After the Storm (13 page)

‘Hurry up, Mili. We’re going to be late,’ Vicky said as she picked up her bag.

‘I can’t wait to get there,’ Mili squealed excitedly as she put her arm through Vicky’s.

The two girls alighted at the Mall and made their way to the theatre, which was situated at the heart of Kishangarh. They were going to watch the English adaptation of Kalidas’
Shakuntala
. As they pushed through the crowd, Mili noticed people sniggering and pointing their fingers at her. Some stared at her unashamedly while others began clicking their tongues – tut tut tut!

Mili tugged Vicky’s sleeve frantically. ‘What’s the matter with these people, Vicky? Why are they staring at me like this?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Vicky replied. ‘Let’s walk a little faster. Or we’ll miss the first scene.’

As the two of them took their seats in the front row of the theatre, Mili felt uneasy again. She looked around and then over her shoulders at the rest of the audience. She found a hundred pairs of eyes gaping at her instead of the stage. Beads of perspiration appeared on her forehead. She clutched Vicky’s elbow as the audience began to chant, ‘Murderer, murderer, murderer.’

Mili sat up with a start. She was drenched in perspiration. Two weeks had elapsed since the fateful day on which Vicky killed herself. Or was it three weeks? Or four? She couldn’t remember. It was as though she had been living in a haze. If only she had not left Vicky alone that day. She would have been still alive.

She lay back in her bed, gazing at the ceiling fan – the monster that had devoured her friend. The hostel was quiet. It must be almost empty. All the girls were in class. A tap was dripping somewhere. Then the sound of footsteps which gradually faded away. The windows of her room were open but there was no breeze. The air was still. Mili began to feel claustrophobic and switched on the fan. The droning of the ceiling fan did nothing to stifle the heat but added to her feeling of desolation. As she continued to gaze up at the ceiling, the walls of the room seemed to close in on her. She felt a desperate need to escape.

She ran down the Hide-and-Seek Road and did not stop till she had reached the edge of the lake. She sat there motionless, gazing at the still waters.
Why did Vicky
have to die?
she asked herself for the hundredth time. She had always been so brave, always taking chances,
always in charge, never afraid. Why did she have to die such a horrible death?

They had been friends ever since they were babies. When they were about five, they would sneak out a couple of Ma’s saris, wrap them around themselves and pretend to be Ma and Mummum. Then, when they were about a year older, mothers were replaced by the princes and princesses from the fairy stories that Nani used to tell them at bedtime. Vicky would always play the prince and come to rescue Mili from the clutches of the wicked witch. One of Mili’s dolls would be the witch, or on the rare occasion, Uday. Mili was content to play the sad forlorn princess, singing mournful songs. She had the voice of a cuckoo, Nani used to say.

She also used to say the two of them were Kishan and Sudama in their previous birth. But then Kishan didn’t leave Sudama and disappear into oblivion like Vicky had. Or did he? According to the Hindu scriptures, the two were inseparable in school. And even when they met each other again after years, Krishna knew exactly what ailed Sudama and showered his friend with wealth and prosperity. Maybe Vicky was up there with Nani, waiting for her to join them? And then they would be reborn again … together …

‘There you are.’

On hearing the familiar voice, Mili turned around. She started to get up. ‘Good evening, sir …’

‘No, no, keep sitting,’ Raven said, sitting down on the grass, beside her. ‘You mustn’t go wandering off on your own like this. It’s not safe.’

Mili did not answer. She picked up a long stick lying
next to her and began to stir the still waters of the lake with it, making little ripples.

‘I was speaking to Miss Perkins and Mrs Nunes a few minutes back.’

Mili shot him a questioning look.

‘Yes, Victoria’s mother had come to my office. She’s leaving in a couple of days.’ He collected some pebbles in his hand and threw them one after another into the water, making little whirlpools in the process. ‘She told us she had decided to close the chapter on Victoria’s rape and begged us to do likewise,’ he finally said, as he threw one last pebble into the lake, as hard as he could.

‘What? She’s not going to take that man to court? Is she out of her mind?’

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Raven, averting his gaze. ‘Don’t forget, she’s a widow. And she has two other daughters to think of. If she filed a case, everyone would know it was her own brother-in-law who had committed the heinous act. Who would marry her daughters after such a scandal?’

‘
No!
’ Mili shouted vehemently, shaking her head. ‘Her reluctance to go to court is not because of her daughters. She doesn’t want to lose face. After all, she’s always been so pompous and a show-off.’

Raven spoke quietly. ‘Malvika, hurling abuses at Mrs Nunes is not going to bring Victoria back.’

But Mili wasn’t listening. ‘What reason is she going to give everyone for the suicide?’ she asked.

‘Low grades in exams,’ replied Raven.

Mili laughed. A hollow, mirthless laugh. ‘Vicky committed suicide because she got poor marks? Do you
think she ever cared about marks? That is so ludicrous. She’d never kill herself for that. Low grades indeed!’

She looked at Raven as he got up. He stood with his hands in his pockets, feet slightly apart, looking askance. Mili continued speaking. ‘There we were, almost expelled from school for an innocent picnic at night, while this man rapes a girl half his age and is allowed to roam free? And she was supposed to be his ward? He was her local guardian!’

‘True. But we are both helpless, Malvika. Unless you’re able to cajole Mrs Nunes to go to court. Or force the police to lock him up. You are forgetting George is a powerful man. He’s not only English, but also the Collector of Kishangarh.’

‘You know, sir, if Vicky was English or her father still alive, and the man who raped her was an Indian, he would have been hanged for sure. Forget rape, he would have been killed like a dog even if he had just kissed her.’

Raven did not reply but merely stared at her. She saw something in his eyes that she could not fathom. He spoke after a long time, his voice barely audible.

‘Let’s go back,’ he said. ‘It’s getting dark.’

‘Sir, you don’t understand what I’m going through right now. And even if you did, you don’t care. After all, you never did like Vicky and me.’

Again, no reply. Mili’s hands curled into fists as she watched him stride towards his car, get in and start the engine. He gave her a slight nod. Reluctantly, she walked to the car and slid into the passenger seat. He reversed into the main road before slanting a sideways glance at her. They drove back to her hostel in silence.

When they reached the hostel, Raven Sir switched off the engine and turned to face her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken so harshly. But what you said back there isn’t true.’ His Adam’s apple moved and his voice dropped down to a whisper. ‘I do care. Very much so. I guess that’s why I got upset. It wasn’t you I was angry with. I was angry with myself. For not being able to help my own student.’

‘Don’t worry, Raven, sir, we’re used to your scolding by now,’ said Mili.

Raven grimaced slightly. ‘I think I’ve scolded you two more than all my students put together.’ He looked down. ‘But this time, I’m sorry,’ he said softly.

‘I’m sorry too,’ replied Mili. ‘It’s just that … I feel awful. My dearest friend has died and I can’t do anything about it. Not a thing. You have no idea what that feels like.’

‘I do. Only too well,’ Raven said quietly. ‘I felt the same way when my father walked out of my life. And I couldn’t do anything to ease my mother’s pain … Sometimes, nothing is in our hands.’ He sighed. ‘Believe me, if it was up to me, I would move heaven and earth for you. I would never let my students down.’

Swallowing the lump rising in her throat, Mili stepped out of the car. ‘Yes, sir,’ she murmured. ‘Thank you, sir; goodnight, sir.’

‘Before you go, promise me something?’

Mili raised a brow.

‘Promise me that you will start attending classes from tomorrow. I haven’t seen you in class for the last two weeks.’

‘Yes, sir, I will.’

‘Promise?’

Smiling slightly, Mili replied, ‘Yes, sir, I promise.’

‘Good.’ With that, he drove off.

Mili looked at the road for a long time after the car could be seen no more. Then with a sigh, she dragged her feet towards her room.

Raven had dinner on Mother’s insistence, but ate very little and in silence. And as soon as he was able to, he excused himself from the table. He was grateful that, although Mother gave him a questioning look when he threw down the serviette and pushed back his chair, she chose not to say anything or follow him to his room.

He sat down at his desk and tried to check some of his students’ assignments but he could not concentrate. He kept thinking of Malvika with a tenderness he had not known before. It had hurt him to see her hurting so.

He had been taken aback by all that she said. It seemed her friend’s death had made her grow up suddenly. How solemnly she spoke. He sighed. He missed the old Malvika. Always up to mischief with that Victoria, always in trouble, fluttering around like a butterfly. Her words kept coming back to haunt him. ‘If Vicky was English …’ She was right. If George had been an Indian, he would have been hanged … that’s for sure. Raven picked up the dome-shaped glass paperweight, twirled it like a top on his desk and stared at it.

He recalled what had happened earlier that day, when Mrs Nunes had come to his office.

‘I’ve never liked George much. And for what he
did to my poppet, I’ll never forgive him,’ she said. ‘He snuffed out my daughter’s life, the most precious thing in the world for me, and for that may he rot in hell.’ She paused and looked down at her hands. ‘But I’ve decided not to take him to court. And I wish to hush this matter completely, once and for all.’

‘Are you sure, Mrs Nunes?’ Raven had asked.

‘What purpose is dragging George to court going to serve? It’s not going to bring my Victoria back to life, is it?’ Her voice shook as she spoke. ‘Everyone will spit at us when they come to know that Victoria’s own uncle raped her. I have two other daughters. One has just got engaged. To an orthodox Catholic family from Kerala. They would break off the engagement in an instant should they come to know the details surrounding Victoria’s death.’

‘I understand,’ Raven had said. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘I have spoken to Prof. Keating as well as Principal Perkins and they have promised no one shall come to know about the rape. I want you to do the same.’

‘Rest assured, Mrs Nunes, the circumstances surrounding Victoria’s death shall go with me to my grave.’

‘One more thing, Prof. Raven …’ She hesitated.

‘Yes?’

‘I believe, in the absence of the warden, you are in charge?’

‘You’re right. The warden has gone to England for two months, possibly three. The political unrest in the country is making a lot of the English insecure.’

‘Malvika is also like my daughter. I don’t know how to break this news to her. Will you do it for me?’

‘You have entrusted me with a very difficult job, Mrs Nunes, but yes, I’ll speak to her.’

Raven took out a cigar and lit it. He drew in a long puff and sighed.

Speak to her he did. He knew she’d get upset but what he didn’t realise was how affected he himself would be after speaking to her. He used to despise her and Victoria because of their juvenile behaviour and careless attitude towards studies. But today … the way Mili’s eyes welled up with tears and yet the conviction with which she spoke – his heart went out to her. She looked so lost and lonely, so vulnerable. He felt like kicking himself; here was his student, his ward – miserable and in pain – and he was unable to do anything to ebb her sorrow.

It was Janamashtami, the birthday of Lord Krishna, after whom Kishangarh had been named. Raven stopped his car for a moment, as he passed Gopeshwar temple. It was beautifully decorated with flowers today. The statue of Krishna had been washed and adorned with new clothes and jewellery. Legend had it that when Krishna was a cowherd, one of the calves in his charge gambolled off towards the hills of Uttaranchal. Krishna ran after it, until he reached Kishangarh. Tired from the long chase, he sat down to catch his breath and began playing his flute. It was on that spot where he had rested that Gopeshwar temple had been built. And it is said that even today, when the north wind blows and rustles through the leaves of the trees in
Kishangarh, you can hear Lord Kishan playing on his flute.

Raven listened. Could he really hear the flute? He shook his head and grinned at his own foolishness. Since when had he started believing in all this nonsense? He started the engine and slowly made his way to Jeolikot.

He thanked Sister Therese as she pointed to the green in front of the school building where the children were playing. He smiled as he espied Vidushi, hopping about on one foot, trying to catch the children fleeing from her. Her hair had begun to grow. Though it was still short and looked like a boy’s, she looked much healthier as well as happier. She turned around as a shadow fell across her.

‘Sir,’ she said, a smile instantly lighting her face.

‘How are you, Vidushi?’ Raven asked with a smile. He pointed to the children she was playing with and who were now staring at him curiously.

‘Sir, they also live here. Older students like me help the sisters take care of them.’

‘I see,’ said Raven, shooing the children off with a wave of his hand. Then turning to Vidushi he said, ‘Walk with me. I wish to speak to you.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Vidushi replied, walking alongside him.

‘Are you happy, Vidushi?’

‘Very,’ Vidushi replied. ‘And sir …’ she gushed.