The Monsoon Rain (22 page)

She informed him one day that she was pregnant and was scared of telling her mum. Derek bolted the next day to Calcutta and took a flight to the UK. Not a word to anybody—he was gone. He was a cad and a coward.

The girl disappeared from the garden. It transpired that his parents, when they came to know from the ayah that the chota sahib was responsible for getting the girl pregnant, decided to remove the girl from the garden. It was all done very discreetly. Nobody knew what had happened to her except Radhu chacha.

After a few months Derek was informed that he had a son and that the girl had died in childbirth. Derek’s parents adopted the baby and brought him to England after the preliminaries. They were looking after the boy and giving him their name. It was something that was not spoken about, not discussed. After a while life went on as usual, without Derek ever having to shoulder the responsibility of looking after his child.

Derek did not believe that the girl had died in childbirth. He decided to confront Radhu chacha one day, but Radhu invariably shut up like a clam whenever her name was mentioned. After a lot of threats and begging the old man, however, Radhu informed him that the memsahib had entrusted him, Radhu, to take the girl and her mother to their village and marry her off to someone after the baby was born. Memsahib was there at the birth, and she gave a lot of money to the girl’s family. Of course, all was done with Radhu’s help. Mother and daughter were made to sign a declaration saying that they would not
trouble the sahib and memsahib ever. The girl was married off; the man married her for the money. When his family discovered that she was not a virgin, she was abused and she killed herself. Radhu had been informed eventually by the girl’s family. Only Radhu and Derek’s mother knew everything. His father was oblivious to it all.

But Derek, all these years, could never show any affection for the boy and even hated him. He realized the shame all this had brought on the family. And also his own style was cramped a little by this unfortunate adventure. He always ignored the little fellow. What a cad Derek was.

Derek never celebrated his son’s birthday, and whenever he was home the little fellow never came near him. He was frightened of his own father! As far as he was concerned the child did not exist. Derek’s parents were very upset with him, with his treatment of the little boy. After all, he was their grandson. But Derek himself could not or did not want to come to terms with this.

“How could I, Mira?” he said. “Imagine, night after night waking up, drenched in sweat, full of remorse, the feeling of, ‘What have I done?’ Knowing I was responsible and I was the cause of that innocent girl’s death. She could not live with that shame. Innocent, sweet, young girl. She had committed no crime, yet she paid for it with her life. And I am such a coward. I even refused to acknowledge my son, my only son. Why? Because I felt guilty. I felt that by ignoring his existence I would be able to wipe out my own sins.” With that he brought his palms together in a sort of prayer and shut his eyes. He looked so forlorn and dejected.

“I have to atone for my actions. Of course,” he carried on, clearing his throat, “some of the other planters had coolie mistresses. And some others took advantage of their positions and consequently forced themselves upon the unfortunate women. This is history, the shameful past of the tea planters.”

Derek looked down at his shoes and shifted his position in his chair. “The past is gone,” he carried on. “The future is unknown. The present will one day become the past. I have to make amends to the people I have hurt—most of all, my son. But there is something else I want to ask of you.

“Will you marry me, Mira?”

She was speechless. She stared with frank, open eyes at him.

“I am not giving you much time, am I?”

“I need time,” she said, frowning. This was so sudden. She had to gulp and take in some air.

“I know,” he said in a matter-of-fact way. “Have a think. This proposal should have come much earlier. However,” he carried on, a slight tinge of sadness in his voice, “I feel that I have to atone for my sins. Also I feel so very alone. Looking on from the sidelines, who would have me? Now that I have come clean, would you accept me? Tomorrow is Rohit’s birthday, Mira.”

His eyes shut. He looked awfully tired stretched out in the armchair. Mira had to restrain herself from cradling him like a baby.

“I have bought some books and games for him. You know something?” he said, sitting up. “This is the first time that I am celebrating my son’s birthday. He will be nine years old tomorrow, a big boy now.” He opened his eyes, which were misty.

“I am driving to Essex this evening,” he continued, “to be there tomorrow, bright and early for his birthday. We will be driving to his school to pick him up.” Saying that, he sat up.

“He will be so surprised to see me there. He is attending the same school I went to.” Derek sounded happy, proud, with these words.

He raised his hand to say good-bye. “Well, I shall be on my way now. Au revoir, good-bye. I always try and avoid the word good-bye. It is so final. Well, let me have your answer…soon.” He took his signet ring off his middle finger and offered it to Miranda.

“I cannot accept it, Derek,” she said, looking deep into his eyes. “I will have to say yes first.”

He nodded and was off.

Miranda stood in the foyer watching his retreating back. A solitary tear was rolling down her cheek. She carefully wiped it off and proceeded toward Piccadilly.

Mira was on duty again that evening at the Accident and Emergency. It was awfully busy as only a big hospital’s emergency department
could be. So many broken limbs had to be set. It was the usual run of patients in winter in the cold and icy weather. Then there were others, traffic accidents, near-fatal accidents. Busy, busy so awfully busy. So many of her colleagues were off sick with flu. She had to go in!

It was very late that night when the call came. The ambulance was bringing in a severely injured male who had been involved in a road traffic accident. Apparently the car had skidded while on the dual carriageway and broken the barrier and landed on the other side. The driver of the car was very badly injured. He was being brought by ambulance and was on his way.

They carried him out of the ambulance on the stretcher slowly, very carefully, covered in a blanket by the time she reached it. It took a while for the stretcher to emerge fully from the ambulance. They had to be very careful. The oxygen mask was in place and covered most of the victim’s face.

“The name!” someone shouted. “What’s the name of the RTA victim?”

“The road traffic accident victim?”

“Derek Chowdhury,” someone shouted back.

“The car was filled with so many books and games!” someone, maybe a paramedic from the scene, said.

His belongings were in a plastic bag, and there was the ring, the signet ring he always wore on his middle finger. They had to cut the gold band to extricate it from his finger.

A lump slowly rose to Miranda’s throat.

This was the ring!

Being in charge, she was handed the bag.

It was hot and so very humid. The monsoon had suddenly descended without any warning. The monsoon rain! Usually they were prepared, but this year it was different. The rains, torrential rain, descended with a vengeance. Early.

“Grandma?”

“Yes, darling?”

The young gangly youth, a teenager dressed in tatty old jeans and T-shirt, came searching for his beloved grandma. He had nothing to do, so what was the next best thing? Ask or bother his grandma for a story. He was a boy with very dark hair and olive complexion. He was rather tall for his age, a good-looking boy who would be a very handsome young man in time.

“Tell me a story. Please, pretty please!” He gave his grandmother a big hug. “I love your stories, Grandma!”

“At your age you should not be asking me for stories!” She smiled affectionately at him.

She doted on her grandson. She was a tall woman with light-brown hair with a hint of gray, dressed in a simple cotton dress, which was apt for this weather. Thank God for the ceiling fans she thought to herself. Her husband was adamant that the boy be sent to a boarding school, but she had put her foot down. She simply could not live without him. During the school holidays he was hers.

“Come here, darling,” she said. She stretched her arms out.

The boy went over and planted a kiss on her cheek and gave her a big hug.

The torrential rain bored him to death. He wanted to go to the Planters Club to play tennis, but that was out of the question. He was bored. What shoud he do?

Just then he heard the familiar clip-clop sound on the wooden stairs. His father was coming downstairs with difficulty. He found it difficult to manage the stairs having fractured his arm and legs and endured some other injuries in a motoring accident. Usually it was Radhu who helped him down. But nowadays he seemed to manage on his own, although Radhu, the faithful Radhu chacha, would invariably be hovering by his side. Radhu, the cunning old goat, knew everything! He seemed a family heirloom! Radhu, with his wizened look, small and wiry but with all-knowing eyes. He was so very old now!

Radhu loved the boy, Rohit, as he had loved his father.

When Derek had arrived back at the gardens to recuperate from his accident, Radhu could not hold his tears back seeing the young master. His chota sahib had returned a cripple. What a tragedy. But Derek had decided to spend most of his time in India now, which
Radhu was all in favor of! His young sahib—he would have him all to himself!

Of course the Barra sahib the big sahib, the young master’s father, and memsahib came to visit him, often accompanied by Rohit, the grandson. What a lovely boy he was turning out to be! Of course he teased Radhu mercilessly, but Radhu tolerated the teasing. He was young, after all.

But one thing in this drama that Radhu was not very happy about was that his chota had never married. Why?

A few days later during siesta time, Rohit’s grandmother and father were in their rooms and old Radhu had gone to his quarters. The bungalow was quiet. What was Rohit to do? The library…time to have a look around, in the drawers, behind cupboards. He had to spend the time somehow!

He found a black-and-white photograph tucked in behind a few old books. The photograph was of a pretty woman laughing into the camera lens. She looked so happy and detached, almost ethereal. He turned the photograph over. It said Mira Stewart.

Who was she?

Epilogue

THE YOUNG MAN
untangled his long legs and stood up to leave. He was so very much like his father, Miranda thought to herself, confident and very much a man! Just like his father was in his young days. He had dark eyes with an intense look. He was a passionate young man, which was very evident in his mannerisms and the way he held himself, the way he shook her hand—a very strong handshake indeed!

“Thank you very much for taking time to see me, Mira,” he said. “I wanted to meet the woman who saved my father’s life, who was so much a part of my father’s life.”

Mira tried to say something and had just opened her mouth to form a word when he stopped her gently by covering her mouth with his hand.

“Please, let me say something. My father was brought to the hospital, and you nursed him. I know it was difficult for you, but you performed your duty. But Mira, you took leave just to be with Dad. Thank God that the new intensive therapy unit had opened by then. But you left soon after. Why?” His voice was ever so slightly hoarse, quivering. Rohit had a look of expectancy in his eyes. He was young, and he wanted answers.

She smiled, a very attractive smile. She took his outstretched hand in hers, clasping it firmly in both of hers. Still smiling, she looked straight into his eyes. “Good-bye, Rohit,” she said, her own voice
shaking a little. Miranda did not want to expand neither did she want to know who had furnished him with all the details he had.

“Have a safe journey back to India,” she said, smiling. “By the way, how is your father?”

she asked “He was an acutely snobbish man!”

She laughed out loud, a girlish giggle!

Rohit was captivated. No wonder his father was still haunted by her memory! She must have been a stunner in her time!

“The monsoons must have started by now?”

The young man nodded. “He is fine.” He hesitated for a brief moment. “Dad will be coming over to England very soon. Would you mind very much if he should come and say hello to you?”

“Not at all. I would love that,” she added hastily too hastily? “I would love that. It has been such a long time.”

Looking down, she realized she was still holding the young man’s hand! Slowly she let his hand go. “No, I would love to see him. When will he be coming?”

“Soon, I should think. I will make sure that he comes and visits you. By the way, there was this ring…” He rummaged in his pocket and took out the signet ring of his father’s. “He asked me to give you this ring, as a remembrance.”

She covered his hand with hers. “Say yes to him, will you, please?” She took the ring from him. It had been repaired.

Rohit did not understand. He looked confused

“Don’t worry, he will understand.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss him on his cheek. “Good-bye, Rohit. Oh, by the way, how is Radhu chacha?”

“Oh, Radhu chacha is no more. I wonder how you know and remember him?”

“We go back a long way, my dear.”

With that she gently shut the front door to ponder on the past. A cup of coffee was in order!

It had started to drizzle again. “When will it ever stop?” she mused, looking forlornly out of the window, pulling her cardigan tight around her and crossing her arms across her chest. She shivered a little.

It has been a number years since she had last seen Derek. He had been discharged and whisked away to Essex, then to India.

She had made herself scarce, taking off once he was up and about. One thing Mira could not bear was to see him in that state, a state of total helplessness. She had run as fast as possible away from him. Human frailty. She could not, absolutely could not face that life again, the continuous state of indecisiveness—and now this. Maybe she was a coward. No, it was the right choice at the time. That was what she had felt, but now looking back she felt…if only things could have been a bit different.