Calcutta Pudding

Calcutta Pudding

20th Sept, 1989

Sitting in the galleria of my suite and waiting for the next day to arrive. Esplanade, it’s my Mother’s homeland I have come to discover. Myriad truth remains unfolded yet...

Abe closed his diary and kept it inside the first drawer of the writing table. He was eagerly waiting to meet Shridhar Roy; his cousin from Calcutta whom he had sent a letter and had a little conversation before leaving his town in County Durham, his fraternal home in North East England.

Abe glanced at his wrist watch, it was already 8′ 0 clock and before he could speculate any further, he heard a knock on the main door of his hotel suite. He at once knew it was Shridhar and loped towards the door. Behind it stood a man who had all the answers to his questions, and his heart began pounding faster in exhilaration. As he opened the door, his eyes widened to see a man standing in English attire, something he hasn’t expected to see. He seemed in his mid- forties, slightly stout with an average height, fair complexioned and a round face with sharp features. Much resemblance with the man in the photograph her mother had shown him as her elder brother.

“Good Evening, I am Sridhar...Sridhar Roy Bhattacharjee”. The man standing at the facade introduced himself formally and extended his right hand towards Abe for a handshake. He took his hand into his and gently shaking it two, three times replied with a warm smile, “Good Evening. I am Abraham Jones but you can call me Abe.”

“Shri, my acquaintances call me that.” Shridhar muttered in gusto and smiled. Abe responded with a slight nod and a smile, and invited him inside. Shridhar came inside and sat on one of the wooden chairs kept just beside the galleria. Both men stared at each other for a while then Abe spoke first and at once came to the point. Things that he wanted to know about his mother, her past, her family everything about her. Her life here in Calcutta; and how she met his father, ‘Sir Abigail Abraham Jones’.

“Mr. Roy, begin from the scrape. I wish to know everything about my mother,” Abe said in a poignant tone.

Shridhar sighed, cleared his throat and sitting upright on his chair began speaking. “Alright...It was 1944, the colonial era. Your father, serving under British Indian Army was appointed as the General of the Esplanade. Under his surveillance came the Esplanade Row till Chowringhee Lane and also the Park Street. He was heard to be one of those stern officers who had everything under his control. A strong man with great physical will and appearance, and was mostly known as a stone hearted officer. I have never seen him though; not even a portrait of him...but my father told me that he was not only a strong minded officer but one of the best looking men he had ever come across.”

Shridhar paused for a minute and after staring hither and thither inside of the suite, he spoke again. “The love tale of your mother and father is quite unusual and it blossomed under the most atypical circumstances with complete chaos surrounding every nook of Calcutta in those days, including Esplanade. Riots, massacres were the daily thing; many of our people were

murdered and thrown in the Ganges. In those difficult times it was critical for a woman to step outside of the house and move about freely. But your mother and my aunt... was a brave woman. She didn’t stop going to the University to teach students.”

Abe’s eyes twinkled, which Shridhar noticed and smiled with a sigh. He was still standing with his loins resting against the writing desk and arms crossed against his chest. Shridhar noticed that Abe was a tall man seeming to be in his early thirties, a strong muscular body, very fine looking face with a prominent jaw line, green eyes and carmine hair that were shining even in that dimly lit room.

And Shri couldn’t stop himself from praising him and said most bluntly, “I can now understand that your father must have been a fine-looking man...very handsome you are Mr. Jones. And you have hair like your mother. She was called here, the red haired fairy you know.

Abe slightly bowed his head in respect and smiled. Suddenly there were thuds on the door and Abe recalled that he had ordered supper for the two of them. He responded with his deep heavy voice, “Come in please”.

A native young boy came pushing the trolley, holding some covered utensils over it and asked in Bengali, “Where shall I keep these”? And before Shridhar could answer him in Bengali, Abe in his fine British accent hastily replied, pointing towards the table where Shridhar was seated, “There, keep it there”. The boy understood Abe’s hint and pushed the trolley towards the small dining area and unhurriedly began keeping the porcelain bowls, plates and silver like shining spoons on the table and then left the room.

The moment the food was inside the suite, the air of the suite was overflowing with the aromatic essence of Mutton gravy and long grained steamed rice. The choice of food took Shridhar by surprise and he was staring at Abe with awestruck eyes. “What? I have grown up on this food. Maa used to make few Bengali dishes and their tastes are settled on my tongue. Her rice milk pudding with date syrup was one of the most loved deserts in Jones household. And its aroma my brother... I can’t tell you allured all the people in the neighbouring area and reached wide and far.” Abe exclaimed in delight.

Shri was gazing with his mouth agape and wide eyes. “Wish I could meet my aunt once. This has filled my chest with pride that she kept alive a small Calcutta in her heart and within you all.” Shri muttered with a sparkle in his eyes.

“You are right. This is what brought me here brother...to know my Mom’s Calcutta better. Tell me more about her and their love story. How it began?” Abe pleaded while serving the food to Shridhar.

***

The dusk was beautiful with crimson clouds floating in the vast sky, which made the whole world appear red to Devi’s eyes. She was sitting on the facade of a French window gazing that sublime view and loving the flowing breeze that was coming as a soothing sensation to her skin in that hot summer evening. The air was typically humid in the month of June in Esplanade and it was making the mood of the inmates of the manor house weary. But Devi was finding much inspiration in that summer twilight for writing her poems.

She was scribbling something in her diary when suddenly she heard echoing sirens. And she noticed a troop of soldiers marching from the front of their manor house. She hastily ran towards the huge galleria and began staring with questioning eyes. “Come inside right away. Devi... what are you doing? Don’t let them see you and your father will kill me if he comes to know of this”. Her mother yelled from behind in a real worried tone.

But she didn’t hear any of her mother’s words. She kept staring at the troop with utmost curiosity when all of sudden her eyes fell on one of the British soldier who seemed like their leader who was also gazing back at her with suspicious eyes. He took out the loudspeaker and commanded through it, “Ma’am, please step inside.”

Devi whose long carmine tresses were flowing with the dusk’s mild breeze stood upright and took few steps behind while staring at him with crooked brows and then ran inside the house. Though she was still curious to know why the soldiers were there in their lane and what were they probing. Restless and keen to know she kept peeking from behind the blinds. “Devi, stop being such a nuisance, you are surely going to get us all doomed one day.” Her mother yelled again but she shrugged off her words and kept peeking upon the troop’s bustle, particularly eyeing the man who ordered her to get inside the house.

After an hour she saw them all returning and that particular soldier got into his jeep beside the driver’s wheel and drove away. The way he was commanding the soldiers, Devi could make out that he must be the head of them all. Later, that night, on the dinner table she came to know that the soldiers had suspicion that one of the group of local goons was hiding in the vicinity.

Devi was listening to the conversation carefully when suddenly one of her uncle commanded her in an agitated tone, “listen you girl, time is not suitable these days for you to step out of the house. I don’t want to see you going to the University anymore.”

Devi’s big eyes widened and she angrily got up from the chair, leaving her food midway, heading swiftly towards her room, upstairs.

“Dada (Elder brother) if there is any rebel I see here in this house, it’s your daughter.” Polash shouted and left the table too by pushing the bronze plate full of coastal delicacies, aside in annoyance.

Polash was the youngest of the three brothers. Devi’s father was the eldest in the house and Devi was their only daughter. She was pampered more due to this and all her wishes were fulfilled by her father. They were the Zamindars of Esplanade and had ancestral chattels. Belonging to an elite status, Devi was extremely noble in her ways and her lifestyle comprised of all the luxurious things. Yet, her heart was pure gold, none of this ever affected her mind and she didn’t stop to provide education to poor girls belonging to low status at the University. She secretly ran this mission and her role was to gather all the possible girls from the neighbouring rural areas. After the daily lectures in the University, she gave special classes to the girls and women who were mostly confined within the four walls. She taught them English. Devi herself was finely educated with Masters in Literature from one of the expensive and most renowned universities of Calcutta.

The next morning Devi left home early. She took the Porsche from the garage and drove off to the University. It was barely 7: 00 in the morning and on her way she again encountered the same British soldier in a vest and short pants. He was jogging over the Esplanade row. Their eyes met while she drove past him. And in that short instant Devi did notice that he was an extremely good looking man with a well built body, tall and an alluring personality. And Abigail noticed too for the first time an Indian woman behind the wheels. As she moved ahead of him and drove a little further, her car broke down in the middle of the road.

Devi was bewildered what to do. She got down from the car and saw smoke coming out of the front bonnet. She gazed around and noticed that the whole locale was hollow, with no one in sight. She was an elite, high class woman and middle or lower class people usually refrained coming closer to such women. Thus, she remained standing helpless for some time, not knowing what to do. Soon she saw the same English man approaching towards her with hurried steps. She understood that he had guessed she was in trouble. Coming closer he spoke in his British accent, “Miss... Do you need help?”

At first Devi didn’t understand whether to answer him or not. It was taught in her household not to talk to unknown men, particularly Englishmen. As she was still fighting this stigma in her mind, he asked again, “Do you need help?” This time he made gestures with his hand thinking, that she mustn’t be getting what he was saying.

“Yes...oh yes please. My car has broken and I need to reach the University before 8. I have a very important lecture today,” she replied swiftly.

Abigail at first glanced at her with a stunned expression; he was quite amazed to hear her speaking such fluent English with a fine accent. He then hastily offered her help. “Miss, my lodging is nearby, if you find it alright, then I can drop you at the University, just a five minutes’ walk from here,” said he in the most captivating voice and Devi couldn’t say ‘No’ to him, besides she needed to get to the University on time. She simply nodded in affirmation.

They both set on foot with a swift pace and reached towards his quarters. He took out his jeep and dropped her to the college on time. After getting down from the jeep she gave a warm smile and said softly to him, “Thank you, Sir.”

He smiled back and drove off. After that morning, the whole day and for many more days Devi found herself often thinking about that incident and more about that man. Surprisingly, the same was happening with him. Abigail never missed his jogging from that day onwards in hope of seeing her again. And he did saw her, behind the wheel of that luxurious Porsche that Devi drove most elegantly. Soon the early mornings became the time for their secret meetings and gradually they both became much close to each other.

***

“Really... Maa could drive! But she never told me this and she never drove any of the cars we have had. That’s truly surprising,” Abe responded in complete disbelief with a bewildered face.

“Oh yes, dear brother. It’s being said that your mother was the only woman driver of her time. We had chauffeurs appointed to take the women of the house anywhere they wanted to go, but your mother chose to drive on her own. Everyone in the Roy household was against her for this, except your grandfather and my uncle Mr. Prodeep Nath Roy. He supported her and took stand for her whenever the family was against her. And being the eldest in the family his words were like rock.” Shri explained while relishing on the supper.

This brought a smile on Abe’s face and while Shri was wiping his hands and face with the warm towel, Abe got lost for few moments in the world when his mother was still alive. The images of those times of his precious childhood spent with her began to float in his mind and he closed his eyes for some time and lay back on the chair. A droplet escaped from his eyes and ran down his cheeks.

“You really loved your mother, didn’t you?” Shri interrupted and was staring at Abe with pitiful eyes.

Abe didn’t felt like saying a word. He exhaled a deep breath and then took out a packet of cigarette from the right pocket of his trouser and lighting one from it began to puff leisurely. Shri noticed that all of a sudden his face had grown serious and he appeared much gloomy and grief stricken. Both his eyes were watery and he was trying to avoid eye contact with Shri.

Shri understood the situation and felt that it wasn’t the right time to speak more about his mother. He therefore stood and coming closer towards Abe, kept one hand over his shoulder and said in an intense voice, “I think we should stop here, I will tell you rest of the story some other day.” Abe nodded in affirmation to Shri’s words. As he began walking towards the exit an idea came into Shri’s mind and he immediately turned towards Abe and chirped, “Hey...why don’t you join me for breakfast tomorrow at my place?”

Abe, who was still standing quietly, liked the idea and approved of it with a warm smile and a nod. “Sure, sounds great. Where shall we meet then?” He then asked.

“Oh... Not to worry at all. I will send my chauffer tomorrow to pick you up. You just be ready by 8. We will meet there, at Roy Villa your mother’s home.” Shri replied and bidding him adieu for the night, he left.

Abe couldn’t believe what he just heard. It was his dream since childhood to once visit the Roy Villa, his mother Devi’s maternal home. His mother had told him all the glorious stories about Roy household, her family, the wonderful time she had spent with them and many other things of her childhood days. But the tale of her love with his father she never mentioned. It was not known to him how they met, and Abe never enquired about the same. But before she died she whispered her last wish in his ears, “Abe...when I die do not bury me... burn my body and immerse my ashes into the Ganges that flows in my homeland.”

Abe did what his mother had asked him to. But keeping her ashes safe in an urn he almost forgot her last wish and got involved in work. He was a writer and spent most of his time behind his desk and on his typewriter and some in the kitchen of “Calcutta Pudding.” Both the qualities of cooking and writing he had inherited from his mother. His mother also wrote poems and songs that she seldom sung in her solitude. Only Abe knew this side of her and kept it a secret from everyone, especially from his father.

Before going to bed, Abe made his diary note about all the information he received about his mother. Then he kept it carefully on the writing desk. Soon he changed into his pyjamas and got inside the duvet. He kept staring at the roof for a while and whispered in the air “Love you Maa.” Closing his eyes he soon dozed off.

***

Devi was alone in the house that day, busy preparing lunch for the family. While doing that she began humming one of her own written song. She knew there was no one in the house, the maids had taken the day off and her younger son Abe was asleep. She glanced hitherto and feeling the assurance of being completely alone she began singing and got lost in her own world. Slowly her voice became slightly louder and when she turned towards the shelf to gather some herbs her voice froze in the middle and her eyes became wide in disbelief.

Abigail was gazing sternly at her. She stood frozen as if she had seen a ghost; hastily she ran towards him and asked him in a low shivering voice, “Did you forget something?”

He uttered not a single word and left the kitchenette with a deep huffing sound. She stood clueless for some moments then leaving all her chores she went to his study with a cup of tea. He was puffing his cigar and his face showed annoyance. This worried Devi a lot; she felt she had made him livid by her singing. Yet she acquired the courage to go further near him and handed him the tea. She didn’t have the courage to ask him anything, so she turned and was about to leave the room when his intense voice startled her.

“Women of middle class here don’t sing”.

Devi merely nodded and left the room with hurried steps. She ran downstairs and coming to the kitchenette she began to cry silent tears. From that day she never sung except for some lullabies to her son Abe. Abe was a little boy of five then. Young Abe took great interest in listening to her mother’s melodious voice. She sung to him English rhymes and he would keep staring at her mother’s beautiful face with utmost curiosity. She was the entire world for him and their bond was the most special in the Jones household.

She taught him everything at home. He went to the elementary school at a much late period but when she took him he was already much learned for his age. Devi even guided her twin daughters at home and taught them a lot about literature, history and much more that children of their age knew. She even received praising from other women and men for keeping the children so well behaved and disciplined, whenever they attended social gatherings or carousing.

But this didn’t bring any satisfaction or glee on Abigail’s face. He knew it was a woman’s job to do such things then why praise and spoil their little heads. Devi was deeply hurt by the conservative thoughts of Abigail but she didn’t have the courage to show rebel. She chose this life; there was no one to blame to and knowing that she was miles away from her native home, she had no other way but to accept her life this way.

Devi adapted the Western culture of County Durham well; she became perfect in dressing the English way, talking the perfect accent though she was already fluent in the language, with time, merging seamlessly with the middle class lifestyle she became so finely tuned that it became an uncanny reflection of her. But inside her heart there was still a place that remained devoted to her land and the longing of going there always stayed within her, till the last of her breath.

Devi played the perfect housewife by trying to find many ways of pleasing her husband, but all her efforts went vain. But she never expressed her dismay towards her children and remained the most loving and caring mother to them. She enjoyed cooking healthy meals for the family and with the help of the maids; she learnt this land’s delicacies and the preferred ones by the Jones’. But one food item that she stayed true from her heart and didn’t improvise any part of it was the rice milk pudding. She made this with date’s liquid syrup and for hours she would stand and stir the milk making it creamy and thick.

She called it ‘Calcutta Pudding’, and when for first time she made it the whole house was filled with the fragrance of the long grain rice and fresh cow’s milk simmering over low flame for hours. She found the ingredients by luck and chance both. One autumn day she took young Abe for a walk into the town and through the stores to collect groceries. While on their way she found a small Indian store standing on one corner of the street. It was standing alone from the hustle and bustle of the market and Devi immediately made her mind to go inside and see what things were being sold there. When she went inside, she was amazed to find the owner to be middle aged South Indian man of short height, pot bellied with a face that seemed weary, but most welcoming with a warm smile resting on his round face.

Devi greeted him with a smile and began to look around and glance carefully inside the store. She was amazed to see many colourful things, from colourful clothes, to Indian spices and herbs, some handcrafted decorative materials, but the most amazing thing she found there was the bottle of Date Syrup. When she read the name on it, at first she didn’t believe it and hastily asked the store owner, the same south Indian man, “Is this the original date syrup from... Calcutta?” Her voice was slightly hesitant when she asked.

“Oh yes...yes madam, this is pure Date Syrup from Calcutta”. The man replied in his typical native tone.

“That’s really great. But where do you get it from? Mind if I taste some?” Devi was still sceptical and wanted to test it on her own.

The man smiled and without any delay took out the glass bottle from the counter and poured the thick amber liquid on a silver spoon and gave it to Devi. The moment she tasted it, her eyes widened and she gave him the most satisfying look with a beautiful smile. She chided “I will take all”.

“All! Oh, very well madam.” The man seemed much delighted and within ten minutes he had packed six large bottles of Date Syrup and handed them over to Devi.

Little Abe was observing it all with curious eyes and enjoyed the whole conversation between her mother and the store keeper, the visit to various other stores and the whole day spent with her. He usually walked while gazing many times at her mother’s face and he noticed that today she seemed in a blissful state. This made his little heart happy as he had mostly seen his mother with a calm face that showed fewer expressions.

Devi was truly in an elated mood, coming back home she began preparing for the supper early that evening. She boiled milk in a huge pan and began the process of making the pudding. She wanted to give a surprising delight to her children and particularly to Abigail. Although singing wasn’t allowed but she did hum the tunes of her own written songs in a mellow voice, audible only to Abe who never left his mother alone and sat most patiently with twinkling eyes, listening to her humming while watching her doing chores. She taught him many things during these hours of togetherness. Being the youngest among the three children, Devi loved him the most.

Finally the supper was ready, after feeding the children and tucking them to bed, Devi began to wait for Abigail’s arrival. But Abigail returned much late at night. He was badly drunk. When Devi confronted him he didn’t respond at first but soon he began to yell. He pushed her far with his hands and she fell down on the floor. He was glancing at her with furious eyes and then he went to his room and locked it from the inside.

She couldn’t understand this sudden behavioural change of Abigail and felt broken. She sobbed silent tears that night and fell asleep on one of the chairs of the dining table situated inside her big kitchen. In the morning Abe woke her up and she realized that Abigail had left early. Devi hastily packed the lunch of her three children and sent them to school.

Entering back into the house, she realized she had a huge pan full of that pudding waiting on the cook top. She worried that all of it would get ruined, and began to think what to do with it. Suddenly she had an idea. She had many hollow mason jars in her cabinet that she had cleaned and stored for later use. She began filling them with swift hands, when she had filled nearly fifteen of them, she went on foot to the nearby houses some of them who were also good neighbours and gave them for free.

“What is this Devi? What’s the occasion?” many of them asked.

“Calcutta Pudding,” She replied to them all with a hearty smile. “Being happy, being alive... just create an occasion and have it.” And everyone took the jars from her without any hesitance.

That day Devi didn’t know, was going to change her life forever. Her pudding was liked so much that more people wanted to eat it and began ordering for their small gatherings and other occasions. At first she did it happily for them without any charges but soon her domestic helpers Nadia and Shelly suggested her to make business out of it. Devi did like the idea and she was in need of money as well. Also with a secret desire of once to visit her homeland and her maternal dwelling in Esplanade, she decided to go ahead and earn money with Calcutta Pudding.

Within a year, she was doing larger orders and began earning more than she expected. She had trained not merely her maids but also her daughters Elizabeth and Eliza who were in their adolescent years now. They took greater interest in their mother’s recipe of making ‘Calcutta Pudding’. And it was mainly the aroma that filled into the house and made everyone drool. The ladies and girls had enjoyable time making it, lots of laughter and fun filled teasing went on during its making. This was the time when Devi remained most cheerful.

On the other hand, day by day, their home run business was growing bigger with more orders pouring in. The children designed and hand printed the labels on the mason jars that read ‘Calcutta Pudding’. Devi had found a great way of engaging herself from the no worded, silent mayhem between her and Abigail who always remained apprehensive of her passion and her earnings.

After leaving the force, he couldn’t become a very successful businessman. And with time he was left bankrupt with almost no savings in any of the banks. He even mortgaged the house for keeping his wine business alive, but to vain. He couldn’t succeed any further and was left empty handed, with a kaput heart. Yet, he was not willing to bow and accept that in these times, it was Devi who made the house run. She gradually took the role of being the bread earner of the house and this burnt Abigail more. His eyes showed irk towards her but being aware of his own situation, kept him silent. He was well aware it was Devi who was making their lives go on with opulence.

He wasn’t adored much in the outside world as well; his arrogant and authoritative behaviour towards his peers and his staff brought him to the ugliest downfall. Yet, Devi had the heart to love him; she never uttered a word of rebel towards him and how could she, she had left everything for him. He was her only world.

“Would you like to taste some?” Devi asked him one day because she really wanted him to have it for once.

Puffing from his cigar he held his head high in arrogance. “No... Never, I would rather prefer to remain hungry than eating this.” He retaliated with vehemence.

Devi quietly kept the bowl on the desk beside him and left the room. She didn’t cry anymore of his rudeness towards her like earlier she did, she has now learnt to freeze her emotions from appearing on the surface. When she left, Abigail took once glance at the silver bowl and lifted it up. He took the spoon closer to his mouth with an adamant face that was expressing his ego and nothing else, no feeling of pity or guilt. It was against his manly pride to taste it, but he wanted to from the inside. He had heard of ‘Calcutta Pudding’ from everywhere he had gone to and from myriad mouths. The dessert had become a colossal name and success in many parts of the city. And the money that was pouring in because of it and for Devi’s persistent efforts, got the Jones’s ancestral mansion free from the mortgage. Devi became a known and a loved woman in Durham and its neighbouring places.

She was able to give a rich lifestyle and fine clothes to her children. She was able to feed them and educate them well. Even she remained adorned in expensive graceful clothes and on the surface she appeared opulent, but it was merely for the world she lived in such way. Abigail’s world of high society lifestyle became more of a condition to her rather than being comforting where she could find some solace, peace and above all love.

Her inside remained hollow and full of melancholy. And the days he yelled at her, she would quietly go the kitchenette and start making the pudding. She would stir, stir and stir incessantly. She found her peace in stirring the milk and staying in her kitchen for longer time, it was the little world of escape she had created for herself. She tried somewhere to stir away all her sorrows and emotions, but the more she tried to empty her heart by stirring her gloominess they became more pricking. Once she had confessed to her young son “Do you know what Calcutta Pudding is, I am!” She couldn’t find a way out of this void and with time became more miserable. Her own silence began to devour her. Slowly she became very sick from the inside and one day fell unconscious on the floor. That day for first time in many years, her ‘Calcutta Pudding’s’ kitchen came to an abrupt halt.

***

Abe woke up at 6:30 the next morning and within an hour he was out of his suite and the hotel. To his surprise, he noticed outside the hotel gate a black Limousine was already parked and waiting for him. He checked his watch it was 7:40, Abe smiled and with a sigh he got inside of the car.

Within twenty minutes drive the car stopped at front of a huge white iron gate with a gatekeeper who gladly opened it with a welcoming smile on his face. Abe smiled back at him and the man bowed. The black Limousine stopped now at a huge porch with a facade that was utterly imperial. The huge white stone carved pillars in a row at the front part of the house were mesmerizing. The milky hued manor was standing huge with two floors and long French windows on many sides of the building that made it appear nothing less than a castle. Even the obverse porch was gigantic and Abe felt that more Limousines could have been parked here easily. There was a fountain in the middle of the portico with a female statue holding an urn and water was getting poured down from her vessel.

The portico itself was beautifully adorned from all sides with myriad plants and colourful flowers that it almost seemed like a huge garden in itself. As Abe was completely lost in observing carefully the beauty of the entire place, Shri’s voice brought him back to reality.

“Good Morning brother, I hope you slept well last night,” Shri greeted him with a warm smile.

Abe turned and staring at Shri’s face with a fervent expression asked only one thing, “Is this the house my mother belongs to? And he kept observing the huge mansion carefully with the most curious eyes.

“Yes, my brother... this is Roy villa, where your mother Devi Roy had lived forty long years ago,” Shri replied. “Come inside brother, there is a lot more you need to see inside the house...besides there is hot tea and English breakfast waiting for you,” he further added.

Abe smiled and nodded. He followed Shri and as he climbed the stairs that led to the inside of the house, his eyes widened in complete disbelief. It was grandeur emanating from every nook of the house. The mahogany furniture, huge murals of landscapes on the wall, expensive carpets and rugs laid all over the floor, golden hues on falling long drapes, high ceiling and the crystal chandeliers, everything had a touch and essence of both classic and modern and made the interior appear much like a citadel.

Abe’s heart was filled with glee and he began to feel much pride for being Devi’s son. Shri escorted him towards the dining area where hot breakfast was getting served. The house was huge but there were fewer inmates to be seen. Only Shri and Abe had breakfast together on the huge dining table that had more than twenty chairs. Abe couldn’t hold back his curiosity and asked Shri, “Where is everybody? I mean the house seems quite big but there is no one to be seen. I hope you don’t mind my asking.”

“Aaaaa...you see my friend. We are the Zamindars of Esplanade and women in our house do not come in front of the guests. And since you are from the other side of the world, they are even more timorous to appear.”

“Oh... I can understand.” Abe replied with few nods.

After the two of them finished their breakfast, Shri showed him the rest of the mansion including the room where his mother Devi had stayed. But only from the outside, the door was locked and Shri didn’t open it, even for Abe. When asked he was told that it was the order of her father and his grandfather who was no more, but the whole house and its inmates were still following the rule.

Abe tried to know the reason, but Shri could only say these words, “Wish I could tell you, but I am forbidden to do that brother. We don’t even talk about your mother here; and everyone in the house is unaware that you are Devi’s son.”

This assertion of Shri hit Abe’s ego and he didn’t want to stay there anymore in that huge house, which had no place or respect for his mother. He immediately took his permission to leave, thanked him enough for the breakfast and bid adieu. Abe even refused to take a ride back to his hotel and walked out of the Roy Villa with a swift pace. Shri kept staring at him knowing that he had actually hurt his sentiments. After that morning, Abe didn’t connect with Shri at all during his stay for one more week in Calcutta. But the day he left for London, he left a note at the hotel desk and asked them to deliver it to the said address. It was for Shridhar Roy.

Dear Mr. Shridhar Roy,

*Forgive me for the other day, but I couldn’t tolerate a word against my mother. I came here to know about her, her story, her life before she married my father. But it seems she has been long erased from all those hearts that she called and thought to be her own. I am not aware what is the reason for this hatred? But it broke my heart to see, that after all these many years she stays a taboo in your hearts and in Roy household. Only she knew how much she had burnt day and night to visit her maternal home once, but I am glad that she didn’t, else it would have broken her tender heart even more. *

My job here is finished; I have fulfilled my mother’s last desire. I have submerged her ashes into the heart of the Ganges, now I am returning to home holding her memories within me and those can’t be taken or made impure in my mind ever. She shall always stay in my heart and that is more than any huge mansion she has ever lived in.

Abe

29thSep 1989

Shri closed his eyes after reading the letter and sighed, with his head moving side to side. “Oh... my dear brother, how could I have even told you that your mother was a traitor? This would have broken your heart even more. I hope you are able to forgive me”. Shridhar babbled and began to feel sad for having hurt Abe’s sentiments.

***

Abe reached his beautiful home in County Durham and was welcomed by his father. Much older now in his mid- seventies, Abigail had always shared a distanced and quiet relationship with his son. However; being informed from the airport that he was coming back today, Abigail stayed back home to see his son.

Usually, Abigail sat mostly behind the desk as the owner of “Calcutta Pudding” and enjoyed receiving overwhelming compliments for the Dessert, Devi had created long back. But today he asked his twin daughters to take care of the place. He also made greater preparations and ordered a sumptuous menu to be made by the chefs in the house. And one special bowl of Calcutta pudding was also asked to be sent for Abe, since it was his most preferred one.

“Did you do it?” Abigail asked at supper time on the dinner table, in a slightly low tone.

Abe didn’t answer. Instead he was glancing at his father with questioning eyes.

“Did you submerge the ashes of your mother in the Ganges?” he asked again.

This time Abe was staring at his father with awestruck eyes. How did he come to know of this, that he had gone to Calcutta for immersing the ashes of his mother? He never told him the purpose of his visiting the city. He replied rather uncouthly, “And do you care?”

Abigail kept the spoon and fork on the ceramic plate and taking off his glasses he wiped the corner of his somnolent eyes with the inside of his palm and heaving a deep sigh replied “I was aware that you had gone there to fulfil the last words of your mother. (Pause)... I couldn’t ever take her back there and she died with this dream...buried in her heart.” Abigail grew quiet, staring blankly at the portrait of Devi and him in their youthful days that hung straight across the wall of the dining area.

Abe kept looking at his father’s quiet face for some time, then asked in a slight worried tone, “You alright father?” He had never seen him ever talking about his wife in years, so this sudden conversation about her from his father came as a surprise to him.

Abigail didn’t say a word after that and quietly began to eat his dinner. Abe kept staring at his face for some more minutes hoping that he would say something, but hearing no word from him, he began to feel slightly uncomfortable and left his dinner uneaten. He went to his bedroom upstairs and slammed the door with greater thrust and the sound echoed inside their abundant but hollow house.

Abigail quietly went to his room on his wheel chair with the support of his caregiver, who came to attend him whenever he rang the bell. He could not walk by himself; both his legs had stopped working from the time when he took bullets in both his knees. Since then he had been on wheel chair and Devi had nursed him from that time till she died. She made sure that he never remained unattended, she hired two different caregivers at different shifts and they were still working for him.

Earlier; Devi took care of Abigail’s needs, starting from morning tasks, to giving him baths, and finally tucking him to bed. It was all romantic then, when he brought her to his homeland and the two of them began to live together as lovers. Abigail’s parents were slightly apprehensive of her in the beginning. She was an Indian woman, not from their part of land and didn’t know anything about the western culture. They were bothered that she will not be able to copes with their high status in the society. Although; they were surprised by her charm and beauty and also that she could speak and understood English perfectly well. But soon they began to like her and after seeing what she was doing for their son, they warm heartedly accepted her.

Devi and Abigail were at the height of being madly in love. She wasn’t yet married to him but that didn’t stop both of them from going one step ahead each day in their love life. Devi was taking care of all his needs and Abigail felt that he was the luckiest man to have a woman like her in his life. And his parents were happy too that their son found Devi. Unfortunately, with time Abigail’s parents faded away and left behind in that huge mansion were the two young souls much in love with each other. Both Mr. and Mrs. Jones left their son in the hands of Devi and closed their eyes in peace.

The two of them now fully alone in that mansion often began to enjoy the togetherness more and were like free birds. Indulging day and nights and more often in intimacy, for them this was the most perfect world. Devi didn’t have the slightest guilt of leaving her homeland forever for Abigail. He was her true love and with him how days ticked by and the way she found comfort within his arms during the nights was the most precious thing. But time was truly running faster, like the grains of sand slipping away from Devi’s hands. In a little while from being fond of each other, a little distance began to arise between them. Devi in her early thirties and Abigail in his mid-forties, now began to often argue on many things with their opinion often not matching causing them not to talk with each other for days and sometimes even weeks.

Devi also had given birth to the twin daughters, Elizabeth and Eliza and when they were both three and a half years old, she gave birth to Abraham. After the children were born, Abigail became cold and distant from heart and began to show irk towards her while taking help from her for his day to day needs. Seeing this, Devi hired an elderly caregiver. The woman began to take care of all his needs and many other things that Devi despised but she stood helpless behind the walls where Abigail had pushed her. Abigail earned nothing and rather wasted the riches that Mr. Jones had left. For some time it kept their lives smooth but soon after the children started growing up, it started to feel less. Abigail also had lost a huge portion of this wealth in his royal gaming habits and finally mortgaged the house.

Devi was left all alone and thrown in one corner of the house by Abigail. At times she felt like running away from her situation but where could she go? She had left one life behind for him and now she had little children who looked up to her with much innocence that she never could acquire the nerve to abandon them. Besides, she knew she couldn’t return home ever, she was a traitor to her country and knew it that her own family, especially her father who trusted her the most loathed her now.

***

“Where has she gone in this dreadful night? Devi’s mother asked sobbingly. “I told her not to go to the University today, but she won’t listen...she won’t listen to me ever. You have spoiled her, you are responsible for this.” She added while cursing her husband and Devi’s father who was sitting silently along with all the other family members hiding inside the warren that they had made beneath their mansion for any critical situation.

There were sirens of army jeeps, sounds of incessant firing, bombs exploding with loud noise that shook the earth more often and deafening sounds of people shouting and running here and there. It was a heart chilling night and the Roy family and many other affluent people had hid themselves beneath the burrows that night they had built to save themselves and those who had no such facility were running out for their lives in that mayhem. And some local group of revolutionists were fighting against the British soldiers with pistols and hand grenades.

It was 30thMarch 1945, a massacre took place on the streets of Esplanade that spread to other neighbouring places like Ballygunge, Chowringhee Bazaar and all the hidden rebels who existed like ghost on the other days were on the streets that night. Countless died on both sides, the British soldiers were using automatic weapons while the rebels were throwing hand made grenades, knives and firing from pistols. It was a brutal sight with people lying in pool of blood, children crying beside their parents’ bodies with no one to save them.

Devi was still stuck inside her University that night along with other staff members. They were all hiding in the basement of that huge campus. The sudden rage began in the afternoon when news spread like fire that the enemy soldiers have killed a college student who was believed to have come to kill their captain. Soon a group of revolutionaries came to protest and during that time the soldiers were ordered from their higher officials to open fire on the mob. Blind firing took myriad innocent lives raging the fire of vengeance and an upheaval began at that very moment. The day turned into night and the civilians who were outside their homes couldn’t return and had to take shelter for their lives.

Devi was hiding in the hideout inside her University since that afternoon without any food and water. She wanted to go back home, she wasn’t afraid like the other women who were shivering in fear with the sounds of firing. She was now feeling uncomfortable for lying down on the floor for so long and tried to get up but the other people wouldn’t let her do so. Her patience was about to run thin when all of a sudden, a familiar voice came through the loud speaker, “Any civilian hiding in this area can come out, you are safe now. I repeat...we are not going to harm you. You can come out and we’ll take you home safely.”

Devi knew this voice; it was Abigail’s her lover. They loved each other and hearing his voice she hastily got up from the floor, opened the basement door and ran towards the voice. She saw him from far standing at the University gate along with his troop, and began moving towards him with hurried steps. As she approached, Abigail couldn’t believe what he was seeing; it was Devi coming from the front. His forehead crumpled in shock and he hastily made a gesture to his mates to keep their guns down. It was a planned operation as they have heard some goons were hiding in the vicinity and had straight orders of killing them at sight.

Devi came running towards the troop and fell into Abigail’s embrace. He hugged her back holding her body roughly with tight arms and reprimanded her rudely, “What are you doing here, you shouldn’t be here at this time.” Devi was about to say something when he hastily held her from her arms and forced her into the jeep. As he turned to take his position all of a sudden a bullet came one after another from nowhere and hit Abigail, penetrating deep inside the bone of both his knees making him fall down on the floor. His troop wasting another moment open fired in the air and stopped only when all their bullets were finished. Amid this bedlam another bullet hit him in his torso and he was bleeding profusely. Devi whose heart was pounding in fear that she might lose Abigail who was lying on the ground badly hurt and all bathed in his own blood, immediately dragged him and took him behind the vehicle.

When the firing finally stopped, the soldiers didn’t go inside the campus to see who were cross firing at them. Rather, they immediately helped their commander to sit inside the jeep; Devi sat beside him pressing the body part where her scarf was tightly tied in order to stop him from bleeding profusely. Tears were rolling down her cheeks with her heart thumping faster. She couldn’t see Abigail in such condition, with the fear that whether he would be able to make it to the hospital that was a bit far from the place they were now. The three jeeps were moving like ghosts into that ravenous night and within half an hour of driving on the path on which Devi led them through, they reached the hospital. It was a secluded path which went from within the village area, and this made them reach safely.

Abigail was admitted and Devi stayed by his side till the time when he opened his eyes in five days after the surgery. No sooner did he wake up, his seniors have already arranged for him to be shifted safely to his quarters during the night time. The rebels along with many other civilians and Devi’s family all were searching for her since the news has spread that the Englishmen have made her a hostage.

“What to do with her sir...we can’t send her home. It will make the situation even worse!” One of his associates asked.

“She will stay here with me,” Abigail commanded while holding Devi’s hand.

“But Sir, she can bring danger to you. The locals are looking for her and besides she is an Indian woman, our enemy side.” The man said dubiously.

“I will see to that officer...you may leave now.” Abigail shouted and made a gesture for him to leave.

The man saluted him and took his leave. Devi remained with Abigail in the hideout. Few months passed away like this and after some time a formal letter came from the British Army that informed that he was discharged from his duty. He knew the reason well, now he was of no use to the force. Both his legs were damaged due to the bullets and he wouldn’t ever walk again. He was sent the respect at his quarters with the orders to return to his homeland immediately.

The following night they both boarded on the ship to England, not supported by his subordinates anymore. They both disguised themselves as an elderly Indian couple to escape many eyes who might recognize them, especially Devi. Finally, after six months, they reached Durham, Abigail’s homeland and his ancestral home. Devi left Calcutta on that night and she didn’t know that it was going to be forever. After they left, the news of her helping a British officer escape spread like wild fire and this made her name famous in the entire Esplanade and many other parts of Calcutta as the traitor. It reached her ear even so far there in Durham, but now it didn’t affect her much. She was in love with Abigail and did it all for him and felt herself to be fortunate to be his side. His love also made her forget all her woes and everything that she had left behind of her past life and her home in Esplanade. Devi started a new life with Abigail Jones.

***

“They called her my mistress you know...because I never married her. I didn’t marry your mother out of my selfishness, my acute ego, my arrogant manhood that she never let fall a bit. She kept the pride of Jones’ high, higher than her own existence.” Abigail became quiet with tears of regret flowing downwards from both sides of his eyes and above his craggy cheeks.

Abe stood frozen for a longer time, glancing at the cascading sun rays from behind the glass panes of the window of his sleeping room, with tear filled eyes. The whole night passed away without a blink, listening for the first time his father speak those words which he thought he would never come to know. He couldn’t fathom the sacrifices she had made that night just to save her lover, and how easily she left everything of her identity in Calcutta so that she could be with her man’s side forever.

“Love can be this great, it’s really difficult to even imagine. How unconditional, how much purity in her heart and yet...you couldn’t love her back.” Abe mumbled still staring out of the window.

Abigail couldn’t respond any further, his emotions of guilt and regret that he had forcibly kept hidden under the grave of his heart were all getting conjured. He stood a culprit in his own eyes and now in her son’s eyes as well. Much ego had ruled his heart for a longer time and now when finally he was able to speak the truth and confess everything to Abraham, he could only shed tears and not a single word out of his mouth.

Having confessed everything to his son, Abigail was ready and willing to take all the harsh words of Abe, his judgement and punishment too. Because in Abraham, Devi still resided, so confessing to him, he felt as if he was asking for forgiveness directly from her. He was the mirror image of his mother, sharp features like her, big black eyes that reminded him of her every time he glanced at his son’s young face. A kind heart just like his mother, he loved to help other people and above all he was a writer like her. She had written many poems but had hidden them in some place no one knew or could ever find.

“Not fair... not fair father, you have made mother suffer so much.” Abe heaved a deep sigh and spoke again. “How could you be so cruel? In truer sense you have actually killed her...she could have lived if you could have just given her love and some acceptance for what she did for you. You are a murderer, a bloody murderer. You have killed my mother...you...” Abe became restless in anger and soon broke into bits and began sobbing. He fell on the wooden floor with his face downward and silent tears kept rolling down his cheeks.

Abigail watched his son, feeling himself to be helpless and full of guilt. He didn’t have the courage to go near Abe and console him. But still he forced his wheel chair towards him and reaching near, kept his wrinkly hand over his back and began caressing.

“You are right...I am a murderer. I have killed your mother. I was blind and ego driven that I never tried to see her dismayed face which she always carried. She became quiet but didn’t utter a single word of complain or regret. I don’t deserve this...any of it. This mansion, this house …it was she who made it and I became just an envious spectator who burnt day and night to see her walking, to see her doing work, to see her earning and cursed and cursed from the inside. I am no less than a demon.” Abigail babbled while Abraham kept his face turned away from his father though listening everything of his confession.

After some time he turned his wheel chair towards the exit of the room and rolled it towards the door. He was about to leave when Abe called him from behind, “Father...!”

Abigail immediately stopped and turned his face towards his son. “She has taught me to love everyone...even though if you don’t like a person do not hate them. And I cannot keep the burden of your words in my heart. I love my mother, she asked me to always love back without any reason. I think I can do that. I can forgive just like her.” Saying this he kept staring at Abigail.

Abigail sighed deeply and closed his eyes. Abraham went closer to him and embraced him. Abigail held his son tighter and let all those stale emotions of guilt melt away from his soul. He felt much lighter.

Two days after that night, Abigail passed away in his slumber. He looked peaceful. With his death ended the story of a loveless love or perhaps a selfless love which Devi began with a heart like none...Start writing here…