Page 49 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
‘The mission lets us camp in the grounds of their bungalow and use the washing facilities,’ explained Fatima.
‘Luxury indeed.’ Adela gave a wry laugh. As the convoy jolted up the uneven track in the fading light through budding orchards of apple and plum, Adela’s heart pounded at the thought of seeing Sam again.
They came out into a clearing; a broad sweep of pasture and a modest bungalow with a green tin roof were lit by the last rays of the sun. She sensed him there before she saw him, a quick-moving, vigorous figure emerging from the shadow. The sun struck his handsome ruddy face and caught fair lights in his wayward hair. His shirtsleeves were rolled up over strong arms as he strode towards them, grinning with delight at Fatima.
‘Welcome, DrKhan. I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t arrive before it got dark ...’ He stopped in his tracks at the sight of Adela climbing off a mule in jodhpurs, her hair tangling in the evening breeze. ‘Adela? I didn’t realise—’
‘Hello, Sam,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘I hope you’ve got gallons of hot water, as we’re desperate for baths.’
He quickly recovered his composure. ‘Well, this is hardly the Cecil, but we’ll see what we can do.’ He smiled. ‘Come inside. Hunt is away in Nerikot, so you and Fatima can use his room.’
Despite her exhaustion, Adela’s heart soared at Sam’s obvious delight at their arrival; she hoped it wasn’t just for Fatima. She had reached elusive Narkanda at last. They ate in the shuttered veranda with kerosene lamps on the tables as the wind sighed outside and set the old bungalow creaking. They talked of their work and their plans for the next few days.
That night Adela climbed into a sagging spare bed between sheets that were damp with lack of use. Yet she couldn’t have been happier, knowing that Sam lay on the other side of the wall– she could hear his bed creaking as he turned over. It was the last sound she remembered before falling asleep.
CHAPTER 8
The next days were full of hard work. From dawn until after dusk the medical team saw patients at the clinic that they set up on the edge of the village in the tents that Adela had donated from the Forest Office supplies. Sam called in from time to time, bringing in supplies, patching up the torn canvas where the rain leaked in, and keeping the urn topped up with water from the river. Adela was amazed that Sam seemed to know everyone, stopping to chat and joke with patients and distract the grizzling children with a conjuring trick. The locals loved him, and he did all he could to help them.
At night they returned, exhausted, to the mission house to wash away the day’s grime and share simple meals of dal, vegetables and chapattis.
‘I prefer this any day to the overdone chops and soggy vegetables that Hunt makes us eat,’ Sam said, grinning, ‘so I’ve got to make the most of him being away. Mind you, our cook, Nitin, makes the best rice pudding and treacle sponge in the Himalayas, so we’ll keep to British puddings.’
Afterwards they would linger on the veranda steps and listen in the dark to night birds calling in the trees and the hum of insects. One evening, while Adela was sitting out with Fatima and Sam, they heard the haunting sound of a flute being played in the distance.
‘That’s beautiful,’ gasped Adela. ‘Who’s playing?’
‘Sounds like a Gaddi shepherd,’ said Sam. ‘The Gaddies are on their way back now.’
‘Back from where?’ asked Adela.
‘The plains where they’ve been wintering their sheep. They’re nomads. They spend the hot season in the high pastures– sometimes as high up as the dry mountains of Spiti. It’s quite a sight to see them driving their flocks back up Hatu.’
‘Can we go and see?’ Adela enthused.
‘If you can drag yourself out of bed before dawn, I’ll take you up the mountain,’ Sam said, ‘before the clinic starts.’
‘Yes, of course we will,’ Adela agreed. ‘Won’t we, Fatima?’
‘Not me.’ Fatima yawned. ‘I need my sleep. I’m not that interested in sheep.’ She gave a dry smile that reminded Adela suddenly of Ghulam– the way their mouths twisted in lopsided amusement.
‘Well, I used to get up before dawn regularly at home to go out riding with my dad,’ Adela said, ‘so it’s no hardship for me.’
Adela slept lightly and heard Sam moving around in the next room as the predawn purple light filtered through the shutters. She pulled on her jodhpurs and a warm jacket, and then went to find him on the veranda. He was smoking a bidi. With just a word of greeting they made for the stable, where the syce was saddling up two ponies. Sam exchanged a joke with the young man, thanked him and mounted his dappled grey mare. Adela swung herself up on to a small brown pony.
They trotted up through the orchards and into the deodar forest that covered the lower slopes of Hatu. It was dark, but the ponies were sure-footed and picked their way over the rough stones of the uneven path. Adela breathed in the fresh, damp mountain air that reminded her fleetingly of Belgooree. How good it was to be in the saddle and out riding before daybreak, the trees alive with the dawn twittering of birds.
The slope became steeper, and clouds of steam rose from the ponies’ nostrils and flanks as they laboured up the steep incline. Light was beginning to filter through the trees as the evergreens gave way to brown oaks. A white-faced monkey, startled by their unexpected appearance, swung overhead, screeching in alarm, then disappeared. Suddenly they were emerging into open pasture on the ridge of the mountain. Sam reined in his pony and dismounted, indicating for Adela to do the same.
‘We’ll watch from here,’ he whispered.
In the deeply shadowed hillside, she couldn’t see anything of interest, but was content to stand in the clear air while the ponies bent to graze on the dew-soaked grass. Away to the east, where the far peaks of the Himalayas were emerging out of the dark, the first pink rays of dawn seeped into the sky. As the light spread and strengthened, Adela began to pick out figures and a huddle of tents across the slope.
From far off she could hear a low rumble of hooves and high-pitched bleating. The noise grew like approaching thunder. A few minutes later scores of horned and long-haired sheep swept past them, encouraged by a turbaned elder with a long staff and his team of young shepherds. They whistled and chivvied the flock up and over the hill. As they reached the summit, the sunrise lit them in a golden light: a mass of shaggy brown, white and black sheep jostling around boys in homespun jackets, pyjamas and jaunty embroidered caps.
One of them caught sight of the watching riders. Adela waved, and the boy grinned back, waving his stick.
‘What a sight!’ She turned in excitement to Sam, who was taking rapid photographs with his Kodak camera.
