Authors: Sylvia Atkinson
Just as she’d resigned herself to being pregnant forever Margaret’s waters broke and the baby was born easily. The first cry sent Ben crashing into the midwife and Muni. “Sahib, this is not for you,” the maid said quickly gathering up the contaminated bed linen.
Ben saw only Margaret, propped up on pillows looking
down at her naked newborn baby. Lovingly pushing back
her sweat entangled hair he revealed his wife’s radiant face. Triumphantly, she said, “You have a son.”
Ecstatic, Ben held the baby for a few minutes before the midwife and Muni chased him away. This was women’s work.
The midwife cleared the room, destroying the polluted birth bedding and clothes. Muni tenderly oiled and massaged mother and son with turmeric, outlining the baby’s eyes with kohl to ward off evil. Margaret would have to be purified before any of them returned to the household.
The whirring of the crickets and harsh call of night birds were eclipsed by the bangs and squeals of fireworks lighting up the sky for miles around. Ben was announcing the birth of his son. Margaret drifted into sleep accompanied by the sounds of celebrations.
* * * * *
Careless of custom when it suited him, Ben showed Pavia her brother and agreed to call the baby Saurabh: a poetic name meaning fragrance. Margaret hoped he wouldn’t change it for something more forceful when the euphoria died down. His mother finally intervened barring him from the room. Nothing must imperil the rituals for the welfare of her grandson. Margaret didn’t mind. She was safe.
1936-1939
The parched earth was renewed on the back of the monsoon and by October milder weather returned cosseting mother and son. The Scots winter following Pavia’s birth had been bleak, with the windows curtained in ice, but Margaret would have traded all the luxury in the world to be with her mother and Jean.
Suleka visited, bringing Pavia. They came in the morning and again in the evening around six o’clock. Baby Saurabh fascinated his big sister. She gently played with his fingers and toes planting sloppy kisses over his squirming face. He kicked out his little bowed legs in protest. One day he peed up into the air spraying the bed. Pavia leapt around shrieking gleefully asking him to do it again, making the grown ups laugh. The company of Suleka and the joy Margaret found with the children alleviated the months without Ben.
* * * * *
On a warm evening towards the end of February, drowning in the scent of flowers, Muni massaged Margaret with seductive oils and, piling up her mistresses hair, threaded the trailing plait with jasmine. Ben was coming home. Tonight they would make love for the first time since Saurabh’s birth.
Ben entered the apartment pausing by the open window. Margaret breathed in his presence. He looked at her in the same way as he had done in the days of spontaneous abandon when they worshipped each other to distraction.
She remained still, her eyes cast down, subjugating herself to him. His magnetism drew her, compelling a response. She slowly lifted her gaze from his feet to his head. Her pulse quickened. He took her hand and led her towards the bed. She moistened her lips and kissed him, pressing her body against his as he taught her in the early days of their love making. Pleasure showed in his eyes and she felt his excitement through her silken sari. She was in control, deliberately tantalising him, letting the unwinding silk expose her white skin.
Ben pulled the pins from Margaret’s hair. It fell on to her bare shoulders. She was on fire…
Afterwards, they slept, her hand resting on the spent damp body of a fulfilled lover.
They got up late to the sound of their son’s hungry cries, throwing the orderly house into chaos. No amount of cooing and rocking by the ayah would satisfy him. Ben withdrew to his own apartments. Margaret’s breasts were already leaking milk when the rooting baby fastened on her nipple.
“It is good to see the Sahib at home,” Muni said tactfully, picking up last night’s abandoned sari and uncovering a heart-shaped box hidden by the scattered bedclothes. Margaret opened it. A cornflower sapphire ring lay on a bed of white satin.
“You’ve found it!” Ben said joining her from his dressing room. “I meant to give it to you last night but somehow didn’t find the time.” He slipped the ring on her finger. “Not even this can do justice to your eyes. It is your birthstone. See the open setting… the stone must touch your skin. Wear it always.”
The scintillating jewel dwarfed Margaret’s hand.
“This is too precious for every day. What if I lost or damaged it?”
“Do not spoil my gift with your sensible ways. Enjoy it. Don’t keep it in the box to be stolen. I leave today for Delhi. My Charuni, I don’t know when we will spend another night together.”
* * * * *
At ten months old Saurabh was walking, investigating
everything. His legs couldn’t go very fast so he dropped
to the floor and crawled away to hide. His ayah retrieved him but the word ‘
No’
in any language didn’t affect his behaviour. His birth appeared to achieve a mellowing of relationships. Sometimes Margaret caught a glimpse of ‘The Impostor’; recently a twinge of pity softened her harsh attitude but not enough to acknowledge the woman or her child. Life rolled along aided by Ben’s letters directing Margaret’s work and leisure.
* * * * *
The Collector called to let Margaret know that Gandhi
was preaching Satyagraha through out Northern India: peaceful protest based on love and self sacrifice. It couldn’t last. The elected assembly granted by the British was, in his opinion, a sop to appease the masses. A minority would have the right to vote and the official saw no end to the rising demand for Independence.
Margaret liked to be kept abreast of events from a British perspective. She needed to think ahead and if ever there was an emergency she was confident the Collector would let her know. She couldn’t rely on the family. Vartika had taken to ignoring her.
In the English House the supervision of ayahs, bearers,
general household servants and the children left Margaret very little time to herself. Since Saurabh’s birth she had remained in Aakesh and needed a legitimate excuse to make contact beyond its walls. There was nothing to preclude the resumption of her duties, including the inspection of the fields. She had a notion to do it on horseback and wrote to Ben to ask his permission.
* * * * *
Margaret had almost forgotten about riding when Hiten, her brother-in-law, curtly informed her that suitable horses had been bought, a groom engaged, lessons arranged and Suleka and Pavia included.
“Horses are so big and sweaty,” Suleka said. “Charuni, I can’t think you want to do this. What happens if we fall off?”
“We will go very slowly. The groom will hold the horse’s head. The bearers will be with us.”
“I cannot sit astride a horse!”
“We can have special saddles so we sit in a ladylike way or we can wear shalwar kameeze. The loose top and trousers is perfectly suitable.”
“No I cannot do this. Muni will learn.”
“Memsahib… I too am not wanting it.”
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy it”
“No!” said Suleka firmly.
“Mem… saaaab… please… not me.”
“What a pair of spoilsports. You don’t know what you’re missing” Margaret said, trying to win them over. It didn’t work. She wouldn’t make Muni try. That left Pavia, who loved the white pony chosen for its gentle temperament.
Over the months mother and daughter became
proficient horsewomen. Pavia rode daily in the grounds, with a groom by the horse’s head holding a long rein. Margaret regularly trekked through their estate outside the mansion, riding a game chestnut mare, accompanied by a groom and bearer. It was a startling sight in a mainly Muslim area but her modest dress and intuitive sense of justice led to harmony among the common people. The land and cattle prospered. Ben’s mother shrewdly allowed her to get on without interference.
* * * * *
Ben wrote from Delhi saying he expected any nationalistic trouble to be restricted to the cities. However the Hindu Congress party under Nehru had won eight out of the eleven provinces, leaving Muslims clamouring for a separate state. Spasmodic violence broke out in Bareilly, a historical remnant of Islamic rule. Ben proposed Hiten arm the bearers as a precaution. Margaret was convinced it was hooligans using the civil unrest to legitimise their criminal activities. She sympathised with both communities, but Hiten restricted her rides, and armed bearers accompanied her.
* * * * *
Two year old Saurabh followed Pavia everywhere. Margaret had to reprimand her daughter for playing too near the deep well in the courtyard. A stern ‘talking to’ often worked but Saurabh had to be physically carried off the well’s wall. Margaret almost smacked him. She had a violent headache. The pain was so severe it made her short tempered and dealing with a naughty child impossible. Alternately feverish or shaking with cold, she went to bed.
The fever raged through the night. In the delirium Margaret was by the sea at Queensferry with the salty waves lapping around her feet. She cried out for her mother, snatching the empty air. At other times she fought, fending away Muni and Suleka who slept on charpoys beside the bed. The devoted women washed their friend’s burning body, and administered quinine according to Ben’s urgent telegram.
* * * * *
The malaria fever broke leaving Margaret emaciated but she refused food believing it was poisoned. Suleka sweet-talked her by sampling each dish. Muni wrapped morsels in chapattis or spoon-fed her mistress. Their loving patience saw off the fallacy but Suleka didn’t deny the possibility.
New mosquito nets were fitted above the beds and Margaret requested the return of the children from the main house. Days passed. Weak and fretful she was unable to extricate them. Suleka said that she would ensure their return but there was no hurry until Charuni was well.
* * * * *
Ben wrote ordering the construction of a badminton court to be used as part of Margaret’s convalescence. Suleka encouraged the playing of the game in the cool morning, leaving her friend to rest in the afternoon. Muni was designated the role of umpire although she had no idea of the rules and awarded points to which ever player dropped the shuttlecock. Margaret became frustrated by Suleka’s genteel approach to the game, “Suleka, that’s not the idea… you’re supposed to try to win”
“But Charuni, you are so weak. I don’t want to tire you.”
“I’m getting stronger!” Margaret replied slamming a point past her uncompetitive opponent.
Suleka yelled, winning her serve, “Okay! You’ve got yourself a match.”
Their noisy games could be heard throughout both houses. Pavia pestered her dadi to watch. Ben’s mother was unimpressed by the useless exercise but asked that Pavia be given a racquet to join in. The adult sized racquet was too big for her small hands but until a child sized one could be bought she used two hands to practice. It was the beginning of Pavia’s return to the English House, first for refreshments and then to stay. A few days later, to Margaret’s intense relief, Suleka brought Saurabh and his ayah.
* * * * *
An outbreak of diphtheria was wreaking havoc through the villages claiming the lives of more than twenty children. Most of the British children were away in school and those that were left were taken to the hill stations. On one of his regular visits the Collector advised Margaret to do the same. She asked Ben’s mother for permission, expecting it to be refused.
“Charuni, I can’t accompany you… and Suleka is needed for on-going wedding arrangements but
you
must
go
for the children’s health. Hiten will arrange for you to stay in Nainital. You will be safe among your own people there. Take Muni, ayahs, bearers, servants and anything else you need from here.”
Spring
in
Nainital
1939
Seven mountainous snow-capped peaks ringed the breathtaking valley of Nainital. Hillsides were splashed with the sumptuous lodges of Maharajas against a backdrop of green trees and bright blue sky. Little wonder the British flocked there from the northern plains in summer.
The thrill of English voices, bungalows with sweeping drives, manicured lawns, carelessly abandoned croquet mallets and tennis courts. All manner of British outdoor bits and pieces littered the gardens, including an assortment of formidable looking bicycles. Travelling in a tailored woollen coat and dress, Margaret blended easily into the colonial scene. Hiten had rented Barum Cottage, a delightful wooden bungalow situated off the main Mall road. There was plenty of room to house the servants and bearers. Within hours it seemed as if they had been there forever.