Belonging (26 page)

‘Why didn’t
you
write? I remember now. He did ask you to write to him.’

‘Why do you think? I felt humiliated. I didn’t want him to think I was pursuing him.’ He’s silent for a moment. ‘It was a shock, because of all the people I’ve known he was the least inclined to condemn anyone.’

‘I have Indian blood, you know.’ The words are out before I have time to think.

He raises his eyebrows. ‘That’s a sudden change of subject.’

‘I’ve just found out. I wasn’t sure I’d dare to tell anyone. My mother, apparently… Are you shocked?’

He considers for a moment. ‘I don’t think so, but then I haven’t had time to get used to it. You’re still you.’

‘And if you’d just met me?’

‘And knew? Would I have a preconception about you? Probably. It’s how we are. What about you? Are you shocked?’

‘Um… not really. Well, maybe a little. More surprised… but again, if we’d just met…’

We smile at each other. This is the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him, the most relaxed I’ve ever felt with him, or anyone since Father died. Even with Jagjit, I always wanted him to like me, so I was never fully myself. I look out at the great open plain below us; for the first time in a long time I feel as if I can breathe.

‘Simon, if you could go back to how you were before the war, would you?’

There is a long silence while I watch the clouds blowing towards us over the patchwork of fields below. It is still where we are, but up there the wind must be fierce, pulling the clouds into different shapes before shredding them. I watch
an elephant change into a roaring lion and then an old bearded man, his mouth agape as though bellowing curses or prophesies. I hear that vibration again, for the first time in a long time. The syllables reverberate through my mind. I know what they are now.

He says quietly, ‘If I could turn back the clock and save all those men, take the whole world back to before the war, of course I would. But go back myself? Do you know, I don’t think I would. I like myself better now.’

‘I do too… like you better now, I mean. But also me. I was so wrapped up in myself before. Poor Aunt Mina. Father wished he had given me to her to bring up. He thinks… thought… I would have had a better life.’

He looks at me. ‘But then you wouldn’t be you. You wouldn’t be so understanding. I wouldn’t be able to tell you things I can’t tell anyone else.’

After a while I say, ‘But we’re still both in the same boat.’

‘With a shameful secret, you mean?’

‘No. Well, yes, but with Jagjit, I meant. He doesn’t want either of us.’ And as I say it my eyes fill with tears again.

‘Oh, come on, Lila. You know he wants you. He always has.’

I give a small snort. ‘He has a queer way of showing it.’

‘He’s afraid.’

‘Of what?’

‘That he’s forgotten how to love? That he doesn’t deserve love? That it will be snatched away from him?’

I know how that feels. ‘Tell me what to do, Simon.’

‘Do you love him?’

I look at him.

‘Then what are you really afraid of?’

I open my mouth but no words come. I’m afraid of so many things. I have always thought I was brave, self-reliant,
but I see now that I am just a coward… that all my life I have withdrawn from people, shut them out, told myself I didn’t need them. I think of Aunt Mina, of the losses and rejections that made her withdraw into her own Fort of Despair, of Mother, frozen in her fear, and realise that I am not so different. Since Father died I have made myself an island.

He touches my arm. ‘What were you planning to do before you got his letter?’

‘I don’t know. I’d decided to go back to India… I’ve always felt it was my home. Your mother encouraged me to apply for a place at the King Edward Medical College in Lahore. They would have me, but I don’t know if I want it now.’

‘Why not?’

‘Same reason as you… it’ll look as if I’m pursuing him.’

‘So you’re going to sacrifice everything to your pride? Or is it fear?’

I think of Mother again, fear turning her to stone. ‘Simon, what would you do if you were me?’

His eyes are the same shade of silver-grey as the clouds behind him, and for a moment I feel as though I am looking through the empty eyeholes of a mask and the sky is speaking to me.

‘The only thing there ever is to do. Choose, and accept the consequences.’

And so I do. I choose to go home.

To my two generous friends, both of whom read several drafts of this book and gave me unconditional encouragement and support at either end of the project: Kevin Parry, for knowing what this book was about before I knew it myself, and for reminding me when I forgot, and Firdaus Gandavia, for insightful suggestions and encouragement when I was ready to give up.

Also to Peter Abbs, James Burt, Jamie Crawford, Celia Hunt, Chandra Masoliver, Bill Parslow, Dorothy Max Prior, Indra Sinha and anyone else who read one or more drafts, especially Dylan D’Arch for valuable military tips, and India Stoughton for being my biggest fan.

To Maggie Phillips of Ed Victor, without whose encouragement and reminders I would never have finished the first draft, and to Candida Lacey, Vicky Blunden, Linda McQueen, Dawn Sackett and all the other staff at Myriad, for being a joy to work with and for their total commitment to making this book as good as we could make it.

Finally, to David, India and Jared Stoughton for their love, support and tolerance of my abstraction during the years it took to write this novel.

The events in this book are all based on real historical events and many of the background characters are real, although the main characters and their personal histories are invented. However, I have sometimes borrowed incidents or snippets of dialogue or description from contemporaneous accounts to add veracity.

On p.20 the lines quoted are from the
Bhagavad Gita,
translated by Juan Mascaró with introduction by Simon Brodbeck, Penguin Classics 1962, 2003; translation copyright © Juan Mascaró, 1962; introduction copyright © Simon Brodbeck, 2003.

The text on pp.42–3 is excerpted from the article ‘Encounter at Kurusetra’ by Ravindra Svarupa Dasa in
Back to Godhead
magazine Vol.19.1, 1984, copyright Bhaktivedanta Book Trust International,
www.krishna.com
. Used with permission.

On p.82 and 164 the lines quoted are inspired by a poem by Mir Taqi Mir, loosely translated by Indra Sinha.

On pp.110 and 311 the passages of the book Simon reads aloud are taken from
Candles in the Wind
by Maud Diver, Wm Blackwood & Sons, 1909, pp.45–6.

On pp.31, 181 and 311 the story referred to or quoted from is ‘The House of Eld’, from
Fables
by Robert Louis Stevenson, Association for Scottish Literary Studies Scottish Literature, University of Glasgow,
www.asls.org.uk
.

My research sources are too numerous to mention but the main ones are as follows.

For the Indian Mutiny,
Our Bones are Scattered: The Cawnpore Massacres and the Indian Mutiny of 1857
by Andrew Ward, John Murray, London 1996, tells the story of the entire mutiny in an admirably lucid and accessible way.

The events at Cawnpore as described by Cecily and Arthur Langdon are based on accounts in:
The Story of Cawnpore
by Mowbray Thomson, Richard Bentley, London 1859;
Cawnpore
by G.O. Trevelyan, Macmillan, London 1865;
The Tale of the Great Mutiny
by W.H. Fitchett, Smith, Elder & Co, London 1901; and
Annals of the Indian Rebellion 1857–1858
, compiled by N.A. Chick, Sanders, Cones, Calcutta 1859.

Cecily’s voice and some of the anecdotes she relates were inspired by
Tigers, Durbars and Kings: Fanny Eden’s Indian Journals 1837–1838
, John Murray, London 1988, and
Traveller’s India, An Anthology,
Oxford University Press, Oxford 1979.

Information about the local women’s suffrage movement came from newspapers and articles in the Special Collections at Brighton library.

Information about the Indian Army in the First World War came from
A Matter of Honour: An Account of the Indian Army its Officers and Men,
by Phillip Mason, Jonathan Cape, London 1974, which was one of the surprisingly few books I found about the First World War in which the contribution of the two million Indian soldiers is explored or even mentioned. In a surprising number of books about the war, the word ‘Indian’ does not even appear in the index.

The description of the Indian Hospital at Brighton is based on:
Dr. Brighton’s Indian Patients – December 1914 to January 1916,
by Joyce Collins, Brighton Books Publishing, Brighton 1997; and
Blighty Brighton: Photographs and Memories of Brighton in the First World War
, QueenSpark Books, Brighton 1991.

Books useful in researching the Mesopotamian campaign in the First World War were:
Kut: Death of an Army
by Ronald Millar, Secker and Warburg, London 1969; and
The Siege
by Russell Braddon, Jonathan Cape, London 1969.

And finally, my thanks to the Imperial War Museum, the Army Museum, Chelsea, and Colindale Newspaper Library, whose staff were extremely helpful during my research in the days before some of these resources were available online.

And of course Wikipedia has been useful for quickly double-checking dates and facts from more reliable sources.

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Umi Sinha was born and grew up in India. She has an MA in creative writing and taught at the University of Sussex for ten years. She runs writing classes and a mentoring service for writers, and co-runs a performance storytelling club in Sussex.