by Rumer Godden
‘No, thank you. I am very well arranged as I am.’
‘Poor Michael! Good night.’
On impulse Michael went to have a last look at the Shiva, and this time it was he who made Auntie Sanni jump. She was in her dressing gown, standing below the niche where the small lamp burned. He saw that her lips were moving, her eyes rapt, although she put out a hand to stay him. When she had finished, she turned to him and smiled. ‘I am making my night prayer.’
‘To Shiva?’ He could not help being slightly shocked: he had taken it for granted that she was a Christian until, once again, as if she had divined his thinking she said, ‘Why do religions feel they must have edges? To me they are all one, as in this house. Our Goanese cook and Samuel and Hannah are Catholics.’
‘As Hannah told me. She said Thomist Christian.’
‘She would. St Thomas is supposed to have come to Madras. She is very devoted, but works happily with all the others. Colonel McIndoe’s personal valet is Buddhist, as are the houseboys. Or perhaps they are Hindu – they come from Nepal. The table servants are Muslims, our gardeners Brahmins, the highest Hindu caste of all, and the sweepers, men and women, are Hindus too but rank so low they have no caste at all. They are outcasts and called “untouchables” yet they all work together happily at Patna Hall.’
‘And revere the Nataraja.’
‘Yes.’
‘But this one? It doesn’t rival the true one for beauty and feeling. Auntie Sanni, I went to see it in London.’
‘So,’ she said, ‘to you this is not the same?’
‘Not quite. This is a wonderful copy made by a craftsman who has a touch of the artist, but I can’t help thinking of that complete artist who carved the other so long ago. The power …’
‘Shiva’s power.’
Michael’s instinct made a sudden leap. ‘Auntie Sanni, I think you have known about the changeover all the time.’
Auntie Sanni looked at him severely. ‘I am not saying anything. Good night.’
Michael felt he owed himself a morning on the beach and, after a Patna Hall English breakfast – bacon and egg with mushrooms, toast, home-made marmalade and coffee – he changed into his trunks and a beach-robe that he found in his cupboard with a wide towel. He followed the stepping stones across the white sands, already warm with sun, until he came to the foreshore strewn with shells and flotsam brought in by long ripples from the waves. Crabs scurried across it, there was an occasional starfish and blue jellyfish. All along was the barrier of tossing white, higher than his head, as the waves swept in, rearing up before crashing down; he had not realized last night quite how gigantic they were. Beyond them the open sea was calm and azure blue.
Patna Hall’s beach was forbidden to the local fishermen and had its own security guards in Thambi and his assistant Moses.
‘Ours is not a gentle sea,’ Auntie Sanni had told Michael, as she told all her guests, when she saw him in his bathrobe. She always said, ‘Please remember it is dangerous to go in alone to bathe, even for strong swimmers. You must take a guard.’
Michael went in with Thambi, who brought him one of the wicker helmets he had been carrying last night and helped him to adjust it tightly. Michael felt the pointed peak and knew how strong it was. Thambi also had a light surfboard so that Michael, having dived through the surf, could ride in on the height and speed of the wave, Thambi swimming alongside.
Once Michael went down to the seabed, he would have felt the full thud of the wave had he not been wearing the helmet but its peak pierced the water and he was borne up again, in the exultation of riding to be tumbled over and over on to the open sand.
Afterwards, peacefully exhausted, he lay on his towel in the sun and Thambi brought a beach umbrella to shade his head. I must make plans, he thought, but the peace, with the light breeze bringing not fragrance as it had last night but sunshine and saltiness, began to overtake him and he felt sleep steal over him. After all, he had been working with Mr Bhatacharya and Walter up to the last moment, then had had the long flight. There had been, too, this strange inner excitement and an elation he could not suppress. All this is quite normal, he told himself. If you work in law you go anywhere, anytime. Yet it still felt anything but normal. You must let go, he told himself.
‘You didn’t come out here to let go,’ an inner voice seemed to say.
Only for an hour or two, he pleaded, but before anything more could be said, he was asleep.
Thambi shook him respectfully. ‘Sahib. I think time to wake up. Twelve o’clock. Tiffin – lunch served soon.’
Still half asleep, Michael put on his robe and went up to the house. Lady Fisher, on the veranda, was quietly sewing – he had seen her embroidery last night. He went round to the portico, thinking he would go in by the hall, and his sleepiness was immediately banished.
A coach was standing there; houseboys were unloading suitcases and grips while, from the hall, came a hubbub of voices, chattering, laughing, exclaiming. The cultural ladies – cultural group! He almost said it aloud.
He dodged back into the garden, up the veranda steps – not disturbing Lady Fisher – but there was a dilemma. To reach the stairs and get to his room there was no other way than up the staircase from the hall, and it was crowded with men and women, still in their travelling clothes and carrying their impedimenta: handbags, shoulder-bags full of books, notebooks, papers and maps; cameras, binoculars, radios; some of the older people had walking sticks. Kanu, full of importance, had a queue for registering, a pile of passports, and was handing out keys.
Professor Ellen was in the midst of it, introducing the group to Auntie Sanni one by one, with a few married pairs, always breaking off to produce others: ‘Mr and Mrs Horn, Dr Sidney Duncan and Miss Susan Carmichael’ – Not married, thought Michael – ‘Madame Duvivier who joined us from Paris,’ soignée, elegant. ‘Ian Macpherson, and you must meet our Chinese student, Ansie Lee. Ansie, where are you? Ansie.’
One young woman had not waited but introduced herself: ‘I’m Marcia Barclay, my husband Eric. We work at Sussex University. I’m so glad we came. Ellen has told us so much about you. Your marvellous mulligatawny soup.’
‘Marcia!’ Her unmistakably English husband tried to curb her.
‘Well, I’m starving. Could we be having it for lunch?’
Auntie Sanni had been caught by somebody else but, ‘Mulligatawny on lunch menu’ – Samuel had come, in full regalia, to help receive the group, while Hannah was on the stairs, which was just as well. Already there was a complaint.
‘I hope I’m on the first floor,’ wailed a voice. ‘It seems there is no lift.’ It was one of the more elderly ladies, cross-looking. ‘A hotel with no lift!’
‘Memsahib is on first floor.’ Hannah had immediately come down. ‘Stairs easy. See, Hannah help you.’
Pillars of the house, Michael remembered Auntie Sanni saying, but already the group were calling the woman Mrs Moaner. ‘There’s one on every tour.’ Professor Ellen was back.
Michael tried to flatten himself against the wall. He knew Auntie Sanni had seen him, but she had a policy at Patna Hall that one guest should never be introduced to another unless both wanted it. Professor Ellen had no such restrictions: ‘Oh, Michael, there you are. Come and meet Mark and Millicent Erle. They’re so interested in—’ but she broke off to speak to another guest and Michael never learned what Mark and Millicent were interested in, nor when she came back with a younger woman, ‘Ann, meet Mr Dean. Michael, Ann does all our—’ did he discover what Ann did.
As Lady Fisher had said, there were plenty of young, standing a little apart; they wore jeans and T-shirts, their hair cropped short or for the girls let loose and streaming. One large boy had his tied in a pony-tail and wore an earring. A girl, obviously waiting to go upstairs, still carried her rucksack on her back. Independent, that one, thought Michael.
Professor Ellen came over with especial quickness to introduce them. ‘Maria, Jacky, Di, Marilyn, Morgan, Tom.’ The names swi
rled round Michael. ‘Duke, Charlie.’
‘Hello. How do you do?’ That was a girl, while the young man called Duke asked, ‘You here for the archaeology, like us?’
‘I wish I were,’ said Michael, ‘but no, I’m on other business.’
Duke was well-mannered and did not ask further questions. ‘This seems like a nice place,’ he had begun instead, when Auntie Sanni came over to them.
‘Wouldn’t it be nice if you found your rooms?’ Half the crowd had already gone. ‘I expect you want to wash and then come down to our veranda bar and have a cool drink.’
‘It sounds heavenly,’ cried Marcia Barclay, ‘and then lunch, and you promised us mulligatawny.’
‘Marcia!’ But Samuel made her a small bow. ‘Memsahib quite right. One of Patna Hall’s famous soups. Wait till you taste, Sahib,’ he said to Michael, but Michael was not listening. He was looking beyond them. ‘I saw her,’ he always said afterwards, ‘I can never forget it.’ A young woman, not talking but leaning on the reception counter. There was a coolness about her as she looked on at the flock she had brought so far, watching with a gentle tolerance as if they were, indeed, a flock and she their shepherd.
Michael, though, was surprised at himself because she was dressed in a way that usually would have alienated him at once: an Edwardian-length, draggle-tailed black cotton skirt and a white muslin blouse with a frilled neckline. Nothing more unsuitable for travelling could be imagined; it seemed almost wilful. Her dark hair was up, with rat-tails, which he particularly abhorred, but perhaps it was the poise of her head, proud, the grace with which she leaned on the counter. Forgetting his bathrobe and skilfully avoiding Professor Ellen, he wove his way through the remaining crowd, who were moving towards the stairs. ‘Good morning.’
Her gaze immediately came to him. Her eyes were blue – but the dark blue of sapphires. They lit up when she saw him; evidently she approved. ‘Hello, I’m Artemis.’
‘I knew that the moment I saw you. I’m Michael.’
‘Ellen told me the lawyer was coming for the defence but you’re too young to be a lawyer. We all thought he would have spectacles and be cagy and wise.’
‘I think I’m very wise. I saw you across the room and came straight to you.’ But Professor Ellen had come too. ‘I see you’ve found each other, but I must help Auntie Sanni.’
Auntie Sanni was talking to the young people, who were the last to be shown upstairs. ‘I hope you won’t mind sleeping in Paradise,’ she said. ‘That’s what we call a line of rooms on the roof, simple and small like cells.’ She did not tell them that, in Patna Hall’s grander days, they had been kept for the ladies’ maids, valets and chauffeurs who came with Europeans, Americans, ambassadors or merchant princes.
‘Yes, sleep in Paradise,’ Artemis called. ‘Up there you are almost in the sky. You can see this whole world, land and sea, and at night you will be close to the stars. If any of you don’t want to sleep there I will.’
‘No, dear, you won’t.’ Professor Ellen had drawn her aside but although she whispered, Michael could hear every word. ‘Artemis dear, if you do that, fraternize completely, you won’t keep your authority.’ To Michael she explained, ‘Artemis Knox, I hope, is going to succeed me. You can’t imagine what she has done for us, or how serious she is, coming every year for the last five, the only person I have ever had who hired a car and went into the hills on her own. She has even learned Telegu, and last year she brought a film unit with lights and camera, which showed us so much we didn’t know about the cave paintings.’
But Artemis was still rebellious. ‘I hate authority.’
‘All the same, you’ll find it your greatest asset.’
‘I know, and I use it all the time.’ Artemis was suddenly wistful. ‘That’s what makes me so sad. Before I had it – or have I always had it? – I was free.’ She looked so forlorn that Michael felt a strange pull.
Is that what they call heart-strings? he wondered. He had not known he had any – his affairs had always been light-hearted. And to feel it so quickly? It isn’t possible. But the answer was that he did feel it. He put out a hand to touch her, but she had darted across the hall – empty now that the young people had gone upstairs – and she was hugging Auntie Sanni. ‘At last I have a chance to kiss you. Oh, it’s so good to be back!’ She was smiling and there was a dimple on each cheek.
The dimples finished Michael.
When he came down, changed for lunch, he found that Auntie Sanni had been right: the veranda, which had been so quiet, was filled to overflowing with people, voices, chatter and laughter, as the hall had been. She had Mark and Millicent with her on her throne and seemed to have taken over the Chinese Ansie; the other young people had carried their drinks to the garden steps, but most were gathered round the bar where Kanu, in his striped jacket, was a little repressed by Colonel McIndoe helping him; it was he who had suggested a John Collins, gin and ginger beer taken long with plenty of ice. ‘I expect you’ve been warned about ice in India. It’s often made with water that hasn’t been boiled, but our butler, Samuel, sees to that himself so you’re safe.’ Some had mango juice or iced tea. Kanu was further depressed by being asked if he could make mint julep, of which he had never heard, and to his chagrin he had to consult Samuel. Michael took up a position by the bar where he could listen and watch while Professor Ellen went from one cluster to another, asking if they had settled in.
‘Indeed we have,’ said Marcia, ‘it’s lovely.’ Her Eric was drinking with the other men so she could be as exuberant as she chose: no one would have believed she was a serious archaeologist.
The group had landed in Delhi, gone to Calcutta and Dacca. ‘So we’ve had hotels, and after that Uberoi chain, all exactly alike, I never expected anything like this. Sheer bliss.’
There was an echo of agreement until, ‘Bliss? You call it bliss.’ It was Mrs Moaner. ‘I certainly didn’t expect anything like this – no telephone in the room, no television or room service. That nice young man at the desk says that this Miss Sanni, as we are expected to call her, refuses to modernize.’
‘Oh, come,’ said Artemis, who had slipped in quietly. ‘Patna Hall has air-conditioning and electricity.’
Michael was glad to see she had changed into a sundress with a poppy red skirt and brief bodice; its white straps over her shoulders and across her bare back showed off her skin – surprisingly not sunburned but as petal fine as Lady Fisher’s. It had a glow he had not seen in girls he had met in London. I suppose it’s energy and health. She wore the lightest of sandals and her hair was tied with a red chiffon scarf. She doesn’t have to look a mess, thought Michael, with relief.
Though the veranda was in shade, the air was warm and balmy, and the sunlight from outside made patterns on the floor. The garden basked in midday brightness but a soft breeze brought the fragrance of flowers. There was a chatter of parakeets – their bright green and red could be seen in the trees – the harsh caw of crows, and mynah birds, brown with orange beaks, hopped on the floor looking for the crumbs Marcia threw for them. Michael had never felt more content and peaceful.
There’s something about this place and about that girl … he thought, but Mrs Moaner was grizzling on. ‘And what about the bathroom?’ she demanded. He could understand that, particularly to an American, Patna Hall’s plumbing arrangements were primitive. ‘Never did I think I should have to sit on a stool in a little room divided by a kerb, with one tap, and that’s cold, and pour water over me with an outsize zinc mug.’
‘Lovely warm water, just as you want it, plenty of it, standing in gharras, those big earthenware pots freshly filled ready for you.’ Artemis tried to soothe her.
‘And should we not, if we come to a country, do as they do?’ asked Madame Duvivier.
‘And isn’t it part of the fun?’ asked Dora, a small twinkling brunette who sat on one of the wicker couches with her Jamaican friend, Kate.
‘It’s this sort of fun that makes this place so different.’ Marcia gr
ew more enthusiastic every minute.
‘Fun! Downright cheating and not even hygienic.’
Artemis lost patience. ‘It’s odd you should say that, when the Indians think it is we who are unhygienic in having a bath, lying in the water of our own dirt.’
‘Dirt!’ Mrs Moaner was truly shocked. ‘How dare they? I’ve never been dirty in my life. Oh, I wish I’d never come.’
‘We can easily fly you back tomorrow if you like,’ said cruel Artemis.
At that moment, fortunately, Samuel sounded the gong.
‘Whoops! Mulligatawny soup,’ cried Marcia, as they all sprang to their feet, but now Michael saw a completely different Artemis.
She had gone to Mrs Moaner. ‘Come,’ she said, with all her charm. ‘I’m sure you’ll feel much happier when you’ve had some lunch. The food here is truly good. Oh! You haven’t finished your drink. Never mind. Take it with you. I’ll bring it. Let me help you up.’ And Mrs Moaner went with her, smiling.
‘You see? She can manage them.’ Professor Ellen was at his elbow.
‘Sure as God made little green apples.’ Her earnestness made Michael flippant.
‘There’s nothing green about Artemis,’ she said at once.
The group had two long tables. Professor Ellen was at the head of one. She tinkled a knife against a tumbler to make an announcement. ‘This afternoon you will probably like to rest or go on the beach. This evening Miss Sanni is kindly giving a reception and supper to welcome us.’ Artemis was at the head of the other table; again, she had that look of authority though she laughed and talked. Michael found himself watching her all through luncheon while he carried on an absent-minded conversation with Inspector Dutta, who said, at last, ‘Michael, you are not listening to me at all!’
‘I’m sorry, Hem.’
‘I am asking if you would like to come with me this afternoon to the village and bazaar?’
Michael was jerked back to his own world.
‘If you don’t want to come, never mind.’
