Tiger Hills (62 page)

“Too little too late,” Devanna said slowly. “Subsidies can help us only so much… ”

Coffee prices had tumbled, impacted by the Great Depression. Unless a planter had vast holdings, it had become a tricky business to run a coffee plantation profitably in Coorg.

Appu grinned. “Well, it isn't solely about coffee, is it now?” He tapped a finger to his temple. “This country is going to be independent of British rule sooner or later. The question is, to whom are they going to leave the reins of administration?”

Devi shook her head. “Since when have you become interested in politics, Appu?”

“Well,
Coorg,
Avvaiah. We must get more involved with its administration, otherwise once the British leave … ”

“I see. And this Viceroy of yours, you think he is going to look at this hall and name you his successor in gratitude?” She sighed and shook her head again. “How much is this hall of yours going to cost?”

He shrugged, a little hurt by her dismissiveness. “Ten, fifteen thousand? Hard to tell just yet. I have promised to contribute five.”

“Five thousand?” Devi exclaimed in dismay. “That is a lot of money.”

“Oh, I don't think we will have to part with even half of that. People are already clamoring to be part of the donor pool.
Everyone
wants in, Avvaiah.”

He placed the needle of the gramophone on the record, and music filled the room.

“Whatever is Coorg coming to?” Devi said, bemused. “People are happy to spend fifteen thousand rupees without blinking an eye, and all for the privilege of shaking this white man's hand … ”

Appu had risen to his feet. “Enough politics for the evening,” he said, lifting Baby gracefully to her feet. “How about a dance then, my lovely, before we head to the Club?”

Baby glanced shyly at Devi and Devanna as he drew her close. Laying his cheek against her hair, Appu began to sing along.

Devi swirled the snifter in her hands, the brandy sloshing golden against the crystal. It had become a habit with her now, this daily peg in the evenings. Ever since Nanju … she took a hasty swallow of the brandy, grateful for its heat against her throat. Without the liquor, it was hard to sleep.

She turned slightly, to look at Devanna. He was watching Appu and Baby dance, not
smiling,
no it was far too soon for that, for either him or for her, but nonetheless, there was a softness in his expression, smoothing the lines in his face.

Appu twirled Baby around in his arms, still singing along, Baby's earrings flashing green and gold as they caught the light.

Such a beautiful couple. Devi sent up a silent prayer as they glided about the drawing room:
Please, Iguthappa Swami, let them…let no more…let us…

She stopped, fumbling with the words, unsure anymore of how best to petition the Gods for their protection.

It was touch and go for a while with the Viceroy. His military attaché insisted his schedule was simply too tight to accommodate a trip to Coorg. It was Appu who had come up with the idea of the races. The planters sent the Viceroy a gift, a finely tooled silver peechekathi, its hilt inlaid with gold. The dagger was wrapped in muslin and placed in a brass trunk filled nearly to the brim with rich, brown, perfectly cloven coffee beans. Together with the gift, there was an invitation printed on heavy cream stationery.

The coffee planters of Coorg are honoured to invite His Excellency to inaugurate the Mercara Derby.

And while he was their guest at the races, the invitation added, it would be their privilege to share with him the finest coffee in the world. Intrigued, the Viceroy informed his disgruntled attaché that they would be stopping for two days in Coorg.

Once the Viceroy's attendance had been confirmed, the funding for the hall was completed within a matter of weeks. So plentiful
were the donations that Appu contributed no more than a few hundred rupees from his promised five thousand. People kept coming, despite being told that no more donations were being accepted, citing connections, demanding to be allowed to contribute, so that their names would be listed in the founding annals of the hall.

The day of the visit drew closer and preparations intensified for the Derby. The organizers raised a massive purse of fifty thousand rupees, and the finest jockeys had signed up, from Madras, Calcutta, and Bombay. The horses came in and were stabled at the Club. Extra help was hired for the ball from the sister club in Bangalore, and Appu cajoled Devi into funding new brass-buttoned tunics for all the waiters.

Women bought new saris, veils, and ball gowns for the event and sent their best jewelry to be polished. Appu selected Baby's wardrobe, and not a word of protest did she utter over the low-backed gown he had chosen for the ball. This visit was important to him, she knew. She must look her absolute best.

On the morning itself, she dressed carefully in the drop-waisted chiffon frock he had laid out for her. She fastened the diamanté-edged buckles of her heels and, smoothing her hair into a chignon, looped a strand of perfect pink pearls around it. Appu was pacing back and forth in his suit, practicing his spiel. “It is an honor, your Excellency. We are delighted to have you with us. And may I present my wife … ”

He stopped midstride as Baby walked out of the dressing room and then Appu grinned. “Perfection. What a vision. Baby, you're going to knock his socks off.”

With a blare of horns, the Viceroy's entourage drew up. He was handed a pair of scissors and, with a graceful flourish, the Viceroy cut the ribbon draped over the entrance to the hall, inaugurating it to thunderous applause. His Excellency turned and waved, and a cheer rippled through the crowd.

The queue moved quickly, and soon it was their turn to be introduced. His Excellency glanced appreciatively at Baby as Appu introduced himself. “And this,” Appu said proudly, “is my wife, Baby.”

Baby smiled shyly at the Viceroy. “How do you do?” she asked.

“Quite well, my dear, for such an early start. So tell me, do you think this coffee is indeed the finest in the world?”

Baby stared at him, flustered. She should respond, she knew she should. The pressure of Appu's arm increased ever so slightly on her back. She should say something. “Yes, your Highness,” she stammered. “I mean, yes, your Royalty … yes, it is, Sir Willie Ding Dong.”

The row later in the car was the worst they had ever had. “How could you,” Appu said. “How
could
you? Wiped my face in the mud, that's what you did. Didn't I tell you how important this was to me? I'm trying to make something of myself, Baby, or don't you care? Yet there you go, insulting the
Viceroy,
the blasted VICEROY of India to his blooming bloody face.
Willie Ding Dong?
”

“It was a mistake, Appu,” Baby said tearfully. “You were the one who called him that.”

“Not to his face.”

“It was a mistake,” she wept. “I just got so nervous—”

“Nervous? About what? Can't you speak, don't you have a mouth? Look at Daisy, look at all those other women, how gracefully they conducted themselves. They looked like queens. While you—”

“Then why did you take me along? You know I am not that comfortable with these things. And did it not go off well regardless?”

Despite her awful blooper, the morning had indeed gone well. The Derby had been a thundering success, and the Viceroy had even seemed to enjoy himself. But Appu was still shaken. They fought all the way back to Tiger Hills, where Devanna took one look at Baby's tear-stained face and asked, alarmed, “What happened? The nationalists … ”

“Oh, there was no trouble from the protestors. But your daughter-in-law more than made up for any damage they could have caused. Ask her, just ask her what she did.”

“Come now, Appu,” Devi said, her lips twitching when she
heard what Baby had said. And then, for the first time since Nanju's passing, she started to laugh. “
You
were the one who called him that!”

Her blasé response only fueled Appu's anger. Baby tearfully said she couldn't possibly go to the ball that evening, everyone would be staring at her.

“Fine,” Appu barked. “Do as you bloody well please.”

Changing angrily into his white tie and tails, quite forgetting, in his temper, the orchid in the icebox meant for his buttonhole, Appu left alone for the ball.

Devi sighed. “He's being silly, child,” she consoled Baby. “Give him time. He will calm down.”

Chapter 41

1936

D
evi bit her lip, watching anxiously as Baby spread banana jam on her toast. There was a fixed expression on Baby's face, lines creasing that once smooth, perfectly arched forehead. She moved her knife absently across the bread, back and forth, back and forth.

“It has come out well this time, the jam,” Devi said, in a bid to distract Baby. “It's all in the bananas, of course. The red neindra variety—they're good only for steaming. Medium-sized mara bananas are the ones to be used, but even so, too sweet a fruit and the jam will be nothing but sugar; too ripe and it will turn out runny. These were just right, the flesh firm, the correct amount of sweetness. Came from the grove at the back of the estate.” She paused, waiting for a reaction, but Baby's attention was fixed on the stairs.

“Baby!” Devi cried, so startling her daughter-in-law that she dropped her knife with a clatter.

Devanna glanced at her across the table; Devi sensed the disapproval in his gaze and forced a softness into her voice, but it still sounded high, worried. “What are you doing, kunyi, making bread pudding?
Look
at your toast.”

Baby cast her bewildered gaze down at the toast, so loaded with the tasty jam that it was beginning to fall apart. She flushed. “I didn't realize—”

“Kunyi, eat your breakfast,” Devanna gently interjected. “Appu will be down soon enough. You know that he sleeps in after a late night out.”

“Late? How late?” Devi asked ominously. “How many times must I tell him, enough of these late nights? Baby, you must … ” She paused, struggling to keep her voice even, then reached across the table and took Baby's hand in hers. “Keep him in your sights, have I not told you that? How often must I tell you, kunyi? He is a
married
man, don't let him forget that.”

Baby stared unhappily at her plate.

“Tukra,” Devi said, “go wake Appu.”

Tukra shuffled his feet in alarm. “Aiyo! Appu anna gets angry if I wake him up, says he will wring my neck, not that he would, but still, that is what he says. ‘Tukra,' he says, ‘I swear I will wring your—'”

“Oh, for— Appu!
Appu!
” Devi waited, listening for some movement, some sound of footsteps perhaps, or an answering call, but the upstairs wing remained stubbornly silent.

“This boy! Not two drops of alcohol down his gullet and he would snore through the floods.” She turned to Baby, visibly upset. “Why do you let him go out without you? You must accompany him, be by his side at all times.”

“His friends—”

“So his friends are all fancy types. So what? You are prettier than them by far. But—” Devi pointed at the clothesline weighed down with the morning's washing. “These blouses of yours! Fit not so much for a woman as for a she-elephant!” The offending garments swayed decorously on the line, with their full sleeves and high necklines.

Baby shot a mortified glance in Devanna's direction. He had retreated behind his newspaper, gallantly pretending he had not followed a word of this last conversation.

Devi was continuing her tirade. “All the young girls wear these small-tiny blouses, and here you insist on wearing clothes that Tayi would have approved of. I am not suggesting you run about indecently dressed, but
really,
kunyi!” She pressed a hand to her
aching head. “This is what we will do. I'll call the tailor home. Let him stitch you a few blouses, modern types.” She ran an appraising eye over her daughter-in-law's form. “You're so young. At your age, a woman ought to flaunt her charms.”

Too embarrassed to even look up, Baby nodded silently.

Appu used to make fun of her blouses, too, and the chemises she liked wearing underneath. “What the—?!” he would say incredulously, holding them up. “Aren't you hot under all this fabric?”

“I'm a married woman now, am I not? I have to maintain my decency. Or would you rather I walked about showing skin to every man who comes my way?”

He would pull her into his lap, laughing. “Not
every
man, no. But how about wearing something a little more exciting now and again for your husband?”

She had tried. Worn the frocks he bought her, gone with him to the parties and tried making conversation with the impossibly glamorous wives of his friends. They had all exclaimed over her, how pretty she was. Dag's blushing rose, they used to call her. A few of them had tried drawing her into their circle, but they spoke so fast it was hard to follow their conversations. She knew English, of course, had studied it at school. Nonetheless, it took her time to speak in the language, needing to translate the words in her head before pushing them carefully off her tongue.