Of Marriageable Age (37 page)

A thought flitted through her mind, and she had to smile, the thought of herself standing in the sea of blood that was Indrani's wedding sari, so long ago, so many ages ago, but this was no sari, this was real, and she felt herself falling into that sea, knees crumbling, legs giving way. And she heard Mrs Ghosh's shout, distinctly, in the moments before she passed out.

'The girl getting a baby! Oh Lord! Is a miscarriage! Look at all de blood! Mrs Roy, Mrs Roy, come quick!'

But Ma was already at her side. Saroj could smell her. She felt her arms reaching out around her, breaking her fall, because she was slipping in the blood, and she heard Ma say, 'Mind the glass. Indrani, help me carry her away from the glass. Call Dr Lachmansingh.'

29

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

SAVITRI

Madras, 1934

“
N
O
, David. Absolutely not. I'm not going to aid and abet an elopement.'

Though the night was warm Savitri shivered as she heard these words. She drew her blanket up over her shoulders, and pulled it tighter. She stroked Adam's head to calm herself. They had awakened the children with all their din, but Mrs Baldwin had quickly quieted the two elder boys, Mark and Eric, and had taken them back to bed, while Savitri held Adam, the youngest, an infant of eighteen months. Now, they sat around the kitchen table while Mr Baldwin made tea.

Adam began to whimper and Savitri got up to walk back and forth and rock him, but he would not sleep.

'But Mr Baldwin . . .'

'Absolutely not, David. What you've done is absolutely irresponsible. You'll have to go home. Immediately. Both of you.'

'Mr Baldwin! They're sending me back to England!'

'And that's where you'll have to go. Maybe one day you'll learn some sense there!'

Savitri moved near to David and he put an arm around her. Both stared at Mr Baldwin, wordlessly. Adam wiggled to get down and Savitri let him slither out of her arms. He ran to his father and flung both arms around his legs. Mr Baldwin's voice dropped, losing some of its sternness. He stood with the teapot in one hand, the other reaching down to pat Adam's curly blond head.

'Look, David, Savitri. Don't you see, you can't. You're both underage, for one. Savitri's Indian, for another.'

'That's the whole problem, don't you see! They want her to marry some man she hasn't even met and if we don't rescue her I'll lose her! Mr Baldwin, help us, please! I know we're minors but still: we do know our feelings, and we belong to each other, we always have. You know that!'

Mr Baldwin nodded imperceptibly, and David, encouraged, carried on.

'I don't mind going to England, I don't mind going to Oxford, I don't mind waiting for her, but I want her to wait for me! And she wants to wait for me, don't you, Sav?'

Their eyes met and locked and Savitri nodded, then turned calmly to Mr Baldwin. 'I can't go back, Mr Baldwin. I've left my home and my family and I can't go back. Even if you refuse to help me I cannot go back.'

Mr Baldwin clicked his tongue and placed the teapot on the table. He picked up Adam and slid him into his high chair, and signalled to David and Savitri to sit down. He poured them each a cup of tea and then said to Savitri, slowly, as if speaking to a little girl,

'You
can
go back, Savitri. It's only three in the morning. If you go back now no-one will have noticed. You can slip home and it'll be as if nothing ever happened.'

He turned to David now. 'She's an Indian, David. They have their customs which we can't understand. If you had never turned up she'd have married this man her parents have chosen and very likely she'd have had a good marriage. Indians do have good marriages, you know. Indian women are not like our women. They make up their minds to love, and they love unconditionally. Savitri has that in her. Let her go. It's unfair of you to put her in this situation. It’s irresponsible. She's doing it for you because she loves you, but you have no idea what the consequences will be to her… what scandal, what shame…’

'No!'

All eyes turned to Savitri. The word was spoken sharply, authoritatively, and it was as if not Savitri herself spoke, but another being, strong and knowing.

'It's not David's decision, it's mine. Don’t blame him. He didn’t force me. He asked me to come and I said yes, and I'm here, and I'll stay, if you'll have me, and if you'll hide me, for a while at least, until I can find some sort of work. There's no going back. Even if they come and take my body forcefully back to my home, marry me forcefully to this man, I have chosen David and I belong to him in my soul. I will wait for him, if you will help. I've left my home, I've abandoned my duty. For an Indian there is nothing worse but I have done it and there's no going back. Before tonight it was different. I was prepared to renounce David and marry the man my parents have chosen, like a dutiful daughter, and you are right, I would have had a good marriage because I would have given my heart into it, and I would have been a good and strong wife for my husband. But the moment I walked out of our gate with David, Mr Baldwin, that moment I became another. No longer Indian, and not yet English: there is no name for what I am, but I am myself, and I will wait for David. If you will help. And —'

A burst of clapping interrupted her speech and Mrs Baldwin walked in, smiling at Savitri. June Baldwin was a big, physically strong woman, a head taller than her husband. She had changed out of the nightie she had been wearing and was dressed now in a long flowing house-dress with a faded floral pattern. She had wild curly hair, a sharp nose, a wide, generous mouth, and freckles, and crossed the room now in great strides. She joined the little group and moved over to stand behind Savitri, as if in support. She dominated the room.

'Well spoken, well spoken!' she said, still clapping. She patted Savitri's shoulders then continued, 'I for one am fully on your side, Savitri! It's about time you women stood up against the ridiculous custom of arranged marriages! Show your mettle, girl, I'll be glad to help!'

David's eyes lit up. 'You will? You'll help us?' He turned eagerly to his ex-tutor, seeking confirmation, but Mr Baldwin was looking at his wife, and she at him; a contest of wills was taking place, which Mrs Baldwin won hands down.

'You'll stay,' she said to Savitri. 'We'll employ you. We need someone to help with the children; we've had a string of ayahs and they're all no good. I know you're good with children. I know a lot about you, Savitri, Henry has told me so much. He was so taken with you, you know, when he was your tutor. I said back then, he should have done more for you.' She glared accusingly at her husband, turned back to Savitri.

'You'll have a room upstairs. It's not very big but you have the run of the house and the courtyard out in the back. You're welcome!'

'June! Do you know what you're saying? The girl's a minor. If we're found out we could get charged with ... with kidnapping, or God knows what. Her family'll be furious…”

'Oh, fiddledeedee. What do I care? We're English, aren't we? Who rules this country? We do. The law is on our side. They won't dare take us to court, and even if they do, what English judge would ever side against us? All we have to say is that the girl was being forced into a marriage she didn't want and came to us for refuge. And they needn't ever find out. We'll hide her.'

'We shouldn't interfere.'

'Oh yes we should. It's our duty to interfere! What do you expect the poor child to do? Run home with her tail between her legs and beg for forgiveness? They'll probably throw her out anyway… you know these Indians!'

Savitri nodded in eager agreement. 'That's right, Mr Baldwin. What I have done is a terrible thing. I have brought great shame to my family. They will never accept me back, once they know I've run away. In their eyes I'm a fallen woman!'

Mrs Baldwin smiled down at her and reached for her hand. It was now three against one, and Mrs Baldwin, standing behind the two young people like a mother hen with her wings spread over her chicks, glared at her husband, challenging him to disagree.

He threw up his hands in capitulation.

'Very well, then, Savitri. You can stay. But you, David!'

His voice was like a whiplash and David, exulting in those first words, jumped to attention, the triumphant grin wiped off his face.

'You're not welcome. You'd better get on home. Now. Immediately, before they miss you. I don't want your name mixed up in all this. Believe me, it's better if no-one knows you helped her escape. Go home and pretend you don't know a thing.'

'But...'

'I know what you want. You'd like to hide here yourself a few days, wouldn't you? Be with your lady love? Over my dead body. No, you go. Look, it's nearly four already, and you've got to find a way of sneaking back in without being seen. It's high time...'

There was no arguing with Mr Baldwin. David knew that from his boyhood; he knew that it was only thanks to Mrs Baldwin that he'd gained any leeway at all, and there was nothing more to be gained by arguing. He stood up reluctantly, and Savitri too stood up. He took both her hands in his, and they faced each other, loath to pull apart.

'You'll hear from me!' he said. 'My ship leaves in two weeks, and I'll get in touch, I'll send you a message.'

'No!' Mr Baldwin stepped between them and pulled them apart. 'What utter nonsense! Do you want to help her, or put her in acute danger? You're to stay away from her, lad, not even a note, d'you hear? I've promised to help her but I'm not going to get myself mixed up in your intrigues! If you want to marry in a few years it's your business, but for now you must keep away! I've taken her on as my responsibility and for you, that means hands off! This is a risky enough business to begin with, and we English have made enough enemies here in India, and we don't need our boys putting their hands on their girls! So go! I'm throwing you out!'

And David let himself be thrown out, with nothing but a last wave for Savitri over Mr Baldwin's shoulder.

D
AVID HAD WISELY NOT TOLD
Mr Baldwin that he was due to leave for Bombay that very day, and that his train was scheduled to leave at five a.m. and that he would very definitely be missed, and his absence very definitely connected with Savitri's escape. When he returned home, Fairwinds was in uproar.

News spreads quickly in Madras. Savitri's escape was the talk of Old Market Street by ten that morning, the gossip spreading from the Fairwinds servants' quarters and passed along in both directions till, at around ten, it reached the bazaar. When Murugan the rickshaw-
wallah
found his way back to the bazaar for his midday meal he heard about the missing bride who had run away with a young
sahib.
There was a reward of one hundred rupees for news of the girl's whereabouts. Murugan did his duty and collected the money.

M
ANI'S THUGS
came before dawn, six of them but it sounded more like sixteen, masked and brandishing hammers and axes. Their cries woke the whole street, but when they started to batter down the Baldwins' door with their hammers and axes the neighbours withdrew their heads from their windows and closed their shutters. The thugs stormed up the stairs, breaking down all the doors. June stood akimbo in the doorway to the children's room, prepared to let herself be slaughtered before they could enter: three of them pushed her aside, inspected the room and its occupants, stormed out again. They weren't after the children.

They found Savitri in the little room at the top of the stairs. They dragged her, yelling and struggling, from her bed by her hair, half-carried, half-dragged her down the stairs to the road and into the waiting rickshaw.

At the very same time that Mani’s thugs broke in, David and his mother were boarding a first-class carriage on the Bombay Express. As planned, David sailed back to London two weeks later.

O
NE MONTH
later Savitri was married to the station-master of Tiruchirappalli, a middle-sized township several hours by bus from Madras. R. S. Ayyar had been found by Savitri's elder brother, who worked in the same town. Ayyar was a widower with five children, the youngest a girl of thirteen years. His first wife had died only a month previously and he was in a hurry to remarry, and not too particular about his future wife's background, for, after all, she was only a second wife. And so he did not know that Savitri was a fallen woman, sullied by the hands of an Englishman, one without caste. Which was, after all, the reason why Ramsurat Shankar had cancelled his own wedding to her. And since she married before the age of eighteen, Savitri was not eligible for the generous dowry granted her by the goodness of Mrs Lindsay.

But R. S. Ayyar was not particular about a dowry, and such a man was hard to find. All in all, Savitri could be considered lucky, since she was able to keep the gold jewellery passed down to her by her mother.

N
OT SO LUCKY
were Mrs Lindsay and her daughter Fiona. The Lindsay family had brought shame and scandal to the Iyer family, and, Mani proclaimed loudly, someone had to pay.

The night after Mrs Lindsay returned from Bombay a group of masked thugs, very likely the same ones who had rescued Savitri from the Baldwins, entered Fairwinds through the servants' quarters. They stormed the house, battering down the kitchen door. They lifted the Admiral bodily from the bed and into his wheelchair where he watched helplessly, or rather, tried not to watch while they tied Mrs Lindsay and Fiona to the bedstead and each of the six men raped them. The women writhed and screamed, but their writhing only made it worse and their screaming excited the men all the more. They found glass bottles in the kitchen which they broke and used the gashed edges to cut the women's thighs and genitals, and left them bleeding on the floor. The little Christian live-in housemaid locked herself in the bathroom where she whimpered and quivered in fear, but she need not have feared, for she was not English, not the enemy.

The police came but the investigation proved difficult. Mani was a prime suspect but he had spent that night at a political meeting where he had been seen by several friends who could all swear to his presence, providing a cast-iron alibi. All the servants were questioned but no-one had seen or heard a thing. The thugs were never identified.