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by Joan Hope
In Loving Memory of Joan Hope About this book
I lived in India, for
almost a year. This fictional account is based on my Chapters
The Chapters have all been
linked, so you can jump down to the page.
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to legitimate questions and comments Email The Library of Hope There's This Boy "There's this boy", said Jack. But that was long ago, before he and Emma went shopping for an engagement ring; before he flew to India to make the arrangements; before he began sending money for the boy's upbringing and education. After the loss of his wife in a car crash, Jack had gone off on a world tour and in India had run into the boy's family. They had fallen on hard times after partition and now they had this boy, so much younger than their other four children. It was on that same world trip that he'd also run into fellow-Canadian Emma, a farm girl from the Prairies, whose young husband had been killed when his tractor rolled over and pinned him underneath. She was in Australia, visiting her uncle's sheep station and, like Jack, exploring the country before returning to Canada. Jack and Emma had so much in common that they exchanged addresses and agreed to meet again back home. There, in Alberta, they found they had even more in common: Jack's mother was French. In fact, he had been Christened Jacques. Emma's grandfather, too, was French and she spoke the language. Jack, who had grown up in British Columbia, had been forced to speak only English. At school, if he dared utter a single word in his mother's tongue, they put a chain around his neck and he had to endure the taunts of the other boys for a whole week. In Manitoba, where Emma had grown up, it was different. Now, they could laugh at the situation, for Jack whose dark hair and brown eyes announced "Francophone" to all comers, was constantly being addressed in French, while Emma, blue-eyed and fair-haired had to reply. By that time they were married and planning to start a family. Their neighbours in their seven-elevator town were encouraging: "Never mind you're older - the last family to live in your teacher- age had six children, all adopted." More encouragement from Bombay: "We have room for you here. We can all live as one family. Rakku has a good job at ICE. Coming from Canada, you could probably find work there too, "It sounded hopeful: ICE - Indo- Canada Energy. In Canada it was Imperial Canadian Energy. There was a photo of the boy enclosed: "Look what a big boy I am now. Love, Ram." The letter was signed "Daddy" with a note attached from "Mummy" all in Hindi which they couldn't read. "I thought you said they were Westernised," remarked Emma. "That's very recent, at least for women. I meant the younger generation. Remember they have a woman Prime Minister now, Indira Gandhi. Things are looking up now for women in India. Even the caste system is in decline. No untouchables now! They're Harijans-God's children. Mahatma Gandhi called them that. Meera and Didi both have a B.A." Emma, who'd visited Bombay briefly, sailing by a P&O-liner to and from Australia, was looking forward to a longer stay there this time. Time to book their passage - by an American freighter to save money. Time to start packing. As they did so, Emma was puzzling about something else. Jack's parents were both deceased: now these people were signing themselves "Daddy" and "Mummy". Jack reassured her: "They want to make us feel welcome." Soon they would be in a new home in India. Delays and Dreamtime So much excitement: summer, and school was out. So many things to do if only they weren't leaving. They'd already been on a long walk to raise funds for charity, but now they'd be missing the annual farmers' picnic and the local rodeo, a sort of miniature Calgary Stampede for which local farm boys had been practising ever since Easter. On the morning they took the bus to Edmonton, whence they were to travel east, a chuck-wagon appeared in town, serving pancakes for breakfast. And then there was all the excitement over the new Prime Minister, comparatively young like themselves and an avid traveller, dedicated to providing hostels across the land so that young people could hitchhike from coast to coast and get to know their great country. Trudeaumania was on its way. Meanwhile, a change in plans: their sailing date had been postponed to mid-August and a letter from Bombay had advised them first to travel to Toronto: "Kishu has a parcel for us that you can pick up..." Kishu was a nephew who ten years ago had immigrated to Canada and was practising law. "Parcel" was a code word for money. It was through Kishu that Jack had been contributing to Ram's upbringing and education: he had contacts in Toronto who regularly flew to and from India. "Parcels" Emma had remarked on learning of this, "Cloak-and -dagger stuff..." And Jack had replied, "Yes. Spies. Thieves. Can't trust the mail." Parcels worked. Dollar bills could be exchanged at the enhanced black-market rate. Now they were to visit Toronto for the first time. In the past while travelling to places like Toronto, Ottawa and Montreal, they'd avoided the place. Toronto was the city that bought prairie wheat cheap and then sold it back at a premium in the form of bread. All Alberta bread wrappers had a Toronto address on them. Toronto was The Enemy. People had been writing to MacLean's magazine to complain about it. Albertans, their main industries wheat and beef, had been hurting ever since the Great Depression of the 1930s. Some people thought it had never really gone away and believed that the teachers' salaries were all still "Welfare". Farmers felt they were still obliged to donate produce to tide them over the frost-bound winter months. Although ICE and other companies were busy looking for oil in the 1960s, it was still only Premier Manning's dream. Jack and Emma arrived in Toronto by Greyhound bus on a Sunday and found it dull, dusty and dirty. Gusts of wind blew litter through the deserted streets of Islington, where Kishu lived with his wife and three children, the youngest, a three-year-old boy whose adoring parents did nothing to stop his attacking his two sisters and any guests who came his way. Charging at them on his little tricycle, he crushed their toes and barked their shins. At meal times, diapers and all, they sat him on the dining table for all to admire. Emma was apprehensive. Was this an advance taste of India? But Jack reassured her. Not all families were like that. Yes, the eldest son had a special place in an Indian family, but there they had servants to look after the children. Outside in the dusty streets, the long Sunday Nothing continued on its way. They were happy to leave it on another bus that took them to Montreal, which they knew and loved. From there they would explore New England before heading back west to board the ship in Seattle. Another Greyhound bus, they supposed. But then in Vermont they saw a huge white Ford Galaxie for sale, nearly new and only $100. It had been in an accident and had ripped seats and a gas leak. But it got them across the U.S. thanks to constant attention from Jack. He never quite stopped the gas leak, though, and wherever they parked they had to place a tin can underneath to catch the drips. So they arrived in Washington State on time, safe and sound and leaking all the way. Then they discovered their ship had again been delayed: it would not sail till mid-September. What to do with a whole month to spare and dollars running out? Well, they had camped in their car all across the country and still had their pass for the National Parks. Then there were the small roadside campsites like those in Alberta that were free of charge. It was in one of those near a place called Sultan that they met a retired couple, who had parked their motor home there. He said he'd been working all his life in the mines, and she was wearing a little, old-fashioned granny-cap. They seemed to come from an age long past. In the morning, as they cooked breakfast on the shared camp-stove, they spoke of the unemployed men in the Great Depression who had been put to work building stoves and shelters at most of the campsites. Now they said they were going to a hippie festival. Jack and Emma knew about hippies - "clean beatniks", some people had called them. It was for them that Trudeau was planning to provide hostels across Canada. But here in the U.S. there was no need for that: it had all been taken care of during the Depression. Where was this festival taking place on this bright sunny August morning?" "Just down the road. Follow us." So they set off in convoy, the old miner in his incongruous, outdated suit, shirt and tie driving the motor home and the little granny-cap worn by his wife bobbing up and down at the open back door. Roadside billboards showed them the way: Grand Sky Rock Festival, Lighter than Air. There was only one problem. Dark thunderclouds were collecting above and Heavier than Air would have been a better description. The lane leading to the festival meadow was getting muddier by the minute as torrents of rain poured down on the gathering crowds. The motor home nearly got stuck but pulled itself out. Jack gave a thumbs-up sign to granny-cap - and that was the last he saw of her. His car was stuck in the oozing ruts the motor home had left in its wake. Scores of helpful hippies descended on the big, mud splattered white car to hoist it out of the morass and soon Emma was urgently inquiring, "Anybody seen a motor home with a granny-cap in the back?" Nobody had. If that elderly couple had come down from another age, they'd gone back there. Tramping through the festival meadow in ever-deepening mud, sheltering in food tents, or to listen to guitars or join in the singing, Jack and Emma could find no trace of their new friends. ♫...This land is your land...♫, they sang, trying to teach the young hippies the Canadian version and the words of their own song from Alberta, Four Strong Winds. The muddy celebration at Sultan in 1968 would be eclipsed by Woodstock the following year and, like granny-cap and the disappearing motor home would soon be forgotten as if it had never happened. In years to come, Jack and Emma would begin to wonder if they'd dreamt it all, starting with the ghost of a granny-cap. Memories of a night spent with hippies in a railway repair car parked behind their campsite where trains ran noisily all night; a mock fight in the morning by two boys in bell-bottoms squirting shaving cream at each other; the drunken Frenchman who had plonked his beret on Jack's head as he sat at supper. He still had that beret - just one of the dreamtime souvenirs from that crazy hippie festival in the mud. There were also two red plastic plates presented to them by granny-cap when she'd noticed they were eating out of foil pie-dishes. Those, and all the dreamtime memories.
Chapter Ill After a month waiting, checking as often as possible with the office in Seattle, Jack and Emma had a firm sailing date. Their ship was in port and would be sailing on September 13. And they must be inoculated against typhoid, typhus, cholera and bubonic plague, with certificates to prove it before they would be allowed on board. All had been taken care of in Canada - except plague. But there was still time and they got it done. They were about to sell the $100 heap of junk that had been their home for two months, masquerading as a car, when another letter from Bombay arrived for collection from the Seattle Post Office: "So you've got an American car? They're like gold dust here in India. Bring it here and you can drive it all the way from Madras." So, at eight times what they'd paid for it, they arranged to have it shipped. A few days later when they climbed aboard, there it was on deck in a huge container. They'd get their money back, the letter had said, when they sold it in Bombay. But it was a Friday - Friday the 13th. Surely the ship would wait till next morning before sailing. No ship ever sailed on a Friday, let alone on the 13th. But Emma was wrong: they did indeed start their voyage on that ominous day, and she sat with Jack in their cabin with that old song running through her mind:
♫...One Friday morn when
we set sail Well they certainly stayed not far from land as they sailed up to Alaska and the Aleutians, but no sign of a mermaid, so perhaps they weren't so unlucky after all. Soon they were getting acquainted with the other couple who were also passengers on the ship and the officers whose mess they were all sharing. At breakfast, they examined the typed menu, which announced that the ship's name was the V. S. Maul, under Captain Snuth. First on the menu was Not Fatima Mish. The English couple began to giggle, as the dishes of steaming farina porridge were set before them. Soon, Jack and Emma joined in the hilarity, especially after the Englishman solemnly enquired if there would be skunk for lunch. In fact it was fish and chicken. They could hardly eat for laughing. All this fun seemed to set the tone for the entire voyage, and nobody was fazed when one of the officers took them on a tour of the vessel. "This is our final voyage. Our sister-ship split in two and went down in the Atlantic. Not to worry - this is the Pacific, calm as a mill pond. And look at these steel plates. We had them fixed where the other ship split. Now we're safe as houses" But Emma was still thinking of that song:
♫...For the want of a
lifeboat they all went down, She couldn't get it out of her head. What next? But they were all looking forward now to their first port of call, Yokohama. Then at last they could stretch their legs for a day or two and buy a few presents for their families and friends. Next, it would be Hong Kong, then Singapore, where the English couple were due back to disembark. As the ship approached the Japanese coast, the purser, a dumpy little man with a droopy moustache, came to the passengers' cabins one morning looking more lugubrious than ever: "New instructions. All this flour and sugar we are carrying is not for Hong Kong -it's for Danang and Saigon. Sign this if you want to go there - otherwise we'll fly you to Singapore free of charge." The English couple chose Singapore. After all, it was their destination and now they'd be arriving early. Jack and Emma read the paper carefully, sad to be missing out on Hong Kong. Maybe Saigon would be just as interesting - would have been but for the war going on in Vietnam. The paper, typed in bright purple lettering, stated that the shipping company would bear no responsibility for anything untoward that might happen to them in the war zone. The ship would be protected by helicopter gunboats...they took the risk and signed up for ten days in Vietnam. Then the ship ran into a storm. A spectacular waterspout greeted them as they approached Yokohama. It rained the entire three days they were in Japan, but at least they were able to buy a transistor radio for the family in Bombay. Meanwhile, their English friends wished them luck. The ship sailed into Danang harbour, dropping anchor while still far from the coast. The water was too shallow there and the food would have to be unloaded on to another vessel that was to anchor alongside. Jack and Emma awoke to find it there in the morning, swarming with Vietnamese men in loose black pants who were setting plates in two parallel rows on deck where soon they would sit cross-legged for breakfast. Then the unloading began. But Jack and Emma didn't wait to watch: a small launch had also drawn up alongside with two young boys at the oars yelling "Soap, soap." Yes, said the ship's officers, it had all been arranged, but not to forget the soap: "They do it every time we come here." A precarious descent via rope-ladder, soap in hand, and Jack and Emma were on the way to the small but crowded Danang market, there to buy for a few U.S. cents two of those pointed hats. The boys were waiting to row them back to the ship with cries of "Number one hats, Number one hats!" It didn't seem like a war zone. Even after dark, when tracer fire sailed silently between two hills across the bay, it seemed more like a fireworks display. They knew they were wrong next morning when their ship was out to sea again and a crushing explosion on the land they had just left engulfed a small village in smoke and flames. Back landwards again and the Voice of Doom - that of the purser - was getting busy again. "All your spare cash, all your valuables, please. In Saigon they'll search the entire ship." Jack and Emma wondered how, but meekly obeyed, and obeyed again when the ship entered the Saigon River estuary. Already, helicopters were buzzing and whirring overhead like protective bees while gunboats swarmed below: "Stay in your cabin till I tell you it's safe to come out." Peering out through their cabin portholes, they could now see the farmers' fields of Vietnam: brown and dead vegetation stretching to the horizon. They knew what had done this and why the U.S. was having to bring food to war-torn Vietnam: Once the ship reached the dock, the purser was back to tell them they could go up on deck now, and later even into the city, "As long as you're back before seven, when the bombing starts." The harbour was full of small boats that were emerging from the far shore where upturned, larger vessels had been converted into homes. It was from there that women in long, black pants that looked almost like skirts were rowing their tiny vessels. They all carried several long poles, and now they were snapping them together. As they lifted them aloft, Emma and Jack could see that each had a strong, metal hook at the upper end. This they quickly fastened to the side of the ship so that they could shinny up, offering the ship's cook little Vietnamese dolls in exchange for cartons of the ship's milk. In no time they were running all over the ship - just as the purser had warned. Unloading was meanwhile underway and more Vietnamese women were running with knives and whatever containers they could find, to slash the sacks of food and collect a small ration of flour and sugar for their families. Nobody tried to stop them. It was as if it was their right. The amount they were stealing was hardly missed by the authorities, but it meant a lot to these Vietnamese families. The purser had been right about the bombing: it started every night at seven during the three days the ship was in port and this time it was no fireworks display. Deafening explosions started promptly on the hour every night and one evening when they left the market just before that time, it was blown up behind them. Were the Viet Cong winning then? What were they doing in Saigon, supposedly safely in American hands? The ships officers had one answer: "Everybody in black pants is Viet Cong." In other words, you couldn't tell which side they were on. Yes, they were a nuisance. But America would win. Years later when the war came to an end and the Americans withdrew Jack and Emma would remember those words and how dangerous it had really been for them in Vietnam in 1968. Singapore, familiar to both of them from their earlier voyages, seemed strangely mundane after all the excitement of Saigon. They went to Change Alley to buy more presents for the family: ball point pens; slatted wall hangings painted with pictures of tigers, snakes, and other exotic creatures; a magnifying glass for Daddy, who was having trouble with his eyes. Then it was straight to Madras. It was mid-October by the time they arrived and the port was glistening with myriads of tiny lights. "Must be some festival," said Jack. Then he remembered: "It's Diwali, the festival of lights - the Hindu new year." A big liner was also in port and an Australian couple were going through customs too. "They tried to confiscate our car. They can keep their bloody India - what a way to treat their tourists with precious dollars to spend! We're going straight to London now taking our car with us." So far the customs officers had said nothing about their car to Jack and Emma. They knew there would be an import tax to pay but that would be only a tiny fraction of the $100 they'd paid for the old heap. They had their receipt to prove it. Wishing the Australians luck as they left to go back to their ship, Jack turned to the customs officer. But he was on the phone now and talking excitedly in Hindi to somebody at the other end. Then he put the phone down and returned the receipt to Jack. Leafing through a file, he came to a page headed FORD and pointed to the name GALAXIE: "We NOT accept the receipt. You pay 16,000 rupees plus demurrage. Otherwise, we CONFISCATE." Now Jack knew what the Australians had been through. But he and Emma didn't have their options. They were there to adopt this boy. They found a hotel for the night and began to make enquiries: turned out gas in India was expensive and train fares were low. They'd forget about their car for the time being and take a train to Bombay. One last attempt next day to reason with the customs officer. But it was all to no avail: he'd obviously already sold it over the phone, Jack wondered about the keys that he had refused to surrender - and about the gas leak he had failed to mention. Wherever that car landed up, it could be dangerous. Then it was to the post office to collect any mail that might have arrived. There was just one letter, from the family they were about to visit: "ICE has just transferred Rakku to Jitpur. It's a small company town just outside Kanpur, so make your way there instead of Bombay. We have a lovely bungalow and will have the guest room ready for you..." "Kanpur - that's in U. P., the most backward state in India," Jack remarked and Emma remembered it from history lessons at school as a centre in the Indian mutiny more than a hundred years ago, when British army wives and families were thrown into a well and drowned. She felt apprehensive. With her fair hair and blue eyes, how would she be received there? Jack tried to reassure her: "That was a long time ago. India has changed since Independence. They welcome foreign tourists now. Besides, the family is highly educated and respected and they've accepted us." Yet, as they bought their train tickets and wrote to the family with details of their change in plans and time of arrival in Kanpur, Emma couldn't quite lay her fears to rest. Friday the 13th had already dealt them a blow. What if... What if...? But they were on the train now, a beautiful air-conditioned janata - people's train - with blue reclining seats just like back home in Canada. Only when they looked out of the window or stopped at a station did they remember they were in India now. They awoke in the morning to farmers' fields on either side, dotted with crouching figures clad in white dhotis. What was this? Potato harvest? "No," said Jack, who had experienced more of India than Emma in the past, "No, these are peasants. They have no toilets, so every morning they go out into the fields. It all helps to fertilize the land." Emma, who remembered the family outhouse on the farm during her childhood, understood. But she did wonder why they didn't build themselves some sort of privy. "Too poor," said Jack. "Look at their houses, just one-roomed huts. And then there's the caste problem. Too few willing Harijans. Poverty. Not enough money. Unwilling to do all the work themselves: all these factors." At every station where the train clanked and puffed to a stop, they were greeted by cries of "Chai walla, chai, garam poori mithai," and for a few paise they would buy tea in a clay, handless cup that would be discarded when empty - together with wheaten flour puffs deep fried in oil. In some stations, whole families were sleeping on the platform or taking a quick sponge bath, still half clothed, at a public water-tap. Everywhere the pavement was spattered with red from the betel nuts so many people were chewing and spitting out. Clank-clank-clank-puff-puff-puff. A whistle and a jerk and the train was on its way again. It was not quite the same as Canada after all. Home at Last Back in Madras, Emma had picked up a bunch of tourist brochures and, aided by Jack on the train, she had been boning up on Indian customs. Confusing. A nod didn't necessarily mean "yes." And touching could involve problems. No hand shaking in greeting. Just put the hands together, bow slightly and say "Namasthe". And don't expect to see knives and forks in India. Fingers usually did the job. But never eat with the left hand. Emma wondered why. "That," Jack told her, "is the TOILET hand." Food touched by the left hand would have to be discarded. The whole dining table could be polluted this way. "So keep your left hand in your lap." Emma was ambidextrous. What if she made a mistake? For the last leg of their journey, they had to transfer to a sweltering local train with no air conditioning or reclining seats, just black plastic-cushioned benches. The man sitting next to Emma kept falling asleep and toppling onto her shoulder and although Jack tried to waken him, he always keeled over again. They were glad to be off that overcrowded train at last. And there awaiting them was a little black Indian Standard car, from which emerged a tall, rather plump balding middle aged man followed by a teenage boy. "Rakku! Ram!" And Jack rushed forward to embrace each of them in turn, lifting the boy off his feet and holding him for a second or two above his head. He tried to indicate to Emma "We're family", but Emma held back, not knowing what to do. What about avoiding touching? Where was "Namasthe"? She was still unsure of herself when Jack turned back to introduce her. On the spur of the moment, she forgot "Namasthe" and preferred her right hand. It worked. "You see, we're Westernised," said Jack. We? Once again, Emma was baffled. But then, this was India. She and Jack were there to adopt a son. "Instant parenthood," she thought as she listened to the two men talking excitedly in the front seats of the little car. The boy at her side was silent, leaning a little forward towards Jack. He hadn't taken his eyes off him from the moment he spotted him on the platform. "Hero-worship," Emma concluded, settling back contentedly in her seat. At the bungalow, the compound gate was open. On the other side of the street, an elephant was deftly opening a similar gate with his trunk. Emma wondered if he'd been trained to open compound gates. He must have opened this one too. But no time for such musings, they were all out of the car now and walking towards a smaller gateway and the veranda beyond. A tall, elderly man in a spotless white dhoti stood just inside. Here was Emma's chance to practise "Namasthe". Jack at once turned to her: "No, no! He's just the mali - the gardener!" The two men and the boy charged straight ahead, ignoring the old man and leaving Emma to follow. On the veranda stood a tall, elderly man in white pyjamas, one eye covered with a pink plastic shade; next to him his plump wife and their two daughters, all in saris of assorted colours. Jack greeted the elderly couple with open arms and once again the hugging started. "Jakku! Jakku! Jakku-baba!" Emma as usual felt a little lost, but this time she remembered "Namasthe". Then they all continued indoors. Emma noticed that nobody held any doors open for "the ladies" and all the men and the boy charged in first. She wanted to tell them, "Home at last," but somehow she couldn't find the words. Part of the Family A wide corridor led through the bungalow from the veranda, with bedrooms to the left and Victorian-style drawing room and another bedroom to the right. Beyond were the dining room, pantry, kitchen and backyard. It had been built for an Englishman in the days of British India. The lady of the house, who was slightly lame and whom everybody addressed as Mummyji, ushered the newcomers into the first room on the left - the guest room. They observed the two single beds under the window separated by a small table on which stood what Emma took to be a large ornament: Indian lady dancing. There was a dressing table with mirror, opposite which was a small closet, and along the wall between were a desk and bookshelves. The other main door led directly to the veranda and a third door to the attached bathroom. Emma and Jack began to unpack. Both the main doors had glass panels and for privacy's sake, Emma found tea towels to cover them. Jack wasn't sure about the wisdom of that. Shouldn't the family have covered them? Would they mind? He was even more alarmed when Emma moved the "dancing lady" to the dressing table: "That's not a statue, that's a goddess. It's as if we were rejecting a crucifix. They won't like it. Try not to annoy them." But with the goddess on the table there was no room for essentials, such as a glass of water each. Emma asked what was the nature of this goddess. "It's Lakshmi, the goddess of money. I think they left it for us, to wish us prosperity." "Well, on the dressing table, it's still close by." Later they would come to know that there was another reason why that particular goddess had been left in their room. As they unpacked, Jack and Emma set aside the presents they'd brought for the family: for Ram, a transistor radio and microscope from Jack and a shirt from Emma, for the rest of the family, a camera, binoculars and a cine-camera amongst other items - and a typewriter. "Then there's our money. We're in the Indian joint family system here. All money is handed over to Daddyji and he doles out pocket money every week. You see, only Rakku is working, and so this system takes care of all the women and Ram, who's still at school." Jack took the gifts out to the family, returning to change for lunch. It was hot and they were glad of the fan turning lazily above, where little beige lizards with prehensile toes ran upside down across the ceiling. Emma had just stripped clown to her bra and panties when suddenly the main door burst open and in rushed Ram. No time for Emma to wonder why he hadn't knocked, he made straight for the closet.- "My dressing gown - where's my dressing gown?" Emma had removed it to make room for their coats and now it was hanging together with hers and Jack's, on the hooks behind the bathroom door. Ram was horrified: "Don't you know we don't hang our clothes there? The sweeper's been in to clean the latrine. Now I can't wear it - it's polluted!" And he rushed from the room in a rage, while his mother greeted him, loudly wailing, "She pollute! She pollute!" The sweeper who cleaned the bathroom had entered by the narrow door next to the toilet. She was not allowed in the rest of the house. Her name was Phool Bai -"flower woman", but she was UNTOUCHABLE. Emma wondered if she had become untouchable too. "I thought it was illegal now. I thought they were all Harijans." "Yes, in principle. But you know everything in India is in principle." At last they were ready to join the rest of the family in the dining room for lunch. "Better apologize to Daddyji for what happened about that dressing gown," said Jack as they left their room. As they passed the other bedrooms, they noticed rumpled clothing lying outside one of the bedroom doors, and when they drew closer, saw that it was the shirt that Emma had given to Ram. It had been trampled upon many times, and as he emerged from his room, he kicked it again with his out-of-date pointy "winkle-picker" shoes. It was Ram's revenge. As they entered the dining room, Daddyji fixed his one good eye on them: "Her clothes don't match, we'll have to buy her a sari or churidar-kameez". He meant the pantsuits she'd seen some of the women wearing. They were based on Sikh national dress. Emma thought that would be nice - the pantsuit, not the sari. She was afraid, that if she tried to tie it, it would land up around her ankles. Wouldn't her Canadian skirts and dresses do? No. They were too short. "We don't show our legs in India - well, not in U. P. -its very traditional here." said Meera. Emma didn't forget the promised apology. It was graciously received, and in self-deprecation she replied, "I know I'm a terrible guest..." Mummyji, sitting at the far end of the table opposite her husband, looked up from her lunch and smiled at Emma, who was sitting with the other women to her left: "You not guest, you daughter-in-law," she announced, emphasizing the last few words. She smiled again. Jack and Emma took it as a compliment. They really were part of the family now. Lunch was delicious: chappatis and lentils - dal - all eaten with the fingers. Of Servants, Gods and Horses After lunch, nap time. It was far too hot then for anything else, and even Rakku, an office manager, took time off then, only returning to work for three hours after tea. That meant that the evening meal -dinner- was very late, sometimes between 11 p.m. and midnight. Jack and Emma, tired out after their long journey, were soon asleep. Suddenly a piercing shriek roused Jack from his slumber: "Emma, Quiet! You'll waken the entire household. What is it?" "Something cold. Oh, its one of those lizards!" It had fallen from the ceiling straight on to her forehead. "These things happen. Never scream like that again!". Ponday, the cook, who was at the door announcing "Chai", finally wakened them. "Chai Walla chai, garam poori mithai" replied Emma, and the cook laughed. "That's another thing," said Jack, "Don't be too familiar with the servants. They take advantage." Ponday was an excellent cook. The family was proud of him. They didn't know it, though: they were about to lose him. Ponday was of the "business" caste and had plans of his own, as the family would soon discover. Meanwhile, with everything apparently humming along nicely, Rakku was anxious to show the guests - or rather, his visiting relatives - the sights of his little company town. "We've just had a beautiful silver temple built" and "You must come and see the plant." The problem was it was always dark by the time he was free to take them anywhere. Sundays? They had a seven-day working week, taking a "fast day" off from time to time when it was convenient. Before they could see the plant, they must await a "fast day." Such days were to prove devastating for Emma. How was she to know when it was Mummyji's fast day? Even if she had been warned, how would she know that on that day no meat could be prepared in the pantry? Or that eggs counted as meat... On one such day, helping to set the table for breakfast, she took two eggs from the fridge, intending to ask Ponday to boil them in the kitchen. She didn't get that far. She was met in the pantry by a furious Mummyji, yelling as she had done over the dressing gown incident, "She pollute! She pollute!'' Then she lined up the servants with their buckets: the whole house must now be cleaned again. This was something that happened every day, early in the morning while Jack and Emma were still in bed. A procession of servants would file through their room looking for "garam pani," hot water from the only such tap in the house, which was in their bathroom. To make the hot tap run, seven other taps in the house had to be turned off. Jack and Emma imagined that whoever did the plumbing must have been paid per tap. Early in the morning, it being too hot in the afternoon, Jack and Emma at first thought that would be a good time to take a little exercise. They knew now that it was best to first check with the acknowledged wise man of the house Daddyji. "No, no. The streets at that time are one big latrine. You have to wait until the town sweepers have been through - but then it'll be too hot." He went on to explain that they should never have interfered with the caste system, based on the Code of Mann, under which for centuries, everybody knew what their job was. With an increasing population that threatened to reach a billion in the next few years, untouchables would be more necessary than ever. "Given the present problems, what would be your solution?" "Failing a return to the caste system, build houses with flat roofs. Each roof could be used as a latrine. Then the sun would dry everything up and birds would come to take it away." A healthy future for India would then be assured.
Jack and Emma solved
their exercise problem by taking walks after tea. Darkness fell fast
and early, but there was a time every day for a short walk sometimes
accompanied by Meera and Didi and the family dog - a formidable
animal that looked more like a wolf or a coyote. It was on one of
these walks that they discovered why the local public clock chimed
the hours only from dawn to midnight. Just beside the mailbox at the
entrance to a small park stood a
It was of course dark when Rakku took all the younger members of the family to the new gleaming temple, which was all lit up at night. Inside, large idols sat in a long row and Rakku made straight for Krishna, the god of his choice. The rest of the family, led by Meera, passed down to the end of the line where sat what looked like a very large stone egg, big end up. Emma was puzzled: "Where is the god?"
The womb was the
egg-shaped stone and what was inside - the god they were worshipping
- was a PENIS. Emma made a note to ask Rakku to bring her a book on the Hindu religion from the company library. When it came, she would learn about the Hindu trinity; Brahma, the Creator, Vishnu, the Preserver, and Shiva the fertility god, the Great Destroyer.
That, to Emma, seemed
ominous. There had been talk in the family of dedicating family members to Shiva. She
asked Jack about it
For several days lengthy pujas—Hindu prayer sessions - were arranged by Mummyji and Meera in one of the bedrooms where an altar to Shiva had been set up. Nobody was allowed inside except to be anointed. It all took place after Rakku left for work in the mornings. Jack and Emma had no idea what was going on in that closed room, where, for the first two mornings, only Mummyji and Meera took part. They emerged unchanged but for a dab of grey -coloured paste on their foreheads.
On the morning when Jack took his turn, he too emerged with a grey dab on his forehead. Curious to find out more before making her own decision and wary of being dedicated to a god who was also the Great Destroyer, Emma asked Jack what had happened. "Nothing to worry about. Let's not talk about that," he replied. Still not knowing what to expect, Emma followed Rakku's example and decided not to be anointed: "Later perhaps." Meera was more forthcoming, although in a different way. While Emma was in the dining room one morning, ironing her new pink churidar-kameez and a new blue one with white pants that she'd made for herself. Meera came in for a chat - or rather to tell a long story about an American girl who married an Indian. "She realised that her marriage meant nothing. She tore up her marriage certificate and got married by Hindu rites. Of course we don't expect you to do that. But she became devoted to her husband's family, and when they fell on hard times was just like a servant in the house." "What happens when you marry by Hindu rites?" Emma wondered. "Pujas... Pujas... you wear a beautiful red silk sari and gold bangles and anklets. With hands and feet painted, and face professionally made up, you sit on a dais with twinkling lights and then your bridegroom comes riding in on a beautiful white horse, to dismount and claim you. Finally there's the Havan, you dance with him around a fire, there's incense and a long silken scarf to tie you together. Wait till this evening, I'll ask Rakku." "It's the annual wedding season now. There's sure to be a wedding near here and if so, he can take us all along". Sure enough, there was just such a wedding over in Kanpur: a colleague of Rakku's was getting married. It was an arranged marriage, the bride and groom would meet only on the evening of the wedding when, in an elaborately decorated bridegroom's outfit, and he would dismount from his horse. Horse! That reminded Emma of the mysterious leather harness that had appeared in the backyard, hanging from a branch of one of the jackfruit trees in which langur monkeys almost as big as people swung from tree to tree. The whole family was puzzled by the mysterious harness. Where was the horse? But they were all off to the wedding now. It was just as Meera had explained: the bride in red, the dais, the lights and the handsome young groom on his white steed. Back home, was it that night? Anyway not long afterwards, the harness that had puzzled them all was gone from the backyard - and Ponday was gone from the kitchen. Outside, plying the streets in competition with the rickshaw men on their bicycles was a two-wheeled horse-drawn Tonga, with its shady canopy to entice wealthier customers. And there, in the driver's seat was the family's erstwhile cook, Ponday. Until a new cook could be found everybody would have to pitch in and do their share. Daddyji was worried. "A good cook needs at least five hours to prepare breakfast". "Let's do it in pairs," suggested Jack. They were all sitting after tea in the drawing room that-evening, discussing the problem while the resident mice ran across the carpet and around their bare feet. Jack and Emma were used to the mice now. They'd asked about a cat, but had been told, "That's too risky. If a cat dies in your house you have to make a pilgrimage to Hardwar on foot, and that's hundreds of miles away. We just have to put up with the rats- the servants catch them and get rid of them outside." Then of course they came back in. But rats? "They call mice rats," Jack explained. "Even Mickey Mouse is 'The Rat' here." They'd volunteered to do kitchen duty next morning. A good thing they were up early, for they found Ponday's domain was not quite what they expected. The counters were black with rat droppings and before they could produce even a cup of tea, there was a big cleaning job to do, and a family of young RATS - not mice - to be dislodged. Outside in the backyard, the washerwoman had arrived early with her little daughter and was busily picking lice and nits from her hair, hoping for the cup of tea that Ponday usually gave her. In the drive outside the untouchables' door, Phool Bai's teenaged daughter dressed in a brilliant red, blue and yellow cotton sari, was doing a sort of belly dance, arms raised above her head, hands undulating, hips swaying. Presently the grizzled old mali emerged from his hut among the bushes, picked the girl up and carried her away. All indoors was quiet and as it should be. Breakfast was ready and Rakku had finished working out, as he did every morning, with his dumbbells. Ram had his books ready and would soon head to school. And Jack had a new job - chauffeur, unpaid of course - driving Daddyji to the hospital for his eye appointments, taking the ladies of the house out shopping. When the regular chauffeur had fallen sick, he had volunteered. After all, no middle class Indian family could manage with fewer than five servants. The new cook arrived the next day. He came from Nepal and had only one eye. The men thought that would bring bad luck but the women pleaded for him. It was they who had been saddled with most of Ponday's work. Celebrations Christmas was fast approaching and Rakku had bought some paper-chains and tinsel. He handed them to Jack and Emma: "Will you do Christmas for us? Real Christmas pudding! Chicken - we can't get turkey of course. And the dressing - which herbs do you need? I'll invite some Christian folks from the office - that is if the rest of the family agree." To Jack and Emma's delight, the entire family was enthusiastic and became involved, stirring the pudding dough for luck and each making the traditional wish. Jack and Emma and even Rakku didn't know it, but they had all fallen into a carefully laid trap. He was much too preoccupied with the upcoming "open house" at the plant. Not that anybody was going to be allowed inside the long low buildings where men and machines toiled day and night to produce heaven knows what. They were allowed only in the grounds where a magnificent garden party was being prepared to celebrate the latest government contract. There were whispers about atomic energy, but nobody really knew. Meera and Didi were not particularly interested in the "open house", let alone Christmas. They were thinking of another celebration, Didi's wedding, for which an April date had been set: "We have to get down to all that stitching. We have to do something about a dowry." "I thought Lakshmi would have helped, but she didn't." "No. Nor did it help when we persuaded Mummyji to speak of her pregnancy with Jakku. She made it quite clear that Jakku was twenty years younger than that foreigner he had married. It was when we were out on the veranda one day, just Mummyji, that foreigner and me." Then she added, "That silly bitch just listened and said nothing." "It's been a bit better since Jakku was anointed. Have you noticed how often he tells that foreigner: "Let's not talk about that?" Especially when she asks about adopting Ram. I even heard him telling her that he couldn't adopt his brother. We must keep him fixed on the brother business and remind him - and her - how old she is.''
"She doesn't look
old." The two sisters were on the veranda. They knew Emma could hear their conversation, but that didn't worry them. What they didn't know was that Emma had persuaded Rakku to get her a textbook on Hindi. She was already able to pick up a few words and knew something was being planned, though she was not sure what. The wedding - yes. But how was she to be involved? Why did her name keep coming up in their conversation? Didi's was not to be an arranged marriage. She was more Westernised than her older sister and had held a job for a while as a receptionist in a Bombay hotel. There she had met a tall, handsome, totally Westernised young man whose father was known to be one of the wealthiest men in India. Didi had become fashion conscious, she wore large hoop earrings, a hat and Western clothes. She even had a miniskirt, but she didn't let Daddyji see that. Daddyji didn't approve of the young man and had made it clear he would not be attending the wedding. Nor would it take place in Jitpur. Contrary to tradition, all would be taken care of by the bridegroom's family in Delhi. As Christmas drew near, Emma spent hours every day in the pantry preparing festive food with Mummyji always hovering nearby, encouraging her. By December 20, all was ready and it was time to decorate the house. Rakku had bought a small cedar into the drawing room to act as a Christmas tree and now Emma was decorating it with tinsel and silver and red ornaments. The paper chains were up there too, and in the corridor. Emma had painted a large placard saying MERRY CHRISTMAS, which now adorned the drawing room mantelpiece. "Christmas is for everyone," she said. And Mummyji smiled her enigmatic little smile. The party was to be held on Christmas eve. It was on that morning that Meera pulled down all the paper chains and threw them together with the MERRY CHRISTMAS placard into the guest room. "If you want to celebrate Christmas you can do it in your own room." Ram, who had been helping her, seized the Christmas tree, tore off the tinsel and dumped it outside in the backyard, where the washerwoman's daughter grabbed the metal ornaments and began to play with them, laughing happily. Emma, taken aback, tried to make amends by decorating her own room with the discarded paper chains and tinsel. A Christmas carol came into her mind: "Have yourself a merry little Christmas now". She sang that and other carols to hide her grief and was so busy that she almost forgot to join Jack for their afternoon nap. After tea, darkness fell and all was ready for the party when Mummyji came into the dining room: Your guests are here." "Your," not "Our". As Jack, Emma and Rakku sat down with them at the laden table, the rest of the family filed in. But they didn't take their places. Instead, led by Mummyji, they all picked up their plates and walked out, Mummyji announcing in a loud voice, "You cook, but we NOT eat." Emma noticed that Daddyji had not joined them, even to pick up his plate and leave. The guests, who came originally from Kerala where Syrian Christians had settled many centuries earlier, endured this non-festive welcome and spoke of the goose that they were going to cook for their own Christmas party. Emma and Jack were hoping for an invitation, but that was not to be. The guests politely thanked them and left: "Merry Christmas! Thank You. Good night..." Emma was reminded of something else. These little words so familiar back home - Please, Thank you, Good morning, Good night - were never, until now, to be heard in this Indian household. But no time to mourn the theft of Christmas: the garden party at the plant was now being prepared. Winter was the best time for it, pleasantly cool, much like early summer in Canada. People could go out in the afternoon. And so, in the large tents that had been erected in the grounds, afternoon tea with cucumber sandwiches, English style, was being served, together with slices cut from a vast iced cake. It was all very Western. The men wore suits and some of the women were in European dress, the more daring among them in miniskirts. There were games: a dartboard had been set up and there were sack races and ball games for the children and a tug-of-war for the men. All this against a backdrop of tall, round towers, connected to one another by metal pipes, like some mega-laboratory experiment, with the long low factory workshops squatting below. Out in the roadway, a man, bent low under a heavy load, walked slowly by: a water carrier. His load: a goatskin, legs tied off, open neck, loosely closed, a little water splashing out. For him, the bottle had just been invented. The Burning, a Flying Muffin and a Strange Dream It all started on New Year's Day 1969: the acrid smell of burning hair or feathers, reminding Emma and Jack of work on the farm back home when turkeys were being prepared for Thanksgiving or Christmas and had to be plucked and singed. But here? In Jitpur? In India, where even this family was mostly vegetarian? The sound of Mummyji's puja-chanting had just come to an end when Daddyji appeared at the guestroom door. They had never seen him so angry: "What do you mean by this mess outside? Don't blame the sweeper; it's your DUTY to see that she doesn't scatter your rubbish in the garden. Now you will have to go and clear it up," and he fixed his gaze on Emma. Obediently, she went out and searched for and collected the contents of the guestroom wastebasket: scraps of paper mostly all blown among the plants by the breeze. There was also the discarded stub of a pencil, but no sign of her hair combings that had also been discarded. Later, she would connect them with the burning, but for the moment she had to help Daddyji to track down the origin of the odour. It didn't seem to emanate from any one place and was most noticeable in the four corners of every room. "Puja," said Emma to Daddyji, trying to explain what she intended to do which was to say a prayer in every corner. She didn't know which prayer would best do the job, so she chose the Lord's prayer: "Our Father, who art in heaven.... Deliver us from evil. Amen." It had worked once before in Alberta when one of the teachers was visiting their teacherage. He was a bachelor living all alone in a much smaller, rather run down teacherage, and Jack had taken pity on him and invited him home after work for a bite to eat and chat about the land of his birth, India. Their little tabby cat on this occasion was acting strangely. Fur bristling, she was looking up at the ceiling, her eyes following something that Jack and Emma couldn't see. But Joshi, who incidentally had only one name, could see what was going on: "It's my girlfriend. She was killed in a car accident outside Bombay." He took a muffin from the dish on the coffee table. At once it was snatched from his hand and began to fly around the room, finally falling at his feet. "See, I told you so. She's here with me. Now I have to go to the bathroom." Only a few minutes later did Jack and Emma see the connection. The cat had returned back to normal and was eating her supper when a loud crash in the bathroom brought Jack running there. Luckily the lock on the door was broken for there on the floor was Joshi lying prone, an empty bottle of household cleaner at his side. "Quick! Call the ambulance! I'll try to make him vomit." Meanwhile, the cat was disturbed again. It was then that Emma had used The Lord's Prayer to get rid of what was obviously a poltergeist. When Joshi came round in hospital he was apologetic: "I still love her. I only wanted to join her. You see, I was not allowed to marry her: my parents had found a wife for me from a wealthy family with a large dowry. That was when I escaped and came to Canada." The dowry question - and it was supposed to be illegal. In the old days it made sense when child marriages were the rule. The little bride, often no more than five years old, went to live with her in-laws and the dowry was meant to cover the expenses of her upbringing. Obviously, now that child marriages were illegal, so were the accompanying large dowries. But what had been a necessary adjunct to marriage had now become a scandal. It was not easy for young couples falling in love in India, Jack and Emma had concluded at that time. By the New Year, Emma had forgotten what Mummyji had told her when she first arrived. "You not guest, you daughter-in-law." Forgotten, too, the self-satisfied smile that went with it. It was Rakku who had helped her to disregard the incident: he always referred to her and Jack as guests. But back to the present: Emma's puja had worked once again: the smell of burning hair had gone. She returned to her reverie, thinking now of how they would have spent the festive season back in Alberta. But not for long. The door was thrown open again. Why didn't anybody ever at least knock? This time it was Meera, and she, too, was angry. She was carrying an armful of patchwork cushions - the ones Emma had made for her as a present. "We don't need your stuff!" and she threw the cushions at Emma one by one and walked out in high dudgeon. Emma turned to Jack: "What's up with everybody today? So angry! Don't you think they should avoid all this unpleasantness?" Jack looked, up from his desk where he was busy writing something on a large sheet of paper. "Let's not talk about that," and he returned to his task. After a while, when he had finished, he handed the sheet to Emma. He had been copying a long poem that he found in an English-language Indian magazine lent to him by Rakku. It had been translated from Hindi, and started with the words, "So beautiful you were, so you were". It was all about a little flower whose petals warmed by the sun slowly opened, "so innocent, so lovely..." And so it continued with line after line of praise: "You brought happiness to all around you, so you did". But towards the bottom of the page, the tone of the poem changed: "Now you are ugly, now you have destroyed yourself, so you have. One by one your petals, once so innocent, once so beautiful, shrivel and die, so they do. The flower that was is gone on New Year's Day." Why had Jack given her this poem today? "Let's not talk about that," he repeated. A few nights later, Emma had a strange dream. She was sitting at the bottom of a deep pit whose sides were too steep to climb, all alone but for the glimpses of a little striped chipmunk that occasionally came and peered down at her but always went away. Dead leaves drifted in from above and she picked them up. No people down there with her, no pets, only the brown and yellow leaves. For want of anything better, she collected them carefully: they became her pets. She sang a little song to them. And then she went to sleep and the dream ended. She didn't know what to make of it. Back on the farm, when she was a child, her mother had taught her to "listen" to her dreams: sometimes a dream would come true. Not this one she hoped. But she was also left to wonder exactly why anybody would take her hair and burn it and whether it was in some way connected with poltergeists. The Land of Broken Promises Rakku was worried. He worked hard at his job, often seven days a week, all for the sake of the family, but nobody seemed to appreciate it. They never seemed to stop quarrelling. He'd had high hopes of the visitors from Canada, but now they seemed to be at the centre of all disagreements. The bungalow was rent-free from the company, who also kept it in repair. If anything needed attention, he had only to ask and workers would be sent along immediately. But all the other expenses had to be paid out of his salary and what Jack and Emma had contributed. The extra money was running out, and still no sign of a job at the plant for Jack in sight. Now it was unlikely that he would ever get one. ICE was loosening its ties with Canada and was even considering changing its name, if not its initials. A competition had been announced in all its plants throughout the country to find another word beginning with "C". In the Jitpur office, CHEMICAL seemed to be winning. These changes meant that no more foreign nationals would be allowed to apply for jobs at any of the ICE plants. Those who were already employed however, would not be penalised. They would be allowed to keep their existing jobs until they either resigned or retired. If only Jack had arrived a year or two earlier! Meanwhile, Rakku had been exploring other possibilities. He had consulted wise-man Daddyji, who always had all the answers, like turning flat roofs into latrines. Half blind though he was, he had a fertile, inventive mind. A job at the plant? Only for Indians? No problem! All that was needed was an affidavit. Off to a lawyer then, to get Jack certified that as his son, born to him and his wife, when was it? 1936? That would do, easy to alter any papers that said "1916"! Birth certificate? School leaving certificate? Degree certificate? Again, no problem. He had them all from his other son who had died of hepatitis a few years ago, just after he'd graduated from University in Bombay. Jack could now become that son. Affidavit in hand, Rakku had been relieved and happy. But for once, not all Daddyji's remedies had worked. There was the little question of Jack's spat with the Customs officers in Madras. He'd entered India on a Canadian passport and had illegally imported a car, on which lie still owed sundry taxes and for which he refused to surrender the keys. Rakku would do them a favour if he would reveal Jack's address, as with typical ingenuity they had found other keys to get the car started, only to have it catch fire, seriously injuring the driver. Now they were holding Jack responsible for tampering with the car before he left Madras. Wisely, Rakku did not disclose his "new brother's" address. But now he must speak to him about getting some other job. Teaching wouldn't do - only about 250 rupees a month at the maximum. At the minimum just three times what he was paying his mali—his gardener. Jack appreciated the situation and promised to apply for research appointments elsewhere. But if Rakku was disappointed, it was even worse for Jack. It was his, not Rakku's money that was running out. He thought again of all that had happened since he arrived with such high hopes at Madras. The promised home in Bombay, the promised job at the plant there, and when that was no longer likely, another possible job at Jitpur. Above all, the promise of a son to adopt. India: a beautiful country unlike any other, with unique flora and fauna: delicious tropical fruit, gorgeous flowering plants, and a fascinating history, stunning scenery. All that and more. But yet India was to him, the Land of Broken Promises. Back to his desk with the Hindustan Times to search its classified advertisement columns for likely jobs. Somewhere in another room, there were raised voices again. Jack, who had lived longer in India on his previous visits, could understand Hindi reasonably well. Meera, Didi and their mother could keep Emma in the dark, but when it came to Jack, it was another matter. It was Meera's strident voice: "I will NOT tolerate THAT FOREIGNER in the house! She should be LOCKED UP somewhere... I don't know... anywhere. In a LATRINE! She's no better than a servant - a sweeper at that, an untouchable white bitch who WON'T do any WORK! ... she must either be set to work or GO". This tirade was interrupted at intervals by admonishments from Mummyji, which had no effect. It was still going on when Rakku came home for lunch and his nap. As on so many other such occasions, he tried to reason with Meera. But she was not only his sister, she was also older than he was and when she was in this mood, he always felt like a little boy again. He shrugged and went to the dining room for his lunch. Emma, Jack and the rest of the family joined: him. Except Meera, who picked up her plate and walked out. He shrugged again: ''What to do?" Nobody answered. A Conference and a Laughing Lady With family confrontations and tensions unresolved and escalating, Rakku again went to Daddyji for advice. The answer this time was "We must hold a conference, just the men. No, not Ram, he's too young and immature. And he has his studies - it would be wrong to burden him with all our problems. He's still a child. Let him grow up gradually, as you did, Rakku". A few days later, the three men had come to a decision: "It's the women." Who was it, yelling at the servants, disrupting their work? Mummyji! Who was it that picked on other women in the house time after time, Didi, for being the youngest, Emma for just being Emma? Meera! And who continually disrupted the household by not conforming to the unwritten rules? Emma! At this Jack spoke up: "She was brought up in Canada. The rules are different there. For instance, 'Ladies first' when entering or leaving a building or a room, while here, the women are expected to follow their men-folk. She came here knowing nothing about Indian customs. That, and her inborn waywardness and tendency to strong opinions ..." "I feel sorry for the girl," said Rakku. "Before we deal with her, shouldn't we consider asking the other women to be more considerate? The way they led her on at Christmas time was inexcusable." "Granted," said Daddyji, "But you've said nothing about Didi. If she marries that man, I wash my hands of her. I know that family. They have a poor reputation to say the least, and, more importantly, they are Vaisyas. She'll be marrying out of her caste and that always brings trouble. We should be choosing a respectable Kshatriya boy for her, like ourselves. She's a great disappointment to me." "Daddyji," said Rakku, "Have you forgotten the dowry problem? That family is willing to waive the obligation." "Yes, willing now, but wait until they're married for a few months. You don't listen to me, do you? Didn't I tell you just now that I know of that family? And what did I say, Rakku?" Rakku, as was so often his wont, felt like a little boy again. "Daddyji, I'm sorry. You are right to be worried about Didi's future." "Yes, And let me remind you of another thing: we lost so many useful contacts after Partition, but yet when I found you a suitable bride who would have brought a considerable dowry, you backed out! You're my son and I forgive you, but if you'd married as I planned, I'd have had dowry money in hand to choose a better husband for Didi." Again, Rakku apologized. He was wondering too how he would manage to break the news to his parents that he was planning to marry his secretary whose widowed mother was penniless. Jack was puzzled: "Dowry? Aren't dowries illegal now?" But Daddyji changed the subject: "Let's avoid speculation and deal with the problems in hand. It's not dowries - it's the enmity between Meera and Emma that's upsetting the household. Emma needs to be taught how to conform." Even Jack had to agree to that: "From the Indian point of view, she grew up without a role model." "Ah, so you've studied psychology. That won't help you in India." "Daddyji," said Rakku, "Don't you think it might help if we find such a role model? I know a couple - would you mind if I invite them to meet you? The husband works at the office and his wife stays at home to look after the children and supervise the servants". The upshot of this suggestion was that a date was fixed for the couple to be invited to tea. And Meera's tirades? If they could "Indianize" Emma, there would be no reason for Meera to object to her. Jack wasn't sure about that. He'd bent over backwards to be more Indian and, while he agreed that Emma could have been more helpful, he felt he was caught in the middle and powerless to do much about either side. Meanwhile Meera had caught a few words from the dining room conference as she walked through to the pantry. Out on the veranda at teatime, she started up a conversation with Emma, mentioning how nice she looked in her new pink churidar outfit. This was her chance to help Emma to become "more Indian". So she continued, "You know, you'd look even more attractive if you dyed your hair black and stained your skin brown with walnut juice". This piece of friendly advice was interrupted by the arrival of the widowed mother of Rakku's secretary, tears streaming down her face as she adjusted her faded sari and Mummyji motioned to her to take a seat. Embarrassed, the rest of the family left. Mummyji then did what she always did on these occasions: reached into her sari blouse. In her cleavage, unbeknown to her husband, she'd been saving paper money from her housekeeping allowance. Not that she ever actually bought the food with it: that was taken care of by the men-folk. All she had to do was 'dole it out'. This poor widow always got her share. It was at teatime a few days later that other guests arrived. Again, Mummyji knew what to do. Daddyji was expecting them and was already waiting for them in the dining room. Then he brought them back to the veranda, the man tall and imposing in his dark winter suit, his wife in a multi-coloured sari with a blue British-style cardigan draped over her shoulders, empty sleeves dangling. Polite conversation ensued, but all in Hindi, hard for even Jack to follow, especially as the guests were speaking rapidly and with so much laughter, particularly from the wife. Mummyji explained: "He tell jokes. Oh, it's so amusing! The one about a man who married an Englishwoman. His little brother used to walk behind her. He imitate her - he look like a monkey and she never know what her husband was laughing at. Monkey! Monkey! He marry a monkey!" By that time, the husband was on to the next anecdote - about a monkey-bride, who of course had brought no dowry. And so it continued, the saga of the monkey brides, all accompanied by the wife's infectious laughter. Emma never discovered her real name, everybody referred to her as the laughing lady, and even Jack suggested she should follow her example: "Wives are meant to keep their husbands and families amused." There was another thing, Jack said: "Her husband explained it to me. There are two circles," and he took a pencil and paper and drew a large circle: "The man's circle," he said, and as he drew a smaller circle next to it, "The wife's circle. They touch but they never mingle." Emma still struggling to learn Hindi, feared she had heard far more about the roles of husband and wife than just these comparatively innocuous suggestions. She laid a hand on Jack's arm, as she always did during teatime chatter when the family often reverted to Hindi and she needed an interpretation. But before she could get the words out, Jack winced and drew away from her: "Never do that again. We don't touch in public". "But I'm your wife" she later told him when they were alone, "Yes, but touching is only for the bedroom. Outside we're apart. You have your circle and I have mine". Emma wondered about all the hugging that went on: Mummyji was a great hugger. "Yes, mothers hug their children - and in India they are still children even when they are adults. Have you ever seen Mummyji hugging her husband? Never!" True, they never even sat next to each other on the veranda or in the drawing room. "Chastise Your Wife" Jack was worried. How was he to follow all the advice given to him yesterday? He'd seen how unhappy Emma was about the Two Circles. But there was more to it than that. "Chastise your wife every morning before breakfast: that will set her straight for the day." How to begin? How to endure her tears? She was his love, his girl, and now for his love of Ram, whom he still regarded as his son, he had to do what the family wanted. "It's your clothes", he explained, after mentioning that the family had been complaining about her. "Do try to be more Indian. No clashing colours. Observe Indian customs. When to cover your head for instance." Emma thought she was already trying hard enough. But, "No, Jack insisted, "When you're in Rome, do as the Romans do." He was over his first hurdle. She understood. Meera would be pleased. For several days afterwards, with reminders from Jack every morning, Emma appeared in the dining room in carefully matched Indian attire, including the dupatta, a long chiffon scarf that went with it, which had to be worn backwards across her neck and which, unlike other women, she found hard to keep in place. But she was still unsure when to cover her head with it. Then one lunchtime, she picked up her glass of water that one of the servants had brought in from the pantry along with those for the rest of the family. This time she noticed a little red spot that had been painted on its base. And then, "Oh, no! She's drinking from MY glass!" It was Meera. Mummyji yelled at the negligent servant. Then, "I will NOT sit with THAT FOREIGNER again! She must never be allowed to eat with us," and Meera picked up her plate and walked out. Mummyji turned to Emma, "See, that red spot. That mean it's Meera's glass." Now Jack had good reason to chastise Emma next morning. Hadn't she noticed that all Meera's crockery had been marked with red spots? Emma didn't reply. The recent change in Jack had left her drained and miserable. This was not the man she knew so well and loved. Now he was even telling her, "Be happy. Smile." As if ... As they walked into the dining room for breakfast, Mummyji joined in: "See, she pollute. She pollute whole house," and, turning to Emma, "You just little child, know nothing." "What to do? said Rakku, as he left for work. "What to do?" Emma crept back to the guest room. Later, at nap time, when the house was quiet, she tried to rise above it all. She hoped the incident would be forgotten. "Chai walla, chai," she joked as Jack opened his eyes at teatime. They got dressed and went to the door. There in the corridor, chained to a bench was the family dog. Jack stooped to pat him, Emma following behind. At once the dog was upon her growling and snarling, grabbing her by her pant legs. Jack called him off. But Emma was forced to retreat. She solved the problem by going to the veranda via the other door for tea. But she couldn't get to the dining room for other meals, and Jack had to bring them to her. "Jack! What are we going to do about all this? I mean trampling on the gifts I brought, or throwing them at me. And now this... all over a little red spot on a glass of water. Don't you think it's rather extreme?" "No, this is India. You have to conform. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Or else..." "Can't you ask them to let me go to the dining room again with the rest of the family?" "Let's not talk about that." Emma turned away, hiding her tears. There is no real winter in India. Autumn simply merges into spring, and already in January new green leaves were appearing. Birds that the family called robins, though they looked more like wrens, were looking for mates. Daddyji was an avid bird-watcher and Emma agreed to act as his 'eyes,' now that he was losing his eyesight. The family hoped that the operations that he was having would one day restore it. Meanwhile Emma at last felt she had a place among them. She tentatively enquired again about being allowed to join the family in the dining room. But despite his appreciation of her help, Daddyji implied that there was little even he could do: "It's the ladies, that's the problem. They must settle it among themselves." And so the conversation went round and round in circles. Meera had ceased her tirades now that Emma no longer sat at the table with her: "Things have improved. Forget the past and be happy. Now look at that little bird, what colour is he?" Emma wanted to reply, "But it's not the past, it's still going on." But she knew that by doing so she would risk the new friendship between her and Daddyji. "It's another robin, I think - it has a few blue feathers..." Robins in India did not have redbreasts, something that was still puzzling her, but even Daddyji couldn't explain how they got their name. Weeks ago she had asked Rakku to find a book on the birds of India, but although he had been able to find numerous book on history, topography, and even archaeology, there were no books in his library, or even in the bookstores about birds. Jack, who had overheard this conversation, picked up on it the next morning as a basis for chastising his wife. It was not, he said, her place to question what the family had decided. "The family? It was Meera who decided to shut me out of the dining room. It's Meera who keeps the dog outside our door..." "That dog wouldn't growl at you if you were more friendly towards him. He never growls or snarls at me. He's even allowed me to take him for walks." "Jack don't you realize that this dog has been trained to attack me?" "Let's not talk about that." The next morning there was another problem for Jack to sort out: Meera had been complaining again. This time it was that Emma was becoming too friendly with Daddyji: "He's MY father, not hers." "You see," Jack told Emma, "Meera is middle—aged now and still unmarried. Her father means everything to her. She thinks you're stealing him." "I was trying to help. HE asked me to do it." "Yes, but as usual, you're upsetting Meera. It's got to stop." Emma thought about the situation for a moment. "Well then, let's try to stop Meera. I'm your wife - we should be standing up against her together," "Emma, how can I do that? I have to keep the peace between you. It's my duty to remain neutral." The Pit It was the last day of January, 1969, and Jack and Emma had just finished tea on the veranda when it happened. Instead of taking their usual walk, they returned to their room, where Emma lay on her bed and Jack found a thermometer to take her temperature. "I thought so. It's over 100 degrees." "It was when we were having tea. A pain in my right side." "I hope it's not your appendix. I'd better send for a doctor." The next morning after breakfast, Emma, who had fallen asleep again, awoke to see a kindly bearded Sikh in a blue turban bending over her. He took her temperature again and after examining her told Jack: "I think it's her liver. Avoid fats and oils, give her skim milk and plenty of fluids". Jack followed his instructions carefully. He even used his pocket money to buy a tin of jam- the way it was sold in India - which he transferred to a pot. He found a large jug in the kitchen and made lemonade. That jug and a glass now sat at Emma's bedside table. She was thankful that it was close by, for she had developed a raging thirst. Jack was kept busy replenishing the lemonade, and that meant frequent visits to the pantry. After a few days, Mummyji accosted him: "That lime is cold. She NOT to drink lime." And as soon as Jack had left in the car to take Daddyji to the hospital, she crept into the guest bedroom, where Emma had fallen asleep again and removed both the jug and the glass. Jack returned to find Emma in distress and Mummyji in the pantry, the empty jug on the table, together with a glass of milk: "We NOT give her lime, she drink milk. See, this milk good... cream on top." Jack, trying to avoid a confrontation, reminded her of what the doctor had said about fats and oils, adding, "If lemonade is bad for her, perhaps we should give her water." Came the day for the doctor's second visit. This time he wore a pink turban and after examining his patient, turned to Jack: "Is she getting enough to drink?" Jack felt obliged to tell him how even water was being removed while he was out, and a glass of milk substituted. Jack agreed to ask Mummyji to come and meet the doctor so he could give her his instructions. Mummyji listened but was not cooperative: "She not sick, she born weak". And tugging at her sari, she turned to leave the room. The doctor gently detained her: "She also needs love," he added. Mummyji ignored this remark. No sooner had the doctor departed than all hell apparently broke out in the pantry. Jack could hear the shrill voice of the women and Rakku's attempts to calm them down. He went there to offer Rakku support. Next morning Jack had to break the news to Emma: "That doctor is not to come again. If you're not well again by next week, you're to walk to see another doctor at his office. So get out of bed now and start practicing". And he left to attend to his duties as chauffeur. Emma sat on the edge of her bed, trying to work up enough strength to get to the bathroom unaided. She tried to stand up. When Jack returned he found her lying unconscious on the bedside mat. He lifted her back into bed. She opened her eyes: "Where am I?" "You fell out of bed," said Jack untruthfully, "But now we know that when you go to the doctor's, you will need assistance". Emma had closed her eyes again. Jack wondered if she'd heard what he said. Her temperature was still up, over 100 degrees now. And so the days went by. Emma practicing walking only when supported by Jack, while the Battle of the Milk raged on, Mummyji removing the water from the table and substituting milk, Jack getting rid of the milk and fetching more water. "See, she drink milk, she get better," insisted Mummyji with a smile, not knowing that Jack was regularly emptying the milk down the toilet. On the day that Emma was to visit the new doctor, Jack took her temperature as usual and said, "Don't try to get up before I come back. I'll ask Mummyji not to disturb you." Emma lay back in bed and closed her eyes. The next thing she knew, the plump figure of Mummyji was leaning over her, Meera in attendance: "You get up and walk to the doctor's now," and the two women started to remove her pyjamas and put on day clothes. Emma drifted out of consciousness. "See, she sleep," remarked Mummyji. Emma tried to speak. Finally, she got the words out: "Jack told me to wait until he came back. I don't think I should go out today. He says my temperature is 103 degrees." "That NOT temperature. Meera had temperature. She had 104. THAT temperature, not 103." Meera smirked while Mummyji repeated, "You just little child, know nothing." Then the two women pulled Emma out of bed and each taking her place beside her, tried to drag her across the room towards the door. They didn't reach it. The last thing Emma heard was Meera saying, "She can't walk." She awoke on the cold stone floor with Jack bending over her and the women hovering in the background. Jack was trying to take her temperature again: "96. That's subnormal." "See, she NOT sick, She not have temperature." Emma passed out again, and Jack lifted her back into bed. She seemed extraordinarily light now. In bed, drifting in and out of consciousness, she became aware of the god Shiva in full human form, his black bull, Nanda, at his side. The image was so vivid that it became etched in her mind and several days afterwards, she was able to draw an accurate picture of him in intricate detail. The vision faded and a tree arose in its place, its trunk and branches blood red. She could see the blood flowing there, giving life to the fruit it bore: luscious black pendulous berries, and others shining white. On one of these white fruit appeared the words, "Girl Guide's Good Deed". Emma remembered how, as a Girl Guide, she'd been taught to do at least one good deed every day. She also remembered "Taps", the song the guides sang at night before going home to bed: "Day is done, gone the sun... All is well, safely rest, God is nigh." That, and other songs, some of them sad, most of them cheerful and amusing. Emma was feeling better. She began to sing, softly at first, then louder, about "poor old Michael Finnegan", who lost his whiskers. It was funny. She laughed again as she had done when she first heard it as an eleven-year-old girl. Then the door opened: It was Ram: "What's this nonsense?" He took off one of his pointy outdated shoes and strode menacingly towards her bed, where he grabbed her by the arm and began to beat her with the shoe. Mummyji appeared in the doorway yelling something in Hindi, which Emma recognised as "No, no son!" and she rushed in to grab him by the shirt-tail and pull him away. Emma reported the incident to Jack when he returned. "I can't believe Ram would do that," he said, "I must ask them what happened." When he came back, it was to tell Emma: "Mummyji says that it was nothing. You were making too much noise and they came in to ask you to be quiet. There was no beating, you must have dreamt it." Emma knew they had lied to Jack, but still wanted to sing occasionally. It cheered her up during the long, lonely hours in her room, with only the treetops visible through the window. Jack had moved their beds so that the window was no longer behind them, and now to Emma's delight, a little chipmunk had appeared on the sill outside. A melody from Beethoven's 7th symphony was running through her head and she added words and sang a little song to her chipmunk friend. Then Meera barged in: "You sing to that dirty creature? You upset the whole house." The chipmunk fled. Meera too withdrew, and now the only sound was the rustling of the leaves on the trees outside. Leaves... a chipmunk... her loneliness. It was Emma's awful dream come true. Now it was mid-February and one morning Mummyji came to Emma's bedside with a dishful of Indian sweets. "Today's Shivaratri!" Today we dedicate ourselves to Lord Shiva. I bless all the men of the family." By that she meant anointing them, and sure enough when Jack appeared later he had a grey dab on his forehead. "You eat these sweets for Lord Shiva," she told Emma then. Emma who had been existing on a little else but rice, cereal, skim milk and occasionally mango, tried to explain that they were too rich for her. Mummyji smiled: "You will eat them for your husband." Still Emma resisted. "Lord Shiva. See, he represent husbands." Emma wanted to say, Shiva in his other aspect is the Great Destroyer at best he is a penis! I will not dedicate myself to any man's penis, certainly not to that of the Great Destroyer." But she remained silent and pretended to drop off to sleep again. She knew Mummyji was sincere in her beliefs. The problem was Emma didn't share them. Mid-February was also Emma and Jack's engagement anniversary. Feeling stronger now, she put on her ring, the one with the two hearts linked, and ventured out onto the veranda for tea with her husband. Jack was just halfway through his first cup of tea when Meera came along, leash in hand and dog following. She looked at Jack as he sat there with Emma: "Chalo! Let's go." Jack rose from his chair. Emma was taken by surprise. "Jack, it' s our engagement day!" "Yes, but I have to divide my time between the family and you. I have to treat you equally." And he disappeared with Meera and the dog through the garden gate, through the main gate and into the street, the mali opening and closing the gates as they passed through. On the table, half a cup of tea was left with Emma to get cold. She poured herself a second cup and took it back to her room. Although the weather was growing warmer day-by-day she was shivering. Jack, out walking the dog with Meera, was feeling light headed. Sometimes his mind seemed to be completely blank. What was he doing out with this dog? Why had Emma seemed so upset? What did she say she was celebrating? Who was Emma, anyway? Why was she here with this family, the only white person with fair hair and blue eyes? He himself, as Didi often declared, was "a typical Indian boy," unlike Emma. Yet, Emma was his burden, attached to him. But wait-she was his WIFE. His mind went blank again. The dog pulled at its leash, urging him on. Meera caught up with him. He felt at home with her. She was Indian. Emma - how had she come into his life? Emma was not. He thought again of Ram. The adoption was not going ahead. Brother? Perhaps. But that was not the same as son. And, too, Emma was always in the way. Why had she come with him to India? Sometimes Jack felt his wife had been one long mistake. And now once again confusion enveloped him. The Weeks of the Primus and some Puja Emma was now well enough to take a bath again. Until now, Jack had been bringing a bowl or warm water and setting it beside Emma's bed so she could give herself a sponge bath. Stripping down to get into the tub, Emma hardly recognized her body, she was a dull, yellow colour all over, her withered breasts hanging loosely, and when she sat in the tub she discovered her buttocks had disappeared too: it hurt to sit there in the tub. Back in her room, she sat up in bed, fudging for the little mirror she kept in her purse. Looking at her emaciated face for the first time in months, she noticed that even her eyeballs were yellow. Only now did she know the true severity of her illness: she had been suffering from hepatitis. But she was on the mend now and although her raging thirst had gone, she now had a ravenous appetite. She asked Jack to see if the family would allow her to get more to eat. Off to the pantry he went and raised voices soon ensued: "She get plenty to eat. We already spend too much money on her and now she want fish? She greedy. She lazy. She get no extra food from us!" "Mummyji, we must teach that FOREIGNER a lesson." This was Meera's voice. "The washerwoman has not been here for two days now and I'm like a servant in the house." That was true to a certain extent: the entire family had heard Meera in the other bathroom - the one with only cold water and a hole for a toilet at one end- angrily bashing the family wash with the stick once used by the washerwoman. But, "She not washerwoman, she too weak; Rakku is looking for new servant," Mummyji reminded her. Jack tried to get them back to the problem of Emma's need for more food: "Haven't you noticed how much weight she's lost?" "She too heavy when you came in October. We not give her more to eat. If you want to fatten her up, there's a Primus stove in the kitchen. Take it and she can cook her own meals. That was how the Weeks of the Primus began. Jack kept it on a chair beside Emma's bed and she, having sorted out camping equipment from their luggage, sat up in bed preparing vegetables that Jack smuggled in after the rest of the family had gone to bed. Then he would pump up and light the Primus and she was all set for at least one good meal a day. Jam at breakfast and teatime was also a help, though Ram mocked her for it and the women complained of the expense. Jack had to remind them that he was buying it with their own pocket money. When Emma had taken the little mirror out of her purse, something else had fallen out, and the next day the servant who came to clean the room and deal with any mice that had been caught picked it up and handed it to her. It was the little cross that she carried wherever she went -"for luck", she had told the family, although to her it was more than that. Now she wondered if the cross would help her in her time of need. The family had mocked her in the past: "Lord Shiva has all the power, Your Christ can do nothing." She decided to put it to the test, invoking the Trinity to bless the cross. At once the little cross started to glow, a halo of light formed around it. Then it slowly returned to normal. She tried it again. Again the cross glowed. She wondered how she could use this against the power of Lord Shiva, and decided to set aside an hour or so every morning after Mummyji's puja. On the first day, as soon as the chanting was over, Emma blessed the cross, then sang a hymn she learned at school. Like many of her generation, she had gradually stopped attending church services on Sunday, although there were exceptions: Christmas, Easter and for her wedding. The hymns she chose were apposite: Onward Christian soldiers, O God, Our Help in Ages Past, and Milton's Pilgrim's song, Who Would True Valour see. Then she remembered some of those Girl Guide songs, altering the words to turn them into "prison" songs or just songs about Canada and her life on the farm, where the animals were her friends. All this cheered her up and somehow alleviated her loneliness. On the third day, however, there were raised voices again. Time for Meera to send Ram in, shoe in hand. Once more he grabbed Emma by the arm. But once more to he was unlucky: at that moment Jack returned with the car and rushed to Emma's rescue. She was wiping the blood off-her arm where Ram's fingernails had dug into her flesh. A loud altercation was soon going on over lunch, Rakku and Daddyji as usual trying each in their own way to calm things down. And, also as usual, nothing changed. There was, however, an important change for Jack and Emma. Now that they were a storing a certain amount of food in their room, an army of mice had invaded. The servants brought in a trap and set it in a corner opposite Emma's bed. Then she was able to amuse herself watching the mice as they found their way into the metal cage and were rewarded with a substantial meal, after which they would be let out to play in the garden and were free to return for more food as soon as possible. Ram was loath to upset Jack again, so the task of keeping Emma quiet now fell to Didi. A few days later, Emma was happily singing a new song, "When this prison life is over", to the tune of a hymn she had been singing when the main door was flung open and there stood Didi, demanding, as Ram had done before, that she "stop this nonsense". Emma had her answer: "You have your puja. I do not interrupt you. Kindly do not interrupt mine." "What right do you, a woman Jack picked up off the streets in Toronto or somewhere- what right do you have to disrupt our household? You stole all my brother's money and now you live here on our charity..." "On the contrary, Emma countered, "We've paid for everything here and Jack is looking for a job." The bit about stealing all her brother's money puzzled her. Rakku? Jack had actually given him money to cover their expenses. Ram? He was just a schoolboy. "Never mind that. It's you who should be working and bringing in money for us" On and on she went, with yet more references to "street-walking" and "thievery", until finally Emma sat up straight in bed and ordered her out of the room. When Jack returned for lunch, Emma heard Didi asking him, "Why did you marry such an OLD WOMAN?" Emma had never been called old before. She took out her mirror once again. Yes, perhaps she did look older now. But that was because she'd been sick. Didi surely knew that. It would have been kinder not to mention it. But then kindness was not a consideration in this household- at least, not when Rakku was away at the office. It was Rakku who, in his quiet way, gave Emma most encouragement. The next day she was still doing her puja and singing and Meera and Didi were still feeling frustrated. It was Saturday and Ram was not at school when Meera decided the time had come for a concerted attack. With all three men out of the house, and even Mummyji out at the hospital with their father, this was a unique opportunity. She called her brother and sister into her bedroom and shut the door. There, speaking in whispers, she outlined what she wanted them to do. Emma, who of course had heard nothing, sang on happily. She'd built up quite a repertoire of "prison" songs and was now singing one about the lack of pets there and failing all else, having to make friends with a flea: ♫...Once I had a little flea, he was such a pet to me...♫ She paused before continuing. The house was deathly quiet: nobody yelling at the servants, not even a radio blaring out the latest Indian popular songs. Silence. Even the dog chained to the bench in the corridor was obediently silent as Meera padded by, barefoot, to station herself on the veranda outside the other door. For once she was glad that Emma had covered the glass panels with tea towels. Emma had dressed as usual now that she was feeling better, and was sitting at the desk where earlier she had been typing out résumés for Jack. Imagining that she would be back in bed, resting, Ram charged in, making straight for the bed-CRASH! He flung himself on to it. Too late he realised that he was not punching Emma, but just her pillows and a heap of bedclothes. Didi, following him in, screamed. Then she ran to the aid of her bother and ignoring Emma, they tipped first Emma's bed, then Jack's onto the floor upside down. That done, they turned to the bookshelves, sweeping the books off them and kicking them across the floor. Emma retreated into the bathroom and by the time they turned their attention to the papers on the desk, she was safely locked away from them. There she sat on the toilet, there being no other seat, and tried to decide what to do next. All three were in now, in the guest room doing their worst and yelling at her to come back in and pack her things and GO. She remained silent. Then she crept out by the sweeper's door and bending over, hoping not to be seen, made for the compound gate, there to sit on a boulder among the beggars outside waiting for Jack to return. But Meera on the veranda had seen the gate open and close and a slim figure pass through. She called to her brother and sister: "She's GONE! Let's celebrate! Fetch the brandy!" The brandy was kept in the pantry, together with a number of small glasses, for medicinal purposes. Ram and Didi complied and soon they were each raising a tiny glass to celebrate the departure of THAT FOREIGNER. Emma knew then that she had made a mistake. She'd played into their hands. While the three were chortling and having a wild time on the veranda, she crept back into the compound and into the bathroom again, where she triumphantly belted out The Maple Leaf Forever, the French National Anthem, and for good measure Rule Britannia. Arise and strike a blow for liberty... Britons never, never, never will be slaves. Stunned at first into silence, unable to get at her because nothing would have induced them to use the sweeper's door and the other was locked, they began to hurl insults. "White Bitch! Street Walker! All because of you I can't get married! You stole Jakku's money! STOP YOUR NONSENSE!" The little black car pulled up outside the garden gate and disgorged Jack and the two parents. The two men strode through to the veranda followed by Mummyji who at once spotted; the half empty brandy bottle and grabbed it: "You naughty children! Take those glasses back to the pantry!" Daddyji grabbed Ram by the arm: "What do you mean by this? Look at the mess here! Don't expect the servants to tidy up after you!" And he stomped angrily into the house. It was Jack who discovered the chaos in the guest room. Didi who was hovering outside the door tried to explain: "It's Emma. She's gone mad!" "Emma! You mean she tried to destroy her own books and clothes?" And he looked down at the crumpled garments that had been thrown out of the closet, his own pants and shirts included. Emma, who had emerged from the bathroom, was trying to lift her bed back into position and Jack turned to help her. With both beds now upright, he noticed a memo on his desk and picked it up to read it. "Grounds for divorce", it said. It was in Meera's writing. Without another word, he rushed to confront the three culprits in the dining room where Daddyji was still trouncing all who came near. "It wasn't Emma! Look at this," and he waved the memo at the assembled family. "Whoever did it must confess," declared Daddyji. Nobody did. And then Rakku came in for lunch: "More trouble? What's up now?" Jack explained. Mummyji was still hanging on to the half empty brandy bottle. "See, they drink. And Meera, she tell that it was Emma. She go mad. She upset the beds in the guest room." Rakku did not know what to make of this garbled account and turned to Jack for an explanation. Jack said he didn't know, but he was sure it wasn't Emma, and he showed Rakku the memo. The servants were bringing in lunch from the pantry. Jack left to help Emma with the Primus stove. Then all was calm and the family sat down to their meal. Rakku looked up as Jack returned: "It's the women. What to do?" Jack said nothing but he knew what he wanted to do: get out, get a job. Daddyji was offering advice as usual: "It's all over now. Forget the past," and he went to take his nap. A little later, Rakku sighed as he left for the office. There he was no longer just a little boy: he was the boss. Emma took out her little cross. It glowed again as she did a little silent puja. An Escape It was mid-March now and one morning the servants arrived with their clothes spattered in dye, mainly pink, red and blue. Nobody in the house seemed surprised: "It's Holi," explained Rakku when Jack seemed puzzled, "It all started centuries ago when a milkmaid squirted a cow's udder at a young man - they say he was her lover. Now we have this ten-day festival when everybody goes out in their oldest clothes, all squirting coloured water at one another." "Sounds fun," said Jack who wished he'd brought some old clothes along. "Yes, but best to stay indoors. Crowds can get quite wild". Emma ventured out to peep through a crack in the compound gate. There was pushing and shouting, laughter and people running in all directions, each with a water pistol in hand. Yes, best to stay indoors. She and Jack were still busy with his résumés and soon they had a date for an interview in New Delhi: March 22nd. A servant was to be dispatched from the plant to line up and buy the train ticket. "Sometimes it takes two days" said Rakku. Then Emma had an idea: "Get a ticket for me too. I'm going to try for a job." The family was soon agog with this new development, particularly Meera and Didi: "At last! At last she will bring money." Meanwhile, Jack hadn't forgotten the advice about chastising his wife every morning. The three culprits had been forced to admit that it was they who had trashed the guest room, "But it was all because Emma wouldn't stop singing - singing so loudly that it disturbed the whole house." "It's your voice," Jack told Emma one morning, clapping his hands over his ears so he couldn't hear her reply. Emma hoped all this would end once they were in Delhi, and if Jack got a job there, it would never happen again. The day they left, there was another crowd parading through town: Muslims this time, an all-male crowd celebrating Muharram, naked but for their pants, beating their breasts -some of them with chains. Even the local monkeys were taking part, the mothers carrying their babies under their bellies. On the train Jack and Emma encountered a Swami and he offered them accommodation in one of his huts in Old Delhi for as long as they wished to stay, at a very low price. "You can get a bus to New Delhi every morning," he told them. So they followed him there and settled in. "First go and buy your pot," he said, pointing to another hut not far distant, where sat a man surrounded by red earthenware pots at a public water-tap and bath-place. Food, too was not problem: the little restaurant hut with an earthen floor and a friendly little white dog served biryani and other delicious rice dishes, and banana lassi - crushed banana in yogurt. An old Muslim cemetery adjoined, where many of the tombs had a dome on top. Hippies from all over the Western world had taken up residence in those abandoned tombs. Jack and Emma wondered whether they were ever disturbed in the night by ghosts of the departed. But they all seemed care-free and happy - a tall fair haired Dane, a Dutch couple with their three year old daughter, who said they were earning a living sending Indian art and crafts home to Holland, and numerous British and Americans of both sexes. Along the roadway outside, Rajasthani women walked, long, brightly coloured skirts swinging, revealing many shining silver anklets on each leg. Emma was entranced that first evening as she watched them and turned to Jack to share the moment. But Jack, sitting on the bench beside her, was not looking. He'd picked up a stick that was lying on the ground and with it was drawing two circles in the sand: one large, the other smaller, touching but separate. "I miss the family," he said. That didn't augur well for his interview. In the morning before breakfast, he chided her for her "lack of respect" for "Swamiji: you were impatient for him to show the way to our hut." She couldn't remember the incident, but her heart sank: "Chastise your wife", as well as the two circles, had followed them to Delhi, and if her behaviour last night had alienated the Swami, his behaviour now would seem very strange to all the happy young hippies. After banana lassi at the restaurant, they took the bus to New Delhi, parting at the terminus and agreeing to meet there at lunchtime. Emma had with her a travel brochure she'd picked up in Madras, where seasonal jobs were being advertised by the Boy Scout and Girl Guide Movement. They needed people to act as campground managers. At the office, when she got there, she was surprised how easy everything was. Yes, they still had vacancies, one up in the Hills. The Himalayas! That was just what she wanted, for it was already getting too hot for her down on the plains at Jitpur. Nobody seemed to notice how weak she was or that her complexion was still slightly jaundiced. The clerk was on the phone: yes, there were seats available on the train in two days' time. "We'll take you up to meet the District Officer-you will be working with him. That is, if you like the place." Emma was sure she would, and hurried back to tell Jack the news. He said his interview had gone reasonably well and they would be in touch. He'd left the Swami's phone number with them. What would she do if he got a job in Delhi? "Let's cross that bridge when we come to it", she told him. She almost hoped, now, that he wouldn't get that job. Then he could join her in the Hills. She could hardly believe her luck: at least a visit to the Hills, all expenses paid-even if she didn't take the job. She and the office manager had separate sleeping compartments on the train, and travelled overnight. When they awoke, they were already in the Hills and Emma revelling in the rugged scenery, which reminded her of the Rockies back home, except for the occasional exotic trees in bloom, some with brilliant red flowers. An ancient British car was at the station to meet them -it dated back at least to the 1920s and had been painted a brilliant blue. The only way to start it was to request help form the local people, then get in while they gave it a push. It worked. The road soon became a little more than a rough track with frequent hairpin bends and steep drops. They were glad they were not travelling it at night. The village was nestled beneath a towering hill on top of which, Emma was told, sat what would be her new home, with the campground behind it. But first she was to meet the District Officer who lived down in the village. They were to stay with him overnight, then the next morning go up and view the campground before catching the overnight train back to Delhi. The District Officer, who looked remarkably like pictures Emma had seen of William Shakespeare, had a very plump wife and two daughters, one resembling her mother and the younger child small and slim. There was a short-cut up to the campground, but only navigable on foot. The car took them up via yet more hairpin bends and soon an imposing house came into view, with a terraced garden in front and a view over fold upon fold of hills, blue and snow-capped in the distance. Pine trees surrounded the grassy expanse of the campground behind the house, and from their branches dangled the long tails of birds-of-paradise, while other brilliantly coloured birds flitted from tree to tree. Far across the valley from which they had approached the house, another group of pines was home to a flock of vultures. It went without saying that Emma would start work there in April. And so it was back to Delhi to tell Jack the good news. Jack seemed worried: he had heard nothing more about the hoped-for job and now they were about to return to Jitpur. Fortunately he had also given them Rakku's office phone number. Before they left Delhi, Jack took Emma to see a doctor recommended to him by Swamiji. She prescribed vitamins and iron capsules. It was there than Emma was at last able to get weighed: she'd lost fifty pounds. Rakku was there at the station to meet them and take them home. All the way Emma was talking excitedly about her trip to the Hills and her new job there, while Jack had become less hopeful and was even talking about joining her up there. He had been suffering from prickly heat and Emma's description of the climate there, refreshingly cool, had made him change his mind. When they got home, everybody was sitting on the veranda and anxious for their news. "Did you get the job?" "I don't know. They said they'd be in touch, but so far I've heard nothing. But Emma starts in her job the first week in April." The concerted family gasp was audible. Then they all started to talk at once. Where was it? What were her duties to be? How long for, temporary or permanent? Where would she live? What about Jakku? And, finally, how much money? For the intervening days Emma became almost the family heroine. Gone was the Primus stove from the guest room. Now even Meera agreed that she could return to the dining room. All the time now Jack and Emma were sorting through their trunks: what to take, what to leave behind... packing. Jack never did hear about the job he had hoped to get. Now he seemed almost as excited as Emma was at the prospect of living in the Hills. They were to stay there till sometime in July, when the monsoon would bring an end to the camping season. Once she was back there, Emma found they were faced with a large number of unforeseen problems. To start with, the village was entirely without toilet facilities. The villagers all used the bushes, and even "Shakespeare", just about the most important man for miles around lived in a house without a toilet. Nobody was willing to build one, and the family used a chamber pot slung under a seat in a shed outside, which they always had to empty themselves. Up at the campground there was a row of public toilets that had been built by international volunteers but somehow the drains had never been completed and worse still, there was no water with which to flush them. All water, for whatever purpose, had to be brought up from a spring below by a water-carrier on his back. He was one of the five servants who greeted them on their arrival. The senior among them was an old woman in her nineties, who was hardly ever there as she had another job as a stone-crusher. That worked well during the months when the campground was not in use and she had only to keep an eye on the place, but during the busy season, another servant had to be found. A tailor whose hut was nearby on the same hill was soon offering his services: he was much younger and had a lot more spare time. A maidservant brought the milk up to the house every morning in a brass pot that she carried on her head. Then there were the sweeper and her husband to do all the dirty work and in theory clean the toilets. As there was only one -that in the house, which had to be flushed with dishwater - their main job was to fence off part of the campground as an "open latrine" and clean it up every morning while the campground was in use. The kitchen was a problem too: it was "traditional": no chimney, so the house filled with smoke whenever Emma lit the stove. She consulted "Shakespeare's" assistant and did most of her cooking on a trusty Primus stove that he produced. And so they settled in and awaited the arrival of the first group of Girl Guides or Boy Scouts. Meanwhile, they were settling in to enjoy their new surroundings. Indoors stick insects had made their home around the dining room window, while outside a new little bird had appeared, no bigger than a man's thumb. They called him Tom Thumb. There was also a brindled cat who often climbed the hill by the short-cut to pay them a visit, and soon her name was Hill Princess. At night they could sit on the terrace, watching the twinkling lights of Simla - so near but yet so far, sixty meandering miles away through the Hills. Independence Jack had given up trying to find a job in India. Now that he was away from the family, he began to think of Canada again. He knew they would be disappointed if he left, but there seemed to be no alternative. He was still hoping to adopt Ram, but if he returned to Canada, would the family agree? Perhaps, even as a brother, for he would have a better chance at life in Canada. Once again, Emma, who'd brought her typewriter along, was busy with his résumés: when the ribbon needed to be changed, she had to renew the existing one with stamp-pad ink from the campground office. Typewriter ribbons were not available at the tiny local general store, where they kept cows in one of the back rooms. Hill Princess lived there too, along with her young kittens. A small group of Boy Scouts came, camped and left. Then it was back to the basic housekeeping and Jack's résumé's: he had now sent off several applications for teaching jobs in Canada. But it was April and Didi's wedding date was fast approaching. A letter from the family in Jitpur changed everything for Jack and Emma: "You must come home and go with us to Delhi for the wedding." Jack knew he would have to go alone, leaving Emma in charge of the campground. He was unsettled now: "I miss the family. I should never have left Jitpur. What am I doing up here when they need me down there?" He felt confused again. Emma noticed it. She reminded him of how much they were enjoying their independence, the bird song, and the tranquility. Every morning they were greeted by a dawn chorus: the tit-willow bird, the "whistler and his dog"- no dog of course, but the whistler persisted. And then there was the "How-do-you-do bird": "Good morning, how do you do?" They tracked down and identified most of the songsters, but the How-do-you-do bird remained a mystery until they stopped looking for it in the trees. It emerged one day from a low bush and seemed to be almost flightless, about the size of a partridge. All this and the yellow raspberries from which she'd made jam with their sugar ration. Yet Jack still wanted not only to attend the wedding, but also to "go home to Jitpur". And then "chastise your wife" started up again, tentatively at first, but always concluding with "Be happy! Smile!" The laughing lady - the role model the family had chosen for her. While he was away, a large group of Girl Guides arrived, plus a lone Australian camper touring India with a motorbike and sidecar. The Guides wore long blue skirts and white tops, and carried their luggage on their heads, toiling up the mountain by the steep short-cut. Emma was amazed at their balance and dexterity. Their leaders were anxious to meet the teenagers from a school in a larger village nearby, and sports events were soon arranged. Meanwhile Emma taught them to sing Canadian songs: Red River Valley, Five Hundred Miles, Alouette. So time after all- gassed quickly for her while Jack was away. The problems with the servants didn't become obvious till his return. There was only one spring where everybody went for water, and that included the sweepers. Fights had broken out when "untouchable" servants were found there. "Now the spring is polluted. What are we all going to do without water?" Jack had to be the arbitrator. He spoke to the senior servant, the elderly stonebreaker, who was in the habit of wandering off over neighbouring hills. Yes, she knew another spring over the next hill. He then called the sweepers up on to the terrace and explained that, to avoid getting attacked again, they should take their water from the more distant spring. It would be a long walk with such a heavy load, but they readily agreed. They were used to such situations. Pujas were then held around the polluted spring, cleansing it for everybody else to use, and thereafter everything went back to normal. Back to their bird watching activities. Now that the campers were gone and the monsoon rains soon likely to keep them indoors while they packed to leave, Jack and Emma had the opportunity to explore the neighbouring hills. One of them, which they dubbed "Vulture Hill", still puzzled them. There the ugly, hunched birds would sit in the trees, waiting. Waiting but for what? They found that fires had been lit on that hilltop, leaving piles of ashes here and there, among which were pieces of broken glass that had once been the cheap, coloured bangles the village women wore. They'd stumbled upon the burning Ghats where the villagers cremated their dead. Vulture Hill: they never walked that way again. It was raining in torrents the day they left. A poisonous snake had taken refuge under their water- butt and their faithful tailor-servant had killed it. He would inherit the peas and beans they had planted. Now he was valiantly carrying their luggage down the muddy road to the next village, where a bus would take them to the train station. Only the day before a letter had arrived from Canada: Jack had found a job there in Nova Scotia. A Great Escape On the train, Emma was wondering what she was going to do about her new sandals. They were of brown leather with gold trimming- and at least a size too small. Didi had sent them after her wedding: "It's the custom to give a sister-in-law a little present". Sister-in-law? Ah, it was the "brother business" again. Emma was still unable to feel that she was part of it. "You'll have to wear them", Jack insisted, "Cram your feet into them somehow." She was relieved, when they reached the family bungalow, to discover that Didi and her husband had found an apartment in Bombay, where he worked in his family's export business: "We can call on them when we leave, to say goodbye. They say we can arrange with the airline for a free stopover- we 're allowed three between here and Canada." Emma was doubly glad: she was not looking forward to spending the night in flight; and she would have a good excuse not to be wearing her sandals in Bombay where they had to change from Indian Airlines to an international airline. Meanwhile in Jitpur there was much to do: packing, arranging payments for their airline tickets. They had reserved enough Indian currency for that, but then came a hitch: the international leg of their journey must be paid in dollars or some other "hard" currency. Rupees were not being accepted. How glad Emma was that she had resisted the family's pleas and Jack's advice when they had suggested that she should convert all her money into rupees. Now, all she had to do was to write out a cheque on that account. That would also free a considerable amount in rupees, which they could leave with the family. No more "daughter-in-law" dowry problems now, she hoped. Everything was falling into place. Then one morning, the Kanpur paper arrived, bearing two headlines: Kanpur Stinks- a complaint about "insanitation" and "wild pigs" rooting among uncollected garbage, and Woman Roasted Alive. Bride burning. It was becoming tragically frequent now. Months after her wedding, the unfortunate girl's dowry had been deemed too low. Her father-in-law had been arrested and was to be put on trial for dowsing her with kerosene and setting it alight. Emma wondered if this was the bride whose wedding she'd attended last autumn. A few days later the headline was Man gets Three Months in Bride Burning Case. It occurred to Emma that the bridegroom's family was now free to look for another bride for their widowed son, and another dowry. What if it had been the bridegroom who was killed? No, families here would never burn the bridegroom, but he might be killed in an accident for instance; or later in life, the wife might outlive the man. What then? In the old days she would have been expected, even forced, to throw herself on her husband's funeral-pyre and die with him to demonstrate her unending love and devotion. That was illegal now, but widows were not allowed to remarry. It was while they were up in the Hills that Jack and Emma had discovered what happened now to women after the death of their husbands. They had been invited to tea with a local businessman and his wife. At their home, the usual introductions had taken place, their adult son and wife, their daughter, another visiting couple. But also present was a wraith-like elderly woman, all in white -white sari and blouse, white sandals-and she was not introduced. When Jack and Emma asked about this later, they were told why: "She's a widow. She's supposed to be dead, that's why she has to wear white. You see, she's a non-person now." A ghost, left to drift through her family's home, ignored by all, deprived of her identity. No wonder Rakku's secretary's widowed mother's sari looked "faded"- it was actually dirty white. No wonder she never accompanied her two daughters when they were invited to tea. Teatime. That was when she came, alone, begging for money. Now once again, teatime was delayed by a visitor and Mummyji had to deal with her. The woman had arrived while Jack and Emma were still in the guest room. They could hear the conversation on the veranda and knew that they should not interrupt- the poor woman was in tears, but it was not money she was after. She had come for advice: two of her six daughters were threatening to hang themselves, believing that they had no future, since there were no boys in the family to bring in dowries for them. Catching a glimpse of her through the glass panels of the veranda door, Emma recognised her. This was the Laughing Lady- the family's chosen role model. And Mummyji's advice? Find employment for her girls as soon as they were old enough - the older two immediately. She promised to ask Rakku to consider them for any vacancies at his office. Meanwhile, she shouldn't despair: "Try again. You're still young enough to have a son. At last the Laughing Lady dried her tears and slipped out through the garden gate. The family gathered on the veranda as usual to have tea. Nothing was said about the visitor who had just left, but they were all secretly concerned for the woman. Six daughters. Such bad luck. Women had come a long way since Independence. But they still had a long way to go, at least that was what Emma told Jack while they were out for their evening stroll. Jack was feeling confused again. He wanted to tell Emma that women caused trouble: "It's always the women," he said, which Emma didn't fully understand. They each lapsed into silence and their separate inner conflicts. Back to contend with their packing: they wanted to take an oriental rug back to Canada, but that meant discarding something else to make room for it. Emma's trusty typewriter must be left behind, and the two backpacks they'd used for hiking in the Hills. Jack would not need the light clothing he'd been wearing in India, so he'd pass it on to Ram, including a hilarious garment called a "lungi"- a sort of ankle length cotton kilt that had to be tied like a sari and once landed around his ankles as he rushed to the door when the postman came. Ram. Jack was being pulled apart by the prospect of leaving him, still unadopted, in India. If there had only been a job for Jack at Rakku's plant. That would have settled everything. But now the "brother business" loomed large. He was faced with the prospect of sponsoring his immigration, and that would have to be done in Canada. It would have been so much easier if the family had agreed to the adoption. What if the government rejected him? Emma was worried too. She felt the family had lured them to India under the pretext of the adoption. Worse still, Ram had scarcely ever spoken to her except to complain, taunt or attack. Now, for Jack's sake, she had to agree to his new plans for the boy. "You," Jack told her one morning, "It was you who forced me to apply for a job in Canada. It's you who are at the bottom of all this, you and the way you've upset everybody." Then he covered his ears not to hear her reply: "Your voice! Your voice!" he complained. Yes, they were returning home. But Emma knew it was not going to be easy for her. On the morning of their departure the whole household was in turmoil as Mummyji began to weep and wail: "Jakku- baba, my Jakku-baba!" As they got into the little black car together for the last time, Mummyji, sitting at the back with Emma, told her, "You've got him now! We lose him! You take him away!" As if he'd been in India all his life. As if he was still single. Her baby. Her son. Jack, a new grey dab on his forehead, had again lapsed into confusion. Why was he in this car, leaving the family he loved, and all for the sake of- who was it? Emma. A foreigner. How had she come into his life? Ruminations, ruminations. Confused ruminations. He was feeling sick too, and didn't know why. At the airport, the other men, who had followed in Rakku's company car, slapped Jack on the shoulders in farewell. Emma, following behind with the women, noticed how small he looked between Daddyji and Rakku. Nobody said anything to her, not even goodbye. So they boarded the plane for Bombay to spend the night and meet Didi and her new husband, a tall and handsome young man called Jatinder. He came of Sikh ancestry but the family had reverted to Hinduism, so no longer wore beards and turbans. Settling comfortably in her seat on the plane with Jack already falling asleep at her side, Emma thought of that poor young bride who had been "roasted alive" over her dowry. "You not guest, you daughter-in-law"- she was lucky to be alive. Readjustment On a sunny, late August morning Emma was walking for the first time down the main street of the small port where she and her husband had found a temporary home in a three-room apartment. A cool breeze was blowing off the harbour and a few other women were making their way to the stores. Emma was at last able to wear her wedding band again. No fear of dacoits here, who in India were known to cut women's hands off if they wore gold bangles or rings-just to steal the jewellery. To everybody else, this was a day like any other, but Emma was in Heaven. But not for long: she had work to do. Her thoughts returned to the matter in hand - shopping. It was a long time since she had been responsible for that. Their apartment was in a converted 18th century house backing on to the lakeshore; kitchen, living room and bedroom, tiny bathroom wedged between kitchen and bedroom, balcony outside the kitchen door, and stairs down to the backyard. A Métis woman and her two daughters lived in the flat below, while the front of the house was occupied by the landlord, his wife and their teenaged daughter. The girl was out in the front yard that morning grooming her pony. When Emma returned from the stores, she was just in time to see her leading the horse through the front door and into a room strewn with garbage. Her mother was drunk. Jack and Emma would soon discover that this was the normal state of affairs for that family. But they would not, they hoped, be there for long. It was close enough to the high school where Jack was to work part-time, but too far from the university where he was to spend much time too. The car they bought was another Ford. It reminded them of the one they had lost in India, for it, too, was white, although smaller. Emma was anxious to go out with Jack at weekends to explore their new province, Nova Scotia. It would be like the old days when they explored New England. That was only just over a year ago, but to Emma it seemed like half a lifetime. "Not yet" Jack told her, "I have to find somebody else to ride with us." Emma recognised the situation. That was what it had been like in India, though there they were either in Rakku's car or the company's car, so there was always somebody else with them. There had also been that time when for once Rakku had a day off and had arranged to take Emma to a historic site on the Ganga River, about which she had been reading. Meera and Didi wanted to go too, then refused to get in the car when they saw Emma there. Instead, Rakku took his secretary along. But here, back in Canada? Jack was adamant: "I can't drive with you alone in the car." So what exactly was this with Jack? Emma remembered Jitpur and the laughing lady: two circles, his and hers, separate even if they touched. Jack was still there in Jitpur. Yes, even in Canada she must remain vigilant, observing her puja-times every morning after Jack left for work. Meanwhile, there was always the local bus. Winter came all too soon, and still nothing changed. In the spring, Emma had yet to be allowed in the car. Despite this, winter had been a happy time for her: busy singing as she worked, then preparing to celebrate Christmas with none of the pitfalls that had beset her the previous year. Summer at last and her job baby-sitting for a family nearby had brought her the contacts she needed. A young student whose father had deserted his wife and family was eager to oblige, and so one Saturday in June the three of them set off in the car, planning a picnic on the way before returning home for supper. But the picnic didn't happen, at least not as planned. About forty miles from home Jack pulled the car to the side of the road. Confusion had enveloped him. What was he doing here with Emma in the car? "It's my arm," he announced, "I can't go on. You'll have to get out." Expecting him to follow, Emma and the boy did as they were asked, thinking that Jack intended to make alternative arrangements to get them and the car back home. Instead, he remained at the wheel, did a rapid U-turn and sped off homewards alone. The student didn't know what to make of this sudden change: "His arm?" How was it that Jack couldn't go on, yet could drive away in the opposite direction? Emma knew what the explanation was: Jitpur, the son he had hoped to adopt, the family he was missing so much, and how they would not have approved, of what he had done. Once again a long tentacle had reached out from Jitpur to enmesh and confuse. She did not reply to the question, but changed the subject: "Good thing we hung on to our sandwiches. Now we'll have to hitch a lift." Back home long before the other two could catch up, Jack took the buttermilk from the fridge and made himself some lassi. Then he found some potatoes Emma had cooked, and mashed them, adding herbs and spices to fry himself Indian tikkis. He was hoping to hear from the immigration people soon. Then he could bring Ram to Canada so they could be an Indian family again. One thing he appreciated about Emma; the meals she cooked-Indian meals. Up in the Hills she'd collected a number of recipes from the women she'd met there and had had ample opportunity to try them out. Under Meera's influence, Ram had mocked her while they were at Jitpur. It would be different now. It was true that Emma was able to cook delicious Indian meals now that they were back in Canada, but she did so to please Jack - not to create an Indian home away from home. When Ram arrived, he would "do as the Romans do" But not, she hoped, in a house with a horse in the front room. Hello-Goodbye They needn't have worried about their tiny apartment or the horse in the landlord's front room. Getting immigration for Ram as Jack's brother had taken much longer than they had anticipated and they had long ago found a large house in a small village called Bigmore, roughly halfway between the school and the university. It had not only a basement but also two kitchens and two bathrooms, and had obviously once been occupied as two apartments. It would be excellent for Ram when the time came for him to marry. So they got busy furnishing a spare bedroom for him. He'd left school now and was ready to go to university. Interested, like Jack, in science, he was planning to attend the University where Jack worked. Jack began to make enquiries there. Then the enthusiastic letters from Ram stopped coming. After announcing that he would be staying in Bombay with Jatinder and Didi while he made arrangements for his flight, he had written to ask-Jack to meet him at the airport. Jack wasn't worried. This was a busy time for the boy. Besides, he had never until now travelled outside India and he would be doing so alone. Finally, the day arrived. Jack was ecstatic: at last he was about to become a father- sort of. Never mind the brother business. Back in India, Ram had been to a lawyer and had changed his name to Jack's, as a brother there, for immigration purposes, but in Canada he would be Jack's son. Jack had written to Ram to explain it all, and he'd told his colleagues about it too. He knew things would be different with Ram in Canada. He'd just received a photo of the boy wearing glasses like his own and even the latest Canadian hairstyle with side burns. Now Jack and Emma were showing him his bedroom. Tired and suffering from jet lag, he was sitting on the edge of his bed as Jack asked him if there was anything else he needed. Desk and chair were there, but what about a bookcase? "No, No! That won't be necessary. I'm only staying here two nights. Then I'm off to Toronto for a couple of nights with Jatinder. He's flying there on business." "But you'll need it when you come back." "I'm not coming back. Didn't I tell you? Jatinder has arranged for me to study Business Administration in Halifax. He has contacts there and is planning to move here too- either to Toronto or Halifax. Then we can be partners in our own business." Only two nights? He'd mentioned his new interest in a business course but had said nothing to Jack on the way from the airport about his plans to meet Jatinder in Toronto or to live in Halifax. There was hardly any time to show Ram the local sights before he was off to Toronto. "I'll let you know my Halifax address as soon as I'm settled." As his sponsor, Jack reminded him to watch his expenses. "No problem," he would be learning all about that in college. At the airport again, time for him to board his plane. He turned/waved goodbye and was gone. The whirlwind had subsided. Anticlimax. What next? "Jatinder. Wait till Jatinder comes". For months they heard nothing from Ram. Then in December came a Christmas card. Still no fixed address: he was moving around amongst friends. That meant, Jack concluded somewhat relieved, he was saving money on rent. It was all, "Not to worry. No problem. I'm doing fine." Jack had no alternative but to wait till something else happened. And what happened was Didi.
Chapter XIX "Do you mind if we don't go on vacation together this year?" The days when Emma was not allowed alone with Jack in the car were long over. They'd been camping in the Atlantic Provinces twice and had fallen in love with Newfoundland and its happy, singing people- the poorest province but the friendliest. The connection with India had become tenuous. One of Jack's colleagues was from Bombay and he and Emma invited him to tea occasionally so they could all share memories of his homeland. Even with him, it was all very Canadian. Emma was happy with the way things were going. True, there was a little anxiety over Ram, who hadn't bothered to visit them when his course in Halifax was finished, but had moved straight to Toronto. But, "He couldn't help it" Jack concluded. "It was a job transfer. He didn't have time." Jack consoled himself that Ram had sent him detailed accounts of his income and expenditure. But now Didi was to spend some time in Canada while Jatinder was in Toronto on business, and she wanted to take a last chance to see New England and Washington. Last chance, because she was expecting a baby in the New Year. When they returned Jack would take her wherever she wanted to go in Nova Scotia. Emma agreed - as usual, just to please Jack. But she couldn't help wondering whether it was Didi who had insisted on travelling without her. However that may have been, when they returned, all three piled into the car and nothing was said. It was all very accepting, very multi-cultural - again all very Canadian. Everybody was happy. Didi had numerous plans for her future with Jatinder and their hope for a son in Canada. As well as his import business, Jatinder planned to establish a small plant manufacturing creams and lotions. Didi would run a beauty parlour in their home. Both Jack and Ram would work at the plant, she hoped. "All one family. All together." This whiff of Jitpur troubled Emma for a while, but she soon shook it off. This was Canada. "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." Didi was already happily on the way to becoming a new Canadian. But she planned to give birth in India, to be near the child's grandparents. The night after saying goodbye to Didi at the airport, Emma had a strange dream: a car disappearing in the distance down a rough, unpaved road, leaving two deep ruts running with blood. What did that mean? She was worried about Didi, now high in the sky in an Air India jet. But all was forgotten when news of her safe arrival came through. Emma chided herself for being jittery. More Arrivals, More Plans and an Accident Jatinder was back in Canada a few months later, this time not only to visit Halifax on business but also to spend a few days with Jack and Emma. He was looking for investors and possible government grants and bank loans. He's been introduced to a number of doctors and had interested them in his schemes. Would Jack be interested? He was planning to have a cosmetics plant built somewhere outside the Halifax area -not in Bigmore, but somewhere nearby. There would be opportunities for Jack and Ram, Jack in the attached laboratory and Ram as office manager. After he'd left, Jack spoke to Emma of all these plans. She was busy with a green dress-length Jatinder had brought for her. "Sounds good," she replied, "but be careful. Are you sure he's on solid ground? In business, money has a way of disappearing. Look into the overheads." She wasn't sure how much Jack knew of Jatinder 's background, but she wanted him to be happy and knew how much he enjoyed lab work. Long before the baby was due, Jatinder was back in Bombay. And just after the New Year came the much longed-for "It's a boy." They were calling him Vinay. Then come summer, it would be goodbye to all his adoring grandparents. The young family had been accepted for immigration to Canada. They planned to arrive in mid- August. Both Jatinder and Didi had been happy staying with Jack and Emma upstairs where they had previously prepared a room for Ram. Now they would occupy the whole apartment -kitchen, living room, two bedrooms and bathroom. This time Jack and Emma moved all their belongings down to the ground floor to set up a separate apartment for themselves there. The only item yet to be bought was a crib for the baby. It would be better for them to choose one themselves. The weather was usually pleasantly cool in August and as they were accustomed to blistering heat in India, Jack and Emma wondered if they would find it chilly. So they were relieved when, on the day they were to arrive, a heat wave hit. It was a portable fan they needed in their bedroom, rather than extra heating and blankets. Jack and Emma slept badly having lent the family their fan, but were surprised to learn that the others too had found it hot. "I must rent a car," declared Jatinder, "We're moving out." Useless to explain that this was a heat wave that would be over in a day or two: Jatinder was already grabbing newspaper and phone book to locate both house and car to rent. He found a car at Bigmore and a house at Smallburg, about thirty miles away. Jack had recently bought a new station-wagon. Jatinder thought it would be just what he needed when buying furniture for his new home and persuaded him to allow him to drive it while Jack could drive the rental car. "But take care," Jack warned, "It's the steering. It pulls to the right. I've just taken it back to the dealer who has tried to fix it, but it still needs to be adjusted. I don't want you to have an accident." Accident? An accident could solve a number of problems for Jatinder. His father had been in trouble with the law for forgery and embezzlement and was demanding dowry money to cover his losses and pay his fines. He'd spoken to the Jitpur family about it, but they were still looking for more dowry money from Emma. She and Jack owned a house. Did Ram stand to inherit it? He was Didi's brother and he'd spoken to him about the problem. If their parents didn't come up with the money he might have to look for a new bride. Divorce was easy in Canada. But an accident: that could settle everything. The car would be written off as a "lemon" and nobody would suspect... He found the necessary tools at a hardware store and set to work. Emma, not wishing to be left at home to survey the wreckage of all her preparations, had decided to go along on their shopping spree just for the ride. Helping them to choose bed-sheets, pillow-cases and other household items, she couldn't help noticing that they seemed oblivious of all the work she'd done preparing the apartment for them, not to mention the expense. Now they were borrowing money from Jack to pay their bills when they could have lived rent-free in the apartment and almost no furniture to buy. But she had to admit that he had a point when Jatinder reminded them that the home he had chosen was almost next door to the site on which the plant was about to be built, so he could keep an eye on the work and would not have to drive sixty miles every day when it was up and running. Beds, crib and mattresses - everything installed at the rented house, they exchanged cars again and Jack and Emma set off homewards. They didn't make it. Only about six miles short of their destination, the car pulled to the right again, its steering wheel came off in Jack's hands and, out of control, it slammed into a roadside rock. Seat belts were new in cars in the 1970s, and only the driver had one. Their low speed at the time prevented Jack from being seriously injured, but Emma turned a complete somersault and regained consciousness only after Jack had dragged her from the smoking wreck. A passing neighbour took them home, but only for Jack to call an ambulance. Emma landed up in hospital with multiple fractures, concussion, teeth knocked out and internal injuries. Then she remembered that strange dream she'd had about a car and blood. How foolish she'd been not to take heed. Five weeks later she was taken home also by ambulance, to teach herself to walk again. A Wedding Planned In a Halifax student's residence a young girl called Christine was preparing for her wedding, aided by her older room-mate, Shushee. Both were members of a loosely-knit group called The Mob. Although their backgrounds' varied, all were in some way connected with India, and included Hindus, Muslims, Buddhists, Christians, Jains, Parsees - no matter what, all were welcome. As the youngest and smallest Mobster, Christine was known as Teenie, while Shushee who took a great interest in fashion, particularly footwear, had acquired the nickname Shoe-Shoe. Teenie considered herself fortunate to be living with somebody who was eager to advise her what to wear for her honeymoon. Her fiancé had told her all about his adoption by a couple in Nova Scotia. Christian like herself, who lived not far from the lakeside town of Smallburg. But, while taking their last name, he had kept his first, Ram. The significance of this eluded her at the time. She was looking forward to meeting his adoptive parents. And so it was that four happy Mobsters piled into Ram's small car one Friday morning to drive all the way up to Bigmore for the weekend, so that Teenie could meet his parents. In the back seat Shushee and a quiet young man new to the Mob- her latest boyfriend. Teenie had always had a hard time keeping up with Shushee's apparently never-ending procession of boyfriends. But now that she was getting married, she hoped that Shushee would settle down too, particularly as in any case she would have to look for a new room-mate. At Bigmore, Teenie quickly made friends with Jack and Emma, while Shushee offered to help in the kitchen. "Just tell me where everything is, then leave it to me." Emma was happy to accept - it would give her more time to get to know Teenie. "Lunch is ready!" It was Shushee, calling everybody to the dining room: dal, curry, rice, chappatis, salads - delicious. Everybody was happy. Then came the dishwashing - and that was when Emma discovered that much of the lunch had ended up on the kitchen floor among shards of broken glass. Hastening to clean it up, she then discovered the remains of a dinner-plate in the garbage-can. No apology from Shushee. She said she had no idea how anything had been broken. "Perhaps it happened when one of the boys was in the kitchen." For the rest of the weekend Emma made sure Shushee was kept out of the kitchen. She was glad Ram was marrying Teenie and not Shushee. Next day, before they left for Halifax, Jack took them out for a tour of the neighbourhood. Apart from the chaos in the kitchen, it had been a good weekend. Teenie was not so sure about that. While they were out with Jack, she had noticed a subtle change in Ram. What was going on? Although he was still attentive to her, he was also attentive to Shushee, who, she noted, responded with, an occasional sly smile. But No! She was her friend - one she looked up to and admired. Surely she was mistaken. Besides, Shushee had her own boyfriend. Back in Halifax, Shushee was unusually quiet and even when Teenie spoke again of the honeymoon outfit and lingerie Shushee had been helping her to choose, she failed to arouse her interest. A few days later, something happened that seemed to explain it all. Shushee announced that she was moving out. "Now why hadn't I thought of that before?" Teenie asked herself. Of course, she herself would be moving out soon, so a split was inevitable. Some weeks later, Jack received a letter from Ram's birth-parents in Jitpur. Ram had written to announce details of his wedding plans and they were happy to agree to his choice of a bride. They would be holding pujas to bless the marriage "with Shushee in mind." Shushee? What about Teenie? But a letter from Ram confirmed his and Emma's fears. Ram would be marrying Shushee by Hindu rites in Halifax. He hoped Jack could be present in the role of the bridegroom's father, "father" in Canada but just "brother" back in India. Confusing. Jack and Emma would not forget that young girl who had been Ram's original choice. She eventually married Shushee's boyfriend, the one who had come with her to visit then on that memorable weekend. He was a Jain, and Teenie took an Indian name for his sake. But to Jack and Emma, who occasionally visited them and their two young sons, she was still just Teenie - one of the happy Halifax Mobsters. Meanwhile preparations for the wedding were the focus of all attention. Emma knew from the outset that she would probably not be strong enough to attend Ram's wedding. In any case, she was not invited, but the wedding was a triumph for Jack, who occupied a prominent position in the official photo as Ram's father. By that time Emma was at last beginning to walk unaided but was still confined to the ground floor, unable to mount the stairs. It was nearly a year since the accident and Jack was worried about her slow progress. He reminded her that she would be expected to help with Jatinder's projects once they were up and running. The young couple were leaving Halifax to buy a house near the plant on mortgage. Two stores were to open nearby soon, one called Jack's and the other Jack's Crafts and Spices. Once he settled in his new home, Ram started to sell clothing and Indian craftwork and food items from his basement, saying he hoped the customers, mainly others from India, would stay with him once his stores were open. Jack wondered why his name and not Ram's had been chosen for the two stores. Ram quickly explained: "To attract Canadian customers." But there was another reason that would become evident later. The goods from India were to be supplied by Jatinder's father. All plans were now in place. Grand Openings and a Strange Encounter 1977 and all was set for a series of Grand Openings, to culminate with a banquet in honour of the cosmetics plant. Jack had resigned from his school and the university in anticipation of a research job at the plant. He was relieved that Emma was now walking well with the aid of a cane. The stores were to open first, and they were eagerly awaiting the first consignment of goods from India. Already samples that had been shipped in advance adorned the storefront on Smallburg's main street. But a week before opening-day, the goods had still not arrived. "Not to worry," said Jatinder, "They're on their way." A week later they were still on their way and Emma and the other wives were hurriedly searching their closet for anything they'd brought over from India that still looked new, to make the store look ready for action: brass-ware - those candlesticks, kaftans Jatinder had just given them, even the wedding sandals Emma had never been able to wear. All to be returned to their owners after the ceremony. The local MLA was there to cut the ribbon. Jack was to look after the two stores for the time being, until the plant was open. They'd already found a manager for the other, smaller store, which would be selling just clothing. Sometime during the following week, Jack was informed over the phone that a number of large bales had arrived from India and were in bondage awaiting payment. Then came all the excitement as Jack, Emma, Didi and Ram's new wife, Shushee, opened them up. At first, it seemed almost as if they were preparing for a rummage sale. Everything was mixed up, probably to prevent damage in transit. Packaged clothing, mirror-work ornaments, costume jewellery, leatherwork, toy drums. In the end they found they had mirror-work with tiny mirrors waiting to be re-attached, purses with fastenings covered in verdigris, drums without drum-sticks and assorted brass ornaments, apparently intact. But above all, they found T-shirts. No kaftans. No wrap-around skirts. No sandals. Assuming the missing items were all hidden in the other bales, they hastened to open them. More T-shirts. Try again. Yet more T-shirts. And more. They took them down to the basement where Emma offered to sort them out. Day after day she toiled with them, counting them as she opened every package. Thirteen thousand T-shirts. They had not ordered these, but had been forced to pay for them in order to get the goods out of bondage. Unlucky thirteen! Emma noticed that they seemed different from the T-shirts so popular in Canada: vertical stripes, not horizontal; some with dark yokes, low necklines. She consulted Jatinder: "Latest fashion," he explained, "You'll see," Emma was doubtful. Then she noticed that some of them had a few stripes missing, while others were faded. "Not to worry. In such large consignments you'll always get a few." And he walked away. He and his father had won the first round. They were all rejects and old stock. Jack was left to order replacement goods from Halifax. Now everybody was preparing for the banquet. Soon Jack would be working in the lab at the plant while Shushee took care of Jack's Crafts and Spices. As the first shareholder Jack had been promised a prominent place at the top table, with Emma at his side. Visitors from the parent plant in India - also said to be owned by Jatinder's family- would be present too. The day came and the visitors were introduced: they none of them appeared to be related to Jatinder, but there they were occupying the top table with him. And where was Jack? Emma was not surprised to find herself sitting at a side table: "I'm just the T-shirt Walla" she joked. But Jack, he was supposed to be sitting next to Jatinder. The introductions continued. Some of the men, together with their wives would be staying on to work at the plant: "And here is Dharmani, who will be in charge of the lab, and his assistant, here temporarily to help get things established..." The assistant was wearing a dhoti. By that time, Emma had spotted Jack, sitting at the far end of her table. With all Jatinder's promises broken and all his dreams shattered, Jack was trying to appear unconcerned. But Emma knew he was feeling miserable. He'd given up two good part-time jobs. Now what? At the teatime gathering of family and friends that followed, Didi was chatting with some women friends she had met at her beauty-parlour. Jack and Emma had yet to arrive. "You see, Jack drinks. He was drunk when they had that car accident. Poor Emma, she can hardly walk now, and all because of Jack?" It went without question that Jack was not to be trusted in the lab. "Keep him busy in the stores, that's what my husband said," her voice dropping to a whisper as Jack and Emma appeared in the doorway. The other women took the cue and resuméd their light-hearted small-talk. Was it true that another baby was expected? Didi laughed: "No that was just Jatinder joking. He always calls the plant his baby. And now there's another on the way, down in New Jersey." Shushee, who never wore saris now was eager to show off her new dress and shoes dropping names of top fashion-houses. At the far end of the room, the men were engaged in animated conversation: Jatinder was planning to export creams and lotions to the United States and would be going to New Jersey at the end of September, leaving Ram in charge of the plant and Jack to run the two stores. Jack, who had joined them, wondered about all the new employees at the plant. Ram was comparatively inexperienced, younger than many of them. And what about the new people from India and their families? They couldn't stay on in the local hotel: homes would have to be found for them. That was Jatinder's responsibility. But he was the boss and Jack said nothing. The end of September: Jatinder had just left when Ram, Shushee and Didi announced that they were off on a world tour, starting next week, taking little Vinay along to see his grandparents in India. What about the plant? Jatinder would soon be back. When Jack broke this news to Emma, she at once linked their behaviour with what had happened in Jitpur: "There they made you their unpaid chauffeur. Now they're imposing on you again." Jack felt obliged to leap to their defence: "I'm to get all the profits", he reminded her. All the family members were now living at Ram's new home. Ram and Shushee had transferred to the guest room to allow Jatinder and Didi to occupy the master bedroom, where there was room for Vinay's crib. It was there that Jack chose occasionally to sleep while the others were all away. Emma was apprehensive- not about the sleeping arrangements but because all the people who had worked so long to get the business established had walked away just when they were most needed. Except Jack, a man they had told their friends was not to be trusted. Unaware of all these rumours, Jack was busy running Midnight Madness every other Friday night. His store, like others along the main street, had relocated to the new mall on the outskirts, where business was booming. Thus it was that one Friday night after closing the store, Jack returned to his temporary home to get what rest he could before opening up the next morning. He couldn't be bothered to switch the bedroom light on. Stripped naked he made straight for the bed. Only then did he realise that it was already occupied. "I'm sorry," said Jatinder, "I thought you'd be sleeping in the guest room". Then addressing what Jack had taken to be rumpled bedclothes, "Come Anne, get dressed, I'll take you to a hotel." Jack grabbed his pyjamas and fled to the bathroom. Anne? Who was this woman? That night, he was too sleepy to care. In the morning he found a "swing club" membership card from New Jersey on the dressing table. How Jitpur Came to Smallburg At Christmas a letter arrived from Ram: they were still in India, unable to travel as he'd fallen off his chair and injured his back. So they wouldn't be returning to Canada yet. But as Jatinder must have returned by now, doubtless he would be taking care of the plant in Ram's absence. Jack hadn't seen Jatinder since that midnight bedroom encounter, and now he was back in New Jersey where Anne was promoting his products. Unable to supervise all three businesses, Jack closed the remaining downtown store. "At this rate," people were saying, "Smallburg will soon be a ghost-town." All the business activity was in the mall now, with parking facilities that were not to be found downtown. Everywhere, downtowns were dying. February was well underway when Ram and the others finally showed up. They didn't seem to notice that Jack was exhausted. Emma had been worrying about him for months. Was he getting enough to eat while he was away during the week? She was relieved when Shushee suggested he should continue to stay in Smallburg during the week, and then could eat with the family. She didn't know that there was nobody to relieve him at lunch-time, or that when he had to work late on Fridays, he missed out on supper as well. It was Ram who had started that business in his basement, with Shushee as his assistant. Emma thought she was now working with Jack. She was mistaken. So it was that one Saturday night after she and Jack had gone to bed it happened: CRASH. Immediately awake, she found Jack no longer in bed and rushed to the bathroom. There she found him lying unconscious on the floor. Now what? Get him to hospital, yes/but what about the store? Ram and the rest of the family were away again on holiday, this time in Toronto, where they were staying with Kishu before continuing to Vancouver. As soon as she was up next morning she was on the phone to Kishu. No, they hadn't left yet. "Then tell them to come home. Jack has collapsed and is in hospital having a blood transfusion. They think it's a perforated ulcer." So it was that a few days later Ram phoned Emma. He'd been to see Jack and, yes, it was a perforated duodenal ulcer. He was to have an operation as soon as he was strong enough. Then he offered to pick Emma up and take her to the Smallburg hospital. Jack was still weak, but had improved greatly since that awful night when she'd found him on the bathroom floor. Luckily he hadn't hit his head on anything in there. On the way back to Bigmore, Ram mentioned the car accident: "A pity Jack drinks so much. That's probably what caused his ulcer." Emma, who had heard what Didi had said on the plant opening day, was puzzled. But not wishing to start an argument, she ignored the remark. As they neared her home, Ram spoke again. "Do you have the deeds of the house handy? If so, we'd like to have them, then we can sell the house and get the money. Jack and you can move to Smallburg." Really? Emma didn't bother to reply. Anyway, she had no idea where the deeds were: "Better ask Jack," she finally suggested. "Then you'd better find somebody else to take you to the hospital in the future." And he drove off back to Smallburg. Emma turned to survey the garden she had created around that home, now a riot of summer flowers. A little humming-bird was hovering near the front door. And Ram thought she would be willing to lose it all? Especially as they'd been so lucky with it. The former owner had been renting it to hippies who were hoping to form a rock group, but when they threw the piano down the stairs he'd had enough of it. Repairs were needed, so he'd let the place go at a bargain price. Jack and Emma had vvorked hard on their new home. A hundred years ago. Bigmore and Smallburg had been two small settlements, Bigmore a railway town and Smallburg a riverside village. The large, stone house where Jack and Emma now lived was once the Railway Hotel. But then the trains stopped running, the tracks were torn up and where the train station once stood, there was now just a parking lot for the one remaining store. With so many abandoned houses, Bigmore was already almost a ghost-town. There was some talk of converting the old railway into a hiking and cycling trail, but so far nothing had been done. Jack and Emma enjoyed walking there, gathering wild flowers and taking them home for identification. Meanwhile, over the years, Smallburg had grown and flourished. A large, grey stone Post Office with accompanying clock tower had been built downtown, while at the end of the Main Street stood the imposing Grand Hotel. Stores lined not only Main but a network of smaller streets. Only recently had the downtown begun to suffer after the sprawling mall was built on the outskirts. But homes there couldn't be compared with the open spaces of Bigmore. Gardens were tiny and some homes near the river were subject to flooding during the spring run-off. Although they would be nearer to Jack's present workplace, they had never even remotely considered moving to Smallburg. When Ram returned home to the two women he found them depressed and resentful. Their dissatisfaction had been building up for days. When were they going to be able to go back to Halifax? Shushee was missing her friends- had been missing then ever since Ram brought her here to Smallburg- where there was, she said, no social life. Didi had her beauty parlour but she had nothing and was stuck at home doing all the dirty work. No, she was NOT going to work in the store. It must remain closed until Jack was out of hospital. It was HIS responsibility, not hers. Ram remembered what Daddyji and Rakku used to say back in Jitpur. "It's the women. They always cause problems." The store remained closed, but the women were not able to résumé their holiday in Toronto. So they had to accept the situation. At least Didi had her beauty parlour, and Shushee enjoyed cooking even if she neglected the dishwashing that accompanied it. Ram could do that. Ram could mop the kitchen floor and generally clean up the mess she always left there. He shrugged it off and complied: it was all worth it for the delicious meals she cooked. Problems solved. Emma, too, solved her problems: the kindly Anglican minister would be visiting Jack and another sick parishioner, and offered to take her along. After receiving five pints of blood, Jack was improving; the operation was a success and he'd soon be out. Emma knew just where his bed was, and so it was that on her fourth visit, she walked down the corridor as usual without checking at the nursing station. She found his bed empty and disinfected ready for the next patient. Alarmed, fearing the worst, she hurried to the nursing station. "He went home this morning. His wife came and fetched him... No... an Indian lady." Emma thanked her and turned to the minister and his wife. "I know where he is. It's not far. Do you mind if we drive round that way and pick him up?" At Ram's home they found Shushee in the kitchen preparing supper- and no sign of Jack. "He's gone to the store to open it up again" she said. And then Ram arrived home from the plant, "Jack won't be going back to Bigmore," he announced, "He's living with us now." Then when Emma tried to remonstrate, "Stop your nonsense and GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" "With the greatest of pleasure," she replied, and they drove down to the store to pick up Jack, who of course had no idea of what Ram had in mind for him. "I'll have to call in there to collect my suitcase," he added. Then when they got there he couldn't understand why Emma remained outside. He hurried back to the car. Jitpur had come to Smallburg. But it was still "When in Rome..." This was Canada, not India. Jack was safely home. Finally Small Revenge Emma was loath to allow Jack to continue working alone in the store, even if he found another place to stay during the week. Still disabled after the accident, she was unable to help out. Sorting out the T-shirts, she had been able to take time off at regular intervals. Besides, it was different in the mall: no washroom handy to the store. Her internal injuries had still not subsided and, as she often joked, she was still "tied to the toilet." Shushee, on the other hand, was young and active. But still she refused to work in the store. Should Emma advise Jack to close it permanently - especially when it was their only source of income? "Income?" exclaimed Jack when she mentioned it to him tentatively, "What income? Profits? There aren't any. I've been coaching students after supper three days a week." "But why no profits?" "They were all skimmed off before the goods arrived. Those T-shirts. They don't sell, even for what we paid for them." So the store closed and they auctioned everything off, including the T-shirts. But even then they had thousands still cluttering one of their spare rooms at Bigmore. Jack continued with his coaching and applied for a teaching job, to start in September. Now only the plant remained. The man in the dhoti returned to India early: he couldn't stand the Canadian winter and for some reason refused to wear warmer clothing. Jatinder was still spending too much time in New Jersey, but had managed to found a social club connected with the plant. Jack and Emma involved themselves in this, together with Didi and Shushee after Jack had patched things up with Ram. Jatinder had brought a silk blouse back from a visit to Bombay, together with a shirt - presents for Emma and Jack. At one of the social gatherings, Didi who was wearing a magenta sari, took Emma aside: "You shouldn't be wearing silk. You have to understand my husband is more important than yours so I can wear silk but you can't." Emma ignored this unsolicited advice: it was, after all, Didi's husband who had given her the blouse. She looked across the room at Jack who was talking to some of the men from the plant office. All, including and especially Ram, were well dressed, while Jack's pants and sweater were the same old clothes he'd been wearing before the plant was built. She was glad her blouse was magenta, just like Didi's sari. She continued to wear it often. Small revenge, but sweet. Such a Great Loss The plant was doing well. Not only were its products selling in Canada, but Jatinder was arranging for shipments to be sent to the United States, and now other products were appearing under US labels, indicating that he had established a second plant in New Jersey. Didi's beauty parlour had become very popular, particularly with the wives of doctors who had invested money in Jatinder's business. Didi was able to promote his cosmetics to her clients and was earning so well she was able to send Vinay to a private nursery school. That allowed her to devote even more time and energy to her business. Her only disappointment was that, with all his commitments in New Jersey, he was seldom home, and then only for fleeting visits. She was afraid Vinay would grow up scarcely knowing his father. It was doubly disappointing when he didn't make it for their wedding anniversary. But Emma and other wives reassured her: "Husbands never remember anniversaries." Birthdays, yes, but not weddings. She was lucky to have received a card from him. "But wait, he'll be home for his birthday in September." So he was. But not to celebrate with Didi as she had hoped. Shushee had been busy cooking and had an elaborate Indian supper ready for him on The Day, with birthday cake to follow. But Jatinder, returning from a day at the plant, seemed tired and withdrawn. He went to bed early, which everybody assumed was because he was leaving the next day. At breakfast he still seemed withdrawn. Vinay was sitting at the table, banging his spoon on his plate, demanding a second helping. Suddenly Jatinder was on his feet, towering over the tiny boy: "Stop your noise! Stop I, I tell you!" And turning to Didi, "Keep that child away from me next time I come home, HE'S NOT MY SON." And he strode out of the house to a waiting car from the plant that was to drive him to the airport, leaving Didi to pick up the pieces of her shattered family life. Shushee didn't know what to make of the incident. Was this what married life was all about? Could her relationship with Ram- another short-tempered man- deteriorate in the same way once they had started a family? All she could do was to wait and see. Meanwhile, Jatinder's father was visiting New Jersey on business and would be meeting his son there. Everybody wondered why he was not also visiting the plant at Smallburg. But then he hadn't been present at the Grand Opening and there were rumours that he'd lost control of the business in India as a result of legal action that had been taken against him. It was he who one day phoned Ram at the plant: "Bring Didi here immediately. Jatinder has collapsed. Heart. It's serious. Don't tell her, but he may not last the night." No time to let Jack know what had happened. Brother and sister were off to the airport to catch the next possible plane. They'd tell him later. Jack was luckily at home when the call came through: "Didi is in hospital in New Jersey. I'm at the airport. Can you come and pick me up? Can't explain now - later." It was on the way back from the airport that Jack and Emma heard the whole story from Ram who was sitting behind them: "So when we got to the hospital, there was Jatinder, breathing his last..." "You mean Jatinder is DEAD?" "Yes, cardiac arrest, and his father standing there telling the doctors, 'Don't try to revive him, let him die - he's no use to me, while his wife - Anne I mean- wept at his side and Didi, seeing her there, fainted and was carried away on a stretcher." "Wait a minute. Another wife? Are you making this up? TWO WIVES and he's DEAD? Emma was speechless for a moment, then slapped her husband on the thigh. "It can't be true. It's something out of a BOOK." "I haven't finished yet," Ram continued. "There was no new plant down in New Jersey. He was taking our stuff down there and changing the labels from Canadian to American, then sending samples up here for Didi to promote the stuff to her beauty parlour clients— No, wait. There's more. He had at least five 'paper companies' that he was enticing people to invest in. He targeted professionals, doctors, promising them he'd double their money in a month's time. Then he's collect money from another sucker and so on - kiting they call it. The early investors are lucky but those who come later lose all. Oh yes, and he died six million in debt, Atlantic City gambling." "Did he leave a will?" "Will? Of course not. Luckily for Didi." And so it proved to be. When Didi recovered and, still angry over Jatinder's betrayal, asked her lawyer what she should do about her husband's bigamous marriage, she was advised to keep quiet. It would have been different if she had discovered it while he was alive. Now that he'd died in the U.S. in debt, leaving a widow he'd married in that country, everything would have to be done down there and, unaware of his previous marriage, they'd recognise that to Anne. It was she who would be held responsible for his debts. His father hurriedly flew back to India. And Anne? She was never seen or heard from again- at least not by the plant office whose products she was supposed to be promoting in the United States. Everybody concluded that she, too, had fled the country. Didi had returned to Smallburg just in time for the obituaries that appeared in all the newspapers about the sudden death of the brilliant young entrepreneur who-had been "so tragically taken from us" when he was only thirty-three and had so much to live for. Nobody expected all-night parties, swing clubs or casinos to be mentioned, or his notorious spending habits, let alone how many people had been bankrupted or lost all their savings. But those who had had dealings with him knew the obituaries were all untrue. Unwilling to admit to the world that they had been "conned" they were forced to remain silent and hope to recover. For most of them there were few repercussions, though one doctor, trying to extricate himself from the financial morass, lost his license. But all this took its toll on Didi. Once again she collapsed and was now in the local hospital. The plant suffered too, but for the time being was able to carry on as usual. Sympathy was expressed, not only for the widow and her little son, but for the plant and all who worked there. Such a great loss for all concerned. A Prowler and a Handful of Diamonds It was Jack who went down sometime after midnight to answer the door. Who could it be at such an hour? Leaving the safety chain on, he opened the door a crack. There stood Ram, hair rumpled, clutching pillows and bedclothes. " Mind if I doss down here? I can't sleep at home." Jack opened the door and let him in: " What about Shushee and Vinu?" "They're O.K. They're sleeping next door. I'll tell you more later," and he went upstairs to his bed, the one he had spurned as a new immigrant. It was all because of the chaos that had greeted him at home on his return from New Jersey: a sinkful of unwashed pans and dishes: clothes on the floor, beds unmade, toys scattered everywhere. Since she became pregnant, Shushee had grown even more neglectful than usual of household chores. "Poor girl," Ram thought, "No help from Didi now and the additional responsibility for little Vinu, "But where was she? He called her name. No answer. He went down to the basement: same thing. Then back in the kitchen, something else caught his attention: on the table were the remains of a half-eaten meal, as if she and the little boy had left in a hurry. Perhaps, too, that was why the front door was swinging open, though it seemed strange that all the lights had been left switched on. It was on the table that he at last found the note Shushee had left for him: "Unable to get any sleep here-we're next door." That was where the cat lady lived, devoting her spare time to caring for the local strays. "There's a prowler," Shushee explained when he went there to enquire, "I've reported it to the police." No room there for him with all the cats, and besides he wanted to investigate. As darkness fell, he switched off all the lights, went out, locking the front door, got into his car and parked across the road, where he had a good view of the side door as well as the front door of his house. For a while nothing happened, but at last he saw the front door slowly open as if somebody had unlocked it and was passing through. The side door remained closed and he began to wonder if a burglar had entered by breaking a window. This seemed to be confirmed when the lights were switched on one by one throughout the house. Then again nothing happened. After waiting some time longer, he drove back across the road and ventured back in through the front door, locking it behind him. All was quiet, just as it had been on his arrival. Picking up his baseball bat in case he had to defend himself, he crept warily through the house from room to room. No broken windows. Nobody was there, not even hiding in a closet. How had the intruder eluded him? He finally gave up and went to bed, all lights switched off, and was soon asleep. That was when things started to happen. Suddenly he was awake. Tramp, tramp, tramp, went the footsteps, apparently outside the house. Grabbing his baseball bat again, he crept through the kitchen and out through the side door, hoping to confront the prowler. But he found nobody. Back indoors he noticed his bedroom light was on. He was sure he hadn't switched it on before going out, but a further search of the house revealed nothing. Once more he gave up and returned to bed, but before he could get to sleep he heard that ominous tramping of feet again, and then a tall figure appeared near the dressing table. Holding his breath, he watched as the intruder walked purposefully to the closet, took something from the top shelf and back at the dressing table unwrapped the piece of cloth he had just picked up and examined the contents. Then he wrapped them up again and retreated behind the dressing table into the wall. Tramp, tramp, tramp. So it was over. Confident that he had solved the mystery, he settled back in bed. It was then that he began to understand why - Shushee had fled. Tramp, tramp, tramp, and then a repetition of the entire episode. A short wait, then tramp, tramp, tramp, again. And so it continued, over and over. But by that time he thought he had recognised his ghostly visitor. There was nothing for it, late though it was, but to get dressed and leave. But first he went over to the closet and reached up to the top shelf. Yes, there was the little cloth packet and, unwrapping it, he found a handful of sparkling jewels - diamonds. Not knowing what to make of his discovery, he wrapped them up again, and put them back where he had found them. Now what? His old antipathy towards Emma held him back, but he knew he could rely on Jack to help him out. So, lights out, door locked, he drove away. Thus it was that over breakfast Jack and Emma heard the whole story. "The police are coming to investigate on Saturday at two o'clock. I'd like you to be there." He meant Jack, but he knew Emma would accompany him. As the appointed hour drew near, the three of them drove to Smallburg. After what Ram had told them, Jack and Emma were not surprised when they saw the front door of his house open and the lights blazing. Ram called at the cat lady's house for Shushee. Soon they were all sitting at the kitchen table with an officer from the local detachment. He said nothing about the prowler Shushee had reported. He was there, he said, to investigate an international smuggling ring-to track down a man suspected of smuggling diamonds. Could Ram be of any assistance? Hoping to avoid a search of his home, Ram at once took him to the bedroom closet where the diamonds were hidden. With the jewels displayed on the kitchen table, the officer moved on to his next question, about the whereabouts of Jatinder. Had they any idea where he was now? Ram told them what had happened and somewhat deflated, the officer replied, "That closes the case as far as you are concerned. But of course I'll have to take the diamonds." That was when it started up all over again. Tramp, tramp, tramp. One of the cats from the next door, who had followed them in, was scared: back arched, fur bristling, she followed the footsteps with her eyes, hissing and spitting. Then she bolted through the open door. Tramp, tramp, tramp. Now it seemed to be overhead, in the loft. Remembering what had happened in India, Emma quietly took out her little cross, blessed it and did a silent puja. The footsteps above stopped and they all looked up to see a small, dark hole in the ceiling that was slowly expanding. Then in a flash an amorphous black mass wriggled through, and rapidly shrivelling, fell to the floor in a small pile of black dust. A puff of wind from the doorway and it was gone, while the hole in the ceiling had closed as if it had never been there. If the officer had ever encountered anything like this before, he certainly gave no indication of it, but proceeded to take his leave, diamonds in hand: "Now you can all relax." Silence. Then everybody started to talk at once.
Did he see it too? Shushee put on the kettle to make some tea. The cat came back in and sat purring on Emma's lap, while the little boy sat on the floor playing happily with his toy truck. That night after Jack and Emma had left, they were able to sleep undisturbed in their own home. Jatinder: tall, handsome, enigmatic, peripatetic, casual distributor of inexpensive, exotic gifts. Nobody had really known him. Not Jack and Ram, not any of his business associates, not even his wives. Above all, not his wives. End of A Dream Jatinder's death meant there had to be changes at the plant. The executives from the parent plant in India were back and everybody expected that a new man would arrive to replace Jatinder. Instead, Ram, still in is mid- twenties was appointed as plant manager, responsible also for promotion and sales. The general conclusion by others was that only his paper qualifications had been taken into consideration, for they all knew that Jatinder had been far from a suitable role model at the plant. The truth was that Ram had no idea how to tackle the job. Moreover he was still to act as office manager, itself a full-time job. The result was that the plant was seen like a ship without a captain and stood little chance of recovering from Jatinder's mismanagement. Meanwhile, after harshly criticising Jatinder and making it clear that they now expected vast improvements, the visitors from India finally left, expressing confidence that all would now be well. So it was at first. Morale at the plant was high. Social activities flourished and sports teams enhanced the company's image in the neighbourhood. Ram took an active part and became known as "Boom-Boom". Baseball matches were regularly reported in the local press. Company cocktail parties involved both male and female office workers and their friends and relatives, and were attended also by shareholders, Jack being one of them. All this activity concealed an ongoing problem: the plant was running at a loss, had been from the outset. A few months later, the visitors from India were back again. As on previous occasions, a breakfast meeting was held, to be followed by a business lunch, allowing for participants who had employment obligations to attend without interrupting their working day. This time, the meeting was held at the Dharmani's home. There was nothing unusual on the agenda, certainly nothing to prepare Jack for what he would find there when he returned at midday. At first, he thought he'd made a mistake of the address, but when he noticed the company car parked outside he knew he was at the right place. Then he noticed all its tires were flat and a side window broken. The front door of the house was swinging open and not only was nobody at home, but all the furniture was gone. Only a shower-curtain and a worn-out coat had been left. Outside in the garbage can he found the remains of breakfasts-some thrown out by the dishful. It was as if a tornado had been through the place. He drove straight to the plant to investigate. It, too, was deserted, and padlocks were on every door: the company was in receivership. Tracking down some of the office employees at their homes, he discovered that all those from India, both plant workers and the visitors from the parent plant, had left for Bombay, including the Dharmani family, while even Ram had disappeared. Surely he hadn't absconded too. Jack decided to call on him: a Vietnamese woman who opened the door to him, explained that she and her husband had rented the house fully furnished. Ram, Shushee, Didi and Vinay had all left, she said, for Toronto. Yes, she had the address: he had left it with them so that they could pay their rent. The address they had given him was that of Kishu in Toronto. It was a long time before Jack was able to discover that they were all crammed into a tiny apartment in Scarborough. News of the plant's demise appeared in all the next day's papers and filled the front page of the local weekly: Company in Receivership after Tragic Death. Followed below details of how successful it had been under the guidance of the brilliant young entrepreneur who had so tragically died last year. It never really recovered from the loss. It was the end of a young man's wonderful dream. So sad. Aftermath An ominous silence descended on all concerned after the plant closed down. Shareholders were worried about their investments, workers had not been paid, creditors were looking for payment for goods supplied and services rendered. All was on hold until the official receivers had completed their investigation. Jack and Emma visited the plant again once, to peer through its windows before they were boarded up. Everything was just as it had been left on what had started as an ordinary working day. A typewriter they'd lent when there was an emergency was still there. How they'd wished they'd reclaimed it before the crash! At the Dharmani house, somebody had towed the wrecked car away and new tenants had moved in. A little boy of about five years old, the same age as Dharmani's son, was playing with some treasures he'd found in the backyard: toys that had also been abandoned the day everybody had fled. When the official receivers' report was circulated, it contained few surprises for Jack and Emma. All could be summarized in two words: gross mismanagement. The parent company received much of the blame. Jatinder was seen as simply their North American representative, operating mainly in the United States and having little to do with the floundering company in Canada. Their big mistake had been the appointment of an inexperienced young "green horn" only just out of college, to take care of their interest in Canada. Ram. He, not Jatinder, was to take most of the blame. Jack wondered idly if this conclusion had been reached only because, unlike the others, he could be tracked down in Canada. Emma was thinking about the two wives, Didi and Shushee. Had Didi found a job in some Scarborough beauty parlour? Who would care for Vinay? What about "Shoe-shoe Must -buy" whose only interests were cooking and particularly shopping? And would anybody want to employ Ram, the only one remaining man in the family? "They'll get him, he'll have to run again," was Jack's prediction. He was worried about the boy, but what could he do? Then it all started: creditors looking for money at the only local address they knew, at Bigmore. Some of them imagined Ram was holed up with Jack and Emma. Others, looking for his Halifax address were angry and frustrated when Jack told them truthfully that he had no idea where Ram was living. "But he's your son!" some would declare, incredulous, while others would guess, "Your brother, isn't he?" A few former friendly acquaintances who had met Jack and Emma at cocktail parties had turned into enemies overnight: how could Jack protect such a man? Hadn't he, too, been fooled by him? Then the banks descended, brandishing papers with Jack's name on them as co-signer for loans taken out by Jatinder. Yes, his name was on them, but his signature was forged. When would it end? There was only one thing for it: Jack, too, must disappear. Emma, who was establishing a campground on the half-acre behind their house, would have to remain at Bigmore where tourists were already arriving. Jack and Emma would have to separate. "These things happen". They continued to do so. Left alone at Bigmore, Emma was forced to fend off the county Sheriff, sent by the bank to demand repayment of all those loans. Still disabled with one arm in a sling, she insisted that she had no idea where Jack was, and drove him off with her cane. Programmed "These things happen" - "What to do?"- phrases often repeated in Jitpur. Time for Emma to deal with the situation. How had she and Jack got into this mess that had finally ripped them apart? Yes, Jack had been lucky up in the north. There, jobs were plentiful, pay was high and there was little to spend it on. It was a place where others like himself were taking refuge-those who had lost their life's savings to swindlers like Jatinder or had lost their homes through mortgage foreclosure or unemployment. All had stories to tell. Meanwhile, they made their own entertainment and worked to pay off their debts and re-establish themselves. That was how it was for Jack. He'd telephoned Emma with the good news. No creditors to bother him up there. Good. But she herself still had to deal with the situation at home. Creditors still looking for Ram. Bills to pay. The camping season was not yet over for the winter, but what then? She still had goods left over after the auction and the local store agreed to take them on consignment -even those awful T-Shirts. She was already selling costume jewellery to the campers. With the freezer full of vegetables and fruit she had grown, she'd hope to pull through. But again and again she wondered how Jack had allowed the Jitpur family and particularly Jatinder to manipulate him so easily. "These things happen." But there was more to it than that. "Forget the past and be happy?" But it was still going on. "What to do?" A Jitpur question that had yet to be answered. For a while, Emma had no solution. Then one day she noticed a headline in the weekly Smallburg paper: Local Doctor Deprograms Hippies. What did that mean? She'd heard that hippies were living in a derelict farmhouse near Smallburg and wondered if those who had once lived in her home at Bigmore were now among them. They were trying to grow their own food, but had caused problems panhandling in town, and it was common knowledge that they were also growing marijuana. Shoplifting was on the increase too, and they were blamed for that. Now, it seemed, a local doctor had stepped in to help. A photo accompanying the article showed hippies devoted to their "guru"- they were all involved in Transcendental Meditation or Krishna Consciousness. The Indian connection. Some of them had spent time there. Now they were all "programmed", the doctor claimed. It was mind control: they'd been "brainwashed" by their "guru", to whom they had to donate all their money. The doctor had devised a means of "de-programming" them. Exactly how he was doing this wasn't made clear, but it was working and the problems with the hippies were being solved. They were being freed from the control of their "guru". The Indian connection had been severed. Emma thought of Jack. Then something else caught her attention: the hippie devotees in that photo all appeared to have their eyes closed. Strange but familiar- Jack again. He'd often complained and had blamed himself for blinking at the wrong time. Now she wondered if Jack's problems were similar to those of the hippies, and whether this doctor could help. Should she contact him? Now, what was his name? She checked again and then realised it was Jack's own doctor who was doing all this. Soon she was on the phone to his office, mentioning Jack as one of his patients. His receptionist said he'd get back to her. That evening Emma was telling him her story. He listened: was she sure? What evidence did she have? When could Jack come to his office? She had to explain that Jack was away up north but would be home for the long summer holidays and his annual check-up. Meanwhile she thought she had the evidence he needed and she mentioned the strange photos: "Sometimes he seems to be wearing a mask over his face." Then there were the diaries she had kept. He was interested and, aware that she was disabled and unable to drive, offered to drive the thirty miles to Bigmore if she would have everything ready for him. Emma got busy. She even found the false certificates identifying Jack as Indian and a member of the Jitpur family. When the doctor arrived, he was, he said, amazed at the detailed documentation. Then he asked about Jack's behaviour: had she noticed him giving stereotyped negative replies to her questions? Yes, not only "These things happen" but also "Forget the past" and "Let's not talk about that." "Programmed answers," remarked the doctor, and promised to deal with Jack's problems during the summer holidays. Yes, he could deprogram him if he co-operated. But even then there was always the risk that he could be re-programmed. To be safe, he should sever all contact with the Jitpur family, otherwise it could all start up again. Emma was apprehensive. He was out of contact now perforce. They didn't know where to find him most of the rime, but what if they tried to track him down during the summer holidays when he was home? At last the time came: Jack was home and had been to see his doctor. Whatever may have transpired at his office, Jack had seemed happy afterwards and was no longer giving stereotyped replies. Then the next batch of photos came back, his eyes open in all of them. Jack was finally free. Emma was relieved. But she knew that if Ram contacted him, Jack would forgive him. So not to wait for the next batch of photos: be on the alert for programmed remarks: "These things happen"--- forget the past." Time for a little puja. Mercifully, the remainder of the holidays passed without incident with a busy camping season and money in the bank. Jack, only half aware of how much his doctor had helped him, left happily for another winter up north. Time for a Little More Puja "How are you doing?" said the voice over the phone as Jack picked it up to answer it. It was Didi. Jack was back home again for the summer and she was the first Jitpur family member to contact him. Suddenly a great weight seemed to have been lifted from his shoulder. Jitpur. Happy family memories. His family. "Just putting the finishing touches on a bunkhouse for the campers," Jack finally replied. "Great. How about Vinay spending some time with you? He's in Grade Four now and needs to learn to do things like carpentry that a father would teach his son." She mentioned the struggle she'd had to establish herself as a single mother in a condo while she worked by day as a secretary and in the evening at home in her beauty parlour. Big Brothers had been helpful but the boy had never been out of town. It would be a great experience - she could put him on a bus to Halifax. Jack agreed to pick him up there. Hardly any need to consult Emma: like himself she had always sympathised with Didi, the only other person who had suffered as much at the hands of Jatinder. Then Didi added, "Why not drive him home and spend a few days there in Scarborough? We could go down to the Bluffs..." But, "Scarborough - isn't that a high crime area?" said Emma when Jack told her of the plan. "Yes, but not where Didi lives." So, as promised, they drove to Halifax to pick the boy up. He appeared lost and not too happy as they drove through the countryside. "No houses. No stores. Just all these trees. BORING," he declared. And then when they arrived, "Where is the mall? Isn't there a McDonald's?" But for once Jack was not listening. He was ruminating over a plan for himself and Vinay, one which he was sure the Jitpur family would approve. Meanwhile, Emma was preparing curry for supper. That should make the boy feel at home. They sat down to eat - and then Vinay pushed his plate away: "I don't eat curry, I eat hamburgers." Jack finally coaxed him to eat an egg on toast. In the morning Emma discovered half the chocolates were gone from a new box they'd bought to share with the boy. She mentioned it to Jack: "So many chocolates are not good for a growing child." Jack shrugged: "Not to worry, these things happen," and he returned to his reverie. After breakfast, he announced, "I'm going to teach him carpentry now," and took Vinay out to the bunkhouse. Soon Emma could hear sounds of their activity there. "He's doing well," chortled Jack when they came back in, "He's made a windmill." Windmill? Emma was puzzled. What had that to do with work on the bunkhouse? But there was Vinay with plastic pieces attached to a stick and, as he ran across the lawn, it was working. Nothing had been done in the bunkhouse, nor would it be. "Carpentry is BORING," repeated Vinay as he came back in again. And he switched on the TV and plonked himself on the floor to watch it. Now what? Jack and Emma had from the outset explained to Vinay that they watched TV only in the evening - there were other things to do during the day. They'd noticed that the boy was already overweight and needed exercise. The windmill - Jack's idea - had helped: he had to run to make it twirl. But now he'd tired of it and Jack was not about to switch the TV off. "That's what he's used to at home." Frustrating, but true: he was homesick. "He'll be happier when the next batch of campers are here," said Jack, "Let the boy settle down. "Reluctantly, Emma had to agree. He'd only just arrived. Tomorrow they would be taking him out for a picnic. In the morning they were off on their outing, the countryside bathed in sunshine. So many things for Vinay to see that he'd never seen back home. Jack drew his attention to the odd farmstead with cattle grazing, tractors at work. But Vinay still had only one comment: "BORING." And he sat disconsolate at the picnic table, not eating, the hard-boiled eggs, sandwiches, salads and fruit Emma had prepared and packed in the cooler. Then he spotted a bag of chips Jack had brought along and grabbed it. But still, "I'd rather be eating them with my friends, watching TV." Understandable, given that he was homesick. A few more days of non-stop TV, chips and candies and the campers were at the door, among them children of his own age. As they came in to sign the register, Jack invited him to join them: "Now you can sign too." That should make him feel included. It didn't work. He took one look at the happy crowd and disappeared upstairs to his bedroom. It was Emma who found him there later. By that time it was long after supper: Not that he'd eaten anything. Now he was settling down again to watch TV, paying no attention to the young campers playing ball outside. Then Emma went to the fridge and found a whole batch of twelve freshly-baked muffins had disappeared. She's heard about "eating disorders" but this was the first time she'd had to deal with such a problem. It became a battle of wits, Vinay refusing to eat, then when nobody was looking, sneaking into the kitchen to raid the fridge. He was always hunting for something to binge on. Emma was worried: she felt responsible to Didi for the boy's welfare. But, "Not problem," said Jack, who had been trying to encourage the boy, "We're getting along fine. Just leave it to me." As the days went by, Emma noticed that Jack was becoming more and more withdrawn except when he was with Vinay. Truth was he was feeling confused again: memories of Jitpur. Why had he ever left? Emma - she was the problem. He was happy with Vinay. Now he must concentrate on his plan. Saturday came and Emma was busy cooking enough for two days so they could all go out for a picnic on Sunday and come home for supper. Vinay had got dressed and had gone, as usual, to watch TV. Jack, still in his pyjamas, had joined him. The sound of their laughter drifted into the kitchen and Emma went to see what was causing all this hilarity. No, it was not the TV. They'd, switched it off and, sitting, cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the wall, were celebrating, a half-empty bottle of sherry and two glasses between them. It was Jack who spoke: "This is it. We're leaving. He's not happy here. I'm taking him away and we're not coming back. I've packed my suitcase. Vinay and I are going to live together." He didn't say where. Up North, where he had to return to his job? What about Didi? Emma picked up the half-empty bottle and rushed to the bedroom. There on the bed, sure enough, was the suitcase packed and ready to go. Jack's plan. But now Emma, too, had a plan. She searched the room and soon had all Jack's pants, even his shorts, in her arms, together with the wine, ready to take them all down to the basement and hide them under a pile of old newspapers. "Chalo," said Jack, returning to the bedroom to get dressed, "Let's 'go." In contact again with the Jitpur family, he almost felt he was back there: "Chalo." Then silence. Minutes later he emerged in shirt and underpants: "Where are they? I promised the boy. We have to leave. We can't sleep in this house." "No problem," replied Emma, suppressing her laughter, "Sleep in the bunkhouse." To her surprise they did. Time for a little puja. In the morning Jack came back in again dazed and confused. Vinay had left him during the night for the comfort of his own bed. What had become of all his plans? What exactly had he had in mind? Why couldn't he remember? He turned to Emma: "What to do?" "Have you forgotten? Today we are to take Vinay out again. Then we must pack to drive all the way to Scarborough. "Oh yes - I must get dressed," and he went to the bedroom, where he could also pack his suitcase. Strange - it was already packed: "How thoughtful of Emma," he told himself. His pants were all laid out on the bed, too. Only one more night and they'd be away, pausing to break their journey at a motel in Quebec. At Scarborough Vinay greeted his mother with a big hug: "I made a windmill," and "Now I can eat hamburgers again." Everybody was happy at last. They went to the Bluffs and to the Civic Centre; and Vinay taking the lead, they went to the mall. McDonald's! Hamburgers! Next morning they heard on the radio that a man had been shot dead there soon after they'd left the previous night. Scarborough. Hadn't Didi warned them it was not safe to go out at night? Jack shrugged: "These things happen." Emma remembered the doctor's concern and advice. Time for a little more puja. Ends Tied Up Somewhere in Bombay a young mother, clad all in white, was mourning the loss of both her son and her husband. The boy had developed kidney problems while they were in Canada, and her husband, a heavy smoker, had succumbed to throat cancer. Mrs. Dharmani had become another young widow. Didi had made a wiser choice, staying in Canada to raise her son - a single mother who would command respect for her endeavours. They were still in Scarborough but she was buying a condominium on mortgage. Ram, creditors on his tail, had changed his name again. Now back in Toronto, he was trying to pick up the threads while Shushee took care of household expenses by giving cookery demonstrations in their home, at the same time keeping an eye on their baby son. Lacking any such qualifications, she was advertising herself as a dietitian. Jack had forgiven Ram and was in touch again. He and Emma had reunited after three years and were running the campground together at Bigmore. During the time they were apart, Jack had found work in a mining town in the far north, where he not only held two jobs - research during the day, adult education at night - but also qualified for the government Northern Allowance. None of Jatinder's creditors were bothering him now, not even the bank, who had been forced to admit that his signature was forged. Somewhere in India sat Jatinder's father on a pile of money milked from Jack and the stores in Canada via the son he'd allowed to die, all because his daughter-in-law's parents in Jitpur had failed to pay up. Dowry money. Emma questioned Jack's wisdom in renewing contact with Ram, who after all was still a member of the Jitpur family. But his reply was always the same: "He's the only son I've got." It was not the first time Ram had begged Jack and Emma to move to Toronto to be nearer, but they'd always replied, "Wait till we retire." Now he and Shushee were on the phone again, all excitement: "We're sponsoring Daddy and Mummy. Then we can all live here as one family. You must come to Toronto now, they'll want all their children to be close by. "Children"? That meant "brothers".
Jack had just lost
the son he'd struggled so hard for so many years to educate and bring
to Canada.
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man with an enormous gong whose job
it was to act as a clock. Poor though he was, he
"It's our family god
Shiva," Meera replied, "He is a variable god, so he's inside, inside
the womb."
and he told her, "They do it by anointing you." The whole
family was to undergo this, to cement family loyalty.
"Ghee mixed with
ashes," someone explained, "You'll see when you take your turn!"