The Trilogy of Savitri's Garden: The Escape for True Love (Book2)

SAVITRI’S GARDEN

The Escape For True Love

BOOK 2

A Story

The Trilogy of Savitri’s Garden

Book 2: The Escape for True Love

Copyright 2000 to 2016 by Fisal Ally

Versions of this novel was created before 2012

A Story

References to real persons, places, and private and government organizations are meant to provide a sense of realism. While certain historical occurrences are reflected in the book, all the other characters, dialogues, and fictitious events were created through the author’s imagination.

Ally Publishing

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No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any manner without the prior written permission of the author, except in cases of short passages used in reviews. No part of this book may be modified. Thank you for respecting the years of research, writing and dedication of the author in creating this unique work.

Edited by Imran Ally

Proofread by Fisal Ally

All decisions concerning the story, characters and contents in The Trilogy of Savitri’s Garden was solely made by the author, Fisal Ally, and he was not influenced by anyone else.

Second Edition - Published on April 20, 2016

May 5, 2016 Rev 2.1 / May 23, 2016 Rev 2.1.1

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

July 19, 2016 Rev 2.1.2

Minor changes made on August 9, 2016

August 9, 2016 Smashwords Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-988288-31-4

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PROLOGUE

London—April 7, 1840

IT WAS A CALM BREEZY DAY IN LONDON and the historian, Maryanne Cooper, was out on the patio with her husband enjoying a cup of tea.

Solomon, spring is here, and it’s so refreshing sitting out here and witnessing the leaves coming to life, and in a few months, we’ll be enjoying the intermingling scents of the colorful flowers. She pointed, The leaves on that tree will soon change color from green to purple."

That’s the beauty of London, dear, her husband replied. Britain is a true nature.

It sure is. But you know Solomon, there’s nothing on earth like the tropics—the rainforest in South America.

A smile grew on Solomon’s face. He nodded and said, I agree. The Amazon is one of the most amazing places on the planet.

Maryanne became excited. "You remember Sir Walter Raleigh’s empire building scheme to build an English empire from the northern edges of Brazil and across British Guiana Guyana to the Atlantic Ocean?"

I sure do. She was working on her book. She made a few notes and then sipped on her tea. She began to reflect back on her voyage on the Whitby, which had left the Port of Kolkata on January 13, 1838 and arrived in the small South American colony of British Guiana on May 5, 1838 with two hundred and sixty-seven Indian immigrants to labor on the sugar estates, and later that same day, the Hesperus which had departed from the Port of Kolkata on January 29, 1838 had also arrived in Demerara with one hundred and fifty six Indians.

The Indians are the new face of the Americas, Maryanne said. It could have been the Chinese—

But the Chinese were not interested in coming to this colony back then.

A smile emerged on her face as she breathed in the fresh air. She breathed out slowly and said, Solomon, Guiana has been on my mind.

On your mind? His smile broadened, already knowing what his wife was getting at. Ah, you mean Savitri has been on your mind? The girl you gave chicken to on the Whitby? He laughed a little and continued, While you were out yesterday, I picked up some of your writings which you had left on the table.

And you had a look?

I certainly did.

She flipped through her papers and pointed. You’re right. Savitri had been on my mind. Here again, I’ve mentioned Savitri, her brother Ravinesh, and her mother Annapoorna who was buried at sea. There’s something about that girl. She’s special. You know there were a lot of sufferings during that voyage: the devastating storms, shortage of food, deaths on both ships. But there were also some inspiring moments, also.

How could I forget? And I take it that your new love story surrounds Savitri’s life on the ship?

Well, it all began on the Whitby, or even before—there’s so much more to her story that I do not know.

But you would like to know?

Yes.

Why her story, when so many could be told?

You remember how you and I were dancing on the ship amongst Savitri and the others after leaving St. Helena Island—after the ship was restocked with root provisions, vegetables, fruits, sugar and water for the rest of the journey, after being at sea for three months?

How could I ever forget a voyage that had taken almost four months through horrific storms, the blazing heat, and cold? It’s an unforgettable journey.

Remember how Savitri was dancing freely as the Atlantic Ocean breeze wafted through the ship, rising on the horizon of the Americas? That was when she had told me about a boy on the ship whom she had a brief encounter with.

I recall you mentioning something about that encounter.

As Savitri was dancing and twirling her hands in the air and snapping her fingers, she had a wide bright smile on her face. I could hear the excitement in her voice and her love for that boy as she was telling me about him, but she didn’t go into the details, but the glow on her face had told a story of how much she was in love with that boy, a Hindu boy, from back home as she had said, and her dreams were to have a big Hindu wedding in Benares, where many would celebrate her special day for a whole week. Solomon, there’s so much missing from my story. I need the facts, but not the boring facts like I’ve been writing about in my academic historical books for a few decades now. I’m tired of writing about history. I want to write something that’s exciting. I’m feeling something in my heart. There’s more to this story. I must find out more about that boy. Solo, Guiana is on my mind. I can’t wait to see Guiana again—the Guiana which Raleigh and so many had dreamed of.

I know Guiana has been on your mind. I heard you calling Guiana in your sleep.

I was talking in my sleep?

Yes.

Well, Guiana has certainly been on my mind. She smiled and continued writing, and she wrote:

The voyage across the kala pani back in 1838 was one of great sufferings, but one also of love—true love. I hope that the one marigold plant that had survived the oceans have brought Savitri some comfort in a land so far away and so strange from her motherland.

Two years have passed since the Indian indentured laborers had arrived in the New World of the Americas. There have been Indian lascars traversing the waters of the Americas for two hundred years or more now, but Savitri and her people were the first group of over four hundred to labor in the New World on a five-year contract, in the colony of British Guiana in South America. How could I forget, the Whitby rising on the horizon of the Americas? And when we saw land from the ship, the moment was surreal. We were amongst the first batch of Indians to the Americas. Solomon and I made history with them, as the Whitby left it’s trail, rising on the horizon. The sufferings had finally come to an end, as we stepped onto land in South America—at least the suffering across the oceans had come to an end. But the land was no better. Reports of abuses on the Indians had begun to surface, resulting in India banning emigration to Guiana, and to the Mauritius and the other colonies. The day shall arrive when Savitri’s five-year-contract would be up, and she and her younger brother would be free from plantation life, and they would return to India, the land they were stolen from. They shall return with their savings to build a better life.

Maryanne stopped writing and put down her pen. Solomon, many of the Indians will not be returning to their motherland to see their families again—so many have already died from the harsh working conditions, sickness, and from the abuse. Maryanne projected an uneasy glance. It’s unfortunate that so many were tricked into boarding the two ships, and were lied to about the length of the journey and their work term. I hope their letters had reached their families in India. But for the ones that died during the passage and upon arriving in the colony, their families probably have no idea what had become of their loved ones."

That’s cruel.

Solo, I can’t wait to see Guiana again—to see how Savitri is doing. I want to find out more about her dreams. I’m stuck here for now with my research.

"Dear, I’m sure we will see Guiana soon. In the meantime, all I can say is keep working on your true love story when you can find the time.

Maryanne smiled and continued writing as Solomon read the newspaper.

Chapter 1- The ginnip tree

Plantation Bellevue, Demerara - April 25, 1840

SAVITRI WAS STROLLING ACROSS THE SUGARCANE field as the humid Atlantic Ocean breeze blew through the estate. She was in a cheerful mood, swinging her hands freely from side to side, carrying a straw bag. From a distance, the eighteen-year-old could make out her friends standing and sitting under the ginnip tree. She began to sing as the breeze blew her hair around and ruffling her long dress, as the fresh aroma from her flower garden spread across the fields. She breathed in deeply enjoying the scent, and she began to laugh as Heera scuttled up to her, trotting. She pulled off her blue bandana and brushed her hair back, feeling some relief from working out in the field all day under the torrid tropical sun.

From a distance, she observed Kalil as he gripped a long piece of sugarcane with both hands and pulled back the top of the green woody outer shell with his two incisors and ripped it down the middle. He continued tearing off the outer shell and then chopped off the hard jointed segments with his cutlass. He sliced the pieces down the middle, and then into quarters, and passed them around. He caught a glimpse of Savitri from his peripheral as she arrived. She shook her head looking at the ground beneath the ginnip tree covered with sugarcane pulp and ginnip seeds, as if a snow storm had blown through the estate; although she had never seen snow before, her father used to tell her stories about his days up in the Himalayas Mountains, where the snow looked like layers of endless white clouds. She pulled out a container from her straw bag and opened it. The sucking, chewing and spitting of the sugarcanes and ginnip seeds stopped. All eyes were on her container, which was filled with polori. She opened the container, and the soft golden colored snack filled their eyes. She handed the container to Kalil. He reached in and took two polories and passed it on. She pulled out another container filled with mango chutney.

Mi bring nuff nuff fuh all y’all, she said, as Kalil dipped a polori into the mango chutney and started to eat.

Dis is good, gal, he replied, savoring the taste.

The container reached the ex-slave, Jamal, and he took a polori.

Dip di polori in di chutney, bhai, Savitri encouraged. Jamal dipped the polori into the sauce and took a slow bite. Mmmmmm! I like it! he said, enjoying the blend of tastes.

"Tek mow take more," she insisted.

Jamal took a couple more, and dunked them into the chutney and ate.

Amongst them was Charles Cuyuni, an Amerindian American Indian. He took a polori and held it in his hand, examining it. Cassava ball? he asked.

Polori, Savitri said. Try di chutney.

Charles dipped the polori into the sauce. He took a careful bite. He chewed and stopped. A moment passed by and he said, "Hat tamali! Just like di Amerindian hat tamali sas hot taumali sauce." He ate the rest and took another one and passed the container to Rama. Rama took some and passed on the container.

Savitri sneaked up on the eleven-year-old orphan, Harri, who was busy sucking, chewing and spitting out the dried sugarcane pulp on the other side of the ginnip tree. He turned around and spat hard, and an array of the pulps flew from his mouth and into her face. At that very moment, Carlos’s cutlass sliced through a coconut, squirting coconut water in her face.

Ahhhhhh! Savitri bellowed. Y’all mad or wuh! She turned to Harri. Harri bhai, watch it! She turned her head quickly to avoid getting hit again. Y’all messin up di plantation.

Mi sorry, gal, Harri said.

Mi didn’t see yuh, Carlos said, apologetically. Sorry, gal.

Kalil was laughing, enjoying the fun.

Wuh yuh laughin at? Savitri snarled, as Kalil pulled out a handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it to her. She took the kerchief and wiped her face and then combed through her hair with her fingers, brushing away the pieces of fibrous pulps.

Harri, tek some polori, Savitri said.

Kalil passed the container over to him. He took two and stuck one in his mouth. He threw one up into the ginnip tree, and another orphan sitting up in the tree, caught it, ate it, and started to play his tabla. Feed Sagar and he will play for you. And sitting under a mango tree from across the field, the Dutch woman, Karla, began to sing about her Dutch ancestors in Creole Patois to the beat of Sagar’s tabla.

Harri held a stalk of sugarcane, twice the size of his body. He raised his knee. The stalk came done and broke into two pieces. He tore off the outer shell with his teeth and then continued slicing the pulpy stalk into halves and then into quarters. He passed the pieces around.

"Mi feel like eatin mow more polori and mango chutney," Harri said.

Mi will bring mow tomorrow, Savitri replied.

Within a few minutes, the polori container was emptied. Food was on everyone’s mind. Savitri’s brother, Ravinesh, had helped her make the polori the night before by grinding up the peas, which she had purchased from a German vendor named Stanley, who went around the plantation on Tuesdays selling goods and specialty items; he was also a full time carpenter and often worked on the estates and also repaired some stores in Demerara. The polori was then cooked over a slow burning fire at the front entrance of the Indian living quarters.

Jamal turned to Savitri and said, Le abi deez ave wan cookout. A puzzled expression appeared on her face, not knowing what he had said, speaking raw Creole Patois. A broad smile emerged on his face, exposing a missing front tooth. He laughed and then said again, Let a we have a cookout.

Cookout? Savitri questioned.

Wuh is a cookout? Ashmid asked.

Jamal explained that back in the days of slavery, the Scottish prisoners who were shipped off to British Guiana to escape their prison sentences for crimes committed in Europe, along with the Dutch managers, the enslaved Africans and some Amerindians used to get together, and they would cook and share their ethnic dishes with each other. He then explained the process. Yuh cook yuh Indian food, mi cook mi African food, Carlos cook e Portuguese food, Chaley cook e Amerindian food. Everyone cook a dish, even di Germans and British can join a we. We eat and share we dishes, and we play dominoes and cards.

And drink up, Rama added.

Carlos nudged Rama’s elbow and laughed. Rum, he said.

Savitri was overjoyed by the idea of having a cookout. Everybody was in a cooking mood, and excitement filled the air under the ginnip tree. Everyone agreed to a cookout on the upcoming Friday after work; it will be the first time for Savitri and most of the Indian recruits.

Heera barked, indicating it was time for the laborers to head back to work. Shortly after, the bell rang.

Carlos shrieked. Oh cripes, back to slavery! Mi can’t tek dis wok any mow. Some fussing and grumbling came from the Portuguese man; he couldn’t tolerate plantation life anymore, but he was tied to a five-year indentured contract. The bell rang again and from across the field, under the mango tree, Karla’s voice came to a halt. The tabla stopped, and the branch Sagar was sitting on broke; he fell out of the ginnip tree and landed on the ground with a ginnip stuck in his mouth. Harri and Ashmid started to laugh, as Sagar looked at them with stupefying surprise, while the others were heading back to their work posts.

Wait fuh mi! Sagar bellowed.

Yuh want ginnip, Harri teased as they walked away.

Skin yuh lip, Ashmid said laughing, as Sagar got to his feet sucking on his ginnip seed.

THE MANAGERS, OVERSEERS AND DRIVERS WERE on horseback checking up on the laborers, and checking off their assigned duties that were completed.

The General Manager of Plantation Bellevue, Mr. Russell, turned to Frederick Smith as their horses came to a stop in the field. The hill-coolies have managed so far—as you say field Goldenvue is doing well, but we could use a thousand more hands.

Frederick laughed a little. Field Goldenvue surely is shining like gold now. But I wish it were that easy getting more hands in the colony. If it was easy, Plantation Smith would have already been up and running again, and Westley and I would have already expanded across Guiana and into the Caribbean.

Mr. Russell frowned. We must get this ban from India lifted. All that kidnapping and trickery that had taken place in India to get laborers into this colony and to the Mauritius had nothing to do with us. It’s those greedy recruiters deceiving and kidnapping their own people and shipping them across the oceans. I know, I know, but without our demand for laborers there would be no need for deceptions and kidnappings.

Frederick nodded his head. My understanding is the recruiting agency in Kolkata are aware of the deceptions and kidnapping carried out by the duffadars. Let’s admit it. They would all be out of business without our demand and without the deceptions and kidnappings. Everything contributed to the ban.

I agree. It’s a dirty business. We’re doing everything to get the ban lifted, Mr. Russell said. The owners of the plantations, back in Britain are putting a lot of pressure on the Government of India.

Frederick Smith’s sons, Richard and Jonathan, and Ford Colville were passing by on their horses, and they waved at Frederick and the General Manager.

Check up on the hill-coolies under the ginnip tree, Frederick said. Make sure no one is drunk, lying around or sleeping, evading work and expect to be paid.

We’re heading that way, Richard responded; he was now twenty-six-years old.

Production looks good, Jonathan added. He was five years younger than Richard.

We got everything under control, Ford added; he was a building engineer.

I’m pleased to hear, Mr. Russell replied, as Richard, Jonathan and Ford galloped through the field. Mr. Young, Mr. Sharlieb and Derek were also out in the field checking up on the laborers. The sardar, Nertha Khan, was busy instructing a group of men.

Mr. Russell glanced around the field. You’re doing a good job, he said. I’m hoping you will consider working with us on a permanent full time basis.

With my plans to expand—

I know your expansion is on hold—

True. Can’t do anything without laborers.

I will be happy to assist on a fulltime basis, until the ban is lifted and Plantation Smith is up and running again. I know you and James Mathews are busy. I’m glad to assist. My brother, Westley, is doing a good job at the banana plantation, so there’s no need for me to be there. Jonathan is there a few times a week. Alright. For now, I have ample time to assist you on a full time basis.

Make yourself comfortable in the mansion—think of it as your home. There’s lots of room for you, Elizabeth, Richard, Jonathan and Paul. Ford, Nelson, Milligan, Lawrence, Derek and Stella have their own apartments on the ground level and in the guesthouses. I occupy an office on the other side of this floor, otherwise I’m usually at home in Georgetown.

Frederick nodded. Then I shall move more of our belongings in.

Excellent.

Frederick gripped the rope. Ya! Ya! His horse galloped away through an aisle peeled away across the field, as Mr. Russell headed trotted towards the mansion to complete some paper work.

DURING THE AFTERNOON, AFTER LABORING UNDER the sweltering sun for another three hours, the bell rang. Kalil pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. He focused his eyes on the crows circling high up in the deep blue sky. A few seconds went by and his attention shifted to a cloud hanging high over the ocean. He dropped his cutlass and stretched out his stiff aching shoulders with his arms out towards the sky. The sky was as clear as ever, except for the small fluffy cloud. His attention became fixed on the cloud, and he traced out a wing-shaped-horse, in the same way he used to connect the stars back home in Lucknow, creating his own constellations and giving them unique names.

Charles Cuyuni walked up from behind looking in the direction Kalil was gazing in. Da crows tell mi we headin fuh trouble. He was already aware of the crows circling in the sky.

Kalil turned to him, studying his face. Yuh see di crows, too.

"Mi see everyting in naycha nature.

Kalil was impressed by Charles’ awareness. He had a flashback of when he had witnessed the crows circling high up above land from the Whitby on January 13, 1838 as the ship was sailing through the Bay of Bengal. Kalil was curious, and gave Charles his full attention. Yuh see di cloud yanda? he asked, pointing his index finger and tracing out the wing-shaped-horse.

Horse wid wings, Charles said. Kalil was surprised at Charles’ connection to the sky. He held his breath for a moment and then let go. Yuh see wuh mi see?

Notin in nature and in di sky escape mih eyes, Charles replied with an inspired gleam in beaming from his eyes. It’s a sign of hope, he added with confidence.

Kalil was dubious. Hope? Yuh see hope on dis plantation? He swallowed looking at the Amerindian man, reflecting back on the times Savitri had found hope in the woods behind the old slave range, not long after stepping on the rich soil of Demerara and planting her one surviving marigold plant, and then sprinkled a mixture of flower seeds around the plant, which blossomed into an array of beautiful flowers, livening up the estate.

Charles opened his shirt buttons and slipped off his shirt, studying the sky. He began to hum. He stopped and said, Mi feel a storm comin.

Kalil turned to Charles. But di sky is clear and blue. Why di crows circling in di sky? he asked. It mekin mi feel jumpy, bhai.

Charles agreed with a nod and said, "Di sky is clear, but Modda Naycha Mother Nature have she own plan fuh we. Manick, Rama and Jamal approached them as Charles continued, Da sky is blue, except fuh di horse wid wings. Di winged horse is a sign of hope. They stopped to observe. Charles took a deep breath and exhaled. He continued, No let di blue sky deceive yuh eyes. Mi feel nuff nuff moisture on mi skin—plenty, plenty. Da humidity gettin high by di seconds."

It feel da same today, yestaday and da day before, Rama said. Kalil nodded in agreement.

Wuh di eyes cannot see, di Great Spirit sees! Charles proclaimed. He extended his hands with open palms. Makunaima sendin mi a message.

Makunaima? Kalil asked.

Makunaima is di Great Spirit, Charles replied. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Di winged horse is a sign of hope, but da moisture is tellin mi we is headin fuh big big trouble.

Kalil’s eyes became fixed on the crows again, reflecting back on the hardships he had endured across the kala pani black waters during the voyage from India.

Rama grinned. Chaley, tell mi how we headin fuh trouble. Bhai, mi no see trouble.

Charles began to dance and Manick and Rama exchanged glances. Charles stopped. Di spirits seh before dere is hope, dere will be bad luck and den yuh will start a new life on dis rich land.

Mi goin back home afta mi wok contract is ova, Kalil assured him. Mi no stayin on dis land built on slavery and oppression.

Rama pulled out a bottle of rum from his pocket. He popped the cork and took a big gulp. Mi goin back home too. Dere is no hope in dis place—just sufferin.

Mi too goin back home, Manick said.

Carlos was passing by and stopped. Wuh happenin, fellaz? he asked and took the rum bottle from Rama. He took a gulp and said, I feelin good, I feelin good.

Tings happen in stages—one at a time, Charles said. From slavery to indentureship, from indentureship to freedom, from freedom to success, from success to wealth. Some of us will pay di price fuh di future generations to com, to bring human rights fuh all di people and all di nations—we evolvin all di time, but many times we go backwards because of greed and jealousy. We must find a balance to survive.

Two women—Lukeah and Karla— stopped.

Carlos took another gulp and said, Chaley tink he is di messiah. Chaley guh save di world. Carlos held the bottle at Charles’ mouth and said, Chaley, tek a whiff, and den tek a drink. Charles ignored the Portuguese man. He had never touched rum before. Carlos laughed and lowered the bottle.

Rama snatched the bottle. Yuh need rum on di plantation to keep yuh sanity, bhai.

Charles remained calm and silent, studying the sky. He turned to Kalil as though he was receiving a message from the Great Spirit. I know when it guh rain. Mi was only wrong once in all mi life.

Well, dis is di second time yuh is wrong! Carlos blurted out.

The Amerindian man closed his eyes, concentrating. Di weather will get worse, he anticipated.

Mi thought yuh seh di winged horse guh bring hope? Kalil questioned.

"It will—but first dere will be destruction. Di problem is—it is near harvesting time and di storm is comin. Di sugacanes must be cut. When bassman boss find out we guh get hit wid a bad bad storm, dey will mek yuh wok like a slave, day and night in di sugacane field. Nobody expectin dis storm—but dis storm comin at di wrong time."

Chaley, but Guiana is hot and dry, Rama said. He heard the managers talking about the dry spell across the country. Dere is a drought.

Charles’ eyes began to roll. He hissed and said, Dis is why di white man is nuh prepared fuh dis storm, because dere is a drought. Charles warned them about the field getting flooded with water reaching their shoulders because Guiana was already five to seven feet below sea level. Nobody took the Amerindian msn seriously. The men laughed and the two women giggled. Charles walked away before Rama and Carlos had another opportunity to let more insults burst from their mouths, belittling the man of native wisdom.

Shortly after, the bell rang and everybody returned to their work post. A few hours later, the day came to an end with the ringing of the bell, and the workers headed to their living quarters. A normal workday was from six in the morning to six in the evening with a two-hour break. The sun was setting, inviting the twilight zone to twinkle and dance over Demerara, as the laborers laughed, joked and talked about the dishes they were planning to cook during the cookout.

Kalil noticed the crows circling lower than they were earlier. He breathed in deeply and tossed a lungful of air. His eyes became fixed on a greyish color in the far distance over the Atlantic Ocean.

Rama, Manick, Shah, Bhay and Carlos passed by.

So y’all tink Chaley was right bout headin fuh disaster? Kalil asked

Chaley like to magnify tings, Rama remarked. Chaley is a fool!

Carlos laughed and said, "Chaley should magnify e channa peas brain!"

Rama stated that a drought across Guiana had recently begun, and that he had witnessed many droughts in India, which sometimes last for months before the next rainfall. Impossible! Rama said loudly. Impossible! A dry spell means no rain—no rain fuh a long time.

As Kalil entered his logie in the old slave range, he recalled that when they were in the bullock cart traveling to the Port of Kolkata back in 1838 that there was a famine in the North-Western Provinces, but as they were traveling east, it had rained for a day. What if Chaley bhai is right, he thought

IN THE EVENING, KALIL MADE ALOO fried potatoes and chapatis, cooking over a slow burning fire outside his front entrance. During the week, he had purchased a bag of potatoes and some ingredients from Stanley. He had a flashback of the lady and her bucktoothed husband back at Maya bazaar in Awadh, and for a moment, he reminisced on the days when the lady and her husband used to make him and Vishnu masala chai, and murgh mussallam chicken with spices for Vishnu, and dum bhindi fried akra stuffed with potatoes for him. He and Vishnu had not seen each other again since they were taken to different plantations after arriving in Guiana in 1838. Although Kalil’s cooking could not be compared to her cooking, he was enjoying his aloo and chapatis. He thought that next time, he would ask Savitri for some akra from her vegetable garden to make some dum bhindi.

Before Kalil went to bed, he picked up his taanpura and started to play a melody reminiscing on back home and his family. Since the voyage, he had not played the instrument. He was busy working long hours and trying to adapt to plantation life and the slave like conditions, which he and Vishnu had not anticipated before boarding the Whitby.

Sometimes after work, he would hang out with the other indentured laborers, playing dominoes and cards to pass the time. Tonight, he was sentimental and wanted some solitude. He continued playing his taanpura until he became drowsy. As his eyes were about to close, the sounds of raindrops bouncing off the corrugated zinc roof above his head caught his attention. He became relaxed as he played, tuning into the pinging tones on the roof, almost like a tabla playing. The pinging stopped; he also stopped playing. He had a flashback of his conversation with Charles Cuyuni, about the winged horse and the crows circling in the sky. He wondered if Charles actually possessed powers to talk to spirits. The pinging began again, and for a moment, he was in a trance listening to the raindrops dancing above his head. His hands relaxed and he lowered the taanpura to the side of his cot as the wisps of the dream world came to life; his eyes closed and he fell into a deep sleep.

The following morning, before the roosters crowed, Kalil was already up before five o’clock, and was getting ready for a long workday. Some of the devoted Hindus were carrying out their religious prayer. Kalil washed up and began his fajr morning prayer; sometimes he joined a small group of Muslims in prayer.

Many of the Indian recruits had some things in common, and the bond between them grew, regardless of their religions, traditions and dialects. They did the same work, felt the same pain, ate together and struggled together. A few of the males found friendship with the females of the other races outside the estate, but most of them were lonely and were grieving for their families and friends back home. For many, the Ramayana and the Quran brought them strength as they faced their harsh work conditions. Dominoes and cards also became their past time. Many got into the habit of rum drinking, since they were given rum on the plantation.

Most of Kalil’s spare time was taken up repairing and refurbishing old furniture that were thrown out by the rich. He had recently found an old rocking chair a mile away, and Ravinesh, Harri and Ashmid had helped him carry it back to his logie, where he had stripped it down and spent a few days refurbishing it. The weeks he had spent scrubbing and sanding the floor and railing on ship during his voyage had given him new skills and new interests.

In the morning, Kalil ate his left over aloo and chapatis from the night before. The work bell rang and he headed out his door. The grass and leaves were slightly wet, and as he walked, the pinging sounds he had heard the night before on the corrugated zinc roof rang in his ears, as though Sagar was playing his tabla. He was skeptical, but for a moment, he wondered if Charles Cuyuni was right about a storm hitting the plantation. He glanced up, and the sky was clear. Not even a cloud. He continued walking towards his work post. The striking of the cutlasses against the sugarcanes began. The managers, overseers and drivers were out patrolling the fields as the laborers’ arms were swinging back and forth, knocking down the sugarcanes. Another group tied the sugarcanes into bundles. A third group carried the bundles down to the punts on their shoulders. The sugarcanes were then transported on the punts—pulled by two mules walking on the dam—to the factory for processing into sugar, rum and molasses.

As the sun rose in the clear blue sky, the field quickly dried off.

Chapter 2 - The cookout

Demerara, British Guiana - August 7, 1840

FRIDAY EVENING ARRIVED AND AFTER A HARD DAY’S work, the workers were looking forward to their cookout. The mood on the plantation had changed from the laborers being discontent with work and plantation life to feeling joy. Nobody wanted to miss out on the cookout, even the ones with sores and other illnesses showed up; they claimed that the gatherings were remedies for their illnesses.

The sun was beginning to set and the cookout was taking place outside the old slave range. Kalil had a smaller logie in the old slave range. The two other logies were shared by Rama and four other males. The wall between Rama’s logie and the other logie was partly open, and a part of the logie was used as the kitchen and for serving the food. The space was big enough to accommodate a crowd. The men had dug out three pits in front the range. Harri was busy fetching firewood and placing them inside the pits. Ashmid followed him carrying a bucket with small pieces of dried stems, placing them in the pit to help fuel the fire.

Goordeal stroked a match against a stone and placed it in the pit under the dried stems, setting the pit on fire.

"Le mi put di pit on fyyah fire," Harri said, playfully. Ashmid’s face lit up wanting to get close to the fire; his face turned orange. It was more like play