Page 154 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
CHAPTER 32
Belgooree, mid-August
On the fifteenth of August, Clarrie gave the servants the day off. Libby and Harry decorated the veranda with streamers in the colours of the new India flag, while Sophie helped Clarrie cook a lunch of omelettes, jacket potatoes, salads and curried lentils. This was followed by rice pudding, fruit salad and a ginger cake that Mohammed Din had ordered to be made the day before.
Clarrie’s old friend DrHemmings – who had delivered both her children – came from Shillong to share the meal and a celebratory bottle of champagne that had languished in Wesley’s wine cellar for over a decade. The tea garden managers, Banu and Daleep, were invited along with their extended families. Harry was happy that Manzur had decided to stay for the holiday and not journey to Bengal to spend it with his parents.
In the afternoon, Sophie and Harry organised a tennis tournament on the newly rolled lawn, with Libby and Manzur helping some of the local children to wield tennis rackets and hit balls over the makeshift net. Nitin and his brothers took to the game enthusiastically. Libby was pleased to hear from Nitin that he was enjoying his new position as under-mohurerin the factory office. She had bought spare typewriter ribbon in Calcutta for him.
In the evening, the women of the house, along with Harry and Manzur, went down to the village to watch the celebrations. There had been drumming from early morning and now the lanes were lit with the flares of fireworks and noisy with the sound of firecrackers. A fire-eater was performing on the riverbank and there was much singing, music and merriment.
Clarrie led them to a compound in the village. ‘This is where Ama, my old nurse, used to live – she was Banu’s grandmother and the most important woman in the village in her day. Her daughter Shimti is the headwoman now. I’d like to call on her.’
Libby was fascinated to see inside the compound and the circle of huts that made up the simple homestead. The air was thick with the smoke of cooking fires and the chatter of people who were sitting around eating, drinking and smoking. She was in awe of Clarrie’s ease with the local people and her quick chatter in their language.
Clarrie handed over presents of tobacco and a woollen shawl to the toothless old woman who sat on a mat by the fire. Shimti’s thin arms shimmered with silver bangles which tinkled when she raised her hands in an expressive gesture of thanks.
She commanded that they sit with her and chew paan while some of her great-grandchildren danced in their honour. After a while Libby’s head began to buzz with the music and the narcotic; she felt a sudden euphoria and optimism for the future. This was the first day of a new India and she was there to witness it.
‘I’m so glad I didn’t go home with Dad,’ Libby babbled to Clarrie. ‘I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. You are so loved by the people here, Clarrie. I think you are an amazing person and I’m sorry if I was jealous of you before for spending so much time with Dad – I know it wasn’t your fault, it was Dad not wanting to go home. But everything’s going to be all right. Dad and Mother. I’m really looking forward to seeing them – but I wanted to be here for Independence – Dad understood that. This is all so wonderful.’
Libby was baffled as to why she was in tears. ‘I’m happy, really I am. Except I miss Ghulam. That’s the only thing I’m really sad about.’
Libby had only a hazy recollection of Manzur and Harry steering her out of the compound and back up the drive to the bungalow. She thought she probably kissed them and told them that she loved them like brothers. She had a memory of insisting on lying on a veranda rug so she could gaze at the stars. Her head was spinning – and then she remembered nothing more.
Libby woke with a pounding head. She was lying in bed but couldn’t remember how she had got there. She had only the vaguest recollection of how the night had ended. What on earth had old Shimti put in her paan? Or was it the bowl of potent rice beer that she’d been encouraged to drink that had made her so intoxicated?
By the time she emerged, breakfast was already over and only Harry was in the house.
‘Mum’s gone to the factory and Sophie’s out riding with Banu,’ he told her. ‘Would you like to play tennis with me and Manzur? He’s coming round soon.’
Libby pressed fingers to her throbbing forehead. ‘Think I might just sit in the shade for a bit – write some letters.’
‘Got a headache?’ Harry grinned. ‘You were very funny last night, Libby.’
Libby groaned. ‘Was I?’
‘Yes. You were singing at the top of your voice all the way home – silly songs like “Daddy Wouldn’t Buy Me a Bow-Wow”. And you told me I was as handsome as my father and you kissed Manzur on the nose and told him he had perfect ears.’
‘Stop!’ Libby cried. ‘This is too embarrassing. I don’t know how I got so drunk.’
‘It wasn’t the drink,’ said Harry, ‘it was the bhang that Shimti mixes in the paan on special occasions. It’s very strong.’
‘How do you know about such things?’ she asked in surprise.
‘It’s made from ground-up hemp leaves – Nitin told me,’ said Harry nonchalantly, ‘and I’ve seen how merry people get.’
Libby gave a weak laugh. ‘You are having an amazing upbringing, Harry. At your age I was stuck in boarding school trying to earn toffees by doing the other girls’ prep.’
‘I’d rather have toffee than paan any day,’ Harry said with a smile. Then he was swinging down the veranda steps and rushing off with Breckon barking at his heels.
Libby felt a pang of emotion at the sight of her father’s old dog. How was her dad really coping back in Newcastle? She wished he would write and tell her. A letter had come from Tilly but it was full of her usual breezy chatter about the family and her busy life, with hardly a mention of James, except to say that he was spending his time riding with Major Gibson and talking of buying a dog. Neither did it tell her how her brothers were coping with having their absent father back in their lives. Surely they would be happy at that? Perhaps everything was fine and she was worrying unnecessarily. She would find out for herself soon enough.
Libby went to fetch paper and a pen; she would write to him anyway. She described the celebrations at Belgooree and her time in Calcutta, mentioning how she had helped out at the refugee centre with the Khans as well as staying with the Dunlops and socialising with Flowers and George. But she didn’t tell him about nearly drowning or the murder outside the Khans’ apartment block.
Libby enclosed the envelope from Flowers containing details about Danny Dunlop.
... Please can you see if old MrFairfax remembers anything about MrDunlop’s family? He’s so keen to find out about them and whether he has relations in Britain. Ithink he has a dream of settling in Britain – even though MrsDunlop is against the idea. I’m not sure what Flowers wants – she keeps her cards close to her chest on personal matters. But I don’t think she wants to leave India either, although she’s not sure what life is going to be like for Anglo-Indians from now on.
