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Authors: Sujata Massey
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Cambridge or Oxford ruled within the government of India.
“Yes!” Bidushi straightened her shoulders and beamed. “Pankaj-dada told his parents he would never marry a girl who was uneducated. So my aunt and uncle quickly had to send me somewhere. My old governess said that I would be happy here, but I don’t like all these English girls pointing at me and not wanting to have their bed near mine. And I’ve forgotten all my English. When my aunt moved into the house, she stopped allowing my governess to come.”
“Miss Richmond is a great teacher, and not every girl here is unkind,” I said, trying to raise her spirits. “There are some friendly girls, especially the ones who like games. You must learn badminton! You don’t need to speak much to play.”
As I finished speaking, I had an odd feeling of being watched.Two English girls passed closely, their oxford shoes clipping the floor like horse hooves. The first girl, who was called Anne, narrowed her eyes as she looked at us.
“There you have it,” Anne said in a brash, loud voice. “Wog-to-wog gossip! What is that, Hindustani or Bengali?”
“Wogoli,” said her friend Beatrice. “Or should we say, Wiggly?” The two dissolved into snickering laughter.
Inside of me, rage flared. I was accustomed to mocking words, but Bidushi was a princess who shouldn’t have to hear it. But I couldn’t speak back to an English student; it could mean being thrown out of Miss Richmond’s room for good. So I stuffed my upset into my imaginary cabinet, hoping that Bidushi hadn’t understood their teasing.
Too upset to say good-bye to Bidushi, I bobbed down into a short curtsy and crept toward the door.
“Just a moment!” Miss Richmond said in her pay-attention voice.
My stomach was filled with a fluttering, as if one of the beautiful yellow butterflies from the garden were trapped within. If Miss Richmond told Miss Rachael I’d been speaking Bengali with a student, she might beat me. And Bidushi might get a black mark, which could mean she wouldn’t get pudding on Sunday or something even worse. But Miss Richmond’s first words weren’t addressed to me.
“Bea and Anne, that’s enough, and you’ll have a reprimand if you do it again. Go!” After the two had left, Miss Richmond looked at Bidushi and said in soft, slow English, “I should remind you that Hindustani is not supposed to be spoken. You are here to learn our language. Were you told that upon arrival?”
Bidushi remained silent, clearly not understanding or having no words to respond. And so, in her defense, I found my own voice: the English one I had practiced and practiced, but not yet used with an English person.
“Memsaheb, I apologize. We spoke Bengali only because she knows so little English. Her English governess was sent away four years ago, after her mother died, so she has forgotten the language. Ivouchsafe that Bidushi will try very hard to learn English here. Please permit her.”
“Yes, but— vouchsafe ?” Miss Richmond looked at me with an odd expression. “Who are you?”
“I’m called Sarah, Memsaheb. I came to your room today to pull the fan.” Inside, the butterfly was going mad trying to escape.
“Of course you were here; I rang for you. You are here quite often, doing that. It must be boring.”
“Oh, no, Memsaheb! To be in your class is a joy.” My words might have sounded like flattery, but they were true.
“Where did you work before you came here?”
“I lived in a small village near the coast with my family, who are now deceased, God rest their souls—”
Miss Richmond interrupted. “And were you schooled there in English?”
I shook my head.
“Then how did you learn the expression vouchsafe ?”
I was afraid to admit that I hunted many of her long and lovely words in the Oxford English Dictionary . It was probably against school rules for someone like me to pollute the dictionary with my touch. So I said, “In here, Memsaheb. You are a great
“Yes!” Bidushi straightened her shoulders and beamed. “Pankaj-dada told his parents he would never marry a girl who was uneducated. So my aunt and uncle quickly had to send me somewhere. My old governess said that I would be happy here, but I don’t like all these English girls pointing at me and not wanting to have their bed near mine. And I’ve forgotten all my English. When my aunt moved into the house, she stopped allowing my governess to come.”
“Miss Richmond is a great teacher, and not every girl here is unkind,” I said, trying to raise her spirits. “There are some friendly girls, especially the ones who like games. You must learn badminton! You don’t need to speak much to play.”
As I finished speaking, I had an odd feeling of being watched.Two English girls passed closely, their oxford shoes clipping the floor like horse hooves. The first girl, who was called Anne, narrowed her eyes as she looked at us.
“There you have it,” Anne said in a brash, loud voice. “Wog-to-wog gossip! What is that, Hindustani or Bengali?”
“Wogoli,” said her friend Beatrice. “Or should we say, Wiggly?” The two dissolved into snickering laughter.
Inside of me, rage flared. I was accustomed to mocking words, but Bidushi was a princess who shouldn’t have to hear it. But I couldn’t speak back to an English student; it could mean being thrown out of Miss Richmond’s room for good. So I stuffed my upset into my imaginary cabinet, hoping that Bidushi hadn’t understood their teasing.
Too upset to say good-bye to Bidushi, I bobbed down into a short curtsy and crept toward the door.
“Just a moment!” Miss Richmond said in her pay-attention voice.
My stomach was filled with a fluttering, as if one of the beautiful yellow butterflies from the garden were trapped within. If Miss Richmond told Miss Rachael I’d been speaking Bengali with a student, she might beat me. And Bidushi might get a black mark, which could mean she wouldn’t get pudding on Sunday or something even worse. But Miss Richmond’s first words weren’t addressed to me.
“Bea and Anne, that’s enough, and you’ll have a reprimand if you do it again. Go!” After the two had left, Miss Richmond looked at Bidushi and said in soft, slow English, “I should remind you that Hindustani is not supposed to be spoken. You are here to learn our language. Were you told that upon arrival?”
Bidushi remained silent, clearly not understanding or having no words to respond. And so, in her defense, I found my own voice: the English one I had practiced and practiced, but not yet used with an English person.
“Memsaheb, I apologize. We spoke Bengali only because she knows so little English. Her English governess was sent away four years ago, after her mother died, so she has forgotten the language. Ivouchsafe that Bidushi will try very hard to learn English here. Please permit her.”
“Yes, but— vouchsafe ?” Miss Richmond looked at me with an odd expression. “Who are you?”
“I’m called Sarah, Memsaheb. I came to your room today to pull the fan.” Inside, the butterfly was going mad trying to escape.
“Of course you were here; I rang for you. You are here quite often, doing that. It must be boring.”
“Oh, no, Memsaheb! To be in your class is a joy.” My words might have sounded like flattery, but they were true.
“Where did you work before you came here?”
“I lived in a small village near the coast with my family, who are now deceased, God rest their souls—”
Miss Richmond interrupted. “And were you schooled there in English?”
I shook my head.
“Then how did you learn the expression vouchsafe ?”
I was afraid to admit that I hunted many of her long and lovely words in the Oxford English Dictionary . It was probably against school rules for someone like me to pollute the dictionary with my touch. So I said, “In here, Memsaheb. You are a great
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