Ch 1 Daughter of Madras

Madras, India

1764

Adhira flung the rough woven curtain aside and marched across the small yard. If her father had replaced the door that had been broken down months ago, she could have had the satisfaction of slamming the door on its hinges. 

The East India Company private who had delivered news of her father’s arrest retreated and ran back up the dirt road. On one side of the road, children poked their heads out from between the mangroves lining the bank of the Cooum River, while a mangy dog darted into one of the narrow alleys separating the mud-walled houses. 

“Adhira!” 

She glanced over her shoulder. Her mother chased after her as best she could. Mahi’s thin frame hunched forward, and she rubbed her lower back. “You are wasting your time. The Lieutenant did not release him the last time you marched down there. Do you think it will be any different now?”

“I have to try.” Those four simple words had become her mantra over the last year. She had spent her whole life keeping her opinions to herself, doing what she was told, accepting that her lot in life was to be a dutiful daughter and, eventually, a good wife and mother. She had contented herself with that, despite constantly wondering if they would have enough food to eat or the money to pay their taxes. Until a year and a half ago. She would not think of that day. Not now. The only thing that mattered was that history did not repeat itself, that she never felt powerless again. 

She quickened her pace. Her raven hair floated behind her in the morning breeze. Her thick lashes obscured her amber eyes as she squinted against the sun’s rays.

“You are a woman. Lieutenant Morgan will not listen to you,” Mahi’s voice followed her.

Adhira shook her head. She had to try. Her mother was wrong. Lieutenant Benedict Morgan had always listened to her, despite the fact she was a woman and of the Dalit caste, despite the fact that the law was the law, and he never made exceptions. Still, she had to hope he would let her father go. Hope was all she had in the face of the East India Company’s iron fist and greedy fingers. Her family could not survive Neerav going through another trial and six months in prison—or worse. This was his third arrest for theft. She cursed under her breath. Either he was getting careless or security was getting tighter at the silk factory. 

She lifted the hem of her sari and broke into a sprint. 

“Hey, Adhira!”

She halted and turned. 

Her little brother, Kushad, emerged from the mangroves gripping a fishing net with one measly carp. “Where are you going?”

She sighed. “It’s Appa.”

Understanding flickered in the eleven-year-old’s eyes, and he nodded.

Adhira wasted no more words and hurried on. Captain Sharva’s men would come to collect the silks her father had stolen at noon. She shivered and struggled to push back the memory of that day a year and a half ago, the first time Neerav had been arrested. The pirates had come for the silk, as they did every three months, only they found Adhira and her mother empty-handed, and Mahi’s back had paid the price. The next time, she and her mother had been lucky to find a portion of the required silk bolts hidden in a hole that her father had dug in the floor of their house. Now, unless Neerav had another hiding place, they would have nothing to deliver. 

Adhira shook her head. What had possessed her father to make a deal with pirates? Had he failed to deliver silk to a normal businessman, he simply would not have been paid, not punished.

The clock in the square read five minutes after ten when she arrived at Fort St. George. She blinked in the dimness as she entered the fort’s jail. Only one window gave natural light to the front room. Then she stopped short. Her jaw tightened. 

Corporal Jones, a short and slender man in his twenties new to Madras, sat reading the morning paper at the front desk. Behind him, Lieutenant Morgan’s desk stood unoccupied. Wonderful. Now she would have to deal with the officer who had nearly arrested her a week ago. If it had not been for Lieutenant Morgan, she would probably be sitting beside her father in a cell now.

Adhira approached. “Pardon me, where is Lieutenant Morgan?”

Corporal Jones glanced over the top of his paper. He squinted, studying her face. Then a sneer spread across his lips. “Well, this is a surprise. Shouldn’t you be eavesdropping on today’s English lesson?”

Heat rose in her cheeks. “I would, except Mullah Rahman has seen fit to post a guard outside his madrasa.” She still burned at the injustice of being denied the same education as the young men her age. At least she had heard enough lessons to become conversationally fluent, and that was what really mattered when dealing with the English. 

She squared her shoulders. “If you do not mind, I must speak with Lieutenant Morgan.”

Corporal Jones brought his paper back up, ignoring her. 

Adhira put her fists on her hips. The nerve of the man! She was used to other officers ignoring her, but the men directly under Lieutenant Morgan’s command knew better. The lieutenant was known for insisting all citizens were treated fairly. 

She snatched his paper away and tossed it down on the desk. “I know you have only been here a couple of weeks, so allow me to educate you on Lieutenant Morgan’s expectations for men under his command.”

Corporal Jones shot up out of his seat, his brow furrowed. “See here, now! Just who do you think you are?”

“I am Adhira Yadhavar, and I will see only Lieutenant Morgan. Where is he?” 

Corporal Jones drew himself up to his full height. His lips tightened, and his eyes bored into her. “And what business do you have with him?”

Adhira stepped back. She had never been struck by an officer, but this man would certainly be the one to do it.

“I am here,” another voice floated across the room. “Let her pass, Corporal.” Lieutenant Benedict Morgan locked the iron-barred door to the cells behind him. “I have just been taking your father some food. What can I do for you, Miss Yadhavar?”

He sat on the edge of his desk. His eyes, deep blue as the ocean, seemed an impenetrable wall. His sandy hair glimmered in the rays of light filtering through the window, and a small tuft twisted up in the front. On anyone else, his cowlick and clean-shaven face would have appeared boyish, yet it gave him a commanding presence.

Adhira crossed her arms and willed the beating wings in her chest to cease. Curse his good looks. “Lieutenant Morgan, how dare you sit there and ask me what you can do? You know the answer. Release my father.”

Lieutenant Morgan folded his hands on his lap. “You know I cannot do that. Neerav broke the law, and this is the third time he has been caught stealing from the Chettiar’s factory. The judge will not be easy on him this time. Any future thefts and Neerav will see the gallows.”

Adhira blinked. “Be easy on him?” Never mind the gallows, yet. She took a step forward, fists clenched.

Lieutenant Morgan’s eyes flitted to her hands and back to her face. Corporal Jones moved closer. Lieutenant Morgan waved him back.

She had found the line. Dare she cross it? She had never seen Lieutenant Morgan use force, but he was a lieutenant. Gentleness had not earned him his rank. She released her fists. “How is six months in prison easy? My mother, brother, and I nearly starved the first time, and would have the second time if we had not—” She cut herself off. The Lieutenant could never know she and Amma had sold what little silk Neerav had stolen. She pursed her lips. “You know we have nothing of value to sell, and no income while my father is locked away. We are lucky to have the clothes on our backs.”

Lieutenant Morgan motioned for her to bring her voice down. “Miss Yadhavar, I understand your hardship. Believe me, I do, but the law must be obeyed. I cannot and will not turn a blind eye to crime. Nor would the Chettiar’s tolerate such leniency. You know that.”

The backs of Adhira’s eyes stung. The veins in her neck tightened as she struggled to hold back the tears working their way to the surface. “You cold, heartless monster. You do not care if we starve to death.”

Lieutenant Morgan opened his mouth. Adhira held her hand up.

“My father does not enjoy stealing. If he had a way to earn an honest living, more than the pitiful wages he makes tanning hides, he would. But he cannot, and you and your fellow elites cannot seem to understand that.” Her chest heaved as she took a breath.

Something shifted in Lieutenant Morgan’s gaze. The wall had come down. He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a leather purse. From it, he drew several gold coins. He held them out to her. 

“Please, take them. It should be enough to buy food for two months at least.”

Adhira stared at the coins. He obviously did not know how much food cost. There were enough rupees for four months. She made a move to take them then stepped back. She shook her head. Her anger could not be bought off so easily. 

“Keep your money. My brother and I will see that my mother has food to cook.” She did not wait for a response. She flung open the door and retreated into the morning’s scorching heat. 

The top of the temple towered over the trees in the distance. Its gold ornaments glittered in the sun. She closed her eyes, envisioning the statues of the gods glowing in vibrant blue, yellow, and red, their eyes warm, their hands beckoning her to prayer. 

She opened her eyes. Demanding and pleading with the lieutenant had failed. Perhaps prayer in the temple, instead of at the diya in the small puja room of her family’s house, would save them. The sun arced high in the late morning sky. If only there was time. 

She turned and headed back toward home. If only she could marry a well-off man, one who would see beyond her caste to who she really was—who they all really were. All she needed was a husband who could provide for her, and then she could be one less mouth for her father to feed. She rolled her eyes. Who was she fooling? Things would never change. She and her family would die as poor as they were born, and the English were only making things worse. 

***

Benedict Morgan rubbed the rupees together in his hand. He hated to see Adhira so distraught. Even worse, he hated that he was the reason for it. He slipped the coins back into the purse. 

“I don’t think I have ever met a woman that fiery,” Corporal Jones said. He reclined back and sipped from his cup. 

Benedict smirked. “She certainly is. I would not have her be any other way,” he muttered.

“Sir?”

Benedict slid off the desk. “Yes, she is fiery. Pardon me. I am going to check on the prisoner.” 

He took a large wrought-iron key from his belt and inserted it into the lock of the barred iron door. The bolt clicked back and the door swung open. He stepped into the hall, lined on either side with barred cells, each hardly longer than an average man’s height. A shame regulation would not allow the cells to be built larger. Benedict would certainly never be able to lie straight in one. Of course, the average man was also a full head shorter. 

He passed one dim, empty cell after another until he reached the end of the hall. 

Neerav Yadhavar sat on his cot, one knee tucked beneath his chin, the other leg outstretched. Light from the barred window streamed across his wizened face. The man could not have been more than forty-five, according to his own reckoning, but a lifetime of hard labor and malnutrition had taken its toll. Was this what Adhira’s mother looked like now? It had been three years since he had last seen the woman. What would Adhira look like at her father’s age?

A tin plate and mug sat empty beside the cell door. Benedict unlatched the small hatch in the bars near the floor and removed the dishes.

“Did you enjoy your naan and chutney?” he said in Tamil.

Neerav picked his teeth and shrugged. “My wife makes it better.” He cast a side-glance. “I overheard my daughter pay you a visit. She can be rather loud when she is angry, can’t she?” A smirk formed. 

“Yes, she is quite upset that you have landed yourself in here again,” Benedict said.

Neerav chuckled. “I am not the one she is upset with. I do not have to understand English to know that. You know she will be back. My daughter does not give up easily.”

Benedict nodded. He secretly hoped for Adhira’s return. “I am prepared for that, as I am sure she is prepared to receive the same answer.”

Neerav faced him now. He stood and approached the bars. “Why can’t you let me go this time? Only you, me, and that Corporal Jones know, and I failed to get any silks this time. I bet you have not even submitted the report yet. Come, now, I have my family to support.”

Benedict straightened. “Neerav, I understand, but I cannot bend the law for anyone. You forget about the people in the street who saw you brought here in shackles. I will not jeopardize my career, or my family’s well-being.”

Neerav’s brow furrowed. “I have never seen you with a wife or children.”

Benedict folded his arms. He had never mentioned his family to a prisoner before. The less they knew, the better. But Neerav was no ordinary prisoner. He was Adhira’s father. 

“I am not married. My mother and two sisters are in England.”

“No father?”

Benedict bit his lip. “He died. I am the sole provider for my family, like you.”

Neerav nodded. “Then you understand me. I will do anything to see my family has everything they need, that they have a roof over their heads and clothes on their backs and food in their bellies.”

“I understand, but I will not permit myself to break the law. I have worked my way up from nothing through honest work.”

Neerav glared. “What a blessing that must be.” He sat back on his cot.

Benedict sighed. There was no point arguing against the man’s truth. He gestured to the mug and plate in his hand. “Corporal Jones will see to your other meals.” 

He turned and stepped toward the door. A staccato breath from the cell halted him. He turned back. Neerav held his face in his hands. His shoulders shook.

Benedict’s chest tightened. He hated to see a grown man cry. It reminded him too much of his own father’s many sleepless nights spent deciding which creditors to pay.

“Neerav, please do not think me uncaring. I offered your daughter money for food. She refused.”

Neerav lifted his head. “Of course she did. She is too stubborn for her own good.” He wiped his eyes. “Thank you for offering.” His gaze lingered a moment before turning to the window. 

Benedict pushed open the door and reentered the office. It was too bad Neerav was in no position to accept his money. Deep down, he knew Neerav was right. He could never pull his wife and children out of their poverty with honest wages. He had seen the same system in England trap so many families in perpetual poverty. If Adhira would let him help, if she would see him the way he saw her—felt for her. He shook off the thought. He could change Adhira and her family’s future in an instant, but he knew what that would mean for him. Scandal. A lieutenant of the East India Company courting—even marrying—a Dalit. It had never been done. He might lose his rank, or even his job. Then what would happen to his mother and sisters? They depended on him. He could not—would not—do anything to destroy their financial security. Not that Adhira would let him jeopardize his career. Why was he even entertaining thoughts of marrying her? She hated him.

He set the dishes in the washbasin and turned to Corporal Jones. “I have some business at the courthouse and a meeting with Captain Mason regarding training for the newest recruits. I expect I will not be back today. Can you handle things?”

Corporal Jones nodded. “I’ll be sure he is taken care of.”

Benedict exited the fort and stepped out into the square. No sign of Adhira. Good. He was not sure he could handle seeing her again so soon. His guilt at bringing more hardship to her might lead him down on one knee before all of Madras. He could never risk even the temptation, or the rejection.

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