After the Storm (3 page)

It was on a mild morning in March 1941, the year Mili turned seventeen and Vicky sixteen, that Mili found herself in Mohanagar railway station. She looked at Vicky, who was pushing her way through the throng with ease. She scurried to keep up with her friend, her two thick plaits, tied up around her ears like sausages, swinging to and fro. She was glad she was wearing her soft-soled dainty velvet shoes which did not make a sound as she walked. Like the padded soles of a tiger on the prowl. Unlike Vicky’s ankle boots which were
tric-trocking
noisily on the platform and drawing everyone’s attention. If Mili’s shoes made that racket, she would have died of embarrassment. But not Vicky. She simply grinned and strutted even more.

They had come early, the two of them, along with Uday and five servants. Reason – they were too excited. Ma could not take it any more and shooed them out of the palace.

‘Princess, the train come in half an hour,’ said Bhoomi as she dusted a bench. ‘We wait here.’

Nodding, Mili sat down on the bench. She loved coming to the station. It had the feel of a funfair that never ended. The pheriwala selling colourful wooden toys, the thelewala selling an assortment of sweetmeats which drew more flies than customers, the chai waala selling cups of hot and sweetened tea. Mili had had a sip of that tea once. It was disgusting and smelt of kerosene oil.

‘What now?’ she mumbled as she saw a group of khadi-clad lads making their way down the station. ‘These revolutionaries are everywhere. Such a nuisance.’ But unlike the crowd that had surrounded their car last month, this mob was smaller and without any sticks, flags and banners. One of them was carrying a big wooden box with a slit down the middle of the lid.

Mili smiled nervously as Vicky looked at her. Vicky pressed her hand reassuringly. ‘Relax. They’re just asking for donations. They’re not going to cause any trouble.’

Shouts of ‘Vande Mataram, Bharat Mata ki Jai’ now rent the air. The man carrying the donation box was giving an emotional recount of Bhagat Singh’s martyrdom. ‘Bhagat Singh,’ he was saying to the crowd that had gathered around him, ‘suffered untold torture, fasted for days and finally gave up his life. He was only twenty-three when he died. Only twenty-three. If a mere lad could do so much for his motherland, what I’m asking from you is very small.’ He pointed to the wooden box. ‘We are in dire need of funds to carry on our struggle against the British Raj. Please donate generously to help
remove the shackles of slavery from our Hindustan. Jai Hind.’

‘Jai Hind. Bharat Mata ki Jai,’ the mob shouted in response. People started pouring money into the donation box. Mili grimaced as some women got emotional and began tearing off their jewellery and putting it in the box as well. As the revolutionaries came nearer, she hastily pulled her yellow dupatta over her head, hiding her gold earrings studded with rubies and diamonds as well as the matching necklace. She was not going to let anyone make her part with her precious jewellery.

Uday gave her a nudge. ‘Boo-hoo, Bauji won’t let me go to Kishangarh,’ he mimicked. ‘I thought you didn’t get permission? Where you off to then?’ he said, tweaking her plait.

‘Stop teasing,’ Mili pouted. ‘He
did
refuse.’

She remembered how that had upset her. She hadn’t eaten at all that day. In the evening she had been summoned to the garden by Bauji. He was having his afternoon tea with Mother. Mili went and stood beside the table, her hands behind her back, her chin tilted defiantly.

Bauji took a sip of his tea. Then he put down the cup on the table. He was taking his time. Mili looked around. The lawns were neatly trimmed, the rows of flowers straight. That’s how Bauji liked his gardens – not a single blade of grass out of place. And that’s how he wanted his daughter’s life to be, Mili suspected. Regimented and orderly. That’s how princesses were supposed to live.

‘Sumitra tells me you haven’t had your breakfast or lunch today,’ Bauji said.

‘What do you care? If you really cared, you’d understand how much it means to me to be with my friend,’ Mili retorted.

‘Now now, Mili, that’s no way to speak to your father,’ said Ma.

‘I’m sorry,’ Mili muttered. This was the first time she had dared speak to Bauji in that manner.

‘So is this fasting to do with the fact that we did not give you permission to go gallivanting to the mountains?’

‘She wants to go there to study, Your Majesty,’ chided Ma.

Mili looked thankfully at Ma. She often thought it strange that she should address Bauji as “Your Majesty”.

Ma spoke again. ‘Why are you torturing the poor child? They have been friends ever since she was a baby, even before Vicky was born …’

‘We were only thinking about her well-being, Sumitra. She is used to the comforts and luxuries of the palace. How will she manage on her own?’ said Bauji.

‘She’ll learn,’ replied Ma. ‘Tomorrow, both the girls will get married. Proposals have already started coming for Mili. Then they will have to go their separate ways. But at least until then, let them be together.’

Bauji sighed and took another sip of his tea. ‘All right, then, she can go,’ he finally conceded.

‘Oh thank you, Bauji,’ said Mili, clapping her hands together. She looked at Ma gleefully.

Ma was smiling softly. She looked so petite whenever she was beside Bauji. He often teased her about her height. Mili had heard that when she was pregnant with Uday, Bauji would sigh and exclaim, ‘What if all our
children take after you and are stunted? That’ll be the death of our dynasty.’ But although Ma was small, she carried herself with such grace and quiet authority that she commanded the respect of everyone, including Bauji. Yes, even Bauji. For all his temper and arrogance, he was putty in Ma’s hands. As she had just witnessed …

‘I’m happy for you,’ Uday was saying. Mili stared at him, then looked around the platform. The revolutionaries were leaving the station. She had been reminiscing and not heard a single word of what he had been saying. He was now raising his arm and exclaiming theatrically, ‘Step out of the four walls of the palace, sister, and explore the world.’

‘I think your palace has more than four walls,’ Vicky said with a grin, pushing back her glasses.

Uday looked at Vicky. ‘These glasses are good,’ he said. ‘You can see now.’

Vicky stuck out her tongue at him.

‘But Uday, you have to admit – you’re going to miss us,’ Mili said. ‘Who will cover up for me when I’m in trouble?’

‘Yes, I suppose,’ replied Uday. ‘The palace will be quiet without your silly pranks and giggles.’

‘If Bauji—’ Mili stopped speaking as she noticed a lot of hustle and bustle on the platform. A minute later the train thundered into the station. She looked around at their luggage. Thank goodness they didn’t have a mountain of it like they did whenever Ma was travelling with them. ‘Ma, it’ll be easier to put wheels under our palace than to get that lot into the train,’ Uday used to joke.

She watched as the servants carried all the bags and suitcases into the train before getting into it herself, followed by Vicky. Calling out to Bhoomi, she asked her to open the window. Then peered out. A sudden hush seemed to have fallen. The crowd on the platform was parting and now stood on either side of the main entrance with heads bowed and hands joined respectfully. That could only mean one thing – Ma and Bauji had reached the station.

‘Don’t forget to write to us if you need anything,’ said Ma as she patted her frail hand through the bars of the window. ‘Bhoomi, did you remember to put the stationery in her trunk?’

‘Yes, Your Highness,’ Bhoomi replied.

‘And the bottles of pickle are in the basket. Make sure they don’t fall over,’ Ma continued to fuss.

‘Yes, Ma. Now stop worrying. Vicky will be there to take care of me.’

Ma looked at Vicky and smiled. ‘We’d never send you off on your own. Imagine my little Mili going out into the big bad world all by herself. And did you pack your coat? Remember, it’ll be cold up there.’

‘Ma …’ Mili began to protest.

Bauji had finished giving instructions to the servants and turned his attention to Mili. ‘My child, take care of your health. Don’t study too hard. See how it goes for three months. If you don’t like the school, come back.’

‘Yes, don’t stay up too late and get dark circles. Then nobody will want to marry you,’ added Ma.

‘Ma …’ Mili protested yet again, just as the whistle began to blow.

Bauji and Ma stepped back from the train and waved to her. Mili frowned as a woman bulldozed her way through the crowd. She was panting.

‘Mummum,’ exclaimed Vicky, ‘I thought you’d never make it.’

‘What a to-do, Victoria. I got caught in this meeting and then these people were taking out a procession on the road …’

Vicky put a loving hand on her mother’s, through the bars of the window. ‘I understand, Mummum. Don’t explain. Just take care of yourself. And don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.’

‘I know, sweetheart. My brave poppet,’ said Mrs Nunes.

Mili watched Mrs Nunes as she wiped her face with her handkerchief. Perspiration had made her make-up runny and her kohl smudged. She was now looking around, then joined her hands and said ‘Namastey, Your Highness,’ to her parents. Now she had turned back to Vicky and was asking, ‘Where are your sisters?’

‘Claudia was getting late for her rehearsal. And Michelle had an important class she couldn’t miss,’ said Vicky.

‘Brats … all right, poppet, take care of yourself and Malvika,’ said Mrs Nunes as the guard blew the whistle. She waved and blew a kiss to Vicky as the train began to chug slowly.

Mili and Vicky chatted late into the night. It was difficult to recall when exactly they had drifted off to sleep, but it was morning when they awoke and the
train was pulling in at Shaampur station. If only Mili had known then that they would never take this train together again, she might have stayed up all night.

Mili straightened her crushed dupatta before alighting onto the platform. Vicky’s Uncle George had sent his chauffeur to drive them up to Kishangarh. Mili nodded as the driver gave the two girls a friendly grin. He stepped aside to let them pass through the station gate and asked Bhoomi and the rest of the servants to follow him with the cases. Then it was time for goodbyes.

‘The moment you need me, Princess, you tell, I come,’ said Bhoomi.

‘Yes, Bhoomi, I definitely will,’ replied Mili holding her hands lightly. Then she smiled and waved to all the servants and got into the jeep. Once Mili and Vicky had been bundled inside, the vehicle made its way up the spindly road.

For miles around, Mili could see a chain of hills and mountains, covered with coniferous trees. They had been driving at a snail’s pace for the last three hours. Sometimes the road slithered along like a long grey snake stretching right across the hills. At other times, it spun around a hill like a top, right up to the summit. And there were so many sharp turns and corners that Mili was left clutching her stomach and feeling very, very sick. Hey Lord Kishan, was this journey ever going to end?

Just then the road opened up to reveal a valley below. They were now in Kishangarh. As they reached the top of a hill, the jeep swerved around a bend and a mansion
came into view. Engraved on the gatepost were the words ‘School for Tender Hearts’.

‘STH,’ Vicky cheered loudly, as the driver hopped down to open the gate. Then he changed gear and took the jeep up the muddy track, right up to the main school building.

Mili and Vicky sprang out of the jeep as soon as the driver switched off the engine and let their gaze rove. The main school building was an elegant Victorian mansion, which sprawled leisurely over a vast expanse of land. It was late afternoon. Apart from the twitter of birds, peace and tranquillity reigned supreme. The air was fresh and smelt of pine. Not a speck of dust could be seen anywhere; nor mosquitoes, nor flies.

‘Salaam, saab,’ said a voice. Mili and Vicky turned around with a start. It was a short Bhutia lad in tattered clothes and a cap that had more holes than a sieve. ‘Me, Badshah Dilawar Ali Khan Bahadur, the hostel errand boy,’ he said.

Mili smiled.

Vicky looked at him and giggled. ‘His name is longer than he himself is,’ she whispered in Mili’s ear.

Bahadur picked up two cases from the jeep and led the way to the girls’ hostel, which was at the far end of the school. ‘It is Sunday, no saab, so office closed. But you can see hostel warden.’

Nodding, Mili and Vicky followed him. The gravel crunched beneath their feet. Bahadur carried on speaking. ‘Hostel constructed only two years back. Girls not wanting to stay away from home, that’s why.’

Mili gave Bahadur a one-rupee note as baksheesh.
Bahadur gave her a crooked grin and raised his right hand in a sloppy salaam. He pointed towards a door on the ground floor, right next to the main entrance to the building. ‘That be the warden’s room.’

Biting her thumbnail, Mili looked at Vicky as she knocked on the formidable door and waited.

The warden looked them over as soon as she opened the door. ‘What are your names?’ she asked brusquely.

‘I’m Victoria Nunes and this is Malvika Singh,’ Vicky replied.

The warden opened a register. She looked up their details, then handed them the keys to their room and a typed sheet of paper.

‘These are the rules of the hostel. I suggest you go through them very carefully. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve work to do.’

With that, she closed the door. Mili and Vicky looked at one another, then shrugged their shoulders and began looking for their room. It was on the second floor. Mili looked around. There were some small holes in the wall. Screws must have been drilled into them. Perhaps to hang up pictures. There were three beds in the room; two in front of a large semicircular window and the third alongside the opposite wall.

‘The other inmate – she hasn’t yet arrived. Let’s take those two beds, overlooking the window.’

‘Yes, Vicky, let’s …’ said Mili as she drew aside the curtains with the big, red, flowery print. She threw the window open and gasped at what she saw. The entire town of Kishangarh was spread out on the opposite hill and around the lake in the valley below. It was a
strange village-cum-town, this Kishangarh – with a scattering of cottages and huts playing hide-and-seek amidst the tall pine, deodar, chestnut and chinar trees.