A Sahib's Daughter (12 page)

“Maybe we should leave. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s just the way things are around here.”

They had no option but to go back to Ranikot. As they pulled away, Ravi placed his hand over her hand resting on his shoulder. In the dying light, it seemed natural for her to rest her cheek against his back. He drew her hand around his waist, and she moved closer, both arms around him.

“Stay a while,” she urged, when they got back to her bungalow. “Have a drink with us.”

The family was on the verandah in the twilight.

“Well, how was it?” they asked.

“Did you fall off?”

“Did he go too fast?”

Ravi and Samira laughed. He took a seat beside Mark and sensing that he was feeling left out, made an effort to mollify him, which didn’t go unnoticed by Samira. She discovered that she was beginning to like him a lot. He didn’t take much persuading to stay for dinner. Mark regained his good humor, and they arranged to play tennis next club day.

As Ravi took his leave after dinner, Samira accompanied him outside to have a few moments alone with him.

“I had a wonderful time,” she said.

“I’d like to do it again, if you would. I’ll find somewhere better for us to go next time.”

She laughed. “I’d love to. And it doesn’t really matter where we go.”

He drew her to him and put his arms around her waist. “Am I allowed to kiss you now?”

She felt herself blushing and at a loss for words. He took her silence for consent. His lips found hers, and he kissed her softly and gently.

“It would be easy to love you,” he whispered. “And I think that maybe I do.”

Then he was gone, and she lingered in the garden under the big, round moon pasted against the purple sky. She needed time to collect her thoughts and cool her flushed cheeks, still feeling the tingle of his kiss on her mouth.

Chapter 9

Dooars, 1977

It was the day of the Annual Flower Show at the club. Ramona had been preparing her exhibits for weeks. Ramchand had thought of nothing else for months. He refused to trust the other gardeners with watering his prize plants or applying fertilizer. Each day, he zealously studied the skies for rain. Too much rain and his fragile flowers would be destroyed, too little and his vegetables would shrivel and die.

He was the only gardener who knew the exact level and angle of pruning required to ensure a healthy re-growth. Everything needed to be planned to the last detail. He didn’t want his prize specimens maturing too early or too late. One of the cauliflowers in his vegetable garden was colossal, a prizewinner for sure. But it would be past its prime by the day of the flower show. It would just have to be sent to the kitchen to be eaten by the Sahibs. What a waste!

At this time of year, he begrudged having to part with his produce. He wanted to have as much of a selection as possible for the big day. Normally, he took pride in preparing the daily baskets of fruit, vegetables and flowers and delivering them to the Memsahib. The smile on her face was thanks enough for him, even if she didn’t always make a comment.

The morning of the flower show Ramchand woke at the crack of dawn and tiptoed out of bed trying not to disturb Usha. There was much to be done. He rushed to the bungalow, hoping the Memsahib wouldn’t be late. In the house, Ramona sipped her morning tea, sitting up in bed. Charles had roused her before leaving for the factory, so she would have plenty of time to spend with Ramchand selecting their exhibits. Meanwhile, Samira awoke with a tingle of excitement running down her spine. Today was the day of the flower show, and Ravi had invited her to go with him. She wanted plenty of time to wash her hair, do her nails and experiment with the new makeup she’d bought to make herself look pretty.

Ramona threw on an old pair of slacks and went to find Ramchand. The garden was a flurry of activity. All the gardeners had been summoned early to help with the preparations. Kala had fetched the factory’s pickup truck and was waiting to transport the plants to the club. She found Ramchand crouched over the cabbages.

“Salaam, Memsahib.” He rose to his feet and touched his hand to his forehead. They walked up and down the rows of vegetables and selected the plumpest, ripest and most impressive produce. Then they moved to the flower beds, instructing the gardeners on what blooms to pick and how to best arrange them for the journey.

It was mid-morning before the truck was loaded. Kala would drive to the club with Ramchand beside him in the passenger seat. It was a perfect day. There was plenty of cloud cover but no smell of rain. Ramona was to follow in the car with Mark after lunch. Kala would drive the car back to the bungalow to get Charles, who wasn’t going until late afternoon. Kala would drive the truck back at the end of the day. Samira didn’t need a lift. She was going on the motorcycle with Ravi and in all probability would return with him.

Ramchand was in his element, issuing orders to the other gardeners as though he was a Sahib. He didn’t care about losing popularity with his helpers. It was the result that mattered. He wanted to make sure all his exhibits were clearly identified with the labels he had been given by one of the organizers. He kept an eagle eye on them to make sure no one with lesser exhibits switched his labels. When she arrived with all the other Memsahibs, his Memsahib would prepare her entry for the Ladies’ Flower Arrangement using the flowers she had chosen. People were coming from all over the Dooars to participate. He had made his selection of flowers for his Gardeners Bouquet and knew exactly how he was going to arrange it.

Back in the bungalow Samira was still experimenting with her makeup and trying to decide on an outfit. Ramona and Mark had left after lunch. She couldn’t go in a tennis skirt or shorts or one of her evening dresses. She had already worn her red slacks. All her dresses were old and tired. Why hadn’t she thought to order something new? She badly needed to go to Darjeeling to shop. She searched frantically in her wardrobe and spotted an old purple dress she’d never worn because it had never fit her properly. She was running out of time.

She tried it on in desperation, struggling with the zipper. It wasn’t too bad, a trifle short maybe. Or was it a little tight? She decided it would have to do and grabbed a pair of white sandals. They were filthy. The only other pair that looked decent was a pair of high-heeled black pumps with pointy toes, not something she would normally wear during the day. She heard the unmistakable sound of Ravi’s motorcycle. Well, at least her hair and her face looked good. She had spent a lot of time making sure of that. She rummaged around, found a chiffon scarf that Ramona didn’t want because it made her look too severe and ran down the steps to Ravi.

He whistled when he saw her.

“You look incredible! That’s some dress.”

“Do you think it looks okay?” As usual she was anxious.

“It’s more than okay. It’s beautiful. Now come here.”

He kissed her on the mouth softly and looked into her eyes. Shaking, she tied the scarf around her hair and climbed behind him.

They looked everywhere for Ramona and Mark when they arrived. The flower show was in full swing, and everyone was there. Ravi walked with his arm around Samira. Ramona was just putting the finishing touches to her flower arrangement when she spotted them. A look of horror crossed her face. Samira had been rushing up to her and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw her.

“What’s wrong, Mum?” she asked.

“Come with me,” she said to Samira, marching her into the ladies’ room. Ravi looked puzzled. Samira mouthed the words for him to wait.

“Where did you get that dress?” she demanded. “And why are you wearing those shoes?”

“It’s… it’s an old dress I never liked. The garden tailor made it,” she stammered. “And my white shoes were scuffed, so I had to wear these. I didn’t have anything else. Do I look awful?”

The look of distress on her face awakened an old memory in Ramona. She remembered Prava castigating her for the clothes she’d bought with her first paycheck and how it had made her feel. She had sworn to herself that day she would never treat her daughter the same way. And why exactly was she upset with Samira? She didn’t look at all bad, just more adult than she’d ever seen her, especially because of the way she’d made up her face. Actually, she looked amazing, even though the dress was much more adult than what she normally wore. And the high heels seemed to accentuate how adult and, well, sexy, she looked.

“No you don’t look bad at all. You look lovely. I was just surprised, that’s all. I’m sorry. Now go and find Ravi.”

“Thanks, Mum.” Samira was genuinely surprised by her quick about turn. “Good luck with your arrangement.”

She ran to find Ravi, not quite sure what to think and found him, not surprisingly, at the bar with Mark.

“Wow-ee!” exclaimed Mark when he saw his sister. “Nice dress!”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Ravi murmured in her ear. “You look delicious.”

“Give me one second, please,” said Samira. She had dressed and run out of the house in such a hurry. She had to find out why everyone was reacting to her this way.

“Samira, is that you?”

It was Anita Dutt, large as life. She sniggered at Samira, looking her up and down.

“Ah, yes. I saw you with Ravi. I understand.” She gave her a knowing look.

“You look very sexy. I’m sure he’ll go for you,” she shouted after Samira, as she ran to the ladies’ room for the second time that afternoon. In the full-length mirror, she saw a woman in classy, high-heeled shoes, immaculate makeup and perfect hair, wearing a dress molded to her curves.

“Ohhh,” she said to the woman. Was that really her? Tall, grown-up and sophisticated.

“Hi, Sammy. Gracious. Look at you. Aren’t you all grown-up!” said a woman walking in.

“Hello, madam….why, Sammy, I didn’t recognize you!” someone else said, as she walked across the ballroom. She was elated and confident knowing for once that she looked sensational. She went to find Ravi so that she could spend every moment of her newly found sensational-ness with him.

Then she ran into Charles.

“Hi, Daddy,” she purred. He stared at the stylish, young woman, speechless.

“Sammy? Is it you?” He genuinely wasn’t altogether certain.

“Daddy!” she said. “Of course it’s me.”

“Yes, dear, I know. You look very nice. Now where’s Mummy?” he hurried away, at a loss for words.

Ramchand and the other gardeners were waiting outside the marquee while the judges went through the exhibits. No one was allowed inside until the judging was over. The suspense was unbearable. In the clubhouse, the Memsahibs were waiting, trying to hide their impatience. Memsahibs were not known for their patience at the best of times. Finally, the judges emerged, and the ladies thronged in, followed by the planters and then their gardeners after a respectable period of time. Ramchand frantically looked around. He hoped for a “Highly Commended” rosette, at least one to take home to Usha.

In all the commotion, he saw Ramona beckoning and pointing to his “Gardener’s Bouquet.” It was a combination of scarlet and purple blooms, roses, pansies, violets and trails of morning glory against a background of palm fronds. The rosette attached to it did not say “Highly Commended.” He didn’t understand why Ramona and all the others were congratulating him and thumping him on the back. “Best in Show” it said on the large red rosette. That must be good judging by everyone’s response. His English was not that good.

It was Ravi who understood his confusion and translated for him. He whispered in his ear, so no one else would realize he didn’t know what it meant. Ramchand stood gazing at the rosette with tears in his eyes. He had the best exhibit in the show! He, Ramchand! His eyes met Ramona’s, and she smiled at him warmly. Mark came over and hugged him. Charles shook his hand and said,

“Shabash, Mali. Shabash.”

A beautiful young lady seized his hand. In a haze, he realized that it was Samira, his Missy Baba, who was excited for him.

And as if that was not enough, there were other awards, First Prize for his Ena Harkness Roses, Third Prize for his gooseberries and there it was, the coveted “Highly Commended” rosette for his display of Sweet William. What more could a man ask for? He cared nothing for the wads of cash that accompanied the gardeners’ awards. He couldn’t wait to get home and tell Usha.