Fiction: When 17-year-old Savi is taken on as a governess for the wealthy Nandiyar family

The bell tolled, farewelling her outside the front gate. She wore her checkered special-occasion frock and clutched a leather valise supplied by Mother Verity. Buses and rickshaws rumbled beside handcart pullers and cyclists. She leaned forward in anticipation each time a sleek Standard Herald Mark car whizzed past. She’d seen them from the dormitory window, carrying girls away to rich households. A shiny maroon motorcar with a white hood stopped at the gate.

Renuka Madam, who asked to be called akka, elder sister, looked like a film star in a black sari with gold trim. She lowered her sunglasses and beckoned her into the backseat. The chauffeur, a handsome hook-nosed man in a hat, uniform and gloves, opened the door.

Renuka Akka giggled at her giddy awe. “You like cars, child?”

“I’ve never ridden one before.”

“Vasu. Open the landaulette.” Her order carried the expectation of immediate obedience.

Using a crank, the driver folded the over-carriage backwards, leaving them open to the elements. They left the city, hugging the Coromandel Coast at fifty kilometres per hour in the Rolls-Royce Phantom with the top down. Instinctively, she reached out for Renuka Akka’s hand but pulled away. It wouldn’t be appropriate to touch her new mistress. But, to her surprise, the woman smiled and took her hand and squeezed it once. As the chauffeur picked up speed, fear and excitement for the future coursed through her.

They were forced to slow down as paved roads gave way to dirt and then became paved again. Glittering blue Indian rollers and red-vented bulbuls whistled from tree to tree. They reminded her of the yellow-throated bulbuls of the heartland and their promise of rain and growth.

The Bay of Bengal lay to the east. The freshly risen sun cast sparkles along the blue-hulled fishing boats anchored at the horizon. Lines of fisherwomen panned the shallows for shrimp, saris wrapped around their thighs. On the inland side, the winding road carried them past coconut groves and flooded rice paddies. She baulked at how lucky these people were – enough water to flood fields! Trees, bases submerged, rose from the paddies like stone pillars.

Village women with bushels of straw piled on their heads and goat-tending children stared as the motorcar fizzed out of their lives. That had been her once, watching the world go by, wondering when her turn would come. The car flew. Even her feelings changed rapidly, gratitude becoming envy towards the man in the driver’s seat. What a feeling it must be to lean just a fraction and have this machine respond and attack the curvature of the road.

We are going so fast,’ she remarked, not for the first time, and caught Vasu, the chauffeur, staring at her in the rear-view mirror. He slowly lifted his gaze off her. She wasn’t used to being looked at like that. She didn’t like it, she decided, and quickly turned to the window.

They swung away from the coast, revealing the mighty green Cauvery River and its thousands of distributaries. Each time she thought they’d crossed out of the delta, a new distributary flung out towards the ocean. Some were home to riverine islands larger even than Chepauk, Madras’s cricket ground.

A few hours into their journey, Renuka Akka cleared her throat: “Do you have a savings account?”

“I don’t have any money,” she said, frankly.

“That’ll change. We’ll open an account for you. On second Tuesdays, Muttiah Anna will disburse half your salary. I will open a provident fund in your name in Swamimalai. I will deposit the other half there. You see, for us, it’s important to take care of our staff. Work hard, child. If you have any problems, come talk to me.”

Silently, she thanked Mother Verity for entrusting her to this gracious woman. A future was promised even just in the way she sat, hand curled under her chin like a film star on a billboard. The short hair, carefully shaped nails and gold bindi offered a more tempting vision than the tired sacrifice of the sisters.

Shadows lengthened as afternoon turned to evening. The car rolled down the well-swept mud road leading to the estate and through the open iron gates. They were deep in a wet, sticky forest, teeming with life. Back in her village, she saw far. She had no trouble looking past the small patches of trees to fields far away, the edges of other villages. Here, the trees grew to neck-wrenching heights, darkening the road. They were close to the ocean and the nourishing touch of the river.

The estate had sprawling grounds with orchards, gardens and rice paddies but at its heart were three main buildings: the ‘main’ house, painted indigo blue, where the Nandiyar family lived; the “office”, lime green, where Venkat Sir, the head of the household, whom everyone except his wife called “Guru”, and his team of “boys” worked; and the guest house, faded pink, where visitors stayed. The three main buildings were two-storied with rooms overlooking a central courtyard. The window shutters were painted a darker shade of the colour of each building. Every building had a function, as did every person. And, except for Savi, they knew their own and each other’s.

There were also two single-storied red-sandstone buildings: the mess hall, whose name didn’t capture the warren-like kitchen behind the open, banquet-style dining area; Temple Hall, which was not a Hindu temple but a prayer and lecture hall. And there were servants’ quarters, of course, behind the main house.

On the day she was due to begin service, Guru Sir was in the company of guests in Temple Hall. Muttiah, the estate majordomo, received her in the main courtyard. His large white curled moustache alone was frightening. He held his hairy arms across his chest, flexing fingers encircled by enormous gold rings. He glared at her as if she was to be dismissed for theft. Or worse, for having spat a string of red betel-leaf juice across his impeccably starched and impossibly white shirt and dhoti.

“If we wanted a servant, we could have got a girl from the town,” he said in Tamil. “Someone who can’t read or write but works hard. You are more than a servant and will have more responsibilities, and I expect you to behave like an educated girl. No slacking off. Complete your duties ahead of time. And remember always who is paying for your salt and giving you a roof.

“The child, Aditya, will be your responsibility. You must see that he is always clean when Renuka Akka asks to see him. You will arrange activities for him, sing to him, read to him. In English, okay? If I catch you speaking some backward language to the boy, I will thrash you. And don’t think your job is to enjoy yourself. After you put him to bed, I expect you to clean the guest house.

“Guru Sir has many important visitors in the guest house. It will be your responsibility to ensure their rooms are clean, that they have hot water, their beds are made, and their personal effects are in order. Tomorrow, Meena will show you how to clean the guest rooms. I don’t want to hear one complaint against you. If we hear one complaint in the first two weeks, you will return to the convent. Am I clear?”

The duties didn’t sound difficult. Still, she felt destined to disappoint because surely everyone he encountered disappointed him.

Excerpted with permission from Missy, Raghav Rao.