Dr Booth came in to check on his patient. ‘Feeling better?’ he asked kindly.

  Vottie stared at him. She felt herself floating away.

  The doctor looked at the row of tiny, neat stitches on her cheek and peered into her mouth. ‘No more bleeding,’ he said. ‘You can come and see me in the morning and evening here for the next few days, just to make sure there is no infection.’

  Chinmah spoke, her voice louder and clearer than usual. ‘Please, Dr Booth, she can’t go back to Sarju. It is not safe. Let her move to the single women’s area.’

  Dr Booth looked at Vottie and the various shades of bruises on her face, and nodded his agreement. ‘I’ll speak to the Protector,’ he said.

  Although Shaw was clearly unhappy about it, he gave permission for Vottie to be moved, and Lutchmee and Chinmah helped her slowly descend, step by painful step, from the hospital cabin to her new bed on the bottom cot of a bunk shared with Jyothi, a fresh-faced young girl of about sixteen. Jyothi was on the ship without family and seemed to delight in the company of the three women.

  Now that the pain medication was wearing off, it hurt Vottie to even smile. She sat silently as they swabbed her cheek with the medication that Dr Booth had administered to help the wound heal.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Vottie,’ Jyothi sighed, clasping Vottie’s hands in her own, her voice wavering.

  Vottie nodded and tried to smile.

  ‘Can I do anything to help you?’ Jyothi asked, eager to be of use.

  Lutchmee, who seemed to be taking control of everything that morning with a quiet determination, responded. ‘You can help feed the big baby,’ she giggled, handing Jyothi the bowl and spoon.

  Jyothi began to spoon sambar into Vottie’s mouth. Vottie took a few small sips then waved the food away.

  ‘You must eat, bahan,’ Jyothi said, and persuaded her to take a few more mouthfuls.

  ‘Let’s get some water and we’ll wash her hair,’ Chinmah said. ‘I need help – this gets in the way,’ she added, smiling and touching her stomach lightly. Jyothi smiled back and followed her out, finding comfort in her new-found usefulness.

  When the women returned with the water, Lutchmee dipped a rag into it and carefully cleaned the blood off Vottie’s face. Humming softly, Chinmah wet and lathered Vottie’s hair, and Jyothi joined in. Tenderly, the women washed their friend and helped her into clean clothes. Then they shook out the linen and made up Vottie’s bed, and helped her back into it.

  Journal of KB Shaw, Protector of Immigrants

  Aboard the Umzinto, 14 June

  The coolie Sarju is raging and being all high and mighty. The eejit had a right square go at his wifey and then wants to skelp with anybody he can. He’s a roaster and the other coolie walked away cool as you like. I think Sarju will stay put in the brig and give us all some peace and quiet and give him a chance to simmer down.

  His wife was braw enough before he broke her face. Now she has to be in the single wummins section so her husband cannae hurt her again. It has meant moving people around and there were complaints of course. There are complaints about everything.

  I dinnae ken how I can put up with them much longer. They fight and complain and want mair all the time. Mair scran, mair water and mair time on the deck.

  For the next few days, Vottie was never alone and Jyothi was constantly by her side. She combed Vottie’s hair and made sure that the stitches were clean and dry, or she would just sit quietly next to her while she slept. Lutchmee maintained her daily rice-cleaning duties on the top deck, having to do a bit more without Vottie’s help.

  Jyothi became skilled at pilfering treats from the galley. In addition to their regular meals, she smuggled out bits of dried fish and biscuits, which needed to be mixed with water for Vottie to swallow. She had also managed to get some ganja, a common remedy in India since ancient times and one of the most beneficial drugs to heal wounds, fight malaria, cure leprosy and help mental illnesses. ‘Try some,’ she said. ‘It will help with the pain.’

  ‘Where did you get this from?’ Lutchmee asked.

  ‘I traded it for a few things.’ She stuffed the ganja into a wooden pipe and lit it. Vottie inhaled the smoke a few times and had a coughing fit. Then she leaned back, her head feeling heavy and light at the same time. She found the women’s constant chatter soothing and she allowed the cadence of their voices and their funny stories to wash over her. Flanked by her friends, she floated above her misery and physical pain. Yet she knew it was only a matter of time before she would have to face her husband again.

  ‘It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last,’ she said quietly to Lutchmee later that evening. ‘He has done it before, many times.’ Lutchmee looked at her with genuine pity as she continued. ‘I lost a baby too. I was six months pregnant and he did not stop kicking me. He thought I wanted another man.’

  ‘How did you come to be here? If he’s Brahmin, surely he has land and money?’ Lutchmee asked, puzzled.

  ‘India – he did not like the way it is changing. He does not believe that we are all just the same …’ Vottie sighed.

  ‘What about your family?’ Lutchmee asked.

  ‘I left them behind. I wanted to be a good wife, and I thought maybe a new start would help. Look where that got me,’ she said, sadly.

  Lutchmee reached out to her, unable to find the right words to comfort her friend.

  ‘I’m a Brahmin too, you know,’ Vottie said. ‘I even attended school and learnt to read and write with the missionaries.’

  ‘I knew you were clever!’ Lutchmee said, clapping her hands delightedly to soften the mood.

  ‘Not that clever,’ Vottie replied flatly, pointing to her swollen face.

  Journal of KB Shaw, Protector of Immigrants

  Aboard the Umzinto, 19 June

  The dunderheid captain is too young to maintain order and discipline, and Dr Booth is just a young lad too. He also complains without cease –

  not enough medicines, he says, and he wants us to treat the Indians like royalty. He will learn in time that it’s pointless trying to do yer best. They don’t appreciate it.

  A wee bairn died and I had to throw its little brown body overboard. I felt like throwing it into the furnace, but you should have heard the fuss the Indians made. What a commotion! They wanted to do all their rituals and other such nonsense. The body bobbed on the surface in the ship’s wake. The mother was wailing and clawing at her face and clothes. It was enough to wake the dead bairn up.

  ‘Six lashes on the deck where everyone can see,’ the Protector said to Sarju, who was standing in front of his desk, nervously playing with his fingers.

  ‘But, sir, she is my wife. My wife,’ Sarju said, fear flickering wildly in his eyes.

  Ignoring his protests, Shaw waved the Indian away, and the sepoys, waiting outside the door, stepped in and took Sarju out before he had a chance to say anything more.

  Order had to be restored on the ship. If the authorities heard that the Protector had not acted, then that would look bad for Shaw, like he was not taking charge. His concern was also about what would be waiting in Natal if Sarju’s wife had not recovered by then. It was ultimately his responsibility to ensure that all the Indians arrived safely and in good health.

  He called for Dr Booth. ‘The wummin who was beaten – how bad is it? Is she going to be fit to work or is this going to have to come oota someone’s pocket?’

  ‘It was a vicious attack and really she stood no chance against her husband, I believe,’ the doctor said. He could barely conceal his dislike for the dismissive Protector.

  ‘Is the lassy going to be able to work, boy?’ Shaw thundered.

  Dr Booth instantly took a step back. He paused, crossing his arms. ‘She’s recovering, but I don’t think that she should stay with—’

  ‘That’s all I needed to hear,’ Shaw interrupted.

  Undeterred, Dr Booth persisted. ‘While I am here, sir, can we talk about the medical supplies? I’m worried that—’

  ‘Haud yer wheesht. I have to go and make an example of that man – make sure these coolies get the message,’ Shaw replied.

  ‘If I am to make sure the Indians are well, sir—’

  ‘Listen here, there will be no Indians to look after if they start on each other. You don’t know what they’re capable off,’ the big Scot snapped, and he marched off.

  A few people had already gathered on the deck. Word had got around quickly and many of the indentured Indians wanted to see Sarju receive his punishment. Vottie was among them, standing on unsteady feet, supported by a reluctant Lutchmee.

  Sarju was led out by sepoys, who tied him to the mast. His dhoti was dirty, and his face and body unwashed.

  ‘Let’s go, Vottie. There’s nothing for you to see here,’ Lutchmee said to her friend.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere. This may be my only chance to see this bastard get what he deserves. I would walk on hot coals to see this,’ she shot back.

  Sarju’s eyes were fixed on Vottie’s when the first lash struck his bare back. While he screamed and cried in agony, Vottie’s face was set in stone, unmoved.

  That evening, Vottie sought out the Protector. She knocked on his door and he did not hide his surprise when she stepped in. ‘I am Vottie, sir. I’m Sarju’s wife. I have come here to ask you to please let me go, let me be free from that man.’

  Steepling his forefingers, Shaw rocked back in his chair and surveyed the damage. She certainly was not nice to look at with her bruised face and swollen nose.

  ‘He is not a good man. Please help me,’ Vottie said, quietly and pleadingly.

  ‘Why should I interfere?’ Shaw asked, his thick Scottish accent making it difficult for Vottie to make out his words. ‘You are his wife and you agreed to marry him.’

  ‘If you leave me with him, I am not going to live long,’ Vottie said. ‘Please, sir! I will do anything, anything you say. Just change the papers.’

  ‘Surely yer husband has learnt his lesson now that his punishment has been executed?’ Shaw said, irritably. ‘Can’t ye make amends?’

  ‘I am asking you to protect me,’ Vottie pressed on. ‘Protect me from a man who will kill me.’ When she saw by his expression that Shaw wasn’t moved by her pleading, she added, in a louder voice, ‘A dead woman can’t work!’

  Shaw felt the warm air suffocating him. Yes, he was the Protector of Indian Immigrants, hired by the British government to do exactly that. He doubted it meant that he needed to meddle in their domestic affairs, though. ‘I don’t have the authority to grant your request. This sort of thing is dealt with in the court,’ he said. Vottie felt despair, but her heart lifted slightly when he added, reluctantly, ‘But until we get to Durban, maybe it’s best if you stay with the singles.’

  Outside the door, Vottie hugged Lutchmee. It was a small win.

  When Lutchmee and Vottie returned below decks, Chinmah was waiting for them, hot and restless, massaging the small of her back. They helped her up to the top deck for some fresh air. They found a bench near the bow and sat down.

  The next moment, Sarju was striding directly towards them. Vottie froze. The women moved closer to her on either side, and Chinmah slipped her small hand into Vottie’s and squeezed tightly. Lutchmee looked around quickly. Two sepoys were sitting some distance away, resting in the shade of a sail.

  Sarju walked up to Vottie and stared down at her with hatred in his dark eyes. ‘You bitch! You filthy bitch! Look at me. Look at what they have done to me because of you!’

  The three women stared at him. ‘Please, bhai, just leave us alone,’ Chinmah whispered.

  He ignored her, continuing to fix Vottie with his hate-filled gaze. ‘So, you think you are brave, eh? You think that you can do this and I will still want you?’ Without warning, he drew his head back and spat in her face.

  Vottie slowly wiped the spit off her face with the back of her hand. ‘You think I want you, a bastard like you, who hits a woman?’ she growled.

  ‘You are my wife!’ Sarju shouted. ‘I can keep you or throw you away like the dirt that you are!’

  Vottie pursed her lips but remained silent. Lutchmee glanced past Sarju at the sepoys, whose attention had been grabbed by the shouting, but who were clearly reluctant to stir from their rest.

  ‘This bitch,’ he said, noticing Lutchmee’s movement and nodding towards her, ‘she’s looking for her husband. Think he is going to save you? That filthy dog. I’ll kill him with one hand!’

  ‘Please, we don’t want trouble,’ Lutchmee said. ‘Vottie is still getting better. Maybe in a few days, you can talk. You are just angry right now.’

  It was not the right thing to say, and Sarju exploded. He lunged for Vottie’s throat. Lutchmee yanked Vottie’s arm, pulling her friend out of harm’s way, while Chinmah stood up quickly and stepped away from the enraged man.

  Her eyes grew wide and she gulped down her fear. ‘You leave her alone,’ she said emphatically. No one had heard her use that tone or speak with such a volume before.

  Sarju lurched to the side, trying to grab Vottie.

  ‘Help us, help us!’ Chinmah yelled, at last stirring the sitting sepoys into action. They came running, one of them pinning Sarju’s arms behind his back, and both frogmarching him off down the length of the deck. The women could hear Sarju shouting obscenities all the way.

  Journal of KB Shaw, Protector of Immigrants

  Aboard the Umzinto, 25 June

  It has been fair weather and the captain says that we have just passed the Reunion Islands. Supplies are low, with only dhal and some rice, which seems to be mostly stones. I don’t mind the scran but I could do with a good tattie.

  I’ve been feeling a bit hingy aw week. Sores on me tadger and I’m finding it hard to pish. I cannae go to that skinamalinky longlegs Booth – he will start up again about medical supplies. Don’t want him to know my business, so will have to wait to get to the port. I should have never pumped that scabby coolie hoor!

  I spend my time teaching these coolies how to be civilised. Just when I think they know how to behave, they start up again.

  6

  Umzinto, southern Indian Ocean

  July 1909

  Life on the Umzinto had become a succession of dawns and dusks. The weather became more temperate as the ship sailed south although during the day it was still sometimes too hot to go onto the decks; in the evenings, though, it was cool. The sea was calmer and stretched in front of them like a silky blue ribbon.

  Meals had become paltry affairs. With the journey nearing its end, supplies were low and the meals, made up of mainly rice and dhal, were barely edible. The rice was broken and the stones in it made their teeth ache. The fresh animals had long since been slaughtered and eaten, and even the cured meat was finished.

  The rules had become a bit more relaxed and the indentured Indians were allowed more time on deck to stretch their legs under the watchful eye of the sepoys. They would gather in small groups, play cards and sometimes even sing bhajans. With the end in sight, there was no longer a need to ration as much, so daaru and tobacco were passed generously around. In moments like these, the gloom would lift: their new lives were closer than ever.

  Lutchmee, Vottie, Jyothi and Chinmah always sat together when they could. Chinmah’s round face, large eyes and diminutive size made her look more like a child than an adult, but her growing bump separated her from the children. Lutchmee and Vottie were worried about their pregnant friend, as her husband, Ramsamy, did not seem to even be aware that his very young wife was due to give birth soon. He seemed to be lost in a world of his own, seldom speaking to anyone.

  While the other woman prattled on about their new life on the plantation, Chinmah’s fear and her unborn child were locked together, growing. At every kick she would be reminded of her condition, and she would then push the thought away. It was not that she did not love her child; she was just terrified of giving birth and did not know if she was ready to be responsible for another life.

  Jyothi was alone with Chinmah, sitting on the deck. She was massaging Chinmah’s back and they fell into an easy conversation. ‘We are all like jahaji bhais,’ Jyothi said.

  Chinmah smiled. ‘Are you worried at all about the husband you will find in Natal?’

  ‘It can only be better than what I was facing in my village,’ Jyothi replied quietly, and Chinmah did not push her to explain further. But Jyothi inhaled deeply and exhaled before she began. ‘I fell in love with a married man. He said he would leave his wife, but when we got caught, he told everyone that it was my fault. My brothers, my father and mother, they wanted nothing more to do with me, so they all drove me out. I met an arkati and now I am here. I can never go back.’

  ‘So maybe this is a good thing for you too – a new life,’ Chinmah said.

  ‘Talking about new life, Chinmah, is Ramsamy going to care for you?’ Jyothi asked quietly, lifting her eyebrows and gesturing with her chin to Chinmah’s belly.

  Before Chinmah could answer, Vottie and Lutchmee arrived, and any response Chinmah may have had got drowned in the women’s chatter. They found a spot to sit with a clear view of the kushti match that was about to begin.

  The wrestling matches had become less brutal and more comedic due to a lack of energy in the wrestlers, although the reduced rations and awful food had not altered the appearance of the two rather large men. Their stomachs were the first to collide, their fat jangling like tambourines. Flabby arms grappled and flailed, holding on to any bit of flesh or cloth they could find. They rolled and tumbled about, looking much like elephants playing in the mud. Laughing, they began to beat on each other until one of them got the better of the other and just sat on him, his bulk spread out over the man’s face.