Ravi the Unknown Prince (6 page)

If you want to look at one of them, they still have them at Blairmont Estate; people planting sugar cane for the Estate still lives in them.”

Bath Estate was demolished and everyone moved to the main road, now known as Bath Settlement.

Bath is a place in England, where the white Master was born and grew up; the white masters put their names to the places that they were born and to the various Estates they owned.”

While we continued our conversation, the house-maid brought us some cold drinks, and the old lady handed her the basket I brought for her.

When she left I was eager to find out more about my late ancestors, whom I had never met, their story was intriguing and remarkable.

I asked the old woman what I should do with the gold coin, she told me to keep it, or bury it with the Royal lady.

It would not serve me any purpose in this century, she said and it would be difficult to prove who I was, if I went in search of my ancestors in India.

“You have no paper work to prove who you are; only the words of an old woman, you are an orphan but a Prince,” she remarked.

I thought I had covered all the angles, and asked all the questions, I had in mind to ask the old lady.

Then I asked her about the family she was living with, she told me they all gone to Nickeri [a place in Surinam] by ferry from Spring-lands.

They travelled across the Corentyne River to the other shores to visit relatives and friends, and to buy spices, they should be home before dark.

She said that her grand son-in-law was a dentist in Skeldon and her grand-daughter worked with him doing the booking and office work, and that they had two sons.

It was lunch time, and the maid called us in to eat. She had prepared rice with chicken curry, salad with fresh mangoes and cold lime juice drink.

The dining area was next to where we were seated, there were pictures hanging on the white painted walls with a clock below it and a hand basin with clean towels.

The large dining table was covered over with a plastic covering. There were also six chairs and a few stools

The wooden floor had a large floral rug, and a few potted flowering plants that added some fragrance to the room.

After we washed our hands and sat down, the old woman told me to help myself. I was too shy to touch the dishes and I told her to dish the food.

“A growing young man like you must eat well,” she said as she dished up for both of us.

We continued our conversation throughout lunch, she told me about herself, after her husband had passed away.

My grand-parents would make regular visits to see that she was all right and would sit and chat with her.

They were lonely themselves, and then my parents came to live with them. I was six months old when my father came to live there.

He took care of every-thing, his parents, the land and the cattle, your uncle Rajesh took money instead of land from your grand-parents for his inheritance.

He came back for more after your grand-father died, and your grand mother would give him money whenever he visited her.

There was so much history in my family one could not imagine. I made some notes as she was talking so that perhaps one day when I had children of my own I would pass on all that information to them.

After we had eaten, ten minutes later the old lady told me she was going to pray.

She opened the back door and told me that I could sit outside in the garden under the large shady tree which looked like a banyan tree with birds nesting in its trunk.

As I sat on the wooden bench and gazed at the neatly tended flower beds in front of me, I thought that this old lady had not forgotten her God.

What about me? It was time I went in search of the God who created me and everything around me.

The garden was covered with all types of flowers, roses of various colours and smells, when the wind blew in my direction its fragrance felt heavenly.

If this earthly garden felt like this; what must Paradise feel like? I questioned myself once again.

Honey suckle lined the green heart wooden fence at the far corner of that large garden.

Bees, butterflies and two humming birds were all competing for the nectar from each and every flower in the garden.

Suddenly the old lady appeared in the door way and was walking towards me. She greeted me with Salam before she sat down and I responded like-wise.

I understood the Arabic words and its meaning. Then the old woman told me that both sides of my great grand-mother’s ancestors came in the line of Royalty.

The Maharaja was married to a Princess, and her father was a king, if I was living in India I would have been a Prince by status and by right.

We both laughed at her joke, and I told her that today I was nothing but a poor orphan and an unknown Prince.

She said, ‘Don’t be sad, our Prophet [Peace Be upon Him] was also an orphan, and a shepherd.

He brought the Quran to us; his message is for all mankind. You must read the Quran, Ravi, and you will find what you looking for.”

“Grand-ma,” I said, “I can’t read Arabic.”

“Then find an English translation and read it. It’s meaning is close enough,” she answered.

This old woman knew quite a lot more than she appeared to. She told me they don’t talk about their religion because they liked to live in peace among other people with different faiths.

Then she asked me about her brother Jaffar Khan. She said he was the youngest and a drunkard, his wife Rofan was a good woman to live with him that length of time and to have seven children.

She felt sorry for his wife and children and that was the reason she gave her house to him so that the children could have a roof over their heads.

“We were not invited to his children’s wedding, she said, but I love my brother.

I am now 80 years old Ravi, I have had a good life, lonely at times but now I am happy with my grand-daughter and her sons.”

It was getting late, and I told her that I must leave now, if I wanted to catch the last ferry home.

She told me that I would have to travel by bus to Springlands for a taxi going to New Amsterdam. They do not do pick up by the road side on Sundays.

We said our good byes and she gave me a hug and kissed me on both cheeks and said, “May God grants you success in what-ever you do. When you come next time, Ravi I will not be here, and I will be in my final resting place.”

I felt sad and lost for words, may be it was our last and final goodbye, as I walked towards the front gate she walked with me.

I saw a bus coming so I quickly turned around and said to her, “Grand-ma, May God grants you Paradise for being such a humble and kind person.

When no one else was there for me, you gave me comfort through difficult times. May God reward you many times over?”

She replied, “Ameen.”

I got on the bus and waved to her with tears in my eyes, as the bus pulled away, she looked sad and so was I.

Ten minutes later I arrived at Springlands where the road ends and the sea port for the ferry crossing began.

At the pier there were all types of boats ferrying people across to Nickeri where second and third generations of Indian descendants had formed their own settlement, like a little India, I was told.

There was a market place next to the port, and it was buzzing with traders selling spices, food stuffs, house-hold goods, clothing and fabrics.

I never knew a place like that existed until that moment; it took me an hour to go around and still there was plenty more to see.

I could not get a taxi to New Amsterdam. All the drivers told me to come back in the morning for the first ferry crossing.

I was now stranded and I could not go back to the old lady as it was not her house.

I decided to spend the night at the port, sleeping in the open air, hoping that it would not rain.

There were other people like myself sleeping rough on card board boxes, and in their taxis or on a plank of wood.

I took two empty card board boxes from the market place and flattened them out and then I found a comfortable spot in one corner of the pier.

I put the flattened boxes down and lay on top of them and looked up at the night sky.

I thought of what the old lady had said earlier, that I was a prince. Instead I felt more like a pauper but a happy one, and grateful for what I had.

It was a beautiful starry night; I had never had the pleasure of looking up at the night sky.

From time to time there was a shooting star that flew across the starry sky leaving a long trail behind it.

I was restless and frightened to fall asleep in-case I did not wake up on time for the 5am taxi.

I could hear the other residents near by snoring and the sea water lashing against the wooden pier, but finally I was over taken by tiredness and drifted off into a deep sleep.

I woke up with the call of the dawn prayer from a Mosque not far away. The Muslim men had left for prayer, while the rest of us were either sleeping or lying down.

The taxis were still stationary by the side of the road, and two men who had woken up were conversing in Hindi; from what I understood there was running water from a tap outside the market place, where people could wash and clean up.

I followed the two men and found the stand-pipe, and then the men went off to get their morning tea on another street corner.

I returned to the pier in case I missed my taxi, one of the Muslim drivers, a tall slim brown skinned man was already there, I told him where I was going and he said to jump in at the back.

I had noticed that people around those parts were not very friendly, unless one started up a conversation with them.

I was not in that frame of mind or bold enough to do either, in fact I was tired, hungry and wanted to go home.

I realised that whatever life throws at you no matter who you are or where you came from, you must bear it with patience. I did not intentionally miss the last ferry home.

But it had happened all the same and because of that, I slept under the stars and saw many shooting ones, which my eyes have never seen before and it was something to be remembered.

As we headed towards New Amsterdam when we entered the second village the driver bleeped his horn and slowed down.

A little boy about 10 years old came out and handed the man a food container and then he drove off again.

In the next village ahead, he picked up four passengers; a short fat dark skinned man who sat in front with the driver.

And two boys between the ages of 12 and 16 both slim sat next to me and a talkative light complexion over weight woman sat behind the driver.

The taxi was now full unless the driver decided to stop and pick up more passengers along the route. Sometimes they would cram seven individuals into one car.

The woman continued to chat to the driver; she told him that they were going to the visa office to see if this time they would get their visas to America.

She was putting me to sleep so I closed my eyes and must have drifted off to sleep for some time, until the boy sitting next to me asked me if I like to eat a roti with some meat.

I told him that I was not hungry but thanked his mother anyway, and then the woman asked me where I was going.

I told her ‘Hope Village’. That name was given to my village after the plague that swept it almost clean of its inhabitants.

She said. “That is the place where Malaria wiped out the whole village, why do you want to go there young man?” she asked.

I had to choose my words carefully before the driver stopped the car and put me out, in case he thought that I was still infected with the disease.

We were in the middle of no-where, with swamps on both sides of the road and another ten or more miles before we get to New Amsterdam and the ferry crossing.

I told her that I was meeting a school friend there and to see the place.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

I wished she would stop pestering me so I did not have to lie to her and the others.

“I lived at Bath Settlement,” I answered.

I quickly changed the subject and asked her what part in America they were going to and she told me New York City.

By then our journey had nearly ended, and I could see the ferry crossing ahead of me, boarding had not yet commenced.

After I paid the taxi driver I said goodbye to the others. They were using the same taxi into Georgetown, the capital.

I went to get my ticket for the ferry crossing and then bought a glass of sugar cane juice for my breakfast and blended in with the crowd.

On the other side of the river, I took another taxi and went home, my chickens were out all night and looking for food, after I fed them, I rested for a while and continued my daily chores.

The next day, I went out looking for fencing material for my great grand-parents’ grave.

I was going to fence their grave with the tree included and paint the wood and plant some flowers inside.

The next three days I was occupied with the fencing and paint work, after I completed that task.

I took some Jasmine stems from my front yard and planted them inside the four corners of the grave.

On Thursday I went to visit Asma she was taking her Maths exams the following day.

As her back up tutor I went to wish her well, and to find out if there were any queries that she might have; I was confident that she was going to do well.

That Sunday was my last one in my village and country. Maymun had invited me to her niece’s wedding in Canji. I had never attended a Muslim wedding before and wasn’t sure what to wear.

When I asked her she told me to dress casual, only the bride and groom were the important people on that day.

She said that she was going a few days earlier with Asma to help the family and that I should come with her son and husband.

That Sunday morning I got dressed early and took with me another set of clothing to changed into.

Rain had fallen the previous night and the road was muddy with puddles every-where which was hard to avoid when riding a bicycle.

We were leaving on the first ferry to New Amsterdam which was at 8am. We took a taxi which was a 15minute drive away.