Page 60 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
Sam’s eyes stung at the simple kindness of the man. He envied Noor’s children; their father loved them with a fierce pride. It made him grieve anew for his own father and wonder what it must be like to be part of a large and loving family. Suddenly he knew how much he had wanted to see Adela again– spurred on by not just his physical longing to see and touch her, but by his yearning for someone to love and share his life with. Noor and Adela, with their close loving families, had no idea what it was like to feel so alone or hollow inside.
Sam pulled out the small cardboard folder of duplicate photographs he had brought. ‘Please will you give these to Miss Robson?’
Noor took them and assured him that he would. Sam thanked the bearer and left. For the rest of the day he wandered aimlessly, hands plunged in pockets, wrestling with dark thoughts. Up Jakko Hill, down Lakkar Bazaar, along the Elysium spur to stare out in the direction of Mashobra. Should he go there and put up a fight for Adela?
He set off along the Mashobra road and then lost courage. What a ridiculous idea! He would only make a fool of himself. He walked for miles: Sanjouli, Chota Simla, through the tunnel and back across the ravine. Why was he here? He had work he should be doing. What was the purpose of it all? He should stop feeling so sorry for himself! Adela was being courted by an Indian nobleman; she was far out of his league. She wasn’t the girl he thought she was. She wanted a life of glamour and satin dresses and luxury cars and sumptuous hotels. They had nothing in common after all. Perhaps she’d never really loved him at all. She was just friendly and approachable to everyone. Standing among the tall deodars, Sam let out a roar of anger and frustration. A monkey scampered past, screeching in alarm.
Sam returned to the Lower Bazaar. He bought a bottle of whisky– rough country liquor made in the hills– and took it back to Sundar’s. He stared at it for an hour, then for the first time in three years he drank from the bottle. When Sundar returned from work, Sam was passed out on the floor, the empty bottle clutched to his chest.
CHAPTER 11
The Eagle’s Nest was a little piece of paradise. Its spacious wooden villa was surrounded by verandas that gave spectacular views over the treetops in all directions – across sun-scorched south-facing slopes towards hazy Simla, and north to the forest-clad jungle of the foothills, stretching away to the jagged Himalayas.
The interiors were dark and cool, the rooms panelled in teak and the walls hung with colourful paintings– French impressionists and Persian hunting scenes– as well as photographs from tiger shoots and the Raja’s visits to the French Riviera. There were statues of Hindu gods and goddesses, rich-patterned carpets, antique furniture and a library jammed from floor to ceiling with books. The verandas were furnished with cane chairs, comfortable hand-embroidered cushions and ivory-inlaid tables. All around was a profusion of potted ferns and flowers lining the verandas and steps down to sloping lawns and walkways through the trees hung with lanterns. There were the usual dahlias, stocks and wallflowers of the British gardens, but intermingled with local species of mimosa, rhododendrons and azaleas, and all tended by an army of malis.
For two days Adela relaxed, ate and slept deeply, playing the occasional game of tennis with Jay on a lawned court and taking short walks through the forest with Fluffy. The day before the Sipi Fair, the Raja of Nerikot arrived to stay with his entourage. They had a long dinner, with the conversation turning to local unrest.
‘Glad to get out of Nerikot to tell you the truth,’ he said to Sanjay. ‘Wretched Mandalists are stirring things up again.’
‘Surely you will have to give up on the practice of bonded labour, won’t you?’ Fluffy challenged. ‘It’s happening in other hill states already.’
‘Perhaps.’ The Raja shrugged, seemingly at a loss.
‘Can’t have anarchy though,’ Sanjay said. ‘You have to keep a tight rein on your people– let them know who’s in charge.’
‘Yes,’ agreed the Raja, feeling encouraged. ‘I won’t be dictated to by rabble-rousers. But how do you control things when these agitators from outside stir up the crowds? Sometimes I don’t feel my family are safe at the palace.’
‘Surely it’s not that bad,’ said Adela. ‘They don’t mean you any harm– they just want a bit of democracy.’
‘What do you know about such things?’ Jay gave her a curious look.
‘Just from what I’ve read,’ Adela said quickly.
‘Well, it doesn’t concern the British.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘The princely states will do things our own way and in our own time.’ He turned to his friend. ‘If your family are threatened, then you have every right to defend them. If I can be of any help, just say the word.’
Adela felt uneasy; was Jay inciting his friend to retaliate with violence? The subject was left unresolved as they turned to talk of the Sipi Fair.
‘It’s always a jolly affair,’ the Raja said, grinning, ‘all that wife-swapping.’
‘I find it rather distasteful,’ said Fluffy, ‘to think young women can be sold off like that.’
Sanjay gave an indulgent laugh. ‘Is it so very different from the British upper class, who sell off their daughters for titles and big houses?’
‘Quite different,’ Fluffy declared. ‘Upper-class girls have a say in who they marry; these native girls are bartered like sheep.’
‘It just speeds up the transaction of marriage,’ Sanjay said. ‘The coolies living away in the towns have no time to go home and find themselves wives.’
‘But the girls have no say in it,’ said Adela. ‘When I marry, it will be for love.’
‘What a romantic you are.’ Jay smiled. ‘That’s what comes of watching too many Hollywood films at The Rivoli.’
‘No, it’s from seeing how happy my parents are. My father says he’s as in love with Mother as the day they first met. And then there’s Auntie Sophie and Rafi– they’re so happy together.’
Jay pulled a face. ‘I wonder. Rafi Khan’s family will have nothing to do with him. It puts a strain on a marriage if the families are not in agreement.’
‘His sister Fatima and brother Ghulam haven’t turned their backs on him.’
‘Ghulam Khan the radical?’ the Raja interjected.
