Ma spoke again. ‘Why are you torturing the poor child? They have been friends ever since she was a baby, even before Vicky was born …’
‘We were only thinking about her well-being, Sumitra. She is used to the comforts and luxuries of the palace. How will she manage on her own?’ said Bauji.
‘She’ll learn,’ replied Ma. ‘Tomorrow, both the girls will get married. Proposals have already started coming for Mili. Then they will have to go their separate ways. But at least until then, let them be together.’
Bauji sighed and took another sip of his tea. ‘All right, then, she can go,’ he finally conceded.
‘Oh thank you, Bauji,’ said Mili, clapping her hands together. She looked at Ma gleefully.
Ma was smiling softly. She looked so petite whenever she was beside Bauji. He often teased her about her height. Mili had heard that when she was pregnant with Uday, Bauji would sigh and exclaim, ‘What if all our children take after you and are stunted? That’ll be the death of our dynasty.’ But although Ma was small, she carried herself with such grace and quiet authority that she commanded the respect of everyone, including Bauji. Yes, even Bauji. For all his temper and arrogance, he was putty in Ma’s hands. As she had just witnessed …
‘I’m happy for you,’ Uday was saying. Mili stared at him, then looked around the platform. The revolutionaries were leaving the station. She had been reminiscing and not heard a single word of what he had been saying. He was now raising his arm and exclaiming theatrically, ‘Step out of the four walls of the palace, sister, and explore the world.’
‘I think your palace has more than four walls,’ Vicky said with a grin, pushing back her glasses.
Uday looked at Vicky. ‘These glasses are good,’ he said. ‘You can see now.’
Vicky stuck out her tongue at him.
‘But Uday, you have to admit – you’re going to miss us,’ Mili said. ‘Who will cover up for me when I’m in trouble?’
‘Yes, I suppose,’ replied Uday. ‘The palace will be quiet without your silly pranks and giggles.’
‘If Bauji—’ Mili stopped speaking as she noticed a lot of hustle and bustle on the platform. A minute later the train thundered into the station. She looked around at their luggage. Thank goodness they didn’t have a mountain of it like they did whenever Ma was travelling with them. ‘Ma, it’ll be easier to put wheels under our palace than to get that lot into the train,’ Uday used to joke.
She watched as the servants carried all the bags and suitcases into the train before getting into it herself, followed by Vicky. Calling out to Bhoomi, she asked her to open the window. Then peered out. A sudden hush seemed to have fallen. The crowd on the platform was parting and now stood on either side of the main entrance with heads bowed and hands joined respectfully. That could only mean one thing – Ma and Bauji had reached the station.
‘Don’t forget to write to us if you need anything,’ said Ma as she patted her frail hand through the bars of the window. ‘Bhoomi, did you remember to put the stationery in her trunk?’
‘Yes, Your Highness,’ Bhoomi replied.
‘And the bottles of pickle are in the basket. Make sure they don’t fall over,’ Ma continued to fuss.
‘Yes, Ma. Now stop worrying. Vicky will be there to take care of me.’
Ma looked at Vicky and smiled. ‘We’d never send you off on your own. Imagine my little Mili going out into the big bad world all by herself. And did you pack your coat? Remember, it’ll be cold up there.’
‘Ma …’ Mili began to protest.
Bauji had finished giving instructions to the servants and turned his attention to Mili. ‘My child, take care of your health. Don’t study too hard. See how it goes for three months. If you don’t like the school, come back.’
‘Yes, don’t stay up too late and get dark circles. Then nobody will want to marry you,’ added Ma.
‘Ma …’ Mili protested yet again, just as the whistle began to blow.
Bauji and Ma stepped back from the train and waved to her. Mili frowned as a woman bulldozed her way through the crowd. She was panting.
‘Mummum,’ exclaimed Vicky, ‘I thought you’d never make it.’
‘What a to-do, Victoria. I got caught in this meeting and then these people were taking out a procession on the road …’
Vicky put a loving hand on her mother’s, through the bars of the window. ‘I understand, Mummum. Don’t explain. Just take care of yourself. And don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.’
‘I know, sweetheart. My brave poppet,’ said Mrs Nunes.
Mili watched Mrs Nunes as she wiped her face with her handkerchief. Perspiration had made her make-up runny and her kohl smudged. She was now looking around, then joined her hands and said ‘Namastey, Your Highness,’ to her parents. Now she had turned back to Vicky and was asking, ‘Where are your sisters?’
‘Claudia was getting late for her rehearsal. And Michelle had an important class she couldn’t miss,’ said Vicky.
‘Brats … all right, poppet, take care of yourself and Malvika,’ said Mrs Nunes as the guard blew the whistle. She waved and blew a kiss to Vicky as the train began to chug slowly.
Mili and Vicky chatted late into the night. It was difficult to recall when exactly they had drifted off to sleep, but it was morning when they awoke and the train was pulling in at Shaampur station. If only Mili had known then that they would never take this train together again, she might have stayed up all night.
Mili straightened her crushed dupatta before alighting onto the platform. Vicky’s Uncle George had sent his chauffeur to drive them up to Kishangarh. Mili nodded as the driver gave the two girls a friendly grin. He stepped aside to let them pass through the station gate and asked Bhoomi and the rest of the servants to follow him with the cases. Then it was time for goodbyes.
‘The moment you need me, Princess, you tell, I come,’ said Bhoomi.
‘Yes, Bhoomi, I definitely will,’ replied Mili holding her hands lightly. Then she smiled and waved to all the servants and got into the jeep. Once Mili and Vicky had been bundled inside, the vehicle made its way up the spindly road.
For miles around, Mili could see a chain of hills and mountains, covered with coniferous trees. They had been driving at a snail’s pace for the last three hours. Sometimes the road slithered along like a long grey snake stretching right across the hills. At other times, it spun around a hill like a top, right up to the summit. And there were so many sharp turns and corners that Mili was left clutching her stomach and feeling very, very sick. Hey Lord Kishan, was this journey ever going to end?
Just then the road opened up to reveal a valley below. They were now in Kishangarh. As they reached the top of a hill, the jeep swerved around a bend and a mansion came into view. Engraved on the gatepost were the words ‘School for Tender Hearts’.
‘STH,’ Vicky cheered loudly, as the driver hopped down to open the gate. Then he changed gear and took the jeep up the muddy track, right up to the main school building.
Mili and Vicky sprang out of the jeep as soon as the driver switched off the engine and let their gaze rove. The main school building was an elegant Victorian mansion, which sprawled leisurely over a vast expanse of land. It was late afternoon. Apart from the twitter of birds, peace and tranquillity reigned supreme. The air was fresh and smelt of pine. Not a speck of dust could be seen anywhere; nor mosquitoes, nor flies.
‘Salaam, saab,’ said a voice. Mili and Vicky turned around with a start. It was a short Bhutia lad in tattered clothes and a cap that had more holes than a sieve. ‘Me, Badshah Dilawar Ali Khan Bahadur, the hostel errand boy,’ he said.
Mili smiled.
Vicky looked at him and giggled. ‘His name is longer than he himself is,’ she whispered in Mili’s ear.
Bahadur picked up two cases from the jeep and led the way to the girls’ hostel, which was at the far end of the school. ‘It is Sunday, no saab, so office closed. But you can see hostel warden.’
Nodding, Mili
and Vicky followed him. The gravel crunched beneath their feet. Bahadur carried on speaking. ‘Hostel constructed only two years back. Girls not wanting to stay away from home, that’s why.’
Mili gave Bahadur a one-rupee note as baksheesh. Bahadur gave her a crooked grin and raised his right hand in a sloppy salaam. He pointed towards a door on the ground floor, right next to the main entrance to the building. ‘That be the warden’s room.’
Biting her thumbnail, Mili looked at Vicky as she knocked on the formidable door and waited.
The warden looked them over as soon as she opened the door. ‘What are your names?’ she asked brusquely.
‘I’m Victoria Nunes and this is Malvika Singh,’ Vicky replied.
The warden opened a register. She looked up their details, then handed them the keys to their room and a typed sheet of paper.
‘These are the rules of the hostel. I suggest you go through them very carefully. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve work to do.’
With that, she closed the door. Mili and Vicky looked at one another, then shrugged their shoulders and began looking for their room. It was on the second floor. Mili looked around. There were some small holes in the wall. Screws must have been drilled into them. Perhaps to hang up pictures. There were three beds in the room; two in front of a large semicircular window and the third alongside the opposite wall.
‘The other inmate – she hasn’t yet arrived. Let’s take those two beds, overlooking the window.’
‘Yes, Vicky, let’s …’ said Mili as she drew aside the curtains with the big, red, flowery print. She threw the window open and gasped at what she saw. The entire town of Kishangarh was spread out on the opposite hill and around the lake in the valley below. It was a strange village-cum-town, this Kishangarh – with a scattering of cottages and huts playing hide-and-seek amidst the tall pine, deodar, chestnut and chinar trees.
Vicky began to unpack her cases.
‘Oh, will we have to do this ourselves?’
‘No, Bhoomi’s going to come from Mohanagar to do it for you,’ replied Vicky.
Scowling, Mili opened her bag and proceeded to empty it. After a while she tugged Vicky’s sleeve. ‘This is boring. Let’s go and see if any of the other girls have arrived.’
Only a handful of girls were there. The rest would be arriving the following morning – the first day of term, they were told. As they strolled through the school grounds, they soon came upon the building where their classes were going to be held. It was an elephantine structure that had been freshly whitewashed. As the two of them sauntered towards the building, they perceived a man walking out of the library. He was on crutches.
Vicky brought her lips close to Mili’s ear and whispered, ‘Mili, did you notice? That poor fellow’s disabled. But what’s he doing? In a girls’ school?’
Mili did not reply but stared at him as he ambled towards the entrance.
‘Must be an errand boy. Like Bahadur,’ Vicky concluded.
Mili looked at him carefully. He was now leaning casually against the wall and adjusting his crutches. He displayed a hint of annoyance at his handicap; like a tiger in a circus biting irritably at the shackles around its feet. No, he looked too arrogant to be a mere errand boy. She couldn’t say what exactly it was about him – after all, he did not look very tall, he was lean and disabled, and yet he exuded an aura of command. Perhaps it was the way he stood there, with his chin thrust out and his lips curled sardonically – why, he could have been standing there without a stitch of cloth on, for all he cared …
But Vicky was pulling Mili towards the refectory, so she refrained from saying anything.
Chapter Four
Raven limped towards the English Department in MP College. He stopped near the fence surrounding the playing fields to catch his breath. He could see School of Tender Hearts’ playground just a few feet below. The students were already seated by the time he reached the classroom. ‘Good morning everyone,’ he said and started taking the attendance. ‘Jatin,’ he called out.
‘Present, sir,’ the boy answered, his hand covering half his face.
Narrowing his eyes, Raven looked at him. He looked familiar. Why, he was the same Indian lad who had stopped the others from hitting him at the cricket ground last week. ‘Thank you for sparing me the other day,’ he said.
‘Sir …’ replied Jatin and he squirmed uneasily.
‘So is it only cripples you don’t lift your finger to or are there some more fortunate ones on your generous list?’ asked Raven.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ replied Jatin, head lowered. ‘I didn’t know you were a member of staff.’
‘It’s all right,’ Raven said with a flick of his hand. He threw a piece of chalk at the Sikh lad who had been with Jatin that day. ‘What did you say your name was?’
‘Sir, Gurpreet.’
‘Sir? Have you been knighted?’ Raven asked with an amused smile.
‘No, sir. Only Gurpreet, sir,’ he replied, breaking out in a sweat.
‘You play well,’ said Raven. ‘And you were right – it was a no-ball. But next time try to settle matters without coming to blows.’
‘Yes, sir; thank you, sir,’ Gurpreet replied.
Raven got up. Picking up a piece of chalk he said, ‘There is a very important line in the play we’re studying this term.’ Turning his back to the class, he started writing on the blackboard: This above all, to thine own self … Drat, he should have never thought of writing on the board. Balancing oneself on crutches and writing at the same time was no mean feat.
He heard some shuffling but decided it would be easier to hobble around once he had finished writing. But when he did turn around, half the class was missing.
‘I bet they’re in Uncleji’s Tuck Shop,’ a student suggested.
‘In that case,’ Raven said to the class, ‘please turn to page thirty-six and study the monologue. I will be back in fifteen minutes.’
So saying, he hobbled slowly towards the canteen.
Uncleji’s Tuck Shop stood on the path that lay between STH and MP College and was a favourite haunt of students from the school as well as the college. It was run by Mr Kapoor, who was once the caretaker of STH but had now retired.
Sure enough, all his truant students were there. Raven leant against the door unobserved, as the smell of coffee and freshly baked cookies wafted towards him.
Gurpreet was speaking to the other students. ‘Why were you wasting your time in class? You want to become actors? Or are you planning to set up a drama company? I’m telling you now. This Shakespeare and English literature are not going to get us anywhere. You will continue to remain slaves of these firangis all your life. What you need to do is join Guruji in his fight for independence.’
Raven continued to eavesdrop from the door.
Gurpreet paused to light a cigarette. He continued speaking. ‘Have you any idea how powerful students can be? Students alone can bring down a government.’ Then waving a sheet of paper he said, ‘I want all of you to sign this petition …’
‘Yesterday we got into trouble with Shrivastava Sir,’ said Jatin.
‘Why?’ Gurpreet asked.
‘We spent a lot of time making all those banners for Guruji and didn’t manage to submit our home assignment on time,’ Jatin replied.
Gurpreet said, ‘Next time Shrivastava says anything—’
Raven straightened and a lopsided smile flickered across his face as Gurpreet noticed him standing at the door.
Clearing his throat Gurpreet mumbled, ‘Umm … actually it’s your fault. You should have finished the home assignment on time.’
‘What are you saying, Preeto? How could we …?’ said Jatin.
Folding his arms, Raven looked sardonically at Gurpreet. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Did you not tell Mr Shrivastava that Gurpreet had set all of you some other homework?’
Gurpreet shut his eyes and grimaced.
Turning his gaze to the rest of the students, Raven broke into a tirade. ‘Is thi
s what your parents have sent you to this college for? To let a fellow student lead you all astray?’
‘Sir, I’m sorry,’ Gurpreet said in a low voice.
‘You are ready to trust your future in the hands of someone like Gurpreet?’ Raven asked the students. ‘Did you know he has failed twice in the same class?’
‘Not twice, three times,’ said Jatin.
Raven noticed Gurpreet dart an angry look at Jatin and mutter, ‘Bloody marjaaneya, sucking up to a firangi. I’ll see you later.’
Looking pointedly at him, Raven asked, ‘Do you even know who this Guruji is and what he does for a living?’
‘I said sorry …’ Gurpreet said in an irritated tone.
Raven looked at him for a long moment, then turned back to the rest of the students. ‘Go back to your classroom, all of you. And to make up for this lost time, I will take an extra class during the lunch break.’
The students grumbled and muttered in protest as they filed out of the tuck shop. Raven shook his head thoughtfully as he watched them leave. So now the freedom movement had not only spread to a remote town like Kishangarh, but to its educational institutes as well. He thought of the Uprising of 1857. When the Indian sepoys had mutinied against the British. It had been one of the bloodiest mutinies ever witnessed by mankind. What would be the consequence of this movement? On the one hand was the Congress, demanding the British quit India, but it believed in the principle of non-violence. On the other hand were leaders like Subhash Chandra Bose who believed only war could gain India its independence. What would be the final outcome of all this? Would the Indians succeed in ousting the British this time?
Raven shrugged his shoulders. Not that it mattered. He did not care one way or the other, as long as his students did not bunk his class.
Raven looked up from his work. There it was again – yes, it was a knock. He looked at the clock. 12.45. Who could it be so late at night? He opened the door. It was Gurpreet and Jatin.
After the Storm Page 3
