The Wheel of Surya

‘Madanjit Kaur! Shireen! Come now and give me a hand!’ The shadows tipped wildly as kerosene lamps were snatched up and hurried towards the room.

Govind lifted Marvinder into his arms and stood up, his eyes staring intently at the bamboo blind and the shadows passing back and forth within. Marvinder sighed sleepily and snuggled her face into his beard. ‘Papa, have we a new baby?’

‘Nearly, nearly,’ murmured Govind. A faint wind suddenly rattled the leaves of the tree like drumming fingers; it caught the scent of night flowers and filled the air with perfume. Marvinder, with her ear pressed against her father’s neck, heard a song welling up in his throat – but it barely escaped before a cry of joy splintered the silence of the night.

‘Govind! You have a son.’

FOUR

The Swing

Edith stood in the middle of her room. It was darkened by the blinds which had been drawn against the ferocious glare of the sun. Any light which managed to prise itself between the thinnest slit or a pinprick of a hole, scissored through the gloom, sharp, blinding and silver as mercury.

She had awoken from her afternoon sleep and, just from habit, waited for someone to come. But no one did.

She got out of bed and stood in her white petticoat. She stretched her arms and legs akimbo, as she would have done for ayah, who would then slip a cotton dress over her head, and buckle her open sandals on to her feet. But ayah didn’t come to attend to her.

She stood alone. Hearing but not listening to the faint sounds of babies coming from her parents’ room, and the low murmur of voices – her mother, father and ayah. All she was aware of was the persistent croo, croo, croo of the dove, whose never-ending, monotonous cry tightened her throat, she didn’t know why.

She pattered, barefooted from her bedroom, through the cool, intervening bathroom to her parents’ room. The door was partly ajar and she peered inside. Her mother was in bed, propped up by a mountain of white pillows to an upright position. Crooked into each arm was the small, bald head of an infant, each with its face turned into a breast and seeming to devour her mother with loud sucking noises, and pig-like grunts.

Ayah knelt at the side of the bed, massaging her mother’s feet, while Father fussed around, stroking his wife’s head, and administering sips of water to her.

Edith looked at them with hatred. No one had prepared her for this. She hadn’t got the words; she couldn’t identify or understand the emotions which gripped her body. She had been cut adrift and was floating away, but no one seemed to see her.

When her mother first came home from the hospital, Edith thought everything would be the same as before. She had tried to climb into bed with her each morning as usual, but there wasn’t room any more. These two little babies seemed to have everyone in their power. They had taken over her mother, father, and even ayah.

Before, there had always been someone to keep her company – from morning till night; but now, games were left unfinished and bedtime stories interrupted. Even at mealtimes, she could find herself abandoned to sit all alone in the dining room, at the long, dark, oak table, waited on by Arjun, who padded in and out with her meals, gentle but silent.

It was becoming apparent to her that nothing would ever be the same again.

She went out on to the verandah. Great clay pots hung along the length of the roof, overflowing with ferns and trailing ivy and casting intricate shadows like pencil etchings, over the grey stone.

Edith squinted into the sun and looked across the compound. In the distance, she could see her swing.

Someone else looked at the swing, too.

It was Marvinder. She looked at it, hanging there, motionless in the still afternoon, dropping out of the pale, yellowy shadows of the lemon tree. She had gone with her mother to the Chadwick bungalow, so that Jhoti could show off her new son to Maliki. She had been sorting rice. She pushed a tray of it in front of Marvinder and begged her to pick it clean of stones, so that she could be free to admire the baby.

Marvinder squatted on the edge of the verandah where she could see the swing, and even as she picked and sifted and tossed the grains, she kept the swing in the corner of her eye.

‘So, Jhoti! Have you a name for your son, now?’ asked Maliki.

‘It was chosen yesterday!’ announced Jhoti proudly; and she described how they had all gone to the gurdwara, where the priest had opened the Guru Granth Sahib, their holiest book. He had opened it at random, as was the custom, and called out the first letter of the first hymn. ‘It was the letter J. The same initial as me!’

‘J!’ cried Maliki impatiently. ‘What did you call him?’

‘His name is Jaspal!’ Jhoti sighed with happiness.

When Marvinder was sure that she had picked out every single stone and husk from the rice, she casually eased herself off the verandah and stood for a while, just close by, picking up pebbles between her toes. Jhoti and Maliki took no notice of her and carried on gossiping.

But Marvinder’s eye was on the swing. It hung there from the tree, empty and inviting. Slowly, slowly, she drifted, imperceptibly towards the hibiscus hedge. No one called her back. Maliki had now taken the infant into her arms and was cooing over it with delight.

‘Seems you had a better time of it than the poor memsahib,’ said Maliki in a low voice. ‘She had twins, I tell you! And would you believe, the English doctor didn’t even know! What kind of doctor wouldn’t know a woman was having twins, I ask you? Wouldn’t Basant have known – blind and all that she is?’

‘How did you hear all this?’ asked Jhoti, shuffling closer on her haunches, and wide-eyed with curiosity.

‘Arjun heard the sahib telling someone. Memsahib was in the mission hospital. First one baby was born, and what a time she had of it, and they thought that was that. But then the nurse said, “Doctor! I think there’s another!” He didn’t believe her, can you imagine? “Don’t be silly,” he says. “There can’t be.”

‘But the memsahib went on pushing, and sure enough, out came another!’ Maliki rolled her eyes with perplexed disbelief at the stupidity of some people.

‘What did the doctor say?’ asked Jhoti.

‘The babies were lying in the womb one exactly behind the other, so when he felt her, he couldn’t tell that there were two! That’s what he said. What an excuse! I ask you!’

‘Were they both boys?’ asked Jhoti.

‘First one a girl, the second a boy,’ answered Maliki.

‘That sounds nice,’ murmured Jhoti. ‘Nice to enlarge your family all at once. What names did she give them?’

‘Oh some strange English names,’ laughed Maliki. ‘Grace – that’s the girl, and Ralph, the boy. I don’t know why those names!’ She shrugged. ‘I expect they will soon go to their church and have a naming ceremony too.’

Marvinder edged closer to the swing. She was only yards away from it now.

Suddenly, a figure came rushing out of the front of the bungalow. Edith Chadwick, all alone, ran across the garden and flung herself on to the swing. She looked sulky and cross. She proceeded to struggle and jerk, angrily tossing out her bare legs in a desperate attempt to get some momentum.

If Marvinder was disappointed at having her plan thwarted, she didn’t give the slightest hint of it. Indeed, she still continued her casual, indifferent progress closer and closer. Finally, when she was near enough to be noticed or ignored at will, she came to rest, squatting down in the shade and twisting the stems of hibiscus flowers into a nosegay. She watched Edith wriggling hopelessly as she tried to get the swing moving. Suddenly, their eyes met. This was the first time they had been close enough to acknowledge each other.

At first, Edith just scowled and continued her struggle and Marvinder edged a few inches closer without getting up. But then Edith caught her eye again. Marvinder tipped her head to one side, and with a questioning look on her face, mimed a push with her hand.

The silent message was received and understood. Edith, unsmiling, gave a curt nod. In a second, Marvinder had leapt to her feet and grasped the seat of the swing from behind. She dragged it back and back and back with all the strength of a mere four-year-old, then let go.

‘More, more!’ ordered Edith as she swooped away.

So Marvinder pushed and pushed till her arms ached. Edith would have let her push forever but, exhausted, Marvinder finally stopped and went back to twisting flowers by the hedge.

‘Are you going?’ asked Edith petulantly.

Marvinder shrugged a ‘maybe’.

‘Would you like a turn?’ asked Edith, instinctively bargaining to keep her new companion.

Marvinder looked at her with a big grin and ran over to the swing. But when Edith pushed her, she pushed with such ferocity that Marvinder began to feel afraid. She could feel the hands thudding into the small of her back. She could hear the hissing of her breath and the enraged grunt which accompanied each push of the swing. She wanted to get off.

‘Stop! I’ve had enough!’ cried Marvinder.

At first, Edith took no notice. She thrust the swing forward as hard as she could, sometimes tugging at the rope to make it twist and spin. Marvinder thought she would be flung off.

‘Stop! Please stop!’ Her voice rose in panic.

As if awoken from a dream, Edith stopped.

Marvinder dragged her feet on the ground to slow herself down, then jumped off. The two girls stared at each other, like strangers, unsure of themselves. Marvinder lowered her gaze. ‘I’m going back to my ma,’ she murmured, and walked away.

‘Goodbye then,’ said Edith coldly. She eased herself back on to the swing, and began her fruitless wriggling as she tried to get it going on her own.

Somewhere across the compound, the dove continued its soulless cooing. ‘Cru croo, cru croo, cru croo.’

FIVE

Govind

One day, Govind returned home unexpectedly. They already knew in the village that he had arrived. Someone had seen him getting off the train, and then another noticed that instead of coming straight home, he had first called in at the Chadwick bungalow. At last, when he did appear at his father’s door, it was, he said, with important news.

Everyone waited till evening, when his older brothers got home from the fields, the buffaloes had been milked and supper eaten.

Then they congregated round his father’s charpoy, which had been pulled out into the courtyard. The old man, Chet Singh, sat in the middle of the bed solemnly sucking on his hookah. Madanjit Kaur took up a position of importance, cross-legged on the top right-hand corner of the bed. Govind was made to sit at the foot, while his brothers and their wives squatted in a semicircle on the ground chewing betel nuts and waiting with curiosity.

Only Jhoti preferred to stand. Rocking Jaspal in her arms, she looked on from outside the circle. Her face had an anxious expression as if she dreaded what she might hear.

Marvinder watched them from the edge of the pond. She had been washing dishes; but although her hand automatically dipped into the little hollowed-out crater of charcoal ash, which she smeared and scoured round the metal plates and pans, her eyes were fixed on Govind’s unsmiling face.

What was he going to tell them?

Feverishly, she scooped up the water, sluicing the dishes clean, anxious to be finished so that she could creep nearer and listen.

‘I am going to England,’ she heard him say.

Marvinder didn’t know where England was, but judging by the consternation his words produced, she knew that it was somewhere extraordinary.

At first there was a babble of excited voices, while everyone talked at once. Jhoti stopped rocking her baby and looked dazed. Marvinder gathered up the clean dishes and carried them to the kitchen, her eyes hardly leaving her father’s face as she went. Then she came back and stood by her mother. ‘Ma!’ she whispered. ‘Where is England?’

‘It’s where the Chadwicks come from,’ Jhoti replied.

‘Mr Chadwick sahib always wanted me to go, you know,’ Govind continued. ‘I didn’t say anything before, because I didn’t want you thinking too much when it all depended on my getting a B. A. in law.’

‘B. A? What is B. A?’ asked one of his brothers.

‘A degree,’ replied Chet Singh, knowledgeably, although he wasn’t quite sure what that was.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ nodded Govind proudly. ‘I now have a B. A. from Punjab University. In fact, I came top in my year.’ He spread out his hands with triumph, but when he saw their blank faces, and knew that his family had no understanding at all of his achievement, he dropped them helplessly to his side.

‘Look! I have something to show you.’ He opened up his worn and battered attaché case, which had lain at his feet, and carefully drew out a large, framed photograph.

Everyone craned forward with fascination. No one in the family had ever been in a photograph before.

‘Govind, is that you, Govind?’ they cried in amazement.

Staring out of the picture, with a look of stiff importance, was Govind. His turban was neatly bound and his beard waxed and shaped into his jawline. Instead of white, cotton, Indian pyjamas and waistcoat, he wore a smart, western-style suit with shirt and tie, and flowing over the top was a black academic gown edged with ermine. In his hands, which he held prominently up to his chest, was a rolled-up scroll, tied with a ribbon.

He pointed triumphantly. ‘That’s my degree! With that, I will be able to get a good job and earn a lot of money,’ he said.

Madanjit Kaur couldn’t resist a regretful glance at Jhoti, as though she thought, Huh, we married Govind off too soon. A man with a B. A. might have got himself a much higher wife than her.

‘Then why do you need to go to England?’ asked his father.

Govind leant forward, his face flushed pink with enthusiasm. ‘You must know what’s going on in the country. You must know that very soon, in a year or two, we’re going to kick the Britishers out and we will be independent. Armritsar and Lahore are seething with it, I tell you. The whole of India is seething with it. There is even talk of new homelands. Perhaps we Sikhs will get the Punjab back as our homeland. This man Tara Singh – you should hear him! What ideas he has, I tell you. And then there is the Muslim League! It is talking about a new country for Muslims which they will call Pakistan. They march around shouting, “Pakistan Zindabad!” The Britishers send out troops to crush riots, and hundreds of people are in prison, but it’s no use. We’re going to throw them out!’

‘What kind of rubbish is all this?’ demanded old Chet Singh, frowning. ‘Is this what you have been learning in the cities with all your books and education? What use is a B. A. if you are going to tear the country apart?’

‘India was full of separate kingdoms once!’ retorted Govind. ‘It was just the British who forced us all into one piece just to suit themselves. Now we have to kick them out and do what’s best for us.’

‘I thought Mr Chadwick sahib was your friend and patron,’ cried a brother. ‘You speak as if he is your enemy.’

‘No, no! He is my friend. He is a friend of India. That’s why he wants me to go to England. I will go to an English university, just for a year. He says that I must learn the ways of the Britishers, so that when they leave, people like me will be able to take over all the jobs and help to run the country.’

The photograph was being passed round and intensely scrutinised.

‘Eh! Govind bhai ! What a handsome man you are in this photo. You look like a proper sahib.’

Govind sighed. No one in his family seemed to comprehend what he was saying.

‘There have been marches and demonstrations all over India,’ he continued. ‘I’ve been on some of them myself. I’ve seen Gandhiji, and I tell you, that man walks round like a villager, wears nothing but a dhoti and is thin as a begger, yet he talks to all the high-ups. He’s even talked to the king over in England. Would you believe it?’ Govind’s voice cracked with excitement. ‘There are big things happening. Just you wait and see.’

‘You look very high up yourself,’ cried Kalwant looking closely at the photograph. ‘You should talk to the king, too.’

Jhoti had sunk back into the darkness. Her heart was heavy as lead. After Jaspal was born, Govind had told her, that once he got his degree he would get a job and money, and be able to afford to bring her and the children to Amritsar. The thought of having her own home, away from the petty tyrannies she suffered here, had sustained her through all the misery of separation from him. But now?

‘Ma?’ Marvinder looked up at her anxiously, and gripped her hand. ‘Is it bad, Ma? Shouldn’t papa go to England?’

‘And what about Jhoti?’ Madanjit’s voice broke in. She sounded harsh in the soft evening. ‘We have all these extra mouths to feed, what with Marvinder and now Jaspal too. They must pay their way. Be prepared to work – eh?’ She looked round resentfully at them. ‘All this sneaking away to see her friend Maliki over at the Chadwicks’ bungalow, we’ll have no more of that.’

‘Wait a minute, Ma,’ Govind restrained her gently. ‘You are too hard on Jhoti. Anyway, Mr Chadwick has a proposition. He wants Jhoti to come and work at his bungalow. Memsahib needs extra help, what with having twins and all.’

‘The memsahib already has an ayah,’ snorted Madanjit Kaur, pursing her lips disapprovingly. ‘What does she want of a chit of a girl like Jhoti, eh? Besides, Jhoti’s got her own babies.’

‘Their ayah is old,’ said Govind. ‘You know – that Hindu woman, Shanta. She’s not too well either. Suffers from rheumatism. The Chadwicks won’t get rid of her because she’s a widow and has no son to care for her. Her daughters are married and moved far away. Sahib is content to keep her on so long as a younger woman comes in to help.’

Chet Singh puffed the hookah and passed it to Govind. Then he observed, ‘It sounds like a good job and it would be a welcome addition to the family income.’

‘Huh!’ exclaimed Madanjit Kaur. ‘It’s a good job all right. Too good for Jhoti. They would do better to take on Kalwant or Narinder,’ she gestured towards her two other daughters-in-law. ‘They are older and more experienced. Or even your sister, Shireen, would be better.’

‘It’s Jhoti they want,’ insisted Govind. ‘They feel responsible for her. It’s due to them that I’m going to England and leaving her.’

‘Do you think we wouldn’t take care of her?’ protested his mother. ‘Has she ever complained? Ever lacked for anything? You should tell them, Govind.’

‘Yes, tell them. I am a better person for the job. More experienced, and anyway, my children are older than Jhoti’s, so I am freer. You should recommend me,’ Kalwant insisted.

‘I tell you, it’s Jhoti they want,’ repeated Govind. ‘Language is no problem. She’ll learn. She’s not so stupid. Anyway, they speak good Punjabi. I want her to go, if you have no objection. After all, it gets her off your hands.’

Jhoti clenched her fist and closed her eyes. If Govind must go away, then she desired to work at the Chadwicks’ more than anything else. ‘Please!’ she almost cried out loud. She opened her eyes and found herself looking straight at Chet Singh. He winked at her, an old, grey, whiskery wink, then took back the hookah for a long puff.

‘Let her go,’ he said at last. ‘I have no objection. If she’s no good, they’ll soon find out, then we can offer them Kalwant or Narinder.’

‘It seems all wrong to me,’ muttered Mother-in-law, ‘but I suppose a pretty face gets to go places in this household.’ She gave her husband a sneering glance.

‘Well, Jhoti,’ she turned to her. ‘You needn’t think it lets you off your duties here, or that working in the sahib’s bungalow gives you any special privileges,’ she warned.

‘Yes,’ agreed Kalwant, ‘and I hope you don’t start putting on airs and graces either. Just remember your place in this household.’

Jhoti bowed her head, and drew her veil across her face.

‘The matter is settled!’ cried Chet Singh, waving his hand dismissively. ‘Now leave me in peace to smoke and play cards. Will you join us, Govind?’ he asked slapping his youngest son on the back.

Marvinder asked again, ‘Ma, where is England? Is it very far away? Farther than Amritsar?’

Jhoti took her daughter’s hand and wandered down to the edge of the pond. A new moon was reflected sharp and silver in the still, flat water. It looked like a farmer’s sickle floating there, almost solid enough to pick up. She wiped her eyes with the end of her veil and coughed to clear the sobs from her throat.

‘Do you see this water?’ she asked softly.

Marvinder nodded, leaning her body into her mother’s thigh.

‘Imagine this water stretching out bigger and bigger and bigger, so that whichever way you looked you wouldn’t see land. Do you remember that story about Manu? How God sent a flood and washed away all the land? Manu had to build a boat, and he floated and floated for years and years until one day, he came to land again? Do you remember that, Marvi?’

Marvinder said, ‘Yes, yes! Was that land England?’

‘No, but your pa, he will go to the edge of the ocean, almost as big as that flood. He will get on a boat, and he will sail and sail for days and days. The land will disappear and then they will be all alone with nothing but the sea. And then, at last, after a very long time, they will see birds flying and wood drifting and seaweed floating on the water, and they will know that they are near. Then one day someone will shout, “Land Ahoy!” and they will see a long, cold grey line of shore between sea and sky and that will be England.’

‘How do you know all this, Ma? Have you been there?’

Jhoti laughed. ‘Of course not. But there was an old man in my village who got taken away to the sea and put on a ship, and he went across the big ocean to Africa, and sailed all round the world. He was away so many years that when he came back, no one recognised him. Not even his wife. He used to tell us all about the sea.’

‘Will that happen to my pa? Will he go away for so long that we won’t know him when he comes back?’

‘If it’s only for a year . . .’ Jhoti’s voice faltered, ‘then you’ll know him.’

It was late when Govind finally came to bed. Jhoti awoke, but said nothing as she lay watching him undress by the last, low light of the kerosene lantern hanging just outside the window. She stared at him, his arms circulating around his head as he unravelled his turban. He was still a stranger. His shadow rose like a giant up the wall and bent across the ceiling above her head. Suddenly, the lantern flickered and went out. Instantly, it was as if Govind, too, was extinguished.

That night Marvinder had a dream. She dreamt that she was walking with her father down the long, white road. On and on they walked, till suddenly, they found their feet were being submerged. The land all around was disappearing beneath a vast expanse of water. The water rose higher and higher, and she thought they would all drown, but suddenly, a big ship came sailing up. Govind clambered on board, but when Marvinder reached out her hand, he turned his back, and didn’t seem to hear her calls. The boat began to sail away.

‘Pa, Pa, Pa! Take me too! Save me!’ she screamed, as the water rose up her chest and now was lapping over her face. But the boat sailed on, and he never even looked back.

‘Wake up, Marvi! Wake up!’ Jhoti was bending over her. ‘You’re having a bad dream.’ She hugged the child closely. Somewhere in the darkness, Jaspal began crying, and Govind grunted crossly at having his sleep disturbed.

‘Pa will never come back,’ said Marvinder after a while, then she rolled over and went back to sleep.

SIX

The Snake