Thursday's Child (13 page)

‘What is Paickie like?'

He slipped off the divan, went to his desk and picked up a battered envelope. From it he drew a photograph of me, which he had taken himself. He had draped a silk scarf over my head and had demanded that I should not smile. The resultant portrait was oddly un-English.

Mrs Singh took the photograph, examined it closely and
said that I did not look like the English women that she had seen before.

Ajit affirmed promptly that I was fair like an English woman, but had the disposition of an Indian girl, quiet, modest and loving.

On finding that she was not trying to dissuade him from continuing the marriage, he went on to extol my virtues, until I would have found difficulty in recognising myself from the description. His mother heard him out patiently, her forehead creased deeply as she concentrated on what he was saying.

When he had finished she continued to sit in silence, twiddling her gold bracelets. Ajit quietly put the photograph, which she had returned to him, back into the envelope and replaced it on the desk.

Eventually his mother raised her head and said: ‘It is a pity that your respected father should feel so strongly about Paickie, because he must know –' her voice trailed off, then gained clarity again as if she had made up her mind to speak out: ‘Father must know that Bhim and Nulini are not content. I had expected that he would be more careful over your marriage. Perhaps he fears his brothers' condemnation.' She sighed and added: ‘No grandchild yet.'

Ajit's curiosity was awakened by her remark about his brother.

‘What's the trouble with Bhim? He looked all right to me.'

‘He may be all right – but Nulini is not. She is not happy. Dear Bhim has been so engrossed in being a good partner in his law practice, that he forgets his little partner at home.' Mrs Singh readjusted her sari over her head, and then continued: ‘She is a good daughter-in-law – although she does wear such immodest blouses – and I cannot understand why he does not give time to her. A woman needs her husband near her quite a lot – and – and I am fearful of what may happen if he continues to neglect her.'

‘What could happen?' asked Ajit impatiently. ‘Bhim is a good husband – only last night I saw him give her money for embroidered sandals to match the saris I gave her.'

‘Money for embroidered sandals is very well in its place, and Bhim works extremely hard – far into the night – so that she may have luxuries. Yet – I think she would go barefoot, if she could feel that she was necessary to him and not just a pretty doll to be well dressed and politely tolerated.'

Mrs Singh hitched her sari more closely round her, and pursed her lips thoughtfully.

‘She is a doll,' she added. ‘Not intelligent enough to know how to entice him from his work. Sometimes I long to advise them both – they could be so happy – but I am mother-in-law and must not come between them – I may do more damage.'

‘Your wisdom is great, respected Mother. A chance to help them may come when Bhim feels more safely established.'

‘Perhaps. I do not wish you also to be indifferent to your wife. It is time there were grandchildren in this house.'

‘Peggie will bear children – and they will be fair. I could never be indifferent to her.'

‘I was thinking if Bimla was your wife.'

‘I will marry no one else but Peggie.'

Mrs Singh suffered the rebuke in silence, while Ajit paced up and down the room. The house was still, except for the occasional cry of the watchman, as he circled round the compound, and the squeak of the gate as he went through to the uncles' compound. Fainter and fainter grew his cry, as he moved up to the far end of the family's property, thumping his staff as he went, to warn all thieves to beware of his coming.

Mrs Singh began to speak – not of Peggie, but of the generations of women of her caste who had gone before her and how they had kept the honour of the family and of the caste, obeying the scriptures and daily making puja, keeping the feasts and fasts, and sharing life's burdens equally with their husbands, as was laid down in the marriage ceremony.

Ajit's heart sank. There was to be no understanding by his mother either, it seemed.

The old lady sighed. These customs were going. Was she
not out of purdah herself? Indeed, yes. Did Nulini keep the fasts? She did not. She could not say that she approved of the modern girl – but then her mother-in-law had not approved of her either. Caste barriers also were going. Did not Ram Singh himself sit down to eat with men of other castes? Why should he fear a casteless daughter-in-law? She would automatically become of their caste by her marriage. What mattered was a kind heart, a forbearing temperament, a suitable humility before the dictates of elders. She sighed again and looked at Ajit when she spoke of the latter requirement.

Ajit laughed quietly in his throat. He wanted to shout aloud. His mother was convincing herself that she could cope with Peggie.

‘Did you say something, my son?'

‘No, no, Mother.'

She passed her hand wearily over her face, and then said: ‘Come here and sit with me. We must decide what to do about Paickie.'

Ajit came and sat beside her, while she opened her pan box, took out a cardamum, peeled it carefully and popped in into her mouth. Then she leaned forward and, speaking in a whisper lest anybody left awake should hear, she counselled Ajit as to how he should deal with his father.

At the end he rose and, bending humbly, he kissed the tiny foot with its swinging sandal. She laughed, withdrew her foot quickly and descended gracefully from the divan. She shook up the pillows, straightened the sheets, and told Ajit to put up the mosquito net and to sleep in peace.

Overwhelmed with gratitude for her advice and understanding, Ajit was dumb, but he went to the doorway with her and held back the curtain for her to pass through. She smiled at him and walked slowly along the veranda towards the kitchen. He felt calmer and leaned against the door jamb. The night breeze caressed him.

A light sprang up in the kitchen and through the big window he saw his mother move towards the small shelf on which the elephant-headed Ganesh sat staring accusingly at her. She struck a match, lit a bunch of incense-tipped sticks and put them into a wire stand before him. Then she stood
before the god with hands held out in appeal to heaven.

Ajit had a nasty feeling that she was praying for forgiveness for being an undutiful wife. Her advice to him could hardly be said to coincide with that which his father had given.

‘I have a headache – I could not sleep last night,' said Ram Singh the next morning to Mrs Singh and Khan, when they arrived with his breakfast.

Ram Singh always had a headache when faced with domestic issues, and the whole house always knew about it. Maharaj always received orders to make special tea, Ayah had to get out the rubbing oil, and the unfortunate clerk, who had followed his master into retirement, was sent hither and thither to bring his work to Ram Singh's bedside.

‘What has upset him this time?' asked Thakkur of the clerk.

‘I don't know,' said the harassed clerk. ‘He gets worse as he grows older.'

Khan might have been able to tell him – but Khan was a very discreet man. He stood by Mrs Singh at Ram Singh's bedside, and silently held out his hand to Mrs Singh for the key to the box in which she kept the aspirins. She took the key off the bunch at her waist, and gave it to him, and he went to fetch the bottle from her room.

‘My life is eternally filled with new problems,' Ram Singh sighed, as Mrs Singh massaged the back of his neck to ease the ache.

Mrs Singh made suitable comforting noises, although, as she told Ajit, she was a little amused, since she knew the cause of the headache.

‘I could not sleep,' he said again.

Mrs Singh neglected to tell him that she had not even been to bed.

‘Here are the aspirins. Khan, a glass of water. Now, just take two and lie back on your pillow for half an hour, and then I'll rub you.'

He lay back comforted. His wife had been comforting him ever since he was fifteen and she thirteen, and there is no doubt that he held her in great affection.

Khan went back to his post outside the door.

About an hour later, Ajit came to his father's room, having heard from Ayah that the headache had eased.

Khan was seated on the floor by the door, surrounded with pink knitting wool which he was winding into balls. As Ajit wished to establish friendly relations with the new servant, he inquired of Khan what he was going to make – he knew that many hill men were skilled weavers and knitters, though normally their wives did this work, while the men themselves went on trading journeys between Tibet and India.

‘I am winding the wool,' Khan said softly, ‘for Miss Nulini. Last time she bought wool, it shrank after washing, so she asked me to buy for her this time – because my fingers know good quality wools.'

Ajit looked at the small, strong hands as they deftly wound a skein into a ball. The man did not look up from his work – he had not risen at Ajit's appearance, because he had the skein stretched over his two feet to keep it from tangling. Ajit, therefore, gave a little cough to indicate to his father that he was there.

Ram Singh was washing his mouth out, after having managed to eat his breakfast; so Ajit stood just inside the door until the elder man gave a final gurgle and spat into the wash bowl. Then he raised his hands in salute and said: ‘Namaste.'

Ram Singh dabbed his lips with the towel.

‘Namaste. You may come in. Khan, take away this thali.'

Encouraged by the courteous ‘good morning', Ajit moved further into the room, while Khan took away the breakfast tray.

Ram Singh climbed on to his divan, crossed his legs
neatly, straightened his round, black cap, and took up a paper from his desk.

When Ajit had heard about the headache, he had recognised the sign immediately. It invariably meant that his father was upset and torn by indecision over something, usually in connection with the family; so Ajit hoped that his father was feeling less sure that he was right about his son's marriage, less certain that an Indian daughter-in-law was essential to the family. It might also have occurred to his father, who was a very honourable man, that even English marriage vows were meant to be kept, and that it was not right to expect him to break them.

To go straight to the reason for Ajit's visit would have hardly been proper, so Ram Singh asked him if he had seen any of his friends yet. Ajit mentioned the visit of his cousins, and that there was to be a tea party that afternoon. He had already played colour with Shushila and the neighbours' children, as his blue-stained hands testified.

At the mention of a party, Ram Singh unbent a little. Ajit knew that, despite his efforts at prayer and contemplation, Ram Singh still enjoyed a party, especially a tea party, with lots of hot, spiced samosas and sweet hulwa to nibble.

‘The courtyard must be swept,' Ram Singh said promptly. ‘Tell Pratap to make sure there are no snakes or scorpions there – it will be full of children this afternoon.' He thought for a moment, and then said: ‘No. I will instruct Khan.'

Khan was still winding wool outside the door, and came immediately his master called. He was given the message for Pratap and instructions to help Mrs Singh and Thakkur to put out extra divans for the many matrons who would invade the drawing-room.

‘They will enjoy talking scandal – scandal –' he trailed off. Ajit felt sorry if he was thinking what a scandal his son's marriage could prove to be. At best at such a party there would be lots of jokes about the return of a marriageable son – and Bimla's presence would make all the guests surmise. The samosas would taste flat and greasy to his father during this party.

Ram Singh absentmindedly picked up a glass pot of wheat seeds which had been lying on his desk, and turned it slowly round in his hands, gazing unseeingly at the contents as they slithered round the pot.

Wishing to divert him, Ajit asked if he was considering planting wheat on some of their land.

‘Yes, I am,' said the elder man. ‘If this strain does well, I will import some more and distribute it to the cultivators round about. They might get a heavier yield.'

Ajit was interested, and an amicable conversation ensued.

When at last the discussion languished, Ram Singh asked guardedly if his son had considered their conversation of the day before. He asked in the soft, melodious voice that had deceived many a lawyer in the courtroom into thinking that his client had the sympathy of the magistrate.

‘Yes, Father,' Ajit replied. ‘I have given deep thought to it, and I appreciate the kindness of your offer to help me out of the alliance which I have made.' He paused.

Ram Singh relaxed. So the boy would agree to his suggestions.

‘Then?' inquired Ram Singh.

Ajit plunged in: ‘Father – I should like to make some other suggestions, if you have no objection.'

The father looked exasperated, but nodded to his son to go on.

‘In a week's time I must go to Pandipura to start work – and there also I have a flat. There also live but few of our caste brothers to speak to our family of what I do. I suggest that I send for Peggie and take her there.'

He stopped to take a quick look at his father's face. The expression was wooden and the moustaches stuck out belligerently as if the mouth beneath was compressed with disapproval. Ajit felt his cause was hopeless, but fortified by his mother's advice he continued doggedly.

‘Let us stay there for a couple of years. In that time Peggie can easily learn enough of our customs never to offend your good taste and to enable her to fit into this house quite well. Unfortunately, it is not likely that at any time during my working life I shall be able to stay long at
home here. When the power house is finished and I have worked there for a few years, there will be better posts in other parts of India.'

Ram Singh was contemplating with great attention the activities of a fly walking on his desk.

‘I cannot believe that your objection to my marriage is based entirely on Peggie's lack of caste. You have on many occasions denounced its evils. Rather you must fear the scandal if Peggie should misbehave or should leave me.'

The fly was cleaning its wings.

‘If she came straight to Pandipura, you would not have to associate yourself with the marriage.

‘If it was not a success and Peggie left me,' Ajit swallowed hard, ‘would you – in your goodness of heart – forgive me for my rashness? I would humbly admit myself in the wrong; and our family would feel that you had judged rightly, that I had been headstrong and you had wisely let me learn my lesson in this hard way, rather than cast me off.'

At the words ‘cast me off' Ram Singh looked indignant – as if any good Indian father would dream of casting off any of his family, no matter what they had done.

‘Nothing was further from my mind than casting you off,' he said defensively.

‘If our marriage was a happy one – and I believe it will be – then –' Ajit hesitated, ‘perhaps you and Mother would receive Peggie into the family, forgiving us for our hasty marriage and taking pleasure in your grandchildren.'

He added: ‘Thus all would be well. Our respected uncles could not condemn you as lacking in wisdom. They cannot, at the worst, say more than that I have been a very foolish young man and have a very benevolent and long-suffering father. The ladies of our household will not be troubled by someone who does not know their ways; and any scandal would not reflect much on our family as a whole, as it will take place six hundred miles away, in a distant province, and people would hear only vague rumours.'

Ajit stopped, having nothing more to say. He wondered agonisedly if his mother was right in her belief that a compromise could be reached.

Ram Singh brushed the fly off his desk and leaned his elbows on the hard surface. The room was very still. Ajit would have given his meagre bank balance to know exactly what his father's thoughts were, as he stood before him, and he was quite unprepared for the question which his parent suddenly asked.

‘Is a child expected?' he asked, his eyes narrowing shrewdly.

Ajit smarted under the insinuation.

‘It is unlikely,' he said sharply. ‘There has hardly been time.'

‘It would be as well,' said Ram Singh reflectively, chewing the end of his moustache, ‘if no child arrived for eleven months from the date of the marriage.'

Ajit sighed with relief. His father might be willing to agree. Of course, if there was no child during this period, one subject of gossip would be eliminated. No one could say that Peggie had trapped him into marriage or that he had fathered the child of another man.

‘There is also the question of the gold and silver which my daughters-in-law will expect at my death,' said Ram Singh from between bits of moustache. ‘Your wife shall have her share, but in practice her sister-in-law may make it difficult for her to claim it.'

Ajit interjected: ‘Father, do not think of death – you will be with us many years yet.'

‘My son, it is my duty to consider the well-being of all of you at all times. I will specifically mention in my will what she is to have.'

‘Father, you are indeed kind. You will not regret my marriage to Peggie.'

‘We shall see, we shall see,' said Ram Singh testily. ‘In the meantime I have to tell Rana Sahib that I withdraw my offer for Bimla – and a good dowry will be lost, too.

‘Shall I never know peace in my life?' he added savagely. ‘My sons never consider my feelings – never realise what their foolish actions mean to me.'

Ajit hung his head, and muttered: ‘Perhaps one of uncles' sons would do in my place.'

‘Possibly – and there is another problem. No mention
must be made to your uncles of this woman you have married.'

‘No, Father.'

While they had been talking, Ajit had been standing up, since his father had forgotten to tell him that he might sit. His father now said: ‘Sit down, sit down, boy. Why do you stand gawking at me? Here I am, trying to mitigate the result of your hotheadedness, and what do you do – you stand and say “No, Father”.'

Ajit sat down hastily on the edge of his father's divan.

‘Khan,' shouted Ram Singh.

The rapidity of Khan's entrance indicated that he had been very close to the door, and Ajit hoped the servant was as discreet as his looks implied.

‘Bring tea,' demanded Ram Singh, ‘with nutmeg and cinnamon in it.'

The old man is making peace, thought Ajit; he must be regretting his hasty words of yesterday.

It did indeed seem as if Ram Singh was anxious that Ajit should be right in his remarks about his marriage and that, having tentatively agreed to my coming to India, he wished that Ajit should not suffer more than was necessary from his ‘mistake'. He spent some time in counselling his son on the proper management of his affairs, both financial and matrimonial, and he lavished as much thought in lecturing him on the care of his wife as most English fathers would have done in advising their sons on the care of a pedigree dog.

While they drank tea, Ram Singh dealt with the details of the duties of a householder, ranging from the keeping of household account books to the saying of prayers twice daily; and as he went on his temper improved. It was apparent to Ajit that he feared a scandal most of all, and once the chances of that had become slender he was willing to co-operate with his son, to a degree.