The Girl from Cobb Street (26 page)

‘It will be a dismal day when the cavalry no longer rides horses.’ Grayson’s words were in her mind but she spoke unthinkingly.

‘Who told you that?’

‘I heard a rumour. I’m not sure where,’ she fudged.

‘India is a very old country and hardly changes. Horses have lasted longer here than almost anywhere and you can see why. Where roads are bad, horses will always be the best means of getting about. But you’re right about the army, things will be different. It will soon be goodbye to these beautiful creatures and welcome to armoured tanks.’

‘You’ll find that hard. You must have been riding most of your life.’

‘In fact, no. Before I joined the cavalry, I rode occasionally, but not very often. My mother hadn’t money for a pony and I could ride only if my cousins visited.’

‘Your cousins must have been rich enough to keep horses then.’ She sounded intrigued.

‘My mother’s family, my uncle, was very wealthy though my mother was not. She was a widow, you see. My father died fighting on the Somme.’ His expression had grown flint hard, all laughter fled.

‘I’m sorry, Anish, I had no idea.’

‘How could you?’

‘But your uncle—he must have been a great support to his sister.’

He didn’t speak for a long time, and when he did his tone was severely clipped, as though he was almost biting off his tongue. ‘Do you know how widows are treated here?’

She shook her head, but his voice told her it must be badly.

‘A woman has no status of her own and when her husband dies, she becomes nothing. Years ago a widow was required to throw herself on her husband’s funeral pyre. Now she dies a more lingering death. She is shunned by society and seen as a drain on her family. Even her shadow is considered bad luck.’

Daisy stared at him. ‘But that’s terrible. How can it be? Who says this should happen?’

Anish smiled thinly. ‘You have a very English perspective, Daisy. Who says? India says. Hindu scripture says. It suggests that widows should spend the rest of their lives without worldly possessions. And that suits their families well, for then they have sole ownership of the dead man’s assets and no responsibility for his widow.’

She could not bring herself to believe this was the truth. ‘If that’s so, how does a widow support herself? Can she work, can she remarry?’

‘Neither. No one will employ her and there is no remarriage. The only recourse for such women is to beg outside the temples. And that makes sense, doesn’t it? After all, being poor is their only reason for being alive. Their poverty becomes their whole world. They must sleep on the floor, eat only one meal a day, dress always in white and have their hair cut short. These things are punishments for losing a husband.’

‘How truly dreadful!’ Daisy felt anger spurt, then a huge sorrow as she realised the full implications of what he’d told her. In an uncertain voice, she asked, ‘And is that what happened to your mother?’

‘My mother found her own escape. You must not imagine she died in penury. Far from it. But did she die in disgrace? Yes.’

‘How is that possible?’

‘Parvati Rana was very beautiful and a beautiful woman can always name her price.’ He ignored Daisy’s gasp. ‘I can’t rail at her choices. They kept me fed and clothed. And they gave me a mother. My father’s family wanted to take me away, but she was tenacious and held fast to me. She made sure I was well educated and she used what influence she had to help me. I owe the fact that I’m a cavalry officer to one of her sponsors. He was married with his own family but I like to think that, in his way, he loved her. It was his money that made me who I am, so I can feel only gratitude to him. And, of course, to her.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ she repeated, and she meant it from the depths of her heart.

‘There’s no call for sadness. The old life has passed and, with it, old sorrows. My mother died several years ago and she had me to mourn her.’

‘But your father …’

‘I know little of him. Only that he died early and deserved to.’ There was a new sourness in his voice. She said nothing, waiting for him to explain. At length he said, ‘He was wounded in France and taken to England to recuperate. Then he decided to fall in love with an Englishwoman. Or what he called love.’

‘And your parents’ marriage …?’

‘It was arranged, as most Indian marriages are. It may not have been a happy one. I’ve no idea. Perhaps when Karan Rana was sent abroad to fight, he felt he’d earned the right to break free. Once the war was over, he was going to leave his wife and his child. And he would have done it, too, except the Somme intervened.’

‘Did your mother tell you this?’

‘She would never speak of him. I read it in a letter he’d sent from England. I didn’t discover the truth until I was much older and no longer a child. For years I’d considered my father a hero, a great man who fought for his country and for the Empire. But then I found that letter, and realised he was in fact a little man, a man capable of deserting his wife and child for a prostitute.’

‘Perhaps she wasn’t what you thought her.’ Anish was making no allowance for the vagaries of love, she thought.

‘What else could she be?’ he returned angrily. ‘He was married with a small child and the woman must have known that. What else can you call it but prostitution? And to think that telegram almost destroyed me—the telegram to say that he’d died. Now I’m glad he did. If he’d survived the war, I would have killed him myself. He threw my mother into darkness. No one was there to help her. Not the country he’d fought and died for, not the family he’d left behind. No one.’

Daisy was shocked into silence. It was a dreadful story, and not just a story, for Anish was the living reminder of his mother’s fate. She wondered if this was the first time he’d told his history to another person, and thought that it might be. It made her feel a true friend. She wanted to cheer him, to show her support, her sympathy, but she was wading in deep waters.

At last she said, ‘If India gains her independence, do you think widows will be freed from such cruel expectations?’

‘Unlikely. The two things are quite separate. We have a caste system that won’t change easily. It’s embedded in hundreds of years of tradition and that makes it very strong, stronger even than the one that operates among the British.’

She looked confused, and in a lightened mood he said teasingly, ‘Haven’t you realised yet that you’re part of a caste system?’

‘I’ve never thought of military life in that way.’ But perhaps she should have. It might have made sense of the petty discriminations she’d witnessed over the past few weeks.

‘Our two peoples are more alike than you might think,’ he went on. ‘It’s why we don’t mock the British insistence on precedence. We understand hierarchy and ritual. Our rulers have always been accustomed to unquestioning obedience. The only difference is that our civilisation is far older than our overlords’. And far more complicated. Only the lowest caste, for instance, can be sweepers while a Brahmin, even if he’s a simple gardener, will throw away his food if your shadow so much as falls on it.’

‘It’s as well we don’t have a gardener then.’

He nodded. ‘It’s why you’ll find that most table servants are Moslems.’

‘But not Rajiv.’

‘No,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘not Rajiv. But come, we should go. The sun is beginning to climb.’ And he jumped smartly to his feet. ‘Let me adjust your saddle before we leave. I thought the stirrups looked a little loose.’

She got up with reluctance. The river was beautiful and sitting by its slow, flowing waters, she’d been filled with a deep sense of peace, despite the harrowing nature of Anish’s recital. But she followed him over to the horses and was soon in the saddle. She tugged on the reins and was delighted when Rudolf turned obediently to face in the right direction.

Anish smiled approval. ‘You see, we’ve made a horsewoman of you.’

He rode ahead, leaving her to follow in his wake. She hoped he knew where he was going, for they were not returning by the path they’d come by and there was no clear trail to see. They had turned inland from the riverbank and were riding through a forest of small bushes. Every so often, she lost sight of her companion, and a momentary panic would grip her. What if she were to be stranded in this place with no notion of how to get home? But then she would see Anish’s back hove into view and know that he was not too far distant.

They rode in this way for a good twenty minutes, and Daisy was sufficiently relaxed to allow Anish to pass out of sight without feeling concern. She was pushing her way beneath several low hanging trees, which grew in a cluster among a sea of bushes, when she saw something lying in her path. She tried to steer Rudolf around it but though in general compliant, this was an obstacle he’d taken in deep dislike. He snorted and shook his head. It was a large tree branch, she saw, twisted and gnarled, but the horse had decided it was a dangerous enemy and refused to move. She called ahead to Anish, but he did not hear. She dug her heels into the horse’s flank as she’d been shown, but Rudolf stayed obstinately where he was. She dug harder and suddenly the horse lurched ahead, toppling her forward onto his neck. She clutched at his mane, trying to regain an upright position, but the saddle was slipping in a most worrying fashion and she found her right foot slide out of the stirrup. The whole saddle had tipped sideways and she was hanging on to the reins, with one foot dangling loose and the other caught awkwardly in the second stirrup, which had risen far too high. Having thoroughly frightened himself, Rudolf sprang into a gallop, travelling faster than Daisy had ever known. She cried out in terror but horse and rider had veered violently to the right, causing Anish to fade from earshot.

They were thundering over rough ground, Daisy clinging desperately to the leather edge of the saddle, her hold growing stickier and more insecure by the second. Her head was tilted downwards and she saw the earth rushing past in a blurred vision. She felt her hands slipping, her body dropping perilously close to the earth, and could only close her eyes in silent prayer. Then a shout from behind, and another horse was suddenly there at her side. One of the young officers she’d seen picnicking a short while ago was drawing abreast. He raised himself out of the saddle and leaned across to grab at the reins. The hard tug on Rudolf’s mouth surprised him into slowing his frantic pace and finally coming to a halt, his eyes wild and his legs trembling. The young man jumped from his horse, and gently helped Daisy to the safety of solid ground.

‘Hey there!’ he yelled at the horseman in the distance, and this time Anish heard.

He turned and cantered back to them.

‘Daisy, what happened to you?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Her face was flushed and she was shivering in the scorching air. ‘The horse wouldn’t move, so I dug him with my heels—as you taught me—and then suddenly he took off, and the saddle slipped, and I ended upside down.’

Her rescuer was calming Rudolf, who was still unhappy. ‘No wonder the saddle slipped, look the leather has worn completely around the girths.’

‘Where?’ Anish demanded. He strode across and followed the young man’s pointing finger. ‘I didn’t notice that. My God, Daisy, I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m afraid I’m a trifle accident-prone these days.’ She tried to smile but it wasn’t a success.

‘It’s entirely my fault. I should have noticed the problem when I adjusted the stirrups but I didn’t see it.’

‘The sun was too bright, I guess,’ the young man offered, ‘It plays tricks with the eyesight. And your horse doesn’t look as if he likes the unpredictable. Probably better to keep to the known tracks. Anyway, no harm done. I’ve tightened the strap to where the leather is still intact.’

Anish thanked him, and then muttered as though he couldn’t quite believe what had happened, ‘I didn’t hear her call.’

‘Don’t think about it,’ the officer waved them a cheerful farewell, ‘just get her home. She’s had quite a shock.’

Their return to the bungalow was swift and incident free, but Anish refused to leave until he’d seen her into a chair and placed a cold drink in her hand. She knew he was blaming himself for what had happened and, though she still felt shaky, she was anxious to reassure him.

‘You really mustn’t worry. I’m as fit as a flea.’

‘But you might not have been.’

‘This isn’t the first accident I’ve had,’ she reminded him. ‘And I’m still in one piece.’

He didn’t look convinced. He looked agitated, his fingers tugging at his usually immaculate hair. ‘You’ve certainly had your fill of bad luck since you’ve been here. It’s almost as though someone has cast a wicked spell over you. You see, you should have taken my advice and gone to Simla.’

‘Then I’d probably have fallen off the mountain-side. And I’m glad I didn’t go. I’m very happy to be in Jasirapur.’ When he looked doubtful, she said, ‘Really, Anish, I am. Learning to ride has been—well, liberating—and since I started to work at the Infirmary, my days have been full.’

‘You’ve actually started to work at the hospital? I had no idea.’

‘No one has.’ That wasn’t quite true, but she didn’t want to bring Grayson Harte’s name into the conversation.

‘And does Gerald know?’

‘Not yet. I’ll tell him, of course. At the right moment.’

He pulled his mouth down in a wry grimace. ‘I’ll leave that one to you!’