Daisy's Long Road Home. Merryn Allingham
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Edith announced out of the blue. ‘I remember thinking what a pretty name it was, far too pretty for the rude man who lived there.’
‘Amrita,’ Daisy repeated. ‘You’re right—it is pretty.’ But would she ever be able to trace the house? There were bound to be a hundred Amritas in the district.
‘Something’s coming back to me. Let me see. Yes, the Colonel had once to visit nearby—I can’t recall why. My memory worsens every year, but I do remember going with him. The village was quite attractive, as Indian villages go. Yes, that’s right. It was a place called … Megaur … or perhaps it was a village near Megaur. I know you turned left at the station, Marwar Junction that is, and not straight ahead as though you were going to Jasirapur. Then you simply followed the road. It can’t be more than twenty miles from here. Less, probably, if we drove there quite easily.’
Amrita, Megaur. It was enough. Daisy wriggled in her chair, barely able to contain her excitement. ‘It’s good to know where my purse might have come from,’ she murmured. The remark was inane, she knew, but she had to say something. Hopefully, it might distract Edith’s attention from the strange behaviour of her guest.
‘I suppose it is good to know,’ the lady said vaguely. ‘But do have another gimlet.’
‘I won’t, thank you … Edith. I should be getting back, or I’ll hold up dinner. And the tonga driver has been waiting for me all this time.’
‘That’s his job, my dear,’ Mrs Forester said dismissively.
She wondered anew how the Foresters would cope in the very different world of post-war England. Edith and her husband had devoted their lives to the Raj and no doubt loved India passionately. But, whatever their benevolence, they were blind to the truth that Britain had no lasting place here. She was remembering the words of a patient she’d had at Bart’s, a retired colonial officer. He’d taken a keen interest in her travels and he’d talked a good deal about India. At one point he’d said rather wearily that no foreign power would ever succeed in mastering the country. You can order them about a little, he’d said, introduce new ideas, even dragoon them into accepting the unfamiliar, but then you must go away and die in Cheltenham.
She wasn’t sure where in England the Foresters were bound, but the old man’s words had an unsettling truth to them.
‘Thank you again,’ she said, and rose to leave. ‘Please give my best wishes to the Colonel and to Jocelyn.’
Her hostess rose with her and escorted her to the front door. She stood watching as Daisy walked down the veranda steps to the waiting tonga, her face gaunt and slightly bewildered. ‘Do come back when you can,’ she called out. ‘I’m sorry you have to go so soon.’
Daisy looked back and saw the older woman desolate against the naked interior of the house. Her parting words seemed a fitting elegy.
That evening, she made a decision. She was going to Megaur, she was going to find Amrita. But she knew she would face stiff opposition from both Mike and Grayson. She must keep her plans to herself and, if possible, keep silent too, on her visit to Mrs Forester. She was lucky. Both men assumed that after she’d returned from the bazaar, she’d spent the rest of the day at Tamarind Drive. The talk over dinner turned instead to the papers Mike had unearthed that day, with Daisy a silent listener. She was surprised to hear for the first time an edge creeping into their conversation.
‘I can’t for the life of me see why Mountbatten had to be in such a hurry,’ Mike grumbled. ‘He pushed Partition forwards ten whole months and completely destroyed the government’s own schedule. Why rush such a delicate operation? The more I read, the more I realise how close India came to annihilation. His decision was totally reckless. But then what do you expect from an aristocrat who fought a bit in Burma but knows nothing else of the world.’
‘He won a grand victory in Burma and I don’t think you can blame all the violence on Mountbatten’s decision,’ Grayson said mildly.
‘Don’t you? Well, try reading some of the reports filed by the civil admin teams from around the country.’ He saw Grayson looking quizzical. ‘Copies of their records were sent to every regional administration. And yes, I know, it’s unlikely to lead to any useful information on Javinder, but I have to go through everything.’
‘I’m glad you’re being so thorough,’ Grayson said, but Daisy thought that he didn’t look that glad.
‘Well, I am, and it’s often frightening stuff. Endless disputes over the anomalies caused by carving up the country. If people were lucky, disagreements were settled peacefully but if not …’ He wagged his head dismissively.
‘There were bound to be anomalies, Mike, whenever Partition was done and however long it took.’
Grayson was trying for calm, but his friend hardly heard him. ‘Ludicrous situations, too, which make the so-called Raj a laughing stock. Canal works on one side of the border while the embankments protecting it are on the other. Loads of instances like that. The border even runs down the middle of some villages, would you believe, with a dozen huts left in India and a dozen more in Pakistan. One poor devil had his house bisected—his front door opened to India but his rear window looked into Pakistan. It’s laughable but it’s also terrifying. No wonder there’s been such trouble.’
‘I know. I’ve read some of the accounts. But you could argue that rushing through independence was the best way to prevent even more violence.’
‘There surely couldn’t have been more. And what about the huge refugee problem it’s created. That has to be down to Mountbatten.’
‘Like I said, whenever it was done, Partition was always going to mean chaos.’ There was a forced patience to Grayson’s voice now. ‘India has known centuries of integration. It’s a mass of different cultures and traditions and beliefs. The entire country is a cultural compromise. However you divide it, there will always be people who don’t fit a particular “box”.’
‘Let’s hope they like the boxes they’ve ended up in then.’ Mike laid down his knife and fork and pushed away his half-eaten meal. ‘The only positive I can see is that no matter how bad the current situation, it’s got to be better than the Raj.’
‘Maybe.’
Daisy was surprised to hear Grayson sound uncertain. He had always been a firm believer in Indian independence. Perhaps the dreadful violence had made him reconsider, or perhaps he was simply antagonised by Mike’s truculence.
‘No maybe, my friend. The Raj made Britain wealthy and self-confident but at the expense of millions of Indians.’
‘I’d agree that some people made a lot of money out of the country,’ Grayson conceded, ‘but not the vast majority of those who worked here. The ordinary little people who actually ran India.’
‘That was their job.’
‘True, but they also did it because they loved the country and its people. They built roads, hospitals, looked after forests, joined the Indian Army. People like Colonel Forester and his wife.’
He looked towards Daisy as he said this, but thankfully Mike had the bit between his teeth and she was spared having to respond. She would surely have given herself away.
‘You’re talking like an imperialist, Gray.’ Mike’s lips thinned. ‘I’m surprised and, as an Irishman, I have to say it grates.’
‘I’m just trying to give the other side of the picture.’ Grayson stretched his long legs beneath the table. ‘You could argue that it was Britain who first introduced the idea of liberty, albeit indirectly.’
Mike threw back his head and laughed, but it was a peculiarly joyless laugh. ‘You’re saying that Britain encouraged independence? Someone should