MRS. BROWNE’S ayah was a little Mussulman woman of about thirty-five,
with bright eyes and an expression of great worldly wisdom upon her
small, square, high-boned face. She dressed somewhat variously, but her
official garments were a short jacket and a striped cotton petticoat, a
string of beads round her neck, silver bangles on her arms and ankles,
hoops in her ears, and a small gold button in her right nostril. This
last bit of coquetry affected Helen uncomfortably for some time. Her
name was Chua, signifying “a rat,” and her heathen sponsors showed
rather a fine discrimination in giving it to her. She was very like one.
It would be easy to fancy her nibbling in the dark, or making
unwarrantable investigations when honest people were asleep. When Chua
was engaged and questioned upon the subject of remuneration, she
salaamed very humbly, and said, “What the memsahib pleases,” which was
ten rupees. At this Chua’s countenance fell, for most of the ayahs of
her acquaintance received twelve. Accepting the fact, however, that her
mistress was not a “burra memsahib”[48] from whom much might be
expected, but a “chota memsahib”[49] from whom little could be
extracted, she went away content, and spread her mat in the women’s
place in the mosque and bowed many times to the west as the sun went
down, and paid at least four annas to the _moulvi_[50] who had helped
her to this good fortune.
Footnote 48:
Great memsahib.
Footnote 49:
Little memsahib.
Footnote 50:
Priest.
Chua abode in her own house, as is the custom of ayahs with family ties.
She was married—her husband was a kitmutgar. They lived in a bustee in
the very middle of Calcutta, where dwelt several other kitmutgars and
their wives, a dhoby and a number of goats, and Chua walked out every
morning to her work. Then home at twelve to cook her food and sleep,
then back at four for further duty until after dinner. She never
breakfasted before starting in the morning, but she carried with her
always a small square tin box from which she refreshed herself
surreptitiously at intervals. Inside the box was only a rolled-up betel
leaf, and inside the leaf a dab of white paste; but it was to Chua what
the hubble-bubble was to Abdul, her husband, a great and comfortable
source of meditation upon the goodness of Allah, and the easiest form of
extortion to be practised upon her lawful taskmistress.
[Illustration: CHUA.]
Helen found great difficulty at first in assimilating this hand-maid
into her daily life. She had been told that an ayah was indispensable,
and she could accept Chua as a necessary appendage to the lofty state of
her Oriental existence, but to find occupation for her became rather a
burden to the mind of Mrs. Browne. Things to do were precious, she could
not spare them to be done by anybody else, even at ten rupees a month
with the alternative of improper idleness. Moreover, the situation was
in some respects embarrassing. One could have one’s ribbons straightened
and one’s hair brushed with equanimity, but when it came to the bathing
of one’s feet and the putting on of one’s stockings Helen was disposed
to dispense with the services of her ayah as verging on the indelicate.
Chua was still more grieved when her mistress utterly declined to allow
herself to be “punched and prodded,” as she expressed it, in the process
of gentle massaging in which the ayah species are proficient. Mrs.
Browne was young then, and a new-comer, and not of a disposition to
brook any interference with her muscular tissues. But the other day she
particularly recommended an ayah to me on account of this
accomplishment. This to illustrate, of course, not the degeneration of
Mrs. Browne’s sense of propriety, but of her muscular tissues.
The comprehension and precise knowledge which Chua at once obtained of
her mistress’s wardrobe and effects was wonderful in its way. She knew
the exact contents of every box and drawer and wardrobe, the number of
pen-nibs in the writing-case, the number of spools in the work-basket.
Helen used to feel, in the shock of some disclosure of observation
extraordinary, as if the omniscient little woman had made an index of
her mistress’s emotions and ideas as well, and could lay her small
skinny brown finger upon any one of them, which intuition was very far
from being wrong. Chua early induced an admiring confidence in her
rectitude by begging Mrs. Browne to make a list of all her possessions
so that from time to time she could demonstrate their safety. The ayah
felt herself responsible. She knew that upon the provocation of a
missing embroidered petticoat there might be unpleasant results
connected with the police-wallah and the _thana_,[51] not only for her
but for the whole establishment, and she wished to be in a secure
position to give evidence, if necessary, against somebody else. It could
certainly not be Chua, therefore, Helen announced, when she communicated
to her lord at the breakfast table the fact that her very best scissors
had been missing for three days. “Isn’t it tedious?” said she.
Footnote 51:
Police office.
“Scissors,” said young Browne. “Yes, good new shiny sharp ones, weren’t
they, with Rodgers’ name plainly stamped on them—and rather small?”
“All that,” lamented Helen, “and embroidery size—such loves!”
[Illustration: AN ACCIDENT DISCLOSED THEM AT THE BOTTOM OF AN IMPOSSIBLE
VASE.]
“You are gradually coming within the operation of custom, my dear. Steel
is the weakness of the Aryan. He—in this case she—will respect your
clothes, take care of your money, and guard your jewellery—they all have
a general sense of property in its correct relation, but it does not
apply to a small pair of scissors or a neat pocket knife. Such things
seem to yield to some superior attraction outside the moral sense
connected with these people, and they invariably disappear. It’s
inveterate, but it’s a nuisance. One has to make such a row.”
“George,” said Helen gravely, “why do you say in this case _she_?”
“I think you’ll find it was your virtuous maid, my dear. It wasn’t the
bearer—he has permitted me to keep the same knife and nail scissors now
for two years and a half, and the rest of the servants, all but the
ayah, are the bearer’s creatures, and will reflect exactly his morality
in quality and degree. She isn’t—she’s an irresponsible functionary,
except to you; you’ll have to keep an eye on her. However, if we make
ourselves patiently and unremittingly disagreeable for a week or two
they’ll turn up.”
“I haven’t the Hindustani to be disagreeable in,” Helen remarked.
“Oh, you needn’t be violent; just inquire at least three times a day,
‘_Hamara kinchi, kidder gia?_’[52] and look forbidding the rest of the
time. Never dream for a moment they’re stolen or admit they’re lost.
It’s a kind of worry she won’t be able to stand—she’ll never know what
you’re going to do. And she’ll conclude it’s cheaper in the end to
restore them.”
Footnote 52:
My scissors, where have they gone?
I don’t know whether the Brownes made themselves as disagreeable as they
might about the kinchi, but it was a long time before they were
restored. Then an accident disclosed them at the bottom of an impossible
vase. Chua, standing by, went through an extravaganza of gratification.
Her eyes shone, she laughed and clasped her hands with dramatic effect.
“_Eggi bat_”[53]—would the memsahib inform the sahib and also the bearer
that they had been found?—the latter evidently having resorted lately to
some nefarious means of extracting from her what she had done with them.
Chua had doubtless had an uncomfortable quarter of an hour before her
mistress discovered them, and felt unjustly served in it. For the theft
was only a prospective one, to be accomplished in the course of time, if
it looked advisable. It did not look advisable and Chua reconsidered it,
thereby leaving her Mohammedan conscience void of offence.
Footnote 53:
One word.
As soon as she was able to understand and be understood, Helen thought
it her duty to make some kindly enquiries about Chua’s domestic affairs.
Had she, for instance, any children?
“_Na, memsahib!_” she responded, with a look of assumed contempt that
could not have sat more emphatically upon the face of any _fin de
siècle_ lady who does not believe in babies. “_Baba hai na! Baba na
muncta_,”[54] she went on with a large curl of the lip, “Baba all time
_cry kurta_[55]—Waow! Waow! _atcha na_,[56] memsahib!”
Footnote 54:
I do not want babies.
Footnote 55:
Makes crying.
Footnote 56:
Not good.
“Oh na, ayah! Baba atcha hai,” laughed Helen, defending the sacredest
theory of her sex.
Chua took an attitude of self-effacement, but her reply had a
patronising dignity, “_Memsahib kawasti baba atcha hai_,” said she.
“_Memsahib kawasti kooch kam hai na! Ayah ka kam hai! Tub baba atcha
na—kooch na muncta!_”[57]
Footnote 57:
For the memsahib babies are good. The memsahib has no work to do. The
ayah has work. Then babies are not good, she does not want any!
Chua occupied quite the modern ground, which was exhilarating in an
Oriental, and doubtless testified to the march of truth—that babies were
only practicable and advisable when their possible mothers could find
nothing better to do. Helen was impressed, and more deeply so when she
presently discovered that Chua and Abdul, her husband, lived in
different houses in the bustee I have mentioned—different huts, that is,
mud-baked and red-tiled and leaking, and offering equal facilities for
the intrusion of the ubiquitous goat. Chua spoke of Abdul with an angry
flash of contempt. In accommodating himself to circumstances recently,
Abdul had offended her very deeply. It was on an occasion when Chua had
accompanied a memsahib to England with the usual infant charge. She was
very sick, she earned a hundred and fifty rupees, she was away three
months—“_kali tin mahina_,[58] memsahib!” and when she returned she
found Abdul mated to another. She was artful, was Chua—her mistress’s
face expressed such a degree of disapprobation that she fancied herself
implicated, and instantly laughed to throw a triviality over Abdul’s
misconduct. It was a girl he married, a mere child “_baba kamafik_,[59]
memsahib”—fourteen years old. But her scorn came through the mask of her
amusement when she went on to state that the house of Abdul was no
longer without its olive branch, but that Abdul’s sahib had gone away
and there was very little rice for anybody in that family. The recreant
had come to her in his extremity, asking alms, she said with her curled
lip. “_Rupia do-o!_”[60] she whined, holding out her hand and imitating
his suppliance with intensest irony. Then drawing herself up proudly she
rehearsed her answer brief, contemptuous, and to the point.
Footnote 58:
Only three months.
Footnote 59:
Like a baby.
Footnote 60:
Ten rupees.
“_Daga na!—Jao!_”[61]
Footnote 61:
I will not give! Go!
She had invested the proceeds of her journey over the “black water” in a
ticca-gharry which lent itself all day long to the Calcutta public under
her administration and to her profit. The day after Helen had been thus
edified, the ayah did not appear until the afternoon. She had been to
law about some point in relation to the ticca-gharry. I can’t remember
what Mrs. Browne said it was—but she wanted an advance of wages for her
legal expenses. She intended to spare nothing to be triumphant—her
adversary had trusted his case to a common _vakeel_,[62] she would have
a _gorah-vakeel_,[63] though they came higher. Her witnesses would be
properly paid too—a rupee apiece, and eight annas extra for any
necessary falsification at present unexpected. The next afternoon she
came late, with a tale of undeserved disaster which she lucubrated with
indignant tears, after the manner of her sex. It was not that the
magistrate sahib was not fair, he was just as the sun at noon, or that
Rahim the gharry-wallah had more witnesses than she—indeed, being a poor
man, he had only four—but they were four of the five, unhappily, whose
services _she_ had engaged. The gharry-wallah had offered them two
rupees—a higher bid—and so they spoke _jute bat_.[64] But he would never
be able to pay! Oh, it was very _carab_![65] and Chua sat in the dust
and wrapped her face in her _sari_[66] and wept again. Later, she
informed her mistress that it was possible she might again be absent
to-morrow—it was possible that she might come into contact that evening
in the street with these defaulting witnesses—violent contact. _It was
possible_ that if they laughed at her she would strike them, and
then—with an intensely observing eye always upon Helen—then her
memsahib, in the event of her being carried off to the _thana_ for
assault, would of course enquire “_Hamara ayah, kidder hai?_”[67] and
immediately take proceedings to get her out. Chua’s countenance fell,
though with instant submission, when Helen informed her sternly that she
would on no account institute such proceedings, and she was deprived
even of illegal means of satisfaction, taken with impunity.
Footnote 62:
Lawyer.
Footnote 63:
Literally, horse-lawyer.
Footnote 64:
False talk.
Footnote 65:
Bad.
Footnote 66:
Head cloth.
Footnote 67:
My ayah, where is she?
It was Chua’s aptitude for assault that led to her final expulsion from
the service of the Brownes and from the pages of these annals. Her
manner toward the bearer had been propitiatory from the beginning. She
called him “Sirdar,”[68] she paid him florid Oriental compliments; by
the effacement of her own status and personality she tried to establish
a friendly understanding with him. She undertook small services on his
behalf. She attempted to owe him allegiance as the other servants did.
It is impossible to say that she did not press upon him a percentage of
her _tulub_, to ensure his omnipotent good-will. But Kasi was for some
dark reason unreciprocal—young Browne believed he thought she was
storming his affections—and at best consented only to preserve an armed
neutrality. Whereat Chua became resentful and angry, carried her head
high, and exchanged remarks with Kasi which were not in the nature of
amenities. The crisis came one afternoon when the Brownes were out.
Footnote 68:
Head bearer.
“I have something to tell you after dinner,” said Mrs. Browne
significantly later, across the joint.
“And I have something to tell _you_,” young Browne responded with equal
meaning.
Mrs. Browne had the first word, in order, her husband said, that she
shouldn’t have the last. She explained that she had found the ayah in
tears, quite extinguished upon the floor, the cause being insult. Chua
had forgotten at noon the little bright shawl which she wrapped about
her head in the streets—had left it upon the memsahib’s veranda. Seeing
it, the bearer had done a deadly thing. He had not touched it himself,
but he had sent for the sweeper—the sweeper!—and bade him _fenk-do_[69]
it to his own unclean place of living. And there, after much search, had
Chua found it. Therefore was she deeply abased, and therefore did she
tender her resignation. The bearer had behaved _Rajah kamafik!_[70] and
had, moreover, spoken to her in _bat_ that was _carab_, very _carab_.
Footnote 69:
Throw.
Footnote 70:
Like a lord!
“Yes,” said the sahib, judicially, “and the bearer came to me also
weeping with joined hands to supplicate. His tale of woe is a little
different. He declares he never saw the shawl and never gave the
order—I’ve no doubt he did both—but that the sweeper acted upon his own
responsibility. And what do you think the ayah did in revenge? She
_slippered_ him!—all round the compound! The bearer, poor chap, fled in
disorder, but couldn’t escape. He has undoubtedly been slippered. And in
the presence of the whole compound! It’s worse—infinitely worse—than
having his _puggri_[71] knocked off in ribaldry. And now he says that
though he has served me faithfully all these years, and I am his father
and his mother, his honour has been damaged in this place, and he prays
to be allowed to depart.”
Footnote 71:
Turban.
“Slippered him, George! but he’s such a big man and she such a little
woman! All round the compound! Oh,” said George’s wife, giving way to
unseemly hilarity, “I should like to have seen that!”
“Little termagant! Oh, it was the insult he ran from, my dear—not the
blow. That she—an ayah and the wife of a kitmutgar, should have touched
him with the sole of her shoe! Don’t laugh, dear—they’ll hear you, and
I’d rather they didn’t.”
The Brownes held further debate, and took all the circumstances into
consideration. Young Browne had evidently arrived immediately at a
judicial view of the case, though he professed himself willing to let
the bearer go if Helen wanted to retain Chua. “Though in that case
there’ll be anarchy, my dear, I warn you,” said he. The result was a
solemn gathering of the servants next morning upon the veranda,
addressed by young Browne, while the memsahib sat up straight in another
chair and looked serious. He took no evidence, there would have been too
much, but he spoke thus:
“There was yesterday a great disturbance in the compound, which is a
shameful thing. Those who thus made great noises, and used bad language
and were without self-respect, were the bearer and the ayah. The bearer
has served me many years in many places and with many other servants,
and I have never before known him to act without shame or to quarrel.
The ayah has been known a few weeks only. Both the bearer and the ayah
wish to go away. The ayah may go. _Bus!_”[72]
Footnote 72:
Enough.
After this simple and direct delivery no word was said. The servants
dispersed to the compound, the bearer, reinstated in his self-esteem and
justified before the world, applied himself to forget his wrongs and was
more diligent than ever in his master’s service. Chua stated to her
mistress that if she had any more trouble she would die and the wind
would blow through her bones, and many other things in grief-stricken
Hindustani which Helen did not understand. But her mistress permitted
her this balm to her wounded feelings, that when she departed she left
the dishonoured shawl scornfully behind her, having privately received
sufficient backsheesh to buy three like it.
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