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  Published in the United States

  By Tollymore Publishing

  Edited by

  First Editing

  Cover design by Laura Harkness

  Copyright © 2013 Nina Harkness. All rights reserved

  ISBN-10: 0988865610

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9888656-1-7

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-9888656-0-0

  Website: www.ninaharkness.com

  Dedication

  In loving memory of my father,

  Ashwani Wason

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1 Sikkim, Darjeeling, 1933-1952

  Chapter 2 Dooars 1946

  Chapter 3 India, England1946

  Chapter 4 Dooars 1959-1963

  Chapter 5 Dooars 1964

  Chapter 6 Dooars 1966-1968

  Chapter 7 Dooars 1969-1971

  Chapter 8 Dooars 1977

  Chapter 9 Dooars 1977

  Chapter 10 Northern Ireland 1943-1971

  Chapter 11 Northern Ireland 1971-1972

  Chapter 12 Assam 1972

  Chapter 13 Assam 1974

  Chapter 14 Assam1975

  Chapter 15 Dooars 1978

  Chapter 16 Dooars 1978

  Chapter 17 Darjeeling 1978

  Chapter 18 Darjeeling 1978

  Chapter 19 Darjeeling 1978

  Chapter 20 Darjeeling 1978

  Chapter 21 Dooars, Darjeeling, Delhi 1978

  Chapter 22 England, Northern Ireland 1978

  Chapter 23 Northern Ireland 1978

  Chapter 24 Northern Ireland, Ireland 1978

  Chapter 25 Northern Ireland 1979

  Chapter 26 Delhi 1979

  EPILOGUE Darjeeling 1979

  Chapter 1

  Sikkim and Darjeeling, 1933-1952

  She had been warned but hadn’t listened. There was no denying it. Prava had known deep down that he was not to be trusted. But she went ahead just the same, giving rein to her desires in a way she never had with Prem, seizing an opportunity that she knew would never again present itself and indulging a passion that was as wild as it was short-lived.

  Prem had been utterly devastated and disbelieving, though remaining her staunchest ally until her swelling belly made it impossible for him to deny. Assuming Prava belonged to him, he’d held back all those years, respecting her far too much to degrade her with his lust, holding her, kissing her and containing his desire till he thought he would explode.

  Now she’d slept with another man, making it apparent that she hadn’t felt the same passion for him. He found he could say nothing, he simply could not speak. He just left town with his hurt and his love coiled up inside his heart. She must not have wanted him, and the betrayal made a mockery of his loyalty and his abstinence. All he could do was take himself away from her, though there was no escaping that hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach that would sneak up on him insidiously, when least expected, a pain that would grip his entrails. He learned to evade the attacks by filling up every moment of his time. He started a tire business just as automobiles were becoming popular. He made a name for himself and became a philanthropist who supported worthwhile causes.

  What he didn’t know and had no means of finding out was that Prava missed him desperately and experienced the same kind of pain in her stomach, a pain that had nothing to do with the child inside her. The Sikkimese community frowned on her indiscretion even more than her family did. It was whispered that she had slept with a Bihari. Some said it was a Bengali, a plains person with dark skin. But when Ramona was born, she had a milky complexion and almond eyes just like any other Sikkimese girl’s. In fact, she was a beautiful child who matured into a woman of striking appearance with clearly defined features and black hair that swung over her shoulders.

  The family rallied and supported Prava in whatever way they were able. When Ramona was ready for school, Prava took her to Kalimpong where nobody knew them. She made it known that Ramona’s father had died in a car accident when she was a baby. Ramona attended St. Bernard’s Homes, an orphanage and school known for its high quality of education, run by Welsh missionaries. She learned to speak impeccable English, with encouragement from Prava who wanted her daughter to become a school teacher.

  Prava worked in a curio shop frequented by tourists visiting the picturesque Himalayan town. After Ramona graduated from school, she went to teachers training college and was offered a job in Darjeeling at St. Jude’s, a co-ed boarding school on the outskirts of town. They packed their bags again and moved to Darjeeling where they rented a cottage on a hillside beneath the Mall.

  St. Jude’s was an impressive school built on extensive grounds. Constructed of gray stone, its turrets, arches, gothic balconies and cloisters reminded Ramona of the medieval castles she’d read about in books. It faced the snow-capped Kanchenjunga Mountains that captured hues of pink, purple and orange at sunrise and sunset. Its students and teachers were an international mixture of nationalities from America, Australia, New Zealand and England.

  On the first day of school, the teachers were required to attend a meeting in the dining room. There was a sumptuous tea of butterfly cupcakes, sugar frosted cookies and chicken sandwiches.

  “I’m going to get fat working here,” whispered Ramona to Sandra Williams, an Anglo-Indian teacher who had grown up in the school. Her mother, Cheryl Williams, was the senior girls’ matron.

  Sandra giggled. “Impossible! You have a lovely figure. You could never get fat.” She looked enviously at Ramona’s trim form in her faded blue dress. A male staff member joined them, his plate laden with food. He was stocky with smiling eyes and wore mustard-colored trousers, a brown shirt and a loud green tie.

  “Hey, ladies,” he spoke with a British accent, “I’m Reverend Bob Jameson. I’m very happy to meet you. And you are?”

  “I’m Ramona Roy. This is Sandra Williams.”

  “Well, I would sure like to get to know you ladies better.” He turned to address Ramona. “Maybe we could go into town sometime and catch a movie?”

  “Yes, maybe,” said Ramona. “That would be lovely. Could you please excuse me for a second? I need to speak to the principal.”

  Later on, she said to Sandra, the only other woman who seemed to be her age, “I don’t find these foreign men attractive at all! Do you?”

  Sandra giggled and blushed, “I don’t know. Not him, anyway. But he certainly seems to like you.”

  Bob Jameson and every man in the room! Ramona’s hair hung sleek and glossy down her back. Her arched eyebrows framed delicate slanting eyes. Her unassuming air of confidence added to her appeal, with all her emotions transparent and clearly expressed.

  Most of the teachers lived in the school, had round-the-clock responsibilities and were devoted to the children in their care. There were missionaries intent on saving souls, women whose hearts had been broken, spinsters incapable of, or not interested in, finding husbands, or widows with nowhere else to go. The school took them all in, giving them jobs where they were respected and appreciated and a place where they felt they belonged.

  Ramona didn’t yet know what she wanted out of life. As the school term progressed, she felt she had too much happening in h
er personal life to devote all her energy to activities and students the way the other teachers did. She was glad she lived in town and had a place to escape.

  Their new home was a stone cottage down a winding laneway so close to the Mall that they could hear the clip clop of the ponies ridden by tourists and school children. A mossy wall ran across the front of the compound, which was entered through a narrow gate kept fastened with a twist of wire. Sweet honeysuckle curled over the gray stone, trailing golden fingers to the pathway below. Wild roses climbed and tumbled over themselves in fragrant disarray, crawling up the cottage’s walls and smothering its gable windows. An aged pomegranate tree had woven its knotty branches into the verandah railings as though wishing to enter the house. Its fruit would drop and split open, the red, seedy juices spilling out like gaping wounds.

  The cottage had its own unique scent, a combination of mansion floor polish and pine logs. In the wood floored kitchen were a small cooking stove and an open-shelved dresser stacked with dishes, pots and pans. The drawing room was furnished with green wicker chairs with faded embroidered pillows and a bookshelf that housed Prava’s collection of women’s magazines that went back ten years or more, “Woman,” “Woman’s Own” and “Homes & Gardens,” each magazine reflecting the fashion and trends of its’ time. A creaky staircase led to the two bedrooms, each furnished with two narrow wooden beds, a chest of drawers and ancient mirrors.

  Prava settled happily into their new life. Her small inheritance and savings, combined with Ramona’s salary meant that she didn’t have to work any longer. Sometimes, Ramona didn’t think this was necessarily a good thing. Prava now had too much time on her hands. She sat on the verandah most of the day, shelling peas, knitting or sipping cups of tea in the sunshine. She quickly made friends with the neighbors and kept a vigilant eye on all their comings and goings.

  Her habit of thrift grew worse as she grew older, and her insecurity made her more miserly by the day. She had always deprived Ramona of anything pretty or frivolous so when Ramona received her first paycheck, she rushed to a fabric store in Chowrasta with Sandra in tow. Like any other young woman, she craved pretty things, above all fashionable dresses like the ones other teachers at St. Jude’s wore. With Sandra’s help, she decided on a length of cotton fabric and called for the tailor who worked at the store. He showed them a selection of Sears’s catalogs from which Ramona picked the style of dress he would create. He took her measurements and promised to have it ready in a week. Next they raided the stores for a pair of white shoes and a stylish handbag to match her new dress.

  It was a wonderful feeling to have money, especially money she’d earned herself.

  “Let’s go to Glenarys for tea,” she said grandly. Glenarys was one of the fanciest restaurants in town, with real linen table cloths and heavy silverware. Panoramic vistas of the Kanchenjunga Mountains could be seen from the rear. The front windows offered views of the street, perfect for people watching, and were preferred by the locals. The girls opted for a seat by a front window and ordered a pot of tea with lemon tarts and cream horns. The restaurant was empty except for a group of rowdy British men at a table near the bar.

  “And what brings you pretty ladies to town?” one of them asked. He was short and balding and had the loudest laugh of them all.

  “We’re teachers from St. Jude’s,” said Sandra. “This is my friend Ramona. I’m Sandra.”

  “Delighted to make your acquaintance,” he said. “I’m Geoffrey. Geoffrey Peters. These are my friends Jack, Jimmy and Tony, all tea planters.”

  Ramona was unaccustomed to the company of young men, especially British ones, and regarded them somewhat disdainfully. They had loud honking voices, laughing raucously among themselves in sharp contrast to their polite, well-mannered attitude to the ladies.

  One of the men said something in a low voice to Geoffrey. He turned to Sandra and said,

  “Are you, by any chance, going to the dance at the Gymkhana Club next week?”

  “We don’t know anything about it,” replied Sandra, who’d heard about the dances at the Gymkhana Club and always wanted to go to one.

  “We’d like to invite you ladies along. It’s next Saturday at five o’clock. Do come!”

  The other men, starved for female company, joined in.

  “Please.”

  “Say yes.”

  “Save us a dance!”

  Ramona and Sandra looked at each other questioningly. Finally, Ramona said,

  “Okay. Yes, we’d love to.”

  “Smashing.”

  “Cheers!”

  “Wonderful,” the men chimed in.

  Sandra blushed and Ramona giggled. When they called for their bill after the planters left, they were told that the British Sahibs had already settled it.

  “Well, look at that!” cried Sandra. “Maybe now you’ll start liking foreign men.”

  “Perhaps, though I don’t care for any of them, nice as they are. I’m glad I’ll have something to wear,” said Ramona, thinking of her new outfit. “I hope my dress will be ready in time.”

  The following Friday she went excitedly to the tailor. It was Good Friday, a school holiday, the day before the dance. She was told the dress was ready and went into the little dressing room to try it on, hoping it wouldn’t need to be altered. It was white cotton with red polka dots, caught in at the waist with a red sash. It had a full skirt that came to just below her knees. Ramona looked at herself in the full-length mirrors, a luxury she didn’t have in her bedroom at home. She had never had anything so pretty in all her life. It was a little tight around the bust and more revealing than she’d intended, but there was no denying that it flattered her curves and emphasized her slim waist.

  Elated, she rushed home, eager to show the dress to her mother. She put it on, took the shoes out of the box and put them on over her new ankle socks. She regarded her reflection appraisingly in the tiny mirror, placing the white handbag over her elbow. Perfect! She ran out of the room to find Prava.

  “Ama, where are you?” she called, twirling her full skirts. Prava appeared in the drawing room and could scarcely recognize the young lady standing before her. Suddenly, all the years of accumulated bitterness and insecurity seemed to surge out of her.

  “What’s the meaning of this!” she demanded. “Have I scrimped and saved all these years for you to rush out and spend money the minute my back is turned?”

  Ramona feared for a moment that her mother was going to strike her.

  “Ama, I paid for it all myself,” she pleaded, tearfully. “And I give you more than half of what I make.”

  But Prava was too enraged to hear anything Ramona was saying.

  “How dare you do this? Take those things off at once and stay in your room!”

  “I will go to my room,” cried Ramona, “but only because I choose to be alone. I’m twenty-one years old, and you can’t treat me this way.”

  She stormed upstairs; all pleasure in her new possessions evaporated. This arrangement was not going to work if her mother didn’t relinquish some measure of control over her. Perhaps she was too old to be living with her and she should move to the school with Sandra and the other single women. Become like one of them, an old spinster with no life to call her own.

  Was this what she really wanted, she wondered? Or was she simply living the life her mother had planned for her? She took off the dress, the shoes and socks and put them away. Prava would not be pleased to see her go to the dance in her new clothes. But she had nothing else to wear, and there was no question of not going. Sandra was looking forward to it too much. And so, until now, had she.

  Saturday afternoon finally came around, and Prava couldn’t pretend that she didn’t know about the dance. Ramona had told her all about it, only omitting mention of the dress in order to surprise her with it. Already regretting her outburst, Prava had been slightly subdued ever since. Apologizing to her daughter would not have crossed her mind, but she tried to make up for it in her own
way, cooking Ramona’s favorite chicken korma for lunch and offering to do her ironing.

  When Sandra arrived in the afternoon with a small overnight bag, Prava took off to a neighbor’s house for tea.

  “Just leave the front door unlocked when you leave,” she told her daughter.

  Ramona was relieved not to have to flaunt the dress in front of her. She and Sandra were going to get ready for the dance together. They dressed excitedly in Ramona’s room. Sandra had dozens of dresses to choose from, more dresses than occasions in which to wear them. She had chosen yellow chiffon for this Easter Saturday. Her cheeks were flushed in anticipation of the adventure ahead. She secretly hoped Geoffrey would be there, not daring to confide her thoughts to Ramona who did not like British men.

  “It’s not too revealing, I hope?” asked Ramona, surveying herself anxiously in the tiny mirror.

  “Of course not! And you know it looks good on you. Just don’t wear it to school, or you’ll drive Bob Jameson crazy.”

  “I won’t, don’t you worry! Though it was meant to be something I could wear to school.”

  The Gymkhana Club was only a few minutes away, approached by a winding roadway above the Mall. It was a fresh spring evening with just a hint of chill in the air. A setting sun cast golden rays through branches of the fir and spruce trees that proliferated in the town. Land Rovers and jeeps from the tea plantations drove up noisily, dilapidated taxi cabs deposited local residents and chauffeured automobiles honked and squawked their way past lower caliber vehicles. Many, like the girls, arrived on foot. Suddenly nervous and apprehensive, they hung back wondering if they were crazy to have come.

  “Let’s go home!” whispered Sandra, “I don’t see any of the men.” No sooner had she spoken than Geoffrey appeared, smiling broadly.

  “You made it!” he said, proud to have pulled off the feat of bringing two pretty young ladies to the dance. “I’m so glad. You both look wonderful!”

  He looked different, too, in a dark gray jacket and blue tie. His sparse hair was slicked back neatly, and he wore nice leather shoes, Sandra noted. She liked men who wore good shoes.