Chapter 1
Most Welcome to Rajapur
‘Y
ou’re carrying your baby like a monkey!’ an ancient woman shouted
as we ducked into the small, smoky shack. We sat down on a couple
of benches. Simon ordered tea as I extracted David from the baby-carrier
and suckled him. The woman wandered inside; I now saw that she was prematurely wrinkly and actually about my own age. She watched me for a
few minutes, then said, ‘Why were you out in the sun with one so young? Your milk will get too hot!’ I was growing used to unwanted advice, but this
came with a smile; it wasn’t like the criticism of the doctors we’d fled from a couple of weeks before.
‘The baby is beautiful, sister,’ she said. Then, when David burped and
regurgitated a little, ‘See! He’s vomiting! You’ve curdled your milk!’ Pouting
her lips towards Simon, she then turned on him. ‘Is this the father of the
children? Why haven’t you bought her any gold? Aren’t you embarrassed for your wife to be seen walking in the bazaar without gold?’ Simon just chuckled, but I wanted to defend him. I showed her my engagement and
wedding rings. ‘The colour of this gold is poor, and you need earrings, bahini!’ Then to Simon again, her eyes twinkling, ‘She has been a good wife: she has made two fine sons. Why do you dishonour her so?’
Simon’s eyes sparkled too. ‘But my wife is Tibetan,’ he lied. ‘Surely you
know that they never wear gold?’
‘Ah mai – you eaters of cows, you are all the same.’
A scrawny cockerel with delusions of grandeur chased one of his harem
noisily past us. Silhouetted in the low doorway, blocking out the light, was
a whispering, watching huddle of young women. They didn’t dare venture 1
A Glimpse of Eternal Snows
2
inside, but it was obvious who they were discussing. As I smiled at them, they started to giggle. Two fled with their hands over their mouths. We downed
our glasses of thick, sweet tea and left while the young women pleaded with us to let them keep David.
At the next river, we drove down the bank and plunged in. Clear water
surged onto the bonnet and over the windscreen. Three-and-a-half-year-
old Alexander whooped with delight, and his excitement made little David
chuckle. At eight kilometres per hour, with water churning up to the windows, the river was intimidatingly wide, but it was exquisite too: the mirror-like water
reflected magisterial red silk-cotton trees and a range of jungly greens. Our bow wave disturbed a pair of plump sun-orange geese and a scamper of plovers that had been picking around on the shoreline. At the far bank, we drove up onto
a pristine beach, between lantana hedges, and then by a longhouse. Panicking chickens scattered between thatched huts and peepal trees on the edge of
Rajapur village, our final destination. We passed under an arch of sprightly bougainvillaea and drooping bottlebrushes, and pulled up in the courtyard of an imposing two-storey whitewashed house. An overwhelming smell of cow dung hit me as I tumbled out stiffly and beat the dust from my clothes. ‘I don’t want to do that journey too often!’ I said.
‘Tah! You softy,’ Simon teased, ‘it was only 15 hours’ driving.’ Two
tethered water buffalo paused in their cud-chewing to turn and stare. I fleetingly caught the perfume of frangipani.
A striking gentleman dressed in a freshly ironed lungi approached; his
white hair was tied into a topknot. He was unusually tall for a Nepali, as tall
as my lanky husband. Smiling and with his hands held palms together in greeting, he uttered his careful English, polished for the occasion. ‘You are most welcome to Rajapur.’ It sounded as if he was giving the island to me.
Mirroring the gesture, Simon replied, ‘Thank you, Mr Vaidiya. We are
pleased to be here.’ He then switched into Nepali and they chatted awhile.
Mr Vaidiya ushered us up stone stairs and onto a large balcony. A relaxed,
self-confident looking man of thirtyish sat on the parapet. He wore new jeans, Nike trainers and a carefully shaped moustache.
Most Welcome to Rajapur
3
‘You have come! Everyone from the Department of Irrigation is waiting
for you, Simon-sir. Project-manager-sahib is here also.’ He pointed into a
room that was too dark to see inside, but I could hear men talking. ‘There are so many farmers also who want to talk with you only.’ Below, men squatted or stood around waiting, smoking.
‘I wasn’t expecting a meeting today,’ Simon said. ‘I need a drink before
we start.’
‘The boy is bringing filter water…here. Take.’
Simon gulped some down and said, ‘We’d better start. Those must be the
farmers waiting below?’
‘Yes, it is so.’ Still unsmiling, the man turned to me said, ‘Mrs Simon-
madam, you must take shower in there.’ He indicated a door while I wondered if I smelt bad.
I peered into what appeared to be a cupboard. ‘But there’s no tap.’
‘The boy, Bishnu, will bring bucket for bath, Mrs Simon. And your room
is downstair. Come.’
‘Thank you mister, er…’
‘Thapa, Himalaya Thapa. Mr Simon has spoken of me I think, hoina?’ ‘Yes, yes,’ I said, not remembering.
Himalaya showed us to a dusty whitewashed room. Inside were two
small beds, a pair of flip-flops, three used torch batteries and an old paint-pot
containing some African marigolds. A stub of candle was stuck to the table, with some spent matches beside it. After Himalaya had left us, Alexander said, ‘He was nice.’ Then, ‘Let’s go and play!’
Outside, a tall lean man was beckoning from the top of Mr Vaidiya’s
huge red tractor. ‘Come, babu!’ And he invited Alexander to sit on his lap while they drove round and round on piles of unthreshed rice.
The sun had set by the time Simon finally finished his meeting. He came
bounding in, saying, ‘Phew, this is going to be a challenging place to work.
Don’t think I’ve ever encountered so many political agendas in one afternoon.’ Himalaya was on Simon’s heels. ‘These farmers will never listen to the
government directives….’ He led us upstairs again to where Bishnu, squatting
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4
at two Primus stoves on the floor, was whistling cheerfully while adding the
finishing touches to supper. Gratefully we devoured rice, delicately flavoured lentils, spicy vegetables and piquant chutney. ‘Mmm, Bishnu-bhai?’
‘Yes, memsahib? What you need?’
‘Nothing. This food is delicious.’ Bishnu smiled. One of Simon’s
engineering colleagues, Dr Josi, leaned across. ‘You don’t need to say these
things, Mrs Simon. It is not good to be nice to this boy. Speaking like this to servants will make them lazy.’
Josi then fired off a random bit of flak. ‘The vegetables are too salty,
Bishnu!’
Simon stayed frenetically busy from that first day. He needed to listen and read. As the incoming water expert, he was expected to understand
everything and immediately offer solutions to problems that rival farmers
had been squabbling over for generations. Meanwhile, Alexander and I started to explore. Rajapur was paradise. We watched oxen being driven in circles to thresh rice or extract soya beans from their pods; we saw men
scrubbing buffaloes in the river and women pulling water from wells. Alexander took lots more rides and the Tractor Man, whom Alexander called his special friend, taught him how to feed a new calf. While Alexander was busy, I could sit with David, soaking up the reviving winter sunshine. He was more peaceful now than I’d ever known and although he
still didn’t communicate much, I could read pleasure or discomfort in his face. He was content and – for now, at least – he was safe, away from lifesupport machines and probes and drips and tubes.
Pampered as we were staying in Mr Vaidiya’s house, there was time to
relax. I savoured this first real interlude since David’s birth, calming down, finally, after all the anxieties and disruptions of the last seven months. I sat basking, pondering. I often caught a puzzled Bishnu watching me as I muttered to the pages of my diary. ‘Madam is always writing!’
Most Welcome to Rajapur
5
Writing allowed me to reason with my guilt. David’s doctors had
driven us into exile; they’d made us feel callous and uncaring. Yet we’d only
decided to leave England once David was stable. By then we knew there
was nothing that had to be done immediately; the next operation could wait a year, at least. We’d be going back to that hospital in Cambridge in a
few more months. There was no need for any more tests or tears until then.