After the Storm

by Sangeeta Bhargava

  Bauji finally spoke. ‘We’re afraid we cannot give you permission to go,’ he said.

  ‘I haven’t come here to seek your consent, Bauji,’ Mili said in a defiant tone. ‘I’ve merely come to inform you.’

  Bauji’s nostrils flared and he was about to lash out at her when Ma put a restraining hand on his arm.

  Mili sighed with relief and looked at Ma gratefully.

  ‘Let her go,’ said Ma. ‘We think she wants to be on her own for some time. We’re sure she’ll be back soon.’

  Bauji sighed. Mili looked at him from the corner of her eyes. He was growing old and age seemed to have mellowed him. She was sorry she had spoken to him so sharply. She had never talked to him in that manner before. She used to be so scared of him. With downcast eyes she left the room.

  As soon as she stepped into the inner courtyard, a dozen pigeons that had been cooing and pecking at some grain took flight. She watched them soar high into the azure. She remembered Raven’s words – ‘Soar high, do me proud’ – and felt strangely uplifted.

  Raven was looking for a book on the bookshelf in his study when his eyes fell on Sons and Lovers. He smiled as he remembered Mili and Vicky browsing through the book in the library. They’d read a bit, then cover their mouths with their hands and snigger. His thoughts flew to Mili. He recalled how she used to bite her thumbnail whenever sad, excited or nervous. And how he had scolded her for not taking care of her nails.

  He remembered the last time he saw her. It had been raining hard. He watched her leave, becoming smaller and smaller gradually, until the rain-shrouded world swallowed her up completely. She had looked so lost, so adorable in his oversized mackintosh, that he had felt like running after her, hugging her tightly from behind and never letting her go.

  And why the hell had he kissed her? Had he no sense? He ought to have controlled himself. She was a princess, for crying out loud, and he … a poor teacher. Moreover, she was his student. Whatever was he thinking?

  … But her eyes. They were so intense. And the way they looked at him when he kissed her. He had been staggered by what he saw in them. They were frank and vulnerable and asked him questions to which he had no answers.

  Raven shook his head slowly from side to side, as though trying to rid himself of thoughts of her. Was he missing her? Maybe he was. Why else would life seem so desolate, so incomplete ever since she had left? Don’t be silly, Raven, he chided himself. He had a life before he met her, didn’t he? Like hell he did. And he’d forget her. Soon. It was just a matter of time. Her face had already begun to blur. Well, not really. Even so. Life did not stop for anyone. It went on and on and on.

  March. 1947. Kishangarh. Raven sat in his living room, drumming the centre table with his fingers.

  Yes, he’d be fine, absolutely fine. So what if he hadn’t spoken to her in four and a half years? He just had to take it slowly, one step at a time.

  Would she come? Raven looked at his watch. He couldn’t believe only five minutes had passed since he had last looked at it.

  ‘Your tea, sahib,’ said Digachand, placing a cup of tea before him. ‘Anything else, sahib?’

  ‘That’ll be all for the moment,’ replied Raven. His hands shook ever so slightly as he picked up the cup and took a sip. He wondered if he had done the right thing – getting in touch with her again, after such a long time. But then he remembered everything so clearly, as though it was yesterday.

  He patted his hair as he glanced towards the door. He had been shocked when he saw her that morning, in a starched cotton sari, her hair piled on top of her head. She looked so elegant, and oh so mature. He wouldn’t have recognised her, had it not been for her smile.

  She was here. He could hear voices in the hall. He got up and smiled as she entered the room. She smiled back as she sat down. Raven fumbled, not knowing what to say. There was so much he wanted to talk to her about. But would he be able to say them? Much had changed in the intervening years. She had changed. She not only looked different, she even behaved differently. She was not the child he used to know. She had blossomed into a beautiful woman and he simply could not take his eyes off her.

  He kicked himself mentally. C’mon, she was his student once upon a time. Yes, once upon a time. Not any more.

  ‘What brings you to Kishangarh?’ he finally asked.

  ‘I was invited to come and present a paper and also to speak about our organisation. We are trying to make people aware of the work we are doing in order to gain more support and funds …’

  Raven could only stare at her and blink. Who was she? This was not his child-woman, Malvika. But she smelt the same – like a baby. She had stopped speaking and was waiting for him to say something. He ran a hand over his face and tried to collect himself. Clearing his throat he asked, ‘So what exactly does your organisation do?’

  ‘It takes care of women who have been raped, beaten or abused in any way. We give them a place to live, teach them how to read and write, embroider, weave and help them become independent …’ She paused and looked at the ribbon tying her hair. A thread was coming loose. She pulled at it and spoke again. ‘And you know what, sir? I’m finally at peace with myself. Whenever I see a smile on the face of a woman who was at the edge of despair, or even suicide, I feel I have saved another Vicky.’

  Raven watched her – how zealously she spoke. She had done him proud. Very proud. ‘So is this what you’ve been doing since you left Kishangarh?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh no, sir …’

  Sir. She still called him ‘sir’. He grinned and tried to pay attention to what she was saying.

  ‘Initially, I went to Gandhi Ashram and tried to get involved in the freedom move—’

  ‘So you joined the party that wants to throw me out of the country? And here I was thinking …’ Raven pulled a face and sighed deeply.

  Mili laughed. ‘Not you, sir,’ she said.

  ‘I was so surprised when I saw you this morning. Couldn’t believe it was you.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure you were still here, else I would have informed you. You never did reply to any of my letters,’ she complained.

  Digachand knocked on the door. ‘You and your guest wanting anything, sahib?’

  ‘What would you like to drink, Malvika?’ asked Raven.

  ‘Any juice, sir,’ Mili replied.

  ‘Two orange juices,’ said Raven.

  ‘Very well, sahib,’ muttered Digachand and left the room.

  ‘Still teaching?’ Mili asked.

  ‘Yes, still teaching.’

  ‘Why did you choose to be a teacher? You would have made an excellent politician … or … or a civil servant.’

  ‘No, Malvika! The satisfaction of shaping and chiselling young minds that come to me like tabula rasa into something I can one day be proud of – like I am of you – is so great that no other job could have given me as much pleasure.’

  ‘I remember,’ said Mili, blushing at his compliment. ‘You used to teach us with a Rasputin-like fervour.’

  ‘Rasputin-like?’ Raven threw back his head and laughed. ‘I’ll think of it as praise.’

  ‘Is that why you didn’t … you didn’t … stop me? Because I was your student and it would jeopardise your vocation as a teacher?’

  ‘Surely you know me better than that?’ said Raven, gazing into her eyes. ‘Have I ever cared for such things?’

  ‘Then why?’ she asked, her eyes looking wounded.

  ‘Well, to be honest, I did care a little about losing my job. But that wasn’t the reason I let you go.’ He smiled as he remembered his old Malvika – in her grey school skirt and ladders running up her socks, with pigtails all messy and coming undone. ‘You were too young and I was too old – eleven years older than you. I had to let you go, grow up, spread your wings.’

  He stopped speaking as he heard the rustling of skirts. A moment later Mother was in the living room.

  ‘Oh,’ she exclaimed, as she stared at Mili. ‘I had no idea my son was entertaini
ng guests in my absence.’

  Mili got up. ‘I really should be leaving.’ She smiled at Mother. ‘It was nice meeting you.’

  Raven hastily grabbed Mili’s elbow and turned to Mother. ‘I shall see her to the door.’

  They walked together to her waiting car in silence. Once she was inside the car, he asked, ‘Can I see you again?’

  ‘Sir, I’m leaving tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Malvika?’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  Raven shot an irritated look at Mili’s chauffeur who was listening to every word they were saying with great interest.

  ‘I’ll write to you,’ he finally said. ‘Take care of yourself, Malvika.’

  ‘I will, sir. Goodbye.’

  Raven waved slowly as the car pulled away. He felt a great sense of loss. Yes, it was clear. He loved her. Loved her so much that it hurt to see her go.

  It had been snowing hard all day. Raven brushed the snow off his coat as he handed it to the waiter. Taking his seat beside the window, he looked out. The snow under the street lamp was sparkling, as though it had been sprinkled with fairy dust.

  Mother had been surly all day. She now sat across him, not saying a word. She was studying the menu as though she had to sit an exam on it.

  Raven caught hold of her hand. ‘Mother, come on, talk to me.’

  ‘Why have you brought me here?’ she asked.

  Raven fidgeted nervously with his cuffs as she narrowed her eyes and studied his face.

  ‘What do you want, Raven?’ she asked.

  ‘Sir, what would you like to drink?’ enquired a voice from behind.

  Raven looked around. It was the waitress. She looked as cheerful as a constipated bulldog. She was not in uniform, but a pretty floral dress with a small apron at the waist. Too haughty to be a waitress, Raven decided. Must be the owner’s wife, filling in. After all, the restaurant was heaving that night.

  He looked back at Mother who sat staring gloomily at the menu. She looked as sour as a cat that has lost its bowl of cream. Surely, this must be his worst nightmare.

  ‘What would you like to drink, Mother?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ came Mother’s precise reply.

  Raven sighed. ‘Two orange sherbets, please,’ he said to the waitress.

  ‘Cheapskates,’ the waitress muttered.

  ‘You said something?’ Raven asked sharply but the waitress was already out of earshot.

  ‘Mother, why didn’t you go back to England?’ Raven asked carefully. He noticed the startled look on her face as he asked the question.

  She answered slowly. ‘Who would I have gone back to? I married your father against my parents’ wishes. They did not think it was a good match. How right they were.’

  ‘What if you think the same about the girl I wish to marry?’

  ‘It’s that Indian girl, isn’t it?’

  ‘Her name is Malvika. And she’s no ordinary girl. She’s a princess.’

  ‘I knew it. I saw it in your eyes – the way you looked at her. You’re just like your father.’

  ‘How can you say that, Mother? He left the girl he loved. While I want to marry the girl I love. Surely there’s a difference?’

  ‘This is no time to marry an Indian girl, Raven,’ Mother said, shaking a finger at him. ‘Can you not see what is happening around us?’ Her voice had risen and become shrill. ‘The Indians don’t want us here. They hate us.’

  Raven’s ears turned red with embarrassment. Everyone in the restaurant was staring at them. ‘Mother, let’s have our meal. We’ll talk about this at home,’ he said in a low voice. He smiled gratefully as the waitress approached them with their drinks.

  Raven looked at his sherbet absent-mindedly and took a sip. He wasn’t sure what he felt about the political unrest in the country. It was true that a lot of people from his community were going back to England or had already left. But he saw no reason why he should leave. His students loved him and he loved his job. He would just have to convince Mother that all would be well. There was no need for her to feel insecure. He looked at her as she sat there, her lips set in a grim line. Yes, it wasn’t going to be easy. He would need all his persuasive skills.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  14th August. 1947. Mili looked wistfully at the clock. Eleven o’clock at night. But sleep eluded her. She had received her first missive from Raven that day. He had written that he was coming to meet her soon. How could she sleep after reading that?

  It was so warm and humid. She fanned herself for a while, then twisted her hair and tied it into a bun on top of her head. She smiled softly as she remembered how her untidy hair used to annoy Raven. Once when they were alone together in his office and he was explaining how she could improve her essay, out of the blue he had remarked, ‘Why is your hair always such a mess? Didn’t your mother teach you how to braid your hair properly?’

  Mili had said, ‘No, she didn’t. I’m sure she herself doesn’t know how. We have servants at home to do our hair.’

  ‘Come here,’ he said, rummaging through his drawer. He gathered her hair clumsily and tied it up with a bit of lace he had just found.

  ‘How come you had lace in there?’ Mili asked.

  ‘Mother must have left it.’

  ‘Your mother comes to your office to put lace in your drawer?’ Mili asked, biting her lip mischievously.

  Raven frowned. ‘I don’t know how it got there. Look, I’m your teacher; I’m the one who asks the questions, not you.’

  ‘Yes, sir; sorry, sir,’ said Mili, standing at attention and giving him a mock salute.

  Mili lifted her pillow to reveal a bit of lace. She smiled as she picked it up. She ran her fingers slowly over it, feeling its silky smoothness, the little holes, then kissed it. She hurriedly put it back under the pillow as she heard knocking on the door.

  Now who could it be at this hour? She looked at her watch. It was almost midnight. ‘I hope it’s not an emergency,’ she muttered as she opened the door. There were a handful of inmates of the ashram. ‘All of you are still awake?’ she asked.

  ‘Malvikaji,’ said the one right in front. ‘India has just become independent. How can anyone sleep tonight?’

  ‘Nehruji is going to give a speech soon,’ said another inmate. ‘You got a radio. Can we listen to it?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ replied Mili. She stepped aside to let them enter the room.

  The inmates came and sat down on the rug, talking excitedly in high-pitched voices as she turned the radio on and tried to tune it. Some more inmates came along. Soon Mili’s hut was packed with the women who lived at the ashram.

  ‘Shhhh,’ hissed somebody as the disturbance cleared and Nehru’s voice rang out over the radio. Silence fell over the room as everybody listened. ‘Long years ago we made a tryst with destiny …’ he was saying.

  A loud cheer went up from the inmates as they heard him say, ‘At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom.’

  Mili wondered if Gandhi and Nehru had really been instrumental in gaining India’s independence. Was it really the triumph of ahimsa? After all, India’s struggle for independence in 1942 had been far from non-violent. Or had they simply screwed in the last bolt?

  She looked around at the jubilant inmates, ecstatic at the birth of a new nation. A nation that had bled to death in 1857 and then again in 1942 had now been reborn, like a phoenix.

  She peered at herself in a mirror. How plain and simple she looked in her cotton sari. So different from the Princess Malvika who was always clad in georgettes and silks and laden with jewellery. She looked around the hut, at her scant belongings, and thought of all the luxuries that had surrounded her in the palace in Mohanagar. And yet, she had never been more happy or at peace with herself. It was as though – here, in the ashram, amidst all these women who looked up to her as their saviour – she had been born again. Reborn from the ashes of her past …

  Raven ran up the steps of th
e Billiards Club. He had had a long day. Miss Perkins too had decided to go back to England. He had been helping her with all the paperwork with regard to the handing over of charge to the new Indian principal.

  He now looked forward to a relaxing evening and a few good games. And a couple of pegs, he decided, as he passed the bar. The future looked promising. Mother had finally given him her consent, albeit reluctantly, to marry Mili.

  A rasping voice with an Indian accent called him from behind. Raven turned around to see who it was. He was an Indian gentleman dressed in a weird combination of a suit jacket and a dhoti.

  ‘Yes?’ said Raven.

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir, but I need to draw your attention to this noticeboard,’ said the Indian, pointing to a sheet of paper.

  Raven glanced at him and then at the board. The notice used to say ‘dogs and natives not allowed’. The words ‘dogs’ and ‘natives’ had been struck off and replaced with the word ‘Angrez’. He looked at the Indian again. By now a small crowd of waiters and other members of staff had gathered in the corridors and were listening to their exchange with keen interest.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I shall have to ask you to leave,’ the Indian said, trying to hide his gloating smile.

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘The new owner and manager, sir.’

  Nodding briefly, Raven left the premises. He felt saddened. And humiliated. It had finally hit him that he was not wanted in this country. The country where he had been born, where he had lived all his life, the only home he had ever known, did not want him any more.

  Mother had been right all along. They had to go back – to England. Somehow, he did not blame the Indians. The British had a lot to answer for. There was much they had done that Raven was ashamed of. Leaving India would not be so difficult for Mother. After all, she had not been born and brought up here. But for him it would be different. He would be devastated.

  Raven knocked on the door and waited. He looked around. Naari Shakti Ashram looked like a mini hamlet, with lots of little huts close to one another. Mili’s hut as well as a couple of others looked slightly bigger than the rest. He sniffed appreciatively as the wind blowing from the east brought with it the fragrance of jasmine. He spotted the jasmine plant, close to the edge of the veranda. He scooped up a handful of blossoms from under the plant, just as Mili opened the door. ‘For you, my love,’ he said with a grin as he poured them into her surprised hands.