A Sahib's Daughter (2 page)

Her habit of thrift grew worse as she grew older, and her insecurity made her more miserly by the day. She had always deprived Ramona of anything pretty or frivolous so when Ramona received her first paycheck, she rushed to a fabric store in Chowrasta with Sandra in tow. Like any other young woman, she craved pretty things, above all fashionable dresses like the ones other teachers at St. Jude’s wore. With Sandra’s help, she decided on a length of cotton fabric and called for the tailor who worked at the store. He showed them a selection of Sears’s catalogs from which Ramona picked the style of dress he would create. He took her measurements and promised to have it ready in a week. Next they raided the stores for a pair of white shoes and a stylish handbag to match her new dress.

It was a wonderful feeling to have money, especially money she’d earned herself.

“Let’s go to Glenarys for tea,” she said grandly. Glenarys was one of the fanciest restaurants in town, with real linen table cloths and heavy silverware. Panoramic vistas of the Kanchenjunga Mountains could be seen from the rear. The front windows offered views of the street, perfect for people watching, and were preferred by the locals. The girls opted for a seat by a front window and ordered a pot of tea with lemon tarts and cream horns. The restaurant was empty except for a group of rowdy British men at a table near the bar.

“And what brings you pretty ladies to town?” one of them asked. He was short and balding and had the loudest laugh of them all.

“We’re teachers from St. Jude’s,” said Sandra. “This is my friend Ramona. I’m Sandra.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance,” he said. “I’m Geoffrey. Geoffrey Peters. These are my friends Jack, Jimmy and Tony, all tea planters.”

Ramona was unaccustomed to the company of young men, especially British ones, and regarded them somewhat disdainfully. They had loud honking voices, laughing raucously among themselves in sharp contrast to their polite, well-mannered attitude to the ladies.

One of the men said something in a low voice to Geoffrey. He turned to Sandra and said,

“Are you, by any chance, going to the dance at the Gymkhana Club next week?”

“We don’t know anything about it,” replied Sandra, who’d heard about the dances at the Gymkhana Club and always wanted to go to one.

“We’d like to invite you ladies along. It’s next Saturday at five o’clock. Do come!”

The other men, starved for female company, joined in.

“Please.”

“Say yes.”

“Save us a dance!”

Ramona and Sandra looked at each other questioningly. Finally, Ramona said,

“Okay. Yes, we’d love to.”

“Smashing.”

“Cheers!”

“Wonderful,” the men chimed in.

Sandra blushed and Ramona giggled. When they called for their bill after the planters left, they were told that the British Sahibs had already settled it.

“Well, look at that!” cried Sandra. “Maybe now you’ll start liking foreign men.”

“Perhaps, though I don’t care for any of them, nice as they are. I’m glad I’ll have something to wear,” said Ramona, thinking of her new outfit. “I hope my dress will be ready in time.”

The following Friday she went excitedly to the tailor. It was Good Friday, a school holiday, the day before the dance. She was told the dress was ready and went into the little dressing room to try it on, hoping it wouldn’t need to be altered. It was white cotton with red polka dots, caught in at the waist with a red sash. It had a full skirt that came to just below her knees. Ramona looked at herself in the full-length mirrors, a luxury she didn’t have in her bedroom at home. She had never had anything so pretty in all her life. It was a little tight around the bust and more revealing than she’d intended, but there was no denying that it flattered her curves and emphasized her slim waist.

Elated, she rushed home, eager to show the dress to her mother. She put it on, took the shoes out of the box and put them on over her new ankle socks. She regarded her reflection appraisingly in the tiny mirror, placing the white handbag over her elbow. Perfect! She ran out of the room to find Prava.

“Ama, where are you?” she called, twirling her full skirts. Prava appeared in the drawing room and could scarcely recognize the young lady standing before her. Suddenly, all the years of accumulated bitterness and insecurity seemed to surge out of her.

“What’s the meaning of this!” she demanded. “Have I scrimped and saved all these years for you to rush out and spend money the minute my back is turned?”

Ramona feared for a moment that her mother was going to strike her.

“Ama, I paid for it all myself,” she pleaded, tearfully. “And I give you more than half of what I make.”

But Prava was too enraged to hear anything Ramona was saying.

“How dare you do this? Take those things off at once and stay in your room!”

“I will go to my room,” cried Ramona, “but only because I choose to be alone. I’m twenty-one years old, and you can’t treat me this way.”

She stormed upstairs; all pleasure in her new possessions evaporated. This arrangement was not going to work if her mother didn’t relinquish some measure of control over her. Perhaps she was too old to be living with her and she should move to the school with Sandra and the other single women. Become like one of them, an old spinster with no life to call her own.

Was this what she really wanted, she wondered? Or was she simply living the life her mother had planned for her? She took off the dress, the shoes and socks and put them away. Prava would not be pleased to see her go to the dance in her new clothes. But she had nothing else to wear, and there was no question of not going. Sandra was looking forward to it too much. And so, until now, had she.

Saturday afternoon finally came around, and Prava couldn’t pretend that she didn’t know about the dance. Ramona had told her all about it, only omitting mention of the dress in order to surprise her with it. Already regretting her outburst, Prava had been slightly subdued ever since. Apologizing to her daughter would not have crossed her mind, but she tried to make up for it in her own way, cooking Ramona’s favorite chicken korma for lunch and offering to do her ironing.

When Sandra arrived in the afternoon with a small overnight bag, Prava took off to a neighbor’s house for tea.

“Just leave the front door unlocked when you leave,” she told her daughter.

Ramona was relieved not to have to flaunt the dress in front of her. She and Sandra were going to get ready for the dance together. They dressed excitedly in Ramona’s room. Sandra had dozens of dresses to choose from, more dresses than occasions in which to wear them. She had chosen yellow chiffon for this Easter Saturday. Her cheeks were flushed in anticipation of the adventure ahead. She secretly hoped Geoffrey would be there, not daring to confide her thoughts to Ramona who did not like British men.

“It’s not too revealing, I hope?” asked Ramona, surveying herself anxiously in the tiny mirror.

“Of course not! And you know it looks good on you. Just don’t wear it to school, or you’ll drive Bob Jameson crazy.”

“I won’t, don’t you worry! Though it was meant to be something I could wear to school.”

The Gymkhana Club was only a few minutes away, approached by a winding roadway above the Mall. It was a fresh spring evening with just a hint of chill in the air. A setting sun cast golden rays through branches of the fir and spruce trees that proliferated in the town. Land Rovers and jeeps from the tea plantations drove up noisily, dilapidated taxi cabs deposited local residents and chauffeured automobiles honked and squawked their way past lower caliber vehicles. Many, like the girls, arrived on foot. Suddenly nervous and apprehensive, they hung back wondering if they were crazy to have come.

“Let’s go home!” whispered Sandra, “I don’t see any of the men.” No sooner had she spoken than Geoffrey appeared, smiling broadly.

“You made it!” he said, proud to have pulled off the feat of bringing two pretty young ladies to the dance. “I’m so glad. You both look wonderful!”

He looked different, too, in a dark gray jacket and blue tie. His sparse hair was slicked back neatly, and he wore nice leather shoes, Sandra noted. She liked men who wore good shoes.

He guided the ladies into the crowded ballroom. Ramona gazed in wonder at the revelation of light and movement and sound that engulfed her. Elegant dancers circled the floor to music from a small orchestra on the stage. Ornate mirrors on the walls reflected and multiplied the light from crystal chandeliers more magnificent than anything she’d ever seen. A gilt edged ceiling of celestial blue shimmered above the myriad colors below.

They joined the other men seated around a table, and were handed glasses of punch, something Ramona had never tasted before. It was icy and delicious and made her head spin. Suddenly they were dancing under the chandeliers, circling the room, becoming part of the sparkling reflections. When the music stopped, she walked back to the table, starry-eyed and flushed, and saw that there was someone walking towards her, a man with light brown hair and eyes, tall and somewhat gangly.

“My name is Charles Clarke,” he said, holding out his hand and smiling into her eyes. “May I have this dance?”

She gazed up at him, dizzy from the punch, breathless from dancing and blinded by the light of the mirrors. She felt him take her hand and guide her on to the floor. His arm went around her, and they were dancing.

“Who are you?” he asked. “What’s your name?”

She smiled up at him, for once not a trace of cynicism in her eyes.

“Just Ramona,” she said. “I live close by, and teach at one of the local boarding schools.”

“Well, just Ramona,” he teased, “You are by far the most beautiful woman in the room.”

Speechless and confused, she could think of nothing to say. When the song ended, he held her arm possessively, defying anyone to approach her and take her away from him. She was overwhelmed, mesmerized by his eyes and when the tempo slowed, the beating of his heart against hers. They danced until the music died and the orchestra left the stage.

“I would really like to see you again, just Ramona,” Charles said.

“I’d like to see you too.” She floated on a cloud to the celestial ceiling above.

And later, reflecting on what he’d said to her and their conversation, she wasn’t quite sure it could have been possible, or that she’d heard right, but she had a faint memory of him saying to her, “If I don’t marry you, I won’t marry anyone!”

She found herself overcome with emotions that were unfamiliar yet exhilarating. She couldn’t wait to see him again, to gaze into those eyes and feel his hands on her back.

“Well?” Sandra gave her a dig, “What’s up? What are you smiling at? And who was that man you were dancing with all night?”

They had crept into Ramona’s room as quietly as they could to avoid waking Prava.

Ramona brushed her hair vigorously. “I don’t know the first thing about Charles Clarke, but I think I just met my future husband.”

Sandra was speechless. Ramona was obviously more clueless than she’d realized. One dance with a man, and she wanted to marry him! If only life were that simple!

“You’re so sweet and funny,” she laughed, carefully folding her yellow dress.

“One minute you don’t like Englishmen, and the next you’re going to marry one! Are you going to see him again? Did he ask you out?”

Ramona looked at Sandra with surprise. “Of course, I’m going to see him again. Don’t you believe me? He’s the man I’m going to marry.”

Sandra didn’t know what to say. British Sahibs did not marry local women. It simply didn’t happen. Her own mother could attest to that. And she, Sandra, was living proof of the outcome of such unions, belonging nowhere, with a mother exiled for sleeping with a Sahib. Certainly, they made promises and spoke fine words. They gave a woman a great time, sometimes living with them for years and fathering several children. But when it was time to go home, they would simply return, never to be heard of again, leaving behind women whose lives were devastated. Sometimes, if he had a conscience, the Sahib would set the family up in a house and send them money. But more often than not, the woman would return to her family in disgrace, with her light-skin children and no prospect of ever marrying.

These children were regarded with curiosity their entire lives, especially if they were fair- haired or had fair skin, stigmas they couldn’t shake off. Ramona was not oblivious to what went on, Sandra knew that much. The Anglo-Indians evolved from these alliances were commonplace and more sociably accepted since Independence in 1947. She knew Ramona didn’t need a history lesson, perhaps more of a reality check. But she didn’t have the heart to extinguish the light from her eyes just yet. And there was always a chance she would return to her senses the following day, once the effects of the punch had worn off.

But next morning, Ramona was still exuberant. She prattled excitedly to Prava over breakfast, describing every detail of the night before, leaving Sandra no option but to join in. She, too, had had a wonderful time. Geoffrey was going away for a few weeks but had promised to get in touch when he returned. Well, she wouldn’t hold her breath. She’d heard that one before.

“And he’s taking me out to lunch,” she heard Ramona announce. “He’s coming to pick me up at noon.”

Sandra noted the intense disapproval of her mother; her emotions held in check no doubt because of her presence. Would she try to forbid the relationship, she wondered? Could she be that heartless, that obtuse?

Sandra left for church while Ramona floated upstairs to her room to dress. Prava went outside to pick mint leaves for chutney, her lips set in a tight line, a chill in her heart. Should she have been more open with Ramona? She had certainly schooled her severely, warning her against lustful strangers, hesitant of going into too much detail for fear of revealing her own past indiscretion. Now she feared alienating her daughter by disapproving of Charles, especially after her outburst over the new dress. Ramona would assume it was because she was still resentful about it.

Upstairs, Ramona started to wonder if she’d been imagining things the night before. Had he really meant that he wanted to marry her, or was it just a joke, something British people said in jest? And did she even want to marry him? Well, she certainly intended to find out.