Page 158 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden

CHAPTER 34

Belgooree, August

It was several days before news came through about the final geographical plans for severing Pakistan from India: Partition. The women pored over maps printed in a copy ofThe Statesmanthat Manzur brought them.

‘Calcutta stays in India,’ said Libby.

‘Srimangal is in East Pakistan now,’ Clarrie pointed out. ‘That’s where Flowers grew up – her father was stationmaster there: a tea-growing area. It’s so strange to think it’s no longer part of Assam.’

‘Look at the Punjab,’ said Sophie in dismay. ‘The border runs right between Lahore and Amritsar – the Sikhs will be hardest hit. Rafi says they have land and businesses all over what is now Pakistan.’

‘It’s not really a surprise,’ said Libby. ‘They’ve been fighting over it for months. It just confirms their worst fears.’

‘Poor Sundar Singh,’ Sophie said, her eyes glinting with tears.

‘Rafi’s army friend?’ Libby queried.

Sophie nodded. ‘I hope he managed to get his son safely away to Delhi. That’s where Rafi says he’s setting up home.’

‘But he has so many friends like Rafi in Pakistan,’ said Libby. ‘Surely it will be safe for him to stay there?’

Sophie looked at her sorrowfully. ‘You’ve read about the violence as much as I have. The Sikhs and Muslims have been burning each other out of their homes – especially in Lahore.’

‘Let’s hope,’ said Clarrie, ‘that now Independence has come, each country will settle down with their neighbours whatever their religion.’

But the news over the following week grew ever grimmer. Far from calming fears, Partition appeared to be fuelling the fire of violence. Tens of thousands of people had fled across the new borders and the exodus showed no signs of slowing down. Rumours reached the remote tea garden of terrible savagery in the Punjab – mass murder, abductions, rape and mutilation – with neighbours turning on each other and marauding gangs of men on the lookout for revenge killings.

Sophie lost her usual sunny outlook and could settle to nothing. She would stand on the veranda, tensely smoking and staring out through the monsoon rain, waiting in vain for word that Rafi was safe.

Clarrie refused to let her travel. ‘You’re not leaving for the Punjab until we know it’s safe for you to go.’

Libby continued to worry for Ghulam and Fatima, yet the news from Calcutta was heartening. There had been no repeat of last August’s bloodletting and the city appeared calm. The newsmen put it down to Gandhi’s presence and the calming effect of his peaceful co-existence with Suhrawardy, the city’s Muslim leader, as they prayed and fasted together.

Libby longed to hear from Ghulam – he had promised to write to her – but maybe he now thought better of it. With distance between them, perhaps he had decided that it was better not to prolong their relationship. She was soon to return to Britain and he would be concentrating his thoughts and efforts on helping forge the future of the newly liberated country.

She forced herself not to write first. She didn’t want to appear demanding or reproachful, so would let him write if he wanted to and not because of any sense of obligation.

As the monsoon kept them marooned indoors or at the factory, Libby turned her thoughts to home and wondered yet again how her father was coping. Had the bad dreams and black moods been banished by his move back to Britain? Had he found peace of mind? Was he happy? Somehow she just couldn’t picture him living in the terraced house in Newcastle, hemmed in by streets and traffic. Yet she could imagine him riding at Willowburn and striding down country lanes with a new retriever at his heels. She hoped he had managed to persuade her mother to spend some time in the countryside. She tried to conjure up an image of her parents going for picnics together but failed. Tilly hated sitting on a rug and eating off her lap, and always complained about flies.

A couple of days later, while Libby was in the factory office helping Nitin overhaul his typewriter, Clarrie came in waving letters, beaming.

‘Dak from home.’

‘Good news?’ Libby asked.

‘Yes,’ Clarrie said, unable to stop smiling. ‘Wonderful news.’

‘Tell me,’ Libby encouraged her.

Clarrie beckoned her to follow. Outside, Clarrie said quietly, ‘I don’t want to say anything in front of the staff – not until I’ve told Harry.’

‘Can you tell me?’ asked Libby.

‘Walk back up to the house with me,’ said Clarrie, linking arms with Libby. When they were out of earshot of the office staff, Clarrie stopped and faced her, hardly able to contain her excitement. ‘Adela and Sam are coming back to Belgooree.’

‘For a visit?’

‘No, tolive,’ cried Clarrie. ‘Sam wants to be a tea planter. They haven’t really settled in England.’