The Return of Latchmini

By S.T. Shah Roath

This is the first novel in The Demerara Series – The Return of Latchmini. A journey that started in British India in the 1880s. A journey retraced by Bhanmattee who sought to establish the truth in the oral history and make lasting connections, past to present.

A journey, the author followed as a researcher and an academic, finding commonalities between her maternal oral history with the archival records that Bhanmattee located in Guyana, Suriname, the United Kingdom, the Netherlands, and India with over 10 world tours and years of dogged fieldwork. Further, the author was able to triangulate the data uncovered with the many scholarly works done by so many Indo-Guyanese researchers and writers over the last seven or more decades.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9798987136638

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Copyright © 2022 Roath Publishing UNITED STATES

A young woman, who left British India to become an indentured servant on a plantation in the West Indies, faces challenges to maintain her morality, secure a safe place for her children, and survive post-emancipation struggles. Making the journey three times, across three oceans, did not make Latchmini immune to the hazards of traveling as a single mom, a lone woman on a ‘Coolie’ ship during the Indian Indentureship period, even in 1894 when some systems were established for the protection of passengers. Adventures on the plantation in Demerara were so different from her simple survival experiences in Suriname, all very different from life in Allahabad, North India.

ROATH PUBLISHING

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2022

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ISBN: 979-8-9871366-3-8

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To my great-grandmother Latchmini, her father Subhan, and her children: Radhia, Mohabir, and Jack.

"We never get closer to the truth than in a novel."

Louis Begley. Between Fact and Fiction

(Zwischen Fakten und Fiktionen,

Frankfurt am Main, 2008)

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Contents

Suriname

Jamkhuri, Allahabad

Calcutta

More Kala Pani

Storm Rages

Cries in the Dark

The Arrival

Demerara

Disturbance

Bonding

Village

Cowpoke

Temptation

Big House Creche

Abduction

The Wait

Danger

Intrigue

Belair

Epilogue

Glossary

Women in Indian Indentureship and Post-Indentureship British Guiana and Guyana

Sources of Primary and Secondary Data

Select Bibliography

Appendices

Reflections by Ashook Ramsaran

CHAPTER 1

1894

Suriname

The horses’ gallop changed to a canter as the cart approached the brick road of the Waterkant. Latchmini got a whiff of fish. The fishing boats were preparing for their evening departure. The tide was high, the coolie ship was also preparing to leave. The ship’s horn that rang through the street, as they were approaching the dock, confirmed Latchmini’s thoughts. She and her family descended the cart.

Latchmini noticed Mohabir impishly bend under the horse cart, stick his index finger in the molasses bucket, and put it straight into his mouth with a satisfied sigh. Latchmini ignored him. This may be his last ever taste of molasses out of a horse’s feed bucket!

Hugging her older son, Latchmini felt a familiar tightening chest and stinging nose. She snuggled her face into Ram’s curly hair. Wiping a wayward teardrop with the back of her hand, she raised her head looking straight into the eyes of Madari. Her husband reached out and touched her left cheek. Latchmini turned her lips into his hands and felt a shiver of acute pain join the tightened chest.

Madari rubbed her cheeks, shook his head, and slid his hand down the front of her dress with a satisfied nod. His wife knew he was checking for the tabibige talisman she always kept around her neck. He had placed the cylindrical capsule on a gold chain around her neck since their wedding night, twelve years ago.

Latchmini took a last hug of Ram, kissed him on his forehead, and gently wiped his tears with the pallu of her dark green cotton sari. She turned to Madari and squeezed his hands, moving his ever-present cowlick hair from his eyes. Staring deeply into dark brown eyes, Latchmini sighed as she transferred Radhia from his arms over to her hip.

Madari, take good care of Ram. Make sure our son doesn’t get into trouble with Massa. Check his toes for chigger bites every night and make sure he drinks a whole cup of milk every night before sleeping! You know he likes to throw it in the Tulsie tree and bring big red ants! Ram laughed and wiped his eyes with the front of his white kurta, revealing a budding muscular torso. He was only ten years old but looked over twelve years. He was so muscular with the backyard greens gardening, cane field weeding gang work, and an endless appetite for yard chicken.

Ram, you take care of your father. Make sure he cooks the bhagee and roti every morning. Don’t let him give you salt bread that the creole sells at the market. Pick the rice for him to cook for lunch that you all eat under the mango tree by the cane field. And remember to take out all the rocks from the dhal! You eat good. When I see you again, you will be taller than me. Latchmini hugged her son again. Radhia tugged at her until she moved to allow her to put her chubby hands around Ram’s neck. The ship’s horn sounded a warning call. Time was running out.

Madari, Latchmini looked at Mohabir holding on to his father’s arm, We have to go now. Madari opened his arms and enveloped his wife and three children. Radhia started to cry loudly. There was heartbreaking crying along the fish-smelling dock. Other families were also leaving loved ones.

But laughter also rang out, as whole families were returning to their homeland after being away for five years and more. Latchmini placed the red handmade straw bag containing her belongings under her arm, settled Radhia on her hips in the other, and clasped Mohabir’s hands in her own. She bravely stepped onto the plank that led into the tugboat that would take them out to the ship. She had to adjust after just a few seconds on the planks to balance herself. Mohabir disengaged his left hand from hers and held on to the railing. He used his right hand to hold onto to the back of his mother’s sari.

The fishing boats lulled nearby in preparation for another bountiful catch. The scent of rotting fish wafted up at the hundreds of returning indentured laborers. Cries of women and children drowned out any sounds of the black birds circling overhead.

Latchmini was returning to her homeland after ten years, three children, and the hard life in the sugar cane fields of Suriname. Her husband and eldest son, Madari and Ram, stood at the docks staring at the ship that was returning to India. Latchmini’s two children, Radhia and Mohabir, were looking sadly at their father and brother standing among the crowd of sugar and coffee workers. These workers were waving goodbye to friends and family who were leaving at the end of their indentureship contracts.

Almost six feet tall, Madari held Ram in front of him. Latchmini looked at her handsome husband and knew that he was trying to be brave. He was now on his own. Since their marriage, this will be the first time they will be apart for more than a few hours. Latchmini knew how hard it will be for Madari to do what she did every morning for the last 10 years. Wake up before three O’clock in the mornings, cook the roti and bhagee to eat with green tea for breakfast. He also had to cook dhal and rice – and pack the saucepans to carry to the fields for their lunch.

Usually, after waking before dawn, he milked their cow and sent her out to pasture, then bathe by the pond, and dress for work. He never cooked, although she knew he could. He usually collects the saucepan with his lunch on his way out.

It was hard leaving Madari and her eldest son, but the child in her belly demands better. This child could be born in Jamkhuri, close to the place where the three rivers meet in Allahabad. Madari’s mother could help with the birthing and his sisters can take care of Mohabir and Radhia while Latchmini was still weak. Not like in Suriname when she had to go back to the fields with her baby in a baby bag around her neck and her belly banded just the day after she gave birth! 

The cries of the seagulls filled the air. They echoed Latchmini’s aching heart as she kept Madari in her sight. His image diminished to a speck. The docks grew smaller and smaller. Latchmini’s chest tightened, nose stung, eyes watered. No. She did not cry.

Latchmini looked at Mohabir’s face – sadness being replaced by scarcely concealed excitement. He looked at the black water beyond the ship. The water reflected the ship’s outline, the silhouette showed the outline of passengers standing at the rails waving to those waving from the docks long after they were no longer visible. The ship’s horn pierced the stillness of sorrow, causing passengers to look up at the mast.

As the ship moved out to sea and the water began to get rougher and rougher, Latchmini’s stomach tightened in anticipation. She licked her lips and tasted the salty air. She was on her way. She was returning to the place of pleasure and color, happiness and culture, music and dance, sweet and sour – delights of the tongue, mind, and body. She was returning to India.

Radhia peered up as the white sails unfurled like angels, white puffy clouds sailing above and white seagulls traversing between sails and clouds against that blue, blue sky. The bow dipped and soared, sipped the salty water, and spit it out only to drink again. Swish, swish, swish, swash, swish, swash, swish, swash – sounds in unison with the movement of the ship. The swish, swish of the ship, cutting through the water, sailed on the wind and echoed back to the passengers descending to their quarters. They had to go below before the waters became too rough to find solid footing.

The ship’s crew ushered stragglers none too gently. Latchmini urged her children below, grabbed a bottom bunk and hugged them to her breast, glad that they had a whole bed to themselves this time. She and Madari had to share a similar bed with three men on the ship that brought them to Suriname. Madari had always tried to be the last man in then hugged her to him so none of the other men could touch her.

Darkness crept like a thief into the large cabin. Mohabir was too excited to sleep and listened to the sounds as it became darker and darker. The swishing water coming from the porthole almost lulled him to sleep. He seemed to be willing himself to stay awake. Latchmini wished he would relax and try to sleep.

She reached over and tapped softly on Mohabir’s back hoping to make him sleep as she had when he as a baby. Loud snoring emitted from the bunk beds all around the large cabin, more like the barracks room she had seen at the Calcutta Depot. Narrower but same kind of bunks and spacing. Beds stacked upon beds, upon beds, which were packed against each other as one long range of sleeping holes sized for two persons but fitting five and six persons.

Soon the ship started swinging like a hammock strung on the porch of her home in Jamkhuri. Home. India. Sleep eluded her. She savored memories of village life with her parents. Bathing with the family’s white cows and her girlfriends. Enjoying the freedom to roam the pastures, climb fruit trees, and watch wedding rituals from the fringes of glittering colorful gatherings.

This was before her marriage to Madari and her new life as a daughter-in-law. Then she had to stay home and do all the housework and wait and watch and hope for a job that would take her and Madari away from the constant watchful, judgmental eyes of his parents. She had had her wish. Ten long years away from that place.

She was bringing home their two grandchildren. They would love Mohabir who looks like a little version of Madari. But Radhia, at a little over one year old, looks a little like Latchmini’s Mai with her long wavy dark brown hair and light brown eyes. She was also quiet and seemed contemplative, never angry, and generally kept her own counsel.

Madari likes to say how much his daughter reminded him of his mother but looks like Latchmini’s mother. Would Madari’s mother love her granddaughter? Latchmini hugged her daughter tightly, Radhia was breathing evenly, eyes closed, her head snuggled against her mother’s breast.

What about the grandson? Who could resist the enquiring, adventurous Mohabir who has mastered so many, manly skills that his father taught him from a young age? Would Madari’s father frown upon Mohabir’s outspoken attitude? Latchmini looked at her son. His eyes were wide open, staring over her shoulder. She turned her head slightly. It was pitch dark. She turned back to Mohabir, whispering.

What is it?

Tiger Eyes in the dark. Baap said to look out for the tiger’s eyes. I saw two staring at you.

Where?

Right by the door, he disappeared when you turned your head.

Okay. You go to sleep now. Today was a long day.

No. Baap says the Tiger Eyes man will tackle you if I don’t keep watch. I am a man now till Baap comes and join us. Nobody will hurt you or Radhia!

Latchmini must have slept. Darkness was replaced by soft daylight filtering from the port holes. There was less rocking. She looked over to Mohabir. He was fast asleep! Radhia was moving restlessly in her arms. She looked into the bright brown eyes of her daughter and decided it was bathroom time. They tried to slip past Mohabir, but as soon as they touched him trying to climb over, he jumped up and pretended that he never slept!

The sounds of morning puja filtered down from the deck. The Cowrie shell was being blown. Drums, dholak, and tabla were echoing along the walls of the iron ship. Singing voices, the sound of a melodic bhajan seemed to ride the waves. The trio went up on deck and sang with the gathering. They ate the roti and bhagee with shrimps from Latchmini’s bundle and drank green tea from the bucket the crew set down among the group of women. Latchmini added some powder milk from a small tobacco tin she had bought at the creole market.

Latchmini noticed Mohabir looking behind her and followed his gaze. A Muslim family was eating fried chicken. The boy had an extra piece in the hand he was stretching toward Mohabir who did not accept. He waited until Latchmini nodded her okay after getting an affirmative nod from the boy’s mother.

The two boys were soon seen running around the deck. The ship’s crew looked on indulgently. Latchmini thought that with the crew there, the children were safe. The days turned into weeks, into months with a similar routine.

On the deck, one bright sunny day, Mohabir looked excited. He was jumping up and down pointing at water spouting high in the air. Plenty water. Spouts! More spouts! Yet more spouts! 

A sailor shouted, Whale ahead!

Mohabir shouted to his Muslim friend, Abdulla, A whale is a big fish. Look, it’s following the ship! Mohabir looked ecstatic! This is a big adventure for him. Abdulla mirrored his excitement.

Latchmini looked across the deck, Radhia was sitting with some women singing a bhajan as they beat a dholak. The women looked happy yet apprehensive about the journey. Although they seemed to be looking in the direction of the spouting water, they failed to react to the excitement at the stern of the ship.

One day after they were more than a month at sea, at Latchmini’s estimation, happy voices waned as did the weather. The clouds were dark all day. The sea became wilder and wilder, the sun was over three hours from going over the edge of the black water, yet the clouds brought an eerie twilight shadow. The group of people sitting in their usual huddle looked worn and disheveled. The strong happy, euphoric voices now dragging just to keep going, keep singing so as not to succumb to the fear of the jolting and constant stomach upheavals.

The ship kept swaying. Children vomited, and even women and men vomited. No one wanted to eat again. Latchmini held her stomach and prayed that her child will be safe. Almost five months pregnant, but still not showing too much, she wondered if she should tell the ship’s medical superintendent. She wrapped her sari tighter and called her children to her. They started down the stairs to the cabin.

Needing to hold on to anything that was locked down, Latchmini let go of Mohabir who had his sister on his hip as he stepped down in front. Latchmini held on to the railings on both sides. The ship’s rocking and lurching had increased. Sunlight had disappeared. She reached the bottom of the stair and turned into the dark passageway. Latchmini could not see Mohabir or Radhia. She walked on, now holding her belly with one hand and the wall with the other.

Latchmini felt a presence behind her head. A hand slid along her neck and grasped her left jaw, turning her face. Another hand roughly grabbed her around her belly. A hard body was rammed against her buttocks. Cold lips touched hers and muffled her scream. She was being dragged. The roti and dhal she had eaten earlier started to come up her throat. The cold mouth was trying to pry her lips apart. She considered allowing the intrusion and letting the bile and vomit exit.

Mai! Mai! Mai!  Mohabir’s voice rang out and echoed in the hallway from behind.

Mai! Mohabir! The feeble voice of Radhia came from the same direction.

Latchmini could no