Tea love and war, p.34
Tea, Love and War, page 34
‘I have a confession to make.’
I could not think what was going to come next.
‘I am waiting for my divorce to come through.’
Divorce? But there had been no mention of his being married. It could not be true, he could not be married already. I was completely stunned. I sat there with my hand to my mouth, unable to speak.
‘I had meant to tell you. It makes no difference to us, we still love each other and we will be married one day, but these things take time.’
I remember shouting at him, I remember lying on the bed sobbing, I remember feeling such pain as if my heart would break, I remember my broken questions between the tears and I remember the answers.
Mohan had been married for fourteen years; he had been separated for twelve years. I later found out that he had a reputation as a womanizer and that this had been the reason for his wife seeking a divorce. The fact that the divorce had not been finalized over such a long period seemed to prove that there were complications. Now I knew why his family had been reserved and occasionally distant. Now I realized how utterly I had been betrayed and how foolish I had been.
I stayed in my room for two days. Food was brought up and left outside but I could not eat. I cried most of the time, I had pain in my stomach and feared I might lose the baby but then I would think that this might be the best thing. On the second day the doctor was summoned and he came and stood outside the door. After some persuasion I allowed him in. We discussed my symptoms but otherwise he just talked to me. I told him that I wanted to kill myself and he talked some more. He told me I must eat and drink for the sake of the baby, he said that the new life was important and that I should think of the future.
Mohan had gone back to his base. His mother tried to talk things through with me and persuade me that time would resolve the divorce but I would not be convinced, I did not see that my faith in Mohan could ever be restored.
On the fourth day I decided to return to Assam. I knew the difficulties: it was hard being a young single woman in India; it would be much harder being a young single mother. I was going to be at enormous risk and very alone.
I did not say goodbye to Mohan. I had saved a little money from my previous earnings and also from presents that he had given me. I packed my few possessions and clothes and told his parents that I was leaving. When they saw that I was serious Mohan’s father took me to the station in his car and helped me with my suitcase on to the platform, where he left me waiting for the Delhi train.
The journey back to Pengaree took three days. I was still suffering from morning sickness but my state of mind was much worse. I had developed a hard outer shell from my early lonely years at St Mary’s Convent School, but the love of the past months had softened me; now I would need to harden my soul and once more learn to survive on my own.
I found a lorry from Digboi to Pengaree and trudged the final kilometres to Mama’s house. As I came near Bimbo scented me and rushed to find his mistress, the whole of his hindquarters wagging with joy. John Tanti was playing in the mud outside and squealed with delight when he saw me. Mama took one look at my face and took me in her arms.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
If I saw myself as vulnerable as a single young Anglo-Indian girl, it can be imagined how much more at risk I would be as a single pregnant girl and then a single mother. Outside the protection of the village and immediate family I would be regarded as of easy virtue and open to assault. Complaining to the police was not likely to be helpful: in some castes an independent witness had to be found to testify in cases of rape, and the automatic denial by any assailant and his friends would almost certainly result in no action being taken. Furthermore I had neither house nor rooms to go to and without earnings I had no money to pay for accommodation. Even if I found the money, few landladies would be prepared to take in a pregnant girl without a husband.
As I recovered from what I saw as my ordeal in Jullundur, I renewed contact with Jane and with Mr and Mrs Atkins by taking an early train from Digboi to Dibrugah and spending the day visiting each of them before journeying home. They managed to avoid saying ‘I told you so’ but the unspoken words hung in the air. Their sympathy was real and of comfort but they could not think of any solution to my problem until I was able to work again, which would clearly not be until after the baby was born.
There was nothing for it but to stay in the village. Mama was very happy that I was back at home, although the small property was very crowded with the two of us, John Tanti and of course Bimbo. I helped in the house with cooking and cleaning, I visited my grandparents and other old friends in the village and I did my best to settle into the slow ways of village life. The rains came and the limits of day-to-day existence narrowed with the constant wall of water and resultant mud. Making running repairs to the fabric of the house, trying to prevent the ingress of insects, detaching the leeches to interrupt their daily attack on one’s lower limbs – such was the nature of my life during those long months of pregnancy. Sometimes I would take out the pages of photographs and look at them. I even had the idea that there might be vital information on the back, so I carefully peeled off each photograph but found nothing to help me. Sometimes I would think longingly of my house in Dibrugah, my room in Jullundur, even of the luxury of the hotels in Delhi, but to no purpose: I had created this mess and I had to live with it.
It was now 1967 and the time when the baby was due. The village midwife, large and friendly, visited daily and was finally called out one late afternoon when I went into labour. Daniel had said that he could try to have me taken to the Pengaree Tea Estate hospital but I preferred to stay in the village and hope for the best. It was a long and painful labour but by the early morning I was holding my new little girl, whom I had decided to call Anita. She was lovely and I felt exhausted but surprisingly fulfilled, if apprehensive as to what the future held.
Something of a miracle now occurred. Mr Atkins had retired from ABITA but had accepted a part-time position with a firm of lawyers in Dibrugah called Associated Law Advisers. He wrote to me to say that he had managed to secure an offer of a job for me at the firm working for him. It would be at the same salary as before. He and Mrs Atkins had also realized that I would need to earn enough to employ someone to look after Anita and his letter said that he thought he might be able to find me some extra out-of-hours work to supplement my income.
Mama looked after Anita and John whilst I travelled to Dibrugah for the interview. This went reasonably well and the law firm, trusting Mr Atkins’ recommendation, confirmed the job offer. As to accommodation, the office chowkidar or manager, a man named Bahadur, told me that he could organize a place for me in a Bengali widow’s house. I went to see her – the room was small but I had to start somewhere so I arranged to move in. With Mama’s help I found an ayah or nurse for Anita. She was a young teenager called Mimi who came from the next village. She knew very little but seemed keen to learn.
So there I was with Anita, Mimi and John sharing one small room with only outside washing facilities and a pit latrine at the end of the garden for a toilet. This was not very clean; it also backed on to the crematorium and I found it rather frightening to go there after dark. I did not have any furniture so we slept on the floor at night. All I had was a tin box which held my clothes and an empty tea chest which I used as a dressing table in the morning and a dining table during the rest of the day. I stood it on its side and the hollow side served as a storage area. The landlady laid down a lot of restrictions including that no meat or fish was to be cooked in the house and onions were not allowed either.
Each day I would try to dress as tidily as I could after washing myself outside and then go off to work leaving Mimi to look after three-month-old Anita and seven-year-old John. John, although very young, was now used to doing some of the cleaning and usually made himself useful.
Some months went by and I knew that I could not carry on at the widow’s house for much longer. Anita was crawling now and needing more space. When I came home from work each evening I started my quest for better accommodation and I would usually take Anita and Mimi with me. I followed up leads that I had heard about, and sometimes people gave me directions to houses that I might try.
The problem was that I was a single unmarried mother of mixed race and not likely to be seen as an acceptable tenant. The first question the house owners would ask was ‘Where is your husband and what does he do?’ Some were courteous in their refusal and made polite excuses but others were rude and told me to go away or made comments such as ‘Who gave you this false information about my house?’ There was no doubt too that many of the wives saw me as a potential threat to their husbands. Soon I was in despair and I asked Bahadur to help find a place which would be not too far from work but not too expensive. He did his best but the houses he found were outside my price bracket so it was in vain.
Then one morning when I got to work Bahadur told me the good news that he had found some rooms in a house. These were much better than the one we were occupying; he said they were fine, I did not need to inspect them and the owner had agreed that I could take possession that evening. He said he would meet me there. I was delighted and was allowed to leave the office slightly early. I packed up our box and tea chest and put them on one cycle rickshaw whilst Anita, John, Mimi and I squeezed into another and off we went in convoy to the new house. Bahadur was waiting, we approached the front door and an elderly lady came out. It was explained that her husband had agreed to let us have the place but the lady said she was sorry, she knew nothing of the arrangement and we would have to leave. Her husband, looking guilty and embarrassed, then came out and tried to argue with her but she was adamant.
I was in despair. It was getting dark, Anita was crying and we were all tired and hungry. The rickshaws had left and there was no way we could return that night, even if the Bengali lady would let us in. Next door was a post office with a verandah running round it. I decided we would have to shelter there for the night and we huddled together and slept as best we could. Bahadur felt very guilty and as his house was nearby he went home and fetched food for us, but he said there was no room for us to stay with him.
It was a terrible night. The next morning I left Anita, John and Mimi on the verandah and went to work as usual. As soon as I got there I told Mr Atkins what had happened. He was very upset and asked why I had not telephoned him. He summoned Bahadur to his office and immediately dispatched him to the last house he had found for me, which I had thought too expensive. Fortunately it was still available, Mr Atkins said he thought I could manage it financially and I agreed to take it. I was able to fetch Anita and the others and move in immediately. Although the rent was rather high it was a nice place with attached bathroom and the owners, who were from a tea planter’s family, were very friendly. I was to live there happily for the next five years.
After paying the rent I had little money and as a single mother my social life was very restricted. I was not invited out save by my local friends and Mr Atkins and his wife who took great care of me. He knew that I was hard working and if he saw me with an unhappy face in the morning he always enquired what had gone wrong. One morning I must have been looking worried because he questioned me and heard that Anita had fallen off the bed during the night. ‘Do you not have a cot?’ was the question, and when I said no he promptly telephoned his close friend Frank Wilson from the Maijan Tea Estate and a cot arrived the very next day.
One Sunday in church I met an overseas medical student. He seemed nice and we started to talk to each other each week. We became friends but then he began to say that he loved me and told me that as soon as he completed his studies he would take me and Anita to live with him. He was in his final year of studies and I had hopes for the relationship, but before long he was doing everything he could to scare Anita – I think he thought that I might abandon her and go with him. So that was the end of that friendship.
I got to know quite a lot of people through the office. Associated Law Advisers tended to deal only with tea garden cases and so a lot of tea planters used to visit with their labour and industrial disputes. One young Sardarji planter whom I had met once or twice in the office told me that he was having a big party and that I was invited. I explained that Anita was small and I did not like to leave her. I guessed that the party would go on late and I thought it better to refuse. He said it would be a good party and mentioned the names of various planters who would be coming. I asked if Mr Atkins would be there and he said that it was only for the young group and quite informal. He then said that I could take my daughter and my ayah, Mimi, who could use the guest room whilst I was there.
I had not been out for such a long time that I decided to accept. I spent a long time getting ready, packed the bottle of milk and other things for Anita and Mimi and waited for the car which he had said he would send for me. I was surprised when the host himself was driving the car and I asked who was at home to greet his guests, but he said he had left a friend at home and I was not to worry about it. His tea estate was Khowang which was about thirty miles away so the journey was long. On reaching his bungalow I could not see any other cars and when we got inside there was no sign of any party arrangements nor were there any bearers to greet us.
I asked what had happened. The young planter told me that there had been a death in his family and the party had been cancelled but he had been anxious not to disappoint me and had therefore thought to bring me along anyway. He told me to relax and brought out drinks. I told Mimi not to go into the guest bedroom but to stay with me: I was not comfortable and had guessed that there was something suspicious about the whole arrangement. My new friend told me that the cook had taken off, he complained that staff could not be relied upon and that it was typical of this to happen just when he needed someone to look after us and cook some food.
He tried to persuade me to relax and have a drink but I was frightened and went to the guest room to collect Anita and her things. He followed me and started chasing me round the bed. I called out to Mimi to help me and told him to stop this nonsense and take us home. When he refused I told him that I would report him to his manager – fortunately I had remembered the manager’s name. Again he said that he would not drive me home and told me that I could walk home, knowing that it was too far for me to do so.
I saw no alternative but to set off out of the gate heading through the darkness towards what I hoped was the manager’s bungalow, carrying Anita and with Mimi following behind. At this he came up behind us and said he would drive us back to Dibrugah which he did in silence. I was so relieved to get home safely but very disappointed too having been all dressed up and looking forward to going to a party.
Despite these problems of vulnerability I was happy to be in work and surviving in my single-parent role. Anita was growing up as was John, and Mimi was now very good with them. I had had some limited contact with Mohan Singh as at one stage I had threatened to take him to court to provide some maintenance money for Anita. He agreed to provide some finance for a period of time, he did not want rights of access and that was fine by me. The money stopped after a time and I did not pursue it further: I realized that to take him to court would involve him in loss of prestige if the case was successful and perhaps I was too soft to want to do this.
It was now 1972, Anita was nearly five and I had learned a great deal in my work and rebuilt much of my self-confidence. I knew that Mr Atkins, having already retired once, could not continue indefinitely so it was not a great surprise when he told me that he was retiring. I was very sad to hear that he and his wife had decided to leave India and spend their final years in Scotland but I could do no more than wish them every happiness and give them my heartfelt thanks for all they had done for me.
Mr Atkins performed one final act of kindness before he left: he gave me a letter of recommendation to Mr Beattie, the general manager of the famous Assam Railways and Trading Company in Margherita, who at that time needed a general secretary. Mr Atkins knew Mr Beattie well and so it was that I was appointed to this responsible position which now carried executive status. The company controlled not only the railways but also coal mines, tea estates and timber mills. I was very proud and happy to be in this new and senior job.
So I now moved to live in Margherita. I was in respected employment with ample earnings and so was able to take a house for myself and install our family in it. Life was quiet but good. I was even able to bring Bimbo back from Pengaree; he was now rather boisterous but still very happy to be with me.
Until the age of five Anita was able to go to the Ledo Valley Nursery School at the Ledo Club, run by the wives of the company executives. Mimi and John kept the house and I could now have a much more sociable life. I was allowed to join the Margherita Club as one of the very few women members and this gave me some considerable status. Club evenings and club days became the centre of my social activity. I even had a car of my own which I bought through the company car loan scheme.
When Anita reached her fifth birthday I found a place for her in a boarding school some distance away at the Carmel Convent in Digboi. It was a great wrench for me to have her leave home to go away to school at such a young age and inevitably I was reminded of the loneliness I had endured all those years ago. But I felt she needed to go away to school to have the best chance in life and Digboi was nearby so I was readily to hand if any problem occurred. She remained my great joy and I was delighted when she excelled at her school and said how much she enjoyed it; she was able to come home most weekends so we were constantly in touch.
In 1973, a year after I joined the company, the colliery section for which I was then working was nationalized by the central government and I was transferred to a sister concern called the Makum and Namdang Tea Company (India) Limited but working on the same terms as before. By now I was reporting to Mr J. C. Varma, the Group Financial Adviser, who later became a director of the company and moved to their Calcutta office. He was a very good and understanding man to work for.
