Rikkho was about to say something in protest, but kept quiet when she heard a commotion outside the hut. There were loud shouts, ‘Hey you! Come here! Over there.’ The women rushed to the entrance of the hut and peered out.
They saw two men wearing suits and hats, and some police officers. Several constables were going around busily between the rows of huts. The women were scared. The police had come to investigate Sukhdet’s
disappearance, they thought grimly. Who knew what the police might do to them?
A group of men and women appeared, and began to sweep the ground with brooms. Vimalji and Prasadji, with some other men, were seen approaching rapidly. One of them ordered the washing hanging on the electric cable to be removed at once. Two constables came and inquired how many people were in Tara’s hut. They withdrew after being told that the hut was for women only.
A thorough checking of the huts and the residents seemed to be going on. Tara did not go to the camp office. Another group of camp officials moved in and out of the row of huts.
Doctor Shyama came into Tara’s hut with another woman. They both wore sunglasses, their bodies and clothes carried the fragrance of different perfumes. They looked distinct and of a very different status from the women of the hut who wore crumpled, old and dirty clothes.
Shyama saw Tara and spoke to her in English, ‘Hello, how are you? No more problems, I hope? I was in the camp office on Wednesday. Vimalji said that Prasadji had taken you to the Indraprastha College. Any luck there?’
‘Ji, nothing came of it,’ Tara replied meekly in English. ‘Please find me some work, any type of work. I am also ready to work as a nurse.’
Shyama said to her companion, ‘Tara is a graduate, from a good family. Mrs Agarwal, you should do something for her.’
Mrs Agarwal was of stout build, and a rather dark complexion. Sweat had made tiny furrows in the layer of talcum powder covering her fleshy neck. She took off her sunglasses as she adjusted the heavy kundan pendant of her gold necklace, and looked at Tara closely, ‘I’ll think about it. Is her English fluent?’
‘Tara is a graduate,’ Shayma interrupted Mrs Agarwal, and continued in English, ‘She has really been through a great deal. She’s a courageous and responsible young woman.’
Mrs Agarwal nodded as she looked into Tara’s eyes, ‘Achcha, I’ll speak to her later.’
Shyama said to everyone, ‘Listen, the Prime Minister is coming to inspect the camp. All of you have to arrange and store your belongings neatly. Change clothes if you have any others. If anyone of you has any complaints to make, you can tell me or Mrs Agarwal here. We’ll explain
things properly on your behalf. Or you can tell Tara, and she’ll convey it to us.’ Shyama and Mrs Agarwal left to visit other huts.
In their hut only Tara fully understood the reason for the feverish activity in the camp. She explained to others, ‘Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, the Prime Minister, the highest vizier of the country, is coming to the camp.’ She felt a tremor of excitement. She had never seen Pandit Nehru, and now she would be able to see him up close. He and Mahatma Gandhi were the two biggest leaders of the country. Intrigued by the hectic activity in the camp, the women stood in the doorway and watched the goings on curiously.
Prasadji, Vimalji and one of the men dressed in hat and suit came and stood at some distance from Tara’s hut. The man asked in a loud voice, ‘Does anyone here have any problems?’
‘There’s only one water tap for so many people,’ said a voice.
‘Water tap? All right, we’ll put in another.’
‘The deputy commissioner sahib says that he will have another faucet installed by tomorrow,’ Vimalji reassured them.
Prasadji added, ‘You are our own people. We try to serve you as best as we can. If you have any problems or complaints, you can tell me or to Vimalji. You know that we come and meet with you everyday. Pandit Nehru has only ten minutes to visit this place, but we are always here as his representatives. Panditji will pass along the pathway between the huts. You should all stand outside your huts to have his darshan. Do not block the pathways. After that Panditji will address you all for five minutes. At that time, you can assemble in front of the camp office tent. Panditji likes discipline. He does not like unruliness. When Panditji goes by your hut, stand the children in front of you. Panditji loves children.’
Prasadji came inside the hut for women and repeated his remarks. How many children were in the hut? he asked. Prasanno’s four-year-old son and Dhammo’s three-year-old daughter were presented to him.
Prasadji beamed with delight, ‘Wah! What lovely children! But why do you keep your children so dirty? Wash their faces, change them into clean clothes. Go on! Hurry up!’
Dhammo’s mother-in-law nervously took the girl away. Prasanno had no other clothes for her son. He was wearing just a kurta, and no underwear. She whispered into Tara’s ear. Tara told Vimalji. After a few minutes of frenzied action, Prasanno was given a white kurta, two sizes too large, and
a pair of underpants for her son. Prasanno happily washed her son’s face and dressed him in his new clothes.
The camp residents were told to stand in orderly rows in front of their huts, to keep silent, and not to break ranks. All the young children wearing clean clothes were made to stand in front. Prasadji instructed the children, ‘Beta, when I come with other people, you have to say “Long live Nehruji”, “Chacha Nehru zindabad!”’
‘Hush, hush!…Quiet, keep quiet!…He’s coming!’
The camp residents looked expectantly towards the camp office, and the neat rows became bent and buckled as they eagerly craned their necks to have a better view. A hush fell over everyone. Tara’s heart pounded at the importance of the occasion. She stood inconspicuously near the entrance to the hut. Prasanno’s son and Dhammo’s daughter stood in the front row, their hands joined in namaste.
A small group came from the direction of the camp office. Walking ahead of everyone were Prasadji and a middle-aged man with a young man’s gait, smartly dressed in an achkan, churidar pajama and a Gandhi cap. A half-opened rose was stuck in the second buttonhole of the achkan. Prasadji was walking on tiptoe with his face raised, in order to be able to speak to the man. Behind them walked the deputy commissioner, police officers, Dr Shyama, Mrs Agarwal and a few others.
When the group reached in front of Tara’s hut, Prasadji said, ‘In this hut are the unfortunate women separated from their families.’
The Prime Minister slowed down. He leaned forward, patted the children on their heads, and asked the people in his entourage, ‘Do children get milk?’
His aides and the camp officials looked at one another. Prasadji and the deputy commissioner replied in unison, ‘Yes, sir.’
At the end of that row of huts, the Prime Minister turned towards the next row. An old man joined his hands and called out, ‘Maharaj-ji, may you rule forever. You evicted us from our brick houses and brought us here. Give us at least some simple rooms somewhere to live. If you can’t do that, why are you throwing us out of this place?’
The prime minister stopped and pulled at a button of his achkan.
Prasadji and the deputy commissioner explained something to him in a low voice.
The Prime Minister said, trying not to show his irritation, ‘That’s the system, the rule for refugee camps. Every place has some kind of rules. We can’t go on supporting you for the rest of your life.’
The old man opened his mouth to add something. Others in the group gestured to him to keep silent, and muttered to him in an undertone.
Over a hundred residents had gathered near the camp office. Prasadji’s voice came over the amplifier, ‘Our most venerated Prime Minister, brothers and sisters! It is our good fortune that the prince of all our hearts, the pride of the nation, our leader and Prime Minister Jawaharlalji Nehru has spared some of his invaluable time to agree to come and visit us here. Nehruji is not only the jewel of our nation, he is among the finest jewels of the whole world. Our country depends on him alone and on Gandhiji…’
‘What’s this nonsense…’ the Prime Minister’s voice interrupted.
He pushed Prasadji away from the microphone. Prasadji flashed a toothy grin, and said, ‘Now our most respected prime minister will say a few words.’
The Prime Minister began, as he pulled at one of the buttons on his achkan, ‘Brothers and sisters of the camp!’
Tara felt a ripple of excitement through her body. This was the voice of the man at the helm of the ship of state!
‘Everyone, including me, knows that you have undergone terrible sufferings. That is why I’ve come here to meet you and see the conditions you are living in. Our country has gone through certain political changes, that have had some good and some bad results. You all know this much, that if we accept the good results, we cannot avoid the bad results. These results are before you, you all are witness to them, but the Congress party or the government cannot be held entirely responsible for them. Although we may be responsible to some extent, and… and we do accept that. We consider it our duty to help you in your difficulties, and are doing our utmost. Tell us your problems and complaints. Who else will you tell your troubles to? The government and the camp officials will listen to your difficulties, and will do everything possible to help you. But you must also remember that just like your small camp here, we have established several much larger camps in Delhi. There are hundreds of such camps all over the country. A heavy burden rests on our shoulders and a heavy responsibility too. You should also not think only about your personal problems and situations. These are very important times. Our nation and the whole world are going through
very trying times. All of us, every citizen in the country has certain grave obligations. We should not lose sight of them. We should not be narrow-minded and think only of our own personal problems. Jai Hind!’
‘Jai Hind!’ Prasadji shouted the slogan after him.
‘Jai Hind!’ The gathering responded with one voice.
‘Long live Pandit Nehru!’
The crowd repeated the call.
The Prime Minister’s speech, Tara realized, was over. What she heard had not inspired her. She was hoping to be overwhelmed by the words of the nation’s steersman, the prince of world leaders who had captured the heart of the nation.
The crowd dispersed in a few moments.
The women in Tara’s hut gathered around her and asked, ‘What did the grand vizier have to say?’
Tara did not know what to tell them, and simply repeated the words of the prime minister.
‘Tara, listen!’
She turned around and saw Shyama and Mrs Agarwal standing in the doorway. Tara smoothed her sari and went over to them.
‘Mrs Agarwal wants to know if you can teach small children, and look after them?’ asked Shyama.
‘Ji, sure. I’d be able to do that quite well. I’ve done that kind of work. I used to tutor the children at the mansion of Raibahadur Gopal Shah in Lahore.’
‘Achcha, take whatever you have with you. Go with Mrs Agarwal. You’ll put up at her place.’
Tara went to her chatai to get her roll of bedding.
AN IMPOSING, TWO-STOREY MANSION. A BIG CAR WAITING IN THE PORTICO. A
groomed driveway of red earth curving through lush, green lawns, and well-tended flowerbeds and hedges. Servants in uniform, of white kurta and dhoti, or pajama. Tara’s room was at the back of the mansion. The directions given by Mrs Agarwal accentuated the intimidating aura of her employer’s status in Tara’s mind.
‘You see, all sorts of influential people, government officials and political leaders come to this house. Be careful always to dress properly. What sort of wardrobe do you have?’
She had three dhotis, Tara said. And that she would take care to dress as befitted the importance of her employer.
She waited in her room for instructions. A maidservant brought a small bundle of laundered and ironed clothes. She salaamed Tara with a smile, showing teeth blackened from chewing paan and tobacco, and said, ‘Miss sahib, you must be the new governess for Puttan and Lalli.’
Tara welcomed this opportunity to know something about the family by being friendly to the maid. She smiled back, ‘Yes.’
The maid said enthusiastically, ‘Miss Edward sahib used to work here. She wore a skirt. She found job at a school. A foreigner Miss sahib works as the governess at Chausia sahib’s house. You are our own desi Miss sahib. The mistress has sent some of her own clothes for you.’
Tara was keeping careful watch to learn how things were done in the household. She changed into a white dhoti, combed her hair in front of the mirror of a small dressing table in the room, and sat down in a chair so as not to crumple her sari. She reflected on how she would go about her duties carefully and conscientiously.
The maid came back after half an hour, and said, ‘Sahib and madam will see you in the drawing room.’
Mr Agarwal sat on a corner sofa, in a white shirt and trousers, and smoking a cigarette. Mrs Agarwal sat on another sofa to his right. Tara entered the room with her hands joined in namaste. Sahib was about to rise from his chair, then thought otherwise, and pointing to a sofa across from him, said, ‘Please have a seat.’
He asked, ‘With whom did you work in Lahore?’
‘Ji, I used to tutor the children at Rai Bahadur Gopal Shah’s mansion. Professor Pran Nath was quite satisfied with my tutoring work.’
‘I knew the rai bahadur. Who is this Professor Nath?’ Mr Agarwal asked, wrinkling his forehead.
‘Ji, Doctor Pran Nath was the economic advisor to the governor of Punjab, and a professor at the university. He was the grandson of the rai bahadur.’
The wrinkles disappeared from sahib’s forehead. He paused to draw on his cigarette, ‘How many children?’
‘Three. A three-and-a-half-year-old girl, one four-and-a-half, and one five-year-old boy. They were nieces and nephews of the professor. I followed the Montessori method to tutor them.’
‘Hmm… You lived with them?’
‘Ji, no. I lived with my family. I was preparing for the university exam.’
‘Well, we’ll give you accommodation here as well. You’ll have your meals with the children, and to start with we’ll pay you seventy-five rupees per month. Is that all right with you?’
‘Whatever you offer is fine with me,’ Tara replied, and added, ‘I’ll think of Mrs Agarwal as an elder sister or mother.’
‘Why, you must be around twenty-two or twenty-three,’ Madam cut in.
‘Ji, that’s right,’ Tara said, and realized that Madam didn’t want to be considered as old enough to be her mother.
The sound of a child’s playful giggle came from outside the room. Mrs Agarwal asked Shivni, the maid, to bring the children in. A four-year-old girl wearing a frock and a six-year-old boy in shirt and shorts, wriggling in embarrassment, came in. Another, older boy looked in and scampered off.
‘Come back here, Bhupi bhaiyaa. Mummy’s calling you.’ Shivni’s pleading had no effect.
‘She’s your new Miss. Her name is Tara,’ Madam said to the children.
Tara smilingly held out her arms towards the children. The boy shrank away from her touch, and began to play with burnt matchsticks in an ashtray on a side table. The girl hid her face shyly in her mother’s lap.
Madam tried cajoling the children into talking to Tara, ‘Puttan, Lalli! She’s Miss Tara, the same as your former governess Miss Edwards. She’ll take care of you, and teach you many things. She knows lots of ways to have fun.’
‘Yes, child. I know lots of fun things. Come to me,’ Tara said affectionately to them.
The boy again turned his face away shyly, and remained where he was. Lalli shook her head and said, ‘She’s not a Miss. She’s aunty.’
‘Oh dear! How sweet!’ Tara said cheerfully. Tara used to make fun of the accent and ways of speech of her convent-school-educated friends. Now she spoke like them.
‘Hai, why isn’t she a Miss?’ Madam asked.
‘She’s not a Miss, she’s an aunt,’ the girl again shook her head and insisted.
‘A Miss wears a skirt,’ Puttan spoke up.
‘Wonderful! How intelligent!’ Tara’s praise of the children had a good effect on both parents.
Madam put her arm affectionately around her daughter and said, ‘Darling, recite that poem for Miss Tara.’
Lalli buried her face again in her mother’s lap. Madam promised her rewards of lollipop and ice cream. Her brother also encouraged her.
Lalli stood like a little doll.
‘Chubby cheeks,’ she put her fingers to her dusky cheeks.
‘Rosy lips,’ she moved a finger to her lips.
‘Dimpled chin,’ she touched her non-existent chin, them hid her face again in her mother’s lap.
After some prompting from Puttan, she said touching her short, bobbed hair, ‘Curly hair.’
‘Very fair,’ she recited, pointing to her face.
‘Eyes blue,’ she fluttered eyelids over dark eyes.
‘Mother’s pet, is that you!’ Puttan finished the poem for her.
‘Very good! How lovely! Very sweet!’ Tara patted the children on their backs to win them over.
Mrs Agarwal explained a few ground rules to Tara, and left the rest for her to pick up herself. Tara moulded herself carefully into the lifestyle of the AA villa. Madam desperately wanted her children to speak English always and to learn the social etiquette of the British. She found it frustrating not to be able to speak English fluently at the club and at social gatherings. She had noticed that although the country had become independent, it was only those people who could not speak English who spoke Hindi. She wanted her daughter to be able to recite and act out nursery rhymes in English. Her nine-year-old son Bhupi was in the second standard, and Dolly, the eldest daughter was in the sixth. Bhupi and Dolly did not consider themselves to be children, but it was Tara’s responsibility to decide on their daily diet,
and to look after the laundering and ironing of their clothes.
As instructed by Mrs Agarwal, Tara told the children to come to the dining room at 7.30. Bhupi arrived a little after the others. Tara tried to pat him affectionately on the head, but he hunched his shoulders and pulled in his neck like a turtle. He sat at some distance from the other two at the dining table.
Dolly did not come for dinner, but sent a message through Shivni, ‘I don’t have dinner so early.’ But she could not suppress her curiosity about the new governess, and hovered near the dining room as Tara and the children were coming out. Dolly wore salwar and kameez with her dupatta of some gauze-like material, twisted like a rope, thrown casually over her shoulders.
Dolly put her hands on her hips and pushed her shoulders back to show Tara that she was not a child. Then she said in English in a bossy tone, ‘You’re to work as governess to these children? They’re really spoilt!’ She asked, ‘You have a BA? Can you speak English fluently?’
‘I try to get by,’ Tara said with a smile. ‘If you wish, I’ll speak to you only in English. You would prefer that. Am I right?’
Next day, just after the noon hour, Dolly asked Tara, ‘Do you go to watch English movies?’
‘I haven’t been to one in quite a while. I’m new to this city.’
‘They’re showing
Nolly’s First Experience
at the Regal. Tickets are not sold to anybody under eighteen. Will you go with me?’ She said, with a touch of pleading.
‘Let me think about it, dear,’ Tara replied after a moment’s consideration. She was now in the habit of weighing up every answer carefully.
Besides the people Tara had been introduced to, there was also the children’s grandmother. Like Tara, she lived in a room at the back of the house. The grandmother was devoutly Hindu, and the decadent goings-on in the rest of the house disgusted her. The kitchen was her area of influence. She sat on a moodha of reed and jute in the scullery to make sure that the cook, Shivni and the other servants washed their hands regularly. She inquired about everyone’s caste. On her second morning with the family, Tara had greeted her with ‘Maaji, pranaam,’ which pleased the old woman immensely.
There was another member of the family, someone who appeared to be a university student, and who had deliberately ignored Tara on her first evening. Lalli and Puttan had called out on seeing him, ‘Bhaiyyaji has arrived.’ The servants treated him with respect.
Tara again saw him in the veranda next day as she ushered the children to the dining room for lunch. She said namaste to him, and lowered her eyes before he could respond. In the evening Tara was with Lalli and Puttan as they played badminton on the lawn, when she heard the roar of a motorbike and looked towards the noise. The young man on the motorbike waved at her. Tara waved back. She had learned by that time that Nottan—Narottam bhaiyya—was the eldest son of the family, and had had his education in England. The grandmother had told Tara that Dolly and Narottam were the children of Mr Agarwal’s first wife. Tara and Narottam had had no occasion to speak to each other beyond exchanging namastes.
Tara had been hired at the AA villa as a governess for the children, but she was asked to undertake several other tasks before her first week was over. The children left for their convent schools at seven in the morning, and returned at half past one. This young woman would sit around idly until then, thought the mistress of the house, but she was being paid for the whole day. She had not failed to notice that Tara could manage and supervise others quite efficiently.
Mrs Agarwal had given Tara two of her blouses, and Tara asked her permission to use the sewing machine to alter the blouses to her own measurements. Madam realized that Tara was quite clever with needlework as well.
Mrs Agarwal now had ample time to do social work. When she went out, she would ask Tara to answer the telephone, ‘These servants don’t know how to take messages.’ Sometimes she would ask Tara to mend some garments from her own wardrobe. Tara soon began to relax and feel comfortable in her new lifestyle. She had enough spare time to read two English and one Hindi newspaper. She was not dissatisfied with the present arrangement. She did not want to begin worrying again about her future, but the thought of what she would do with her life would cross her mind now and then. It might be possible to pass her BA exam, and find a job to become self-supporting.
Mr Agarwal’s office was in Connaught Place, on the second floor, and he kept another, smaller office at his residence. What madam had said about the different types of people who came to visit, Tara found, was quite correct. The guests were welcomed according to their social standing and importance. Some were asked to wait on the wicker chairs in the veranda, while others were ushered into the drawing room. Some special friends and
intimates, who came in the evenings, were entertained by Mr Agarwal in a drawing room upstairs. Shivni and Jugal, the cook, were kept especially busy at such times. Madam did not mind meeting or mingling with the visitors. If some special or distinguished visitor arrived, she quickly went to her room to change her sari, touch up her face and comb her hair. Tara soon sensed that Madam did not like her mingling with the guests.
One afternoon, Tara was playing with Puttan and Lalli in the veranda to the right of the main entrance to keep them amused when the family’s second car drove into the portico. Prasadji stepped out, and seeing Tara, came towards her. Tara said namaste to him.
‘Arrey, you’re here?’ Prasadji exclaimed. Then he expressed approval, ‘Very good! Very nice! I had spoken about you at the Nari Kala Mandir, but what you’ve found is certainly better. We’ll be meeting one another here. Where’s Mrs Agarwal? Isn’t she ready yet?’
Prasadji looked at his wrist watch. They were going to Mahatma Gandhi’s prayer meeting at Birla House. He patted Puttan’s cheek, ‘Where’s mummy? Go quickly and get her.’
Puttan ran inside.
Prasadji stood ogling at Tara as he spoke, ‘This is really nice. You look so much better since you came here. No one can look a picture of health as you Punjabis. Good food also makes a difference.’
Madam came out, straightening her khadi sari, ‘I’ve been waiting so long. I sent the car to fetch you at four.’
Prasadji bid Tara an abrupt farewell, ‘See you again,’ as he and Mrs Agarwal went to the waiting car.
Lalli screamed as she got up to run after her mother.
Tara quickly gathered the child in her arms. Lalli whined in protest, and flailed her legs to break free. She was not dressed to go out. And what was the point in taking her to the Mahatma’s prayer meeting?
‘Miss will give you a lollipop. Miss Tara, you give Lalli a big lollipop,’ madam said as the car drove away. There was no lollipop in the house for the child, and that created a problem for Tara. Tara sometimes took care of her young brother and sisters in Lahore, and if they misbehaved, she felt compelled to give them a slap or box their ears. But at the AA villa, that, of course, was out of question.
At the villa, the furniture, ornaments and collection of various objects d’art and knick-knacks in both drawing rooms and the main dining room
were in keeping with modern fashionable taste. Mrs Agarwal wanted to be seen as a thoroughly modern woman, but she lacked the training and the patience to acquire a discriminating eye. Her children were rather spoiled. The children had found that they could get away with anything by being stubborn, and by throwing a temper tantrum. Madam would first say no to them, then try to distract them with bribes of candies, and then threaten to shut them up in a cellar full of rats or give them away to the man who came with the dancing bear. In the end, she would curse them and yield to their demands. Shivni spoiled the children even more by praising them for their self-willed attitude in front of their mother.