Page 137 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
All afternoon, they helped hand out rations and guide people to shore from small, crammed country boats. The river was a swollen, sluggish brown. Libby knew from Ghulam that it was particularly hazardous for Bengalis arriving by boat as so few of them knew how to swim.
By late afternoon, the rain was starting again and people sought what shelter they could under rude tents of tarpaulin and bamboo.
The sky was leaden and darkness was falling quickly.
‘We need to get back up the road before nightfall,’ said Ghulam. ‘It’s not safe to stay longer.’
Just as they were making for the truck, they heard a scream from the water’s edge. Libby spun round. It seemed to be coming from a boat bobbing low in the water close to the bank. Then in the twilight she saw a woman scrabbling along a plank of bamboo that linked the boat to the land. She was wailing in distress. At once, Libby doubled back. She slithered in the mud towards the woman, holding out her hand, thinking she was too terrified to climb ashore from the boat.
But the woman resisted, screaming and pointing at the dark water below. Then Libby saw it: a child’s head bobbing in the flooded reeds. An instant later it was submerged. Pausing only to kick off her shoes, Libby waded into the brackish water and struck out for where she had seen the child disappear.
The water swirled about her, ripping her away from the bank. Suddenly she caught sight of the child’s thrashing arms and long hair: a small girl. Libby swam towards the drowning infant and – just as the girl disappeared again – grabbed at her hair. Libby pulled her into her hold; the girl spluttered and choked. With forceful kicks, Libby kept their heads above water, as she attempted to swim back to shore. But they had already been carried downstream out of view of the motheron the plank. In the weak light and the rain, Libby was disorientated. There seemed to be a myriad of creeks and waterways, while a strong undercurrent tried to suck them away into midstream.
She stemmed the panic that rose in her throat. Anchoring the distraught, struggling girl to her body with one arm, Libby struck out with the other. She could hear shouts from the bank and thrashed towards the voices. Sudden darkness enveloped her like a light being switched off. All at once, she grabbed a handful of reeds and knew she must be near land. But when she tried to stand, she sank into mud and tendrils of swampy vegetation wrapped around her legs.
‘Help!’ she cried out. ‘Please help me!’
Pain shot through her arms at the strain of holding on to the girl and trying not to go under. Her mouth filled with putrid water. She gagged and coughed. She was going to die. She couldn’t hold on much longer. Her futile attempt to save the unknown girl was going to end in death for them both. For an instant, Libby thought of her parents being reunited in Newcastle and how she wished she could be with them. And then she was thinking of Ghulam and how much she regretted that she would never get a chance to be with him.
‘Libby?’ a man bellowed through the drumming rain. ‘Libby!’
Libby was galvanised by the voice – Ghulam’s precious voice. She was damn well not going to die in a mango swamp!
‘Here!’ she called out breathlessly. ‘Over here.’
With the last of her waning strength, she struggled to rid herself of the tangle of weeds. She felt her legs break free. She kicked for the bank. At that moment, a flaming torch illuminated the undergrowth overhead and she saw a host of anxious faces peering down. People shouted encouragement as arms stretched out towards her.
‘Take ... the ... girl,’ Libby panted.
The child was plucked to safety. Libby heard a coughing of water and a querulous wail. The girl was still alive.
Moments later, strong arms were reaching down and pulling her out of the river.
‘My God, Libby,’ Ghulam said, gripping her. ‘I thought I’d lost you ...’
Libby was too exhausted to stand; her legs were like jelly. She could hardly breathe. But Ghulam held on to her, clutching her to him in relief. They stood clasping each other in the pounding rain as mud splattered their legs. Libby didn’t care. All that mattered was that she was alive and Ghulam was holding her as if he would never let her go.
Then, people were pressing around them. The woman who had screamed for her child now came with a man who carried the girl wrapped in a blanket. They began gabbling at Libby. The woman held out a brass bangle of turquoise stones.
‘They’re thanking you for saving their daughter,’ said Ghulam, still with an arm about her. ‘They want you to have this gift.’
Libby shook her head. She hardly had the strength to speak. ‘No ... I can’t ... girl should keep it ...’
When Ghulam explained Libby’s words, they grew agitated.
Ghulam said to Libby. ‘You should accept it. Nothing is more important than a child’s life.’
Libby felt her eyes sting with tears as she took the brass bangle, nodding her thanks while she still clung on to Ghulam. The people were trying to lead Libby to a fireside and give her their rice but Ghulam said something to them and steered her away towards the truck. There he wrapped a blanket around her sodden body. He was as wet as she was but she was shaking uncontrollably with a mix of euphoria and shock. It could only have been minutes since their first attempt to leave but Libby felt it had been an age. She was utterly drained.
As the lorry swayed along the dark road, she was lulled into a half-sleep, her head nodding against Ghulam’s shoulder. They hardly spoke. Libby dozed off. She was vaguely aware of them stopping close to the derelict mansion and two of the helpers jumping down from the truckbut when she tried to stir herself, Ghulam told her to rest. When she next awoke, she realised they were on the outskirts of Calcutta again.
‘Aren’t we going back to the centre?’ she asked groggily.
Ghulam shook his head. ‘The others will explain what’s happened. I’m not going to be responsible for you catching your death sleeping on the floor of a leaky room. Fatima can lend you some dry clothes. You can stay with us tonight.’ He glanced at her. ‘If that’s okay with you?’
Libby smiled. ‘Of course it is. Thank you.’
‘Did you leave anything behind?’ he asked.
