Calcutta, India. 1899

"Anvesha, are you ready?" The rough voice of my father hauled me out of my thoughts.

"Almost ready, Baba." I answered him, silently packing my documents into a handmade paper folder.

This date of 11 August, 1899, was very essential for me. Today was the day I deposited my merit list to the admission center in Bethune College. The college was founded as a school by a man named John Elliot Drinkwater Bethune, but just some years ago, it was developed into the first as well as the best college for women who wanted to attain higher education.

Mahesh Jogi Anand, my father, is a respectable trader of cotton textiles and jute. He being a firm believer in education wanted me to join this college and attain a healthy knowledge of higher education.

Being under the British Raj for as long as I could remember, this college was the only key for an Indian like me to study. The gates of this education institution were only opened for the rich and elite of the masses of Indian population.

"Anvesha... are you listening?" My father huffed, yet again breaking my train of thoughts.

"I apologize for my lack of attention, Baba. What were you saying?" I answered my father, giving him an apologetic smile.

"I said that I'm going outside." My father repeated. "Don't forget to lock the door after you have gathered all the important documents you need today."

"Okay Baba. You wait in the car, I am coming." My father nodded and went outside. He is one of the few Indians who owned personal cars. Owning a car is a great deal here, because they have to be imported. The first appeared on the roads of India about two or three years ago. The newspapers were flooded with "The First Ever Car in India!" news. These motor cars are a funny thing. They are like a carriage with a motor instead of the horses. Sometimes, people visit us just to have a look at this amazing invention.

I went in my room and grabbed my carry bag, a beautiful satin bag made with the colours of blue and green. It was made by my mother, who was a master in creating beautiful bags with cotton, jute or satin. Her affection also provided me with sweet little dolls made with cloth, when I was a mere age of seven.

My mother passed away when I was fifteen years of age. After her death, my father took the role of both mother and father. He tried to give me everything he could but still sometimes I feel that the missing place of a mother and a wife would never be filled.

We had a painting of my mother and father which was made when they both married each other. I got up from the bed and went in the veranda. I stared at the painting, in which a young version of my father was standing beside my mother who herself was sitting in a regally styled chair.

My mother was a beautiful woman. She had jet-black hair which went below her waist and eyes so black that you would escape in their depth. Her lips were the colour of roses and she had a petite frame. My father was himself a handsome young man in the painting with dark brown hair and eyes, a thin mustache just above his lips.

With long black-brown hair which fall past my waist, eyes that are dark brown and lips a dull shade of pink, I inherited most of my features from my mother. Like every other woman in India, I always applied a layer of surma to my eyes before leaving the house.

I walked outside and saw that my father was seated in the back seat of the car. In front was our driver, who was dressed in a crisp uniform.

I locked the doors of our home and made my way towards my father.

♠♠♠

About ten minutes into the ride, we finally reached the buildings of Bethune College. It stood marvelously on huge white pillars, the design clearly Victorian.

The driver parked the car just in front of the huge building. We walked towards the entrance of the college.

As I looked around, I saw a considerable amount of women draped in heavy silk saris and sporting expensive gold and other jewelries. Compared to my plain pink sari, their fashion clearly showed their highly affluent backgrounds. All of them were escorted by either their chaperons or their fathers. I smiled to myself.

Previously women were made to stay in their houses to look after their families and do house chores. Most women didn't even get primary education. But the society is changing gradually. Now, it is finally getting noticed that they also have a great role in this society. This change can be seen in the elite members of the society, who have started giving their daughters freedom and education. For the lower members, the change is slow, but it is not unnoticeable.

There are many changes that still need to be brought on how the society views women. I believe that one single step at a time is much more effective than trying to bring change all at once. Gradually, the society will definitely change.

♠♠♠

As the time passed, the doors for the merit deposition arena were finally opened. One by one women entered the enormous doors, disappearing behind it for considerably ten to twenty minutes. I wondered what went behind the closed doors.

"Anvesha, are you prepared?" My father asked me as I took a seat in the waiting section.

"Yes Baba. You can leave now; I'll be coming back on my own." I told him.

"Okay Shona. May God's blessings be with you." My father replied and kissed my forehead.

He nodded to me, with a kind smile on his face and then left with his driver. Father always left for work at seven in the morning, but today he had especially bailed out on it just to be there for me.

I always thanked God for gifting me a father who didn't believe what the society said. He didn't believe that women shouldn't receive education; he didn't believe in marrying his daughter off when she's still a child of twelve and getting rid of "burden"; he also didn't believe in bounding his child in shackles and limiting her freedom. That's my father.

Raised by a powerful widow, he was taught the values which needed to be taught to every single parent and I am proud of it. My grandmother defied the thinking of the society; a society which thought widows should be burnt away in the funeral pyre of their husbands. She raised my father with the riches left to her by her father. I also-

"Anvesha Mahesh Anand?" The announcer spoke my name out aloud. I raised my hand and grabbed my documents from my bag, coming out of my reverie. Taking a deep breath, I entered the doors.

♠♠♠

The merit deposition went fairly well. There was a council of four administrative members, who studied and judged my merit. I tried to attempt all the questions they had to ask. It wasn't difficult, but it wasn't easy too.

I gathered all my things and kept them in my bag. As I went outside, I smiled at some fellow women students, who seemed to be discussing something. The ones who saw me, smiled back at me.

I decided to walk back home. I loved to take a walk in the fields. It was a long way, but I was planning on resting a bit under my favourite tree, which was in the middle of fields, beside the road to home.

After a few minutes of just walking, I finally reached the tree and sat under it. I pulled out my novel, which I always carried around, and began to read it.

My father won't be worried about me because he knew about this habit of mine and also because I had already informed him that I will be coming back on my own.

♠♠♠

As I was reading, I noticed that a motor car was coming my way. Not exactly my way, but on the road in front of the tree below which I sat. When I looked who was sat in it, I felt slightly vexed.

The British.

It was not a personal grudge; it was the grudge that I held against them because of what they did to my countrymen.

They have been ruling over us for years, and treat Indians like slaves, in their own country. Richer members of the Indian society are still treated fairly well, but for the poor, it's a living hell, with all the taxes and poor treatment.

The British didn't want to do bad for us, but they want to do good for only themselves and that greed has resulted badly for us.

I realized that I was staring at the car, so I quickly averted my gaze and pretended that I was reading my book. Staying out of their way is the best policy that should be undertaken by Indians, even though I didn't believe in that.

I felt them coming nearer and nearer. As I looked up from my book once again, I saw that the car was driven by an Indian worker and three young British men sat in it, one in the passenger seat and two in the back seats.

As the car was slowing down, I knew that they had seen me.

And this was trouble.

"Oh look... a filthy Indian!" the British man who sat in the front seat said. He didn't look serious; it appeared that he was having too much fun today and this humiliation was part of it.

My eyes widened, taken aback by their outspokenness. Yes, these people have an immense hatred for us, which is something we share, but it didn't mean that they would go around speaking things to people who are by no means getting in their way. Other people are used to this, but this was my first time facing this act of humiliation and it struck something in me.

I stood up, and narrowed my eyes at them, choosing the easiest way to answer their humiliation. They noticed me and the driver suddenly stopped the car.

"Filth, what are you looking at?" another young boy asked me. He clearly thought I didn't understand a word they said.

"I am looking at you, Sir. I am looking at you filthy British." I spat, choosing their own words for them. The sudden courage which was running through me astonished my own self slightly.

None of them thought that I would answer back. They were taken aback, it was written in their priceless expressions. The first boy seem to recover faster than the others, because after that he said: "Don't you know that talking back like that can get you in a deep, deep trouble?"

Now he was threatening me. The boy looked no more than a young adult; he didn't even look like officer because of the lack of beard and mustache, that he could do anything against me. His threat seemed pretty much empty. I gave him a menacing smile.

"I know your extent of cruelness. But you don't even know who I am, so I think that you won't be able to do anything." I replied to him with an expressionless face. Once again I was displaying a great show of courage by talking back.

I saw that the third boy, who was silent from the start, was now smiling. A smile to me, a filthy Indian?

The boy doing all the talking appeared red now. Clearly, he knew he won't be able to do anything unless and until he knows my name.

He stared at me, his eyes showing anger and annoyance. I stared back, my eyes showing nothing at all.

He cleared his throat. "Driver, take us straight to the office. I can't stand talking to these crazy creatures." He said.

"Crazy creatures?!" I was fuming now. My hands were shaking with anger. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. I knew that if I don't leave right now, I will lose any remaining temper I have. I grabbed my book and stomped away in the fields.

Soon I heard the faint sound of a car engine starting and when I looked behind, they were already gone.

What happened today was my first encounter with the British face-to-face. I know that if I will ever see them again, then I won't be able to stop myself from doing something extreme.

Hello! So, this is my new story. It is my second story (I deleted the first). I hope you are enjoying. And British people? Nothing against you! But still sorry...its just that, at that time, the society was like this. British ruling India, Indians hating British. So...don't get offended by anything I write.

This is a fresh and edited version of the chapter. Many changes are brought in this. You might want to reread it.

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