After the Monsoon: A Novel of an Intermarriage

By Margot Webb

Meryam is a Jewish woman who saw the horrors of the Holocaust and now travels to India to meet her intended. Against all odds, she has decided to marry a Hindu man named Suresh. Their decision did not come lightly—and it will have serious cultural consequences—but they decide to go ahead with their wedding and discover love together.

As expected, Suresh’s family is scandalized. Not only has he married a woman of a different race, but she is also of a different religion. As Meryam learns the local culture, she must face the scathing comments from her father-in-law who considers her study of music akin to prostitution. Suresh causes discord, too, with secrets he never told his new wife.

After the Monsoon is an unusual, cross-cultural love story. It depicts the human condition with twists and turns, as Meryam and Suresh attempt to rectify differences in the traditions of their youth. Travel to exotic India, find great love but also betrayal, and feel the first quivering of India’s independence. Despite a vast cultural divide, it is possible for love to flourish if only surrounded by truth, understanding, and compassionate hearts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532042058

Margot Webb

Margot Webb, born in Hitler’s Germany, is a child survivor of the Holocaust. She eventually moved to California, where she sang in the San Francisco Opera chorus. After her children left for college, Margot moved to Los Angeles, where she now lives, writes, and embraces her passion for music.

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Copyright © 2018 Margot Webb.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-4204-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-4205-8 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 05/02/2018

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

To the Memory of Two Courageous People,

my Mother and my Father

It is right mindfulness and attention

that allow us to change our behavior.

—Kalu Rinposhe

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I thank the following people who have encouraged and helped me during the writing of this book:

Peter Davé, of Write Angle, whose encouragement kept me in good spirits throughout the two years during which the writing was done.

Shulamit Levitch, my editor, who spent countless hours with suggestions, corrections, and an occasional different point of view.

Marcus Webb, editor of the first draft, who despite his busy writing offered his ideas.

Sharon Reifman, who kept all files and half thoughts available at any time.

Rabbi Steven Robbins, with whom hours of discussion served to clarify my thoughts.

Rosen Publishing, who first published some of my nonfiction books and gave me courage to tell this story.

Dr. Iris Wachsmuth, who arranged speeches and whose expertise about Germany and India was indispensable.

Himanshu Dave, whose critique became invaluable and whose encouragement was constant and steady.

INTRODUCTION

C olombo, Ceylon-1949

Of course, she knew why. That had never helped before. She could talk about it, but her fear stayed with her.

She stood for a moment on her favorite place, the uppermost deck of the freighter which had taken her from San Francisco to Colombo. How strange it was to see land again, she thought as the ship docked. During her three-month voyage, she had gotten used to being surrounded by water. She peered into its dark depths, always wondering about its mysteries.

As Meryam leaned against the railing, excitement surged through her body. Suresh, her fiancé, would pick her up in Bombay, a short flight from Ceylon. How she had fought, and begged, cried and screamed with her parents for their permission to allow her to travel alone halfway across the world to marry him. They had pointed out the vast differences in their culture. They had various dreadful scenarios about possible disasters which could happen to their only child.

Above all, they reminded her of her fear of separation. It had begun when she was eleven years old. Meryam and her parents needed to leave Germany, their home, and their family, because as Jews it no longer was safe to remain under Hitler’s regime. Her fear had begun then and never left her completely.

For months before leaving Germany heading to America, she had worried about her grandparents who promised to join the family as soon as they could. Huge anxieties started to engulf her. She obsessed about never seeing them again. On the day of her departure, her grandfather had to push her into the train which would take them to the ship bound for their new home. Meryam ran to the first open window she could find and tried to throw herself onto the platform, but strong hands held her back.

She never saw her grandparents again. When she discovered they had been murdered by Nazis, her anxieties grew. She associated a simple good-bye with death.

Today, she had to leave the freighter, which had become a temporary home to her. How would she handle this? Her terror had lessened as her excitement grew. She was about to see Suresh again. Yet, her fear had not disappeared.

She tried to imagine how he felt. Soon they could embrace each other, and the year of arguments, he with his family, she with hers, would come to an end.

Meryam pictured his calm ways, his soft voice, and beautiful face, and could not stand on the deck another moment.

As the ship pulled slowly into port, everything stood in readiness. Suitcases, boxes and strangely shaped items would be taken to the dock. Passengers and officers had already said last minute farewells, while voices rose up, speaking various languages.

Meryam’s anxiety made her heart pound, but as she looked around she noticed people greeting each other. Their arrival showed itself in the smiling faces of passengers being met by loved ones. She knew she had to wait a few more hours to board a small plane which would fly her to Bombay.

Meryam shook hands with the Captain and the Navigator, and walked down the gangplank to her future.

CHAPTER 1

A s the plane came to a halt, Meryam felt a little apprehensive. She couldn’t wait for Suresh’s first kiss. She began to search for him, but the number of people waiting surprised her and made it almost impossible to find him. When she finally spied him, it was all she could do not to burst out laughing. There he stood in the midst of the crowd, in a tan suit, white shirt open at the neck, but one thing set him apart from the rest of the people. He carried numerous bouquets of flowers in both arms, and was virtually covered with them.

He approached her and crushed her against him. Flowers flew in every direction. His great dark eyes expressed love more than any words could have. Gently he kissed her. Total strangers watched this scene, a scene the crowd would probably never witness again. Kissing in public was never practiced in India. Modesty came first and foremost. But those around Meryam and Suresh that day apparently felt how daring this couple was, and joined the celebration silently.

Welcome home, he whispered. Both had tears in their eyes and didn’t want to let go, but customs officials wanted to check on passport, visas, and a small mountain of other important papers. Reluctantly, they moved apart and showed all that was required. The official did not have the compassion of the crowd, instead smirked ever so slightly having seen their exhibition and let them go.

A group of men, Meryam assumed were porters stood nearby, but Suresh had arranged in advance that all luggage was to be whisked away by bearers. Suresh explained that all her suitcases would arrive safely at home. She wondered why everything couldn’t just be placed into the car, until she saw the tiny Hillman Minx, the smallest car she had ever seen, parked at the curb. To her amazement a driver already sat at the wheel and she couldn’t imagine how they would all fit in or why a driver was needed. Before she climbed in, a small, gentle breeze ruffled nearby palm trees waving her a welcome. Suresh seated himself beside her, reached for her hand and kissed her cheek. She felt a sudden shyness which made her turn her head away a bit.

As they drove along a crowded street, Meryam noticed how colorful everything looked. Women in saris, carrying shiny brass jugs on their heads, while holding babies on one hip made her think of dancers. Suresh noticed her reaction and said, There is an old saying. A beautiful woman always walks with the grace of an elephant, and has the eyes of a deer.

An elephant? she asked, but an elephant is fat!

As though to prove it to her an elephant walked on the street beside their car. Her trainer sat proudly atop her head, while the animal glided along as though to the sound of music.

Meryam took Suresh’s hand after all and told him how beautiful everything appeared to her.

Now, black water buffalo marched in slow rhythm, while their heavy bodies swayed from side to side. Their owners shouted commands, which the buffalo distinctly ignored.

Meryam began to wonder if she had stepped into another century.

Will I ever fit in? she worried.

Of course, Suresh quickly answered, But above all you must retain your identity. Your curiosity is partly due to the way you were brought up. Don’t just fit in. Be yourself, because that is the person I fell in love with.

Meryam blushed, a little embarrassed, though she basically agreed with Suresh. She had trouble from time to time accepting compliments.

We’re almost home, he said, ruffling her short hair.

STOP the car! she said too loudly. She had noticed a yellow house on the left side of the street covered with swastikas. An icy shiver ran down her spine.

What’s wrong? Suresh tried to put his arms around her.

I want to take the next plane home, she cried, do you think I came all this way to see swastikas? Where are your Nazis? Did you want me to come here because I am a Jew? Take me back to Santa Cruz Airport. I will not stay here, she collapsed into hysterical crying.

Oh, no, Suresh answered You don’t understand.

Don’t tell me I don’t understand a swastika. Most of my family is dead because of the thing. Remember, for Hitler that was the all-important symbol.

Hold still, just a moment, please. Let’s get out of the car. With that, he ordered the driver to stop.

Suresh practically pulled her from the car, held on to her arm and marched to the offending wall of the house. As Meryam got closer to the swastikas, the Nazi signs she knew too well, she tried to pull back, but it was useless.

However, as soon as they were closer to these hateful Fascist signs, she noticed, without anyone saying a word, they were positioned differently than those in Hitler’s Germany. In fact, they had been painted backward from those she knew.

You can see, my darling, Suresh told her with utmost patience, these are not the poisonous horror you used to see. They are turned just the other way. Swastika is a Sanskrit word, a word from a language we no longer speak. This sign is one of goodness, a sign of our Hindu religion, but not one of murder. Hitler stole this, because he thought he was Aryan. The original Aryans are from here. Now I ask you, do we look like the glorious blonde, blue eyed, tall people of Germany who talked themselves into being something they are not, were not and never will be Aryans.

Meryam stood there on the warm Bombay street ashamed, but totally lost for a moment in her thoughts and fears of the life she had led as a child, tormented by Nazis. She didn’t move, but hung her head like a little girl, crying quietly. Suresh slowly put his arms around her and led her back into the car. He motioned his driver to go ahead.

She still tried to control herself. as they pulled up at a long, low, bungalow. Suresh had dried her tears with his handkerchief; Meryam sat beside him and tried to apologize.

I am so sorry, she said, I should have learned more about your religion. Can you forgive me?

There is nothing to forgive. Let’s sit in the car for a second more, so I can tell you my feelings. She nodded.

I understand that not only your suffering, but those of millions of your people before and during the war will always stand as a crime against humanity. We all know that the Nazis were monsters, but reading about it or being there amid such unbelievable cruelty is very different. I have a sense that certain words or sights bring memories out, which give you a helpless feeling. Today was such a day. I will be your husband and you must promise that you will tell me as much as you can, so that I can truly understand and become a part of you. Meryam had no words to answer him. He had touched her soul. An older man came toward them and opened the car door. He greeted them with his hands folded, Na ma ste, he uttered while Suresh answered in kind.

After helping Meryam out of the car, Suresh introduced Mistri, the cook and head servant. Meryam looked into a somewhat wrinkled, dark face, with the kindest smile she had ever seen.

I hope you like your new home, Suresh said. Meryam had not expected such a pretty bungalow and the sparkling Arabian Sea added to the beauty.

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As they made their way into the house, Meryam’s feet began to sink into the sand. Her high heeled shoes and stockings were the culprits. Suresh tried not to react, Mistri appeared confused, and after taking her shoes off, she showed him the high heels.

Very beautiful, and very dangerous, he offered.

The beach sand slowly began to fill her stockings and her legs became so heavy that she couldn’t move. Suresh picked her up, Meryam tried to hide her face in his shoulder, while sand left a trail in the entire house.

I have turned into an hour glass, she finally laughed.

After all the sand was swept up and Meryam brushed the rest of it away, Suresh took her to a pretty living room with rattan furniture, which surrounded a low, round wooden table. A small hallway led to two bedrooms with mosquito netting piled high above the bed. At evening time, the servants would come before the nasty little insects arrived, to lower the nets, and tuck them securely under the mattresses.

A large bathroom with a shower smelled deliciously of sandalwood soap. Some thick white towels had already been arranged near a small table and sink. Most surprising of all, was the enormous black marble tub, big enough to be a small pool.

This is so luxurious, Meryam murmured. But Suresh ruefully told her about the water shortage at the moment and conservation had become the word of the day. The tub could not be filled to the top.

He then led her back through the first hallway to the kitchen. Mistri and two young women in red saris busied themselves cooking something which smelled heavenly. Mistri told her that the first girl spoke a little English, and would take care of her. They greeted each other with big smiles.

I am Dhara, the girl told her. Meryam thought the name was lovely and immediately answered. I am Meryam.

Oh, no, a chorus of voices shouted. Mistri explained, You are not friends. You are Dhara’s superior. She must call you memsahib.

But that is a title, not a name, Meryam disagreed.

Dhara answered, It is our way, Memsahib. I will be glad to serve you. Meryam said nothing. One angry scene had been enough for one day. She just smiled and shook the girl’s hand. All heads in the kitchen shook their head, NO! Too much familiarity. Meryam’s first change would be accomplished when she and her servant worked together. She planned a free life for Dhara.

Taken out of her semi dream, she discovered the other girl’s name to be Shakuntala. Meryam watched her preparing chapatis, eyes on her work, clearly too shy to speak with the new Memsahib. When they left the kitchen, Meryam noticed a hut with a tiny garden behind the house, where Mistri lived. Dhara and Shakuntala slept on mattresses in a tiny space near the kitchen.

Well, Suresh smiled, that’s it! Our first home.

CHAPTER 2

H e led her by the hand to the living room, held her tightly against him, wishing they were already married.

I love it here, Meryam sighed. I can’t wait, either. How long do you think it will take for the judge to marry us?

We will talk about that in the morning, when my friend Isabhai comes. He promised to get all the paperwork. But for now, my darling, let’s have a glass of champagne. He called Mistri who came with a huge tray filled with delicacies. Two glasses already filled, bubbled. As soon as he had put the tray down he disappeared.

Suresh lifted his drink, I will drink to our love, my wife to be.

Meryam answered. Our separation for one year lasted too long. I needed you, and now our dream has come true.

After a few sips, they stared at each other almost smirking.

What is it? Suresh asked.

I won’t tell you until you speak first. Meryam tried to get the words out between embarrassment and mischief.

I can’t. Your feelings might be hurt.

I doubt it, because I’m afraid your feelings will be hurt, too.

All right, which one of us has the courage to say what started this?

I will tell you, Suresh said, My toast to you sounded like something out of a romance novel. It just didn’t sound real. Meryam told him, Exactly what I thought about my toast to you. We have a cheap magazine in America called True Stories of Love, and I swear it came right out of that. They tried again. Lifted their glasses and quickly said, Skol the Swedish word for a celebration drink.

Now, that’s over, let’s taste these goodies on the tray. They enjoyed every bit. Suresh began to look very serious.

My dear, he said, I have some sad news. India has just declared that there is a prohibition here. The only way we can get alcohol is to be a foreigner or to declare in a court that you are an alcoholic.

How ridiculous is that? she began. And by the way, how did you get all this champagne?

I have to have some secrets, and this one is mine.

Aha, now I see I will marry a criminal. I can just imagine the comforts of an Indian jail.

They talked easily for a while about things they had experienced together in America and finally decided to walk along the beach to watch the sun sink into the sea. They played a little at the water’s edge giggling like children at the sight of their foot impressions in the wet sand. A great calm drew them together with a certainty they had made the right decision about their upcoming marriage.

As magical as their walk was, Meryam remembered just before they returned to the house that she had not yet called her parents to tell them of her safe arrival. Guilt overwhelmed her, because she had put Suresh and herself first, without thinking about her family who doubtless sat beside their phone.

Suresh, she almost shouted, I can’t believe it, but we have not yet spoken with my mother or father. Let’s hurry inside and do it right away. It doesn’t matter what time it is in San Francisco, because I know how anxious they are to hear that everything is safe.

His answer shocked her! We have no phone service here, but I promise to send someone to Bombay to telegraph them, tomorrow.

But aren’t we in Bombay now? she asked somewhat sarcastically because she worried a great deal and very often, about issues of safety. She knew her parents were the same way.

Yes, but we are in a sort of suburb here in Juhu Beach, not close to the center of the city. Don’t be upset, my darling, your parents will be notified in due time.

In due time? What does that mean? They have to know now. Could this be their first argument?

Meryam did not realize that with the partition between India and Pakistan, many services which had been taken for granted now disappeared as each country had to separate everything, phones, utilities, and more obviously, ideas of how to run their governments. Everything took a long time. Neither country was wealthy, and each change cost a great deal of money. She already knew about water shortages, but had never thought about all the inconveniences which awaited her.

Things move more slowly here than in America, Suresh’s calm voice infuriated her, as he continued, They will be informed within two or three days.

But they will be so upset and anxious and their imaginations may work overtime, she interrupted.

No need, Meryam, they must know that you are with me.

He didn’t understand. They went into the house, where Mistri waited, with mango juice and biscuits, to refresh them after their walk. Suresh spoke to him in Gujerati, explaining the urgency for his son to go to Bombay first thing in the morning to send a cable to America.

Do you feel better, now? I told his son to hurry about the telegram, he nuzzled her neck.

Not much. I should have called from the airport. My parents will think I am a missing person perhaps been kidnapped, or worse, arrested.

Why are they so fearful? Suresh wondered.

Why, why you ask? Because in our life, mothers and fathers want safety for their children above all else. Not hearing anything is painful for them.

I think, my darling, you are talking about your previous life in Germany where danger, not safety was the norm. It left a mark on all of you. He moved a little away from her, and sat on the couch, his elbows on his knees, head held in his hands, while his silence acknowledged the suffering her family had endured. She sat next to him and stroked his hair. She realized he understood her more than she understood herself.

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We have so much to tell one another, she whispered. He picked his head up. She saw tears on his cheeks.

We’ll understand each other’s problems, she smiled, In due time.

Suresh actually smiled a little. And where, may I ask, did you get that clever little phrase?

I’ll tell you and she mouthed the words, In due time.

The spell of sadness broke.

She had noticed within twenty-four hours of her being in India that these three words were the excuse everyone gave for any delay. And now, these words had magically bridged their differences.

It became more and more obvious to both of them that they were tired. She kissed Suresh and began to ready herself. Dhara sat nearby, willing to help, but Meryam told her to rest. She, too, had had a long day. As she crept into her mosquito net covered bed, her eyes fell on Suresh who walked into her room. He wore white pajamas, tight at the ankles and a loose white shirt.

Meryam, he began without a preamble. If you like I will sleep with you on your first night so far away from home. Please understand we will dream together in all innocence. I know you want to wait to love each other fully, until we are married.

How wonderful, she thought. They had loved each other in America many times, but now, here, in India where sexual feelings were not discussed, Suresh treated her like his innocent wife-to-be.

She felt choked up and couldn’t reply. She just nodded her head, Yes.

For the first time in her life she shared a bed for the entire night. Suresh’s light, even breathing gave her utter peace, and at last, she closed her eyes. Every time she turned even slightly, his hand reached out to hold hers.

Hours later, she woke briefly, to the sound of flutes playing in a minor key somewhere in the distance. An ocean breeze fluttered their mosquito netting, while their entwined bodies fit as though they had been together forever.

When morning came, she was alone in the big bed. Dhara, outside the door, heard a little noise and rushed in to help with the bulky net.

Na ma ste, she greeted Meryam.

Good morning, Dhara.

The girl’s broad smile was her reward, followed by her shaking head from side to side, accompanied by clicking sounds with her tongue. Meryam watched in wonder.

What do you mean when you do that? she asked.

It means ‘yes’, or when I feel happy or agree with something another person said. Everyone does it here. It comes from our Gujerati language. It is a little different from the national language of India.

Suddenly, she felt shy and handed Meryam a fresh towel, showing in a way that she might have gone too far in her conversation with the new Memsahib, or that she had acted inappropriately… like a friend. Meryam sensed this right away. It was sad, because she wanted to be more than an employer to Dhara.

She took her towel, and as she stepped into the shower, let out a little scream, because the cold water gave her a shock.

Meryam wondered as she dressed, where Suresh could be. She didn’t hear his voice, the house felt quiet, until she ran into Dhara in the hallways.

Memsahib, breakfast, she announced with a big smile, and led her into the little dining room.

Mistri had prepared enough food for five people, and Meryam wanted Dhara to share it. Of course, the answer came back with a firm, No!

Could she ever get used to this class consciousness? Why with such a peaceful leader as India had had with Gandhi did this lingering unfairness remain? He hadn’t wanted it, she knew, people worshipped him, but clearly didn’t follow his philosophy. How could anyone feel peaceful when hunger growled in one’s body?

Memsahib, Memsahib, Mistri broke into her reverie.

I want to tell you, that Sahib will return in a few hours. A problem at the studio came up, and he told me, he will return as quickly as possible.

CHAPTER 3

"D id Krishna return from Bombay with news of my parents? Did he mail the telegraph informing them that I had arrived safely?" She asked Mistri.

Yes, he did, Suresh answered, arriving sooner than expected