Aakesh 1939
Ben was waiting in the courtyard. He looked washed out as if a painter had begun to rework a canvas. The image was there but the colour gone. He pinched Saurabh’s cheeks. Pavia pushed her brother away to get a share of her father’s affection and began to tell him of their holiday. Ben put his hands on his daughter’s shoulders quietening her, “My darling child. I thought you’d never return.”
“It was just the sickness” Pavia said, “but papa, Where’s dadi?”
Yes, Margaret thought, where was their grandmother? She must have missed the children. They certainly missed her.
“Mama please can we go to find dadi and Aunt Vartika and…”
“Shh Pavia… everyone will be here. They must be busy.” Margaret sent the ayah to find them but Ben called the servant back. Pavia took her sulks to Muni. Margaret grumbled “Don’t think you can return and take over the children.”
“They’re mine. I will do with them what ever I choose.” The flash of anger was gone. “Let us go in,” he said unhappily. “The servants can amuse the child. Usually there was no shortage of servants to play with Pavia but today no one came forward. Muni and the ayah took the children.
Ben led the way to the study where he slumped into his chair. “My Indian wife and daughter are dead… lost in the diphtheria outbreak. By the time word reached me it was too late. They will no longer trouble you,” but Margaret saw they troubled him.
She had wanted nothing more than to get rid of ‘The Impostor’ and her child, but not like this. Death was too cruel. She was glad there was no grave. Maybe they would meet in another life?
Ben came to Margaret’s bed and while she comforted him he discovered there was to be another child, to be born in the autumn. It was a sad beginning.
* * * * *
Hiten gave Ben a malicious letter from the landowner in Nainital, intimating that Margaret’s flirting and irresponsible actions had come to the attention of the magistrate. Ben read the impudent letter and half-heartedly reproached her “Charuni, you must take better care of yourself. You are not Indian and so at present your constitution is more delicate.”
“I am as strong as an ox. Look how I recover from bouts of malaria.”
Hiten warned, “The stiff fine imposed by the magistrate will not be forgotten. I suggest it is paid.”
“I’ve no intention of paying it.”
“Vidyaaranya, tell her… think of the family name.”
“I’m adding a new member to the family name,” Margaret said sarcastically. “Let’s think about that. I might not return to Nainital.”
* * * * *
The ‘Impostor’s’ death bought some stability but it was no guarantee of Ben’s long term fidelity. After the taste of freedom in Nainital the rigid culture of Aakesh began to grind Margaret down. Under these black clouds she went into labour earlier than expected. Muni was with her but as the hours passed the maid became increasingly worried. The midwife could do nothing. Margaret screamed out in agony. Ben intervened sending his near hysterical mother away; keeping Muni and the midwife to assist him. The baby was in a breech position; too late to turn, delivered wrapped in his mother’s pain. There was no cry.
Ben worked speedily, clearing mucus from the infant’s mouth, expertly rubbing the blue floppy body until with a series of splutters, the baby drew breath. Ben’s cheeks were wet with emotion, “A son! . . . Charuni, we have a son.”
Margaret experienced none of the euphoria that accompanied the births of the older children. Torn, hovering between life and death she didn’t expect the baby to survive. Some twisted logic accepting it as fitting punishment for her treatment of Ben’s dead wife and child.
Once more there were fireworks but Ben stayed at home ministering to his wife and son, checking their heartbeat and respiration. On the following dismal day the baby was placed with its ayah, but immediately he was out of sight Margaret sent Muni to bring him back, refusing a wet nurse. The sickly baby lived, forcing his depressed mother to love him.
Ben’s face grew soft when he held his son. He named him Rajeev. Pavia and Saurabh were far too boisterous to stay quiet for long so their visits were curtailed. Margaret rested.
Paternal custom was again derailed by Ben who supervised the care of his son. It seemed to Margaret that he wanted to spend every second with them. He read poetry to her. His deep melodic voice made the verse come alive. Sometimes they read the Gita together, discussing its teachings. She learned lines off by heart to please him. They shared ideas, laughed together at the amusing antics of their older children and prayed for an improvement in the health of their youngest. Margaret was as happy as when they first met in Edinburgh, long before any physical intimacy took place. There was the uniting of minds.
* * * * *
Margaret didn’t question Ben’s lengthy stay at home and was taken aback when he said, “I was invited to join the British Army before war broke out in Europe. It was an honour and it would have been discourteous to refuse.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It was for me to decide. You are used to my being away and I thought it would advance the family.”
“I still haven’t met the Collectors wife! You’re good enough to die for my country but not good enough to take your wife to the mess.”
“You have been here long enough to know how these things work. The war in Europe is not going well. Ghandi is opposed to Indian involvement but Jinnah’s Muslim League is inclined to support it. The British will not talk of independence until the war is over and Jinnah hopes this will gain him influence. If Indian troops are required there is a possibility I will leave with them.”
“Leave India! But you can’t…”
“My Charuni, you know I must. You are British and an officer’s wife. Hiten will protect you and God willing all will be well and things will go on as before. Let us see. It may be that Suleka will move here for a few months. You must miss my sister since her marriage.”
Of course she did but that wasn’t the problem. Ben’s family would believe she had something to do with his decision to join the army. His mother and Vartika must hate her. Hiten in charge meant impending loneliness; for how long? Margaret couldn’t ask Ben to shirk his duty. In the world of men and politics he was true and noble. She admired him for that.
The final command to rejoin his regiment came, as she knew it must. Over the last weeks they had said their sorrowful goodbyes in private. The staff car was waiting. Ben kissed the children, saluted his mother and assembled family. The driver slammed the door shut sending a cold shiver down Margaret’s spine. Nothing would ever be the same.
Chapter 19
1940
Hiten went through Margaret’s accounts in detail, cynically intruding into every aspect of her life. She acrimoniously answered his queries and he paid the creditors. He was an excellent administrator. Electricity was to be installed throughout both houses, and they were to have a wireless and telephone. However with Ben abroad he was able to exert a frightening level of control.
Letters made Margaret’s day. Ben’s, from North Africa, overflowed with affection and enquiries concerning the children and of course his usual guidance. She learned from Scotland that Jean and their brother-in-law Willie were in the Royal Air Force. Willie hoped to become a pilot. Margaret’s mother didn’t like him being so high above the land, writing that he’d have done better keeping his feet on the ground and joining the army like Nan’s husband. The unpretentious letters worrying about Margaret’s health, grumbling about the weather, the war and the shortage of things in the shops bridged the ocean.
Jean wrote enclosing some photographs. In one she was wearing the latest bobbed hair-cut and a short coat with a fur collar. Another showed her perched on a high hedge beaming, put there by some fun-loving young pilots out on a spree. She looked ter
rific, not at all like the sister Margaret knew. Jean described dances, trips to the mess and a free and easy attitude between men and women, unwittingly reinforcing the difference between their cultures.
Thinking of Jean brought on a wave of homesickness Margaret hadn’t experienced in a long time. Uncertainty was everywhere and it was difficult to keep track of the people she loved. She made offerings to the gods for their safety, throwing in a sprinkling of ‘Hail Marys’ to cover all the angles, trying hard not to think further than the present.
* * * * *
Margaret couldn’t believe Ben’s latest letter. Surely he wasn’t expecting her to leave the children so she could work as a volunteer with the British. It was bad enough their being without a father but to be without both parents? Well the idea was ridiculous. However he meant it and had written to his mother and Hiten.
Already Pavia and Saurabh led their bearers a dance, leaping over the well, hiding in the stables, or sneaking out of the main gate. They were unaware that once outside the protective walls of Aakesh they risked being kidnapped for ransom or prostitution. Ben’s mother ordered the harassed servants to be beaten on more than one occasion for the children’s naughtiness. Margaret was appalled to see them strutting round the main house, haughtily demanding the servants attend to their whims. Thankfully Rajeev was different, gentle and quiet, but he picked up all manner of coughs and colds. He was happy to be nursed by his dadi, making no attempt to crawl after his impish older brother and sister.
Margaret asked Ben’s mother to be firmer and punish Saurabh and Pavia, not the servants. This brought a tirade from the devoted dadi. Saurabh was her eldest grandson. One day he would be lord of the estates. Superiority and authority was his. He would exert it where he chose.
Margaret remonstrated with her but she commented witheringly, “You have no knowledge of these things. Why should you? It is not your birthright. Because of this you will always be an unsuitable wife. My son required an Indian wife… The girl I had chosen, such an obedient girl, trained from birth to obey her husband… but she is no more… And you? You want to know too much… never content with what you find. Rather than continually meddling you will be better served with your own people. Be satisfied that my grandchildren love you but they will never be Britishers!”
How could she say such wicked things after all these years? Was nothing to be forgotten or forgiven?
Ben’s instructions to help with the war effort ran contrary to Margaret’s desire to remain with the children. She increasingly feared for her safety. If the family wanted rid of her, it was working. She applied to work as volunteer at the Garrison in Bareilly.
That done the priority was to make provision for Muni’s future. There was no way Margaret could make the maid independent so she sought a marriage with a valued and respectable servant in the home of Ben’s aunt, who was extending her household. The aunt was delighted to acquire such a talented maid. Hiten would be most unwise to disregard the arrangement.
Margaret was giving away a friend, the woman who had saved her life and if called on would sacrifice her own. Muni begged to be allowed to remain but Margaret denied the tearful pleas, “Don’t hate me Muni. I can’t take you with me and I can’t leave you at Aakesh unprotected.”
In the privacy of the English House mistress and maid embraced each other as equals. Their awful parting was dry eyed. “Memsahib, think of me with love as I shall surely think of you” Muni said, burning the words in their hearts.
Worse was to follow. The garrison Commander at Bareilly telephoned thanking Margaret for the offer of help but he had plenty of volunteers. However there was an urgent need at Nainital. He had taken the liberty of contacting her brother-in-law who could see no problem in sending on the necessary credentials. Captain Atrey would approve of such a prestigious posting. The Commander looked forward to renewing his acquaintance when he returned from overseas. A car and trusted Sepoy were to be sent on Sunday to take Margaret to the train.
So soon… she considered feigning a malaria attack, God knows she’d had plenty but it would only delay the inevitable; to renege would shame Ben and give Hiten more ammunition against her. She would have to cope with the separation. Nothing she thought of made it any easier. Unable to make the weeping children understand why she was going without them, Margaret fought back the tears and caught the night train to Nainital.
Chapter 20
Nainital 1940-43
Returning to Barum Cottage was a mistake. Margaret rattled round it miserably. Last time she was here Pavia and Saurabh had chased down the wooden corridors, racing in and out of the rooms, filling the bungalow with noisy play. She hadn’t the heart to stay and supervise the unpacking. The capable bearer would do it properly whether she was there or not.
She rode aimlessly down to Lake Naini and sat idly in the saddle while her horse drank the clear water. The rippling reflection merged with the towering hills and traffic on the main road. Nothing was clear. Muni had recounted the gruesome legend of the Lake’s peculiar colour and how Sati, the wife of God Shiva, destroyed herself by fire because of a slight against him by her father. Shiva flew over the lake carrying the burnt body to its final resting place on mount Kailash. However the corpse shifted in his arms and the goddess’s eyes fell into the water colouring it a mythical blue-green.
Margaret hadn’t thought of it before but maybe Ben’s mother considered her to be a slight on the family. Love and barbaric cruelty were strange companions woven through India like endless unfinished threads. If Muni were here they’d laugh away such melancholic dark thoughts.
Deep in thought Margaret left the serene lakeside and turned onto the busy main road. A policeman grabbed the horse’s bridle. “How dare you put a hand on my horse without permission?” Margaret challenged, wheeling the animal’s head, pulling the bridle from his grasp.
“Memsahib… you are causing confusion on the crowded road… not looking where you are going!”
Margaret’s blood was up. She glowered down at the man who was rapidly losing authority while his voice rose higher with every word, “Memsahib, please to give me your name?”
“My name… ? My name is Atrey. My husband is Captain Atrey, an officer in the British Army, at present serving overseas.”
The man shrivelled in front of her but a gathering of spectators hemmed in both horse and rider. The high-spirited animal chomped on the bit. Margaret drew upright in the saddle, tightening the reins. Flecks of foam gathered at the corners of the horse’s mouth. Brandishing her whip threateningly she pushed through the gawping mass. In a fit of pique Margaret returned the mare to its owner and stormed into Barum cottage banging the doors behind her. She was to report for duty for the first time that afternoon and the morning had done nothing to calm her nerves.
The single storied Military Hospital was surrounded by lawns. Every blade of grass stood to attention. At strategic points, carved flowerbeds were placed like buttons on a dress uniform. Nothing was left to nature. Margaret approached the dazzling white reception area where a khaki dressed, clean-shaven young man shuffled papers behind a desk. A fan whirred above his head rustling the pages. He was in no hurry to acknowledge
the woman waiting impatiently.
“Mrs Margaret Atrey,” Margaret said, “reporting for work as a volunteer auxiliary nurse.”
“Well I don’t know where we’ll put you!”
“Young man, I am the wife of a distinguished Indian officer. How dare you assume that I will be quartered at your discretion? I have my own bungalow off the Mall road.”
A junior officer came into the lobby. The clerk’s manner immediately became deferential, “Sir, I was explaining to Mrs Atrey that I did not know where she would be quartered, her being married to an Indian.”
“I’m sure Private Jackson meant no offence. I believe the Colonel would like to meet you,” he said politely steering
Margaret into an elegant furnished room. The Commanding Officer rose to greet her.
“Mrs Atrey, I am delighted to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand. “My name is Colonel Charles Thorpe. I had the good fortune to meet your husband in Egypt. What a lucky coincidence you’ve been posted here. Won’t you join me for tea? I’ll introduce you to matron later.”
Tea was served on the veranda. Colonel Thorpe chatted easily. He’d met Ben in Cairo, “Your husband is a first class surgeon, saved the lives of countless of my chaps.” Then he added tactlessly, “Forgive me but you’re not what I expected.”
Margaret raised her eyebrows, “Well Colonel, what did you expect?”
“I’m very sorry, that was damned impertinent of me.”
“I’m sure you meant no harm. I have become used to the reaction my marriage evokes.”
“Your husband is a very fortunate man. Please accept my apology for being so crass.” Discomforted by his earlier remark Colonel Thorpe tried to make amends, “Look, I expect to be posted out shortly. I don’t like to see a British woman alone in these troubled times. My wife is here. I’m sure she will do whatever she can to help you.” The Colonel’s manner convinced Margaret that he meant what he said. She wasn’t sure his how his wife would feel about it.
Matron was formidable. She was also brisk, proficient, and highly professional. The hospital ran like clockwork. Margaret was to be working almost exclusively alongside a group of Anglo-Indian volunteers.
* * * * *
The patients suffered from malaria, typhoid, and a multitude of fevers, ulcers, wounds and broken limbs that festered in the heat. The men were an easy-going bunch but on recovery returned to the merciless jungles. Some had been hospitalized two or three times, wise-cracking that they were on holiday.
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