The Lost Daughter of India

by Sharon Maas

  ‘I’ll stuff this snow down your damned throat if you don’t look out!’ cried Caroline, then made good on her threat. Kamal wrenched himself out of her grasp and ran stumbling through

  the snow. Caroline bent down and picked up a handful of snow, pressed it into a huge snowball and pelted him with it, screaming, ‘You asked for it! You jerk!’ It hit him square on the back of his head.

  ‘OK, it’s WAR!’ cried Kamal, and bent over for his own snowball.

  They fought fiercely, hysterically, for a good half-hour and then, suddenly, Kamal threw up his arms and said, ‘OK, OK, you win. I admit my defeat. I surrender unequivocally. I will fulfil each and every one of your demands.’

  She flung herself at him so that they both lay in the snow. ‘Marry me. That’s all I want. Say it out loud.’

  ‘Marry me,’ he whispered, and the words came out on a breath like smoke, fading into the crisp cold air.

  ‘Louder. I can’t hear you.’

  ‘Marry me, Caroline.’

  ‘Sorry? What was that?’

  ‘I refuse to shout. I’m not going to shout. Come here.’ He drew her head close to his, her ear to his lips, and there he spoke the words again, clearly and gently. ‘Will you be my wife? To have and to hold, till death do us part?’

  She smiled, put her arms around him and rested her cheek on his. ‘Yes,’ she sighed ‘I will.’

  * * *

  The path to marriage was, for Kamal and Caroline, rough. Caroline took Kamal to meet her parents and they received him with a civil but icy reserve that caused him to fear the worst.

  ‘You see, they belong to the old Boston aristocracy. Old money, real old. Very Anglo-Saxon, very white, very Protestant. They have a precise idea of the kind of man they want me to marry and – well, Kamal, you just don’t fit the cookie-cutter.’

  ‘They haven’t even tried to get to know me.’

  ‘Getting to know you isn’t the issue. Who you are doesn’t count; it’s what you are.’

  ‘What I am? Come on, I’m not exactly the plumber! I’m a MIT student, for goodness’ sake. All right, I realise a medical or a law student might be more up their street but—’

  Caroline cut in. ‘That’s not the point, Kamal. Even if you were going to be a doctor they’d be against you. It’s where you come, from, how you look.’

  ‘In other words, they’re racist.’

  Caroline hung her head. ‘I’m sorry, Kamal. That’s just the way they are. They can’t jump over their shadows. I warned you they’d be this way.’

  ‘Look, I don’t give a damn about them. The question for me is, can you jump over their shadows?’

  ‘Oh Kamal, why do you even ask!’

  ‘So you’ll go against them? Marry me, even if they don’t agree? Come with me to India?’

  ‘Kamal, I’ve always known I’d end up in India. Ever since I read The Jungle Book as a child I’ve known it – it’s a pull I can’t explain and for me it’s only logical that I should marry an Indian and go there with him and there’s nothing in the world my parents can do about it. They can’t hold me back. But anyway’ – she smiled – ‘sooner or later they’ll have to give in because they love me. And when they hold my first baby in their arms, they’ll be just like grandparents anywhere. They’ll go completely gaga.’

  Of course, Kamal told Caroline all about his childhood in the golden cage. Caroline was beyond excited.

  ‘So you’re a real Indian prince! Wow! I can’t believe I’m going to marry a prince! Does that make me a princess? I can’t believe it! Kamal, I used to dream of becoming an Indian princess but no one would believe me, and now it’s going to be true! I can’t wait to see the palace! Shall we have a big wedding in the palace? Shall I arrive riding on an elephant? Just kidding, don’t give me that look! But you know, knowing you’re a prince might be just the thing to win over my parents. You should have told me earlier!’

  But Kamal frowned, and his eyes clouded over.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re not a princess, and I am not a prince. I’m not taking you to that place. I don’t want to see Daadi ever again.’

  Caroline was persistent. ‘But why, Kamal, why? She’s your grandmother; your only relative. Surely she’ll want to meet your wife, and when we have kids—’

  ‘I don’t want to discuss it, Caroline, OK? She wouldn’t approve of you anyway, so you can forget about a big royal wedding. It’s not going to happen.’

  That was the only time they ever came near to a quarrel, and Caroline thought it was wiser to leave well enough alone. She understood: Kamal wanted to be loved for himself, not for his blue blood. And she did love him for himself.

  Chapter 11

  Caroline. Gingee, South India, 1988

  Kamal took Caroline to India and married her there at a small, private Hindu ceremony, against her parents’ wishes. For Caroline’s thesis on Tamil family structure, she wanted actually to live in a Tamil family, in a traditional village far away from modern influences. So the newly-weds travelled around Tamil Nadu for a while, looking for just the right village, just the right family; the plan was for Kamal to help her get settled, and then decide on an engineering job not too far away – he had in mind a hydroelectric dam project somewhere in South India, and had sent off several applications. Invitations for interviews were already coming in.

  It would mean separating during the week and only seeing each other at the weekends but it would only be for a while – their love was strong enough; it would only be nourished by the pain of parting.

  Caroline found her place. The Iyengars lived in a village on the outskirts of Gingee, a small town a few hours’ drive from Madras. It was perfect: a traditional Hindu family, mother, father, five children, the eldest a girl of eleven. But best of all, the parents were both well educated, with degrees, and spoke English; the father, Viram, was headmaster at a private secondary school, and took a personal interest in Caroline’s thesis. He was able to explain to her everything she wanted to know, and for an hour a day he taught her Tamil. His wife, Sundari, had a bachelor’s degree in English, and loved reading; she and Caroline hit it off immediately, especially because they shared many favourite books.

  The house itself was a little cramped, what with five children and another on the way, but they had a large back garden and it was an easy and quick thing to add a double room and a bathroom at the back where Caroline could live, and Kamal could visit at weekends.

  Kamal got the job he wanted, at the Aliyar reservoir in the Coimbatore District. The dam had been built in the seventies for irrigation purposes, and had just been commissioned to generate hydroelectric power; the project consisted of a series of dams interconnected by tunnels and canals for harnessing the waters of several nearby rivers, all flowing at various elevations, for irrigation and power generation. It was exactly what Kamal wanted, for it not only challenged his engineering skill but was also of immense use to the farmers. A wonderful start to his career.

  * * *

  They hadn’t planned a baby just yet – but these things happen, and six months later Caroline found she was pregnant.

  They were delighted. They made plans to build a nice house near the dam. She would finish her thesis and have the baby: perfect.

  Who needed the Mitchells of Cambridge, who needed Kamal’s Daadi of Moti Khodayal? Not Kamal and Caroline Bhandari.

  But they were forced to delay their plans for a while. They hadn’t built their house yet, for there wasn’t enough money, and both refused, for obvious reasons, to ask their families for help.

  Then Kamal received a lucrative offer to go and work on another dam project in North India, on a two-year contract. He’d earn well and improve the family finances; they could have their home sooner. It was a magnificent offer. ‘That’s the benefit of a MIT degree,’ he said, laughing. ‘It’s an offer I can’t refuse.’

  After the two years he’d come home, get back his old job but with a better salary – his present employers certainly didn�
��t want to lose him – and build their home.

  The set-up with the Iyengars was so ideal it would have been nonsensical for Caroline to accompany Kamal to North India. She was happy with her Tamil family; Sundari and she were now close friends, and she was learning Tamil; moving to the north would mean a new language, a new environment, disruptive for all. Sundari was eager to help and advise Caroline in all matters concerning pregnancy and childbirth; with five, soon to be six children, she was an expert. Yes, it would be foolish for Caroline to move.

  Caroline’s baby was a girl. Kamal could not come down for the birth, which was sad for both of them, but, after all, Caroline was in good hands and the future lay before them, round and glowing. Soon they’d have their own home and watch their daughter grow.

  They named her Asha. Caroline took hundreds of photographs of her and sent them to Kamal accompanied by expansive, euphoric letters. What she didn’t tell Kamal, though, was that she was finding the adjustment to motherhood difficult, especially breast-feeding. But it was not a problem, since Sundari was there and her breasts seldom ran dry; she was still feeding her youngest, Kanaan, and the next baby was due in four months’ time.

  ‘I have enough milk for all,’ she said with a laugh, and took the squalling Asha confidently from Caroline’s arms and laid her at her breast. Asha’s lips closed around the nipple; the screaming stopped. Caroline breathed a sigh of relief and tucked her own breast away.

  ‘But what will happen when your baby comes?’ she asked. ‘You won’t have time for two little ones – three, counting Kanaan!’

  ‘Janiki will help. I will continue to feed her, but Janiki will do all the rest. Won’t you, Janiki?’

  Janiki nodded eagerly. She was thirteen years old, the eldest child and the only girl, already her mother’s right hand in the home, helping to care for her youngest brother, Kanaan. She loved babies.

  ‘Of course, Amma!’ she said. ‘I will be her chinna-amma, her little mother.’

  Chapter 12

  Kamal. Gingee, 1988

  From afar, Kamal adored his daughter. He was working six days a week and it just wasn’t practical to fly down and back in the space of a day and a half – and it was expensive, of course. And as for Caroline visiting him with the baby, or even coming up and their renting a home nearby so they could live together for that year – they simply decided to save the money. It was so convenient, her living with the Iyengars. She had two built-in babysitters as well as a companion in Sundari, and could continue to work on her thesis.

  Then, at Christmas, at Caroline’s insistence, Kamal finally came home. Asha was six months old.

  At Madras airport he saw her right away, behind the wall of dark Indians waving their signs behind the barrier. Caroline stood aloof, beyond the fray, just as she was in that sacred place where he held her in his mind. She wore sparkling white cotton trousers and a long, soft blouse batiked in various shades of blue. Her blonde hair, cut short now, was like a sleek, polished cap framing a tanned face, glinting in the midday sunlight; she held one hand as a visor above her eyes as she scanned the line of passengers pushing their rusty brown trolleys out of the airport building. At the moment of recognition her face lit up, as at the sudden emergence of the sun from behind a cloud; her hand shot upwards, waving furiously. She ran forward and into his arms.

  When they separated again Caroline took his hand and led him to a waiting taxi.

  ‘You didn’t bring her?’ Kamal said, peering into the back window of the taxi. He felt a twinge of disappointment. Time was so short; their minutes together were precious. She should have brought Asha.

  ‘Oh, no, I left her with Janiki,’ said Caroline. ‘It’s a three-hour drive in this hot sun; it would just have been a hassle. You know, with nursing and all that.’

  ‘So you had to leave her for six hours? Is that all right? I mean – doesn’t she have to be fed?’

  Caroline hesitated. She had not yet told him about the feeding arrangement. She’d have to confess; better to do it now.

  ‘Kamal – my milk dried up. It happens often with first-time mothers, you know. But thank goodness Sundari had so much and so she has been feeding her. She gave birth two months ago and she still has so much milk – it’s practically pouring out! Enough for three babies.’

  Kamal’s face fell. ‘So you haven’t been feeding her at all?’

  ‘Oh, sure!’ said Caroline. ‘Sundari expresses the milk sometimes and puts it into a bottle, so I can feed her. You can too – you’ll love it!’

  She squeezed his hand and he squeezed hers back.

  ‘Kamal – you’re the father of the most beautiful little girl in the world and you don’t know it! I can’t wait for you to meet her!’

  The drive home was interminable. But then they were there, the taxi bouncing slowly down the unpaved street to the big white house at the end, meandering around the potholes. Children swarmed around the car – for motor vehicles were rarities in this village – running backwards before it or skipping along beside it, slapping its bonnet, grinning in through the open window, calling out to Caroline and Kamal. One little boy in ragged blue shorts threw himself across the bonnet and sprawled there waving; another hooked his elbow in through the open window; two others jumped onto the back bumper and clung to the hind parts of the car like stick insects glued to a window.

  Kamal, with wise prescience, had brought several packets of wrapped sweets. He opened one with his teeth and held it out of the window, emptying the lemon and orange sweets onto the dusty road. Immediately the children dropped away from the car and fell on them, scrambling on the ground and grappling frantically. Kamal looked out of the rear window, then turned to Caroline.

  ‘Some things never change!’ he said.

  ‘And some things do,’ she replied. ‘Look in front of you!’

  Kamal turned around. They had arrived at the Iyengar home; the taxi halted. Janiki, who had either heard the commotion or the hum of the car or been warned of their coming through the swifter-than-light grapevine, stood in front of the door, a broad smile on her lips and a bundle of Asha in her arms. Sundari came out behind her, wiping her hands on a towel and smiling broadly.

  A tiny hand waved clumsily above the bundle. Two small legs hung below it. The rest of Asha was concealed by a thin cotton cloth, but now Janiki changed the position of her arms and held the baby upright in the crook of her arms, one hand bracing her, so that the cloth dropped away from the little bare chest and the child sat as in a comfortable chair, facing her father.

  Kamal stared, suddenly silent. Slowly he left the car, not bothering to close the door, and crossed the short stretch of sand to approach his daughter, coming to a stop immediately in front of Sundari. He wanted to speak, to reach for the child, but the words caught in his throat and his arms felt crippled – he could not move them. Even his breath stopped, it seemed, and his mouth was dry, and his ears had lost their hearing for all the world was silent around him, and even his thoughts had raced headlong into a wall and ceased. But then his eyes were suddenly involuntarily moist, his arms moving upwards to receive the child who in the same moment Janiki was holding out towards him. He took Asha as if he had held her a thousand times before, clasped her to his chest and covered her with his crossed forearms and moved away, walking towards the fence and away from the others so that no one could see his face – or his tears.

  Caroline had tried her best. She had bought a plastic Christmas tree and decorations in Madras. She had arranged cotton wool around the base of the tree for snow, and hung the cheap plastic baubles in glaring red and gold along its branches, and draped long strips of glittering tinsel around it, all in an attempt to reproduce the spirit of Christmas as she remembered it. It didn’t work. Not even the fat candle glowing on its polished brass stand could make her believe it was truly Christmas.

  ‘Look at this angel,’ she said, handing him a tinny white thing that had fallen from one of the branches. ‘Isn’t she unbelievably tacky? But I cou
ldn’t find anything else. And believe me, I really scoured the stores. I guess Christmas isn’t a big thing here.’

  ‘It isn’t,’ Kamal said. He looked down at Asha, who was wearing a bright red dress, which set off perfectly the jet black of her hair and her sparkling eyes, now fixed on the bright angel. Kamal, as he had done so often, marvelled at the perfect little features.

  ‘Christmas is something we read about in books. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Well, could we at least sing some carols?’

  ‘I’m not so good at carols,’ Kamal admitted. ‘Remember, I never even heard “Jingle Bells” till I got to America. So I don’t know if… Hey, what’s the matter? Caro, Caro, why’re you crying?’

  Caroline wiped away a tear with her bare forearm. ‘It’s nothing, I guess. Well, no. It’s just that… it’s just that… that…’

  Kamal gently laid Asha on her blanket on the floor, and leaned towards his wife. Her face was turned away from him, and huge tears rolled down her cheeks. He placed his hand on her chin and gently turned her face up towards him.

  ‘Tell me. Please tell me what’s bothering you. You know you can tell me everything. Here.’

  He gave her a clean square of cloth, one of several they used for Asha to burp on, and wiped her cheeks with it. ‘Can’t you tell me what’s the matter?’

  ‘I… I suppose it’s just Christmas,’ Caroline admitted. ‘A bit of homesickness. Nostalgia and all that. I feel so… so sentimental… I sort of miss my parents and stuff. And snow. And church. Santa Claus. All that soppy stuff. Family stuff, I guess. And Christmas dinner. The turkey! Oh, Kamal, what I wouldn’t give for a turkey! And apple pie. When… when I was a kid I used to be in the church choir and we used to walk around town singing carols and collecting for charity. I had this muff and a coat with a furry bonnet and it was all so warm and snuggly and I would so love to offer all of that to Asha and I can’t – she’ll never know Christmas! She’ll grow up without snow and Santa! And Thanksgiving. I adore Thanksgiving, everyone around the table and Mom basting the turkey! And fall – the golden leaves! And oh, Kamal, it’s just so damned hot here! All year round! And all my friends and everything. I miss them. The time difference makes it impossible to even call them to wish them a merry Christmas. And presents – books! I had to leave all my favourite books behind and I miss them so. And music. I should have brought my violin. Why didn’t I think of that? And…’