again, and then Abbas told her “Yes, yes!” and returned his gaze forward.
The horses picked up speed with a flick of his reins. Under his breath he said to me, “She says your name is too strange. From now on you shall be Sarah. She wants me to tell you it is a good woman’s name from the Christian holy book.”
“Say-ruh.” I pronounced the strange, sharp-sounding name the way Abbas had done and repeated it to myself silently for the next several miles. I should have minded losing my name, but the thought of getting a fresh name to go with my new clothing seemed fitting.
We made a stop in some hours’ time for lunch, and it turned out each one of us had our very own tiffin box. After that, there was more driving. There were fewer rice paddies here than in Johlpur, and many more fields of grain. At last, the land changed a little, with some villages and a big road leading to a town called Midnapore. But we turned off in a different direction, up a long, slowly rising hill.
“A sign for the school.” Abbas pointed to some English letters printed on a white board. Below it were two crossed strips of wood painted gold that he said was the symbol of their religion. I looked at the cross, trying to quell the rapid beating of my heart. We were here, and the wide, tall building ahead was like nothing I’d ever seen before: built not of mud or wood but something entirely foreign.
“The school is built of bricks.” Abbas-chacha seemed to sense my unspoken question. “They are strong enough to resist wind and rain and everything else. The Ingrej sometimes call a person a brick; he is one with a determined, hardworking manner who does not complain.”
I nodded, understanding why he was telling me this. It was how I should behave.
Two bearers in green costumes stood in front of the school’s grand sculpted brass doors. Then two Ingrej girls stepped out the front door toward us. They are here to meet me, I thought with some excitement, but their eyes slid past as if Abbas and I weren’t present.
“Oh, Miss Jamison,” the tallest girl called out, waving a book in her hand. Then she spewed many more English words I couldn’t understand. I stared at her face and that of her companion: not colorless like Miss Jamison’s but a bright pink. Both girls wore neckties like Englishmen with white blouses and dark green skirts almost as long as Miss Jamison’s. Their legs were shielded by thick gray stockings, and their feet were covered in heavy black shoes that tied with laces. I curled my toes, feeling self-conscious about my rough bare feet.
The bearers came forward to help Miss Jamison off the tonga, and then she went inside with the girls. I stayed on the cart bench as Abbas drove us around the school building and past a large garden bordered by square hedges. Inside the hedges were round clipped bushes of flowers; a thin old man moved between the plants, pouring water over them. Beyond the flower garden lay a field of short grass; horses were skipping around it with girls dressed in men’s trousers and jackets riding on top.
Abbas drove the tonga straight into an open building where there were other horses, carts, and carriages. A group of men who had been lounging inside the darkness came forward to detach the horses from the cart’s harness. As two workers led the horses off for a drink, Abbas introduced me to everyone as the new house girl, Sarah.
“Hindu or Muslim?” one of the stable hands asked, looking me up and down.
“Christian,” Abbas said quickly. “Come, Little Sarah, I will show you the animal you have been missing.”
“Am I really to be Christian?” I whispered to Abbas as he walked me deeper into the stable, away from the crowd of stable hands.
“Miss Jamison wants you to convert. Not having parents to speak up, you have no choice.”
My body stiffened at this. Changing a name was one thing, but changing religion was quite different. It didn’t seem safe. Where would I go after
The horses picked up speed with a flick of his reins. Under his breath he said to me, “She says your name is too strange. From now on you shall be Sarah. She wants me to tell you it is a good woman’s name from the Christian holy book.”
“Say-ruh.” I pronounced the strange, sharp-sounding name the way Abbas had done and repeated it to myself silently for the next several miles. I should have minded losing my name, but the thought of getting a fresh name to go with my new clothing seemed fitting.
We made a stop in some hours’ time for lunch, and it turned out each one of us had our very own tiffin box. After that, there was more driving. There were fewer rice paddies here than in Johlpur, and many more fields of grain. At last, the land changed a little, with some villages and a big road leading to a town called Midnapore. But we turned off in a different direction, up a long, slowly rising hill.
“A sign for the school.” Abbas pointed to some English letters printed on a white board. Below it were two crossed strips of wood painted gold that he said was the symbol of their religion. I looked at the cross, trying to quell the rapid beating of my heart. We were here, and the wide, tall building ahead was like nothing I’d ever seen before: built not of mud or wood but something entirely foreign.
“The school is built of bricks.” Abbas-chacha seemed to sense my unspoken question. “They are strong enough to resist wind and rain and everything else. The Ingrej sometimes call a person a brick; he is one with a determined, hardworking manner who does not complain.”
I nodded, understanding why he was telling me this. It was how I should behave.
Two bearers in green costumes stood in front of the school’s grand sculpted brass doors. Then two Ingrej girls stepped out the front door toward us. They are here to meet me, I thought with some excitement, but their eyes slid past as if Abbas and I weren’t present.
“Oh, Miss Jamison,” the tallest girl called out, waving a book in her hand. Then she spewed many more English words I couldn’t understand. I stared at her face and that of her companion: not colorless like Miss Jamison’s but a bright pink. Both girls wore neckties like Englishmen with white blouses and dark green skirts almost as long as Miss Jamison’s. Their legs were shielded by thick gray stockings, and their feet were covered in heavy black shoes that tied with laces. I curled my toes, feeling self-conscious about my rough bare feet.
The bearers came forward to help Miss Jamison off the tonga, and then she went inside with the girls. I stayed on the cart bench as Abbas drove us around the school building and past a large garden bordered by square hedges. Inside the hedges were round clipped bushes of flowers; a thin old man moved between the plants, pouring water over them. Beyond the flower garden lay a field of short grass; horses were skipping around it with girls dressed in men’s trousers and jackets riding on top.
Abbas drove the tonga straight into an open building where there were other horses, carts, and carriages. A group of men who had been lounging inside the darkness came forward to detach the horses from the cart’s harness. As two workers led the horses off for a drink, Abbas introduced me to everyone as the new house girl, Sarah.
“Hindu or Muslim?” one of the stable hands asked, looking me up and down.
“Christian,” Abbas said quickly. “Come, Little Sarah, I will show you the animal you have been missing.”
“Am I really to be Christian?” I whispered to Abbas as he walked me deeper into the stable, away from the crowd of stable hands.
“Miss Jamison wants you to convert. Not having parents to speak up, you have no choice.”
My body stiffened at this. Changing a name was one thing, but changing religion was quite different. It didn’t seem safe. Where would I go after
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