The Letter (22 page)

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.

*  *  *  *  *

Suleka wrote constantly trying to persuade Margaret to put off the divorce but Margaret refused to be swayed. She wanted to marry Tommy but more than that she wanted to be done with Ben. It would be hurtful and unwise to tell Suleka how much she despised him. A worrying break in correspondence was accounted for by a telephone message. Margaret replied at once,

Kohat

Dearest
Suleka,

Thanks
for
your
very
kind
phone
call
and
the
wonderful
news
of
the
birth.
I
was
sorry
I
wasn’t
here
to
take
your
call.
I’m
frightfully
busy
and
telephoning
is
often
rushed
so
I
thought
I’d
write.
I
hope
you
are
recovered
and
enjoying
baby
Chimini.
Even
though
she
is
only
a
few
months
old
I
feel
certain
she
will
enjoy
the
company
of
all
the
children.
Mother
must
be
feeling
much
better
with
you
at
home.
It
was
good
of
your
husband’s
family
to
allow
it.

Try
to
get
a
carpenter
to
fix
up
some
of
those
wooden
toys.
There
is
a
delay
in
my
pay
but
as
soon
as
I
receive
it
I
will
send
money
down
for
my
children’s
expenses.
It
is
so
very
cold
here
that
I
had
to
spend
money
on
extra
clothes.
The
cost
of
the
cloth
is
exorbitant!

I
am
on
night
duty
and
do
not
get
a
chance
to
go
up
to
the
city.
As
soon
as
I
can
I
will
send
you
another
parcel
of
wool.

Now
be
careful
all
of
you.
Love
to
the
children.

Yours
affectionately

Charuni

*  *  *  *  *