far more nervous than theirs....)
Yes, I gave up the government job. My family still acts like I committed murder. They are shocked and enraged beyond belief. I have not written to anyone or been home since I telegrammed them. I am waiting for the dust to settle before I face the firing squad—not something I am looking forward to.
Question number two, albeit a more delicate one regarding Kona. Yes, she is upset. Her family is upset. The whole world is upset. I have not written or seen them, either. Kona’s father had not bargained for his daughter marrying a junior tea planter and living in obscurity in the jungles. She was groomed for a cushy life in the city.
Everyone thinks I am throwing my future away, but strangely I have no regrets. I am happier now than I have ever been in my life. I think it is the freedom to choose that I love the best.
I hope you will not think less of me for making what many may consider a poor decision. Sometimes there are reasons only the heart understands.
Yours truly,
Manik
Any sensible person would agree that throwing away the civil-service job was nothing short of impaired judgment on Manik’s part. What was more disconcerting, Manik had accepted the tea job “on a whim” without having a clue of what it entailed. As for signing the contract agreeing not to get married for three years... three years! Did he expect Kona to wait for him? I could sympathize with Manik when he said he felt he was being pressured into marriage and understand him needing more time to think, but his whole handling of the situation with the families was nothing short of dishonorable. I could never imagine Dadamoshai, for one, doing something so cowardly. But I found myself dismissing his shortcomings for my own selfish reason: receiving his letters made me so deliriously happy, nothing else really mattered.
CHAPTER 11
Manik and I continued to exchange letters over the next several months. The weather ceased to matter and I had only two kinds of days. Good Days and Waiting Days. April arrived and a subdued dhola drumbeatpulsed through the bamboo grooves.It wasRangoli Bihu,the spring harvest festival—the most joyous time in Assam, typically celebrated with a whole week of reveling and feasting. But that year the festivities were low-key because a thread of tension was running through our town.
In a surprise move, the Japanese Imperial Army had infiltrated India through Assam. They inched past the sawtooth mountains into Manipur and headed straight for the small Naga town of Dimapur, just northeast of Silchar. The invasion came on the heels of Britain’s crushing defeat in Singapore and its faltering hold on other colonies around the globe. It was a tactical move by the Japanese to overthrow the British in India. Dimapur was the hub of the Assam-Bengal railway, the only lifeline of food and military supplies for British troops stationed in Burma. If the Japanese captured Dimapur it would have devastating consequences for British troops and the British Empire and most likely tip the balance of power.
Suddenly Assam was no longer inviolable. The lights in Dadamoshai’s house stayed on all night as community leaders gathered on our veranda to discuss the Japanese situation. It was 2:00 a.m. and cups of tea remained untouched, dark rings forming on the inside rim. I sat quietly hidden in the shadows of the jasmine trellis, listening to the elders talk.
“New regiments have been deployed from South India,” said Amrat Singh, the Police Chief. He was an imposing man with a fine turban and beard, who still looked dapper at that unearthly hour. “The convoys are traveling night and day. But it will still take another ten days to reach Guahati. Meanwhile, the Japanese are advancing fast. Three divisions are marching toward Assam—over 80,000 Japanese soldiers, I am told.”
“I hear they have already blocked off the road between Kohima and Dimapur—is that true?” asked Dadamoshai. The crease lines
Yes, I gave up the government job. My family still acts like I committed murder. They are shocked and enraged beyond belief. I have not written to anyone or been home since I telegrammed them. I am waiting for the dust to settle before I face the firing squad—not something I am looking forward to.
Question number two, albeit a more delicate one regarding Kona. Yes, she is upset. Her family is upset. The whole world is upset. I have not written or seen them, either. Kona’s father had not bargained for his daughter marrying a junior tea planter and living in obscurity in the jungles. She was groomed for a cushy life in the city.
Everyone thinks I am throwing my future away, but strangely I have no regrets. I am happier now than I have ever been in my life. I think it is the freedom to choose that I love the best.
I hope you will not think less of me for making what many may consider a poor decision. Sometimes there are reasons only the heart understands.
Yours truly,
Manik
Any sensible person would agree that throwing away the civil-service job was nothing short of impaired judgment on Manik’s part. What was more disconcerting, Manik had accepted the tea job “on a whim” without having a clue of what it entailed. As for signing the contract agreeing not to get married for three years... three years! Did he expect Kona to wait for him? I could sympathize with Manik when he said he felt he was being pressured into marriage and understand him needing more time to think, but his whole handling of the situation with the families was nothing short of dishonorable. I could never imagine Dadamoshai, for one, doing something so cowardly. But I found myself dismissing his shortcomings for my own selfish reason: receiving his letters made me so deliriously happy, nothing else really mattered.
CHAPTER 11
Manik and I continued to exchange letters over the next several months. The weather ceased to matter and I had only two kinds of days. Good Days and Waiting Days. April arrived and a subdued dhola drumbeatpulsed through the bamboo grooves.It wasRangoli Bihu,the spring harvest festival—the most joyous time in Assam, typically celebrated with a whole week of reveling and feasting. But that year the festivities were low-key because a thread of tension was running through our town.
In a surprise move, the Japanese Imperial Army had infiltrated India through Assam. They inched past the sawtooth mountains into Manipur and headed straight for the small Naga town of Dimapur, just northeast of Silchar. The invasion came on the heels of Britain’s crushing defeat in Singapore and its faltering hold on other colonies around the globe. It was a tactical move by the Japanese to overthrow the British in India. Dimapur was the hub of the Assam-Bengal railway, the only lifeline of food and military supplies for British troops stationed in Burma. If the Japanese captured Dimapur it would have devastating consequences for British troops and the British Empire and most likely tip the balance of power.
Suddenly Assam was no longer inviolable. The lights in Dadamoshai’s house stayed on all night as community leaders gathered on our veranda to discuss the Japanese situation. It was 2:00 a.m. and cups of tea remained untouched, dark rings forming on the inside rim. I sat quietly hidden in the shadows of the jasmine trellis, listening to the elders talk.
“New regiments have been deployed from South India,” said Amrat Singh, the Police Chief. He was an imposing man with a fine turban and beard, who still looked dapper at that unearthly hour. “The convoys are traveling night and day. But it will still take another ten days to reach Guahati. Meanwhile, the Japanese are advancing fast. Three divisions are marching toward Assam—over 80,000 Japanese soldiers, I am told.”
“I hear they have already blocked off the road between Kohima and Dimapur—is that true?” asked Dadamoshai. The crease lines
Similar Books
