Page 96 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden

No one seemed able to answer his question. Libby felt a jolt of alarm at the look of consternation on the face of Mohammed Din. Thekhansamawas usually so genial, as if nothing could upset his mild nature. Libby wondered if he had family back in the Punjab. She remembered hearing that Mohammed Din – or M.D. as the family affectionately called him – had been Wesley Robson’s servant in his bachelor days and had come to work at Belgooree after Wesley and Clarrie’s marriage.

At that moment, it hit Libby how huge were the ramifications of the announcement of possible partition. It was too late for political debates in the council chambers or demonstrations in the streets. Partition – that amputation of India that Ghulam and others had spent the last year trying to prevent – was looming. This room was full of people from different communities who didn’t know how independence would change their lives. Across the Subcontinent, this same uncertainty must be striking doubt and fear into millions of others.

Later that evening, they sat subdued on the veranda, saying little yet not wanting to retire to the solitariness of their own rooms.

Clarrie tried to rally their spirits with a potful of the new second-flush tea and by playing Wesley’s old Gilbert and Sullivan records on the gramophone. James hummed along and shared some in-joke with Clarrie about major-generals. But Harry kept asking questions and probing them for answers.

‘What about the princely states? Will they just carry on as before?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Clarrie. ‘The British government can only decide what happens to the bits of India under British rule, not the parts belonging to the maharajahs.’

‘So even if Pakistan doesn’t happen,’ said Harry, ‘there won’t be just one big India, will there? There’ll be India plus lots of separate states.’

‘Unless the new India persuades the princes to join the new country,’ suggested Libby.

‘Why would they do that?’ said Harry. ‘If I was a maharajah I wouldn’t want to give up my land.’

‘Their people might want the benefits of being part of a new country with a constitution and citizens’ rights,’ said Libby, ‘so they might be forced to.’

‘Or bought off with large pensions,’ grunted James.

‘What do you think will happen in Gulgat?’ asked Harry. ‘Will Sanjay want to carry on being rajah and do you think the Khans will stay?’

Libby saw Clarrie stiffen. She felt a pang of pity for the widow: every time Gulgat was mentioned, Clarrie must think of her husband’s gruesome death there.

‘Why shouldn’t the Khans stay?’ said James.

‘Rafi and Sophie are Muslims,’ said Harry. ‘Won’t they have to go to Pakistan?’

‘Of course not,’ said Clarrie. ‘No one is going to be forced to go if they don’t want to.’

Libby’s stomach somersaulted at the mention of Ghulam’s brother and sister-in-law. In confidence, Ghulam had told her how Rafi had been considering migrating to Pakistan if it became a reality. She wondered how vulnerable Ghulam and Fatima might be in a Calcutta fought over by Hindus and Muslims.

‘Ghulam Khan says the new India will be secular,’ Libby said stoutly, ‘and all faiths and none will be welcome to stay.’

Her father shot her a look. ‘A bad dose of wishful thinking,’ he muttered.

‘So all the violence should stop now,’ said Harry, looking happier. ‘If all sides are agreeing about the future.’

‘Let’s hope so, darling,’ said Clarrie. ‘That’s what the leaders are urging.’

Harry nodded. ‘Then even if people vote for partition there should be no need for fighting because they’ll have got what they want.’

‘But I don’t believe it is what most Indians want,’ said Libby. ‘It’s a rushed plan. The British should be handing over to a united India and then they can make their own decisions.’

Harry frowned. ‘But they’re rushing it because of the violence, aren’t they? They want to stop the killings.’

Libby looked at Clarrie’s young son; he was mature beyond his years. She remembered Harry’s father Wesley as being forthright and decisive, organising the children into games and taking a great interest in people. Harry was like his father in more than just looks.

‘Let’s hope that this announcement will calm things,’ said Clarrie, placing a hand gently on her son’s head. ‘We must pray for a peaceful handover.’

‘I wonder when it will be,’ said Harry.

Libby smiled at him. ‘Perhaps by the time of your fourteenth birthday in October,’ she suggested.

‘Who knows?’ James sighed.

They fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts as the jungle beyond stirred restlessly in the hot night.