Matron’s colonial world thrived on malicious tea party chitchat. Always in the wrong, Margaret didn’t care any more. Let them think what they liked. They would anyway. However she wasn’t going to jeopardize Willie’s reputation, or risk his being carpeted to satisfy some petty scandalmonger. She began politely, “Ma’am, don’t some people know there’s a war on?”
“Nurse Atrey, may I remind you where you are? I want an explanation, not your observations!”
Margaret answered heatedly, “That man is my brother-in-law! He’s been bombing Europe while some people with cushy numbers pushing pens in Delhi have nothing better to do than pull him down. He won’t be here again. He’s off to bomb the Japanese!” She turned on her heels and left.
The notice of her posting came the following day. Matron announced that in order to allow Nurse Atrey the luxury of a clear conscience, and an opportunity to play a greater part in the war effort, she was sending her to Manipur. There, she would be too busy to entertain anyone, including her brother-in-law.
Chapter 26
Nainital April 1943
At the British withdrawal from Burma courageous men and women working in mission hospitals fled in front of the merciless enemy. Ill-prepared for flight, they journeyed through treacherous jungle, climbing mountains and crossing rivers. Many travelled for as long as twenty-nine days to the Indian state of Manipur, where they had arrived sick and exhausted. Those who were well enough immediately offered their services to the medical staff. They were snapped up, for there was a dire shortage of nurses to look after the influx of civilian and military casualties across Manipur. Tents were converted overnight into primitive hospital wards. The torrential rainy season turned the tented clearings into quagmires. Transport in any form was bogged down by the treacle-like mud. This was where matron proposed to send Margaret. The arduous conditions and close proximity of Manipur to Burma and the Japanese didn’t frighten Margaret. Her fear arose from Pavia’s unhappy face as the car drove away in Delhi and the boys, her lovely boys. Saurabh’s bright eyes, Rajeev’s lisping stories. When would she see them again?
* * * * *
By some administrative fluke Margaret was posted to Nainital and quartered near the hospital. Aakesh, a hundred miles away was within reach! There could be no justification for Ben refusing access to their children. Margaret crawled out of the perpetual abyss that dogged her and wrote to Suleka,
My Dear Friend,
It is so long since I heard from you. I have the good fortune to be posted here. Please intercede with your brother on mine and the children’s behalf. I miss them dearly. If I could spend a few days with them either here or at Aakesh I will be forever indebted to you.
Nainital is safe even though news of the Japanese is alarming.
Your affectionate sister,
Charuni
Suleka, who was staying at Aakesh because of her mother’s worsening health, wrote saying her own daughter was enjoying the company of the children, especially Rajeev, who was patience itself. Margaret didn’t want her son to grow up so quickly! There was no coded invitation to meet the children. On the contrary Suleka said,
. . . the atmosphere in the house is most uncomfortable. I do not think that things go well for my dear brother and his new wife. She is not happy here and certainly not compliant. I fear my mother and Vartika misjudged the whole sorry business. It appears that urged on by Hiten an advertisement was placed requesting a wife for a widowed army officer with three children. My mother and Vartika then sifted through the candidates. You will not be surprised to learn that many families wanted to introduce their daughter. It would be very advantageous to have the family name with all its connections. Sandyia was chosen. She came to Delhi the last time you saw Pavia. The marriage went ahead without any problems but it is clear that it will never work. My brother is away from home with the army. He was last in the Punjab but I have no news since.
I miss your company and you will always be my sister. I will always do the best for the children. They are much loved here and used to you being away. I do not think that they realise what has happened. Let us hope they never will.
Margaret needed no reminder of the agony of the last meeting with Pavia. Greed for money, land and power would surely be the undoing of Hiten and Vartika. For years they had continuously dripped their poisonous slander, exaggerating and manipulating whatever they could to defame her; pandering to Ben’s weakness, flattering and encouraging him to indulge himself. His agreement to their duplicitous plan, entrapping a woman into a bogus religious marriage, disgusted her. Margaret had mistaken Ben for a man of substance but his selfishness and infidelity destroyed those who truly loved him. She prayed that one day she would be avenged. Meanwhile it was safer to stay away.
* * * * *
Countless new faces blurred into those of Willie and Tommy. Margaret searched the lists of the wounded. The faith and energy of youth chipped away with every dying patient. In the day Margaret’s devotion to her patients was paramount but the nights off the ward were for oblivion. Locked inside herself she drank alone in the deserted mess, anaesthetising all feeling, getting through another day without her loved ones.
She arrived on night duty to a packed ward and another poor soul, legs covered in ulcers, shivering with fever under the mosquito net. She shone the night lamp towards his bed. It couldn’t be… “Tommy?”
“You’re all I want to see,” he said closing his fevered eyes.
Tommy was too ill to care when the American cargo plane had picked him up from Yunnan. The months spent undercover supporting the guerrilla activities of the Nationalist, Chinese army of Chiang Kai-Shek were gruelling. He’d seen and done terrible things. The rescue plane landed at some American base. He didn’t know where but he could smell India as soon as they opened the hold.
Somewhere along the way his old instructor, Mike Calvert, contacted him. Promoted to the rank of Brigadier with the Chindits, he was rooting for Tommy to join him. There was a vital job to be done and Tommy’s guerrilla experience with the Chinese equipped him to do it.
* * * * *
Tommy recovered slowly, walking Margaret to the hospital when she was on duty, waiting to collect her when the shift was over. He slept while she was at work. She slept hardly at all. Liberated from guilt, she expected no commitment from him other than friendship. She had grown up under Ben’s influence, a drug she couldn’t get out of her system, but the addiction was over. Tied to him by their children she pondered what she would do if he asked her to return. Fate had brought Tommy back into her life. He was everything honourable, but was that enough?
In the dense jungle, Tommy had seen planes swoop low, skim the tree tops, and climb high into the open sky. He fancied trying to join the dare-devil crew that flew in them. He played for time to make a decision. In any case he wanted to settle his future with Margaret; so far he’d skirted round it. He approached her cautiously, “When my girlfriend married that was it. I wasn’t looking for anyone. Don’t get me wrong… there’ve been plenty of women…”
“I don’t need to know that!” Margaret said wondering where this was leading.
“What I mean to say is… I don’t expect you to forget Ben… We’ve nothing to apologise for… our lives hold good memories as well as bad. I’ve rented a place for a few days and I want to spend them with you.”
* * * * *
The bungalow was orchestrated to provide a service much in demand. It came with a manservant who lit the oil lamps and made curry and rice before leaving. Being together in the evening without work or company was a novelty. Margaret sipped her drink. Tommy downed his, “Do you want to use the bathroom first?
“Yes please,” she said, undressing privately. She so wanted it to be perfect for Tommy but the map of silver stretch marks on her abdomen would forever be evidence of motherhood and past love. She covered them with
the bed sheet. Tommy moved it aside exposing her body in the mellow light “Don’t be sad, Margaret. I want you as you are. We don’t need to pretend.”
They talked and caressed and when the moment came he made love to her, not with the selfish haste of a young man, but with experience that came from having lived life to the full. She responded with the generosity and wonder of a woman discovering the complexity of mature love.
On their last day Tommy gave her a battered parcel held together with fraying string and sealing wax, “I got this on my last mission.”
Margaret reverently peeled away layers of blood and mud-spattered paper. A creamy yellow silk kimono spilled out, eclipsing the sunlight streaming through the shutters. She slipped her arms through the wide sleeves.
“Dreaming of you wearing this kept me alive” Tommy said, tracing the embroidered flowers down Margaret’s back, sighing into her hair, “Marry me.” She pulled away. He said earnestly, “Don’t be afraid. I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy.”
“But…”
“Hear me out. When this war is over I’ll stay in India. Together we can fight for your children.”
Chapter 27
Delhi April to November 1943
No sooner had the temperate spring weather brought flowers back to Nainital than Tommy disappeared and Margaret was sent to Delhi. After the happiness of being with him the loneliness intensified. Did fate control their destiny? Margaret didn’t know but the antidote to this misery lay in trying to take some control. She began divorce proceedings and wrote a desperate letter to Suleka,
My Dearest Sister in Law,
Do not think the worst of me. I am put to one side. Ben has made a new life. I must make a home in India and fight for my rightful contact with Pavia and the boys.
Please encourage them to write to me. I do not know if they have received the many letters I have sent them. Surely Ben has not prevented them from replying. I beg you to forward an address for me to write direct to Pavia. My nursing was to be a temporary thing to help with the war effort. Now it seems to be all I have.
Tell my children about me. Don’t let them forget me for I love them with all my heart and would agree to anything to have them by my side. I have sent some more small gifts for you and your children for I don’t believe I will ever see them.
Suleka replied,
My Dear Charuni,
We must keep writing for we are all in God’s hands. The children miss you especially Rajeev but he is such a gentle child, and, as you know, his health is not good. He still catches many coughs and colds. My mother, who continues in poor health, keeps him by her and he is greatly attached to her.
Rajeev attached to Ben’s mother! It was too much! Margaret wrote furiously forbidding him to be left with her. The smiling children beamed up from the photographs on the writing table. These reminders of happier times were more valuable than the jewels or gold in the safe at Aakesh. Rajeev must have been around two when his photo was taken. He’d soon be four. It saddened her to think he saw more of his dadi and aunts than either of his parents. Ben did his duty in providing for the children’s safety and education but his mother showed them love. Margaret screwed up the letter. She’d investigate opportunities to stay on in India after the war, separately from Ben and his family. She didn’t believe in waiting for an all controlling God who played games with people’s lives.
* * * * *
August in Delhi was stifling, necessitating a change of perspiration-soaked uniform at least twice a day. The proximity of the scorching city to Aakesh was the only reason Margaret didn’t ask for a transfer.
The high ceilings and humming fans of Lady Irwin Hospital provided some relief but today Margaret’s off duty coincided with the height of the afternoon. The rickshaw bumped along in the roasting sun. Shopping to buy cotton to send to Suleka for more summer outfits for the girls was idiotic, but it shouldn’t take long.
The last time she was in Chandni Chowk was with Willie. In the early days of the war she’d tried to persuade Jean to request a posting to India and was disappointed when she refused. Margaret missed her sister but was glad Jean hadn’t seen the complete mess she’d made of everything.
Now Jean would be safer in Europe. Although war was dragging on, Africa had been freed, and in Italy, Mussolini had been arrested. The allies would win there in the end. India and the East remained in grave peril.
Margaret got down from the rickshaw and walked past sprightly horses negotiating the maze of constricted alleys. In more open spaces, ruminating cows leisurely strolled along as if they owned the place, occasionally stopping to steal from the brimming vegetable stalls. Flea-ravaged pye-dogs became the prey of filthy stone-throwing children.
A tight circle of men sat cross-legged, playing cards under rickety awnings only to be scattered in all directions by a band of mangy grey donkeys marauding towards them.
Flaming stalls of gladioli lit dark shaded corners but everywhere droned with flies. The gluttonous insects massed on animal dung dropped in untidy heaps on the road, or swarmed over human excrement behind the piles of stinking rubbish picked over by the unfortunate.
Margaret moved through the market with the confidence and authority of an English Memsahib. Her grasp of the languages was sufficiently fluent to understand the hubbub of conversation between stallholders and the crowds of men gathering by the chai stall drinking sweet tea. These days they could be plotting trouble.
She was always appalled by the vast numbers of beggars attracted to Delhi from the countryside, dreaming of making their fortune. Every nook and cranny was home to pathetic shelters. Women struggled to find privacy to give birth. If it lived, the newborn infant was swaddled in a bundle tied on its mother’s back and they rejoined the rest of her rag-tag brood breaking stones for the road.
Human catastrophe failed to suppress the vivacity that infused the city. Any life was preferable to none. Margaret had railed against the poverty when she first arrived but, like most people, was too submerged in her own problems to alleviate it. Gradually it passed by largely unnoticed.
She drank the last dregs from the water bottle. There wasn’t enough to quench her thirst. The forbidden ice cream cart was too tempting. She rolled each creamy mouthful round her palate, savouring the cold treat. Milky trickles ran down the back of her hand. Margaret licked the sticky streams, not wasting a drop. It was irresponsible but the ice cream was worth it.
By the end of the day she was thirsty and lethargic and drinking copious amounts of water. Diarrhoea and a fiery fever confined Margaret to her quarters. The onset of a red speckled rash spreading over her chest denoted that she had most probably contracted typhoid from the ice cream. She had nursed too many patients with the disease to question the symptoms.
Ben was granted emergency leave. Delirious or semi-
conscious, Margaret was unaware he was there. He returned to Aakesh where he prepared the children for the death of their mother.
* * * * *
In October, Margaret was wheeled into the hospital grounds, her arms needle-scarred from the drips that had kept her alive. The monsoon had come and gone leaving the lawns freshly green. The gardeners would begin preparing the borders for winter and the subsequent spring flowering of cannas, roses and giant chrysanthemums.
Margaret was inundated with visitors and good wishes but it was as if Ben and the children didn’t exist. Paradoxically, without her, their caste offered Pavia, Rajeev and Saurabh the highest social standing. They were assured a secure future with their Indian family to love and protect them. She believed that race and class prejudice were endemic in the British. Would the children thank her if she cheated them of their heritage by exposing them to that? But how would they know the depth of her love if they couldn’t be together? The conundrum had no easy solution but she had to get well to find one.
* * * * *
Margaret had been on light duties at the hospital, but was sufficiently recovered to be posted out to Kohat where she should have gone a year ago. So much had happened since then. She felt like a different person. She wrote to the children and to Tommy. Post came from Scotland but none from those who mattered most.
Chapter 28
Kohat 1943/45
Margaret wrapped the shawl tighter, trapping in the heat of her winter clothes. The jeep rattled through Peshawar’s bazaars where spiced meat roasting on spits and warmed ripe fruits wetted her appetite. Groups of tall, fiercely independent, green-eyed Pathans, bristling with guns and ammunition, haughtily jostled shoulder to shoulder with lesser tribesmen in the maze of alleys. Out of town the road became a series of hairpin bends, in places falling away into bitter cold rocky rivers. The piercing winds sweeping down from the mountainous border of Afghanistan heralded Margaret’s arrival at Kohat.
It was a friendly garrison fortified by a contingent of British and Indian troops who had served together in North Africa. Some probably knew Ben. Margaret didn’t enquire but was impressed by the increase in the number of Indian pilots skilfully manoeuvring planes on the primitive airstrip. They took off with an ear splitting noise, shuddering and juddering into the sky.
* * * * *
The Letter Page 14