All For Love
Nina Varghese
21 December 2007, 06:32She was there every evening. In a green Plymouth, veiled and mysterious. At 5 p.m the large silver gates of Casa Rosa would open and the Plymouth, with a sardarji at the wheel, would drive slowly down the small lane to the main road and on to Bedford, the shopping centre in upper Annur. The car’s majestic progress down the road gave passersby a glimpse of the veiled lady with a small dog in the back seat.
The car would stop at the bakery and the driver would get out and buy two loaves of bread. Sometimes, he would buy more, some biscuits or pastries. Some other times, he would buy a bunch of greens or some fruit from the green grocer. Everyone who passed the car would try to peer in, to see how the lady looked. But they could never make anything out, just the red of her lips and the mysterious eyes behind the veil.
The people of this small hill town called her Mrs Doctor as the house she lived in, was owned by one Russi Doctor, a rich Parsi businessman. But nobody knew anything about her. Her servants were all Hindi speaking and did not mix with the servants of the neighboring houses. So there was no gossip among the servants either.
The houses on either side were guest houses and their occasional visitors had no interest in the mysterious veiled lady next door. She had no visitors neither did she visit anyone. Of course, there was a lot of talk at the card tables, billiards rooms, bazaar and everywhere men congregated to shoot the breeze. Strange, but the women were not interested in her, maybe because she did not join any ladies’ associations or because she did not indulge in any good works.
Slowly, the people of Annur grew used to her and spoke of her only when there was new and curious visitor to the town.
A couple of years went by. And life continued its sedate pace in this little town in the Blue Mountains. Then, late one moon lit night, three Free Masons coming back after a Lodge meeting saw the green car parked near the golf course, where the road cuts through the greens. P.C., who was driving, slowed down and then stopped when he realized that it was Mrs Doctor’s car. The boot was open and the sardarji was putting something away. The lady herself stood a little distance away from the car. She had turned as she heard the car approaching and when it stopped she walked towards the men in the car.
She was wearing a long cape with the hood thrown back. ``Oh my gawd, said R.V.Iyer “It’s the Doctor pompalai’’ As she neared the car, there was a collective sigh. She was as beautiful as they all imagined. Her creamy white skin, patrician nose and light eyes were clearly visible in the moon light.
“Good evening,’ PC said, `` is there a problem?’’
“Good evening”, she replied. “We had a flat but that has been fixed.’’ Her voice was however, quite at variance with her looks. Grating and a little coarse.
Suddenly, the quiet of night was shattered by a bellow from the back of PC’s car.
“Well, well, look whose here. If it isn’t pretty Patty Finkle, herself. A sight for sore eyes.’’ It was Ramjee who had been asleep until now.
She walked closer and peered into the back of the car. “Ramjee,’’ she exclaimed, “I thought you were dead.’’
“Not anymore, my pretty,’’ he said and tried to open the door. But, he was too drunk to go any further. With a sigh, he dropped back and was soon fast asleep…
Patty Finkle, it turned out was a dancer at one of the night clubs in Bangalore. She claimed to be the daughter of a Rajput princess and her Czech lover. But in reality was an Anglo Indian girl orphaned at birth whom the good nuns at St Joseph’s’ had reared. Added to all that, she was Ramjee’s classmate at St Joseph’s. She was a regular at the race course and her pretty face won her many admirers. It was here she snared the rich Russi Doctor.
But Patty Finkle’s story did not end there. Suddenly one day, not long after the guys had seen her at night on the golf course. PC saw a black bordered advertisement in The Hindu to the effect that Russi Doctor, residing at 10A, Ashden Apartments, Peddar Road, Bombay had died. And that anyone other than his heirs, all residing at the same address, had no claim on any of his assets. He wondered what would happen to Patty Finkle.
He saw for himself, a couple of days later. Patty, minus veil and plus a male companion was at the Annur Drug Stores. It soon emerged that the new man in Patty’s life was an Englishman called Evan Ross, a race horse trainer from Bangalore. It wasn’t long before, before Patty married Ross in the registrar’s office. The driver signed as a witness.
The newly weds were soon caught in a social whirl. They were sighted briefly at the Hunt Ball and at the Choral Society’s annual show. It was rumoured that they spent more time in Bangalore party hopping. It was when Patty was away that Russi Doctor’s sons along with a hard nosed Bombay lawyer and the local cops took possession of Casa Rosa.
It was Ramjee who filled in the remainder of Patty’s story. Patty, it seemed had married Ross thinking that he had money from racing and he thought she was a rich widow. But Doctor had never married her and so she had no claims. Somewhere along the way Patty misplaced Ross. Ramjee was not clear whether it was at a waterfall or in an elephant camp. Some people cried foul and there was an investigation but nothing was proved and at last Patty was free to go. It was the driver’s eye witness account which saved the day for Patty.
A few years later, Ramjee was visiting some old friends in Annur again. As they were driving through upper Annur he casually enquired about Patty Finkle.
“Ah, your old friend,’’ said PC “There she is’’ and he pointed to a shabbily dressed woman with a small dog on leash, standing in the kerosene queue at the ration shop. Ramjee motioned the car to a stop and was out in a trice. He couldn’t believe what he saw. The fabulous complexion was tanned and rough, the raven black hair was streaked grey, only the light grey eyes looked serenely back at him.
“Hi! Ramjee! How are you?’’ she exclaimed, while the people in the queue stared at the both of them.
“How are you, Patty’’, he asked. ``I looked for you after the enquiry but you had disappeared. What happened?’’
“I am older and wiser now,’’ she said. ``I also married, a good man, who always loved me.’’
The Doctor heirs had decided to give her some money, after all, with which she bought herself a small cottage on Quill Hill. “So I am now content. No more high jinks for me,’’ she said with a smile.’’
Later, Ramjee asked PC who Patty married.
“That driver,’’ was the reply.
