Page 33 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
‘Do you?’ He seemed disconcerted by her reply and stared out between the half-ajar shutters as if there was something of importance below.
‘Yes,’ she said eagerly, ‘I too believe strongly in fighting injustice.’
He turned to look at her, his strong-featured face half in shadow.
‘And does that include your father’s tea pickers?’ he challenged.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve been to the tea plantations and seen their working conditions,’ said Ghulam. ‘They’re treated like serfs – living in hovels that you Britishers wouldn’t keep your dogs in – and working till they drop.’ He marched back across the room and stared down at her. ‘We went there to try and unionise them but men like your father chased us away.’
Libby was aghast. She had no idea how the tea workers lived; she had been a child at Cheviot View. Were her precious memories of Assam built on an illusion? Had it only been idyllic for the British?
‘I was only eight when I left,’ she admitted. ‘Too young to know about such things.’
‘Quite so,’ said Ghulam with a look of derision. ‘You were being given a privileged schooling at the expense of all those women slaving on your father’s plantation. Do their children not deserve a good schooling too?’
‘Of course—’
‘Well, they don’t get one,’ he snapped. ‘The British Empire is built on the backs of the people they have subjugated and exploited but who reap none of the rewards.’
‘I don’t agree with British colonialism,’ Libby insisted, her heart pounding.
‘But you profit from it, nonetheless,’ he accused. ‘Your education and your fine principles all come at a cost and it’s your father’s workers who pay the price.’
‘That’s enough, Ghulam,’ said Fatima, intervening. ‘Libby is our guest.’
Libby stood up, suddenly furious. ‘And what about your privileged education?’ Libby accused. ‘Did your family’s building company not prosper from all the contracts that the British have given it over the years?’
‘I have had nothing to do with my father’s business,’ said Ghulam hotly. ‘I turned my back on that at the age of eighteen. I’ve dedicated my life to getting rid of colonial rule – gone to prison for it– and been cast out from my family. That’s what fighting injustice is like for an Indian – it’s not about fine words and school debates.’
‘You think I’m just another spoilt little memsahib, don’t you?’ She glared at him. ‘It suits you to think we are all the same – all your enemies – but we’re not. What are you going to do once you don’t have the British to blame for all your woes, MrKhan? It’s not the British who are setting fire to Hindu homes or butchering Muslims, is it? You Indians have to take some responsibility for the violence and for not agreeing to a political settlement – the Labour politicians in London at least have tried to do that.’
She turned to Fatima. ‘Thank you for inviting me. I’ve really enjoyed meeting you but I think I’d better go. I’m very sorry to have caused such upset.’
Fatima rose too, looking distressed. ‘Please don’t blame yourself. It is Ghulam who should apologise.’
Libby flicked him a look but he remained silent, his expression stormy. Libby picked up her handbag. ‘No, he’s entitled to his opinions – as I am to mine.’
Libby walked towards the door. Fatima said, ‘Ghulam will see you safely into a taxi.’
‘There’s no need,’ said Libby stiffly.
Ghulam followed her. ‘Please let me, Miss Robson.’
‘You will call again, won’t you?’ Fatima said, as Ghulam opened the door for her.
Libby nodded as she jammed on her shoes. ‘Thank you, DrKhan.’
She descended the stairs with Ghulam a surly presence at her elbow. Her heart hammered. She could barely contain her anger. What right did he have to preach at her when he knew nothing about her? He was just as prejudiced and narrow-minded as the people he railed against. She had no idea why Sam and Adela liked him; to her, Ghulam Khan was rude and arrogant.
As soon as they reached the street, Adela was hailing a rickshaw.
‘Let me summon a motor taxi,’ said Ghulam.
‘There’s no need,’ she said with a frosty glance. She could hardly bear to look at him. ‘I can look after myself. And don’t worry – I shan’t embarrass you by coming here again. Your sister was only being polite.’
‘Miss Robson,’ he began. ‘I shouldn’t—’
