leading through The Pass and on to Shipwreck Beach. La Porte, like most island settlements, exhibited increased poverty with distance from the ocean. As a result, Back Road was cluttered with poor shanty dwellings, bedraggled stray animals, and the odd seedy toddy shop.
Soval sauntered past tourists enjoying the handicraft stores. He greeted other islanders as they passed on their bicycles. He was well known and respected on La Bajan, but Soval had always craved more. As he neared the Catholic church, he was aware that this was part of the reason he had not been fully accepted by the local community. He was Bahai but he was also an étranger: the local moniker for people who were born overseas but had settled in the Sedois Islands. The clear implication was that you were not a true Sedois. In principle, there was little difference. Soval had obtained citizenship and he could work, and vote. It was more about local attitudes. His son, Ajay, was Sedois and was accepted completely and without question. Soval was acutely conscious of the distinction.
He reflected on his life as he strolled. Soval had been privileged to visit many amazing places and experience incredible things. His life had been good, but he was unsatisfied. He felt that he was owed more. Hard work had been his life. Pushed relentlessly by his parents in Goa, he had studied feverishly to rise above the other Indian children who were his schoolmates. Soval Pape had achieved at the expense of a carefree childhood. With proven academic excellence, after completing school he was awarded a scholarship to study law at Kings College in London. This was an unprecedented accolade for any foreign pupil but especially a poor student from India.
Academia was a comfortable existence for Soval. He continued to study diligently throughout university as he was more proficient at this than socializing. He was not awkward, just painfully shy. Soval existed as a relative loner, studying and surviving. That was until he met Nita. She worked as a cook in a small Indian restaurant close to the university. Nita was Persian and a real natural beauty. Her lustrous black hair and piercing dark eyes combined perfectly with a broad, effortless smile and fierce intellect. Despite having fled Iran as a young woman to escape the persecution of her Bahai community, she had maintained a persistently positive attitude. She embraced life and bubbled effervescently around the local area. She had run into Soval, literally, as he was striding purposefully down The Strand deep in thought. He had struck her shoulder hard and Nita had yelped in pain, dropping her book. A softcover treatise on Freud’s Ego and Id hit the pavement. Nita composed herself quickly, rubbing her sore arm. Soval recovered the book from the ground and dusted it off, profuse in his apologies.
When he saw petite Nita standing in front of him, smiling and sparkling with a cheeky grin and searching eyes, he was smitten. Soval had overcome his natural shyness on the spot to ask her out. Nita had cautiously assented. Their courtship was wonderful. Long, pleasant afternoons spent picnicking in the parklands. She impressed him with her revolutionary ideas of improving social wellbeing through practical morality. And her amazing Persian cuisine. Soval dazzled her with his knowledge of the law. Nita’s friends were artistic and idealistic, cerebral specimens confronting and wrestling with life’s large conundrums. And they were also religious. Righteous in thought and deed. Encouraging Soval to attend the local Bahai spiritual assembly with her, this soon became his primary social outlet and where he felt most at ease. Intellectually, he connected with the Bahai faith and the communal love of all people. Soval readily converted. At this moment in his life, he felt complete. He had achieved honours in his final university law examinations, he had found the woman he truly loved and planned to marry, and he had discovered real spiritual satisfaction in the Bahai faith.
On a warm June evening on the grassy banks of The Serpentine in Hyde Park he asked for Nita’s hand in marriage. She had paused just long enough in responding to make him concerned, but then accepted gleefully. The future was rosy, and they were both so happy. Disappointingly, Soval’s entire family were ruthlessly and stubbornly unaccepting of his match and forbid him to marry, or visit Goa with Nita. He could not believe his family was so small-minded. He could see that they considered Nita as foreign to them, both in nationality and religion. His parents would not be convinced, and he was equally as pigheaded. Soval and Nita married in a Bahai ceremony within weeks and, as fortune would have it, an opportunity arose to work in the Sedois Islands.
Soval had initially dreamt of practising law in London but, with time and bitter experience, he had realised that his career path was limited. Being Indian, he was viewed and treated as an outsider. It was irrelevant that he was gifted and well-educated; to most he was simply a boy from the colonies. The community at the Bahai spiritual centre was aware of his plight. Many had experienced the same casual racism, and restricted opportunities for advancement. Nita herself had often expressed a desire to do missionary work. One of her Bahai friends had suggested they consider relocating to the Sedois Islands. It had a tiny fledgling Bahai community on the main island but no presence on the outer islands. Through these connections on La Premiere, a job in the capital, Mitre, was sourced for Soval. He was, after all, a London-trained and qualified lawyer, and this would stand them in good stead on the islands. Nita, all spontaneity and unbridled enthusiasm, was keen to go. Soval was less convinced but, ultimately, he would follow his heart, and his new wife. He also felt that he could, and should, become a man of great standing in this smaller community. These internal considerations of grandeur were no small part in influencing his decision. So, a new life beckoned.
He continued to meander effortlessly along the La Porte seafront, whistling softly to himself in contentment, distracted by his recollections. Soval was still happily strolling as Nita greeted him from their front verandah, “Hello, Papa, you look like you’ve had a good day.”
“Yes. Very productive.” He stood on the front step of their house, leant up and kissed her lovingly. “I was just thinking how lucky we are.” Soval enquired about her day.
“Busy. I had a class with the local girls. Thirteen came today. That is a record.” Her voice was full of cheerful satisfaction.
“You are a wonder. I’m the luckiest man alive to have found you.”
“Tut-tut, Soval. We’re both lucky. But hard work is constantly required.”
Ever the pragmatist, he thought. He mentioned that he continued to be industrious, “I think this will be a good year for us.” Soval reflected on his discussions with his friend Lee. The desired outcome would finally deliver him power and influence, and command respect.
“I’ve just made tea if you want some.” Nita pointed towards the kitchen. “I’m going to pass by Javette’s house to pick some fresh chili. Ours are not yet ripe.”
Soval indicated that he would have tea. Before she left, Nita fussed over him, as she did everyone else. She couldn’t help it. Selflessness was innate, almost certainly a combined result of her nature, upbringing, and faith.
“I might go for a ride on Ajay’s jet ski. It’s such a beautiful evening. Do you know if he’s using it?”
“I wouldn’t think so, he’s taking his old phone over to some tourists he’s just met. Their phone broke yesterday.” She wandered down the front path and waved. Nita still found her husband full of surprises, generally stubbornly conservative yet sometimes as impulsive as a child.
“Of course he is.” Soval waved back dismissively, thinking, That boy really needs to grow up.
Seated comfortably on the verandah, Soval sipped his tea. He noted the stringy high cloud that often predicted strong winds. The change had not arrived yet and the plants in the garden shifted with only a gentle sea breeze, dancing with joy after the heat of the day. Yellow-flowered frangipani trees and red hibiscus bushes swayed rhythmically. Slick green palm fronds flicked side to side, spilling the air off their large smooth leaves.
He remembered his and Nita’s arrival on La Premiere and the expected promise of great things. His
