This is a work of fiction. It discusses strong topics such as interracial sex, non-consent, etc. If such topics are not to your liking then you can stop reading any further.
Otherwise enjoy! I would love to have some feedback. As this will be a series with multiple chapters I would like my readers to join me and construct future editions. You can leave a comment or reach me at my mail address.
I first set foot in the enchanted land of India in the year 1900. As the world stood at the dawn of a new century, I arrived in Calcutta as a married lady. My husband: Edward Owen was now a civil servant having marched through the Indian Civil Service examinations with flying colours. Edward and I had been married two months when he was assigned to take charge over a district the size of London in the Indian state of United Provinces.
I must admit, I knew very little of India before stepping foot in it. My mother in one of her tea gatherings had stated that all of India was a hot, boiling piece of desert land with little vegetation and inhabited by heathens who prayed to multiple gods. But essential information did reach me in the form of letters, sent to me by my dear cousin Winston. He was posted as a military cadet and would constantly write to me describing his surroundings and how different India actually was from what my mother described.
Winston also told me how it had changed him. To my horror, India had a profound effect on his faith. He once wrote to me,
'Religion is a delicious narcotic', he thought and even professed to accept Protestantism as he found it 'closer to reason'. I, as an obedient Roman Catholic abhorred this idea and was worried, thinking he might stray away from God entirely. Oh how many letters I wrote trying to sway his faculties to return home both figuratively and literally. Sadly, that would not be convincing enough.
After we set foot in Calcutta, we took a tiring journey to Oudh (Lucknow precisely) from where we took a carriage to Jamnagariya: our place of residence. I remember, distinctly, the clamour in the bazaar. Street vendors offering fruit, furniture and other finished goods. There was a horse salesman who shouted as our carriage rolled by, possibly because his ware could only be afforded by the rich. A great line of shops catering to selling colorful cloth. I mistook a saree for a table cloth only to be made fun of by Edward as he knew more of the culture than I did.
We rolled by the bazaar and the next scenery was of the farmlands. For as far as the eye could see there was nothing but green pastures, occasionally I spotted a hut or two in the middle. Farmers ploughing their fields in the scorching heat. It was largely peaceful. The only other noise apart from our carriage was being made by the crickets which I would learn later, were in healthy abundance. It was definitely the opposite of London which was a deep well of constant pandemonium and mayhem.
We would reach our place of residence at five in the eve'. The sun was about to set and even in the month of October, it was stiflingly hot. The heat was truly unbearable and I was stupid enough to wear a black plaid dress with a scarf around my poor neck. I felt suffocated so as soon as I stepped out of the carriage, I ran inside the bungalow.
While my husband stood outside laughing his guts out, I had made my way inside onto the porch. Immediately I saw three women approach me, one holding what looked like a glass of water, the other two on either side of her holding a copper jug and a hand fan respectively. I gulped down the contents in the glass without even noticing what it was. The after taste was both sweet and salty. I turned to the woman and asked,
"What is this?"
"Nimboo-pani", she replied plainly. The middle-aged lady draped in a violet saree had a look of maturity and command. Her forehead was wrinkled and her posture made her look respectable. So I axiomatically inquired,
"Are you the governess?"
"Yes memsahib. I deal with the day-to-day workings in this house." She replied, this time with more passion. Probably my inquiry had acted as a catalyst to her pride. Her laconic replies increased my curiosity but I didn't question her any further.
The lady on her left offered more from the jug, I denied.
"I'm well, thank you." This woman holding the jug was breathtakingly beautiful. Her exotic skin tone coupled with her feline eyes gave her the look of a celestial maiden, exactly like I imagined a Hindu goddess would look like. Her long wavy hair was set free and therefore, they would sway slightly with a gush of wind. I felt myself to be inadequate immediately and a feminine jealousy arose in me. She smiled and instinctively, I did not return it back. 'Be careful with this one', I thought to myself. Only if I knew what trouble she would be to me, I would've banished her at that very moment. But I was a fool for not sensing the obvious. They say a woman's instinct does not ever fail her and yet it has.
After reawakening my faculties I looked around me. Edward had busied himself with luggage and I found time to tour my new home with the governess whose name was Padmini.
The bungalow was surrounded on all four sides by gardens. There was even a small pond on the northern section of the garden. The house itself was massive, almost thrice the size of my family palace in Yorkshire. It had twelve bedrooms with attached bathrooms, three dining rooms, a large kitchen with a chimney, a large drawing room, four powder rooms and a large attic where the servants resided.
"I told you Marge, we'll live like the Royals here." Said my husband while walking past me. He knew that I was mesmerised by the surroundings. It truly was a palace and not just a bungalow.
My first night was tumultuous. Dark clouds had engulfed the entire night sky and the wind was howling wildly. I could not sleep and while my husband was in his bedroom, I lay, staring at my ceiling and the chandelier that dangled from the ceiling, almost floating. I thought of picking up a book but was too lazy to act upon my thoughts. The loud thunder would've made it impossible anyways.
I tried again to sleep but after an hour passed with no result, I lit my candle. I had thought of sitting in the drawing room momentarily.
As I walked out of my room a strong gust of wind extinguished my candle. I lit it again and returned. The night was ghostly dark and only the momentary lightning flashes were my source of light apart from my humble candle. I tread quietly through the veranda. I could hear, although hushed, the sound of a roan. 'I think it is a horse', I whispered. On this cold night, I was clad only in my cotton nightgown. The inclement weather had made it impossible for me to actually shield my body with the robe.
As I walked past Edward's bedroom I heard a muffled moan. What was odd was that it was of a woman. I went closer to the window. I could see through the little design and what I witnessed was truly shocking and saddening.
Edward was on top of Ragini (the maid from earlier). His right hand had clutched her wrists behind her head while his other hand was covering her mouth. Evidently he had failed to muffle her moans.
But the woman was also enjoying it as her feet crossed above Edward's waist, like a spider. Ragini (for that was her name) had a celestial figure in her. Her breasts were bigger than mine possibly because she was older than I was. But her movement also showed maturity. Her dusky body obeyed every motion of her lover's. A strand of her jet black curly hair lay on top of her face and every thing she did seemed natural to her.
By looking at Edward's face, I could see the masculine lust, the overpowering sense of mating. Soon enough he laid her down and entered her from behind. Gripping Ragini's luscious, long curly hair he smacked his body into hers. Ragini wasn't petite like me, therefore, even after trying they could not muffle the metronomous 'clap' sounds. It was quite visible that Edward had no issues bedding an Indian native woman on the very first night and although I knew our marriage was more of an alliance between our families, Edward still should've respected the sanctity of the union. This chicanery would not go unpunished.
Their copulation continued a few minutes afterwards. Edward had now placed her down on the bed with her back facing him. This time he was more intimate, kissing her from time to time while caressing her neck and at times even choking her. Ragini was doing everything a woman would. How could she deny her master? Abnegating his wishes would only make her miserable. Being a servant, she could not deny him and it looked like this union was more just the result of Edward's lust. He wasn't treating her like a whore as I had hoped but like a lover. This was something which hurt more than the actual affair.
As I continued to gaze through the room window for over half an hour I sensed that Ragini was moaning ever so loudly. Sensing this change in her, Edward started to motion faster. After a few seconds my husband had finished. Inside her, I might add.
I walked back to my room as soon as the commotion acquiesced. My heart was broken as my husband had already shown how unfaithful a man he had become. But I was a woman after all. I was supposed to tolerate it no matter how much anger it raised in my chest. That rainy night when I walked back to my room, broken-hearted, I felt a tinge of jealousy, an ounce of hatred rising from within me. To be betrayed like this and that too by my own husband was scandalous and revolting.
As I lay in my bed acting to sleep like I was in a play I heard some commotion from Edward's room. Suddenly his door swung open and out came running Ragini (the seductive bedswerver), adjusting her saree, with her disheveled curly hair. She looked beautiful I must confess and even the most conservative clothing couldn't have hidden the highs and lows in her features. She was followed by my swindling husband who came running behind her and grabbed her near a pillar before she could escape his gaze. I must remind the reader that all this was happening right across the corridor from my room and I occupied the best seat for this drama which was unfolding like a work from Shakespeare.
