Thursday's Child (22 page)

The object of my reverie asked me how I liked India and whether my Hindi was sufficient to enable me to talk to my mother-in-law and sisters-in-law.

I said I was very happy in India, although I was having the normal difficulties of a newcomer. absentmindedly I added: ‘As yet I have not met Ajit's family.'

Mrs Patel's eyebrows shot up and I realised my mistake too late. The implications of my remark were manifold.

‘I came straight from Bombay to Shahpur, as Ajit had to take up a post here,' I said hastily.

‘Doubtless one of your sisters-in-law came to help you start your new home?'

I could feel my face reddening. Damn Ajit's family, I thought.

‘No,' I said sharply, ‘my sister-in-law was not free to come.'

At that moment there was a stir as the guests prepared to leave, and I immediately got up from my chair. Mrs Patel realised that she had embarrassed me and said politely: ‘Please call on me if I can be of help.'

I thanked her, and in the turmoil of farewells my face had a chance to recover its former whiteness; but a bitterness cankered in me as I thought of the indifference of Ajit's
family. I had done them no harm but they were making me suffer a dozen steady pinpricks. A little help and advice from one of them would have saved me a lot of suffering.

In the car going home, Ajit mentioned that Chundabhai had asked him to have a look at the recording instruments in his works, and this might mean later a place as consultant and consequently more money for saris and blouses. I smiled and kissed him.

‘As a Government servant, will you be allowed to be a consultant?'

‘Probably not – but I am looking at this from a long-term point of view – I have a five-year contract with the Government at present – and after that possibly there will be other openings elsewhere. I do not want you to spend your life sweating in Shahpur. We shall see.'

‘I like Shahpur,' I said. ‘I like Pandipura-and the desert – and the wild animals – and the country people.'

Ajit looked down at me in astonishment. ‘Do you really?'

‘Yes,' I said.

‘Well, I'm damned,' he said incredulously.

The next day, however, I was not interested in saris or Shahpur or anything else. The rich meal which I had foolishly eaten at Chundabhai's made me ill again, and after struggling to get Ajit's breakfast I crept back on to my bed.

Ajit promised to send the power-house peon for the doctor.

The last of the monsoon rain was dripping off the roofs of Delhi when a bored Bimla decided to call on Nulini. When she arrived at Ram Singh's house, however, she found that her friend had gone to a purdah party.

‘Ma ji is at home,' Thakkur informed her, having explained about Nulini's absence.

‘I will come in and see her for a few minutes.'

Thakkur escorted her through the house to the inner courtyard, her Ayah trotting behind them and noting that Khan was sitting with his hands folded in his lap, by the door leading to the courtyard. He scrambled to his feet and salaamed as Bimla passed.

Mrs Singh was sitting in a basket chair in the driest corner of the veranda. She held a letter in her hand and had just finished reading it; her generously curved mouth drooped and she was nodding her head disconsolately from side to side.

She greeted Bimla rather absentmindedly, invited her to sit down on the chair beside her and then continued to stare silently at the letter.

She suddenly realised that she had a guest, and abruptly thanked Bimla for the invitation to her wedding, which, accompanied by a personal note from Bimla's father, had arrived that day; after which effort at conversation she again relapsed into silence.

Bimla made herself comfortable in her chair and wondered what bad news was contained in the letter. Mrs Singh was certainly far from being her usual gracious self. Although there was a great difference in age between the two women, there was an odd intimacy between them. After her hot-tempered mother, Bimla found Mrs Singh a sweet and loving confidante who listened to her childish woes as her mother never had the patience to do; and to Mrs Singh, Bimla had always been a prospective daughter-in-law whose beauty and honesty would one day grace her house. After a gloomy minute or two, therefore, Bimla ventured to ask if Mrs Singh had any news of Ajit – Bimla was now fully engrossed by her new fiancé and could think of Ajit with comfortable condescension.

Silently Mrs Singh handed the letter to Bimla.

Bimla glanced over it.

Ajit sent his best respects to his mother and father. His work was progressing satisfactorily. Peggie was still ill. A kind neighbour was helping to take care of her. And that was all.

Bimla returned the letter without comment, and for
some time they surveyed the garden glittering with raindrops.

‘It is a hard family,' said Mrs Singh at last, ‘that will not send a member to one who is sick. And these neighbours – who are they? The Gods only know what stupid things they will do – she might die.'

‘You have been very patient …' Bimla began cautiously, but her remark was cut off as Shushila bounced up the steps, her sandals covered with mud and her hands full of wet, white flowers.

‘Mummy, Mummy,' she cried, ‘I want to go to the bazaar with Thakkur. He says in two days it is Ruksha Bandhan.' She dumped the flowers in her mother's lap, and went on importantly, ‘I must prepare for it. All must be ready for Ajit and Bhim.'

Her mother smiled sadly. In their caste at this most important Festival all the young men renewed their vows to protect their womenfolk with their lives, and such protection could be claimed by any other woman if she placed a bracelet on the wrist of a young warrior.

‘Hullo, Bimla,' said Shushila, her mind full of thoughts of the Festival, as she rubbed her cheek impatiently against her mother's shoulder, and then went on to announce that she must go immediately and buy two bright, tinsel bracelets to place on her brothers' arms. Would Mother also please give her some vermilion and could Maharaj give her some raw rice, so that she could make good caste marks for them? She would then have two mighty warriors to protect her. And would Maharaj make lots of sweetmeats, and please could they all go to the pictures together in the evening?

Finally, as her mother made no answer, she asked: ‘Are you cross, Mummy?' and Thakkur, standing in the mud outside, eyed his mistress curiously.

‘No, Shushi,' she said as she straightened the child's Turkish trousers and shirt. ‘Unfortunately Ajit will not be able to come for Ruksha Bandhan this year.'

Shushila was shocked. ‘But, Mummy,' she wailed, ‘it's the first time I could play bracelets with him – he is naughty,' and she stamped her foot. The plump face crinkled up and tears threatened.

‘Well –' said her mother uncertainly, ‘Bhim will certainly be here – and you could buy two bracelets, in case Ajit is able to come after all.' Her voice trailed away. She did not know what to tell Shushila. Although it was a choice titbit for gossip, the secret of Ajit's marriage had been well kept, both by the Singhs and the Chand Ranas. For once, Kasher Chand Rana had asserted himself in his own house, and had said grimly that his wife and daughter must be silent on the subject, otherwise Bimla would lose her second chance of a marriage. Ram Singh, Mrs Singh and Bhim had told no one, and though a faint rumour seemed to have gone round the neighbourhood it had apparently died.

Once she had recovered from the shock of the news of Ajit's marriage, Bimla had enjoyed herself, as Kasher Chand Rana, being wiser than his daughter realised, had allowed Ajit's handsome cousin to court his future wife. The boy really loved her and courted her with remarkable skill, with the result that Bimla had suddenly become quite dovelike.

Bimla's Ayah had presented a problem to Kasher, as her tongue was very likely to wag. He had, therefore, sent for her and with the air of a conspirator, had explained that for Bimla's sake nothing must at present be said about Ajit's affairs. Ayah could, however, be most helpful if she would let it be known in the course of casual gossip that, on meeting again, Bimla and Ajit had not felt suited to each other, and as the parents wished only for their children's happiness, a fresh suitor had been found. Delighted at being asked a favour by her master, the old Ayah had fulfilled the commission with an ability born of long practice in the art of gossip.

‘Go with Thakkur,' said Mrs Singh to Shushila, ‘and choose two pretty bracelets. I will also give you some annas to buy glass bracelets for yourself. Look,' she went on, trying to sound gay as she lifted up one fat wrist on which only two gold bracelets remained, ‘look, you haven't a single glass bracelet left to match your dress.'

Shushila giggled. ‘I broke the last one fighting with cousin Ranji,' she said.

Her mother opened her handbag and took out a rupee. Shushila joyfully snatched it away and ran down the steps to join Thakkur.

Bimla had been silent during Shushila's presence, except for acknowledging the child's greeting. Now she said: ‘What a fine handbag that is.'

Mrs Singh nodded and clicked it shut. ‘Yes, Ajit brought it from England.'

Ajit had told her that Peggie had helped to choose it. Now Mrs Singh looked at it again. Someone had really given consideration to her requirements. The bag was white and finished in such a way as to be washable and, although elegant in design, it had many pockets and sections, such as are loved by housewives.

Idly she opened the bag again and her slender fingers poked about in it. Bimla saw her expression change suddenly. She poked more purposefully and then drew out a small card. She turned it over slowly in her hand, and Bimla got up from her chair and came over to see what she had found.

The card had silver flowers embossed upon it and also something written in ink. Mrs Singh could not read the English words, so she handed the card to Bimla. ‘What does it say?'

Bimla read out: ‘To dearest Mother, with much love, Ajit and Peggie.' She translated it into Hindi.

‘Hey, Ramji,' exclaimed Mrs Singh. It was not the kind of message which an Indian daughter-in-law would have penned, but the kindly meaning of it was undoubted.

‘Dearest Mother,' repeated Mrs Singh thoughtfully and pursed her lips.

Bimla stared at the message which her rival had written without realising that she was to be ostracised by her dearest Mother. She thought of my lying sick in Shahpur, and she realised that if I had not come into Ajit's life, she would have had to marry him instead of the handsome, romantic boy who was soon to be her husband. She kept silent, however, and Mrs Singh began to speak slowly and reflectively as if talking to herself. ‘I am a woman from a small village. When I first came to Delhi to be married my
ways were the ways of village people, and my mother-in-law taught me with great patience the ways of the city. We were in purdah and such confinement was new to me – but still we had to know how to make welcome the wives of the English and the wives of the powerful.' Mrs Singh laughed softly. ‘I remember she had a special tea set for casteless visitors – it was kept in a special cupboard by itself, so that our vessels should not be polluted. So much she taught me – and I? Arree, what have I done for my daughter-in-law?'

‘She is not of your caste,' said Bimla.

‘Caste? What is that in these days? My son suffers because his wife suffers. Hey, Ram, what a mess!'

Khan, who had remained placidly seated out of earshot while he waited for his master, now rose and salaamed. Ram Singh swept on to the veranda, inclining his head in acknowledgement of the salaam. He saw his wife and Bimla and came forward to greet them.

Both women hastily covered their heads with their veils. Ram Singh motioned them to remain seated, put down the copy of the Upanishads which he had been carrying, and sat down in the basket chair. ‘No tea yet?' he asked querulously.

‘It will be coming soon,' Mrs Singh said, and at that moment Thakkur appeared from the direction of the kitchen bearing a tray. He set the tray on a table in front of Mrs Singh and departed, and Ram Singh leaned forward and took a pakaurhi which he stabbed irritably into the chutney.

‘I shall have to go up to Simla,' he said. ‘There is a land dispute on which I have been asked to give an opinion. Would you like to come too?'

Mrs Singh looked as if she had made up her mind suddenly.

‘No. If you are agreeable to it, I should like to visit Jaipur sister while you are away. She has not been well for some time.'

‘Sister ill? Is it serious?'

‘Oh, no,' said Mrs Singh hastily. ‘Just the hot weather has given her fever.'

‘If it had not been for this dispute, I could have come with you …'

‘Oh, no, no,' exclaimed Mrs Singh, ‘there is no need for you to come with me. I will take Thakkur.'

‘Well, I suggest that you go on the day after Ruksha Bandhan – I shall have to travel on the same day. The change will do you good – you are looking tired.' He took another pakaurhi and munched it more contentedly. ‘By all means take Thakkur – have another pakaurhi, Bimla, they are good – how's Rana Sahib?' and he handed her the dish.

Bimla said: ‘Quite well, thank you,' and took a pakaurhi. She had retired into the background upon the arrival of Ram Singh, her head covered and her eyes cast discreetly down while she laughed to herself. She had a suspicion that Mrs Singh's destination would not be Jaipur but Shahpur. Of course she would take Thakkur on such an expedition – Thakkur who would have died for her if need be. As a boy, he had come from Mrs Singh's own village and served three generations of Singhs. He loved them all, but his true loyalty was to Mrs Singh. He would certainly disapprove of such an adventure – but he would do as Mrs Singh bade him.

Ram Singh leaned back in his chair and twiddled his moustaches.

‘Then it is settled. Nulini and Bhim will take care of Shushila – I do not wish that she should take a journey so soon after the monsoon – too much polluted water about – she might catch typhoid.'

Mrs Singh nodded.

‘I will take Khan to Simla – after that he is to go home to be married.' He rambled on, teasing Bimla about her forthcoming marriage and saying that next hot season both families should make an expedition to Nan-y-Tal, since they had not been away this year. She answered shyly that her respected father would no doubt be delighted. She did not, however, hear Ram Singh's rejoinder – her attention had been caught by a movement behind Ram Singh.

Khan had again risen and salaamed. Nulini, returning from her purdah party, came through the house door and on to the veranda. Khan had kept his head down as he
salaamed, so he did not see the expression that flashed across Nulini's face – but Bimla saw it.

As she looked down on the servant, her face had become unutterably sad, and then she smiled with a tenderness that Bimla had seen before only on the face of her own fiancé. When passing, her sari brushed Khan's salaaming hands, and when he squatted down again he put his hands against his lips.

The incident was over in a second, and Nulini was advancing towards her, hands together in salute, while the Singhs' Ayah made her appearance through the same door and grumbled that her sandals were soaked and it was too wet for any sensible soul to go visiting. Bimla pulled herself together and greeted her friend, although her heart was beating like a wedding drum. O Lord, so that was how Nulini knew about Ajit's marriage, she thought. A trusted servant could have overheard Ram Singh lecturing his son – and if the terrible suspicions which filled her mind were true, it was quite likely that Khan had told Nulini.