Page 61 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
‘I thought you made her take you?’ he retorted.
‘But she agreed with me,’ said Libby. ‘Because we both believe that we women have just as much right to be there as you men – it’s our future too.’
Ghulam leant very close, so that Libby could see the fury flashing in his green eyes.
‘No, Libby,’ he growled, ‘it’s not your future. You British no longer have a say in what happens to India – except the date of when you give us freedom from your Raj. That is the last decision over us Indians you will ever make. It’s time you accepted that.’
His words hurt Libby more deeply than the hostility and spitting she had just endured in the hall.
‘I thought we were on the same side,’ she said, glaring back at him. ‘I agreed with all you said in the meeting. I think partition would be a tragedy too. I’m not asking for a say in India’s future but I’ll fight for my right to live here.’
‘You are a British citizen,’ he pointed out, ‘not an Indian one. You have a choice about where you live – we real Indians don’t.’
She held his look. ‘What’s a real Indian, Ghulam?’ she demanded hotly. ‘Shouldn’t that include all the minorities here? Or don’t you want to think about the inconvenient ones – the Anglo-Indians like Flowers or my cousin Adela – or even the Indian-born Europeans like myself? Are we not pure enough for the new India?’
‘That’s not what I meant—’
‘’Cause if that’s your attitude then you are no better than the Hindu extremists who want to rid India of the Muslims and Sikhs. Because once you start excluding one group then where do you stop?’
They glared at each other. Libby could see the muscles in his jaw clenching in anger. Abruptly he turned from her with a curt reply. ‘I need to find my sister. I’ll fetch you a rickshaw to take you home.’
‘I want to know that Fatima is safe too,’ Libby said. ‘I’m coming with you.’
Ghulam gave a sigh of impatience. ‘Very well.’
They emerged from the shadows and watched the people milling around the entrance. The numbers had already dwindled as people hurried for home, perhaps unnerved by the ill-tempered meeting.
‘There she is!’ Libby cried, catching sight of Fatima on the opposite pavement, standing anxiously at a rickshaw stand.
They hurried across. The women clutched hands in relief.
‘Are you all right?’ Fatima asked. ‘I’m sorry for leaving you.’
‘I’m fine,’ Libby assured her. ‘I’m sorry for putting you at risk.’
‘You didn’t.’
‘Your brother thinks I did,’ said Libby, flicking Ghulam a look.
‘You were both needlessly reckless,’ he said angrily. ‘We must get away from here in case those men havegoondaswaiting to cause trouble.’
Libby felt queasy with fear again. Ghulam summoned two rickshaws. He helped his sister into one.
‘Go straight home, Fatima,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll see Miss Robson to Alipore.’
The women said a hasty goodbye as Libby scrambled into the second rickshaw, followed by Ghulam.
Libby and Ghulam sat in silence as they were jostled down the road. Libby’s heart hammered with annoyance and upset. Why was he so infuriating and stubborn in his prejudice against her? And yet he had saved her from an ugly situation in the hall – a chivalrous gesture that would probably harden the Hindu militants’ dislike of him. By being there, she had made a bad situation worse. She had been deeply shaken by the anger and hostility in the hall; until then she hadn’t fully grasped how uncertain and dangerous the future was for India – and for men like Ghulam.
On Chowringhee Street, they transferred to a taxi to take them out to Alipore. By the time they neared New House, Libby was feeling wretched.
‘I’m sorry for causing you and Fatima trouble,’ she blurted out. ‘You’re right; I should never have gone to the meeting. I didn’t think. I was just curious. It’s a big fault of mine – nosiness. But if I’d known there was such animosity ...’ She turned to look at him in the seat beside her. ‘Have I made it very much worse for you?’
He studied her with his intense gaze. ‘No, I don’t suppose consorting with memsahibs will make any difference. The Hindu Mahasabha already hate my guts.’
‘Because you’re a communist or a Muslim?’
He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Both. And for the articles I’ve written against them and their warped version of nationalism.’
