The Eye of the Horse. Jamila Gavin

there, never had a family there, no parents, brothers or sisters, no wife and two young children.

      By the time he married Maeve O’Grady, he was another person altogether. He never talked about India to her; never told her about his other wife and children; and the more time went by, the less reason he saw to confess – especially after Beryl was born.

      Then Jaspal and Marvinder turned up on his doorstep in England and, like a thrust of the wheel, his whole world revolved and his past life confronted him.

      At first, Jaspal couldn’t believe this was his father. He had no beard, no turban. He wasn’t a scholar or a warrior, or anyone he could be proud of. Worst of all, Govind had betrayed them all; Jaspal, Marvinder and their mother, Jhoti.

      Then they found out he was part of a criminal gang.

      Bitterly, all Jaspal could hear was Mr O’Grady’s words ringing in his ears, ‘He’s nothing but a spiv; a black-marketeer; a petty crook.’

      ‘But he did save a man from the fire,’ Jaspal had pleaded. ‘The newspapers said he was a hero.’

      ‘Just as well,’ Mr O’Grady had snorted. ‘Otherwise he would have gone to the gallows for murder.’

      For that heroic act, they hoped his other crimes would be overlooked, but it was not to be. The wheels of justice turned, and Govind was convicted for black-marketeering.

      ‘It’s good that Ma never knew what Pa did in England,’ Marvinder had whispered when their father was taken off to prison.

      Govind held out his hands greedily, eager to clasp each one. Jaspal avoided his father’s gaze and pulled away from Govind’s grip as soon as he could. He flopped down in a chair, and turned it sideways on, looking deliberately bored.

      Marvinder pulled her chair closer, but sat with lowered eyes. No matter what Govind had done, she couldn’t hate him, and she wished she had magic powers, so that she could free him from his prison. She often imagined how she would help him to escape and they would all run away back to India. Then they would find her mother, Jhoti, and everything would be all right.

      ‘How are you doing for money?’ Govind asked Maeve. They sat facing each other across the table. They didn’t touch; each kept their hands clasped together in front of them.

      ‘We’re managing,’ she replied sullenly. ‘I’ve got a job at Franklands Engineering. Gives me about fifteen bob a week; a pound, with overtime. Between Mum, Dad and the boys, we get by. We get Family Allowance too. They’ve agreed to give it for Jaspal and Marvinder, as well as for Beryl, and I’ve got ration books for them now. That friend of yours, Mr Chadwick, he found out about it all for us.’

      ‘That’s good.’ Govind sighed with relief. ‘How’s Beryl?’

      ‘She’s fine.’ Maeve fingered her wedding ring so that she didn’t have to look at her husband. ‘The children bring home these American food parcels from school. That helps,’ she murmured.

      Govind waited for more news of their child, but Maeve fell silent and went on twisting her ring round and round.

      ‘I’ve got something for her.’ Govind reached down to a brown paper bag at his feet and pulled out a stuffed elephant.

      ‘That’s nice!’ Marvinder exclaimed with enthusiasm. It was patchworked together from different bits of material and stuffed. ‘Isn’t it nice, Maeve?’

      ‘I made it in the workshops,’ Govind said with weary pride. ‘I’m halfway through a camel. It’ll be ready next time you come. But I hope Beryl will like the elephant.’ He stood it on the table for them to admire.

      ‘It’s lovely, isn’t it, Maeve!’ Marvinder persisted. ‘Course Beryl will like it, won’t she?’

      Maeve nodded, giving it a cursory glance, but made no move to examine it. Marvinder picked it up. ‘Look, bhai! ’ She showed the elephant to Jaspal. ‘Isn’t Pa clever to make this?’

      ‘Why did you make an elephant?’ queried Jaspal in a cold voice. ‘They don’t have elephants here or camels, except in zoos. You should have made a dog or a cat.’

      ‘Shall I make you a dog or a cat?’ asked Govind, trying to please.

      Jaspal almost snorted with derision. ‘Stuffed toys are for babies! Billy’s father makes boats. He sails them in the park. He might let me make one,’ added Jaspal cruelly.

      ‘Who’s Billy?’ asked Govind quietly.

      ‘My best friend,’ said Jaspal. ‘His dad might give me a job later in his workshop. He said I had all the makings of a carpenter. I can still remember everything old uncle taught me back in India.’

      ‘Who was your best friend in India? You used to write to me about him. The son of that Muslim tailor, Khan, wasn’t he?’

      ‘Nazakhat,’ said Marvinder, when she saw Jaspal purse his lips tightly. ‘Nazakhat and the Khans saved our lives. Without their help we would have been killed . . .’ Her voice trembled as she remembered.

      ‘Perhaps you should never have left Deri,’ murmured Govind. ‘Perhaps you should have stayed and taken your chances. Your friends, the Khans may have continued to protect you.’

      ‘They’re all dead,’ stated Jaspal, flatly.

      ‘Oh, Jaspal, how can you say that?’ protested Marvinder. ‘We don’t know anything for sure.’

      ‘I’ve read all about it in the papers. Millions have died, especially in the Punjab. Nazakhat must be dead. Ma, too. We would be dead if we’d stayed.’ His voice was cold and emotionless. There was an uncomfortable pause. Then Govind changed the subject. ‘Maeve says you’re going to be sitting the eleven-plus. You could go to grammar school and maybe to university.’ Govind leaned forward earnestly. ‘You could do what I was meant to do, if you study hard.’

      ‘Huh!’ Jaspal snorted again and turned away, no longer interested in communicating with his father.

      ‘What do you want to go putting ideas into his head like that for?’ Maeve reproached him in a shrill voice. ‘We’re short enough of money as it is, what with you in here. The sooner he’s out earning, the better – and her!’ She indicated Marvinder. ‘That Dr Silbermann’s giving her ideas too, what with all this violin playing. I don’t think it’s healthy, all the time she spends down there.’

      Govind looked at his daughter and sighed. In India, he would have been negotiating her dowry and arranging a marriage for her. She was exactly the same as Jhoti, her mother, when he married her.

      ‘Perhaps when I get out, I’ll take Marvi back to India and get her marriage arranged. That would be the best.’ He spoke with the sudden enthusiasm of a good idea.

      ‘No, Pa, no!’ Marvinder stared at her father in horror.

      ‘I thought you wanted to go back.’ He frowned.

      ‘I do, I do. But I want to go back with you and Jaspal. I want to go home. I want to find out about Ma. I don’t want to get married. No one here gets married so young.’ Tears welled up in her eyes at the thought.

      Maeve shrugged. ‘Come off it, Govind, she’s only thirteen, and she hasn’t even started her monthlies. I was thinking maybe she could do a paper round.’

       ‘I’d like a horse,’ said Jhoti inside Marvinder’s head. ‘A bridegroom’s horse, all decorated and ribboned.’

      ‘Could you make a horse?’ Marvinder asked her father, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. ‘I’d like a horse.’

      ‘Of course,’ replied Govind. ‘I’ll make one for you by the next time you come. It doesn’t take long.’

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