Page 184 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden

CHAPTER 38

Calcutta, late September

Two weeks after leaving Belgooree, Libby and Sophie arrived back in Calcutta. They had discarded their disguises soon after Shillong, euphoric at having safely avoided capture by Sen’s gang, though it had taken several days before Sophie had managed to wash all the boot-black from her hair. She still looked boyish with her severe haircut but she didn’t seem to care.

‘It’ll grow back soon enough,’ she said. ‘I’m just thankful we never met any trouble on the road.’

Libby had been convinced that Stourton had betrayed Sophie for financial gain, probably salving his conscience that he had given Sophie some warning of trouble, even though he must have known she was in no position to join Rafi in the Punjab. But she kept her suspicions to herself. Libby and Sophie had stayed with Clarrie’s contact in Gowhatty, an old planter friend of Wesley’s whom the women remembered meeting at Wesley’s funeral. Eventually they had taken a train to Siliguri and on into West Bengal, the old steamer route south being too hazardous with the new partition border.

They arrived into Calcutta exhausted but elated – until they saw the encampments of refugees at Sealdah Station. Libby was aghast. If she had thought the camps wretched before Independence, the situationnow looked even grimmer. There were squatters as far as the eye could see; every platform was occupied and makeshift shelters lined the tracks. They looked like some shattered, defeated army. Was Ghulam still trying his best to help the displaced families? Had word reached him about the plight of his own father and had he ever read her letter? She longed to know where he was and how he was doing.

Sophie, who hadn’t been to the city since the end of the War, was speechless with horror. She couldn’t utter a word until they were almost at Ballyganj and the home of Rafi’s retired army colleague, Captain Ranajit Roy, and his wife, Bijal.

As they sat round the dinner table that night, sharing gloomy news, the captain said, ‘I don’t know when it will stop. Each day, more and more people are crowding into the city.’

‘They’re setting up camps on the outskirts,’ said Bijal, ‘but it’s quite inadequate.’

‘Is there still a refugee centre run by the doctors from Eden Hospital?’ Libby asked.

Bijal shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know. Many people are trying to help but the numbers are overwhelming.’

Exhausted from long days of travel, Libby and Sophie retired early to bed. It was nearly two months since Libby had last been here, yet it seemed longer. The all-pervasive mineral smell of food being cooked on coal fires was sweetly familiar but she fell asleep with a heavy heart to think how much misery lay beyond the walls of the Roys’ gated home.

Libby was gripped by a strange lethargy. For two days she could do nothing more than sit in the Roys’ garden, dozing and reading the newspapers to try and glean news of Ghulam. But there were no articles which bore his name. Sophie managed to put through a telephone call to the office at Belgooree to assure Clarrie that they were safe and wellin Calcutta. To Sophie and Libby’s relief, Clarrie told them that there had been no more disturbances at the tea garden. Libby had snatched a few words.

‘Is there any post for me?’ she asked in hope.

‘Sorry, no,’ Clarrie answered. The line crackled so much that any further conversation was futile. ‘Write to me when you get home,’ Clarrie said, and then, ‘Tell James—’ But the line went dead before she could say what Libby should tell her father.

Sophie wrote to Rafi, explaining that she was now in Calcutta and eager to join him. She sent the letter to their new address in Rawalpindi, hoping that her husband was safely there and not still in Lahore. Impatient to go, she began to make arrangements to fly to Karachi in West Pakistan via Delhi and then to make her way onward to Rawalpindi.

‘Libby,’ Sophie said, as they sat in the shaded garden, ‘isn’t it time you made arrangements too?’

Libby’s insides knotted. ‘You mean to go back to Britain?’

‘Aye, lassie,’ said Sophie. ‘I know the Roys would have you to stay as long as you wanted but I imagine your parents are anxious to have you home.’

Libby nodded. Now that the danger of their escape and living for the moment was past, she felt a strange anticlimax. She was weighed down with the thought that her Indian adventure was over. Now she had no excuse not to return home. Worst of all, she was going to have to face up to the fact that her relationship with Ghulam was also at an end.

Yet the realisation that time was indeed running out galvanised Libby into seeking out her friends to say goodbye. Ghulam was her priority; she had to know if he was safe and well. She took the tram along Park Street, alighting close to Hamilton Road. In the middle of the day, Libby found herself once more outside Amelia Buildings, heart pounding.

She was struck at once by the number of people crowded in the hallway. Gone was thechowkidarat the desk. A family of squatters had taken up residence under the stairwell. People stared at her. Libby hesitated and almost turned to go. Then she chided herself for being cowardly. If she didn’t make this last visit to see Ghulam then she would probably never have the chance of seeing him again. She strode purposefully towards the stairs.

As she climbed up to the Khans’ flat, doubts beset her. Fatima might still be living at the hospital and Ghulam would be at work. But at least she could leave a message with Sitara. She arrived, heart thumping, at the Khans’ door. She could hear voices beyond and her hopes soared.

A woman she had never seen before, dressed in a sari, answered her knocking. She looked out through the half-open door, her expression wary.

Libby stared back in confusion, wondering for a second if she was at the wrong door.

‘Hello,’ said Libby, ‘is DrKhan or her brother at home?’

The woman shook her head and answered in what Libby thought might be Bengali.

‘I’m sorry,’ Libby said, feeling embarrassed, ‘but I don’t understand.’

The woman called over her shoulder, speaking rapidly to someone else out of view. A moment later, a tall man with greying hair and dressed in ill-fitting Western clothes appeared.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked, his look guarded.