So now you are going to be quite a busy man for you have to do the following:
Try to make a reasonable settlement with Kashi.
If you can’t, arrange for our marriage to be done quietly, so that Kashi’s people do not know about it, but tell your father – he has a right to know.
If we can live together in Ahmedabad, buy the least possible of anything. If we can manage without going to the hills, all the better.
See if you can arrange provisionally two cheap passages to England in September.
If in a last resort I must stay away from you, find me the cheapest clean accommodation you can in Bombay, and I will try and get a job there – but marry me first!!!
Dearest, don’t you think it is time you wrote to Kashi’s father direct, ignoring Kashi and her mother, and ask when he could see you? Also, would it not be best to talk to your father yourself instead [of through your brother]?
Avadh wrote a long and gloomy letter on 4 February. A settlement with Kashi and her family seemed ever more remote, he said. Kashi’s mother had made it very clear that she did not want the marriage to break up and the atmosphere was highly charged. He remained concerned that Helen might face prejudice in India because of the situation, and perhaps even violence against her.
Avadh’s family continued their support, including his sister and brother-in-law, who lived a thousand miles from Delhi and were not otherwise very involved in the events at the family home in Bulandshahr. They offered their home as a temporary refuge for Helen until things calmed down, if necessary. Avadh’s brother-in-law also agreed to lend Avadh £45 and Avadh’s father gave him a gift of £30, which Avadh planned to forward to Helen. His Doctor Brother in Delhi was continuing the negotiation on Avadh and their father’s behalf but thought that their father needed to be consulted again before Helen left England.
Meanwhile, Avadh’s resolve was growing stronger: ‘Don’t think that I am getting fed up with the fighting – I am prepared to fight with all my might.’ At the same time, he had never expected the situation to get this bad and wondered if he had blundered in his approach. He knew of another similar situation that had gone much more smoothly. He told Helen again that if matters were not settled within a month, he would start looking for a post in England, taking British citizenship, if necessary.
Of course, the problem was that he and Helen could not be married in England while he still had a wife in India. She replied with a long, thoughtful letter, dated 9 February.
I am glad you told me precisely what has been happening, because although the news is bad I would rather have accurate information than none at all. I am sorry, darling, that you are having such a rough time trying to get me to India, but I think we shall manage it in the end.
Darling, don’t be in too much of a hurry to resign from your job, because life will be very much easier for both of us if you can keep it. Don’t think I am trying to avoid my promise to work for you in England if need be, but I do not feel that we should give in to the enemy too easily. I am sure Fröhlich could find you a job at pretty short notice, if need be and the Ministry of Supply are always looking for physicists of one kind or another. Moreover, as I said before, we should not starve if I had to be the wage earner for a little while, so I would say to you, ‘Carry on, making the best success of your job that you can, for the time being.’
She then commented on what would happen if any harm came to her in India; this letter would cause considerable controversy when Avadh received it.
It would not be quite the same thing as hurting an Indian lady. I do not lose my British nationality when I marry you and can demand protection from the British government if I am hurt whilst in in India.
If a Conservative government gets into power on February 23, my father can pull endless wires to bring intolerable pressure to bear on the Indian government if his daughter is hurt. This means that the Indian government must, to save their face take some action, which means that what might have gone through small courts in Ahmedabad as an ordinary case of assault, becomes an insult to the British Crown to be wiped out by the Indian government with blood, sweat and tears – they would not get away with small fines. They might succeed in hurting me, but by God, they would wonder what had hit them if they did. England still has far too much power indirectly over the Indian government, but in cases like this it is extremely useful. Perhaps this small point has not occurred to their hot heads. An English Conservative government would simply rejoice at such an opportunity to show up the inefficiency of the new Indian government and prove how dreadful a state India is in since the British Raj ceased to rule. They would know perfectly well that the Indian government is doing very well, but such pro-British propaganda would never go un-neglected!
It is interesting that Helen thought that her father had so much influence. Because he worked for the City of Liverpool, albeit in a junior position, he may have had some contacts that at least would have helped him get attention and he might have been able to contact some of his very old friends as well in such a situation.
Avadh was a keen supporter of Indian independence, achieved just three years earlier, following two hundred years of British domination, and, while hardly a radical or even a very political individual, he had taken part in the peaceful protests led by Mahatma Gandhi. Helen assumed there would be some residual British influence in India but Avadh was quick to defend his new nation. As he explained to her in his reply of 14 February, this was a very sensitive subject.
Well, darling, you have said something in your letter about what one could do to protect and avenge if on your coming there was some unpleasantness. One could do these things no doubt, but for that even Indian law will be most sufficient. And, once we have been hurt, all the revenge combined will not help us out.
Of course you did not mean to create such a situation. But you know I love you so much, yet I was grieved a bit when you talked of British hold over India. I know that British might have some indirect hold over us, but I would hardly like to invoke that influence in India as an individual either for you or for myself. Because that would only mean that people in India would hardly like us. I do love you in a way as I have never done before but love could foster only in equals, as you yourself had said once. I know that I have harassed you and troubled you, and you must be feeling terribly upset, but I could do only my best, and that I can assure you I am doing. I hope you will forgive me if I have given you my reaction but it did grieve me very much, the idea of working the nations for our personal purposes.
Helen was quick to retract in her letter of 15 February.
I must apologize for my remarks regarding protection from the British government. I did not intend them to be read quite in the sense in which you read them and if such remarks hurt I am terribly sorry. All I meant to convey was that I have, in addition to the protection of one government, also the protection of the second, my father being able to influence the second. The result would be bound to be a lot more fuss if I was hurt than if an ordinary Indian was hurt, since two lots of police would be demanding explanations instead of the usual one. Since father could influence governmental quarters here, they are bound to ask the Indian government for an explanation, just as they would do so if I was to marry a Frenchman and was injured in France. The fact that England is more closely tied up with countries in the Empire than outside of it means that her requests receive more attention in the Commonwealth countries than even say, a Spanish or Portuguese request would have. I did not mean to be hurtful in the least, and I hope you will forgive me.
It was a rare misjudgment by her of the cultural and personal sensitivity of Indians in general, and Avadh in particular, towards the lingering role of Great Britain in India, but both ended up apologizing to each other once they had explained their mutual positions.
*
On 10 February Helen wrote about more mundane matters:
I have caught a cold from Avril and lost my voice. I am not very ill, don’t think that; a
nyway I looked round the house for some medicine to help my voice and found a big bottle of black stuff of which I drank a tablespoonful. I thought I had been shot – I could feel it burning inside and fled to Mother, thinking I had drunk weedkiller at least. She roared with laughter. I had just taken a far too big dose of quinine and licorice, but in about five minutes my voice literally boomed out – I sound just like a boy of about 15 years whose voice is breaking, and every time I speak people giggle. I laughed so much at myself that I am nearly speechless again. I thought, ‘this will be the day Avadh will ring me up because my voice is a dreadful roar and I shall not be able to answer him!’
On 12 February, she wrote:
I’ve read over again this morning your letter of February 4th in which you tell me how Kashi’s people do not want a settlement. I feel sorry for Kashi because, in a different marriage, she might have been very much happier but there is not much chance of really deep happiness where a marriage is ‘arranged’. How can God’s Laws of natural selection choose to possibly act in such circumstances? However, nobody wishes her to be happy more than I do and anything I can do to help her I will do – except lose you!
Helen’s comments on arranged marriages are perhaps not surprising for an Englishwoman of her generation but later she accepted the idea and came to think of them as an equally good way to find a match as Western methods.
In a letter dated 6 February, Avadh reported:
It is just today that I have heard a bit of hopeful news from Delhi. It appears that Kashi’s mother threatened legal action to which my brother replied that I will be prepared to grant to Kashi whatever maintenance was in law. I do not know how much it is, but my brother is consulting my younger brother Kailash who is a lawyer and it is likely I may have to go towards the end of this week or early next week to finalize the settlement. But don’t begin to have too much hope till the matters are finally settled. The terms of the settlement will be that I will pay the maintenance set in the terms provided they create no untoward scenes on your arrival or afterwards. I hope everything comes off all right.
Helen replied on 13 February:
It would be as well if I could earn until we have paid our debts, but I will see what the situation is when I arrive. I do not want to have to work all day, if I can avoid it, as it will make me tired and old and irritable, none of which I want to be, but I will do it if it does not look as if we are in a pretty sound position. If all goes well and I come to you, I vote we do a couple of years in Ahmedabad, pay our debts and try and save some money and then you look for a post in England or America, because having held your post for a couple of years you will have gained in experience and it will sound well when applying for a post in the Occident, so that you will stand a better chance.
Avadh complained about the corruption and inefficiency in the Indian Government and the thriving black market and he wrote: ‘I will tell you an example of the black-marketing here. Wheat, sugar and rice are rationed. You go to ration shop – you will be refused at times because they say they haven’t received the quota. You go out in the open market, know a few people, and get things in any amount you like – if you are willing to pay double the price.’
Of course, this also happened during rationing in England, where black marketeers (commonly known as ‘spivs’) helped to supply goods that were rationed or in short supply. Such stock was said to have ‘fallen off the back of a lorry’. Helen expressed concern about the impact of corruption.
It seems rotten that such a big country should have such corruption, but it is bound to be so in these beginning days; only many years of government will make it any better and the government will have to be much stronger than it is before it can start stamping it out. I only hope that we can survive amongst it with some moral principles still intact. Of course, crime flourishes in England at present, but we have a fairly incorruptible police force which is a great help. Once the police are corrupt one is really sunk. The courts, too, are largely not corrupted.
The news in the papers here is absolutely horrifying – all about poisoning all life on earth, hydrogen bombs, murder and sudden death – makes me want to start living quickly, but it is surprising how one survives to live again.
On Wednesday I start my new job. I shall be dealing largely with the food trade and we’ll be talking to canners all over Lancashire and Cumberland, so I hope to find some interest in it. It is one of those jobs where a mistake may cost hundreds of pounds, so for heaven’s sake keep your fingers crossed for me and whisper any spells you know – although the best spells you know will have to be whispered when I come to you!
I hope your brother was not offended at my writing him – I am apt to forget that he is not an Englishman and it might be rather shocking to him, but if he is anything like you he is pretty good – you scamp.
Ever your loving,
Chutney
This is the first of many letters in which Mum referred to herself as ‘Chutney’, a name my dad coined for her since, he said, she brought sweetness and spice into his life.
Chapter Eleven
Sometimes I wonder how on earth I lived before I met you. To every day have a sweet letter in my hand and the knowledge that someone loves me enough to risk all they have for me is a very marvellous thing to me, and I do hope that all my days I shall not be a disappointment to you.
In his letters of early February 1950, Avadh sounds more confident that he can deal with the politics at the laboratory and that if he does sufficiently valuable research, all will turn out well professionally. He also makes a valiant effort to lighten the tone of the conversation with Helen, talking about the cinema and his efforts at teaching the new cook he had hired to prepare meals. While reading P. G. Wodehouse’s Carry on Jeeves, he muses that Jeeves, the resourceful butler, might have been able to help him sort out his problems! All his life, Wodehouse would remain one of Avadh’s favourite authors.
On 9 February, Avadh wrote, ‘Round about this time must have been the day when I had the pleasure of first seeing you, though probably not actually talking to you. That was about 20th March last year. You had asked about a ring – well if the matters don’t get settled soon, I will send it to you – the cheapest that could be available – because I might be wanting money for other purposes.’
For all his love for Helen and the romantic way he often expressed himself, he did not appreciate the importance of an engagement ring in the West. She reminded him on several occasions, and even explained to him how significant it was. On 14 February, she wrote:
People still think I have been jilted and some are not too kind about it. Their opinions are confirmed by the fact that I do not wear an engagement ring, which means that in law I am not engaged at all. This absence of a ring means also that any man is free to ask me to go about with him (which they do ask at times) and are quite hurt when I refuse, since apparently there is no reason for the refusal. You will think me quite crazy that I ask you to send me a ring all the way from India when I could easily buy one myself, but an engagement ring must be the gift of the man and it is always an Englishwoman’s most treasured possession because it is his gift. She will cling to it when all her other goods are gone, as it is the visible sign that someone loves her well enough to marry her.
She also explained to him about the significance of the date 14 February, which he would not have known.
Thank you for all the kisses in yours of 9th – it was appropriate that it should arrive today, as it is the feast of St Valentine, patron saint of lovers, and on that day a man may express his affection of a girl he hardly knows (or a woman affection for a man) by sending a pretty card with little verses of love in it. It is a nice custom, so having all those kisses today was very nice indeed.
Dearest one, I am hoping every day for news and yet I don’t want you to feel that I am harassing you, because I am quite safe really for the moment. It is only that I want to be with my favourite devil, and that I have intolerable memories of seeing my loved one
s go away and never come back, so that the fear is with me all the time that something might happen to you. Take care of yourself, my own love, my true love, my one love.
Ever and ever your beloved,
Chutney
On 18 February, Helen wrote about her daily routine, and for once her loneliness spilled over:
Here I am actually by myself for once and it is almost too much for me. There were no letters yesterday and none this morning, but I had such a spate of them at the beginning of the week that it would really be wrong to expect any, but such is woman that she is always hoping for more! How on earth you manage to express so well all you feel in a language alien to you is beyond my comprehension – I hope for the day when I can say to you all those things in Hindi, but in the meantime you must put up with English.
After I had posted it, I thought my letter yesterday sounded very depressed, but you must forgive me if it did, because I did not mean it to be so. All the uncertainty makes me depressed, but I’m really not coming to any serious harm as my days are absolutely fully occupied and I am earning my living all right. You will see what an iron circle of activity I am bound up in when I tell you how my day is spent. I get up at 6:45 AM, wash and dress and have my breakfast and sometimes do some odd job for mother. At 7:50 AM I go to work where I arrive at 8:30 AM and I work from then until 12:30 noon without a break. 12:30 to 12:45 wash and make up my face, 12:45 to 1:00 PM lunch, 1 PM to 1:30 write to you (half a letter). 1:30 PM to 6 PM work without a break. 6 to 6:30 finish letter to you. 6:30 to 7:15 travel home. 7:15 to 8 PM dinner, 8 PM to 9:30 PM wash dishes, wash or iron clothes for the family. 9:30 PM fill hot water bottles, make tea for family, wash myself, put clothes ready for the morning, brush my hair and into bed at 10:30 PM.
This never-ending circle goes on without a break, except on Wednesday when I go to Mrs Lewis’s [Avadh’s former landlady in Liverpool] for the evening and on Sunday evening I generally go to the British Council dance. On Saturdays and Sundays, of course I work in the house or go on duty at the British Council. You will see that I have no time of my very own, but I try and do a little Hindi if I am quicker at a job than I expected to be and sometimes I do a bit in bed, but this week I have not done a damn thing, but I might get a chance tonight. Sometimes I simply long to sit down in front of the fire and read without interruption or just sit and do nothing for a little while – in India I think I might get a chance to do so just occasionally. You can imagine with an itinerary like that outlined above what trouble I used to get into when I dropped my work to come out with you – I used to think I should never be able to go to bed at all some nights, but it was worth it and the time with you was doubly dear because it was stolen time.
Passage Across the Mersey Page 14
