The majority of her spare time was spent amusing Rajeev and helping Pavia and Saurabh with their homework. The lively twosome easily achieved academically and fellow pupils were attracted to their company. Although popular in school, the children were rarely asked to the homes of their classmates. Margaret issued lots of invitations to tea but few were taken up.
She hoped Ben would return from Egypt before she put Saurabh’s name down for Sherwood, a boarding school with a lengthy waiting list. He would need to use his influence to get his son in. Pavia would change school first but not as a boarder. She was Margaret’s rock, an extension of herself, the much-cuddled Edinburgh bear propped up on the pillow, a reminder of Scottish love. Three year old Rajeev continued to contract every childhood ailment and was often curled up in some corner of the bungalow with his head in a picture book. It was difficult to separate the children but schooling was too important to let sentiment rule.
Once the children were in bed Margaret faced another night alone. She was having problems getting to sleep and after the servants retired relaxed with a late night tot of whiskey. It would never do to let them see her sipping the golden liquid.
She was roused from a deep sleep by a noise but the bungalow was quiet except for the creaking and settling noises made by the building as night passed and the temperature changed. Drowsy from the whiskey, she heard a man persistently repeating her name. Something must have happened to Ben! Where was the night door servant? She’d forgotten he’d been unwell and been sent to the servants’ quarter. She unlocked the door.
A man burst in, dragging her into the hallway forcing her against the wall. Margaret tried to scream but the hand violently slapped across her mouth choked the cry. Blood trickled down her throat. Sour breath filled her nostrils.
He panted in her face, “You’ve not had an English man, just a bloody Indian… Well what’s he got we haven’t? I’ll make you shout. You’ll be begging for more. One at a time, or all at once “ He fumbled with his trouser buttons. The hand viciously keeping her quiet hampered the unfastening.
Paralysed with fear she realised he was not alone. A second assailant fell to his knees, tearing at her nightgown. She was no match for his strength.
A third man moved out of the darkness into the lamp lit hallway. Oh God! They’re soldiers! How many more? Margaret’s eyes beseeched him for help.
“I’m off,” he said, “I was looking for a bit of comfort. I don’t want any part of this.”
His so-called friends swore at him and forced Margaret onto the floor. She implored God to keep her conscious.
Out of the darkness, screaming like a banshee, Saurabh launched himself at the soldiers. They kicked him to one side but the noise woke the servants, who gave chase. Once inside the barracks it was impossible for them to follow and identify the drunken louts. There was nothing to be done until daylight. The house was locked and a door servant posted.
Margaret shook from head to foot. It wouldn’t matter that she fought the fiends who abused her. She would be portrayed as having enticed them. There were plenty of witnesses to testify seeing her drinking unaccompanied in the mess. British soldiers would not be blamed for offences against such a woman, especially one married to an Indian. No one must ever know, especially Ben. There would be no mercy shown for allowing such a thing to take place.
She staunched the blood pouring from Saurabh’s nose and washed his cut hands. Six years old, fearless in defence of his mother, he began to cry. She calmed him, made him warm milk and put him in her bed.
The rancid smell of the men made Margaret vomit. In the bathroom buckets of water were lined up ready to be heated for morning baths. Tearing off the remains of her nightdress she poured them over her head, cleansing herself, ferociously scrubbing her body, purifying and absolving it from the men’s vile touch. Climbing into bed she spent the endless night next to the innocent warmth of her son.
At daybreak the servants opened the house. She went out onto the veranda. The birds sang and the world went on as before, but she was silently screaming.
The postman brought a letter. On seeing the Memsahib’s bruised and swollen face he enquired if everything was all right. Margaret said it was nothing: a tumble from a horse. Within the hour the gossip would circulate Nainital. She gambled that sober, the assailants would be grateful not to be reported, and leave her alone.
She turned her attention to the post, recognising with dismay Hiten’s precise handwriting on the envelope. Enclosed was a letter from her father:
My Dear Maggie,
I am sorry to tell you that by the time you receive this letter we will have buried your beloved mother. She died suddenly, in her bed, from a thickening of the heart. God keep you safe. I remember you in my prayers.
The light was going out on Margaret’s world.
Chapter 23
Margaret vainly attempted to claw back some semblance of normality, for the sake of the children. Notes were despatched. One to the hospital claiming that a fall from a horse meant she would be absent from duty for a few days, and another to the children’s school saying they had a minor stomach upset. She silenced the servants by threatening that the Sahib would blame them if, on his return, he found they had failed to protect his family. Naturally Saurabh told his big sister but Margaret made them swear to keep the secret so ‘the bad men’ would not return.
Then she set about ensuring they enjoyed a fun filled holiday, recounting stories of brave knights fighting dragons and rescuing damsels in distress. “Just like Saurabh” Pavia said, then put her finger over her lips. “Yes my darling just like Saurabh.” Margaret replied, imitating the child and covering her lips.
The bearer made wooden swords and the children acted out imaginary scenarios, stabbing bushes, servants and each other with great gusto. Rajeev clapped and cheered. Saurabh was their champion. Pavia gave him a scarf, which he fastened to his sword, flourishing it triumphantly, galloping round the garden on a pretend steed. Most of the daring boy’s cuts and bruises were concealed by his clothes. Those visible by the end of the week looked as if they were the result of adventurous play.
Margaret scarcely ate, compulsively scrubbing her defiled body and weeping in the bathroom. The day the children returned to school she escaped into the bedroom. For years she’d expected to die, killed by the climate, childbirth or Hiten’s ambition, but God had spared her, taking her virtuous mother. What right had she to live on?
She took the scissors from the workbasket and slid the razor-like blades across her white wrists, drawing blood… Once more deeper. Rajeev’s crying infiltrated the curtain of despair. She hesitated… turned the scissors… mercilessly hacking her hair. It rained down on and on until the weapon clattered to the floor.
Margaret must have slept for she was woken by a man’s voice rising above the children’s chatter. Manically brushing at the hairs stuck to her face she was unaware that Pavia and Saurabh were in the room. They were swiftly removed by their bearer.
A maid entered. Margaret said distractedly, “Muni… Is that you? Muni…” but the nameless maid continued to sweep, gathering the golden crop and throwing it on the fire where it hissed and was gone.
A sliver of lamplight crept under the door. Margaret overheard Pavia trying to explain to Rajeev that mama was ill and sleeping but he kept asking, “Where is she? Where is she? I want to see mama now . . .”
“She’s in the bedroom,”
“Mama, mama” Rajeev wailed, rattling the door, “Let me in.”
Margaret opened the door. Rajeev flung himself at her, banging his head. She kissed it better while he patted the shorn tufts of her hair.
Pavia searched for a hair brush but Saurabh stared sullenly at his mother, “Mama you don’t look like you. You are an English Memsahib.”
Margaret gasped at his perception. It was true. It was time to put aside the s
aris.
* * * * *
Training to qualify and juggling the children was demanding, but it left no time to brood. Margaret successfully passed the first batch of exams. The consequence would almost certainly be a posting to Kohat on India’s North West Frontier, hundreds of miles away. What on earth was she to do with the children? The history of the area was steeped in bloody rebellion. Fierce tribal resistance and inhospitable mountainous terrain had repelled invaders over centuries. The straggling border touched China, Jammu and Kashmir in the north and Afghanistan in the west. It was a world of lawlessness and intrigue. The British maintained a strong presence overseeing movement through the Khyber Pass, the legendary gateway to South Asia. Sick at heart, it was futile of Margaret to think of taking the children there.
Coincidentally a friend of Ben’s family, a hydro electrical engineer on business in Nainital looked her up; from him she learned that Ben’s mother was unwell. Margaret wrote to Hiten:
Whose treatment is she under? If she likes, you can send her up here and I’ll have her treated in the military hospital. You will need to send warm bedding with her and she must travel in warm clothes as winter is setting in. I hope to have news that Doctor Sahib will be home very soon.
The letter elicited no reply. Margaret arranged with the school for Pavia and Saurabh to become temporary boarders as soon as her posting was confirmed. Their howls of protest could be heard throughout Nainital.
* * * * *
Weeks passed with nothing sorted for Rajeev. Margaret was contemplating keeping the bungalow, hiring an English tutor and leaving her son there with his ayah. It wasn’t ideal but it was preferable to sending him to Aakesh to stay with his ailing dadi.
* * * * *
Snowflakes fell like shining stars onto the shaggy pines and leafless silver oaks. Christmas came and went. Huge log fires burned day and night turning the bungalow into a haven of cuddles, hot drinks, thawing fingers and toes from building snowmen, sledging and sliding. Margaret continued riding into the white wilderness with Pavia and Saurabh but the worsening weather often prevented it.
The New Year brought more snow. She put off making a decision about Rajeev. She had written to Hiten to tell him of the Commissioner’s decision to quash the fine. The reply was from Ben saying in future all bills would be paid direct. Her husband asked why she needed more money from the account. Was it to finance more amusement in his absence? Even Hiten couldn’t have got this news to him so quickly. She read on. He’d been to the Punjab, Lucknow and Aakesh! He must have been in India at least a month!
Was she some kind of toy to be picked up on a whim, always answerable to someone? If this was love it was the wrong kind. Tommy too could have easily taken advantage of her. She wouldn’t have resisted and where would that have left her?
Rajeev sheltered in the porch, waiting for a cuddle before his mother left for the hospital. The little man didn’t like her returning to work in the afternoon. Margaret ruffled his curly hair. “Be back to tuck you up” she said, stepping out into a gale-force wind.
A car slithered up the tree-lined drive, ran off the road and became wedged in a bank of snow. The driver got out and walked round the vehicle throwing his hands in the air. The passenger harangued him through the window. A man got out. The deep snow rooted Margaret’s boots in the ground. Her heart stopped. Ben! Flecks of sparkling snow landed on his army greatcoat. Grey hairs streaked his black hair, a dark sculpture in this fairy tale landscape.
He immediately took control, “I have arranged with the hospital for you to have a short leave. Shall we go?” He headed towards the bungalow. Rajeev’s screams brought the servants wading through the drifts. Not knowing who he was, a hullabaloo of fists followed. Margaret yelled “It’s, your Sahib, my husband!”
Ben knocked a poor man down and drew back his arm to hit him again. Margaret dragged at his coat sleeve to stop him. “You should be grateful that the servants are so vigilant in their protection.”
“The devil that lets you down will pay for it!” Ben said cuffing the nearest, then, stamping the snow from his boots, he installed himself as master of the house.
The ayah pushed Rajeev forward but the boy wouldn’t pay homage to his father, refusing to touch his feet. Ben asked, “Do you know who I am?”
The sometimes timorous boy shook his head. Ben lifted him up. Rajeev studied the face so close to his. “Papa… ?”
“Yes… Papa… Go play while I speak to your mama.”
“Go play!” Margaret said, her hands on Rajeev’s shoulders, “Is this all you have to say to your son!”
“I have pressing business with you that does not concern the child.” The ayah led Rajeev away.
Margaret marched over to the desk and angrily pulled a sheaf of papers from the drawer. Brandishing them at her husband she shouted, “Is this it! Aakesh… anything and anybody before your wife and children! You want the recent accounts? Here they are! The originals are lodged at the bank. I send Hiten copies.”
She lifted her head defiantly, “I have done all you asked. The children are in school. I have tried to keep in touch with your family but they have stolen our English House so I have no home at Aakesh. What more do you want from me?”
An assertive English woman was not the reception Ben expected. “My Charuni I intend to spend a few days with you and the children before returning to Aakesh and then to the Punjab to rejoin my Unit.”
She asked hesitantly “Did you ever think of me or has time and distance erased me from your heart?” There were to be no answers. Always his way…
“Where is my eldest son?”
“The children are in school!”
“Well take them out of school!”
“But they’ll be back at tea time and the car is stuck.”
“You have horses?”
“Well yes…”
“We’ll ride there.”
They rode morosely to the school. An unspoken truce was established in Reverend mother’s study. The nun discussed Saurabh’s potential. Oxford, Cambridge or Edinburgh was well within his grasp. Pavia’s too if Colonel Atrey chose to take the unusual step of educating his daughter overseas. Ben made polite noises.
A glib tongue held no sway with Reverend Mother but she was not totally immune to persuasion. The children were granted a holiday to celebrate their father’s safe return.
Ben swung Pavia onto the horse with her mother. Saurabh would have none of it. A miniature version of his father, he was the man around here. A block was brought so he could mount unaided. Ben swung up behind him and took the reins with Saurabh holding onto the horse’s mane. He rode far too fast for Margaret to keep up, endangering himself and his son on the slippery road. They were laughing by the fireside when she reached the bungalow.
“Papa, why didn’t you wait for us?” Pavia said.
“Men don’t wait for girls… do they papa?”
“Of course they do,” Margaret said. “Saurabh, you must always wait and look after your sister”. She knew his father wouldn’t wait for anything or anyone. Why had he really come to Nainital?
They didn’t talk except to the children. Ben gave them liberty to do as they pleased; flying paper aeroplanes at the ayah and generally causing a nuisance. By bed-time even Rajeev had stopped looking at his mother for approval.
Ben asked Pavia if she liked school. She replied with a torrent of fictitious stories illustrating how much she loathed it.
“How would you like to go back to Aakesh?”
“Really, papa?” she said, her eyes widening.
Saurabh chimed in, “What about me?”
“And you of course, old chap.”
The boy dashed enthusiastically through the bungalow, gathering his favourite things. Margaret was perplexed. According to Reverend mother they were enjoying school. It was u
nthinkable they should abandon their studies on an impulse. Saurabh would be ruined if his grandmother encouraged his wayward nature. Margaret tried to discuss it but Ben’s mind was made up. They would be tutored at home. He further justified his position by reminding her that she would be in Kohat for most of the year.
That night Margaret spread an embroidered cover on the bed and, using her intimate knowledge of Ben’s body, oiled and massaged him. This cheap tactic wasn’t love making but she had to try to change his mind. Saurabh must go to boarding school.
Ben confessed, “I was not prepared for this. Three years apart is a long time for any marriage. People change. I came to ask you for a separation.”
“I have done nothing to cause you to put me to one side.” She pleaded, “Once more must I lie alone?” He spent the remainder of the night in another bedroom. Margaret had her answer.
The instant Rajeev realised his mother wasn’t going with them to Aakesh he began to cry. Pavia and Saurabh asked their father to let them stay. Boarding school wasn’t so bad and they could be with their mother in the holidays, lots of their English school friends did that. But their intractable father spirited them away before their tears had time to dry.
A shoe lying here: woollen hats and scarves tossed to one side: books, pages open by the side of beds: crumpled cushions where the children sprawled reading gave the illusion they were outside playing. Pavia’s bear missing from the pillow told a different story. Margaret didn’t even have that for consolation.
Ben’s promotion and return from overseas would have made it possible to delay her posting. What was so urgent that it couldn’t wait while they sorted things out between them? In the haste to get away he had left his light travel bag, empty except for a crumpled letter. Margaret read,
The Letter Page 12