A Different Sky (43 page)

Mr Shinozaki's department was a large one with many local staff. Raj found it easy to slip away to attend to his own work. The war had catapulted him aggressively into the black market business. People constantly needed things Raj could acquire through his Japanese contacts. He had been given licences to trade in many of the commodities he had previously supplied to Japanese ships. Loot from the first chaotic days of the occupation was also now reappearing for sale on the black market. Much of this was from abandoned European homes: furniture, lace dresses, silk cushions, refrigerators, violins, watches, sewing baskets and ice-cream makers. Raj was able to buy sought-after items and sell them advantageously, often to the Japanese themselves. There was now a continuous influx of civilian Japanese arriving from Japan to populate the new colony of Syonan. Licences to trade were given first to these new immigrants, before distribution to local people.

Arriving at City Hall one morning, Raj found Shinozaki in a heat
of excitement. ‘General Yamashita has ordered that for the Emperor's Birthday celebration, all Syonan schoolchildren must gather on the Padang to sing ‘
Aikoku Koshin Kyoku
' and then they must sing ‘
Kimigayo
', the Japanese National Anthem. The Emperor's Birthday is on 29 April, ten days away and schools are only just now reopening. We have no time to prepare.'

But prepare he did, personally overseeing the printing and distribution of the musical scores, just as he had the school textbooks. When, on the Emperor's Birthday General Yamashita, Tiger of Malaya, portly, chubby cheeked and gruff of voice stood before City Hall, the foreign children's unfailing rendering of Japanese songs brought tears to the strong man's eyes.

‘Just like Japanese children,' he said, blinking hard to suppress emotion.

When she could free herself from Ancient Mistress's service, Ah Siew spent her time cleaning Mei Lan's room. She ironed again the clothes she had carefully ironed just a few days before, rearranged underwear in drawers and books upon shelves and re-polished the silver photo frames, staring long and hard at the photo of the four-year-old Mei Lan with her arms around her mother. Each day she spoke to the photo of First Mistress who Mei Lan so much resembled and, eyes shut, tears streaming down her face, beseeched her to bring Mei Lan home. Every day she stood at the window that looked out towards Lim Villa and remembered the long corridors she had traipsed to Ancient Mistress's rooms, Mei Lan tightly clasping her hand. Whenever she saw Mei Lan in her mind, she saw her as a child. Ah Siew could not eat and each night was spent battling fiendish thoughts that only the daylight put behind her.

Things had deteriorated between Leila and Krishna. Sometimes they barely spoke for days. When they did, they argued.

‘They say not all Indians are wanting to join the Indian National Army but are forced into it by the Japanese out of fear,' Leila told Krishna, daring his disapproval as he handed her the rough notes of his latest lecture to copy out.

‘I have joined because soon with Japanese help, we will liberate
India,' Krishna answered, pursing his lips, as if even to reply was a favour to her. ‘
Chalo Delhi
.' This was how it was now between them. Anger simmered within them both and Leila knew it was her fault; her body refused to accept his child, rejecting it roughly each time, as if to deliberately slight him.

In the few years of their marriage he had taught her to read and write and now trusted her with drafts of his Indian National Army lectures. Leila was glad to copy them out, still marvelling at her newfound literacy, carefully forming each letter with her pen. Every new word she looked up in a dictionary Raj had given her, writing it down and learning it. Now that she could read, she entered as if by magic worlds that continually astounded her and journeyed through experiences that left her expanded. Although Krishna took credit for her learning, what this gift had done to the deepest part of his wife he dismissed. All he was interested in, apart from the Indian National Army, was that she should bear him a son.

Since Krishna had joined the INA his views had sharpened fanatically. There was now a growing split between himself and Raj on matters of ideology. Like his brother-in-law, Raj too had joined the INA after the Japanese arrived, but his position with Shinozaki left him no time for soldiering duties, while Krishna had become deeply involved. Krishna now lived almost permanently at the INA Officers' Training School at Newton Circus where he was an instructor. His expertise was not in the tough areas of drilling and guns but in the arena of morale. He gave propaganda lectures, lessons in Indian history, map reading and more, extending his former role in the Indian Youth League.

Sitting on a low
charpoy
, Leila hung her head, her knees drawn up under her chin. She looked no more than a bundle of rags, Krishna thought, observing her impatiently. He had not lived at home properly for weeks and knew he was neglecting Leila at a difficult time; she had suffered yet another miscarriage. In a corner near the bed was the wooden crib that still waited for their child. Just the sight of it made Krishna angry for it seemed to encapsulate everything that was wrong with their life. If there had been a baby, Leila would be busy and happy and he would not always feel guilty. A woman needed a baby to be fulfilled, and if she could not make one she must blame only herself, he thought angrily. He leaned forward, grasping Leila's arm roughly.

‘Today is an important day. Subhas Chandra Bose is in Singapore. He has come all the way from Germany on a submarine. He is addressing people on the Padang. General Tojo, who is visiting Singapore from Japan and who seems now even more powerful than the Japanese Emperor, will also be there.' Krishna's eyes shone as he spoke of Subhas Chandra Bose who now carried the title of
Netaji
, Great Leader. He had heard the man speak the day before at the Cathay Building. Flags and bunting and a huge arch had been erected to welcome
Netaji
. Thousands had packed the area.

‘
Netaji
has accepted the presidency of the Indian National Army.' Krishna shook his wife again, wanting her to share these great moments.

Leila stared up at Krishna. In his INA uniform he appeared a different person. He was no longer the husband she knew in his worn sandals and
dhoti
, but a fanatical uniformed stranger. She turned and curled up on the bed, her back towards him, her eyes shut, wondering even as she turned away how she had the courage to so stubbornly disobey her husband.

‘You will come with me,' he ordered harshly, furious that she should reject him. ‘I want you to see him. It will do you good to get out,' he insisted, speaking more kindly.

They began the walk to Beach Road and the Padang where Subhas Chandra Bose was to speak. Leila was surprised to see that from everywhere Indian people were streaming in the same direction. When they finally reached the Padang they found the ground already packed, people squashed tightly together. On the steps of City Hall a raised platform had been erected, decorated in red and white bunting. Krishna pushed his way to where Raj, who had arrived earlier, waited in a VIP enclosure with a good view of proceedings. Leaving Leila with her brother, he marched off to join his regiment.

‘It is like God himself has arrived,' Raj said. As he talked he smiled and nodded distractedly, acknowledging the greetings of passing people. He was now a person of some weight because of his Japanese connections. Leila stared over her shoulder at the waiting crowd that stretched behind her in a dense blur of faces. The INA troops, guns to their shoulders, chins thrust proudly to the sky, stood waiting for their leader. She searched for Krishna but could not see him in the great pool of khaki uniforms.

An open car flying pennants of Japan and the new Free India drew
up to deposit its passengers before the dais. From one side a small man with a short moustache climbed out and from the other the powerfully built Bengali.

‘That is General Tojo with
Netaji
,' Raj shouted to Leila above the cheering that had erupted on the arrival of Subhas Chandra Bose.

As the two men made their way on to the decorated dais the jubilation rose to a thunderous pitch. Men stood up and shouted; women began screaming,
Netaji! Netaji!
The word reverberated around the Padang.

The Japanese premier came forward to speak through an interpreter. He reminded Leila of a picture she had seen of the German leader, Hitler, except for his Japanese eyes. The interpreter spoke in a thick accent and his words were incomprehensible to Leila, who could understand nothing of what was said but kept her eyes upon
Netaji
.
‘. . . India's emancipation . . . the peoples of Greater East Asia will inevitably bring . . . the glorious day of independence and prosperity to India.'
As the Japanese premier sat down, Subhas Chandra Bose stepped briskly forward to another eruption of cheering.

He was thickset, straight backed, balding and bespectacled, with the full-throated voice of the orator. His dark skin appeared as soft as chamois leather; his high polished boots caught the light. As he reached up to adjust the microphone Leila felt a dull leap of energy within her; she was near enough to see the determined flash of his eyes. She sat forward as he began to speak, his smooth voice rolling effortlessly to her.

‘. . . This must be a truly revolutionary army . . . I am appealing to all the civilian youths to come forward to join the army. I am appealing also to women . . . half the population of our country is women . . . women . . .'

Afterwards, she could not clearly recall his features or the things he said. There was only the burning shower of him falling upon her.

‘. . . women must also be prepared to fight for their freedom, to fight for independence . . . along with independence they will get their own emancipation . . . Give me your blood and I will give you freedom.'

Even before he finished speaking women rushed forward, breaking through the barriers, some with babies in their arms shouting, ‘
We will fight; we will fight for the freedom of India!
' Leila ran with them to where he stood looking down upon them with a proud smile, arms
outstretched as if he would embrace them. She wanted to touch him, to tell him she would do whatever he bid. Instead, Japanese soldiers were suddenly holding them back with bayonets.

Give me your blood and I will give you freedom
. His words flowed into her flesh.

She was not the only one who felt the intensity. He asked for the support of women and they came, giving jewellery to fund his cause, pushing forward sons and husbands to swell his army. Within days a women's regiment was founded, named after a legendary national heroine who rode into battle against the British army in 1857. Women of every age came forward to join the Rani of Jhansi regiment – even illiterate women from the rubber plantations; training camps were established, uniforms designed and sewn, new guns acquired for the women from the Japanese.

‘I want to join too,' Leila told her husband.

Her eyes shone with the thought of it. She would train with the other women in the camp beside Krishna, she would be given a uniform and a gun. Soon, she would shoot like a man. Krishna stared at her askance and laughed nervously at her enthusiasm. Looking down into her face, he realised with a shock that the emotions he saw there were not for him.

In Mei Lan's cell the electric lights glared down twenty-four hours a day and even with an arm across her eyes, she could only sleep for minutes before waking with a start of fear, heart pounding sickeningly. The wall of the cell facing into the corridor was meshed like a cage with heavy wooden bars, and had a small opening for passing food through in one corner; guards patrolled the corridor beyond. Twice a day a scant bowl of rice with a scrap of meat or vegetable, and a bucket of tea with one filthy mug to be shared by them all, was delivered. To leave the cell for interrogation prisoners crawled through a knee-high door. Most of the area was taken up with a wooden sleeping platform and it was here they were ordered to squat, silent and uncommunicative, unmoving all day. Rats scuttled in and out of the cell; large spiders and cockroaches stalked about. Many of the inmates had been arrested unexpectedly in the early hours of the morning and some were still in pyjamas. At night the guards shouted ‘Sleep!' and they lay down crushed together under the endless glare.
From the cracks of the wooden sleeping platform large ticks emerged to fasten upon them, bloating with their blood. They were ten, sometimes twelve in the cell and Mei Lan was the only woman. Most of the men were Chinese, one was Eurasian and another an elderly Englishman. At the back of the cell was a filthy latrine, encrusted with deposits of dried excrement growing a slippery carpet of moss; sometimes it clogged and overflowed. When she wanted to use the latrine the men turned their backs, making a wall before her and hiding her from the guards. The water that flowed into the latrine from a high faucet must also be used for drinking and washing. At first she waited for the mouthful of tea that was served with each meal, but eventually she learned to drink from the vile outlet, as did everyone else.

In the cell, and the other cells in the corridor, people were always coming and going, dragged out through the tiny door and later thrust back through it in varying states of collapse and injury, marks of torture and beating evident upon their bodies. Sometimes they were gone for hours; screams could be heard echoing through the building. Everyone waited, knowing their turn must come. The summons was arbitrary and unpredictable yet mechanically and inhumanly regular. The cell was imbued with the smell of this fear, rank with the leaking bowels of dysentery and the metallic effluvium of blood. At first there had been another young girl who, like Mei Lan, was said to be a communist. She came back almost unscathed from interrogations and within two days was gone.

‘Make up names, say anything,' she advised. This Mei Lan would not do; the only names she could give were those of Howard and Cynthia.