Harkhu

Harkhu closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let the fresh, clean air of his surroundings fill his very being. The cold, smooth, and impersonal stone floors gleamed, the brass lamps glistened, and the polished teak furniture now stood clean, free of all that the last night's storm had blown into the house. The dark green enamel paint border at the base of the walls was shinning clean. The white paint above had now lost its last traces of damp cobwebs. The spiders had scuttled away inches ahead of the broom tied to the end of a bamboo pole. Twenty feet above, the rods that reached out from the fans and the chains from which the lights were strung, hung on to their new cleanliness. Naked, exposed. Robbed of their cover of dust that hid their rusting bolts and tenuous hold on the venerable wooden beams. Light struggled, and failed, to reach the top. Its cruel rays unable to expose the cracks and flaws that were beginning to form on what had once been the pride of the house-imported Belgian roof tiles with inner plates that still retained the intricate patterns carved in glorious times long gone. Only when it rained did the flaws make their presence felt as water dripped through the cracks. But all signs of such decay lay blinded by the layers of sparkling whitewash that followed each monsoon.

"We were lucky, Roy Sahib," he said, "if we hadn't come home fast yesterday, one of those falling trees would have trapped us."

"Yes. Good thing you can smell storms, Harkhu," said Roy, "the wind was scary and the raindrops were falling so hard, they hurt."

"You know, Sahib, my grandfather could smell a storm two days away. He could smell any danger-man, animal, or nature. He was Patrol Scout for the Queen's Grenadiers. Even his CO called him by his name Jung-Bahadur."

"Will you also join the army when you grow up?"

"I don't know, Sahib. It depends on what your father, Colonel Sahib, says."

"I will talk to Daddy. I will ask him to take you into the army."

Harkhu's eyes lit up, "you will? really?!"

"Yes, really. Let him come home, I will ask him today."

"Be careful, Sahib. See first if he is in a good mood. Then you ask, okay."

"Harkhu!" The Memsahib's voice pierced the room, "is Roy there with you? Roy beta, where are you?"

"I'm here, Ma, just coming," Roy replied; then, looking at Harkhu, he said, "tonight, after I ask him, you let me play with your grandfather's khukri."

"Harkhu, if you've finished cleaning the hall, come here and take this chessboard. It needs to be put on the center table in the living room."

Harkhu wrung out the last drops of dirty water from the mop into the bucket. Flecks of dust glistened on the soapy film floating on the water. A spiral of rainbow colors appeared and then swirled away from him as he reached into the water. He slung the dirty rag over his shoulder, picked up the bucket, and began to walk across the gleaming floor towards the room where the Memsahib waited.

"Coming, Memsahib," he called back, moving slowly, careful not to leave any marks on the floor by stepping on a wet patch. His left shoulder leaned towards the floor in a desperate attempt to help the right arm lift the heavy bucket. The right shoulder pulled upwards to keep it off the floor without crooking the arm. Bright drops of the grimy liquid gleamed wickedly as they splashed against the sides of the bucket and threatened to spill on to the floor at every step.

"Be careful, Harkhu," the Memsahib said, "be very careful, don't drop the chessboard. And don't touch the pieces. I have just polished everything. Hold it from the base."

"Yes, Memsahib," Harkhu said as he wiped his hands on his shirt before reaching for the chessboard.

This was the Colonel Sahib's special chessboard. A chessboard to shame all chessboards. A trophy from the war. No money in the world could buy the privilege of owning it. Flawless ivory. White. The gift of Ganesh-the elephant-headed god. Ivory squares marked out by thin, inlaid strips of jade. Deep, deep green jade. Nearly black. No mortal hand could duplicate the filigreed border with its intricate carvings of man and beast in battle. Each figure-every face, feature, and muscle-lovingly detailed by divine inspiration. Even the swords and scabbards were inlaid with miniature gems, as befits the arms of royalty. And the chess pieces. Carved out of single pieces of ivory or jade, each one was alive. Even the Pawns. They always stood waiting. Waiting to go to battle. As was the privilege of those born to be brave. The Bahadur.

Harkhu helped the chessboard glide on to the center table. He wanted to touch the pieces. To hold and feel the power of the figures that never died. Maybe even receive some of the courage that they never lacked. But if the Memsahib saw him there would be trouble. He didn't want to get scolded. It would spoil the Sahib's mood, and the chances of joining the army. Maybe some other day. When his hands were clean and dry. When he didn't have to clean floors.

"If I join the army," Harkhu promised himself, "one day, I will also be called Jung Bahadur." He savored the thought. Harkhu Jung Bahadur. . . It sounded right too. Total responsibility for warning about the enemy. He'd save everyone's life. Maybe even win a medal. . . All his life, Harkhu had heard stories of the battle. He had heard and he had learned. Every trick, every manoeuvre was etched on his mind and absorbed into his blood. He knew, when the day came, Harkhu Jung Bahadur would live and fight, even die, like a true Bahadur. The blood of fourteen generations of warriors who had fought with honor in every major battle in the world had never faltered, and, the gods willing, wouldn't falter. Ever.

"I'll be like my grandfather," Harkhu resolved, "a war hero." Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to meet, not just hear of, one's father. The man living with his mother wasn't his father, just an uncle, a Sherpa-mountain guide-who could, at one time, go up the highest mountains without stopping for rest. Every summer, when the snow melted and the best mountain climbers from from all over the world came, even the powerful white Sahibs, they asked about him. He had carried the loads of their fathers, and sometimes even the fathers, through avalanches and storms without once complaining or cheating. He was a nice man, warm, cheerful, brave. But not his father. Not the late Ram Bahadur, son of the legendary Jung Bahadur.

Harkhu wandered back to the servant's quarters behind the house. In the times of cavalries it had been home to the finest horses of the regiment. Now each stall was a room with two rooms for one family. They were lucky. They had a stall which had been used to keep the gun carriage. The small, bamboo and rope bed could fit in with enough space to walk around. Even some sunlight came in for a few hours every evening. His mother was on the steps outside, darning the seat of his khaki shorts.

"Finished your work, beta?" she asked.

"Yes, Ma. I cleaned the whole house. Swept and mopped the floors too."

"Did you ask the Memsahib if you could leave for lunch?"

"No."

"Harkhu! Go back at once. And don't come here till you ask the Memsahib. I have to listen to enough. First your father, then Him, and now you. Why can't you men learn to live in your place. You watch, one day I will not be there for all of you to trouble. Then what will you do? Who will look after you all? Did you polish the Sahib's boots?"

"No."

"Go back and polish them. And ask the Memsahib before you come here. I have to get back to work too. So come and eat by yourself. I will leave your share separate for you."

"But, Ma, the Sahib hasn't come home yet."

"Then wait for him there. You know he doesn't like it when he can't find you. Do as you are told. Your father isn't here to take care of us anymore. Do you want me to lose my job? And go back to starve in the village?"

Harkhu walked back to the house. The village. He didn't want to go back to those old, dark, tin and cardboard boxes. To the leaking roofs and cold, cold winters with the constant search for firewood to keep the smoking stove alive. No water, no electricity, and no beds. Not even a bamboo and rope bed. He felt glad he didn't have to live like that anymore. Good thing the Colonel Sahib had sent a message to his mother after the war, asking her to come and work in his house. He was glad his mother had got this job so fast after his father died. Now even his Uncle was a night watchman. At least there was something to eat. And the Sahib's old clothes. He ran across the lawn to the Colonel Sahib's car as it pulled into the front porch.

"Harkhu, take this crate to the kitchen and put the bottles in the fridge. I have to leave early now, so empty the car quickly and come, polish my boots."

"Yes, Sahib."

Harkhu picked up the crate of beer and staggered into the kitchen. He stacked the bottles just as the Memsahib had once shown him, moving aside the cheese and eggs to put them flat or straight. Whichever way fitted the most. Actually, if the ice-cream could be moved away, a few more bottles would fit. But that would mean the beans would have to go down with the meat. . . As the last bottle slid into the space created for it, he tore himself away, tried not to think of the cold, plain rice and raw onions waiting for him, and went to wait for the Sahib's boots.

"Harkhu, here are Daddy's boots," said Roy, as he emerged from the room, "will you play with me after lunch?"

"Yes, Sahib."

"Good. Then, while you polish the boots, I'll go and eat quickly."

The boots gleamed. Harkhu liked polishing boots. He liked to see them begin to shine as the brush swept away the dust. Today he put in a special effort. When no one was looking, he used his shirt to give them one final buffing. He scraped the soles, collecting the mud on an old newspaper. The strap's rivet needed to be tightened and one of the heel studs had come loose. He bit down on the rivet before tapping in the stud with a stone. One last tug to even out the laces and it was done. Perfect. Even the brass buckles and eyelets gleamed.

"I won't let anything go wrong," Harkhu said to himself, "I won't let the Sahib find one thing to complain about."

"Come on, Harkhu, I've even got the bat and ball," Roy said.

Harkhu lined up the polished boots on the left-hand side of the door, exactly where the Sahib liked to find them. Soon the excitement of the game took over. Harkhu forgot about lunch, forgot about the army, and concentrated on not defeating Roy Sahib too badly. It was not easy. Roy Sahib couldn't play well. He couldn't even see and hit the ball in time. Last year's Club tournament had been such a disaster. Even though he tried his best and scored more than anyone else, they had lost. And Roy Sahib had cried and blamed him for losing. The Colonel Sahib had got so angry too. There had been so much work to do every Sunday evening when there was a free movie at the Mess.

"Don't worry, Sahib," Harkhu consoled Roy, "next year we will win the double-wicket tournament at the Club. We'll show all those people not to laugh at us."

"Harkhu!"

"Sahib, I should go now. That was the Memsahib calling me," Harkhu said, "shall I take the bat and ball inside?"

"Yes. And when she doesn't want you, come to the Banyan tree. We'll play there, okay."

"Okay, Sahib," Harkhu picked up the bat and ball and began to run towards the house, "I'm coming, Memsahib."

"Ah, there you are. Harkhu, I want you to bring out all the new plates and put them on the dining table. The Sahib just called. We have guests coming over this afternoon. So when you finish putting the plates, don't go away. There's lots of work to be done."

"Yes, Memsahib."

"Did you eat?"

"No, Memsahib."

"No! Why not?"

"I was playing with Roy Sahib."

"Play, play. Don't you think of anything else all day?" Go eat something after you finish. Don't forget."

"Yes, memsahib."

There was lots of work to be done. The bar had to be set up, the glasses cleaned, the silverware polished, the ice trays filled, the snack trays prepared. . . And then the guests began to come. Harkhu had to forget lunch. Once, when he went to the kitchen to fetch some more beer, his Mother let him quietly eat a half-eaten sandwich from the tray.

"Ma, so many big people have come." Harkhu said as he helped his mother fill another bowl of nuts.

"Yes, beta, so many big people have come." She replied. "Don't put so many cashews, walnuts, and almonds in one bowl. The Memsahib said to use more peanuts."

"One day even I will have a big house and all the big people will come for parties."

"Big houses and parties are for big people, not us. We haven't learned how to rise on other people's. . . Anyway, when you go to school from next year, you study with all your heart. After you have studied a lot, maybe even passed High School, then you can get a good job outside. Learn to be a good person. Leave these thoughts of big houses and parties."

The evening blurred into a continuous trip to and from the kitchen followed by the laughter and voices from the living room. The only respite came in those moments when he stood in the corridor outside the living room, staring at the wall, waiting till someone called him to get something. Maybe this is good practice, he thought. A patrol scout should be able to stand at attention all day. And go through the jungle without food or water for many days.

He plunged in to make his way towards the Colonel Sahib beckoning from across the room. The Sahibs and Memsahibs stood everywhere. They towered around him, ignoring his presence. A cacophony of strange words and sounds floated above, and waves of thunderous laughter rolled from the North end of the room. They swayed to and fro, shaking with mirth and rustling their wondrous clothes. The Memsahibs in bright green and gold and orange and red and every other color he could think of. The Sahibs in their sparkling white shirts that were more white than fresh, warm buffalo milk. Strange buckles on dark trousers gleamed at the chance of snaring his shirt. But the Memsahibs posed the greater danger-bright embroidery with its sharp gold threads reached out from their clothes to scratch his exposed skin.

He stepped cautiously, keeping an eye on the swinging arms and the treacherous shiny boots that seemed so firmly entrenched and then, without warning, scraped his exposed toes. The crowd kept shifting as he moved, closing up the path behind him and constantly tempting him away with new openings that didn't lead straight to the Colonel Sahib. The Colonel Sahib had been standing near the second window, next to the Captain Sahib from the Navy base. If he was still there, Harkhu decided, the best way to get to him would be to take the opening on the left and then try to cut across.

"Ah, Harkhu, there you are. Listen, why are there so few walnuts in this bowl? Are we on ration? Go get some more. Quickly."

Finally, the guests began to leave, the roar of cars and jeeps filled the air. And Harkhu heard someone call him. It was the new Memsahib, the Major Sahib's new wife. She was very nice. Before going to the Mess to meet the other Sahibs and Memsahibs she had come to the servants quarters. She even remembered his name. And she was more pretty than the Major Sahib's first wife. The Quartermaster said that the stove hadn't exploded by accident in her face. "How can it be," he had said. "I checked it four days before with my own eyes. I myself put the new gaskets." But he didn't say a word at the inquiry. Even when they cut one pay increase. And two months later this new Memsahib had come. After the Major Sahib moved him from Stores detail to the Mess Bar.

"Can you go and see where the children are," she said, "tell them we have to leave now."

"Yes, Memsahib." Harkhu ran up the steps to Roy Sahib's room. They were there, playing that game he didn't understand-Monopoly. Roy Sahib had tried to explain it to him. Everyone moved at the whims of a pair of dice and bought all the land they could. To win you had to take away everyone else's land and money even when you didn't need it.

"The Major Sahib is leaving. The Memsahib says you should all come down now."

"Tell her that we are coming," said the big girl, "we'll just finish this game. Five minutes."

Harkhu ran down the stairs, and went to the living room, "they are just coming. Five minutes. They will finish their game-Monopoly."

"Where are they?"

"Upstairs, Memsahib, in Roy Sahib's room."

"Tell them to come now. It's getting late. We're going to wait for them at the car."

Harkhu ran back up to Roy Sahib's room, "they're waiting at the car. The Memsahib says it is getting late."

"Tell them we haven't finished. No, wait. I will tell them," said the girl. She turned to one of the players, a little girl, and said, "Think about it. That is the final offer-'Utilities' and 'Water Works' for letting you go one more round. Otherwise, I want the money you borrowed. Now."

"That's not fair. You said I could keep the money for as long as I liked."

"Yes, but I changed my mind."

"You can't do that. I gave you a loan before. I didn't change my mind."

Harkhu stood at the door while the deal was struck and then she came with him down the stairs and went outside to the car, "we haven't finished the game," she said, "we can't leave now-I'm winning. Please!"

"Okay, beta," said the Major Sahib, "but hurry up. See, everyone has gone. How about a game of chess, Colonel?"

"All right, come on in then," said the Colonel. "Harkhu, get my pipe from the dining room, and bring two bottles of beer too."

"After you do that, get me a packet of cigarettes," said the Major Sahib, "go across to the Mess and tell them you want a packet of cigarettes for the Major. What will you say?"

"Packet of cigarettes for the Major Sahib."

"Right."

The orange sun caressed the Jacaranda trees as they spread their tall, dark branches of bright, purple flowers. The weight of the birds made the branches wave and sway as if they were alive. The flapping wings of thousands of parrots, like the beating of helicopter blades he had heard during the parade for the war heroes, followed him as he stepped over the path covered by the falling purple flowers. Smoke from two jet planes had drifted together to form a giant 'V' in the blue and gold sky. The drums of the army band practicing at the square marked time as he walked towards the Club Mess. The dark trunks of the trees crowded both sides of the path, watching. Squirrels turned their heads for a quick look before they scurried off to make way for him. Water glistened on the grass, waiting for the fog to roll in. A solitary frog croaked in the distance, barely audible above the hum of crickets.

That parade was the first time he had seen his father. Full military uniform, lying at attention with five other soldiers on the back of a big army cannon. Everyone was waving flags and welcoming the Colonel Sahib. He was a war hero. The person who had first led his men across the river and then captured the enemy gun post. Only a few had died. A small price for such a courageous mission. Everyone was talking about the Colonel Sahib. About his ability to inspire his men. He deserved the medal and the promotion. If only the rules did not forbid giving more at one time. He deserved to be made a General, they said.

Only his uncle said that his father deserved the medal. He had saved the Colonel Sahib's life. Without him there would have been no promotion for the Colonel Sahib. Only a reprimand for putting his men in unnecessary danger. If he had survived.

"Who does he think he is, MacArthur?" his uncle had said. "Anyone can order the men to charge a gun. You should be able to take a gun without casualties. Coward. Brave men risk their lives, not their men's."

"Hush!" his mother said, "if someone hears you then."

"Let them hear. I'm not telling a lie. If my brother hadn't jumped in front of him, who would be on the gun carriage. Everyone knows that. What was the need to charge across when the planes were coming to bomb in ten minutes?"

"What do you know, the General may have asked him to charge."

"What are you talking. The General didn't trust him after he abandoned the post at the river. He was so ashamed to have a son-in-law who ran away from the battle."

"He was the first to cross the river. What are you saying."

"He crossed when there was no danger. And ran back when the tanks came. He came out of his bunker to cross the river only after the bombers came and destroyed the tanks."

"How do you know?"

"I have friends."

"Your friends talk too much. The Sahib has said he will try and give me a job in his house. Now you don't open your mouth anymore. We have enough trouble already. If you can't earn for us, at least don't spoil my chance."

By the time Harkhu came back, the chess game was almost halfway through. The Mess Orderly hadn't believed him. He'd insisted on a note from the Sahib. After a lot of pleading, Harkhu had managed to get him to call up the Colonel Sahib and check up. Then Harkhu had run all the way home.

"Cigarettes, Sahib."

"Ah, thank you. So, the Orderly didn't believe you."

"No, Sahib."

"Why? Isn't the Mess Orderly from your community?"

"No, Sahib. He is of a low-caste, not a Gorkha."

"Hm."

Harkhu went and stood by the bar to wait till he was called. The living room hall was empty. The stone floor would need to be swept and mopped again. Sticky patches of whiskey, beer, and orange juice stains had begun to collect fallen bits of food. Very few chess pieces were left on the board. The Major Sahib had lost only a few of his big pieces. One side of his board was crowded with figures blocking the way. Figures that wouldn't have dared to move if he still had those big pieces. The Colonel Sahib had lost a lot of his pieces. Big, small. They lay scattered carelessly on the side of the table. Spent. Harkhu knew that the game would soon be over. The Colonel Sahib would lose and be in a bad mood for the next two days.

Silence danced with the smoke and covered the room. The two Sahibs stared at the chessboard. The Memsahibs were probably in the next room. Harkhu could hear the faint sounds of their hushed voices. He wondered if his mother had eaten. She had had a headache this morning. Again. He heard the children come running down the steps.

"I won! I won!" Said the big girl.

"Because you cheated." Said the small girl.

"I did not."

"Ma, she cheated," said the little girl, "she borrowed money to buy so many places. Then, when she got her money, she gave me a loan and took away all my property, little by little."

"I bought them with the loan I gave you. Now don't be a crybaby."

"Hush!" Said the Memsahib, "it is only a game. No need to fight about it. Your fathers are busy in the next room. Now sit quietly for a few minutes till they finish."

Silence swallowed the sounds from the next room. "Well. . ." Said the Major Sahib, as he shifted in his seat and moved a pawn forward.

"Checkmate." The Colonel Sahib, sat up. He began to smile.

"Thank you, God," Harkhu whispered. "Thank you for making him win. Now he will be in a good mood when Roy Sahib asks him. And I will be able to join the army."

"That was a mistake, Major," said the Colonel Sahib. "Trying to save your pawns."