Autumn 1808
The weeks following the Pritchards’ gathering brought a change in the weather and, though neither Jemimah nor Madhav could yet have described it, a change in the nature of their friendship.
The cooler season was settling over Calcutta. There was a renewed liveliness about the city. The river continued its constant traffic of merchant vessels, smaller boats and the people whose livelihoods depended upon them. The streets seemed busier, and there was a general sense of activity as households prepared for the months ahead.
At Basu Bari, preparations were under way for the family’s observance of Durga Puja, the great autumn festival of Bengal. Jemimah had seen the outward signs of such celebrations before: flowers in the streets, brightly coloured cloth, decorations and the bustle of people making ready for the festivities. But this year she had been invited to see something of the preparations within the Basu household itself.
Madhav had explained to her that Durga Puja was dedicated to the goddess Durga and commemorated her victory over the demon Mahishasura. It was one of the most important occasions in the Bengali religious calendar, a time of prayer, offerings and family gatherings. The worship would continue over several days, with particular ceremonies and observances marking each stage of the festival. For many families, it was also a time of reunion and hospitality, when relatives and friends came together to share in the celebrations.
Within Basu Bari, the preparations had already begun. Flowers were being gathered, offerings arranged and decorations made ready. The household seemed to have acquired a particular energy, with everyone having some task to perform. Jemimah watched with growing interest, aware that she was being allowed a glimpse of something more personal than the public festivities she had witnessed in the streets. She was beginning to understand that Durga Puja was not merely a spectacle of colour and activity, but an occasion of profound religious and family significance.
She arrived one afternoon with her mother to find the house unusually busy. The courtyard was filled with movement. Relatives had come to assist with the preparations, while servants carried vessels, folded cloth and other necessary things between the different parts of the house. Women were gathered in small groups, attending to their various tasks, and conversations seemed to be taking place in every corner. Every so often someone called for something which appeared to have been misplaced, adding to the general bustle and excitement.
Annapurna was occupied with the arrangements, but she welcomed her visitors warmly. Kamala was helping her mother, while Anandamayi seemed to be everywhere at once, alternately assisting and becoming distracted by whatever was happening nearby.
Jemimah was captivated by the colours. Vivid marigolds lay beside delicate white flowers, and rich fabrics had been laid out in preparation. The fragrance was quite different from anything she associated with the familiar gatherings of the British community. It mingled with the scents of the household beyond the courtyard.
Kamala noticed her looking.
“You have seen the decorations in the streets?” she asked.
“Yes, many times. But I have never seen the preparations inside a family home.”
“It is a busy time for us,” Kamala replied. “There is much to arrange, and many people to welcome.”
Jemimah watched Annapurna giving instructions to one of the women, then turning almost immediately to greet a relative who had just arrived. She seemed able to keep several matters in mind at once, without appearing hurried or flustered.
“Your mother seems to know exactly what everyone should be doing.”
Kamala smiled.
“She would say that everyone else should know without being told.”
They both laughed.
Jemimah was beginning to understand that Annapurna’s quiet manner with British visitors revealed very little of the authority she exercised within her own household. Here, among her relatives and the women who came and went, she was entirely at ease. People consulted her, listened to her and seemed to take their direction from her without question.
Madhav joined them later, having been occupied with his father. He found Jemimah examining one of the flower garlands and explained something of the significance of the festival. He spoke of the worship of Durga, of the family traditions associated with the observance, and of the importance of the occasion in the life of the household.
Jemimah listened attentively, asking questions when she did not understand. She was careful not to treat the ceremony as merely an interesting spectacle. She could see that it mattered deeply to the family, and she was grateful that they had allowed her to share something of their preparations.
“Does everyone in the family come here for the festival?” she asked.
“Many do,” Madhav replied. “Some come from their own homes, and others from further away. It is one of the occasions when the family gathers together.”
“And you have always celebrated it here?”
“Since I was a child. I remember the preparations being much the same, though I suspect I noticed rather less of them then.”
Jemimah smiled. “I imagine you were more interested in the festivities than in the arrangements.”
“Very probably. Anandamayi has not changed in that respect. She is still more interested in what is happening than in what she has been asked to do.”
A little way across the courtyard, Anandamayi was attempting to carry a shallow basket of flowers while listening to something one of her cousins was telling her. Kamala glanced in her direction.
“She is listening now,” she observed, “but I doubt she has heard a word.”
Madhav laughed, and Jemimah found herself smiling at the easy affection between them.
She did not take part in the religious observances themselves, but she was made welcome as a guest. Annapurna, in particular, seemed pleased by her interest. At one point, she indicated the flowers and said something to Kamala, who translated that her mother was glad Jemimah had come to see the preparations.
Jemimah thanked her, and Annapurna responded with a warm smile. It was a small exchange, but one which seemed to please them both.
Later, when Charlotte and Jemimah were preparing to leave, Annapurna indicated that they should return during the festival if they were able. Madhav translated the invitation, and Charlotte accepted with thanks.
On the journey home, Jemimah spoke of the afternoon with enthusiasm.
“I had no idea there was so much preparation involved,” she said. “And the flowers were quite beautiful.”
Charlotte agreed that the household had been most welcoming, though she admitted that she had found some of the customs unfamiliar.
“I think that is precisely why it was interesting,” Jemimah replied.
Charlotte smiled at her daughter.
“You always wish to understand everything.”
“I cannot see why that should be considered a fault.”
“Nor can I, provided you remember that not everything needs to be understood at once.”
Jemimah laughed, but she thought of the afternoon for some time afterwards.
The festival itself brought further opportunities for family visits and gatherings. The Basu household was full of relatives, and Jemimah was increasingly conscious of the affection and obligation which bound them together. She saw how Kamala moved naturally between her mother’s household and her own responsibilities, how Anandamayi delighted in the excitement, and how Madhav was drawn into conversations and duties which had little to do with his father’s commercial business.
There were people she had not met before, and others whose names she had begun to recognise from earlier visits. Some came for a short time; others stayed for much of the day. The house seemed to expand to accommodate them all, and the courtyard became a place of conversation, greetings and the exchange of family news.
Jemimah was beginning to understand that the family was not simply a collection of individuals living under one roof. It was a network of relationships, responsibilities and shared traditions, extending far beyond the walls of Basu Bari.
She found herself thinking about this afterwards, particularly when she considered the differences between the two households with which she was now so familiar. The Fairfaxes had their own family obligations and traditions, but the shape of their lives was not quite the same. She had come to appreciate that neither arrangement could be understood simply by comparing it with the other.
During these weeks, she also became more conscious of the particular pleasure she took in Madhav’s company. Their conversations had always been easy, but she now found herself remembering them afterwards, sometimes recalling a remark he had made or wondering what he might think about something she had read. When she heard some curious piece of news, she occasionally found herself saving it for the next occasion when they might meet.
She valued her friendship with the whole family. Kamala had become a very dear friend, she enjoyed Anandamayi’s lively company, and she had grown genuinely fond of Annapurna. But her feelings for Madhav were becoming distinct from the affection she felt for the others.
She did not yet know what to make of this, though she had begun to suspect that it was no longer something she could dismiss as a passing fancy.
Madhav, meanwhile, was facing much the same uncertainty.
He had become accustomed to Jemimah’s presence in his family’s home, and he found that her visits were among the most agreeable parts of his social life. He admired her intelligence and her willingness to question accepted opinions, but he was also drawn to her warmth and consideration. She was interested in his family because they were his family, not simply because they offered her an opportunity to learn about a different society.
He had become particularly conscious of the way she treated his mother. Jemimah never appeared impatient when Annapurna struggled to find the right English words, nor did she expect Madhav to translate every exchange. She had learned to recognise the older woman’s expressions and gestures, and there were times when the two women could communicate perfectly well without his assistance.
It pleased him more than he could easily explain.
Yet he was also aware that their friendship was becoming something which might not remain within the comfortable boundaries of the two households. He understood the difficulties which could arise if his feelings became known. His father had expectations of him, and Jemimah’s family would have their own understanding of what was suitable for her. Their differences were not merely matters of custom or social occasion. They touched upon faith, family, marriage and the lives each of them might be expected to lead.
He had no wish to place Jemimah in a position where she might suffer embarrassment or distress. Nor did he wish to make assumptions about what she might be prepared to face.
For a while, he resolved to say nothing.
But affection, once recognised, is not always easily contained.
One afternoon, towards the end of the year, Jemimah and Madhav found themselves together in the garden at Basu Bari. The family were receiving visitors, and Kamala had asked Jemimah to accompany her to look at some plants which had recently been brought into the courtyard. Madhav joined them for a time, but Kamala was called away by her mother, leaving the two of them to continue their conversation.
They spoke first of ordinary things: a book Jemimah had been reading, a recent dinner at the Lascelles’ and a piece of news which had reached Edward through his professional connections. They were accustomed to talking in this way, and neither felt any need to hurry the conversation.
Then, gradually, it became quieter.
“I sometimes think,” Jemimah said, “that I have known you for a long time.”
Madhav looked at her.
“Have you?”
“Not in years, perhaps. But I have become so accustomed to seeing you that it seems strange to remember that we were once merely introduced at dinner.”
He smiled.
“I remember that evening rather well.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. You asked me whether I had found it difficult to return from England.”
“I hope I did not ask too many questions.”
“No. I was glad that you asked.”
She looked down at the flowers beside them.
“I have enjoyed knowing your family,” she said. “Kamala has become a very dear friend to me, and I have grown very fond of your mother and sister. I should miss them if I were unable to visit.”
“I think they would miss you too.”
“And you?”
The question came more quietly than she had intended.
Madhav did not answer immediately. He looked at her, and she realised that she had asked something which neither of them could easily dismiss as an ordinary remark.
“I should miss you very much,” he said at last.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Jemimah had wondered, though she had scarcely allowed herself to admit it, whether Madhav felt something more than friendship for her. Yet now that he had said something which seemed to confirm it, she found herself without an immediate answer.
“I think,” she said slowly, “that I should miss you too.”
He looked away briefly, as though considering what he might say next. When he spoke again, his voice was measured, but she could hear the seriousness beneath it.
“I have tried not to presume upon our friendship,” he said. “I know that our circumstances are not simple.”
“I know,” she replied. “I have sometimes wondered whether we are both beginning to understand that.”
He looked at her.
“And does it trouble you?”
“It makes me thoughtful. But it does not make me wish that I had never known you.”
For a moment he said nothing. Then she saw that he understood.
There was much they had not discussed. They had not spoken of marriage, nor of what either family might say, nor of the difficulties which could arise if their feelings were allowed to develop. Those questions would have to be considered, but neither was ready to bring them into the quiet of that afternoon.
They both knew that their friendship existed within two very different family and social worlds. Neither could pretend that those differences did not matter. But neither wished to deny what had begun to grow between them.
For the present, that understanding was enough.
The sounds of the household continued beyond the garden: voices in the courtyard, the movement of visitors, and the occasional call of someone seeking another member of the family. Their conversation might have appeared unremarkable to anyone passing by, yet something important had changed.
When Kamala returned, she found them talking about the book Jemimah had brought with her. Their manner was composed, and she had no reason to suspect that anything significant had passed between them.
Yet as Jemimah left Basu Bari later that day, she knew that her feelings could no longer be explained away as simple friendship.
And Madhav, watching the carriage depart, knew the same.