Page 46 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden

He ordered tea and drew out his cigarettes, offering one to Libby. She took one and he lit hers and then his. Their conversation turned to his work at the newspaper.

Libby asked, ‘So what is the latest news? I’ve been hearing terrible rumours about unrest in the Punjab. I hope it’s all been exaggerated.’

Ghulam’s expression turned grim. ‘It’s not, I’m afraid. Amritsar and Lahore are going up in flames. Sikhs against Muslims. The Punjabi prime minister, who was trying to hold together a coalition, has resigned.’

Libby saw the tension in his face. ‘What about your own people?’

He frowned. ‘Meaning?’

‘Your family,’ said Libby. ‘Even if you don’t speak to them any more, you must be worried.’

He sat back and blew out smoke. ‘Yes, I worry. I have nephews and nieces ...’ He ran his fingers through his hair in agitation.

‘Have you had news of them?’ asked Libby.

He shook his head. ‘I’ve been trying to ring Rafi in Gulgat to see if he has heard anything.’

‘Is that the telephone call you were on when I was waiting for you?’

He shot her a look. ‘Yes. You’re perceptive.’

‘And?’

‘He knows less than I do,’ said Ghulam impatiently, ‘stuck away in the jungle.’

‘At least he will be safe there – and Sophie too.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Ghulam.

‘What does that mean?’

‘Even in Gulgat things are changing, it seems. The old Rajah died last year and the new prince doesn’t seem as well disposed towards Rafi as his uncle was.’ Ghulam’s lip curled. ‘He’s one of those princely leeches who bleed the people dry in order to finance a life of excess. Always getting his photo in the papers for attending society parties – usually with some film star on his arm.’

‘Prince Sanjay?’ asked Libby.

‘Yes.’ Ghulam looked surprised. ‘Do you know him?’

‘I know of him,’ said Libby, thinking of Adela’s confession. It made her angry to think that her cousin had been a victim of Sanjay’s selfish behaviour. ‘I don’t like the sound of him at all. Is Rafi’s job in danger?’

Ghulam shrugged. ‘Possibly. He was very guarded on the phone but recently I got a letter from him, posted in Shillong, that said for the first time he’s thinking seriously of returning to the Punjab – that’s if Pakistan becomes a reality.’

‘Really?’ Libby was shocked. ‘But Rafi’s not religious and he’s lived in Gulgat for over twenty years!’

‘That’s his choice,’ said Ghulam.

‘But you don’t agree with him,’ Libby guessed.

‘I think it’s a disastrous idea. We need Muslims like Rafi to stay and help build the new India.’

Libby stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette and sipped at the hot sweet tea. She thought again how war and division had ruptured families all over the world, including her own. Was India heading for civil war now? The thought filled her with anxiety.

‘Will the violence spread to Calcutta again?’ she asked. ‘What are you hearing?’

He lit a second cigarette from the stub of his first, inhaled deeply and gave her a direct look. ‘We’ve had one thing in our favour these past months – Gandhi has been living in Bengal. Just having that man here seems to calm people’s nerves, it’s quite extraordinary. Last summer, we communists went out on the streets to show our solidarity – Muslims and Hindus together – but we couldn’t stop the butchery. But Gandhi with his spinning wheel and hunger strikes somehow takes the poison out of our veins.’

‘So that should give us optimism?’ Libby pressed.

‘Except Gandhi is leaving and going west to try and bring calm. We need a thousand Gandhis. I fear the violence is going to escalate again.’