Barbara Edith O’Gorman (Nee Campbell) daughter of Marie Evanthia Von Lintzgy and Cyril Leslie Campbell wrote several stories in 1998, looking back at her life in Kharagpur and Calcutta (Kolkata), India.
This one is set in 1946/7 in Kharagpur, when Barbara was 13 years old. Barbara was affectionately called Cynthia by her Mother and looking back, was rather embarrassed and apologetic about the way servants were treated then.
Whilst living in Kharagpur, we had a 13 year old female "Wallah" (the general name for a servant/helper, but I don't want to use her name or the lodgers name for obvious reasons). She attended our house twice a day to empty the toilets and do other menial tasks around the house. She arrived at 6:30 every morning and left around 11:00AM and would return in the evenings at 17:00 for a couple of hours.
Her first task was to clean the two bathrooms - one downstairs and one upstairs. There were no flushing toilets in the house, but we did have on outside tap, from which the Wallah would carry water that we needed, into both bathrooms . Fortunately, the tap was on the outside wall of the bathroom, so she didn't have to carry the buckets far.
Firstly, Wallah would remove the three alluminium pots from their wooden commodes (my stepfathers, mothers and mine) each identifiable and not interchangeable. Then she'd empty the contents and it into one pot and carry this on her head (balancing it very carefully) to the public latrine so she could empty it. She'd then go the bathroom upstairs (via the the outside iron spiral staircase) and clean out our lodgers toilet.
The latrine was a small communal building 50 yards away that stood out starkly in the bare field. It was the only local latrine available in this fairly built-up area and people gathered there (like a social meeting place) to empty their large pots and collect water in their lotas (a small water pot usually made of aluminium or brass).
On returning, Wallah would wash the pots thoroughly and scrub them with a handful of dampened hay and ash, until they shone. Then they'd be left outside to dry and gleam in the sun. She'd also had to scrub the wooden commodes and the cemented bathroom floor and fill the large aluminium drums with water for our baths.
Another of her duties was to sweep the whole house with a broom made of grass (tied together with string) and wash the floors with a cloth dipped in a bucket of sunlight soap. She also had to shake all the rugs.
After Wallah finished her work in the morning, my mother would give her a tin of very sweet luke-warm tea with a thick slice of white bread. All our servants were given tea and bread, but were not allowed to drink from the household cups, so instead had to use empty tins (that previously held fruit, marmalade etc).
I liked this time of the day - I'd bring Wallah her tea and bread (taking a few sips before giving it to her). I was never allowed to drink such sweet strong stewed tea, but it tasted much better from her tin can. I would sit on the floor beside her and we'd chat in Hindi.
Wallah was my closest friend and the same age as me (13) but seemed older and looked it. Although she was Harijan caste, her complexion was light and we were the same height. She had soft pretty facial features with large brown eyes and long black hair (in a thick plait) hanging below her waist. We giggled together and she would tease me about what would happen to me when I came of age; telling me proudly that she was a woman now, and all about "the curse".
Wallah was the only girl I confided in - she worked hard and I felt sorry for her, but we found the time each day to chat and laugh (in our different worlds). I'd try to help her with her chores, so we'd have more time to play and chat, but if mother saw me, she'd get angry and find more work for her to do.
When Wallah returned in the evening, she'd only have to clean the pots and fill the tubs in the bathrooms and do a few other small chores.
I spent my days then, just lazying around the house and was rather lonely and would cycle to the library most days to change books. I read anything with "Love" in it. From Ethel M. Dell to Denise Robbins and all the romances of that era. It was 6 months since I'd been to school and my mother was still contemplating whether to send me back there or just leave me at home. I'd been to different boarding schools, but never stayed at one for more than a couple of years. I was always the most stupid in the class and sometimes would remain in the same class for more than a year - I struggled with my learning and missed my mother.
Wallah could not read or write, so I'd tell her about the stories I'd read and she'd listen carefully. I discovered that once I spoke, I understood it better and could re-live the experience. She in turn would tell me Hindi stories, but now she was very excited - she was going to get married soon.
At last her family had saved up enough money for her dowry and they were able to arrange for her to marry a 36 year old man whom she'd never met. Now our conversation revolved around what he'd look like, would he be gentle with her and would he allow her to stay at home and not work.
Our lodger upstairs had been with us for some time. He was in his late 60s, but was tall, spruce and active and looked much younger than his years. He was full of humour and brought fun to my mothers and my life. My mother enjoyed his lively company at her bridge parties and I enjoyed listening to his stories, especially on evenings when he and my mother sat in the garden drinking rum and coke. He lived in Kharagpur after he retired 3 years ago, but briefly moved to Calcutta with his prosperous family (who were very religious and clever) but then returned to Kharaghpur. Because we'd known him for many years (and we had two spare rooms upstairs) we let him lodge and his family gave him a generous allowance.
Wallah was introduced to us by the lodger. When my mother was seeking help, he'd mentioned that he knew a young girl who was willing to work. My mother was very pleased with her work and servile manner. Wallah was too young to be impertinent and I was happy to have someone my own age to laugh with.
One morning at 11 O'Clock, Wallah and I squatted under the shade of the neem tree in the garden compound. We shared this spot with our goats and hens as the sun beat down on this hot and dusty morning. Wallah was having her tea and bread and I was jabbering on. However, she wasn't paying attention to me, but craning her neck towards the upstairs window.
I had a fleeting glimse of our lodger and a five Rupee note being waved.
"What was that?" I asked.
"Oh!" she said "I'll have to come back at 4 O' Clock today"
"Good" I said "mummy won't be in this afternoon, so you can ride my bike"
"I will try and finish my work quickly" she laughed.
About twice a week, my mother would spend the afternoon playing bridge at the Ladies' Bridge Club - I liked being on my own at home then. The servants were always off in the afternoons and I had plenty of time to get the hidden key out and unlock the forbidden glass bookcase and browse through the books with awakening interest.
Parts of the "Kama Sutra" which I understood, shocked me, as did many of the other picture books in the glass bookcase.
However, this afternoon, my mother returned early from her bridge club. I didn't think it was her when I heard the rickshaw arrive, but then I saw her get out and open her bag to pay the fare, and I could feel the hair on the back of my neck standing up...the glass bookcase was still wide open.
"So this is what you do when my back is turned Cynthia" (she never called me Barbara). Mum spoke in a calm vocie, which was more chilling then when she shouted.
"You know you're never to open that bookcase- why are you reading this?"
"I just found the key today and and had nothing to read and I thought..."
I felt a hard slapping sting across my cheek and then the back of her hand across the other side of my face. The physical pain was nothing compared to the degrading feeling I felt
"Liar, liar... all lies" she said " - you read those books every time you're alone in this house - admit it..."
"No mummy" I cried.
"I'll teach you to be sly and lie" she said, between clenched teeth. Then she picked up a cane from the corner of the room and prepared to give me a good thrashing (I started shaking and took off my glasses).
Just then there was a thumping sound from upstairs.
"Who's up there?", shouted my mother, forgetting her anger towards me.
She did not wait for a reply, but swiftly ran up the spiral staircase with her cane in hand.
It all happened so quickly...I could see mother whacking the poor naked Wallah with a cane, as she pushed her roughly down the steps. She was gripping Wallah's arm tightly with one hand (as Wallah tried to wriggle free and beg for mercy). And the lodger... well, he'd scrambled down the stairs with Wallah's sari and was trying to take the stick out of my mothers hand, but mother was having none of it and was now hitting both of them. I couldn't bear to hear Wallah's cries and see her naked, so when they reached the bottom, I put myself between her and the cane, and then my mother started lashing out and screaming at the three of us!
