In the Shadow of a Dream

by Sharad Keskar

  ‘I’ll get him back for you, Ma’am,’ Dusty said, removing his jacket and dropping it by the side of the path.

  ‘Oh, can you! That’s sweet of you! Call him Monty. He’s learnt that at least.’ She picked up his jacket, shook the dust off it and resting it across her arm watched him chase after the dog. Dusty dodged and dashed while Monty pranced about excitedly. Then thinking Dusty was playing a game, the dog turned round, rushed, and sprang at him. Dusty caught him deftly in his hands and holding the wriggling dog firmly, took him back to its owner. ‘Thank you Sam. It is Sam? Good.’ She handed the jacket, which he took in his left hand, still keeping a firm grip of Monty under his right arm. ‘And I’ve just realised why you’re here. You poor boy.’ She put the leash back on Monty, and her hands brushed against his wrist, sending an electric current down his spine.

  Dusty released the dog. ‘You seem to know a lot about me.’

  ‘You’ve no home to go to, because your Guardian’s in Scotland. We talk about our cadets. Joe and I. The ones that need our attention.’

  He looked at her steadily. His eyes burned. She glanced down at the dog. He had given up seeking attention and was quietly crouching on his belly by her feet.

  She looked up again, a little coyly. ‘So, what are you doing about your holidays?’

  The dog sat up briskly, barked and began to pull on the leash. ‘Better give him to me ma’am.’ She did. ‘He’s planned a holiday for me. Sam has. I leave for Bangalore, tonight. From there to the Nilgiris. A hill-climbing holiday with Conoor as my base.’

  ‘I know Conoor. Not far from Ooty. I was at Ooty when Joe was in Staff College. It’s beautiful. The Nilgiris. But what brought you here? To this place, I mean.’

  Dusty laughed. ‘In search of breakfast. I hoped for a mug of tea at the Guard…’

  ‘You poor boy! I’ll give you breakfast. Mittoo, that’s our cook, he’s very used to producing meals at short notice. Yes?’

  ‘Gosh, ma’am,’ Dusty said clutching his empty stomach. ‘Will it be all right?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Worried about the general? Don’t be. Joe’s fond of youngsters. He’s a real softie, at home. Besides, it’s important you be fed. The General is master on the parade square, I’m mistress in the home; and I shall tell him how you rescued Monty. You must know the house? Monty! Stop it.’

  ‘Flagstaff House? Can’t miss it. I’ve bicycled past it many times.’

  ‘Then let’s hurry. You must be starving. The dining room’s…Monty! Stop.’

  ‘The room’s being painted. You’ll have to eat in the veranda.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t mean to…don’t mean to pry, but what have you done to your lip?’

  ‘Last night…midnight, the boys were fooling around. I had to run the gauntlet.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Oh, having to run between two rows of boys who punch you as you…’

  ‘You mean a kind of punishment. Why? What did you do?’

  ‘Nothing. Just a silly game.’ He gazed at her. ‘It was worth it.’

  She looked away. ‘You’re hiding something from me. Never mind.’

  The sentry at the gate of Flagstaff House saluted as they entered, and a boy came out and took the dog from Dusty. ‘The jeep’s gone, which means Joe’s at the golf links.’ She threw herself against the cushions of a cane settee in the veranda. ‘But he always leaves a note. Do sit down, Sam.’ She went to the coffee table and picked up the note, and as she bent down her sari pallu fell off her shoulder. She looked up to see Dusty staring straight down her blouse. She covered herself.

  A tall, pock-marked servant, in white uniform, entered. ‘Coffee, Memsahib?’

  ‘Ha. Tell Mittoo, coffee for two. Fried eggs on toast for babasahib,’ she said the last Hindustani word with some emphasis. It made Dusty wince. He was no boy. His feelings at the moment were mature and deeply masculine. ‘Joe’s sending the jeep so I could join him later. Are you all right?’ She smiled. ‘What is it? And don’t keep saying ma’am.’

  ‘Dare I say something?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, Sam. I think I know what you want to say. There are feelings that you may have…even that I may have…which must remain unspoken. Words spoken in haste can ruin things. Give it time. Time heals. I’ve already said I could be your mother.’

  ‘But, I’ll be twenty in a matter of months.’

  ‘And that’s how long I’ve been married to Joe, a year longer.’

  The bearer entered with coffee and breakfast. She told him to leave it on the table.

  ‘I’ve lost all appetite.’

  ‘Now Sam, be sensible. If you don’t eat, I shall feed you. I mean it. Please, for my sake, if you care. You don’t want to embarrass me! There are servants about.’

  ‘Sorry. But, actually, I wanted to impress you.’

  ‘You have.’

  ‘I wanted you to think well of me. And all I’ve done is make a fool of myself.’

  ‘No, you haven’t. If I was your age, I might have been even more foolish. There now. Sit on the sofa by me and don’t let it get cold. There’s no point encouraging feelings that you can do nothing about. Or lead nowhere. Is there?’

  He nodded, and began to eat while she sipped her coffee and glanced casually at a magazine. A moment later she stood up. ‘I’ve got to change into slacks, just in case I need to join Jo on the golf course.’ He did not look up. ‘Now, Sam, no one’s worth starving for.’ She sat down again, closer to him and rested a hand on his knee. ‘You poor boy, you’ve never known a mother’s love. That’s sad.’ She glanced over her shoulder, took his hand in hers and squeezed it; then she got up and left the room.

  When she returned, smart and girlish in her clothes, he had finished eating. He stood up and bowed with a grim smile. ‘Have you forgiven a foolish m—man?’

  ‘Yes, immediately. At you age you must make mistakes, as long as they’re not serious ones; and not dwell on them…to brood is to suffer. That’s how I’ve kept- sustained our marriage, a childless one, by moving on. We have this in common now, you and I. Living in the future and shedding the past. Is that not what you’ve done? Or do I mean, living in the present. No matter.’ She gave a slow pirouette. How do I look? Compliment me. I like compliments.’

  ‘You look beautiful,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I suffer just looking at you.’

  ‘It’s a woman’s privilege. To be desired is a compliment.’

  ‘But no more.’ He said abruptly, taking her by surprise. ‘I was absurd. Childish. I deeply respect your husband. And I’ll work hard to be immune to your charms.’

  She burst out laughing. ‘That was sweet! And you looked so very handsome.’

  He smiled sheepishly. ‘I’m sure I look like an idiot.’

  ‘You don’t, and what’s more, I’d like you to keep me company. Come with me to the Club. We’ll lunch there…but you’ve got a train to catch? The game goes beyond lunch and much of the afternoon.’

  ‘My train’s at 8.45, tonight; and I’ve just got to throw a few things in a suitcase.’

  ‘Good, then you won’t mind being my caddy. Ah, there’s Mittoo’s son with the golf-clubs, I’ll tell him I don’t need him today. He won’t be disappointed, I know.’

  ‘He’s my caddy, darling.’

  Sen Gupta stared passively at Dusty, who stood stiffly to attention. ‘Relax Sam, here at the club we’re all fellow officers.’ Then turning to Minnie, he said, ‘I’m afraid you’re too late to join in the game. There’s something else I wanted to say…’ he led her away. ‘We’ll be back, young man,’ he said over his shoulder, leaving Dusty with the distinct impression that the General was slightly discomforted by his presence. On their return he overheard the General saying: ‘I’m fond of the boy too. But there’s no escaping the fact it was a bit tactless. The only remedy now is
for me to show he’s here by invitation. I’ll handle it.’ He raised his voice. ‘Young man, you know golf?’

  ‘Sir, I know the game, but I’ve never played it.’

  ‘You’re a bright lad. You’ll pick it up fast, but you mustn’t win. When you play with generals, you play to lose.’ He laughed, and thumped Dusty on the back. ‘Right, come with me.’

  ‘Joe, but he’s carrying my clubs.’

  ‘Sorry, darling. Yes, first carry Minnie’s clubs into the clubhouse then meet me on the eighth. Darling you look disappointed. There’ll be a chance after lunch.’

  ‘I hate it when this happens,’ Minnie said as she and Dusty walked together. ‘I’ll be forced to sip a Bloody Mary while Kanti regales me on how wonderful her hubby is.’ He did not answer, and she looked at him inquiringly. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I apologise if I’ve made things awkward for you.’

  ‘Don’t give it another thought. Joe is always rescuing me from one faux pas or another. And he likes to be able to do that. Ah, here comes Gopi.’ A young boy ran out of the club house towards them. ‘Give him the clubs, you can then catch up with Joe. I’ll show you where the Eighth is.’ She put a hand on his shoulder and pointed with the other. ‘There, he’s waiting for you. Enjoy your spell. Joe’s good company and especially for someone like you. He’s an avid reader.’

  The General was waiting under the shade of a tulip tree, when Dusty ran up to join him. ‘I’ve given my caddy chutti, so you can do his job. Tell me laddie, when you say you know the game but have not played it, d’you mean just read about it? What, P G Wodehouse…or some professional golfer’s book?

  ‘Both, sir. Wodehouse and a book entitled Golf is a Four Letter Word.’

  Sen Gupta stared at Dusty with raised eyebrows and puckered lips. ‘Watch it boy. Being cheeky are you? If you are, it’s a good one.’

  Dusty smiled. ‘I’m not joking, I assure you, sir. I’m sure I’ve got the title right.’

  ‘Here grab these, and follow me. Have you caddied before?’

  ‘Yes, for my fa - guardian…I’ll have to admit having played a game or two. I just didn’t want to admit to being a dabbler…’

  ‘Good. Saves me having to explain. And you’re not one who gives advice?’

  ‘I’ve been known to do that, sir.’

  ‘Well don’t. I like absolute silence when I’m addressing the ball. Keep up. You’re an unusual chap. I mean, different from the other cadets. Polite but not obsequious.’

  ‘As Sergeant-Major Vallins says. “I have many seniors but no superiors!”

  ‘Good mimicry. You know, his contract ends in June. The Defence Ministry has drawn the line. No more British Warrant Officers after him. Pity, I rather wished for closer ties with Britain, after Independence. I’m an Anglophile. It’s no secret.’

  ‘So is my Guardian. Always has been. More than that, he’s a monarchist. When he was a student in England, he joined the “Charles, King and Martyr, Society” or some such thing, and on 30th January he would join a service held before the King’s statue in Trafalgar Square.’

  ‘Indeed! There’s a story about that Statue. During Cromwell’s time a lot of stuff linked with the King and his Court was sold. The statue went to a chap called Rivett, on the understanding he’d melt it down and turn it into objects for sale. He appeared to do so, but in fact he hid the statue in a pit in his garden, for eleven years, revealing it after the Restoration.’

  ‘A riveting story, sir.’

  ‘There you go again, cheek first and politeness afterwards. But I like it. So, your Guardian, Mr Dustoor, was educated in England?’

  ‘Yes, Harrow, like Nehru and Churchill, sir.’

  ‘Fascinating. I was at Wellington, probably about the same time.’

  ‘Not likely, sir. My Guardian is sixty-two, sir.’

  ‘I see. One forgets retirement is early in the Army. At forty nine, I should’ve gone by now. Instead, I’m being posted to command a Brigade. You know there’s trouble brewing with China. You’ll probably be sent straight to the front soon after you’re commissioned. Pity, we, that’s Minnie and I, won’t be here to see you off.’

  Dusty stopped and gaped.

  ‘Come on lad,’ the General urged, ‘don’t dally. The ninth’s some distance from here. Don’t tell me, the thought of seeing action appals you?’

  Dusty shook his head. ‘Everyone I get to know appears to be leaving Tejpore.’

  ‘You’re going to see a lot of changes…’ Sen Gupta broke off.

  After a thoughtful pause, he stopped and faced Dusty. ‘Something you ought to know, Dustoor. There were two things Minnie wanted most in life. Both denied her. A brother and a son. Everything else she’s had in full measure. Bear that in mind. I know that you, as a proper gentleman, won’t want to misunderstand her.’

  Dusty drew himself up. ‘I assure you, sir, I honour and respect both of you.’

  ‘Good lad! You’ll do well in the army.’ He looked at his watch and frowned. ‘They should…ah, there they are.’ He waved to two shadowy figures, which suddenly appeared above the horizon of the ninth green. ‘That’s Dhanraj and co. He doesn’t need to play a losing game. But he’s leaving the army. So, in spite of what I said earlier…if you could help, discreetly I mean, don’t hold back.’

  Dusty cringed. He always could match words with action, but now he felt he had exceeded himself and wished he had not talked about golf. Fortunately he was able to point to clubs that won the General’s approval and, even more fortunately, when it became clear Dhanraj would win, the rain came down in torrents, and the match had to be called off. There was a rush for the club-house. Dhanraj’s buggy had room only for the General, and a dripping wet Dusty was left standing in the rain.

  ‘Will you be lunching with us?’ asked Sen Gupta.

  Dusty raised his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘Sir, I couldn’t possibly, sir.’

  ‘Stay where you are, Dustoor,’ Dhanraj said, ‘Chandu here will bring you a plate of sandwiches, and take you back…where? The Station or wherever. ’

  There was a clap of thunder. ‘I wouldn’t stand under a tree.’ Sen Gupta laughed.

  At the club-house Minnie asked after Dusty. The General squeezed her arm: ‘My dear, let the boy be. Dustoor’s a good lad, but I don’t think he knows how to handle a mature and complicated woman like you.’

  Dusty waited anxiously by his luggage outside a First Class coupè. There was no sign of the Guard who had left him there. Then minutes before the train was due to leave, the man turned up. ‘Gentleman, I’ve good news for you,’ he said with a strong Tamil accent. ‘The party for this two-berth coupe have cancelled reservation. You may now choose the upper or lower berth with impunity. Get in, get in. Where’s your coolie?’

  ‘I let him go. I can manage. It’s only a suit case and bed-roll.’

  ‘Then allow me to give you a helping hand,’ the Guard took hold of the suit case. ‘You are indeed travelling light. Very best policy. However, it’s my duty to remind you, next time, please make certain you have reservation. You are so lucky this time. No point of spending much money on ticket and not enjoying the full benefit of it?’

  Dusty grimaced. ‘Thank you, I will.’ He offered the guard a five rupee note.

  The man grasped it with practised dexterity and slipped it into the breast-pocket of his jacket. ‘There really was no need for that, gentleman. It’s my duty to care for…’ He broke off, blew his whistle and waved the green flag. The engine driver answered the signal with a long warning whistle, followed by a blast of steam, loud puffing and a grinding wrench of the steel couplings before the train jerked forward with a creaking complaint. ‘Have a good journey, Mr Dustoor. I see you are reading Emanuel Kant. A great philosopher, but not for travel reading.’

  ‘My father would disagree wit
h you. He says that the best time to read philosophy is on a train journey.’

  ‘Indians waste much time on philosophy. Kant, much too complicated. Language most hard to follow. But, one must always adhere to what fathers say.’

  Dusty nodded. ‘But, what reading would you suggest, Mr Kumaraswami?’

  ‘Ai, ai Yoh! Much to choose from. My own favourite is Kipling. When I was a boy, you could find Kipling in Railway Station, A H Wheeler bookshops.’

  ‘I like Kipling too. But I’m happy with Kant. The language may be complicated but the ideas behind it are simple.’

  ‘At the next station I’ll send the boy from the railway book shop.’

  ‘Not now. In the morning. See that I’m not disturbed tonight.’

  Mr Kumaraswami rolled his head. ‘Every consideration will be observed.’

  “I am never to act otherwise than so that I could also will that my maxim should become a universal law.” Dusty smiled. The Guard, he thought, could not have had the good fortune of an excellent tutor like Dr Sam Dustoor: “Laddie, the fun of Kant is the mental exercise he provides. Simplify the rigmarole and what do you get? Ask yourself: Would it be all right for everyone to act as I do? If the answer is: No. Then don’t do it, because it will not be a universally moral course of action.”

  Dusty put the book down. He knew what he had to do, and he was determined to succeed—determined to dismiss those nagging feelings that were upsetting him; that were making him restless. “Time heals all wounds”, that’s what she meant. He smiled as he recalled William Powell, in The Thin Man, saying: “Time wounds all heels”. He took a sharp breath. Was he a “heel”? He had resolved, since school days in Bombay, to grow up to be principled, strong, upright and, above all, independent; unmoved by weaknesses and what in his innate wisdom he considered, human folly. He had been weak. He had, till now, taken immense pride in himself and, with self-congratulatory approval, his ability to be indifferent. He hated dependence, had eschewed friendship and treated people as stepping stones to achievements. He realised that unhappiness and pain came from attachments to people, to things. Sujata, Daadi, Asif, Yousef, yes, even dear Sam, were all means to an end; and he had succeeded, till now. Now he was confused, ashamed. Pride, in his ability, in his prodigious mentality—no self-delusion but one affirmed by the evidence of people’s astonishment when confronted by it—had taken a knock. He felt defeated, violated; and worse, helpless. Did these ridiculous aching desires mean he was in love with Minnie? He had had to fight those strange feelings which kept him awake last night, and had to summon all his mental strength not to give in to a desire to masturbate—that had nothing to do with the Reverend Jack Jones talk on the evils of masturbation to the boys at the Orphanage. He was too intelligent for that. Besides Asif told him he, Asif, often masturbated to get a good night’s rest, and Asif was no weakling. No, he declined to masturbate on aesthetic grounds and because it was absurd and pointless. Wet dreams were another matter. Till last night they just happened and were loveless. Last night was different. Minnie had appeared, naked, magnificent and desirable; her breasts, bare, firm, splendid. He yearned, yearned to be drawn into their yielding tenderness. Something new had stirred within him. But why breasts? Breasts were nothing new to him. As a boy in Fatehpur village he had seen them, all shapes and sizes. He had even been repelled by the sight of some—Sujata’s, fat, ponderous and heavy. Daadi’s, flat and shrivelled. Yes, those images he recalled to kill the enticements and temptations of the night; and now he would exhaust himself physically, while on holiday in the hills… He picked up the book again, read till sleep overcame him. The book fell to the floor.