The Hope of Shridula (3 page)

Ashish's eyes flashed. "No, not karma! I will believe in blessing, but I will not accept karma!"

3

May 1946

A
s a simmering dawn broke over the ripened fields, Miss Abigail Davidson stood on her rooftop and spoke her morning prayers. "For the poor and downtrodden, the hopeless and the oppressed, I ask your mercy, O Lord."

To her left, a pale sun rose in a sky streaked with pink and gold. To her right, the moon hovered at the horizon. "For the children who beg by the roadside and the mothers with no rice to throw into their pot, I entreat you, Lord Jesus."

Puffs of welcome breeze caught the edge of her
sari
and fanned it out around her sparse frame. "For the boy named Blessing, and the travails he must endure, I offer my supplication, Father in Heaven."

At the jingle of temple bells, a pair of birds daring enough to have built their nest in a corner of the roof awakened and offered their own morning call. "For the land of India I pray, Almighty God, with fear and trembling for what is certain to come."

A young girl tiptoed up the steep stairs bearing a tray with a china teapot and a single cup painted with blue forget-me-nots. Carefully she placed the tray on the small table and turned to go.

"Thank you, dear," Miss Abigail said.

The girl flashed a sunny smile and skipped toward the stairs.

"Lelee, wait!" Miss Abigail called after her. "Do stay and share the tea with me this morning."

"I must not," the girl said. "
Memsahib
says I am to get right back to my chores."

Miss Abigail sighed. Alone, she breathed in the fragrance of the steamy-hot tea, spiced with cloves and ginger and cardamom and just a pinch of pepper. Silky with rich water buffalo milk and sweetened the way she liked it with raw sugar.
Chai,
the flavor and aroma of Indian mornings. How accustomed Miss Abigail had become to it over the past forty years.

The spicy tea, sunrise prayers from the rooftop, days of relentless heat—some things never changed. But so much else had. For many years, it was Miss Abigail who had run the English Mission Medical Clinic. Doctors came and went, but she remained the constant. She treated injuries. She bandaged the injured limbs of lepers. She saw the villagers through horrific epidemics. She also cared for any children who found respite in the mission compound—fed them, mended their bodies, told them stories of Jesus, and gave them their first lessons in English.

No more, though. Not since Dr. William Cooper and his wife, Susanna, moved down from Calcutta. The first thing they did was order the construction of this small cottage and move her into it, well away from the real work of the clinic. The second thing they did was make plans to send the children away.

Miss Abigail sank down into one of the two chairs and poured steaming
chai
into the single forget-me-not cup.

Dr. William Cooper, readjusting himself uneasily in the great room of the clinic compound, sipped from his own cup of tea—English, not Indian. Unsweetened, the way he always insisted it be served, without "that disgusting gray cast of wretched milk." He sneaked furtive glances at his uninvited guest—an Indian man dressed in a western shirt worn loose over his native
mundu
sarong-like garment.

"What is this pressing matter you wish to discuss with me?" Dr. Cooper asked. But before the Indian could answer, the doctor added, "Please do keep in mind that this is a British clinic. Must I remind you that it is firmly under the protection of his majesty, King George?"

"Yes, yes, I am being most aware of that," the visitor answered, summoning up his best command of the English language. "This clinic, it is being treating the poor and ill for many years now, and we are being most grateful. But you are surely understanding that change is being underway in India. Unrest is being here, spread from the north of the country down to us here in the south. Now we, too, are experiencing turmoil of our own. With this agitation against you, the British, being increasing, I must to be most eagerly expressing words of great caution for you. It is true that threatenings are made against your safety."

"Our safety! I cannot see as how the poor beggars we get out at this clinic could prove much of a threat to our well-being. We have been and shall remain firmly under the protection of the British Crown."

"Yes,
sahib,
that is so. But as things are standing, I am being—"

"I say, did you state your name to be Rajeev?"

"Yes,
sahib."

"Well, now, that alone does not tell me much, does it? Who exactly might you be, Rajeev?"

"I am being Rajeev Nathan Varghese. I am being a member of the most respected and most important landowner Varghese family. Surely you heard of us. My uncle Boban Joseph—he is being the most important man in the whole of the area. I am coming to you on his behalf."

"I see. And exactly to what end have you come, might I ask?"

"My uncle tells me to be asking you that we can be cooperating together to be keeping peace in this part of India."

Dr. Cooper's jaw tightened. He set his teacup down and straightened his back. "Could it be, Rajeev, that you yourself are one of the agitators of whom you speak?"

"No, no,
sahib.
I am being—"

"A follower of the criminal, Mohandas Gandhi, perhaps?"

"I am to be following the Mahatma, yes. The Great Soul, most certainly. But I am being no agitator. I am to be seeking a peaceful solution for India, the same as the teacher Gandhiji is doing. And more than that, I—"

"Peaceful solution, indeed!" Scowling, Dr. Cooper jumped to his feet. "Stirring up Indian mobs so that they riot and strike against the Crown—a great empire which has benefited your people on every side, I must stress!—can hardly be called seeking a peaceful solution. Not at all. No matter what the complaint might be."

Rajeev Nathan remained in his seat. As Dr. Cooper looked on impatiently, the Indian took his time downing the last swallow of his tea. When he finally stood and spoke again, the friendly tone had disappeared from his voice. "Change is to be coming, Doctor," Rajeev Nathan stated. "You must be choosing a side. But I warn you: choose most carefully. You will not be having a second chance."

"Oh, my!" Miss Abigail exclaimed when she stepped into the compound's great room that evening. In her day, she had always used that room as a reception area for the clinic. Now here it was set up as a formal English dining room. Abigail's cottage was just across the courtyard, yet how long had it been since she was last here? One month? Two? She shook her head to knock away the cobwebs that fogged her memory. Time and events did seem to drift together in a most disconcerting way.

"What is it?" Susanna Cooper asked in her clipped manner. The young woman always sounded impatient to get the present interaction over with and to move on to something more important. That's how she looked, too—breathless and harried, the color always rising in her pale cheeks.

"Nothing, dear," Miss Abigail said. She brushed the question away with a wave of her hand. "It's just that everything has changed so. Dr. Moore's large green chair is gone, and . . . what else? Oh, my secretary desk!"

"It is about time, I should say. That dusty old furniture looked as though it had been here for a century."

A century? Of course it had not! The mission clinic opened just a few years before Miss Abigail arrived in 1905. She opened her mouth to say as much when she realized how long ago 1905 actually was. Forty-one years! She looked at Susanna's fresh face and slim figure. Surely, that would
seem
a century ago to one so young. So Miss Abigail sighed and said nothing. She eased herself down into the new straight-backed chair (such an uncomfortable contraption!), adjusted her yellow cotton
sari
(her nicest), and folded her hands in her lap.

"My dear Miss Davidson." Dr. Cooper, who had quietly entered the room, reached for her hand and touched her fingers in a most cursory manner. "How good of you to join us this evening. We shall take utmost care to get you back to your bed before too late an hour."

Miss Abigail rolled her eyes.

The doctor settled himself in a more comfortable-looking chair, picked up a book, and resumed reading. Susanna sat on the sofa across from him and extracted her needlework from the bag at her feet.

"How are the children?" Miss Abigail asked. "I never see any of them running about. I suppose they keep busy, what with their chores and studies to mind."

"Children?" Susanna looked mystified.

"The abandoned ones. The little castaways."

Susanna glanced at the old lady with pity in her eyes. The doctor never looked up from his book.

"The other Indian children such as young Lelee. I see that sweet girl when she brings me my tea each morning, though she never stays to talk. Well, I suppose that's to be expected, is it not? She must be eager to get back to the others."

"Lelee is quite adequate as a servant girl," Susanna said. "We have no need for any others."

Servant girl! Miss Abigail stared at Susanna. Lelee had come to the clinic as a tiny child, and she, Miss Abigail, had taken her in. "Lelee is not to be treated as a servant," she insisted. "Oh, my, no! She is capable of so much more. Why, she can read. In English. I taught her myself."

Dr. Cooper looked up and shot his wife a warning glance. Susanna pursed her lips and stabbed the needle into her stitchery.

When the cook announced that dinner was ready, Dr. Cooper assisted Miss Abigail to her seat at the table. It was beautifully laid with a linen cloth, English porcelain dishes, and fine English cutlery. The doctor waited patiently while Miss Abigail arranged her
sari
and settled herself, then he moved on to seat his wife.

"I do wish we could serve you a lovely roast of beef," he said as he sat down in his own chair. "But I fear that such a meal is not to be had in this wretched country. It is indeed a tragedy, is it not?"

"I shouldn't think so," Miss Abigail replied. "We are in India, after all."

"
British
India," Dr. Cooper corrected, as though he were talking to a schoolchild. "Rule of India is still in the hands of the Crown. Long live King George."

"Long live King George," Susanna echoed.

Miss Abigail said nothing.

Roasted mutton with mint. Potatoes and onions and spinach. Baked bread with butter and jam. When all was served, Dr. Cooper recited grace, then picked up his fork and knife. Susanna did the same. Miss Abigail did not. In expert Indian style, she swiped her hand around her plate, grabbed up a generous bite of food, and lifted it expertly to her mouth.

Susanna gasped out loud.

"We are in India, are we not?" Miss Abigail said with a note of amusement.

For some time, they ate in silence. Finally, Dr. Cooper said, "I have a matter of great importance to discuss with you, Miss Davidson. I do believe the time has come for you to leave India."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Only that your work here is done."

Miss Abigail started to protest, but Dr. Cooper held up his hand. "You have accomplished a great deal, madam. No one could expect more of you. You have earned the right to return home to England and live out your days in comfort."

"Poppycock!" Miss Abigail exclaimed. "Why, I hardly remember England. India is my home, and I shall live out my days right here."

"No need to make a hasty decision," Susanna said. "The wise course would be to think on it. If you were to go home—"

"There is nothing to think on," Miss Abigail said. "I am at home. If that is why you invited me here this evening, then I greatly fear that you have wasted your hospitality."

Miss Abigail dropped her bread onto her plate, swirled it through the leftover spinach and gravy, and popped it into her mouth. "Delicious," she said. "Though I might suggest that next time you add a hot pepper or two."