The Letter (3 page)

As early as Elizabeth could remember, what ever the cause, her mother insisted that family business was not discussed outside the home. How would she deal with this? If the Indian children were to be reunited with their mother it would have to be handled sensitively.

James had no such qualms, “You know the old saying, ‘Only the good die young.’ Well you’ve got no chance,
Scottie! You’ll last forever. Joking apart, if you want to go
to India, we’ll take you.”

“James!”

“Don’t be cross, Elizabeth.” Margaret said in his defence. “I know James means well but I’m in my seventies. My health won’t allow me to make the journey. I don’t want to die in India.”

“You won’t die. India gets thousand of tourists every year. We’d be with you… It’s not as if you’d be among strangers.”

Margaret declared forcefully, “I mean it. It’s out of the question.” James wisely backed off from any more discussion on the topic.

Elizabeth had always wanted a brother and now she’d got two. An older sister was different, that would take more getting used to. What could her mother possibly be afraid of? Disappointed there’d be no trip to India she sought some kind of compromise. “Mum, will you let me write to Saurabh?”

Margaret didn’t want to hang her life out to be scrutinised, especially by her children. She had almost dropped her guard last year, while watching
Jewel
in
the
Crown
on television. The programme, screened on Sundays, was set in India during the time she lived there. It went on for weeks and was compulsive viewing for Elizabeth. Margaret pretended to enjoy it, and in a way she did, but it brought back bitter sweet memories that she couldn’t share with her daughter.

“Scottie…” James said, fired up with the whole idea of an Indian connection, “letters would be a way of introducing your children to each other. You never know they might get on.”

Margaret hadn’t thought of it like that and before James drove her home she agreed that Elizabeth would write to Saurabh.

Chapter 3
 

Margaret switched on the radio, habitually tuned to radio four, ate her breakfast, washed the dishes and tidied the kitchen, but avoided picking up the airmail letter lying stranded on the sisal mat by the front door. It was absurd. She’d have to open it some time. Where was the scissor gadget James had bought to pick up the post and minimise the chance of her toppling over? Elizabeth said to put it in the same place each time she used it, but doing as she was told was not Margaret’s strong point. She found the contraption disguised by the jumble of coats hanging in the hall, expertly flipped over the envelope and retrieved it from the mat.

Clearly printed on the back in a flamboyant hand was
Colonel
Saurabh
Atrey,
V.C.,
V.S.M.,
India.
Sitting safely in her fireside chair Margaret’s hand trembled as she tore open the envelope and removed two letters.

My
Dearest
Mama

My
father
was
with
me
when
your
reply
came.
He
is
seventy-eight
years
old
now.
I
wish
you
could
have
seen
the
glow
on
his
face
when
he
heard
that
you
are
alive
and
fine.
After
adjusting
his
spectacles
he
read
it
again
and
again.
He
asked
me
to
wish
you
to
come
to
India
to
be
with
all
of
us.
We
were
helpless
to
find
the
truth
as
children.
We
accepted
what
the
adults
said,
but
I
used
to
weep
alone
for
Mama.
A
warrior
who’s
not
afraid
of
death
I
used
to
weep
like
a
child
at
night
over
a
pillow.
This
letter
of
yours
is
my
most
precious
possession.
I
read
it
again
and
again.
Long
stories
we
will
tell
when
we
meet
as
surely
we
must.

She read the letter over and over memorizing every word; crying for the tousled headed boy grown into a brave soldier who could so easily have been killed without her knowing.

What could Saurabh mean by writing that his father requested her come to India? It was inconceivable that she would return to where once, naively happy, she had been plunged into desperation and despair. Yet she was disconcerted by faint murmurings of disappointment that there was no letter from Ben. She could scarcely believe he was seventy-eight years old but Margaret often forgot that she was seventy-two. Their love was a lifetime away. Pavia’s enclosed letter drew more tears and self-recrimination.

.
 
.
 
.
Papa
said
you
had
gone
back
to
your
father
in
Scotland.
We
couldn’t
believe
that
you
would
leave
without
kissing
us
and
clung
to
each
other.
Your
jewels
and
clothes
were
in
your
room
waiting
for
your
return.
For
a
long
time
Saurabh
pestered
my
father
until
he
told
us
that
the
ship
on
which
you
were
travelling
had
been
torpedoed.
Then
it
was
useless
to
ask.

As
a
child
the
days
sped
past
but
when
I
was
being
married
and
having
my
own
children
I
felt
the
loss
of
you
most
keenly.
Of
course
my
aunts,
brothers
and
father
were
with
me
when
I
married
Kailash.
He
has
turned
out
to
be
a
devoted
husband
and
I
am
very
fortunate
to
be
married
to
such
a
good,
kind
man.
He
continued
educating
me,
encouraging
me
to
take
my
degree
before
we
had
our
family
but
it
is
at
those
special
times
when
you
need
your
own
mother.
I
had
so
many
memories
of
you.
I
wanted
you
beside
me
at
the
most
important
times
of
my
life.

To
tell
you
the
truth
mama
I
am
not
as
beautiful
as
I
was
as
a
child.
I
have
put
on
a
lot
of
weight
since
becoming
a
mother
and
grandmother
 . . .

The fair skinned, slender girl with eyes that would melt any heart was a grandmother. They had both learned to live with an emptiness that the years couldn’t take away. Happy family photographs confirmed how much Margaret had missed. Her daughter was blessed with three children, two of them married with families. Margaret was not only a grandmother but a great grandmother. Saurabh had four unmarried children. The years had gone and there was no way she could recapture them.

She had news of her youngest son Rajeev from Pavia and Saurabh. His promotion to Brigadier, happy marriage and two sons was more than she could hope for. She wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t contact her. He had been such a sickly crying little one. How could she have left him, left them all? Things happened in such a hurry but that had been an excuse; acknowledging it made her feel worse.

The afternoon post arrived and with it came Rajeev’s poignant letter, breaking through Margaret’s remaining defences.

Dearest
darling
Mama,

I
got
your
letter
sent
to
me
through
Saurabh.
You
do
not
know
how
thrilled
I
was
first
on
knowing
about
your
being
there
in
England.
It
is
a
miracle
for
me.
I
had
never
thought
of
knowing
your
existence.
No
one
had
spoken
about
you
to
me.
All
these
years
and
I
was
made
to
understand
that
you
are
no
more.
No
body
was
able
to
explain
about
your
absence
except
when
someone
did
speak
it
was
such
a
hush
hush
affair.

You
can
imagine
how
one
feels
on
knowing
the
mother
who
has
given
birth
to
you
has
suddenly
gone
from
your
life
to
reappear
again
 . . .