Of Marriageable Age (72 page)

'What did he say?'

'He loved Savitri. He wanted to make all things right for her at the end. You know, he's a screenwriter with a terrific imagination. It seemed to him a wonderfully dramatic idea for us to marry — his son (as he thought) with Savitri's daughter. A kind of poetic justice, karmatic balance, making everything right again, a story fit for a screenplay. That's what he said. Then he added the words that changed everything — “though she is only adopted.”

‘My God, Saroj, when he said that I yelled out loud. Literally! I made him repeat, explain. Yes, he said, and he seemed surprised that we didn't know.

‘He didn't know all the details, not about Parvati and your dad, but he did know Savitri wasn't your biological mother; she had told him in a letter. And that was enough for me. I came over here like a shot! But you were gone!'

'Ma would have told me — but she died. She wanted to tell me, Nat. That was the letter… She was all excited about it, the day that she died. She wanted to bring me to India, to meet some special people, she said. You and David. She was going to tell me everything. And then she died.'

'Anyway. Read this.'

And he reached into his shirt pocket, took out an envelope folded in two, and handed it to Saroj.

Dear Brother Gopal,

I have just received Henry’s letter with the wonderful news. Why did you not tell me? Years ago? But how can I complain! I forgive you! The happiness I now feel at their resurrection more than makes up for even a moment of my years of anguish, believing David and Nataraj to be dead.

I have had a difficult life, Gopal, but I know that now my bad karma is at last exhausted — Henry's letter is the proof. My darlings are alive! And out of the ashes of the past years, brother, so much good has come! Such beautiful children have been granted me — three, to make up for the five I lost. Amrita, Shanti, Anand, Ganesan, and Nataraj. Yet I did not lose five, but only four, for Nataraj has been returned to me! And once again I have four children. I give thanks to God!

Gopal, I am hurrying to London and India as soon as possible, and I shall bring my younger daughter Sarojini with me. You remember, she is the girl we adopted, and we have been having some difficulties finding a suitable husband for her, as she is very modern-minded and headstrong as I myself once was.

I wonder how she will get along with Nataraj? After all, he is half-English and as he is living in London he will certainly have modern ideas, just like Sarojini. She is very intelligent, as well as beautiful. So, I am bringing her along. I am so looking forward to the meeting of these two dear children of mine! (Oh we mothers! Sometimes I think matchmaking is in our blood! Yet I shall keep my opinion to myself, and let nature take its course.)

I am going to telephone Sarojini right away. She might not want to go to India but the moment I mention the word London I just know she'll need no persuasion.

S
AROJ SMILED
as she folded the letter. 'Savitri, Mrs Dee, Ma. Whatever her name is, she’s still right here. Attending to every single detail. Like she always did.’

Saroj sat up with a jolt. ‘Oh my goodness, Nat, I quite forgot…'

She took his hand, placed it on her belly, and pressed it there. 'The most important detail...’

EPILOGUE

'
A
SHES TO ASHES
. . .' The vicar's voice droned on. Boring...

Gita tugged at the hem of Mummy's
shalwar kameez.
Mummy's head, lowered in respect for the dead, turned slightly and she looked down sideways. Gita looked up at her in bright-eyed eagerness, just dying to speak, words gathered inside like a little brook about to bubble out of the earth. No funereal solemnity here. Mummy suppressed a smile and raised a finger to her lips. 'Ssshhhh!' she mouthed.

Gita's eyes clouded in disappointment and she wrinkled her nose and shook her black curls. Then she raised one little bare foot to scratch the back of her calf with her toenails, wrote her name in the sand with her big toe, poked Granny in the bottom and giggled and everybody looked at her and frowned. Daddy secretly waggled a finger at her and that made her giggle again. After that the vicar finished speaking and everybody walked slowly round and shovelled spadefuls of sand into Auntie Fiona's open grave, and flowers, lots and lots of flowers. Even Grandad Deodat, sitting in his wheelchair, managed a small spadeful. And so did Khan, his wheelchair-pusher. Then it was over and they walked away, towards the house.

Gita walked between Mummy and Granny, holding a hand of each, jumping and swinging. Daddy pushed Grandad Deodat’s wheelchair; Khan didn’t want to let him but Daddy insisted. Grandad Deodat’s head lolled to one side — he had fallen asleep again. He was always sleeping. Mummy was speaking to Granny, telling Granny to take her, Gita, for a walk to see the sea. They had been promising to show her the sea for a long time so when she heard that she danced around Granny tugging at her hand, crying, 'Yes, yes, yes, let's go to the sea!'

'Ah comin', chile, but ah can't run so fas' like you, yuh know!' said Granny, so Gita tugged all the harder.

'Take your time, Parvati,' said Mummy. 'Take off her clothes and let her bathe. We'll come and join you in a while — I just want to look around here first.'

Granddad David explained to Parvati how to get to the sea. He pointed down the curve of the driveway, through the tangle of bougainvilleas hiding the gate around the bend. 'Turn left into Atkinson Avenue,' he said, 'and walk for a few minutes till you come to the flame-of-the-forest tree. Cross the avenue there — you'll see a little path. Just walk down it and you'll come straight to the sea. You can't miss it!'

Saroj and Nat watched as Gita dragged Parvati away.

'Little imp of mischief!' Saroj said, shaking her head and smiling fondly. 'D'you know, she tried to take the doll out of Fiona's coffin this morning, just before they nailed it up? She said she can take better care of it than Fiona can down in the earth. I had to promise to buy her one of her own!'

'Well, it's about time she had one of her own,' said David. 'Three-year-old girls need dolls, you know!'

'But not Fiona's,' said Saroj firmly. 'Poor Fiona needs her doll.'

'Who knows, maybe right now she's with the real thing. With Paul.'

David and Henry had wandered off and stood now in the rose arbour, talking about the old days. It was all overgrown, of course, and none of the roses were blooming. A thorny tangle of bush.

'It needs Savitri's touch,' said Henry. 'The whole place does.'

'A gardener…' mused David as Saroj and Nat approached.

'This place is paradise gone wild,' Saroj said, looking around her in wonder. 'All it needs is a little loving care and my goodness, what a sanctuary we'd have! And in the middle of Madras! I wouldn't have believed it!'

'That's India,' Nat said. 'Heaven in the midst of hell.'

'Shall I show you the house?' David asked. 'Of course, it'll be black with mildew now but maybe you'll get an idea of what it once was.'

Inside it was cool, damp, musty, dark. David walked from room to room throwing open the shutters, but even then no sunshine entered the rooms for the verandah encircling the house kept out the glare — that was its purpose. The rooms were empty, except for the little servants' area where Fiona had lived out her last years. Forlorn, neglected, violated by time, the house seemed to cringe under their inspection, as if ashamed of its nakedness, of the blue-green mould covering the tiles and creeping up the once immaculate walls.

'It's huge,' said Saroj. 'What a pity no-one lives here, no-one cares, no-one looks after it. What a waste!'

'Now Fiona's gone maybe we could sell it, or else…' David began.

'I've got a much better idea,' Nat broke in. 'We'll clean it up. Get the garden put straight. And Saroj moves in when she starts at university.'

'Live here?' Saroj exclaimed. 'But it's much too big for me alone. I'd be lost!'

'You needn't live in the whole house. We'll begin with the front room and the verandah and the kitchen. And you needn't be here alone. Gita and Parvati can live here too. They'd both prefer to be near you in Madras than up country with me and Dad. And if you live in the city it wouldn't be much fun for Gita, but here…’

'It'd be perfect!' Saroj caught Nat's thought and as it took root her eyes began to shine. 'She'd be just like Savitri, living in paradise — but what about school?'

'Henry can move in too. He can teach her just as well here as in the village, the way he taught the Fairwinds children back then. What about it, Henry? Wouldn't you like to come back to Fairwinds?'

'Would I ever!'

'But... Savitri wasn't alone. She had me to play with,' objected David. 'Gita'd die of loneliness here, paradise or not. You know what she's like. You know how she needs friends, other children around her!'

'Well, why shouldn't she have them? If Henry's going to teach her he can teach others as well. Bring in some children — from the neighbourhood.'

'A school! That's what we'll do! Open a school for girls! Girls from the poorest families, bright little girls, eager to learn…'

'Oh, yes! I can just imagine it — so many rooms, so many classrooms…' Saroj almost ran out of the door and into the next room, seeing it all in her mind's eye, the little girls at their desks, shining dark eyes turned on the teacher, the chant of eager voices, their cries as they ran out at break, pigtails flying and skirts whirling, little bare feet pattering around the verandah. A playground, she thought. Swings, a seesaw… Fresh milk every day… We'll keep some cows. Someone to cook lunch… A Tamil teacher, art, music, a gymnasium…

'There's not enough room for everything,' she said. 'We need the whole house for classrooms. We'll build another house, a small one, living quarters for me and Gita and Parvati — over there — come Nat, let me show you, and maybe a boarding house for girls from the country, and —'

She took Nat's hand and dragged him down the verandah steps into the garden, pointing, exclaiming, gesturing.

David and Henry followed slowly.

'I've never seen her like this before,' David marvelled. Saroj had proved, till now, an interested, diligent, yet somehow restrained daughter-in-law, trying hard to find her bearings but never completely connecting. The dedication was all there but something was lacking. A vital spark? Zest, spirit, an elusive factor X? A certain glow, inimitable, ineffable. The thing beneath the surface, beyond technique: inspiration, imagination. Soul. Vision. Love.

As they joined her and Nat he said, 'We were just saying, Saroj, are you quite sure you want to be a gynaecologist? What about teaching as a vocation?'

Saroj threw back her head with a laugh. She put her arm around Nat's waist, leaning into him. 'No, no, I know what I want, and I know where I belong. But it'll take a few years to get there, and by then this —' she spread her arms to embrace all of Fairwinds '— should be on its feet and walking. We'll name it after Savitri. We'll dedicate it to her. The Savitri Iyer School. The SIS.'

David's eyes met Nat's and they both smiled. 'You know what, Saroj?' David said. 'I recognise the symptoms. You've got the Savitri fever. You'll never recover.'

LETTER FROM SHARON

First of all, I want to say a huge thank you for choosing
Of Marriageable Age
, I hope you enjoyed reading Savitri, Nat and Saroj’s story just as much as I loved writing it.

If you did enjoy it, I would be forever grateful if you’d
write a review
. I’d love to hear what you think, and it can also help other readers discover one of my books for the first time.

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A story is a wonderful thing to share with others—it connects us in so many ways, makes us all part of the same world, unites us in spirit. If that’s how you feel too, I’d love to hear from you—drop me a line on my Facebook or Goodreads page, or through my website.

Thank you so much for your support – until next time.

Sharon Maas

sharonmaasauthor

www.bookouture.com/sharonmaas

GLOSSARY

Advaita
— Non-duality; philosophical doctrine that nothing exists apart from the Spirit, that all forms are constituted of Spirit and physical differences are but illusion. The principal doctrinal division in Hinduism is between the schools of Advaita and Dvaita, duality, whereas Advaita is considered a natural development from Dvaita.

Ahamkara
— sense of 'I', ego