The peculiar art of Friendship in the time of the Raj
by: Deneich
Disclaimer, The show Daria was created by Glenn Eichler for MTV and remains the property of MTV. This story belongs to no one. Anyone who wishes to increase, edit, or embellish this story is welcome to do so, as long as it is not for profit.
The sound of his heavy footsteps confidently approached the huddled form quietly begging by the side of the hard baked red dirt road. For the past several weeks his routine morning walk had included a brief chat with the young beggar girl, during which time he'd come to learn quite a bit of her personality and her circumstances. So impressed had he been by her intelligence, aplomb and cutting wit that an idea slowly took form in his mind, it had taken time for him to reason out the details and transform his grand notion into a proper plan; Today, he was ready to act on this plan.
"Jayna, how are you today?" He asked as he stopped.
"Alive, Sahib. Have you come to entertain yourself again with the story of an orphaned chamar girl? If so I am most pleased to oblige you; although, I can not help but wonder at how boring a life you British must live if you find my simple tale interesting." As she finished speaking a puckish smile formed on her remarkable face; her complexion was a deep sepia hue, a shade - in it's rich smooth glow - reminiscent of melted caramel and characteristic for Hyderabad; what was remarkable were her eyes, clear as cold water and blue as a cloudless summer sky.
"No, Jayna, today I have not a question but a proposition for you. I've been considering adding a position to my household staff, a position I believe that you are uniquely suited to fill."
"Sahib, I am not trained in the duties of a domestic servant, I can neither cook or sew very well. Also, as the Daughter of a Chamar, I am Dalit... an untouchable, bringing me into your house would cause much trouble with your other servants."
"Now, now, Jayna, the position would be as the private attendant to my oldest Daughter. You would not be expected to cook or sew: you would simply attend to her personal needs, which I can assure you are not many. As for the other servants, even though we are in the Queen's India, I consider my house and grounds a piece of Britain here on the sub-continant, if they are offended they are most free to leave." Seeing the apprehension on her face, I decided not to hold back any details; so I came clean and told her exactly why I had chosen her for the task. "Jayna, what I desire is not so much an attendant but, rather, a companion for my oldest... her name is Daria. She has never been what one would call a gregarious sort and, since accepting her Majesty's Government's position as liaison to the Nizam of Hyderabad and moving my Family here, she has become even more withdrawn. I have developed a good report with you, Jayna, and believe that you should be able to establish the same sort of report with my Daughter."
"This is a great honor, Sahib, this position that you are offering... I don't know what to say."
"Quite simple, actually, Jayna. just say yes."
"As you wish, Sahib. It is not like I couldn't find another roadside at which to beg if this should not work out."
"Thank you, Jayna. Now, while I hold nothing against the term 'Sahib', my name is Jacob Morgendorffer, the younger Brother of the Earl of Lawndale and next in line to the title. I believe in maintaining a rather casual decorum in my house, so - since I was knighted by her Majesty for distinguished bravery while serving in the second Afghan war – please, from now on, refer to me, simply, as Sir Jacob."
"As you wish, Sir Jacob. Now, seeing how high the sun is in the sky, perhaps we should proceed; I know the heat of our midday does not agree with you British."
"My goodness, you're right, how could I have lost track of the time, it must be nearly noon-time. Please, follow me, Jayna, we're not very far to go."
It did not seem more than fifteen minutes, but since Sir Jacob had been making use of the time to acquaint me with some basic facts of the Morgendorffer Family, it might have taken longer to reach our destination. The house was an enormous two-storied wood structure with eight floor to ceiling windows on the ground floor with eight corresponding although somewhat shorter windows on the upper floor of the front facade alone. As I followed Sir Jacob onto the spacious front porch, we were met by the curious stares of the three ladies whom I assume to be Sir Jacob's Wife and two daughters along with baleful glares from every Indian servant we encountered.
"Jacob?" The oldest of the ladies asked as she stepped forward, from the intense scrutiny conveyed in her gaze, I could almost hear the unsaid 'what is the meaning of this?'.
"Helen, my dear, this girl's name is Jayna and she will be serving the Family as Daria's personal attendant."
"Excuse me, Father, but what did you just say?" said the shorter of the two younger ladies. Her words were spoken politely; however, they were accompanied by a menacing stare.
"Daria, you heard me correctly. Jayna has been engaged to attend to..."
"I heard what you said... Father. How could you? You know my feelings on this subject; but, you chose to ignore them. You traipse up here with this poor Girl and hope that, since she is standing in front of us, I will acquiesce? Father, you hired her so find some other work for her... perhaps, Quinn might consider accepting her, Lord knows she works the three she already has all but to death." Having spoken her mind, my now highly unlikely Mistress, turned and headed into the house.
"Well, that could have gone better." Sir Jacob muttered just loud enough for me to hear. Then he motioned to the nearest servant. "Jaipal, be so kind as to direct Jayna to the bath house and supply her with proper uniforms for a personal attendant. When she is bathed and dressed return her to me. Understood?"
"But Sir Jacob..." Jaipal said, moving slightly so that even my shadow could not possibly touch him.
"Now, Jaipal."
"Please, Sir Jacob..."
"Jaipal, you may be the head servant and responsible for the running of this house; but, if you assume to question my decision again, that position will be in jeopardy... do we understand each other, Jaipal?"
"Yes, Sir Jacob." Than turning he simply motioned for me to follow. I followed him through the vast interior of the house – the ceilings were easily fifteen feet high – as he walked far ahead, never saying a word, to the back of the house and then outside and finally across a small lot to a series of out buildings. As he reached one of the smaller buildings he pointed silently towards a door and then left.
I easily found the bathing area – a tiled rectangular floor with channels at each side that sloped to a drain at the far end with three large barrels filled with water each with a cup-like ladle hanging by a cord. I closed the door that separated the bathing area from the entrance, quickly disrobed, located some soap and proceeded to enjoy this rare pleasure. I did not hear any one enter, but apparently some one had, for when I re-opened the door to leave the bathing area a small pile of neatly folded clothing awaited me. It took me over fifteen minutes to figure out how to properly wear the strange new articles. There were buttons, clasps and unfamiliar closures on each piece of clothing and each was a strange new puzzle to be solved. Finally, once confident that I had donned the uniform correctly, I left the Bath and walked back to the house. There Jaipal was waiting silently just inside the door.
Sir Jacob, was seated along with his wife in a large room near the front of the house. After inspecting my appearance and welcoming me into their service, Sir Jacob called for a tea service. I stood silently waiting to be assigned a task. When the tea service, a small silver pot with one porcelain cup with saucer, a plate with four cookies and the materials necessary to prepare the tea all neatly arranged on an oval silver tray arrived, I was instructed by Sir Jacob to take the service upstairs to turn right and to proceed to the last door on the left. There I was to deliver tea to Miss Daria.
At my obvious confusion, Sir Jacob asked: "Do you require that the directions be repeated?"
"No, Sir Jacob, I was under the impression that Miss Daria did not desire my services."
"Well" he said as he chuckled quietly "she is my Daughter and as long as she lives under my protection she will just have to accept my decisions... now off with you."
After taking the route as directed, I stood several seconds preparing myself for what promised to be a rather unpleasant task. When the notion of how silly I must appear to anyone who would happen by became more of a concern in my mind than my apprehension of the task itself I took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the door. Several more seconds passed before the sounds of someone moving about behind the door could be heard, then, without a word said, the door opened and I was standing face-to-face with my unwilling Mistress. The look on her face only confirmed my apprehension; my Mistress looked most definitely disappointed, not resigned or crestfallen; but rather, displeased, frustrated, annoyed... her countenance clearly stated that my presence was an affront to her.
"I assume, that my Father sent you." she stated curtly in a flat but still unmistakably acerbic tone.
"Yes, Mistress, I was instructed to deliver your tea."
"Than, be so kind as to take it back and serve it to him." When I made no attempt to leave, she added "My Father desired your services, not I: When I desire tea, I will fetch it myself." Still I remained at the door, not out of disrespect, out of fear of failing Sir Jacob.
"Do you understand English?" Mistress Daria asked after a moment.
"Yes, Mistress."
"Then why are you still here?"
"Mistress, Sir Jacob directed me to deliver your tea and wishing him no displeasure I intend to comply with his request."
"Perhaps, I have not yet made my feelings clear; I have nothing but disdain for the way we British have foisted the yoke of servitude upon your people. I am determined to have nothing – what-so-ever – to do with it. Now, please, return the tea to my Father." Her speech finished, my Mistress turned and meant to close her bedroom door; but I spoke up just as her hand was reaching for the door knob.
"Your convictions are most enlightened, Mistress, thank you, for your respect for my dignity as a Person... I can now return to my life as a Beggar with my head held high." I knew both my words as well as my tone of voice dripped of sarcasm; however, if that door were to close so were all chances of remaining. To my utter astonishment, my Mistress neither showed any signs of offense nor did she attempt to reprimand me, she simply asked me another question in the same flat, monotone voice.
"Surely, there are other occupations, other work to which you are better suited."
"Mistress, I certainly do not mean to offend, I am Dalit. Is the meaning of the word familiar to you?"
"I believe it is the lowest of your societies castes... am I correct?"
"Yes and no. A Dalit lives outside the castes, lower than the low, the word the British use is 'untouchable'. By having taken employment as a servant, I have dared to reach for a position far above those ascribed to my station."
"But, how can you be happy spending your days in the service of another? Doing the tasks others feel are beneath them."
"Mistress, a roof over my head, food to eat, clean clothing to wear and a bed to rest my tired body after a day's hard honest labor is far preferable to the honest, but dismal, life of a Beggar. As for other sorts of work for an orphaned Dalit Girl of my age... let me say this a delicately as I am able, better days spent working on my feet, than nights spent working on my back." The sense of horror now visible on her face made me realize that I had spoken far beyond what was acceptable. "Mistress, I see that my crude words have unintentionally offended, please, accept my humble apologies."
"No. nothing of the sort. You have educated not offended me. Please, I'm the one who should be sorry, I have made you stand there holding that heavy tray. Why, I have not even had the common decency to ask you your name."
"Jayna, Mistress... my name is Jayna."
"Yes, now I remember my Father did mention your name when we met earlier. Jayna, I'm Daria, please, you may bring in the tea on two conditions."
"Yes, Mistress Daria?"
"One, you must never again address me as Mistress. My Sister may enjoy it's use and my Mother tolerates it; I, however, simply abhor it's use. Please, call me Daria."
"yes, mi... Daria. And the second condition?"
"You must stay and share it with me."
"But there is only the one cup?"
"I go to the kitchen all hours of the day and night for a cup of tea, I keep one here in the room – my favorite, a bigger cup than is used with our service – to limit the number of trips: it's easier that way. Now, you will come in and join me, will you not, Jayna?
I did not answer directly, I let my entrance into her room speak for itself. I walked towards the only possible place in Mistress Daria's sparingly furnished room to set the tray, a round, possibly three foot in diameter, pedestal table sitting not far from two open windows at the far corner of the rather large room. What appeared to be a comfortable – but by no means large – bed, a dresser and several book shelves along with the two unassuming chairs that accompanied the table – all made from some dark variety of wood – were the room's only furniture. The lack of furniture and near entire absence of objects to adorn the walls, in comparison to the other rooms of the house that I had so far seen, made the room feel absolutely cavernous. After setting the tray down, I was reaching for the canister of tea but stopped when Daria stepped past me and placed her hand on the canister.
"Before we get started let me see which tea Father asked for. Bless his heart, he means well, but he prefers Assam tea which I find the tannins far too bracing to enjoy. I am quite partial to Darjeeling, myself; unfortunately, Father rarely remembers that small fact." As soon as Daria removed the lid a small appreciative smile formed on her lips and I knew that Sir Jacob had not erred. The scent wafting from the canister was unmistakeably that of Darjeeling tea.
"Please, Jayna, sit and allow me to prepare the pot. I know it seems unusual; however, in my opinion, Indian's drink their tea far too strong. Yes, it is my personal predilection, but tea and books are my only real pleasures; so, you will just have to indulge me. Also, Jayna, since I invited you in for tea then, technically, you are my guest, so sit down and tell me a bit about yourself."
I was hesitant to sit, this was entirely inappropriate, so I stood silently with my head bowed, my hands at my sides: I could only imagine what trouble one ill-advised word, what one misstep in etiquette would bring.
"Jayna, what is wrong?" She spoke softly, her words colored by sincere concern. "please, look at me." I swallowed and slowly lifted my head. Daria was carefully studying me, she did not speak again until our eyes met. "Jayna, I think that I am beginning to understand. There is absolutely no earthly reason for you to do this; but I am going to ask you anyway... please, Jayna, please trust me. I do not want a servant... I need a companion, a person I can trust, a person to confide in: in short, I need a Friend. Jayna, if you do not want this, you need not worry, I will make certain that Father keeps you in our employ. If you are willing to try, then trust me and have a seat. I, truly, want to learn about your life."
I had never heard of anyone so unconcerned about a person's caste or station in society; could she honestly consider us as equals? At that moment I made my decision, I pushed my fears aside, I placed my welfare in her hands and took my seat at the table.
"My Father, Daria, was a leather worker, a Chamar, who along with my Mother kept a small shop producing belts, bridals and boots for the British soldiers garrisoned near our village. Mother knew some English so she, with my help, took the soldiers' orders. That was how I learned to speak your language. An outbreak of typhus took my Father when I was twelve. My Mother and I were left homeless beggars, we managed, barely, to not starve, but the hardships slowly wore my Mother down. Six months ago she went to join my Father. It was, surely, a divine hand that guided your Father to take pity on me. I am not certain how much longer I would have lasted: the world is anything but kind to an orphan Dalit Child."
"I must remember to apologize to my Father later, I was anything but kind to him earlier, and after what you have just told me, he certainly deserves it."
"I am most certainly in Sir Jacob's debt. Daria, I must confess, if it would not be seen to be unseemly, I would give your Father a crushing hug and a kiss on both cheeks".
"Please do not, Jayna, my Father would surely die of embarrassment." We both laughed at the idea, then Daria became thoughtful for a moment before asking: "How old are you, Jayna?" as she poured our first cups of tea.
"I am nearly sixteen." I answered then took a sip of tea. The aroma was so delicately sweet, so fragrant.
"As am I, what serendipity, Jayna, that you and I would be the same age."
We drank our first cups and than a second and then a third together, we also shared the plate of cookies, slowly, as we talked easily together, I felt whatever small fears that were still lingering in the isolated, shadowed recesses of my mind dissipate like smoke in a steady breeze. It was only when I noticed that the sun had fallen below the treetops, just how long we had been lost in conversation.
"Daria, it must be nearly six in the evening, I can not remember ever speaking so long with anybody. I do not understand what is happening here, exactly, but I am most certainly enjoying it."
"Jayna, perhaps what is happening between us is nothing more than a budding friendship between two like-minded girls."
"Yes, I agree it has to be friendship, a peculiar friendship, but friendship none-the-less."
"Jayna, what do you find so peculiar?" Daria asked with a smile reminiscent to me of that of a cat that had just feasted on a songbird.
"Daria, we share nothing in common, yet we have just spent the best part of three hours talking together as easily as two lifelong friends. Do you not think that at least a bit peculiar?"
"No, not at all. Call it the peculiar art of Friendship in the time of the Raj if you like, Jayna, I am content to call it friendship and move on."
With those words, Daria had settled it and we returned to our companionable ways until well into the night.
The End.