Thursday's Child (17 page)

‘This is going to make life awkward,' I remarked as I licked my fingers.

‘I know. It means a purely Indian diet for you – I had to agree, as this is the only vacant flat within two miles of the power-house site.' He went on hopefully: ‘If Babu would agree to its being brought into the kitchen, we could buy some meat at present, from the Muslim bazaar, and you could cook it, as the other tenants have gone up to the hills for the summer. They all work in a Government College near here and get months of leave.' He added regretfully: ‘We shall get exactly three weeks.'

I giggled at the idea of asking Babu's permission to hold meat-eating orgies. ‘Don't worry, darling,' I said. ‘If all vegetarian food is as good as this, I shall not come to harm. If other wives can manage, I am sure I should be able to.'

Ajit blew me a kiss across the table.

When we could eat no more, Ajit produced cigarettes, and Babu took away the trays. I looked out of the barred window. The moon was high, lighting up a bleak, flat landscape. It looked cool.

‘Could we walk outside?'

‘Of course,' said Ajit. He went into the kitchen and told Babu to bring in the luggage, which had lain undisturbed in the sand where we had dumped it, and to wash the mud off the veranda.

‘Come along,' he said.

We went out through the front door, carefully avoiding the smelly mud which Babu had deposited, down the moonlit steps and across the builder's rubble which had been left in front of the flats, to the track along which we had driven earlier. We paced up and down.

The scene was wild and lonely, but the silence was soothing after our hectic day. Only the drums still throbbed far away, although there was little sign of habitation other than our own; the track on which we walked continued across the plain, winding in and out of clumps of bushes and trees, and it alone hinted at the presence of others. In the sky above there was no mist or cloud and the stars seemed close enough to touch. On the wind came the smell of ripened crops, dusty sweet. My weariness fell away from me.

‘Why are the drums being beaten?' I asked.

‘It is the season of marriages.'

‘I have come at the right time.'

‘You have indeed, my love; the drums are beating for the farewell of the bride to her parents as she leaves to go to her husband's house.'

He bent and kissed me lightly. Arm in arm we went slowly back to the flat, and the happiness on Ajit's face as we passed through the shaft of light from the window was a full reward to me for coming to India.

I lay in the curve of Ajit's arm and watched the sparrows swinging on the window bars in the morning sunlight; their steady cheeping reminded me of my own cosy bedroom at Wetherport, so different from the almost empty stone room in which I lay. No curtains, no pictures, no cushions, no dressing-table spread with silver brushes, nothing of beauty in the whole room, except the sleeping man beside me: but I felt drowsily content, with my husband's arm as my pillow and a cheap cotton sheet to cover me.

I had left my watch in the living-room and had no idea of the time. Ajit had taken only twenty-four hours' leave when coming to meet me and had to return to work that day, so I eased myself gently away from him and got up. He stirred but did not wake. I covered him with the sheet and kissed him; then put on my dressing gown and went into the other room, shutting the door quietly behind me.

My watch said six o'clock.

I wandered into the kitchen, and looked round a little helplessly. Through the open door of the adjacent storeroom I could see Babu spreadeagled on a mat laid beside four large grain bins. He wore only his master's old pyjama trousers and his naked chest looked as thin as a feathered pullet's. Followed by the sound of his snores, I crossed to the back door and pulled back the heavy brass bolts. The snoring ceased, but after a pause it was vigorously renewed. I chuckled to myself.

The door opened on to a new world. There was no compound wall, and stretched before me was what appeared to be a desert. Right to the horizon the sand stretched, almost without undulation. There was a little foliage; round bushes of cacti flourished, and the sewage pond, in which Babu had taken his unexpected bath, was marked by a circle of remarkably green grass and shrubs. I saw that an open ditch led from the building to the pond and this was also fringed with greenery. An unpleasant odour of old soap drifted up from the water, and I was relieved that the lavatory, at least, was connected with a closed cesspool.

To my right, prickly cacti had been arranged as a hedge and from behind this came the sound that was to be the constant accompaniment of my life in India – a steady creak-creak as a tethered ox walked up and down to draw water from a well to irrigate the land. I could just see over the hedge a man standing on the lip of the well and tipping the filled water-skin, so that it discharged its contents into the irrigation channel below him; when the skin had emptied I saw the ox's horns as it turned to walk back up to the well so as to let the skin fall again into the water far below.

An occasional mango or neem tree was silhouetted against the brilliant blue sky, and under one of the trees sat a shepherd boy dressed in a red turban, white frilly jacket and loincloth. He was surrounded by goats munching cactus leaves, and, as I leaned against the door jamb, he took out a flute and began to play. Above his head, in the mango tree, there was a flash of grey bodies amongst the leaves. Monkeys, I thought, with childish delight!

A snuffling at my feet made me jump. A dog, like a greyhound dyed brown, was sniffing round me, ready to take flight at any moment. I bent to pat him, but he cowered down, and I saw to my horror that he was covered with swollen ticks. I hastily withdrew my hand and retreated to the kitchen.

‘Babu,' I called softly.

Babu just snored.

I wanted some tea, but had no idea how to light the charcoal stove. I prowled round the kitchen. It was a bare room, stone-walled and stone-floored, as was the rest of the flat. A built-in cupboard with a mesh door presumably held food. On some shelves in an alcove was a collection of brass trays, cups and cooking pots, such as I had seen at dinner, together with some thick china cups and saucers. On a stone stand was the earthenware water pot, the contents of which I had emptied over Babu; a water tap dripped in one corner and in the floor beneath it was a grid over an open drain. The floor looked as if it had been recently scrubbed.

‘How on earth does one wash dishes?' I wondered. ‘No sink, not even an enamel bowl, and no means of getting hot water quickly. Instead of walking, I should have watched Babu last night.'

Feeling very incompetent about housekeeping, I decided that Babu must be awakened, which I did by shaking him by the shoulder. I think he had not been asleep for some time but had been watching me furtively. He gave a most realistic jump, however, and ceased his snoring.

‘Rhadabahin,' he said politely, as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He rose and yawned hugely, opened a creaky tin trunk, and took out a twig and a comb. I did not
wish to disturb his normal morning routine – time enough for that – so I decided not to ask for tea but to await events.

Events were very slow.

He filled a bucket with water, took it outside the back door and, with much splashing and snorting, bathed himself. He squatted on his heels and while the sun dried him, he took out the twig and fluffed one end of it. Using it as a toothbrush, he cleaned his teeth. He scrubbed and spat into the sand and scrubbed again. He polished and rubbed until I began to give up hope about breakfast, but eventually the toilet was completed by a flick of the comb through his hair, and he lit a bili and sat for five minutes more, slowly inhaling the smoke.

I decided to take a bath myself and went to the bathroom. In the hurry of the previous evening, I had not noticed that, apart from the sink and the extra tap in the wall, it contained a bucket, a two-inch-high wooden stool and a couple of shelves which were littered with old bits of soap and rusty razor blades. An aged towel was looped over one of the bars of the window and a crow was sitting on it. He flew out at my entrance.

Not wishing to disturb Ajit by looking for a clean towel, I splashed myself all over with water and smoothed it off with my hands as best I could, realising with a sense of shock that the last time I had taken a bath had been on the train from Bombay. I wrapped myself in my dressing gown again and combed my hair with a broken comb which I found among the razor blades.

When I returned to the kitchen, Babu was stuffing newspaper into the lower half of a stove filled with charcoal, and I said hopefully in Gujerati: ‘Food?'

Babu nodded, picked up the stove with a pair of pincers and took it outside the back door, where he laid a match to it. He fanned it with a straw fan and soon had a good fire burning, which he then transferred with his pincers back to the kitchen. Water was put on to boil.

There was a shout from outside. ‘Dudhwallah,' and a pail clanked down upon the step. Babu picked up an aluminium pan, and the milkman squatted on his heels and carefully measured thin, blue milk into it.

The milkman was fat and his face was creased with laughter lines. His handlebar whiskers stuck out in a black fluff, nearly burying a pug nose. A cap which had once been white was kept in place by his cauliflower ears, and a thin shirt over a dirty loincloth completed his costume. He smelled of cows.

He took a quick look at me, as I stood in the middle of the kitchen, and lowered his eyes politely – but in that second the price of milk went up by two annas a pound.

He said in a subdued voice to Babu: ‘An English woman? Your Sahib is a Hindu, isn't he?'

‘Yes,' said Babu, as he put the lid on the pan. ‘Sahib is Indian; Memsahib is English. She came yesterday.'

‘He must be very rich to be able to keep an English woman,' remarked the milkman as he clamped the lid back on to his can.

‘He gets Rs.700 a month and does not take bribes,' said Babu carelessly.

In order to hide my laughter, I hastily bent down over the fire and lifted the lid of the water-filled saucepan. What would Ajit say if he knew his servant was so well acquainted with his affairs?

Babu was continuing: ‘Sahib is an engineer working on the new electric house,' he said proudly. ‘He went to school for many years, and Lulbhai – you know, the peon at the electric-house office – says that when he is older he will be a powerful sahib.'

The milkman was impressed and looked as if he would like to ask more questions, but I was too near and he was not sure whether I could understand or not, so he hung his can on the handlebar of his bicycle and wheeled the machine away on to the track which led to the city.

The noise of the milk pail had aroused Ajit and he called me. I went to him eagerly.

‘Put a cup of hot water into the bathroom,' he ordered without preamble, as he sat up in bed, ‘and unpack my shaving things – and I'll need a towel and a big mug.'

I was shocked at the unexpected stream of abrupt orders, given without previous greeting. They struck me like a series of blows on the face. For a second I stood holding
on to the door, trying to steady myself.

‘Darling,' I said shakily, but my voice was hardly audible and the object of my affection had lain down again and covered his face with the sheet.

My first reaction was a desire to say: ‘Damn you. Get them yourself or ask for them civilly.' Then I thought of our happiness of the night before and that I did not understand the customs of the country, so I crept away feeling very bewildered. Obediently I took some hot water from the pot on the fire. Babu had now lit a second fire, which was blazing underneath the milk pan, and the kitchen resembled an inferno, with a presiding devil whose floured hands whisked black pans, brass pots and food through the air with magical speed.

I placed the mug of water on the bathroom shelf and returned with hesitant feet to Ajit, who had climbed out of bed and opened the front door, only to be driven back by the smell of the mud which Babu had not washed away properly the previous evening. He yelled: ‘Babu!'

‘Sahib.'

A flood of Hindi poured from Ajit on the subject of servants who did not do their work properly. This was answered by placating shouts from Babu. The words came so fast that I could not follow.

‘Dear Lord,' I thought, ‘if they quarrel like this Babu will leave. What is the matter with Ajit this morning?'

‘Don't be angry with him, darling,' I said. ‘He could not see in the dark.'

‘Angry?' he said. ‘I'm not in the least angry. Get me a clean pair of trousers and a shirt.'

I bit my lip at the rough tone, but thinking it best to give no hint that I was hurt, I said as I went to the clothing cupboard: ‘It's a lovely morning.'

‘You wait,' said Ajit darkly, as he disappeared towards the bathroom and then reappeared flourishing a shaving brush. ‘It will soon heat up.' He stood in the doorway of the sitting-room and lathered his chin. ‘This evening when it cools we will go to the bazaar. You must learn to buy – otherwise Babu will cheat you.'

As he turned to go back to the bathroom he saw my face
in the light of the window.

‘What's the matter, my Rani?' he asked most gently.

Tears threatened to disarm me, and Babu looked at me as he came past laden with cups and saucers.

Shyness and a quiet pride made me force a smile and say: ‘Nothing.' To change the subject I asked: ‘How do you take a bath in the bathroom?'

‘Come and see,' he said, and led the way. I paused a moment to show Babu how to set out cups and saucers correctly on the table, and then followed.

As I advanced to the bathroom door, a hand came round and flung out a pair of pyjamas. I caught them before they hit me in the face. I peeped through the door. Ajit was sitting on the wooden stool, which he had placed under the tap, and water was pouring down over him as he lathered himself with kitchen soap and sang at the top of his voice, while the dirty water made a gurgling accompaniment as it flowed across the floor and down the open drain in one corner.

The singing stopped abruptly. ‘Shut the door,' he shouted through the streaming water. ‘You're making a draught.'

I shut it abruptly and leaned against the other side. I was trembling from head to foot, partly with suppressed rage and partly with fear. I fumbled for my handkerchief and blew my nose sharply; the abuser renewed his song and apparently had not a care in the world.

Muttering maledictions against men before breakfast, I went to look for clean linen trousers.