wait on. Some were even more British in their ways than the British themselves. It never once occurred to Dali that his opinions were disloyal in any way. He was Nepalese, though he had never once been to his country, and the club seldom had Nepalese guests, so everyone seemed foreign to him.

  From the balcony outside his room, Justin admired the view. Below were the shops and restaurants on Chowrasta. He could see a blue-domed building between the trees in the direction of Prava’s house that she said was the residence of the governor of West Bengal. He wondered what she and Samira would be talking about. Samira seemed a trifle pensive, he thought to himself, but perhaps she was just apprehensive about her grandmother. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. In many ways, this was a relief after all the years he’d mourned and thought of Lorraine. Getting rid of the guilt had been the worst part. He’d felt responsible for her death. It was something he couldn’t shake off. And certainly her parents had done their share to make him feel responsible, too.

  “Why weren’t you walking beside her if the river was that dangerous?”

  “Why even take her to a place like that, we can’t understand.”

  “We knew no good would come of this. We should never have allowed her to go to that heathen country.”

  It went on and on, one family member after another expressing shock at his presumed negligence. Finally, the day of the memorial service came and went, and he flew back to India, relieved to get away from the intensity of it all. He could sense his own parents’ disappointment seeping out of them, first having been deprived of a grandchild, and now this. Then, as if things weren’t bad enough, he insisted on staying on in that god-forsaken country, instead of taking over the bakery as Edward had asked him to do.

  “I just can’t think about it right now. Please allow me some time,” he had begged. He almost felt obliged to return and mourn for Lorraine in the place where they’d lived so happily together. He needed to regain his equilibrium, get his bearings.

  The tragedy of losing her had weighed down on him for the longest time. He missed her body beside him in bed, her company at mealtimes, her presence beside him on social occasions where she had been the center of attention. He felt a nonentity without her. She was the more social of the pair, the one people had warmed to and wanted to invite to parties.

  There was the matter of dealing with her possessions and her clothes. In his distraught state, he hadn’t thought to take anything home to her parents. Who would even fit into those dresses she loved? Martha took them away one day and sent them to an orphanage in Shillong. The poor in these parts had no use for such elegance. He discovered the typewriter they’d bought from the planter who was retiring and the pages she had spent afternoons typing. She had written children’s stories about India, dedicating them:

  “To our unborn children, and to Justin, my love, who I know would have done anything to give me the children I yearned for.”

  She’d put on a brave face about not being able to have children but the stories demonstrated that she’d wanted children above all else. He showed them to Tom. Martha reckoned they were good enough to be published, so he sent them to a publishing house in Belfast. One day out of the blue, a hard-bound volume arrived in the mail. The book of short stories was entitled Tea Time Tales. He had copies sent to Toby and Bernadette and instru
cted the publishing house to forward any royalties from the book to them.

  He went through years of heartache, craving sympathy and human company. He devised ways to avoid being alone, which was not easy in tea. He worked long hours at the factory, supervising shift after shift until he went home and fell asleep from exhaustion. He played golf with anyone he could persuade to join him, and he often played alone. He exhausted Tom and Martha, arriving at their house unannounced for drinks and lingering for invitations to dinner.

  Suddenly one day, he found he could feel nothing at all. He became numb and impassive, struggling to even remember her face. He wasn’t sure which was better, the heartache or the indifference. At least he knew he was alive when his heart ached. He craved solitude, becoming reclusive and taking long walks by himself. He grew a beard. His hair became wild and unkempt. He wanted to get away from everything familiar. Impulsively, he asked for a transfer out of Assam, which his manager gladly recommended to head office, unable to deal with the new, unapproachable Justin. He was long overdue a promotion, which they had postponed when his wife died, not wishing to burden him with added responsibilities. After six months, a position came up, and the company named him manager of the Simling Tea Estate in the Dooars.

  He shaved off his beard, cut his hair and went to Calcutta to buy much-needed new clothes. His new life began in a place where nobody knew him and where there were no memories of Lorraine. Shortly afterwards, he met Samira and found himself coming alive again. He had thought he would never be interested in another woman. Samira was much younger, so earnest and innocent. But when she smiled her whole face lit up, and he found himself waiting for her smiles and wanting to be the one who made her smile. At long last, he felt that he had regained his equilibrium and could start living again. He missed being married for the companionship it brought. He craved a woman in his bed, more for the company and closeness than the sex. He yearned to have someone to come home to in the evenings and to whisper to deep into the night.

  This trip to Darjeeling with Samira was another milestone in his process of recovery. It felt good to be involved in the lives of others, to travel someplace new and to look forward, rather than backward.

  He decided to take a stroll through Chowrasta before dinner and went inside to unpack his overnight bag. He put on a jacket and tie, so he could go straight to the dining room after the walk. But when he stepped onto the balcony, it had started to drizzle. He abandoned the idea and went to the bar instead. He ordered himself a scotch and soda and watched teenage boys play billiards. They told him they were students at St. John’s, an all-boys boarding school up the hill and were having dinner with their parents who were in town for a few days.

  Dinner was an interminable affair, with the old bearer, Dali, waiting on him and a number of other tables. He was served a mediocre meal in great style. The kitchens must have been some distance away judging by how much time it took for his food to get to him and how cold it had become. It didn’t help that the old man walked slowly and stiffly and kept forgetting the most basic items.

  The following morning, he slept late and decided to check out of the club before breakfast, to the intense disappointment of Dali. He ate at Keventers, a café opposite the club, where he feasted on scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages and black pudding.

  “As good as an Ulster fry,” he thought, remembering his mother’s huge breakfasts, with soda farls and potato bread from the shop.

  “I’m a devil with the frying pan,” Irene liked to say. No one in the world could produce meals like she did. He remembered the roast beef on Sundays with both mashed and roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding and delicious gravy. Thinking about her made him nostalgic for home. He hadn’t been back since that awful trip after Lorraine died three years ago, the lowest point of his life. He was due home leave. In fact, he was due six months’ leave. It was something to think about, though at the moment he was preoccupied with developing his relationship with Samira.

  It was beautiful day and he decided to walk to Prava’s house. It was pleasant to gaze in the windows of the little curio shops. He was fascinated by the Tibetan and Nepalese handicrafts, jewelry and artifacts and by the distinctive hill people he saw on the streets, dressed in their ethnic costumes.

  Prava was glad to see him and called out loudly as he drew near,

  “Good morning, Justin, how are you, my boy?”

  “Good morning, Prava. Don’t you look pretty today?” He climbed the dozen or so steps to the verandah to join her.

  “What rubbish!” she tittered, susceptible as any other woman to compliments.

  “Sammy has gone for a walk. You can either wait here or try to find her. She usually turns left on the Mall.”

  Prava had observed, as she observed everything that happened on her street, a grim-faced Ravi return to his motorcycle. Whatever it was that went on between them had not gone well. And judging by the time that had elapsed since, Sammy was not rushing home with joyful tidings. She was certain, in the circumstances, that her granddaughter would be pleased to see Justin. She’d known all along that that Ravi was no good, just like all plainspeople. Hadn’t she told Sammy yesterday to go for the British Sahib?

  After Ravi left, Sammy took refuge in the woods behind the Gymkhana Club. Few people knew about the narrow dirt path that cut through the undergrowth beneath the trees. Steep and slippery, it didn’t lead anywhere except to the top of the hill. She and Mark had stumbled across searching for a lost tennis ball years ago. It was a good place to cry. No one would see or hear her. But she had already shed all her tears over Ravi. And what was the point of crying when he’d made things patently clear? In some ways, it was a relief to have the uncertainly taken away. She now knew the reason for his withdrawal and didn’t have to agonize over it.

  Ravi had chosen a stranger over her. The thought hurt like crazy. But, since he didn’t want her, she would just have to get on with her life. At least she wouldn’t have to wait in the wings any longer.

  Feeling slightly cheered, she made her way down the hill, past the tennis courts and the Gymkhana Club. With all the drama over Ravi, she’d completely forgotten about her date with Justin and was taken aback when she saw him walking toward her, smiling until he saw her tear-stained face.

  “What is it, Samira? Is something wrong? Are you hurt?” he asked.

  She had no idea what to say. She didn’t want to tell him about Ravi. It was too long a story, and in any case, it was over. Better to forget about it and move on. Some things were better kept in the family. She knew she’d be telling the story to her grandmother later and to her mother when she got home.

  So she smiled at him and lied, saying the walk had brought back memories of her time in Darjeeling and made her realize that she had some decisions she needed to make.

  “What can I do to make you feel better? Where would you like to go?”

  “Well, first I would like to go home and wash my face.” She was conscious of her swollen eyes and red nose. “And after that? Actually, I know exactly what I would like to do, if you don’t mind!” She suddenly remembered one of the reasons she had wanted to come here, “I’d like to go shopping!”

  Justin laughed. How like a woman! When men were upset, they wanted to hit someone or something, or sweat it out in some way. What did women want to do? They wanted to shop.

  “Excellent idea! I had to resist going into all those wonderful shops on my way here. I’m more than happy to go shopping.”

  Back at the house, she could see that Prava was all agog, though she realized that Samira was not going to say anything in front of Justin.

  “Would you like some breakfast, Justin? Sammy?”

  “Oh, no thank you,” Justin said. “I had a huge breakfast at Keventers. I couldn’t eat a thing.”

  “How about you, Sam?”

  “I’m fine, thanks, not really hungry.”

  Which was worrying, thought Prava. Sammy wasn’t easily put off her food, especially breakfast.


  “Are you ready?” Justin asked Samira. She had washed her face, put on some of her new makeup and changed out of her old white dress into something more respectable.

  “Yes, I am. I’ll just grab my purse.”

  Prava watched them leave; happy that Samira had Justin to distract her during what she was certain was a difficult time. She could not imagine what Ravi had to say that required him to drive all that distance, but she had a few scenarios in her mind.

  She noticed that someone was coming to her gate. It was Tashi Dorjee, the woman who collected her rent each month. Strange, the rent wasn’t due, and she didn’t recall telling her there was anything that needed fixing.

  “Good day, Tashi,” she said. “What brings you here on a Sunday morning? Can I offer you some tea or coffee?”

  ‘No, thank you,” Tashi said. “No need. I have relatives visiting and need to get back to them. But I have news for you that I wanted to tell you personally.”

  “I paid my rent on time. I know I did. What is it?” Prava said, beginning to get nervous.

  “I have a message for you from your landlord, who is my uncle. You’ve never met him. But it seems he’s going to need this house back. I’m so sorry. I know how much you love it and how long you’ve lived here. You’ve been a perfect tenant, and I promise to find you something else. But rents have gone up considerably. Houses are hard to find these days, so it may have to be a flat somewhere or a house in Ghoom.”

  Prava was speechless. Ghoom! A flat! She could think of nothing worse. Leave this house where she had lived for almost twenty-five years? Impossible! What about her lease, she asked. Apparently, it was coming up for renewal in a couple of months, the period of notice the landlord was willing to allow her. He was really a kind person. He was a big businessman in town and wanted the house for his old aunt who was moving to Darjeeling from Sikkim. He wanted to come and see the cottage and would be stopping by next week. Tashi said she was truly sorry and promised to do everything she could to find something suitable for Prava.