Of Marriageable Age (71 page)

'I saw you in hospital,' the woman said, in a pleasant, conversational tone. 'Come, chile, sit down, sit down. Look, take de Morris chair. Leh me bring some mo' chairs for your friends.'

She stepped back into the tiny room and lifted a chair from the little dining table and brought it to face the big Morris chair by the window in the gallery. She brought another chair which she placed to complete the circle, and Saroj and Trixie sat down. The woman stayed standing.

'I got another chair in de bedroom,' she laughed. 'I gon' get dat jus' now, but you-all don't want some lime juice? Coconut water? Or tea?'

'Lime juice, please!' Saroj whispered, and Trixie nodded.

The woman was speaking again. 'That was de last time I see yuh, in the hospital,' she said. 'When I come to give yuh some blood.'

'I saw you,' Saroj told her. 'I saw you looking down at me. I thought it was a dream, or a hallucination. I thought it was myself. You looked so much like me! Or, I look so much like you!'

'Yes, dear.' She had opened a small fridge and took out a jug of lime juice. She poured three glasses for her visitors, put them on a tray and came out to serve it.

'Dat's what Mistress Dee say. She say you look jus' like me. An' she give me photos, yuh know. She always bring photos. I got a whole album full ah photos. After Mr Roy send me away I start collecting photos.'

She sighed, and stopped speaking.

'You — you're Parvati, aren't you? My nanny?'

'You remember me?'

'Hardly at all, it's just a vague memory of being close to you, loving you; and then Baba sent you away... I was so angry with Baba. I hated him after that! Such a childish hatred, and yet it was so real.’

'He not really a bad man, yuh know. He buy dis house fuh me. So at least I had that. But he so shame! He shame because of what happen wid me.'

'What did happen, Parvati?'

'You don't know? Then I tell you.'

S
AVITRI GAVE
birth to two children, Indrani and Ganesh, and after that something happened. Savitri could read her husband's face like a book and guilt and shame were written all over it. She wished he would tell her, but that was too much to expect.

But finally he was forced to tell her: about the beautiful young Parvati, poor as a mouse, whose newly widowed mother, a year ago, had come to him begging for help.

'We in't got nuttin', Mr Roy. Nuttin',' wailed the woman, and Deodat rubbed his cheek and regarded her and her daughter. 'Who sent you to me? Why do you come to me of all people?'

'My poor dead husband always talk 'bout you. He is you second cousin twice remove. He say he used to play wid you when you was chirren.'

'What was your husband's name?'

'Ram Verasamy.'

Deodat thought back and remembered. These were distant relatives of his, then; Verasamy had moved to New Amsterdam and lost touch with him. Yes, he had heard of the death, but had not gone to the funeral. And yet, family duty dictated that he help. He brought mother and daughter to Georgetown, installed them in a rented house, found a cleaning job for the mother, made sure they had enough to eat and to clothe themselves — and fell in love with the beautiful daughter. Uncontrollably in love.

His head hanging now, he confessed all to Savitri, and she smiled and laid a hand on his in understanding as he wept.

'It is all right,' she said. 'You are only human; a man. Men are weak in this respect. It's all right.'

'But that's not all,' Deodat said, and could not look her in the eye. 'Parvati is now with child — my child!'

Neither of them spoke for a long time. And then Deodat said with an unsteady voice, 'It is all my fault and I must make it up to her. I cannot allow her to raise a child out of wedlock! She and the child — my child! — would be treated as vermin. And I thought, I was wondering, I always wanted a large family, more children, but...'

'I know,' said Savitri. She knew: between him and her there would be no more children. It had been that way since Ganesh's birth.

'So you want us to adopt the child? Is that it?'

'What a terrible thing to ask a wife! What an insult to you!'

But Savitri only laughed. 'It is no insult. I would do it gladly! But what about the child's mother? You would take her child from her? Do you know what a terrible thing that is?'

'I told you, she cannot raise the child herself. She will have to give it up for adoption anyway. She would be happy to give her child a happy home and a good mother.'

'But no-one must ever know,' Savitri said firmly. 'They must not know that she has had a baby — an unmarried mother. She will never find a husband if they know. We must do this in secret. We must pass the child off as mine. We'll hire her as a nanny, maybe

leave the country for a while. I must think. Leave this to me.'

So Savitri went to Trinidad, in good time, taking Indrani and Ganesh with her, and Parvati as nanny. When they returned Savitri had a baby girl, named Sarojini. Savitri, knowing what it was for a woman to lose a child, shared the baby with Parvati, and Parvati was Saroj's beloved nanny, a second mother.

Saroj turned to Trixie. 'Remember the photo, Trix? The one of Gan's second birthday, on the beach? I knew there was something strange about it but I couldn’t think what. It was taken in August; I was born that September. Ma should have been eight months pregnant, but she wasn't. She was slim as a reed in that photo.'

When Deodat looked at his little daughter, the child nearest to his heart, he feared for her, for she was a child of sin and guilt. He had to get rid of that bad influence, that woman of sin, that Parvati, who had once had power over his lower senses, but who had subsequently, in the wake of the resulting problems, lost that power. It would be difficult to get rid of Parvati, because Saroj loved her so, and his wife — whom he feared to cross in any way — encouraged her. But then Parvati let the child play with the negroes next door. It was a serious transgression. Absolutely forbidden. It was the chance he was waiting for. He threw her out.

From that day on Deodat watched hawk-like over Saroj, for she carried the seed of immorality within her. What if she inherited that woman's beauty! Those loose morals! He vowed to do his best for this child. Protect her from the perils of straying lust. Keep her hidden from mankind, fostered, preserved and treasured. His heart ached when he saw her, the poor little thing. The finding of a good husband for her, Deodat swore, would be his first and sacred duty.

When Parvati's mother was dying, Savitri came and cared for her, brought medicines and laid hands on her and wiped the sweat from her face. As far as her husband and her family were concerned she was at the temple. It was the beginning of a double life, a life of subterfuge.

Soon after her mother's death Parvati developed a wicked red rash on her hands and arms, painful to the touch. She went to the Georgetown hospital but nothing helped. Then Savitri laid her hands on the rash, rubbed an ointment into it, and in a few days the rash flaked off and the skin healed, and after that she had no trouble. Parvati told all her friends, and the next time Savitri came the sick people lined up on the road to see her.

Savitri began to treat the sick of La Penitence. At first just once a week in the afternoon, when she was supposed to be in the temple. But demand for her grew. She came for an hour in the mornings as well, when the children were at school and Deodat in the office. She brought herbs and tinctures, teas and roots and powders, and she went to people in their homes and laid her hands on them.

Parvati's home became a hospital. The people of La Penitence flocked to Savitri, because Savitri had a smile and she had a special touch. When Savitri laid her hand on them they felt they were well again. They believed, and they were healed.

When Parvati's mother died there wasn't enough money, and of course no-one would marry her, for it was rumoured that she had once been the mistress of a married man, though nobody could exactly name him. And it was rumoured that she had borne a bastard child and given it up for adoption. But Parvati was still beautiful and though no man would have her as a wife several wanted her as a mistress, and she chose another married man who kept her fed and clothed. After him there was another, and another.

But physical beauty is evanescent, and Parvati's faded quickly. Savitri helped with gifts of money and food, but after her death the bad times came; and more men.

'I is a bad woman, a woman of shame,' said Parvati. 'You should not have come. And now you know you should go and forget me. I am glad you came but I will understand. Go now and try to forgive me. Pray for me.'

But Saroj was hardly listening. She was grinning at Trixie, in triumph.

74

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

SAROJ

London, 1971

I
T WAS A SMALL
, messy, poky room, a bedsit near Streatham Common. Dark, for the curtains were drawn, and lit only by a dirty electric bulb hanging naked from the ceiling, giving off a tepid yellow glow. In one corner, an unmade bed, in the other, a wardrobe with a broken door. The smell was a mélange of old stale sweat and sickly-sweet incense. Saroj looked around in distaste; then she looked at Baba, dressed in grubby longjohns and an even grubbier singlet, sitting in an armchair facing the dead fireplace. The two stared at each other in silence.

‘Tell me about Parvati,’ said Saroj.

Baba looked away.

‘You found out — you know! I didn’t want…’

‘No theatricals, please. Just tell me the story.’

And so Baba began to speak. A broken, humble Baba, stumbling over the words, pausing when he couldn’t find the right ones, rambling when his thoughts took him on journeys to the past.

‘I was weak… I gave in to lust… She was so young, so pretty. How could I resist? It was wrong, I know… to take advantage. Then… she told me she was in trouble. What could I do… your mother was strong so I turned to her, confessed, asked for forgiveness. And help. She is so wise... now she is gone... this is all I have left of her…’

Baba gestured vaguely towards the fireplace. On the mantelpiece was a shrine, with an urn as centrepiece, surrounded by fresh roses, and a small photo of Ma. Three sticks of incense gave off white tendrils of pungent smoke, and a thick candle burned with a single unwavering flame. The mantelpiece shrine was the only clean part of the room.

‘Every day I lay fresh roses for her,’ Said Baba, ‘she loved roses!

He removed a grubby handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face, and his eyes. Saroj walked to the window, drew back the curtains, turned off the overhead bulb.

‘Go on,’ she said.

‘I made full confession. She was so understanding. She knew what to do. She took care of it. They went to Trinidad. She and Parvati went there, for six months. She told people she was going to have a baby, she needed long rest. Then the baby was born. You! Your mother —Parvati I mean — was weak — I was weak — so afraid. Afraid you would be weak too. I know what men are like. Full of lust. And you — so sweet, so innocent. I thought marriage was the best protection for you. I was wrong. I lost you. You always hated me. I deserved it! God has punished me!’

‘Ha! So you’re getting a bit of sense in your old age. But look at this place! This mess! You stink! When did you last change those—those knickers? And those sheets? Pfui — filthy!’

Saroj pulled the sheets from the unmade bed, rolled them up and threw them in the corner.

‘Where do you keep clean sheets?’

Baba waved his hand towards a chest of drawers. Saroj opened all the drawers until she found clean bedclothes. She made the bed and continued to move around tidying up the room while Baba mumbled memories from the past.

Now and then Saroj glanced at the harmless old man slumped in the armchair, and after a while her eyes softened.

‘You need a wife!’ she said. ‘I better arrange a marriage for you!’

A
SMILE PLAYED
on her lips.

‘No, no wife — oh, you are joking. I had the best wife in the world and lost her. Nobody could replace her — a saint! Such a harsh man I was. Too harsh. Too harsh. With you too — too harsh. Tried to force you…. Now all I have are her ashes. All gone. Ganesh has gone to Guyana with his wife. Ganesh got marred.

‘Did you go to Ganesh’s wedding? Not me. Not invited. A nice girl, nice girl. Christian girl. What does it matter, Christian, Hindu, Moslem — many paths, one goal. What was I saying. Ashes. One day I want to return to India. My beloved India, and sprinkle her ashes in the Ganges. Nat promised to take me. Did you ever meet Nat? Ganesh’s friend. A kind boy. Used to come here and read to me – the Ramayana, the Mahabharata — like a son. He will take me to India. He is there right now. He will come back. Next time he will take me. Such a nice, kind boy.’

Saroj said nothing, and looked at her watch. She walked to the window and opened the curtains. Daylight flooded the room. She tried to open the window, but it was stuck.

‘That window is hard to open,’ said Baba. ‘The paint is sticky. I don’t open it much You have to pull hard.’

So Saroj pulled hard and the window unstuck; she threw it open and looked out on to the street. As if on cue, a man walking past looked up. It was Nat. He stopped, looked up at her and smiled.

‘Well — hi there!’

Saroj smiled back, and leaned on the windowsill, chin on her hands, relaxed, happy. They gazed at each other in silence.

‘I got your cable,’ said Nat.

‘And I got yours.’

‘What’s your big wonderful news?’

‘What’s yours?’

‘You first`.’

‘No, you.’

Nat smiled, and patted his shirt pocket.

‘It’s all in here. The letter Ma wrote Gopal. The famous letter.’

Saroj continued to smile, serene, relaxed, patient. She had all the time in the world.

‘Baba was just telling me about some nice, kind boy. Why not come in?’

'
A
FTER YOU RAN
off I was pretty devastated,’ said Nat. ‘The whole story nagged at me and I just had to find out more. So I went to see Gopal. I told him to come out with the truth at last, and he did.'