This chapter deals maily with Jalina's ascent from the grinding despair of transgenderism in the Kolkata hijra community and her restoration to her former position.

The rescue 5

Characters.
Beverly Taff. Transvestite
James or Jamie Transgendered kid.
Candice Jamie’s Younger Sister.
Sergeant Williams Hate crime police officer
David Evans Knife-boy. (Son of Dewi Evans.)
Margaret Beckinsale. Jamie and Candice’s mum. (AKA Madge.)
Sandie Beverly’s best Transvestite friend.
Elizabeth Todd Beverly’s next door neighbour.
Jennifer Todd Elizabeth Todd’s daughter. A barrister. (QC.) Beverly’s best female friend & ‘girl next door’.
Rastus Elizabeth Todd’s cat (Now owned by Beverly.)
Dewi Evans Bent politician and criminal.
Paul. Beverly’s transvestite Boss.
Calista Paul’s Transgendered girlfriend.
Stephanie Jenny and Beverly’s daughter.
Phoebe Paul’s Sister.
Rachel. Jennifer’s new girlfriend. (After Stephanie was born.)
Jalina Sha. Indian Engineering graduate (Now Hijra.)
Prdajit Sha Jalina's father.

Calista’s wedding went ahead as planned. It was a simple civil ceremony held in Cardiff and Paul’s mother refused to attend. That hurt a lot for Paul but he hid his pain and after a small reception and celebration we headed off that evening to the Airport Hotel at Heathrow. Unfortunately Calista still had to travel on her old passport declaring her to be male. Naturally she carried all her other documents including the medical documents confirming her new status. The British Passport office gets progressively slower and more expensive in serving its people. It cannot, in 2 months supply a new passport dealing with the simple matter of changing one small entry from male to female. They needed an unwarranted amount of information which bordered on the ludicrous like having to re-declare her date of birth. They already had it! If it hadn’t been so stupid it would have been funny. Was Calista suddenly only a couple of months old!!?

Fortunately we had the dates of our previous visit endorsed on the same visa because our 6 month visas had not expired. It saved endless complications for Calista for the previous entry still carried the hand written immigration note concerning her ‘sex change’.

She hadn’t had a sex change of course, just had her plumbing corrected to match her brain which had always been female. We arrived in the dead of night after the Plane had been delayed in Kuwait City.

It was nothing serious just an engine to be changed! Eighteen hours! For most of the British passport holders this meant a brief stop-over in Kuwait. Brits don’t need a visa to visit Kuwait they simply have to register at the main police station or the airport police station when they arrive. Not so of course for Calista. Kuwait is primarily seventy percent Sunni and Sunni Muslims are pretty intolerant people. They don’t accept transgendered people. Instead of being able to leave the airport and travel into Kuwait city like the rest of the passengers, Calista was detained in an immigration transit suite until the plane was ready to leave. Fortunately, Jamie had not come with us.

Paul swore that he would never travel to a Muslim country again if that’s how the supposedly so called religion of peace and compassion treated people described in some medical cultures as disabled. I didn’t entirely agree with him but I must confess I was saddened by Calista’s treatment; - so much for Islamic hospitality and munificence, or at least the Sunni version. Sadly, Wahabism and its vicious misinterpretation of The Koran pervades the whole of the Arabian peninsula like an evil cancer.

Fortunately Kuwait is not as bigoted and oppressive as Saudi Arabia. Calista at least had a decent suite of rooms and her husband was allowed to visit her, even stay with her. I rationalised these oppressive Sunni views with the fact that fundamentalist Christian Churches could be just as bigoted and cruel.

We were glad to leave Kuwait and arrive in Kolkata even if it was two o’clock in the morning.

Early December was much cooler and the three a.m., immigration queue was non-existent. To our joy Jalina was there to meet us. We apologised for being late but fair play to the airline, they had provided drinks and food for anybody waiting to meet passengers. Jalina had her own car now. Nothing spectacular, just a modest, non-descript, Indian model that didn’t draw attention to her appearance or even her very existence. During our four month’s absence Jalina had embarked upon transition.

She had not yet had re-assignment surgery but she had had facial feminisation surgery. Indian medicine was every bit as sophisticated as Thailand but Jalina had gone to Bangkok to remain anonymous. The retainer that Paul had paid her, allowed her to take out a loan but when Paul saw her face he agreed to pay off her bank-loan. If Jalina had looked beautiful before, she looked stunning now and the voice surgery had made her unidentifiable as the one time Jitendra Shah oldest son of the Shah family. Paul and Calista squeezed into Jalina’s little car while the rest of us followed in a taxi with the remainder of the luggage. She took us out into the suburbs where her original hijra friends were sharing the modest house and we ate breakfast with them before finally booking into the Grand Great Eastern hotel again. Staff recognised us and made a huge fuss of Jennifer and Rachel who were beginning to ‘show’. I felt a little sorry for Calista and Jalina as they glanced wistfully at the girls’ swollen tummies.

We took over the same suite as before but used fewer rooms and by eleven, we were all napping to recover from our jet lag. Even though the journey had taken eighteen hours longer than expected, we were still all out of synch with our circadian rhythms.
The following day we became civilised and we booked Jalina into our suite for there was now much that Paul and I had to do.

Firstly however Jenny and Rachel needed to check out their babies.

The clinic were past masters at checking foetuses and the results were as we’d hoped. Jenny was expecting Paul’s baby boy and Rachel was expecting twins, they thought it was one of each but couldn’t be one hundred percent sure. What they were sure about was that all the foetuses appeared healthy. Calista grinned at me when she learned the news.

“Just fancy Bev, I’ll be looking after four babies. Stephanie, Paul’s son by Jenny and your twins by Rachel.

“You won’t have much time to be a wife Cally,” I grinned, “you’ll be too busy being a mum.”

She punched me on the shoulder playfully and went to join the girls by the pool while Jalina, Paul and I got on with preparing for the factory inspections. Naturally we left the Shah factory until the last.

All the factory owners were impressed with Jalina’s seemingly infinite knowledge of engineering and yet none of them recognised the one-time Jitendra Shah, eldest son of the Shah family who had brought disgrace and shame on the family by coming out as hijra. Jalina’s facial feminisation surgery had been supremely successful. The supreme test came when we finally had to visit the Shah establishment. Jalina was nervous but we reassured her that nobody had ‘read’ her during the previous inspections and we met her whole family at a restaurant for lunch before commencing our inspection.

Jalina had long prepared us with all the information so we were thoroughly genned up. Over the meal we gave Sanji the factory manager a grilling over the past year’s performance then Paul accompanied old father Pradjit Shah to the lavatory where he gave it to him straight.

“Mr Shah, your factory is an ideal fit to mine back in the UK. We’ve got excellent links into Europe and I can see some excellent business to be shared here. How do you feel about the deal?”

“Yes, yes Paul, may I call you Paul?”

Paul nodded, after all Pradjit Shah was much older and Paul had the good grace to respect the man’s age. Besides he actually found himself liking the guy. They briefly discussed ideas for expansion as they walked alone into a beautiful private garden belonging to the restaurant while Sanji kept fretting to join them.

“Look at them. My father is too old to be plotting with that youngster. I should be there helping him. There are so many laws he could be breaking in dealing with a foreigner without advice.”

I was about to say something but Jalina intervened.

“I am quite sure Mr Shah that our lawyers will make sure the agreements and arrangements are perfectly legal. Now about these production processes. The solid state chips from China. Surely we can make those in India, after all that’s the Main reason that Mr Paul Whitworth is here; to save labour costs and increase profitability. What are your ideas about production costs and the finally assembly process? Do you think the present factory is a suitable site or would it be better to relocate to the technology park? The air is cleaner there and easier to filter. Your present factory is ideal for the mechanical production but quite smoky; the chip manufacture has to be an absolutely sterile process. Have you got any set up costs to hand?”
Sanji looked somewhat askance and blustered.

“Oh, I’ll have to have one of my floor managers look at that.”

“We want answers this afternoon Mr Shah. That’s why we’re here. Beverly and I don’t have the time to wait on you calling up your floor manager. We’re going out to your present factory later and then we expect to discuss relocation.”

I watched Sanji blanch visibly before my eyes as even his own mother wagged her head. Even the younger sisters realised Sanji was not handling the grilling at all well. If their father did not manage to pull something out of the fire, their hopes of expansion into electronics looked like going down the pan.

Their eyes blazed with fearful resentment as this unknown but exceedingly beautiful ‘slum bitch’ put their older brother through the mill' and the millstones were grinding exceeding small. The factory profit disaster had already been brutally exposed and that’s why their father had invited the British entrepreneur to a private chat. Back in the garden Paul had already made his play.

“Yes Mr Shah. I am more than keen to go into partnership with you but your last operating year has been a financial disaster. I realise now that there was a change at the helm and your son Sanji took over last January. The man operating the factory for the previous two years seemed to have a firmer grip. If you could find him and head-hunt him back, then it’s deal. I’ll provide the investment and buy the components for onward assembly and sales in Europe and the Americas while you concentrate on South East Asia and Australasia.”

“What about China Paul, that’s the fastest growing market of all.”

“We can look at that jointly. I’ve got excellent contacts there and the Chinese are keen to adopt my equipment into their truck and other commercial vehicles. If you do the private car side, I’ll do the commercial. How does that grab you?”

Pradjit could see huge potential for growth and wealth and this English man did not seem greedy. If he was prepared to share the huge private car market in China then it was a done deal. Pradjit was almost salivating at the prospects except for the one serious problem. He sucked very nervously on his tongue as he debated explaining the issues about the previous manager who had been sacked. Paul sensed his opportunity and struck.

“Tell me Mr Shah. Why was that previous manager sacked? He seemed to be doing an extremely good job. The figures can’t be denied.”

Pradjit hesitated nervously. He had heard that western people were getting more liberal about homosexuality but he was still fearful of explaining the full truth. For long seconds he debated silently then concluded it was ‘shit or bust’ time. The factory was on its last quarterly loan and in April it was a certainty that the bank would pull the plug. The last year under his second son Sanji had been abysmal. And he had his older daughter’s wedding coming up. There just wasn’t the money to pay for it.

With tears threatening to break through Pradjit finally admitted the truth. He revealed the whole sordid story and finally wagged his head as he confessed that his one-time older son was now a transsexual and probably lost in the endless slums of Kolkata. Paul listened without showing any rancour or expression until the man slumped in his chair and wagged his head despondently.

Now Paul had his chance.

“So this hidj, this, - what d’you call them?”

“Hijra. It’s a Muslim word but it’s become common throughout India and Pakistan.”

“So this hijra. He could be anywhere.”

“Uuhhm, she could be anywhere; we refer to them as she.”

Paul nodded then pulled a wry expression.

“If we found this wo, - this individual, would you take the individual back. She seems to have had her finger on the pulse and she certainly grew the business in those two short years. She was your own flesh and blood.”

Pradjit wagged his head and tears still persisted as he explained.

“But the shame. Our family would be crucified. Everybody would know!”

“But she’s got the head for it, you must admit. Her body surely does not matter.”

“How would she deal with customers? Men don’t like dealing with hijras.”

“Why. They deal with women every day.”

“Yes but this is a man’s business, engineering.”

“Yes, I know all about that Mr Shah, I’m an engineer myself and I do business every day with engineers. Some of them, especially in Russia and China, are lady engineers. Even in Europe now about ten percent of the people I deal with are lady engineers. If India’s to move with the rest of the world, then India will have to deal with it.”

“We have plenty of lady engineers but no hijra engineers.”

“Then you take the first step. This previous son of yours was obviously a bloody good manager. These figures show it.”

“But how would she manage the work force? Many men wouldn’t take orders from a hijra.”

“Sack them. Or better still let her sack them.”

Paul knew that nobody in India who had a job would dare risk losing it. Jobs were rarer that rocking horse dung. Pradjit shrugged.

“Well we’re still going to have to find him. For all I know, he could be dead and his body lying on one of the many rubbish tips in Kolkata.”

Paul felt anger boiling up as he remembered his own parent’s maltreating him.

“And doesn’t that bother you, your own son. Try asking your wife what she feels.”

“She hasn’t forgiven me. We sleep apart now. The marriage is just a sham, a face to look successful and respectable.”

“Yes. I must confess I sensed that.” Paul replied.

Can we do a provisional deal? If we can find this hijra son of yours, would you be prepared to let him run the new factory? You don’t have to accept him back into the family and nobody need know he was your son.”

Paul realised he had come perilously close to giving the game away by alluding to Jalina’s appearance. Nobody should know what she looked like. Fortunately Pradjit was so distressed he didn’t notice. He was more concerned with getting his factory and the family fortunes back on track. He nodded distractedly and called the hovering waiter over for more tea. Paul added to the order.

“Make that order three cups please or better still a large pot with some milk and sugar. I’ll have mine English style while I have to discuss arrangements with my advisor. Oh; and please, ask the lady Jalina to come and join Mr Shah and me here please."

The waiter smiled, grateful that the English gentleman had been kind enough to say ‘please’ at both requests and also entrust him with a responsible message giving him entitlement to enter the main restaurant. Every single nuance of status was savoured in a country were status and rank counted so highly amongst the less skilled and less educated. He stalked off purposefully and felt his status rise as he strode across what was normally not his ‘territory’ and conveyed the message to the stunningly beautiful Indian lady that every waiter’s eye had been feasting on.

Jalina excused herself from our table then rose with a newfound grace born of hard practice and envious eyes watched her follow the waiter as she swayed seductively across the main restaurant to join the two important gentlemen in the garden. More importantly, the English gentleman actually stood as she approached the garden table. All the staff concluded that this must be a lady of some rank. Even Pradjit’s eyes widened appreciatively as Jalina slid gracefully into the seat that the waiter had hurried to produce before scuttling off to collect the order for three teas.

Paul turned to Jalina and smiled.

“So Jalina what did you and Bev learn from Sanji?”

Jalina smiled at Paul then turned respectfully to her own father who still had not recognised her.

“Now Mr Shah, firstly I must ask what your feelings are about your business. Are you happy with recent events and developments?”

Pradjit sighed and wagged his head despondently.

“Well young lady, you’ve seen the figures, would you be happy.”

“franly Mr Shah, no.” Jalina responded with a finality that said it all. “You’ll be bankrupt by April.”

Pradjit turned to me and nodded.

“You’ve got a dammed shrewd analyst in this lady Paul. I could do with somebody like her in my factory. Where did you find her?”

Jalina and Paul exchanged knowing smiles but they managed not to burst out laughing. Paul had to admire Jalina’s restraint.
Paul continued.

“Miss Jalina will be protecting my interests until the deal is set up and we can find a suitable manager. I’d still like you to find this hijra son of yours. He would know all the wrinkles of the previous successes and he certainly knows how to run the factory. Are you prepared to give the boy another go if I find him?”

Pradjit frowned and hesitated so Paul added.

“If he can pass as a lady, there is no need for anybody to know she’s hijra.”

Pradjit’s eyes narrowed as he considered the idea.

“That could work. Only I would know.”

“And perhaps your wife.” Paul added. Jalina tells me your wife suggested that she was missing her son.”

Jalina nodded to confirm Paul’s information and explained how she found out.

“Your wife used to help you when you were starting out; keeping the books and things before you expanded and the children came along. She certainly doesn’t want to see the business fail, she still considers it as much her baby as yours. She spoke to me at length in the ladies powder room. She’s missing her oldest son.”

“Oh don’t I know it. Frankly I regret it now but I was so upset and ashamed at the time. What’s worse is that two of the other bidders have offered me a pittance for the business, just the buildings mind. They can see the writing on the wall. Lost orders and stuff.”

“Are you serious Mr Shah?” Paul pressed. “You’re saying you’re contrite.”

The old man nodded and sank his head into his hands as the tea arrived. The waiter was all attention.

“Does Mr Shah want some water?”

“No thank you,” Jalina replied as she rested her delicate hand on Pradjit’s arm.

The waiter scuttled away to stand respectfully out of earshot as Jalina nervously pressed her suit.

“Would you really employ a hijra Mr Shah? Are you that desperate?”

Pradjit looked up tearfully and nodded as Jalina swiftly took a delicate, beautiful, lace handkerchief from her clutch bag. She handed it to him as he explained.

“My daughter’s wedding. It’s all arranged but there just isn’t the money to pay for it. I’ll be the laughing stock.”

As he plunged his face into his hands again Jalina looked at Paul. Paul nodded. Jalina rested her delicate slender hand onto her father’s and landed her bombshell.

“It’s alright father, I’ll return to the business and save it; for you and my mother, - and my little sister’s wedding.”