the home she had cherished until now. She was able to call Mohit at his office for only a few minutes each day, speaking in hurried whispers when her grandmother was taking her bath.
Mohit assured her of his love. He wasn’t going to buckle under his father’s pressure. They would elope. They would go to Darjeeling or Goa. He told her to pack her valuables and be ready. But he sounded harried. She could tell he missed his family; she understood how torn he felt. As she hid an old suitcase under her bed and filled it with clothes and the few jewels she owned, the thought of her father’s face when he discovered her defection pierced her with guilt.As she lay awake at night, imagining her life with Mohit in a hill town, or in a seaside cottage awash with bougainvilleas, she worried that one day each might blame the other for what that life cost them.
Who knows how things would have turned out? But both Jiang’s grandmother and Mohit’s mother, convinced of the imminent ruin of their families, sought divine intervention. The grandmother lit joss sticks at Kuan Yin’s shrine; the mother offered hibiscus garlands to the goddess at Kalighat. They both asked for the same boon: May Mohit and Jiang’s relationship break up, and may they subsequently marry someone suitable from their own communities .
Over millennia, people have bewailed with some justification the tardiness of the mills of the gods, but in this case they began grinding at once, though perhaps not quite in the way the requesters had envisioned. Three days after the petitions, a unit of the People’s Liberation Army of China attacked an Indian patrol in the Aksai Chin region of the western Himalayas, setting into motion the Sino-Indian War of 1962. The PLA advanced south past the McMahon Line into Indian territory, attacks spread to the eastern Himalayas and thus closer to Calcutta, and Chinese forces took over both banks of the Namka Chu River. Intelligence reports cited massive Chinese war preparations along the border. News of dead or captured jawans appeared in the papers. The Chinese consulate shut down, rumors of Mao’s plan to bomb Calcutta ran rampant, and panic flared in the city.
People stopped patronizing Chinese businesses. Stores were vandalized. A popular Chinese restaurant was set on fire because a group of customers got food poisoning and believed it was part of a deliberate plot to kill Indians. Chinese banks failed. Crimson slashes of graffiti denouncing Chinese spies appeared on the walls of houses where Chinese families were known to live. The government ordered individuals of Chinese origin to register themselvesand present papers for identification. Jiang and her brother were lucky. They had been born in a hospital and had Indian birth certificates. But many others, whose families had been in the country for generations—like their Indian counterparts—had never thought of acquiring official papers. Jiang’s father was one of these.
“He was placed under house arrest,” Jiang said. “We had to lock up Feng’s and let the employees go. We didn’t know what would happen to our property, or to us. Our friends had similar problems. Vincent quit his practice. No one trusted a Chinese dentist anymore. We spent our time at home glued to the radio, trying to guess our fate. There were terrible rumors. Many friends abandoned their property and left the country. Every day the Calcutta port was jammed with Chinese trying to get berths on ships.
“I called Mohit again and again. He wasn’t there. Once a coworker picked up his phone and told me Mohit had taken leave because his mother’s health was worse. He asked my name. I didn’t give it, but I could tell he was suspicious. After that I was afraid to call, but I couldn’t bear not to. If someone else answered, I hung up. Then one day Mohit called me from a public phone. He told me to get out of Calcutta as soon as possible. He had heard that the Chinese were being sent to
Mohit assured her of his love. He wasn’t going to buckle under his father’s pressure. They would elope. They would go to Darjeeling or Goa. He told her to pack her valuables and be ready. But he sounded harried. She could tell he missed his family; she understood how torn he felt. As she hid an old suitcase under her bed and filled it with clothes and the few jewels she owned, the thought of her father’s face when he discovered her defection pierced her with guilt.As she lay awake at night, imagining her life with Mohit in a hill town, or in a seaside cottage awash with bougainvilleas, she worried that one day each might blame the other for what that life cost them.
Who knows how things would have turned out? But both Jiang’s grandmother and Mohit’s mother, convinced of the imminent ruin of their families, sought divine intervention. The grandmother lit joss sticks at Kuan Yin’s shrine; the mother offered hibiscus garlands to the goddess at Kalighat. They both asked for the same boon: May Mohit and Jiang’s relationship break up, and may they subsequently marry someone suitable from their own communities .
Over millennia, people have bewailed with some justification the tardiness of the mills of the gods, but in this case they began grinding at once, though perhaps not quite in the way the requesters had envisioned. Three days after the petitions, a unit of the People’s Liberation Army of China attacked an Indian patrol in the Aksai Chin region of the western Himalayas, setting into motion the Sino-Indian War of 1962. The PLA advanced south past the McMahon Line into Indian territory, attacks spread to the eastern Himalayas and thus closer to Calcutta, and Chinese forces took over both banks of the Namka Chu River. Intelligence reports cited massive Chinese war preparations along the border. News of dead or captured jawans appeared in the papers. The Chinese consulate shut down, rumors of Mao’s plan to bomb Calcutta ran rampant, and panic flared in the city.
People stopped patronizing Chinese businesses. Stores were vandalized. A popular Chinese restaurant was set on fire because a group of customers got food poisoning and believed it was part of a deliberate plot to kill Indians. Chinese banks failed. Crimson slashes of graffiti denouncing Chinese spies appeared on the walls of houses where Chinese families were known to live. The government ordered individuals of Chinese origin to register themselvesand present papers for identification. Jiang and her brother were lucky. They had been born in a hospital and had Indian birth certificates. But many others, whose families had been in the country for generations—like their Indian counterparts—had never thought of acquiring official papers. Jiang’s father was one of these.
“He was placed under house arrest,” Jiang said. “We had to lock up Feng’s and let the employees go. We didn’t know what would happen to our property, or to us. Our friends had similar problems. Vincent quit his practice. No one trusted a Chinese dentist anymore. We spent our time at home glued to the radio, trying to guess our fate. There were terrible rumors. Many friends abandoned their property and left the country. Every day the Calcutta port was jammed with Chinese trying to get berths on ships.
“I called Mohit again and again. He wasn’t there. Once a coworker picked up his phone and told me Mohit had taken leave because his mother’s health was worse. He asked my name. I didn’t give it, but I could tell he was suspicious. After that I was afraid to call, but I couldn’t bear not to. If someone else answered, I hung up. Then one day Mohit called me from a public phone. He told me to get out of Calcutta as soon as possible. He had heard that the Chinese were being sent to
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