Revolutionary Hearts

by Pema Donyo

  “Took his secret Indian darkie wife with him, the tale goes. Load of rubbish, if you ask me.” The other man seemed to be stepping in the opposite direction. “No respectable gent would dare marry a half-blood coolie.”

  “Can’t be marriage.”

  The other man snickered. “You’re right. Probably just wanted a little fun.”

  She clenched her fists. It took everything within her to remain silent at the derogatory terms. As if her race did not possess any feeling! As if she were any less of a human than the rest of them!

  The men continued to march in silence, and after a few minutes even the sounds of their footsteps faded away. Parineeta couldn’t imagine that she would have felt much worse had they actually discovered them.

  Warren breathed an audible sigh of relief. “That was close. We need to get out of here.” He finished buttoning the top of his shirt. “We’ll try to find the nearest town and stay there for…” His voice trailed off. “Are you all right?”

  She remained silent, mulling over the men’s words. No one would dare marry a half-blood coolie. No one.

  “I said, are you all right?” He placed a heavy hand on the top of her shoulder. “Is it because of what those men said?”

  Perhaps. She remained silent.

  “They are wrong, you know. I’ve never approved of that word.”

  It was strange how a simple phrase could cause a greater ache than a physical wound. “It wasn’t the word; it was the way they used it.”

  “That no one would ever marry you?” He spoke aloud the words echoing in her mind. “What are you talking about? You’re beautiful. You’re smarter than any woman I’ve ever met. Why wouldn’t someone marry you?”

  The surge of hope and surprise at his compliment was quickly smothered by the reality she recognized within the reply. He was only saying such things to comfort her. “A smart mouth has little value in my village. I am a half-caste, Warren. I do not belong with white men, but no Indian man will ever have me either. All my other friends are married. No respectable family wants to marry a daughter of dirty blood.”

  “Dirty blood? That's ridiculous.” His kindness toward her was a special form of torture. The more he gave, the more Parineeta realized she could never have, not for long, in any case.

  “Everyone does.” She clenched her fists so the tears would not fall again. She could not count all the times she’d wished her mother had married an Indian man instead of falling for a British soldier. She wished her mother had guarded her heart away, far from the man who wanted nothing to do with her after she fell pregnant. At least her daughter would have had an identity then, instead of an absent father. “The more the tension between the British and Hindustanis grows, the more I am ignored in my village. Raj is my only real friend anymore, and he talks to me because I’m his sister.”

  “Am I not your friend?” Warren lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger. Strands of dark hair fell across his forehead, and he swiped it back with his other hand. “I think trusting our lives with one another qualifies us enough to be friends.”

  Parineeta smiled in spite of herself. She supposed they were. “Yes, we are friends.”

  “Good.” He let go of her chin but remained close. “Do not allow anyone’s opinion to cause you to doubt your own worth. Your race determines nothing about who you are.”

  She nodded. “Of course. It’s just difficult when you know there is something about you that you can never change. And everyone seems to think it’s all you are. It defines your entire identity.”

  “It doesn’t define a thing. I’ve only known you for a few days, but I can already tell you are … you are…”

  For a single moment, she saw a flicker of desire in his gaze. He leaned forward, his head inclined in her direction. Her heart lurched. She stood still, waiting for his next move.

  Then as quickly as she’d seen the look, the longing vanished. He turned his head away from her. Warm air filled the growing space between them, and she felt her heart plummet. Warren cleared his throat as he dusted off the length of his shirt. “We had better get going. There could be other soldiers behind the ones we just heard.”

  Parineeta stepped back, stunned. Had she only imagined that moment?

  Harsh voices cut through the night. “There they are! That has to be them!”

  Warren grabbed her hand and started running forward. “And we better get going now!”

  Her feet sprang into action. They sprinted through the foliage, gripping onto one another’s hand. The footsteps behind them grew louder, and so did the voices. She brushed the low-hanging haldu leaves in her way as she ran, jumping over each gnarled root of the gigantic tree as her body hurtled through the air. She didn’t dare to turn around, fearful of the consequences from slowing down.

  “Get them!” a clear, loud voice called out again.

  Chapter Six

  “Duck!” Warren hissed. She followed his lead and moved her head beneath a low, thick branch before leaping to the other side of the tree. She heard several thumps against the branch behind her as well as low curses. No doubt the men had not followed the same advice Warren had offered her.

  The dense vegetation of the teak and haldu trees soon gave way to a smooth dirt clearing before a village. No one else wandered the outskirts of the village at this time, with the exception of a motor scooter crossing the road every now and then. Even if the two British soldiers were on a special patrol for her and Warren, at least there didn’t seem to be any other soldiers here to back them up. The heavy footsteps and the cries of continued marching could still be heard behind them. Several of the houses before them were lit by lanterns propped up in each of the windowsills.

  Parineeta’s eyes widened in recognition. “I know this place!” She pointed to a house in the distance, nestled at the end of the road. The town of Bhargain marked a halfway point between her village of Hathras and the train station of Shahjahanpur, but she hadn’t anticipated stumbling into it. “My aunt lives there.”

  “Then that’s where we’re headed for the night.” He ran over to a motorcycle riding by and waved his arms in front of the rider. The vehicle slowed to a bumpy halt. As soon as it stopped, Warren pushed the man off the bike and climbed onto the seat. He motioned for her to sit behind him. “Get on!”

  “Sorry!” she called to the rider as she stepped onto the bike behind Warren. Her arms wrapped around his broad chest, and her hands clasped together as she held on tightly.

  Once the bike started speeding forward, Parineeta dared to look behind her. The soldiers finally emerged from the forest. She grinned in triumph when they caught her gaze. You cannot catch us now!

  Her smile faded as soon as she saw them knocking off other motorcycle riders on the same road. Curse their luck! It was uncommon enough for one motorcycle to be on the road at such a time at night, much less three! Before the drivers could get back on their bikes, two of the soldiers jumped onto the cycles and sped after Warren. They met her gaze this time with smiles of their own.

  She whipped her head back around, pulling her loose tendrils behind her shoulder as the wind whipped at her curls. “Warren! They’re still following us!”

  He looked down at his mirrors and then back up at the road. She gulped as he revved the engine faster. “Hold on, pagal ladki.”

  Parineeta wanted to reprimand him for his terrible nickname again, but their motorcycle zoomed down the road with a sudden ferocity that clamped her mouth shut. The roar of new engines edged nearer.

  Two motorcycles emerged from both sides of her line of vision as the soldiers tried to approach them. She checked the distance between them out of the corner of her eye, watching with alarm as the barrier of space seemed to close. The night air blew against the folds of her sari. She pressed her arms tighter around Warren until her chest lay flat against his back.

  He zipped through the wide entrance of the town and through the narrow alley streets. The soldiers surely could not follow them from both sides a
s soon as the road tapered. Yet they chased after them through the backstreets, one motorcycle after the other.

  Warren skidded against one side of the alley, knocking over a wooden table holding brass pots and tin pans that went clattering to the ground and leaving a trail of metal in their wake. Her own form fell back around the turn and then lurched forward against his body as he settled back into a straight path.

  The mess made one of the motorcyclists brake suddenly, which flipped over his bike. The soldier went flying into the air, landing a safe distance from Parineeta and Warren. She watched as the other bike crashed into the one laid on the ground, causing its rider to hurtle off his seat like the first.

  She turned back around. “They’re gone.”

  The motorcycle screeched to a halt. Parineeta gritted her teeth and struggled to hold on as gravity attempted to pull her off the bike. She leaned her whole body to the left as the bike swerved to a sharp right.

  Once the vehicle slowed to a complete stop, Warren inclined his head toward her. “It’s been a while since I could ride like that.”

  She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and smoothed out the loose pallu of her sari. With the threat of capture removed, she rolled her eyes at Warren. “How they teach you that and not how to build a proper fire, I will never understand. Americans.”

  One leg over the other and she was off the bike and back on the ground. Warren stepped off the motorcycle after her and then laid the vehicle by a nearby alley wall. The only sounds that could be heard among the alleys were the crunch of their own footsteps against the dirt.

  She readjusted the pallu of her sari, shifting the cloth to further cover her bare midriff. “How fast were you planning to go? Kill us by crashing into a wall before the soldiers get to us first?”

  “We’re here, aren’t we?” Even as he spoke, she could hear the uncertainty in his tone.

  “Ha! And what do you propose will happen to us when the soldiers report back to the lieutenant colonel?” Did this man never think of consequences?

  “So says the revolutionary. And what do you have planned?” He flattened out the edges of his collared shirt.

  “Explain to Aunt Ankita that I need a place to stay for the night.” Parineeta peered around the corner. The houses were starting to look more familiar. She hadn’t been back to the town in years, but her aunt had always welcomed her whenever she’d visited.

  A tap on her shoulder brought her attention back to Warren. “You mean we need a place to stay for the night. I will speak with your aunt.”

  “You?” She arched an eyebrow at him. He stood there in the remnants of his uniform regalia: beige pants ripped at the bottom of his thighs, a once-white shirt covered in splotches of dust, a leather belt with a brass buckle as wide as his neck, and long black boots that were faded brown at the toes and extended up to his knees. If her aunt didn’t think he had been robbed, she would assume he was a mad beggar. “Not in this state, you aren’t.”

  • • •

  He was definitely imagining things. He had to be. There was absolutely no way on earth the man he saw before him was … well, him.

  Parineeta had swept his unruly dark hair into a turban, placed him in a tan kameez shirt and added some white shalvar pants.

  If she hadn’t insisted on dressing him in traditional garb, he would have stayed in his button-up and khaki pants. But the disguising effect had worked. The past few days of walking under the hot sun’s rays had tanned his skin darker than it had ever been back in Hathras. He stared at himself through alternating sides of the mirror, examining his reflection from different angles.

  “No one will recognize you as a British general now,” she said from behind him. She’d read his mind. “Or an American spy.”

  “What did you say?” The voice of an older woman speaking in Hindi drifted through the fabric curtain.

  “Nothing!” Parineeta replied. “Don’t worry, aunt.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her through the mirror. “And does your brother know we’re coming with his men?”

  She brushed off the top of his seamless kameez. “No, Raj does not.” She didn’t meet his gaze in the mirror. Her eyes remained fixed on the cloth instead; she was clearly admiring her handiwork. “I know where he will be hiding, though. And I sincerely doubt he will turn away his sister and the man who saved his life.”

  The sizzle of the frying pan from the kitchen caught Warren’s attention. His stomach growled as the scent of fresh eggs and fried naan and creamy butter chicken filled the air.

  Parineeta smiled at the sound. “Come, eat with us.”

  He didn’t need to be commanded twice.

  His guide led the way, and he followed, brushing aside the thin cloth sheet that acted as a door between the main room and the kitchen. The lack of ventilation in the kitchen caused the hot air from cooking to remain trapped in the room. Tiny wooden stools were perched against the table, and the bowls ranged from battered tin to chipped marbled clay. No silverware lay spread on the table, yet the sight before him seemed grander than any five-course feast he’d ever attended in the queen’s honor.

  Warren sat down and began eating. His stomach yearned for more food after each bite. He reached for the fried naan, swirled it around in the butter chicken, and polished off all the pieces of paneer in his bowl.

  “Your husband is quite hungry!” Parineeta’s Aunt Ankita exclaimed.

  She gasped. “Oh, he’s not my…”

  “Thank you. This woman does not feed me enough at home.” He felt a swift kick to his left shin beneath the table. He tried to stifle a smirk. “I appreciate you allowing us to stay in your home for the night.”

  “No inconvenience at all.” Ankita set another tin bowl on the table for Parineeta. “I wish this girl would visit me more. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you and Raj.” She threw her arms into the air, exasperated with her niece. “You’ve even married a nice man and haven’t told me!”

  “He is not your son-in-law.” She corrected her aunt with an insistent tone but not before she shot a warning look at Warren.

  Her aunt’s jaw dropped. “You mean without marriage … you two already…”

  “She jokes, of course.” He nearly laughed aloud when he saw Parineeta flush with embarrassment. She looked mortified. He picked up another piece of naan and bit off a section of the delicious flatbread. “We are married, aren’t we, pagal ladki?”

  Ankita giggled, shoving Warren’s shoulder in a playful way. “You shouldn’t call your wife such names.”

  His “wife” crossed the floor to the other side of the room. She lifted the cloth separating the two rooms and left the kitchen without another word.

  “Oh!” Ankita frowned. “Was it something I said?”

  He pursed his lips and set his bread back down in his bowl. If he’d learned anything from living among the British gentry, it was that it was always best to apologize first.

  He found her leaning against one of the walls and staring out the window at the dusty, narrow street.

  “Parineeta, I’m sorry.” Warren stepped forward, his brown sandals slapping against the dirt floor. He placed a hand on her arm, and her shoulders stiffened underneath his touch. “I shouldn’t have joked about your marriage.”

  “Why wouldn’t you?” Her voice stretched tight, firm and defiant. All traces of warmth had left her tone. “You, the white male, can have any woman you want.”

  The white male? He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  He was sure that if he could take one look at her face, he’d see the return of her familiar fiery gaze. “You can have any white woman and any Indian woman, just as you please. You don’t care at all about their feelings, so long as your own needs are met.”

  He furrowed his brow. “I am not like that, Parineeta.”

  She whirled around. “Yes, you are. You’re all the same. My father abandoned my mother, just like you would abandon any woman…”

  “Parineeta!” He grabbed
both of her shoulders. She stood there, silent before him. That proud chin of hers tilted upward. The last time she’d given him such a fierce gaze was right before they’d entered the ballroom back at his mansion. “Not all men are the same. Not all men will betray you.”

  “Yes? Then what do you plan to do once you reach Lucknow?”

  Warren dropped his hands. His chest ached at the thought of keeping more information from her. He couldn’t reveal everything … not yet. There was too much to explain. Raj. He couldn’t forget to keep tabs on her brother, nor could he afford to let Parineeta know.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Her gaze had fallen from his face and was fixed on something behind him.

  She probably thought the worst of him. Humidity surrounded them all on sides, trapping his untold secrets in the heat. If he did have reason to suspect her brother of anarchist influence, he would have no choice but to inform his bureau chief. Would she even speak to him if she discovered his true reason for spying?

  “Warren.” Her voice sounded clipped, and her wide eyes filled with panic. “Go to the kitchen. Don’t turn around, and get back into the other room right now.”

  “Why?” He stepped forward, but her outstretched hand pushed him back.

  “Soldiers. Outside.” She inclined her head toward the kitchen, all the while keeping her eyes trained on the scene outside the window. “Now go.”

  Of course the lieutenant colonel would send more soldiers to the village where they had last been seen. He swallowed hard and marched toward the kitchen. They should’ve left earlier in the morning. Damn him for getting too comfortable in one place. Within seconds, she was inside the room as well.

  Parineeta’s aunt was in the process of pouring water over some of the dishes. She moved with a slow pace, oblivious to the soldiers outside her home.

  He watched the woman beside him march toward her aunt and place a gentle hand on her arm. “Aunty, we have to leave.”

  Ankita sighed and set aside one of the tin bowls. “You just arrived.”