Before We Visit the Goddess (6 page)

“So this is your daughter?” She frowned at Bela, who was playing quietly, as was her habit, with her dolls. She did not compliment the child, though Bela was beautiful, even more so this day, with bright ribbons in her wavy hair. But Sabitri would not allow herself to be upset. She adjusted her sari, making sure her gold bangles tinkled, and said brightly, familiarly, “But Auntie, you must have many grandchildren by now!”

Leelamoyi's face grew dark as iron. She launched into a tirade about her daughter-in-law. What a mistake they had made in choosing that spoiled, useless rich girl. Couldn't produce an heir. Refused to live with the Mittirs even though they remodeled the entire third floor for her, Western-style toilets and all. Turned Rajiv against his parents so that he moved out within six months of marriage—abandoning the home of his forefathers, can you believe that?—to live in a fancy new house in Gariahat that his wife's father bought her. That's what caused Mittir Moshai's heart attack, Leelamoyi was sure of it.

The maid did not arrive. Leelamoyi shouted invectives, wandered into other spaces. “That girl, a witch, a murderer, can you believe, she took all the wedding jewelry when she left, my own jewelry that I had gifted her! When I tried to stop her, she said, hire a lawyer if you want it back. And Rajiv—he didn't even have the guts to stand up to her and support me.”

Rajiv had made a mess of the hospital, too, Leelamoyi went on to say. Oh, life had given her more than her share of trials. But at least he stopped by to see her once in a while. Where was that idiot maid, that Khyama, who should be bringing snacks? No, she said with a scowl, Paro was no longer with her. She offered no details.

Sabitri smiled the kind, charming smile she had practiced. She assured Leelamoyi that they did not need a snack. They had had an ample breakfast. She directed Leelamoyi's attention to the platter.
Look, Auntie, your favorite sweets.
The older woman scrabbled for a sandesh, then another one. She smiled slyly and confessed that she had high blood sugar; the doctor had decreed that she must not indulge. But what other pleasure was left in an old woman's life?

“Durga,” she said with a sigh, “you always did make the best sweets. You should have opened a shop of your own.”

A dizziness assailed Sabitri at being called by her mother's name. Her smile fell away. Once again, Leelamoyi had forgotten who she was. How could you avenge yourself against such oblivion?

“I have to leave now,” Sabitri said. She had intended to mention that her car would be waiting downstairs, but she no longer had the energy.

“Stay a little longer,” Leelamoyi implored. When Sabitri apologized, she gave an angry laugh. “Yes, yes, I know. No one likes being around sick people. Even my own son is always in a hurry to leave. . . . At least help me sit up straighter before you go.”

Sabitri felt a great reluctance to touch her, but out of old habit she found herself obeying. She placed her hands gingerly under Leelamoyi's armpits and pulled. It was like lifting a sack. Traces of sweat were left on her fingers. A smell of staleness, like rotten eggs. It was all she could do not to rush out to find a tap and wash it off.

“Turn on the radio,” Leelamoyi ordered. A program of devotional songs came on. “Who would have thought I'd turn religious! Age does strange things to us. Ah, you'll come to it, too, soon enough. Bring the girl near me. I want to see her hair.” She put out a greedy hand.

Downstairs, sitting on a bench in the dark passageway, I couldn't stop trembling. The car wasn't back yet—I knew it wouldn't be. But Granddaughter, I couldn't have stood that room, its bitter odors of disease and rage, for another second. It had been a mistake, coming here to gloat. I had wanted Leelamoyi to regret that she didn't let Rajiv marry me, to see that I would have made a far better daughter-in-law than the one she chose. But now I felt only shame. Shame, and disgust at myself for using my daughter in this game. I promised myself I would never set foot in this house again.

One good thing had come out of all this. I'd exorcised a demon. I would no longer lie awake at night, remembering Leelamoyi's twisted face as she called me a whore. I would no longer hold conversations in my head, all the things I'd been too young and afraid to say at that time. I am a good person. I did nothing wrong. He loves me. I love him. I will make him happy because I am the only one to whom he can say what's in his heart.

There was another thing, Tara. As Leelamoyi spoke of Rajiv, I began to see him differently. All these years I'd been blinded by the longing we feel for what is snatched from us. Now I realized that he had been weak and pampered, too weak to stand up for me. He must have known that his mother had thrown me out of the house. But he hadn't even inquired after me. Even if he was in a different city, it would have been easy enough to ask a friend to go to the college and find out what had happened.

A fumbling at the door. The driver had arrived, thank God. Sabitri started gathering Bela's dolls.

But it was not the driver. It was Rajiv—as though she had conjured him up with her thinking. She recognized him at once, though he was heavier now. He wore expensive clothes, more expensive even than the fine white shirts of old, which Sabitri had sometimes unbuttoned so she could lay her head upon his chest. Once, to celebrate a promotion, she had taken Bijan to New Market to buy him a shirt like that, but he had shaken his head with a laugh.
Something that expensive would burn my skin
. He had walked out, not caring that the salesmen stared at him.

Sabitri pulled the edge of her sari over her head. She would leave now. Leave and wait on the road. That was best. But as she passed Rajiv, she glanced up. She couldn't help it. Ah, that face, those once-loved lips. How the useless past tugged at you, unsteadying the breath. Was that discontent in his heavy jowls? In the droop of his mouth, a sorrow? Surely it was disillusionment she saw in the circles under his eyes.

Nonsense. She was imagining things to suit her fancy.

“Tri!” Rajiv exclaimed, peering at her. His face, filled with incredulous hope, was young again for a moment before the years came rushing mercilessly back. “God, God, is it really you? No, don't go, please, give me just a minute.” But he need not have begged. The special name he had coined for her had struck her at the core, rendering her immobile. “I can't tell you how often I've thought of you. How I've imagined—hoped—that I'd see you again—” He stammered to a stop. Were those tears on his lashes? He still had those ridiculously long lashes, like a girl's. “You must have been—must still be—furious with me—” He grasped her wrists with a suddenness that sent a wave of remembered fire up her body. He was kissing her hands, his lips on the pulse at one wrist, then the other. How long it had been. “I can see you're happily married—with a lovely child.” There was hunger in his voice. “I don't want to cause trouble. Just give me another minute of your time—a chance to apologize. To explain what they did to me. Please—”

“Don't,” Sabitri said. “My driver will be here any minute.” But her voice shook, and she did not pull her hands away.

His words surrounded her like a dust storm. She could see Bela staring at him, openmouthed. Once in a while, she picked bits out of the roaring:
Crazy with worry locked up at my uncle's not even a phone ran away but they caught me taken straight to the wedding hated her for it hated them all—

In the early months of her marriage, if Rajiv had come to her, she would have walked out with him. Even if he had not told her all this. She would have lived as his mistress, not caring if she blackened her family's name beyond all salvaging.

Granddaughter, here is my most terrible secret: even after I gave birth to Bela, I would have done it.

She shook her hands from his grip. It was easier than she'd expected. He was a weak man, after all. She wished to say,
You could have found me, if you had really wanted to.
But it no longer mattered. Better to say,
I love my husband
. Because that—she was surprised to discover it—was the truth. How long had it been true?

Finally she walked away in silence, Rajiv no longer worth wasting words on. Her chest was full of the new truth's brightness. Emerging into the hot yellow sunshine was like being born. Under her fingertips her daughter's shoulder bones were fragile, magical wings.

There was the car, waiting, with someone in the back seat. Bijan. Her heart flung itself around her body. How long had he been there? What had he seen?

But Bijan was exuberant with success. The morning's meeting had gone excellently. He had negotiated a better deal than anyone had hoped. A significant bonus would be forthcoming. He had decided to celebrate by taking the rest of the day off. How would they like a trip to the Grand Hotel for ice cream, and then the zoo? He sat in the middle of the car like a king, his arms around them, beaming beneficently at his beautiful girls. Bela was telling Bijan about the dirty staircase and strange old lady who kept touching her hair and how hungry she was because the lady didn't give them anything to eat, didn't share even one of Mamoni's delicious sweets. She might just starve to death before they reached the Grand. Sabitri rested her head on Bijan's shoulder, weak with relief, and smiled at Bela's theatrics. The child had widened her eyes and slumped on the seat, saying that she had to have three scoops of ice cream. Could she? Could she, please? How blessed Sabitri was to have this family. From this moment on, she was going to be the best wife and mother to them.

“Yes, you can have three scoops,” she said. “Just don't throw up afterwards.”

It was the happiest moment of her life.

She wants to write all this to Tara, but she is so tired. Her fingers are cramping. They've been cramping for a while, she realizes, even the fingers of her left hand. It's almost dawn, the jackals long vanished, a couple of overeager roosters beginning to crow. She must lay her head on the table; it's grown too heavy to hold up. She places her cheek against the gouge and remembers, suddenly, its genesis. Bela had slashed the wood with her favorite Parker fountain pen, which Sabitri had saved for months to gift her with when she entered college, ruining both pen and table. This, because Sabitri had insisted that Bela stop seeing the man she was in love with, a man who would later entice her into running away to America. Who would not let her see her mother again. A man who—Sabitri had known this in every vibrating nerve of her body—was utterly wrong for her.

“Your father, Tara,” she whispers. “That was him. And now he's abandoned you both, hasn't he? Is that why you're dropping out of college? Why you won't talk to him?”

Oh, this mess, it's beyond her powers to fix. She longs to close her eyes; she's finding it hard to focus. Who is that in a dark corner? Is it her granddaughter? And behind her, could that be Bela? Shadows with blank ovals for faces, waiting for her wisdom—as if she had any to give! Or was it her dead baby, the boy she had named Harsha, bringer of joy, hoping he would buy her a second chance? But no. He had left her long ago.

Sleep. She hungers for it with her entire being.

But first she must write something, because finally she knows what she needs to say. She forces her hand forward, grasps the pen.

But that moment in the car wasn't the happiest moment of my life. Just like it hadn't been so on the starlit terrace with Rajiv. My happiest moment would come much later. After Bijan's drinking problem, my widowhood. After baby Harsha flew away. After all my troubles with your mother. I had opened Durga Sweets by then. How Leelamoyi would have writhed in rage if she knew that she'd been the one to plant the idea in some secret chamber of my being! It had been tough going, the first few years. But with the help of Bipin Bihari—ah, what a support he had been—I'd finally managed to turn the store into a profitable concern.