by Sharon Maas
Ma, Ganesh and Saroj exchanged glances. No one said a word. Baba, basking in his regained authority, continued.
'That I am permitting you to meet the boy before the wedding is a concession to modern times. I am expecting you to be most polite and hospitable.'
'But Baba . . .' Saroj finally found her courage and her voice, but numbed with shock she could get no further then this mild protest.
'No buts, Sarojini. We made this contract several years ago if you remember correctly, and the Ghosh family has been very patient. The boy is ready to enter the family business and support a wife and a family of his own. Luckily the family does not know of your caprices. We have managed to keep your worst transgressions within the family otherwise I am sure they would have backed out by now.'
'But Saroj has her O Levels in two months! She can't get married now!' Ganesh snapped at Baba in a way that would surely bring down all hell's wrath. But Baba's stubbornness had lost its edge over the last few years. His was the cold clever determination of a serpent, and Saroj seethed inside.
'I know that very well, Ganesh. She will complete her O Levels and get her certificate, and then she will marry. We — myself and the Ghosh parents — have consulted with an astrologer and fixed a date for after her sixteenth birthday in September.'
Saroj looked helplessly, pleadingly, at Ma, whom Baba obviously had not consulted in any of these plans, a serious variation from the planning of Indrani's wedding. Then, Ma and Baba had worked together. Ma had met the parents of the boy, had been in on all the intricate consultations leading up to the setting of the final date. This time, it had all taken place in secret, without Ma's assent or knowledge. That meant Baba no longer trusted Ma. That meant Baba worked alone. That made him infinitely more dangerous.
'Ma, I'll run away before I marry this boy. Tell Baba that! He'll have to bring me home in chains!' Saroj lay in bed at the end of that day, Ma at her side, and finally gave voice to the rage that had been burning her up all day.
Ma only smiled and stroked her arm. 'Child, don't be so impulsive. Have patience — all will be well.'
'And what about this visit on Saturday? What if I'm just not home on that day?'
'Do what your father asks this one time and trust. All will be well. It would be impolite to revoke that invitation, and extremely rude for you not to be present. Please receive the boy and his family graciously, and let's see what our next move shall be. Who knows, maybe you will even like him!' She dared to chuckle.
'Ma, how could you say that? I'll never marry him, or anyone else! You know what I've been working for. Is it all in vain?'
'Dear, listen: if it is not in your destiny to marry this boy, then nothing in the world can force you to marry him. Not even if it were what you yourself wanted with all your heart. And if it is in your destiny to marry him, then that marriage will take place, no matter how you plan and scheme for another life than marriage.'
'Destiny! Poof ! It's all so passive, Ma! You would just sit back and let destiny take care of everything… but then nothing would ever happen! Nobody would ever make an effort!'
Ma only laughed. 'Effort and destiny are two sides of the same coin, dear!'
'Oh, Ma!'
Exasperated with her philosophising, Saroj turned her face away. Ma silently stood up, switched off the light, and left the room.
The boy's family arrived at three-thirty on the dot. He came with his mother and five older sisters, all married. Saroj supposed that these sisters owed their existence to their parents' determination to produce a boy, and here he was now, of marriageable age and all set to meet his bride-to-be — her. The boy, his mother and his sisters left the car and his father drove off without entering the house or meeting Saroj.
Baba wasn't home, neither was Ganesh. Indrani, not one to miss out on this highly interesting family occasion, was present, and she and Saroj waited at the top of the stairs for the visitors while Ma went down to let them in and lead them up.
The mother came first. She wore a sapphire blue sari; she was tall and bony with a long, thin, almost hooked nose and sharp quick eyes which took in all the details of her prospective daughter-in- law's appearance in one glance. Ma had plaited Saroj's hair on one side so that it fell over her right shoulder, over her right breast and down almost to her right knee. Saroj now realised Ma had done this so as to present her best feature without forcing her prospective mother-in-law to walk around her to see it. That hair was famous in Georgetown: if Saroj could cut it all off at the scalp she could sell thin strands of it for five dollars each and grow rich.
Whose side is she on anyway? Saroj felt a tide of distrust and annoyance at Ma's subterfuge rise up within her.
After the mother came the sisters, one by one; they all looked alike except for the colours of their saris. Their mother rolled off their names as they filed by, staring unabashedly at the famous hair, not even bothering to meet Saroj's eyes.
Then the boy himself was there, in front of her, staring like all the rest, the boy she was contracted to marry. She looked up and met his eyes. This proved difficult, for they weren't where they were supposed to be. They were half-hidden under prominent eyelids, which made him look as though he was about to fall asleep; yet obviously he saw her, for he smiled lazily, revealing a set of pearly teeth, the front two of which protruded slightly, which was about all she had expected of him. He said, 'Hello!' in a voice that broke in the middle, ascending into a squeak, which he tried to hide by coughing.
Apart from those half-closed eyes and protruding teeth he was quite a nice looking boy, with a clear complexion and symmetrical features, and even his mother's sharp nose on him seemed only masculine, not mean. He wore his hair in an exaggerated Elvis style, brushed forward and up above his forehead and slicked back over a puff. He wore a thin white dhoti tied in the orthodox way, pulled up between his legs, a plaid shirt, and black pointed patent-leather shoes. His hands were long and narrow, folded together in a namaste at his chest.
'This is Keedernat, Saroj,' said Ma pleasantly.
'Keet,' said the boy. Saroj’s heart sank. Ganesh was right. A proper twat.
They were talking about the boy. They were sitting around the dining table, the two mothers, the boy and Saroj, the sisters, Indrani. Nine ladies and one boy. It didn't seem to bother the boy too much. Saroj supposed he was used to it.
'Keet the best boy in he class,' his mother was saying. 'He teacher say he got every chance of winning the Guyana Scholarship. Is a very talented boy. He brilliant in mathematics, science. But we don't want send him away for studies. His daddy need he for take over the business. We only got the one boy, so the one boy got to follow in the father's footsteps. Right, Keet?'
Saroj knew that to be a blatant lie. Ganesh had told her the boy had failed O Level maths and was in the Lower Sixth only in order to repeat the exam, and then, according to Gan's spies, would leave school to go into the business.
Keith meanwhile was sinking his teeth into one of Ma's samosas, having already devoured a few potato balls while his mother was making his many marvels known to the family. Even though Saroj kept her eyes lowered she could see his face. Beneath the hooded eyelids black eyes kept sliding sideways to look at her before sliding back towards his plate. She shuddered.
His mother took a long sip of sorrel drink which gurgled down her throat. Her bangles, at least six inches of them, jangled as she reached out for a samosa.
'Huh?' said the boy.
'What you say, boy? You proud to tek over de business, nah?'
'I don't mind,' he said, and looked at Saroj openly and grinned. For the second time, Saroj looked straight into his eyes and he, encouraged, winked.
'All me daughters married off good,' said Mrs Ghosh. 'Basmatti, she marry one Ramrataj boy from the East Coast. She marry six years already, got three chirren. Bhanumattie, she marry the youngest Magalee boy. He a engineer at Sprostons Dock. One chile. Satwantie, she marry one Boodhoo. They livin' in a big concrete house in Bel Air Par
k…'
While she went into the details of her younger daughters' marriages Keith kept trying to catch Saroj's eye but she, offended by that first wink, kept hers lowered and concentrated on the pineapple tart in her hand.
'You want to go out in the back yard?' said Keet suddenly, interrupting his mother's list of Satwantie's furniture, all new from Fogarty's. Startled, she looked up, from his face to Ma's, to Mrs Ghosh's. Keith was eating a pineapple tart now in all innocence as if he hadn't spoken a word. Ma's face was the usual picture of serenity, but Mrs Ghosh looked appalled.
'Who you talkin' to, boy? You in't got no manners? What you mean?'
'I just ask Sarojini if she want to go in the back yard with me.'
'What a t’ing! How you mean? What you want to go in de back yard for? How de girl gon' go with you alone?'
'If I suppose to marry de girl I got to talk with she, not true?'
'But what you think we come here for! You could talk with de girl right here at this table! Boy, you too rude! What dese people gon' think of you? You don't know is a respectable girl?'
Keet's sisters and Indrani all pressed their hands to their mouths or turned away trying not to giggle. Saroj kept her head bowed but still could see Keet calmly chewing his pineapple tart, eyes almost fully closed now, and Ma, next to him, looking at him with a kindly smile playing on her lips.
'If he wants to speak to her alone he may go,' Ma said then. 'Saroj can show him the garden. Saroj, take the secateurs and cut some roses for Mrs Ghosh. Don't worry,' turning to Keet's mother, 'it's all quite respectable. He's a good boy. Saroj? Have you finished eating?'
'Yes, Ma.'
'Show Keet where he can wash his hands and then show him the garden. The rest of us will sit in the gallery and chat.'
Obediently Saroj scraped back her chair and stood up. Keet, grinning now all over his face, did the same. They washed their hands in the kitchen and went out through the back door and down the steps, not speaking. Saroj could think of nothing to say to this boy, and he, it turned out, was waiting to be far out of range of the house.
'I have to cut some roses,' Saroj said to him then, and he nodded in apparent delight. She snipped at some of the best roses and laid them in the basket which hung over her arm. Since Keet was still not speaking she decided just to ignore him and start pruning one of the rose bushes. She felt him standing beside her, burning holes into her back.
Suddenly, as suddenly as he'd spoken at the table, he said, 'We going to have the honeymoon in Pegasus Hotel.'
Saroj whipped around. 'Who says there's going to be a wedding?'
'Of course there going to be a wedding. Is all fix up. Everybody want the wedding.'
'Everybody except me.'
He laughed, unperturbed. The eyes were wide open now, almost mocking, suggestive. 'Well, when you get to know me a little better you're going to beg me to marry you.'
And without warning he pulled his dhoti up over his knees, spread these, sank into a half-crouching position, positioned arms and hands to hold a guitar, and in a screeching falsetto belted out the Elvis Presley’s 'Girls Girls Girls', gyrating his hips in slow forward thrusts in time to the music and moving the neck of his imaginary guitar up and down, his face screwed up all the better to sing.
As suddenly as he'd begun, he stopped. 'Good, eh? Elvis the Pelvis. I got all he records. How many of he films you seen?'
Saroj could only stare. But Keet, unperturbed continued: 'I got posters, I got them stuck all over the wall. Me mother won't allow any in the living room but when we married we can hang them over the whole house. My parents building a small house in the back yard for us. You can have as many records as you like. I's a modern fellow, you know, I gon' allow you to dance and wear short skirts and so. I like to dance. I like women in short skirts. You know there's a discotheque at the Pegasus? Yes, man. I been there but they don't play no Elvis. We can make our own discotheque in the house, yeah? Dance all night . . . "Are you lonesome tonight... do you miss me tonight…" great. Next week, Viva Las Vegas coming to the Empire, I'll take you. Don't worry about your parents not letting you go. We can take me sister Satwantie, she like Elvis too, and she gon' let we together. She modern too. Hey look . . .'
He glanced behind him, making sure that no-one had followed them. 'That hair of yours, man . . . lemme just touch it once . . . mmm . . . hey, why you pulling away? You don't know I's your bridegroom? I'm going to be your husband soon and then we can do what we like, oh boy, I can't wait, man, hey Sarojini, come back, where you going?'
Saroj turned on her heel and ran back to the house, Keet in her wake. As she drew nearer, and thus out of danger, she slowed to a walk and by the time they climbed the steps to the kitchen they had both caught their breath and looked what they were supposed to be, two healthy teenagers, flushed with the exuberance of life, returning from a short chaste walk in the garden. Only Keet 's Elvis haircut had lost its hold, and a few strands of hair hung over his forehead and refused to obey when he pushed them back into form. His eyelids had fallen back into hoods.
'Back already?' said Ma, putting away the leftovers in the fridge. 'Oh yes, give me the roses, I'll put them in water till Mrs Ghosh leaves. They're in the gallery, Saroj, please take this sorrel drink to them…'
Saroj grabbed the tray with the jug of sorrel and the glasses and turned away from Keet — standing sheepishly in a corner of the kitchen, watching Ma — and walked out to the visitors. She heard Keith's steps behind her: she wanted to run, no, to turn and empty the jug of sorrel over his head, no, to scream, 'Get away, you moron! I'll never marry you in a hundred years!'
They sat in a circle in the gallery, Mrs Ghosh and the girls. Saroj stood there with the tray, uncertain what to do because the little tea-table was outside their circle and no-one was making a move to bring it, not even Indrani, who should know better, because she was avidly listening to Mrs Ghosh's account of Rampatti's wedding a year ago.
As Saroj stood there she felt a deliciously warm wave move slowly downwards through her, and as it flowed it drew her strength with it. Before her, the scene turned vague, fuzzy, as through a mist. Her arms fell, with the tray and the jug of sorrel and the glasses. The warm wave… no, by now it was a river, swept on through her lower body, down her legs, to a never-ending sea, all wet and warm, like syrup, down, down her legs. Her head drooped and she saw the sea around her feet, it was red, it was blood!
A thought flitted through her mind, and she had to smile, the thought of herself standing in the sea of blood that was Indrani's wedding sari, so long ago, so many ages ago, but this was no sari, this was real, and she felt herself falling into that sea, knees crumbling, legs giving way. And she heard Mrs Ghosh's shout, distinctly, in the moments before she passed out.
'The girl getting a baby! Oh Lord! Is a miscarriage! Look at all de blood! Mrs Roy, Mrs Roy, come quick!'
But Ma was already at her side. Saroj could smell her. She felt her arms reaching out around her, breaking her fall, because she was slipping in the blood, and she heard Ma say, 'Mind the glass. Indrani, help me carry her away from the glass. Call Dr Lachmansingh.'
29
Chapter Twenty-nine
Savitri
Madras, 1934
“No, David. Absolutely not. I'm not going to aid and abet an elopement.'
Though the night was warm Savitri shivered as she heard these words. She drew her blanket up over her shoulders, and pulled it tighter. She stroked Adam's head to calm herself. They had awakened the children with all their din, but Mrs Baldwin had quickly quieted the two elder boys, Mark and Eric, and had taken them back to bed, while Savitri held Adam, the youngest, an infant of eighteen months. Now, they sat around the kitchen table while Mr Baldwin made tea.
Adam began to whimper and Savitri got up to walk back and forth and rock him, but he would not sleep.
'But Mr Baldwin . . .'
'Absolutely not, David. What you've done is absolutely irresponsible. You'll have to go home. Immediatel
y. Both of you.'
'Mr Baldwin! They're sending me back to England!'
'And that's where you'll have to go. Maybe one day you'll learn some sense there!'
Savitri moved near to David and he put an arm around her. Both stared at Mr Baldwin, wordlessly. Adam wiggled to get down and Savitri let him slither out of her arms. He ran to his father and flung both arms around his legs. Mr Baldwin's voice dropped, losing some of its sternness. He stood with the teapot in one hand, the other reaching down to pat Adam's curly blond head.
'Look, David, Savitri. Don't you see, you can't. You're both underage, for one. Savitri's Indian, for another.'
'That's the whole problem, don't you see! They want her to marry some man she hasn't even met and if we don't rescue her I'll lose her! Mr Baldwin, help us, please! I know we're minors but still: we do know our feelings, and we belong to each other, we always have. You know that!'
Mr Baldwin nodded imperceptibly, and David, encouraged, carried on.
'I don't mind going to England, I don't mind going to Oxford, I don't mind waiting for her, but I want her to wait for me! And she wants to wait for me, don't you, Sav?'
Their eyes met and locked and Savitri nodded, then turned calmly to Mr Baldwin. 'I can't go back, Mr Baldwin. I've left my home and my family and I can't go back. Even if you refuse to help me I cannot go back.'
Mr Baldwin clicked his tongue and placed the teapot on the table. He picked up Adam and slid him into his high chair, and signalled to David and Savitri to sit down. He poured them each a cup of tea and then said to Savitri, slowly, as if speaking to a little girl,
'You can go back, Savitri. It's only three in the morning. If you go back now no-one will have noticed. You can slip home and it'll be as if nothing ever happened.'
He turned to David now. 'She's an Indian, David. They have their customs which we can't understand. If you had never turned up she'd have married this man her parents have chosen and very likely she'd have had a good marriage. Indians do have good marriages, you know. Indian women are not like our women. They make up their minds to love, and they love unconditionally. Savitri has that in her. Let her go. It's unfair of you to put her in this situation. It’s irresponsible. She's doing it for you because she loves you, but you have no idea what the consequences will be to her… what scandal, what shame…’