Travelers

by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala

  “Those are hyenas. Perhaps there may be a stray tiger, but this is not really hunting country. If you want to shoot, you have to go farther to Sagarvan. That’s very good country. Do you want to go?”

  “Not really.”

  “No, I think you’re not the sporting type. Like Peter. I told you about Peter, Rao Sahib’s tutor? Once Papa took him hunting. When they came back, Papa was laughing and laughing. ‘What sort of an Englishman are you?’ he asked him. Peter couldn’t stand the sight of blood.”

  “I don’t like it either.”

  “You’re very much like Peter. I told you before.” She hesitated. Again he felt her to be on the verge of some undesirable revelation. Meanwhile Gopi had put a record on the gramophone and the “Donkey Serenade” came out into the garden. It sounded gay and tinny.

  “It was here, in this house, in this garden, that Peter tried to kill himself.”

  Raymond said, “Asha, I don’t think I need to hear this.”

  “It was all Kitty’s fault. You see, she got so bored she was ready to take up with anyone. And that boy was quite handsome—the one Peter was in love with, the clerk from the guest house. When Papa was away, Kitty would send for him and he came and they had a good time together. And Peter followed him and waited down here in the garden. All night sometimes.”

  Gopi sang with the record. He didn’t know the tune, and his attempts to reproduce it sounded bizarre because he had transposed it into the Indian scale. Sometimes he laughed at himself for the strange sounds he was producing.

  Raymond said, “You really shouldn’t make him drink so much. He’s not used to it.”

  “If you take him away, I don’t know what I shall do. Can you imagine being alone here?”

  “You don’t have to stay here.”

  She said, “It’s the same everywhere. In Bombay too. Those sounds you say you hear at night, so often I hear them in Bombay. Of course I know it’s the sea really but to me it sounds like here and then I think I am here.”

  Progress

  Raymond had to go into Maupur to post letters to his mother. Afterward he was reluctant to return to The Retreat, and he walked around Maupur although there was not very much to see. It was quite an ordinary little town with a bazaar and a railway station. On a craggy mound overlooking the town stood the remains of what had once been a fort. From here Rajput chieftains had marched out to fight—sometimes against other Rajput chieftains, sometimes against Moghul princes, and sometimes against Mahratta generals. That particular clan of Rajputs had died out—those that had not been killed in battle having been poisoned by their sibling rivals—but had been revived through the female line by the British. That had been the beginning of Rao Sahib’s own family history. They had not lived in the bleak old fort but in a palace in the town with many little dark rooms and passages. This palace had also fallen into disuse, and the bazaar had grown around it and encroached on it closer and closer so that now there were little stalls selling electrical goods spilling right into the palace courtyard.

  Raymond went to visit Rao Sahib in the New Palace on the outskirts of town. As usual, Rao Sahib was cordial but he was also very busy and kept having to greet new visitors. He was cordial to everyone and anxious to show that he liked them. His visitors were leading citizens, self-made men with little businesses, and they were pleased to be there in the palace and looked around them complacently. They spoke reassuringly to Rao Sahib and promised him all the votes they knew they had in their pockets. In return, Rao Sahib redoubled his attentions to them, and a nice atmosphere of mutual good will was built up. They spoke of different areas of interest and the most powerful men to be courted in each area. There was particular mention of one man—a shopkeeper who had made money partly through his shop in the bazaar but mostly through his money-lending activities—and everyone stressed how important it was to make sure that he was on their side. He had given promises, but in a town as small as this it was not difficult to hear that he had given promises to the other side as well. On the spur of the moment, Rao Sahib decided that he would personally go and call on the man at his house. They all piled into Rao Sahib’s big Mercedes. Raymond went along too, although the car was already very crowded and there were several people crammed together on the front seat, getting in the way of the chauffeur who was ill-pleased and somewhat contemptuous of them.

  The house they went to was in a very narrow lane, and they had to descend several steps to enter it. Now they were in a cool, dark room which was bare except for a white sheet spread on the floor and bolsters spaced at intervals. Their host emerged from behind a greasy curtain and declared himself overwhelmed by the honor. However, he did not appear to be overwhelmed at all but quite self-possessed. He was a thin old man with a dyed mustache and a rather merry face. They all sat in a circle on the sheet, and although conversation was sparse, there was no sense of awkwardness. A lot of activity was going on behind the greasy curtain which trembled in excitement, and soon refreshments appeared and were passed round and pressed upon the guests. There was spiced tea in tumblers and a variety of fried delicacies that looked harmless from outside but released a stuffing of fire in Raymond’s mouth as soon as he bit into one. Conversation became more lively under the influence of these refreshments, although it remained an expression of pleasure in one another’s company and still no mention was made of the election. And indeed, Raymond began to see that it would have been bad manners to mention it.

  One or two anecdotes were related, and here their host showed himself particularly talented—at any rate, the guests were very appreciative and they laughed and repeated his punch line to each other. He was pleased and stroked his dyed mustache and twinkled with his bright eyes. And he stroked and twinkled in the same way when he turned to Rao Sahib and said, “The boy is waiting to come and speak with you.” Everyone craned forward a bit, and Raymond realized that for the first time something of importance had been said. Their host smiled and turned up one hand in a gesture of resignation. “Nowadays, young people—” and there was a murmur to say that times were changing fast. Then Rao Sahib thanked God from the bottom of his heart that they were, and their host smiled depreciatingly as if it were a compliment paid to himself.

  Later Rao Sahib and Raymond sat together in Rao Sahib’s drawing room in the New Palace while Rajput bearers served them with Scotch whisky. Rao Sahib was excited, even exalted. He talked freely to Raymond. He said how the country stood on the threshold of great changes and what a privilege it was to be able to play a part in them. He was sincerely grateful that he had been born in these times when it was not rank or wealth that counted but one’s own character and abilities. Here he was modest. He said he knew he was not a man of very outstanding ability but there was one quality he had in abundance and that was his sincere desire to serve. Under the influence of whisky and excitement, he spoke with more passion than usual, and his rather sad eyes—large and full like Asha’s—shone the way hers did.

  He spoke warmly of all his visitors that day, but especially of the man whose hospitality they had enjoyed. Rao Sahib admired him very much, for, although the son of a poor widow, he had worked his way up by his own efforts and made himself rich and powerful enough to be a leading citizen in the district. And that wasn’t all—no, the story of progress went further—for this man had sent his son to college in an adjoining state and from there the boy had gone to America; and now he had returned and was starting a chain of workshops all over the district and making money hand over fist. “Soon,” chuckled Rao Sahib, “he will be buying me up”—and indeed, already he was making an offer for The Retreat.

  “Yes, I’ve heard,” Raymond said.

  “She told you?” Rao Sahib shifted a little uneasily. “Unfortunately Asha doesn’t understand what is going on in the country today. She has no conception of progress.”

  “I suppose not.”

  But Rao Sahib had. He told Raymond about the young man and his plans for The Retreat. Not that he wanted the hous
e—he was going to tear it down—but he was buying up all the land around there in order to start workshops manufacturing spare parts for mechanized drills. He was a very go-ahead young man.

  Lee

  At first I thought they were a mirage. They looked like a mirage suddenly appearing on the horizon. The sky, the air, and the earth were all dust colored, and those two were the only figures on the landscape. Evie and Margaret. They were both in white saris. Slowly they came toward me; they were dragging bedrolls behind them across the dust. They had traveled a long, long way. We hardly greeted each other. Of course I knew why they had come and who had sent them. After the first shock, I wasn’t even surprised any more. I took them into the house.

  There was something very strange about Margaret. She seemed. . . not there, somehow; disconnected. I think she didn’t know where she was, and I also think she didn’t recognize me. Her hands were trembling in a peculiar way. But Evie said it was just exhaustion and all she needed was sleep. They both slept throughout that day and through the night. How they slept! Then, the morning after that when I went into their room, I found Evie awake and dressed. She sat on the edge of the bed with her hands folded in her lap. I don’t know if she was just waiting or if she was meditating. Margaret was lying on the bed and at first I thought she was still sleeping. But she was breathing in such a strange way and moving her arms as if she were trying to get at herself, trying to remove something from herself and not succeeding. Evie said again it was all right, that Margaret was just exhausted; they had had a very difficult journey because their train had started late and they had had to spend a night on the station platform, and when finally they got on, their carriage was very crowded—of course they had traveled third class—and they couldn’t get any place to sit although toward the early hours of the morning Margaret had been able partly to stretch out on a luggage shelf. The bus that had taken them to Maupur had also been overcrowded and it had broken down twice. After that, they could not get any transport to take them to The Retreat and they had had to walk these last miles. So, naturally, they were very very tired—who wouldn’t be?

  Evie told me all this shortly and rather impatiently, as if it were something irrelevant and she had far more important things to communicate to me. Of course I knew what they were. And I wanted to hear them, there was so much I wanted to hear from her; but when she said, “You know why we’ve come,” then it was like I was afraid to hear. I quickly went back to talking about Margaret, and asking about her health and how she had been all this time. Again Evie answered impatiently—she said Margaret had been fine, nothing wrong with her at all; but looking at her, I felt that there was something wrong, she was not sleeping normally. “She’s tired,” Evie said.

  “But she’s been all right, quite all right?”

  “Yes, yes.” Then she added, “She wasn’t quite well on the journey but of course I told you—it was strenuous.” I wanted to ask exactly how had she not been quite well but before I could do so, Evie went on: “In the ashram she’s been so well! So happy! Just her usual bit of tummy trouble but that’s nothing. She forgets about it every time she’s near him.” When she spoke of him, I burned and blushed and she saw me and smiled into herself. She said softly, “You know how it is . . . how we all get . . . near him.”

  At that moment Margaret began to make strange sounds. She was talking, I thought it was in her sleep. I shook her, I called her name. She didn’t hear me and she didn’t wake up—her eyes were not quite shut, the lids had lifted slightly showing her pupils fixed in a frightening way. I tried to make her sit up but she was heavy like a sack partly filled with stones. I called to Evie in panic.

  “It’s all right,” Evie said, soothing and gentle.

  But I knew it was not all right. I rushed out of the room and shouted. Servants came running, doors opened. Asha came out of the drawing room downstairs not only with Raymond and Gopi but Rao Sahib was with her too and one other man whom I didn’t know.

  Bob

  That morning Rao Sahib had brought the prospective purchaser to The Retreat. He brought him straight into the drawing room, where Raymond and Asha and Gopi were playing cards. For Raymond it was a desultory game which he was playing in the hope—unfulfilled—of relieving his boredom; but for the other two it was completely serious. Asha was winning and she was exultant. She slammed down her winning card with an exclamation of triumph, and at the same moment Gopi flung his remaining cards on the floor and stamped on them. She laughed, and he accused her of cheating. They both turned to Raymond as referee, both shouting and outshouting each other so that he couldn’t make out what either of them was saying.

  None of them heard the visitors enter. Raymond saw them first, and it was only when he got to his feet that the other two interrupted their quarrel. The person Rao Sahib had brought was interesting enough to make them forget their card game for a while. He was a young man, well set up and very well dressed in stylish American clothes. Although he had just crossed the desert in a jeep, he looked entirely crisp and fresh. He moved so swiftly and with such decision that he seemed to cut through the air. He shook hands all round the room, pumping arms up and down with genuine pleasure. When Rao Sahib introduced him as Harish Chandra, he said, “Please call me Bob,” and flashed a broad American smile. But his teeth were whiter than an American’s.

  He sat at his ease on one of the velvet banquettes. His eyes swept round the room: evidently he took it all in—the bar, the bandstand—but if he thought anything odd, he gave no sign. He said “Nice place” and flashed another smile, this time directly at Asha. He took in Asha too in the same way as he had taken in the room. Then his eyes roved on and stopped at Raymond. He shot out his finger. “English—right?”

  “Right.”

  “I can always tell.” He crossed one leg over the other and was pleased. “I was over there on my way back from the States. I visited London and Oxford. I liked it. Oxford is very impressive. Very traditional.”

  Rao Sahib gave a conspiratorial smile toward Raymond. “Mr. Raymond and I are both on the other side. Light Blue. Cambridge,” he explained. “The light blues and the dark blues are traditional, should we say rivals, Raymond?”

  “I suppose we could,” Raymond joked back.

  “Is that so,” Bob said with polite interest. “I’ve heard they’re both very fancy places. I was three years at N.Y.U. In business administration. That’s a fine course. Some very fine people there.” A bearer offered him a tray with a tall glass of water on it. He drank it off at one draft. He drank it in the Indian way, laying back his head and pouring the liquid down his throat without allowing the glass to touch his lips; the way he held the glass rather daintily between two fingers was also very Indian.

  Again his devouring glance went around the drawing room. This time he lingered for a moment on Gopi, but Gopi was of no interest to him and his eyes swept on not only through the room but through the French windows and out into the garden, estimating its size and possibilities. He said, “I guess there isn’t too much water.”

  Rao Sahib began to explain about the tube wells that had been sunk in his father’s time but which had since fallen into disrepair. He said, “You see, no one has been using the place.”

  Asha said, “Up till now.”

  Rao Sahib silently implored her. She ignored him.

  “A man is coming tomorrow to give an estimate for the tube wells. Of course prices have gone up terribly since Papa’s time but that can’t be helped. I want to get the garden nicely laid out by the winter because many friends from Bombay and other places will be coming to stay with us.”

  Rao Sahib was embarrassed, but Bob was already tactfully looking away. He fixed his attention on Raymond, who began to feel aware that Bob was calculating how he fitted into the setup. Suddenly Raymond noticed that he was still holding the cards with which he had joined in Asha’s and Gopi’s game. Blushing, he made a movement to lay them aside, then checked the movement and blushed more.

  As
ha said, “It can be very beautiful in the summer too. Once I get the generators replaced we shall be fully air conditioned and not have to suffer in this beastly heat. What is modern science for? To make people comfortable. That’s more important than going to the moon or blowing each other up with atom bombs and such like.” She challenged them to contradict her—but at that moment Lee’s cry for help was heard.

  Lee

  They carried Margaret downstairs and put her in Bob’s jeep and Evie and I climbed in with her. Raymond sat in front with the driver and with Bob, who was wearing large sunglasses. It was a horrible journey through miles of sun and dust. Whenever I looked up—which I didn’t like to do because of the glare—I saw huge black birds hovering in the sky. They were flying so slowly they didn’t seem to be flying at all, but they remained with us all the time. I thought how Margaret and Evie had done this journey on foot two days ago, dragging their bedrolls behind them through the dust, and I wondered if these birds had been following them that time too.

  Margaret remained the same. We made her as comfortable as possible but it was a rough journey at the back of the jeep. All of us were being rattled and shaken from side to side, and Margaret more than any of us because of being utterly limp: more like a thing than a person. We tried to keep at least her head steady, and it lay in Evie’s lap with her eyes glinting from between her lids and her mouth dropped open and a trickle of saliva at the corner. From time to time Evie bent down to whisper something into her ear. I could guess that this was the secret mantra given to her by Swamiji. I knew that Evie firmly believed that it would get through to Margaret, that it would pierce her coma and reach her. I don’t know if I believed it or not. I wanted to, but it was difficult under present circumstances. Also it was unnerving to see Evie doing this to Margaret’s lolling head, and to hear her calling to her so firmly, even severely. I could see Raymond biting his lip trying to control himself, but finally he turned around and snapped at Evie to stop doing that. Evie looked at him in surprise for a moment and then she smiled in a wan, kind way—sort of in pity for Raymond and his lack of understanding.