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Ronald Brown, 'Ron' to family and friends, was visiting India for the first time. A young lad of twenty-eight years, tall and handsome, he had come searching for his lost roots in Jodhpur, Rajasthan, where he was born in 1938. John Brown, his father, had served with Jodhpur State Railways during the 'Raj'. 'Johnny' to friends, and 'John Saab' to the lesser mortals, he was a very charming and colorful young man, who excelled in many worldly attributes, and was very popular in the society.
On weekends Johnny would often play on the imposing grand piano in the club, where many of the 'gora-memsahibs' (white madams!) would compete with each other for his attention, and if possible, manage a dance with him on the polished wooden floor, accompanied by the latest HMV records on the gramophone. Batty Brown, Ron's mother, was hardly comfortable with Johnny's ways with the women, but the man was incurable, and she knew she had no choice but to live with it.
Ron had hardly seen much of his father who had died of seasickness on the steamer while sailing back to Britain after India gained independence. He was hardly seven at the time, and the only son. He nursed a few vague memories of his father for many years. He vividly remembered the way his father would lovingly place him in his lap, while playing the piano at home; or when he took him for a ride on his 'Norton' motorcycle. He found the motorcycle ride much more exciting than the one in his father's black and green Chevrolet convertible. As he grew older, he wanted to know more about his father. All he had were some yellowing black and white photographs in the family album, and occasionally some interesting episodes recounted by his mother. However, the urge to know more about the man was overpowering.
One day, while searching for an old Golf club in the attic, Ron was thrilled to discover some of his father's personal diaries in an old discarded suitcase, dating back to the early forties. It was obvious that he wrote his diaries assiduously. Ron instantly forgot all about the golf club and carried a few of the diaries to his room, full of excitement and suspense, without the knowledge of his mother of course.
It took him a great deal of thought and debate, whether it was the right thing to peep into somebody's private life. But, he reasoned, it was not just anybody but his own father, who was gone almost a quarter of a century ago. Besides, he was no juvenile, and perhaps had a legitimate right to learn more about his own father. After all, he was not going to share his findings with anybody else. When he finally opened the first few pages, he was awestruck, most of all by the beautiful Victorian handwriting, a very stylish longhand that belonged to a bygone era, when there was far greater emphasis on a person's handwriting. An era of inkpots and pens with numbered nibs; fountain pens were rare; ballpoints were nowhere on the horizon. He was truly ashamed of his own handwriting which was very ordinary, to say the least.
Many portions in the diaries contained coded passages, which made no sense. Somehow, he wanted to unearth more. He was not going to give up just like that, and so he continued his search for the key to break the code. Surprisingly it did not take him long to unravel the code; it was simple. The alphabets used were one-step forward in the order of what was actually intended. For example, 'Love' would be 'mpwf' and pain 'qbjo', and so on. Thereafter, it was smooth sailing. After burning the midnight lamp for many days (and nights!), he discovered a lot about the colorful man that his father was, and some long buried secrets too. By then he had finished reading all the diaries retrieved from the attic, some more than two or three times. It was obvious that in a short span, his father had lived his life to the full. All the great things of life that he experienced, somewhat compensated for the deprivation of a normal span of life.
Soon his mother discovered the diaries in Ron's cupboard. She was surprised and wondered if Ron was able to decipher the text, quite unlikely she thought, and gave it a pass initially. However, when Ron's interest in those diaries surpassed what one would call just a normal curiosity, she was alarmed. One day, she removed all the diaries from Ron's room in his absence. There was no real need to preserve them any way. She got rid of them for good; Ron was becoming too engrossed in them for comfort.
He never questioned about the absence of the diaries from his cupboard for obvious reasons; they were not supposed to be with him in the first place. In any case, he had read most of them any way. By now, Ron had known more than what he had bargained for. It made sense to keep quiet about the whole thing.
John, it turned out, was a flamboyant, handsome young man, who was the life of any party in Jodhpur, of which there were plenty during the Raj. Besides, the royalty went out of the way to please the 'whites', and pamper them to the hilt. So much so, that even their women folks, who were otherwise mostly under the 'purdah', let their hair down occasionally, in their exalted company. John, who served in the state Railways, was a great golfer and a compulsive party-animal, who was much sought after by anyone who mattered in the small district. He was also the blue-eyed boy of the Thakurs who ruled the smaller holdings, scattered all over the state. There were Thakurs at every turn of the road it seems. Those were the days of shikars, the gala dinners, all-night celebrations, and 'naatch gaanas' (song and dance affairs) by the colorful local tribal group of singers. Such expeditions were mostly 'stag' affairs, the women-folks being conveniently left behind to amuse themselves in their own 'kitty parties' in the club.
While the day's 'shikar' was being cooked on the open fires in one corner of the lawn, the menfolk would booze until late into the nights, completely drowned in the choicest of liquors that the locals produced from exotic ingredients like saffron, cardamom, assorted fruits, nuts and condiments... and God knows what. Some of the 'Dhanis' (rural hamlets) were known to produce wine out of almost everything that grew in the arid zones. The early summer nights in the deserts, under the enormous blue sky, covered with brilliant stars, was always a very heady experience. It was during one such outing at Thakur Jaikrut Singh's Haveli - at a place called 'Balan' - that John got completely smitten by the rustic charms of a young beautiful dancer. Thereafter, he frequented 'Balan' more regularly. Gradually, he developed a great rapport with Thakur Jaikrut, fondly called Jacks, and his stately wife Preetam Kaur, who came from the royal stock of Kapurthala in Punjab.
There were some interesting entries in the 1943 volume of the diaries...
Feb 12: 'I never saw a woman more beautiful and enchanting than this tribal singer; she has mesmerized me so very completely... I am devastated... I am simply going nuts over her charms... and indeed alarmed at this uncontrollable... deadly obsession... God, I must meet with this unique creature, which Lord must have sculpted with his own hands...'
March 14: 'Quite surprisingly, within no time, I am becoming more closer to the noble lady... Now on first name basis, with me addressing her as 'Preet'... I am more at home with her than the portly Jacks, who is perpetually obsessed with his guns and cars, rather than the matters of the heart. My desperation could not have escaped her notice, for I had excused myself on more than one occasion from shikars with the Thakur, on some pretext or the other. It became impossible not to stay back for the increasingly tormenting charms of Shakila Banu, the singer, who is constantly tormenting me.'
April 10: 'Mrs. Pat Wilson is really getting on my nerves. She is shamelessly hanging on to me in the club, despite my total lack of interest. I had to be unduly rude to her last night after having told her to leave me alone... there was nothing that could distract my thoughts away from the rustic charms of Shakila Banu... she haunted me constantly. Especially now... when I am almost certain that Shakila too has been showing more than a passing interest in this 'white man'. I could see it in her eyes... somehow I know for sure... that ultimately I will win her favor... for I never fail in such missions; though this is not a mission in that sense... there was no conquest involved... unlike others in the past. This was different... very challenging, and agonizingly so. This was something much deeper... for someone so special... so unique... and enormously exciting!'
June 14: 'Today I took Batty and Ron along with me to Balan. Preet was very keen to meet them, which I was putting off for obvious reasons. The kind lady was all over Ron, playing with his auburn hair, giving him chocolates and cookies, and generally pampering him; the young fellow thoroughly enjoyed the special attention that he received. Batty was more than pleased with the generous hospitality and attention.'
From the diaries it was clear that, unlike Jacks, who had hardly completed his twelfth grade from a reputed school, Preet had been well educated in a convent in the hills, followed by graduation in History from Bombay. She was sophisticated and her polished manner spoke a lot about her royal upbringing. Jacks, after serving in the tea gardens in the Northeast for a couple of years, had returned to his lands after the demise of his father. He spent most of his daytime in his huge garage, tampering with his vintage cars with unusual fondness. He had a Cadillac sedan, an MG convertible, a Chevrolet, and a Jeep acquired from the Army disposals, which was used mostly on hunting expeditions. He was a skilled mechanic and never shied away from going under the bonnet or chassis. It was his passion, his first love.
'I really wonder sometimes, if destiny had not been so kind to Preet...' wrote John on June 26... 'But, Jacks is such a large hearted and affable fellow that he has practically given complete charge of running the household, and the affairs of the vast land-holdings, to her. Preet manages things with uncommon competence, and is well regarded and respected for her fairness and affection by her subjects. She is a remarkable lady, the like of which one rarely comes across in these parts. It is obvious that she has lots of time and affection for me, in a very affectionate, elderly way... and I have all the regard in the world for her. That is why, one day, I gathered enough courage, to pour my heart to her. She was not surprised. I knew she would not approve, but she did understand my state of mind with concern... and I was right... for she really felt for me in a way that is difficult to describe in words. I secretly wished that she would be of some help in facilitating a meeting with Shakila Banu. In her own discreet way, she did manage to provide an opportunity; one thing lead to another, and there was no stopping thereafter.'
Further entries in the diaries suggested that, despite total absence of a common language between John and his singular obsession, there was hardly any need for verbal communication... for a deeper bond had already been established between the two; they were made for each other... it was destined that way. What followed eventually was quite natural and inevitable.
The rest of the story in the diaries strengthened Ron's resolve to visit Jodhpur. There was a strong calling that was pulling him towards the exotic land, and he had made up his mind to visit India... in search of his roots.
Batty was constantly suffering from acute asthma, and the humid climate of Britain did not suit her at all. Despite trying all sorts of treatments and medication, she did not survive one ferocious winter, leaving young Ron all alone in the vast wide world. For the first time in his life, he felt so lonely and somewhat betrayed... and longed to be with someone closer. It was then he decided to visit India, and discover people who were supposed to be very close, and yet so far...
Ron landed in Delhi in the winter of 1966. The severe chill of Delhi in the last week of December unnerved him... for he had never experienced such ferocity of winter chill, having been used to central heating back home. After seeing the historical monuments around Delhi, and later a flying visit to Agra, it was time to head for his mission. Earlier in Delhi he had hired a sturdy bike: the 'Royal Enfield Bullet' which, true to its reputation back home, served him surprisingly well throughout his rest of the sojourn in India. After a night halt at Jaipur, he headed straight for Jodhpur... his ultimate destination.
On the previous recommendation of a traveler, whom he had met in Delhi in a hotel in Pahargunj, Ron found his way to the hotel 'Centre Point' in the city. Sure enough, he was relieved to find a decent room and more than helpful staff. He had arrived late in the evening, quite exhausted from the journey, and so, after a hearty meal of 'Rogan Josh' and Garlic Naan, he retired to bed early.
The following day, he discussed his plans in general with the elderly manager of the hotel, who provided useful guidance. He found his way to Bungalow number six of the Railways, the place of his birth. The elderly couple, its present occupant, was more than pleased to welcome him over tea, and took him on a tour of the premises. He became very nostalgic on seeing the huge swing in the garden, still intact, and the open terrace on top (which surprisingly did not look as huge as he remembered it to be), where he spent his evenings flying kites with other friends from the neighboring bungalows. The good couple even invited him over to stay with them but Ron politely declined. He had his own agenda, and wanted to be free to explore things on his own.
Later he went to the 'Sardar Club' where his parents had spent most of their evenings. The Secretary of the club, Thakur Karan Singh, welcomed him, and took him on a tour of the club. Ron was delighted to see his father's name on a couple of trophies displayed in the hall. The piano that his father loved to play, many years ago, was lying in one corner, in a total state of neglect. There was no one to play; the Saturday dancing sessions, about which he had read a lot in his father's diaries, were all a thing of the past. Later, Ron gladly accepted the invitation of Thakur Karan Singh for dinner at his place.
Ron marveled at the sprawling bungalow of Thakur Karan Singh, with huge gardens and exotic trees all around the place. He found it very strange that some people lived in such splendor in the land known for its poverty back home. He was simply dumbfounded. Mrs. Karan Singh turned out to be a gracious host. The evening started with a couple of rounds of whiskey and talk of the good old days. Eventually, when the subject drifted to Balan, Thakur Karan Singh, who had already taken one too many, was more than forthcoming. As it turned out, the Thakur of Balan turned out to be his distant cousin! After a few phone calls, he organized Ron's stay at the Haveli at Balan, hosted by his cousin, Thakur Narendra Singh. Thanking them profusely, and promising to meet them before leaving Jodhpur, Ron took his leave, after a sumptuous dinner, and returned to the hotel.
The following day, Ron requested the manager of the hotel to accompany him to the local market from where he bought some presents for the people he was going to visit the next day. During the afternoon, he visited the famous Mehrangarh fort and Ummaid Bhawan palace. He could not have imagined that this small city could boast of such magnificence and architectural splendor. He was getting the first taste of the Raj about which he had heard a lot from his mother. What he found was truly mind-boggling.
Thakur Narendra Singh was more than welcoming when he arrived at the Haveli at Balan. His father, Thakur Jaikrut Singh had died a couple of years ago. His mother, the frail grand old lady, Preetam Kaur, was ecstatic in seeing the young Ron, whom she embraced with genuine affection. The Ron that she had seen long ago had turned out to be a sprightly young man, with the same blue eyes of his father John. She had tears in her eyes when she learnt about John's premature demise. She went out of the way to make him comfortable. After her son retired for the night, she remained with Ron, talking about the old times and showing black and white pictures of his father, recounting the glorious days, which were full of gaiety and celebrations. It was then that Ron disclosed to her the actual purpose of his visit. At first, she was taken aback with complete surprise. When Ron told her about the diaries, she regained her composure and understood the situation well. No one knew the truth better than she did, except Ron himself, thanks to the old diaries.
Shakila was married off to Karim, Thakur Jaikrut's young driver, in quiet haste. Preetam Kaur had taken full control of the situation and did the best thing under the circumstances. Her command was always binding, and Karim could not have asked for a better hand in marriage.
The following day, Shakila Banu was summoned to the Haveli. She was informed that someone had come from distant lands to meet with her. Finally, when the much-awaited visitor arrived into the hall, the frail lady was overawed and flabbergasted... she could not believe her eyes when she saw this young foreigner with deep blue eyes... so much like the John Saab whom she had not forgotten... it was as though John Saab was himself standing before her eyes! After all these years, she was shaken up, and speechless.
"This is Ron baba, John Saab's son... remember... you played with him a lot... he has come to meet you after scaling seven seas," said the lady.
Ron was somewhat disappointed; he could hardly find any trace of that extraordinary beauty which his father was so obsessed with and gave his heart and soul to. Perhaps age had taken its toll. She stood frozen, not knowing what to say. Preetam came to her rescue and softly explained the situation to her in their local language.
"He has come to meet his half sister," declared Preetam Kaur to the already stunned woman who was almost hiding her face from this strange visitor. "Don't worry, he knows the truth".
Shakila Banu was nervous, how could he have known? she wondered. She was very perplexed. After a long silence, she hesitated and then muttered something softly into Preetam's ears.
Preetam understood her predicament. After Shakila departed for her quarters, she told Ron, "You have to promise one thing, that you won't let this secret known to her daughter... your half sister, at any cost... that's the condition if you wish to meet her... you wouldn't want to ruin her future would you?"
At first, Ron was hesitant; after all, he had come all the way from England only to meet his half sister, for the first time in their lives. How could he hide this fact when all he wanted was to be part of her life... to share the joys and pains of life with her. However, he did not have much choice. Finally, with great resignation and despair, he said,
"I suppose I have no choice... I promise to keep it secret."
At last, the much-awaited meeting was arranged, prior to dinner, late in the evening. When 'Jeenat' came into the room, she literally lit up the whole place. She had the unmistakable blue eyes of her father... and was unusually fair... and very beautiful. He could not take his eyes off her.
"This is Ron baba, with whom your mother played a lot during his childhood," explained Preetam while introducing the fair and tall handsome lad to the nimble young girl. Ron was moved with sudden urge to embrace her, but quietly acknowledged her greetings with folded hands... he had already learnt the local tradition of greeting with folded hands. Suddenly it was all quiet in the room except for some girlish giggles from the lass, who was obviously fascinated by this strange angel from distant lands!
Ron brought his bags and took out the carefully chosen presents for the three women. The elderly hotel manager had been quite helpful indeed. There were a few pairs of Marwari Ghagra suits (kind of long skirt and blouse combinations) for the ladies, some silver bangles and a silver bracelet for his half sister, and of course a chiffon sari for the grand old lady. Jeenat was overwhelmed, and from the corner of her eyes, she very briefly looked into the blue eyes of the visitor. There was something special in that brief moment, something that Jeenat could not fathom. The stranger was unduly generous she thought. She looked at her mother for approval before accepting the gifts, and saw tears in her eyes... tears of gratitude.
At night, there was a special dish on the table... 'Handi Mutton' (mutton curry prepared in an earthen pot over coals, specially made by Shakila Banu). "John used to like the preparation so much that he hardly took the continental stuff," said Preetam.
Narendra Singh had excused himself the previous evening, and had gone to Jaipur for some urgent work, taking Karim to drive the jeep. Preetam Kaur and Ron were having their dinner on the huge dining table, while the two ladies, Shakila Banu and Jeenat sat in one corner on the carpet. Somehow, he could not gather enough courage to invite Jeenat, and perhaps her mother, to join them on the table. However, discretion took overriding priority over desire, and he had to contend with the situation.
"How sad, she is the only one I have in this world now, and yet I can't express my true feelings... I wish I could take her with me to England... and show her my world... share all the joys of life!" Ron said to Preetam, glancing briefly towards Jeenat who was constantly looking at the young man. He was choked with emotions. He ate his food with a heavy heart.
"I understand your feelings Ron, but one has to face the realities. This is not England, where such things may not be big deal... but here, one can be an outcaste for life," Preetam tried to console Ron.
Jeenat and Shakila Banu took turns to serve additional helpings on his plate despite his mild protests. He did not want to disappoint them. The preparation was too good, something that he had never tasted so far; Shakila Banu must have known an Englishman's taste pretty well.
Ron was all set to leave the following morning. He had his bags and all the other paraphernalia lashed onto the pillion of his bike. He finally took leave of the grand old lady thanking her for her kindness and hospitality. She then took out a silver cigarette case and presented it to him.
The cigarette case had his father's initials 'JB' embossed in gold.
"John had presented this to my husband before he left India. It should belong to you now," said the lady. He was moved and thanked her for preserving it for all these years. The elderly ladies said their goodbyes with moist eyes... they were unlikely to meet again ever.
As he crossed the main gate, and arrived at the junction with the main road, he saw Jeenat waiting at the crossing with a bundle in her hand, looking in his direction. He shortly stopped his bike without switching off the engine. Jeenat was wearing one of the dresses he had presented the previous night. She looked very charming. Without waiting, she handed the bundle to Ron, which he readily accepted. There was no verbal dialogue. In his heart Ron said to her, "Young lady, I can never tell you how precious you are to me... that I love you more than anything else in this world, and shall always pray for your happiness and well being."
Jeenat, on the other hand said to herself, "I do not know who you are, but I know that you are someone special. I shall always pray for you and long to meet you again." Then she gave him a small Tabeej, a locket that she put on his neck for good luck. He thanked her by placing his hand lovingly on her head. Jeenat silently said her goodbye with folded hands. Ron pressed the accelerator and slowly moved away, hiding his misty eyes, leaving a cloud of dust behind him... gradually fading away Jeenat's frame in his rear view mirror... forever!
After driving on the dirt road for a couple of hours, Ron halted and took shelter for a while under a lone tree by the side of the road. He opened the bundle given to him by his sister... yes his loving sister... there were a few Paronthas (pancakes), some garlic potatoes and pickled mutton. He suddenly felt hungry... and relished each morsel as though it was the last in his life. Indeed it was, for he knew that it was his first and last meeting with someone so close, and yet so far.
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