Flame Tree Road (37 page)

The feverish excitement of Durga Puja was so catching it even permeated the somber offices of the British government. The
belayti
bosses loosened their shirt collars and ambled off to the polo club for long gin lunches, after which they rarely came back to work, which left the
babus
to chat animatedly all day long without doing a spot of work.

The day following the waxing of the moon, the goddess Durga arrived in all her splendid glory to the sound of earsplitting drums. Made of molded clay and festooned in red and gold, she had blazing eyes and streaming black hair that cascaded down to her ankles. Seated atop a fearsome lion, she towered over four lesser deities, and in each of her ten hands she held a different weapon of war. Her long trident was plunged into the side of a monstrous buffalo, from whose body emerged an ugly demon. The goddess Durga symbolized the powerful force of good defeating evil. The magnitude of her beauty evoked in all who gazed upon her a feeling of awe and primal love. Even though Durga Puja was a Hindu festival, the entire population of the town—Hindu, Muslim and Christian—were agog with excitement.

The Bengali Puja Association hosted a free lunch for the entire community on all five days. Maya, fresh from her bath, wearing a crisp new sari with jasmine garlands in her hair, left the house early to help with the floral decorations at the
pandal
. The holy food, which was cooked in large vats by Brahmins, was offered first to the gods, and then ladled out on banana leaves to the masses.

All morning, Biren lazed around the house in his pajamas drinking tea. At noon he bathed and changed into a traditional pleated dhoti and kurta of raw silk, while Buri Kaki dressed Moni in one of her fancy new frocks and fussed with the ribbons in her hair before they headed out to the
puja
pandal
. The sound of the
dhaak
was earsplitting, to which was added the mournful lowing of conch horns interspersed with the melodious Vedic chant of the priest. Biren lifted Moni up on his shoulders so she could watch the
dhanachi
dancers, who twirled like dervishes holding earthen pots of burning camphor and coconut husk in trails of thick, scented smoke.

A pathway was cleared for Reginald Thompson as he arrived to see the festivities. He was accompanied by his tall, pale wife—coincidentally called Regina—their two little daughters and their ayah. The older girl, Enid, wore colorful Indian bangles on both her hands, which she admired from time to time by moving them up and down her wrists. Reginald Thomson almost did not recognize Biren in his Indian clothes. His face softened to see little Moni perched on Biren’s shoulders.

“Hello, little one,” he said kindly.

“What a pretty dress,” said Regina, touching Moni’s cheek lightly. Moni shrank back and stared with big round eyes from one pink face to other.

Behind the
puja
pandal
, a village fair was in full swing. Festoons, balloons, toys and cotton candy left children breathless and the adults glassy-eyed. Moni ate pink cotton candy and rode a creaky Ferris wheel with Biren, while Maya, unwilling to be drawn into such foolishness, waited. All the frolicking ended when Moni gushed up fluorescent pink vomit all over her pretty dress. Maya rushed her off to a tea stall to find water for an emergency cleanup while Biren waited and smoked a cigarette. He saw a familiar face in the crowd. It was Chaya from the weavers’ village wearing a leaf-green sari with a garland of marigold around her hair. She was with Yosef, who pulled her by the hand. She lurched along laughing and they disappeared into the crowd.

“I saw Chaya,” he told Maya when she returned. “She was with that Yosef.”

Maya frowned. “That is taking a big risk,” she said. “She should not be seen in public with him. Somebody from their village might report them to her father.”

“Hopefully nobody will see them,” said Biren. “There are thousands of people here.” He looked at Moni, whose dress was completely drenched. Her teeth chattered. “Did you bring something warm for her, a shawl or something?”

“I did not think of it,” Maya said. “It was so hot during the day.”

“I think we should go home. Otherwise, she will catch a cold.”

On the rickshaw ride back home Moni nodded off on Biren’s lap, clutching a twirling paper turbine in her hand. They passed a dark patch with the fireflies winking in the bamboo grove. He slipped his arm around Maya’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. How sweet it was to feel the softness of her skin, to smell the smoke and incense in her hair. He was so lucky. He thought of Chaya and her young lover. It would be cruel if fate were to deny them a life together.

CHAPTER

56

On the final day of Durga Puja, a big noisy procession passed by Biren’s house on their way to the river for the immersion ceremony. First came the four
dhaakis
beating their barrel-shaped drums, followed by the dancing crowds, then the goddess herself carried aloft on long bamboo poles on the shoulders of a dozen swarthy men.

Biren picked up Moni and followed them to the river. One by one the devotees touched the feet of the deity, and many were tearful as they bid the beautiful goddess farewell. Moni struggled and kicked to be set down. Finally the goddess was lowered gently into the river, where she submerged bit by bit with all her finery, until only her lovely face with the big staring eyes remained. Then even that disappeared as she sank slowly under the water. A great pall of gloom descended on the crowd as they watched the marigold garlands and flowers swirl away with the river current. Biren turned to pick up Moni and didn’t see her. He felt a stab of panic, but thank God, there she was a short distance away, bending down to touch a small green coconut.

He rushed over, swooped her up in his arms and shook her. “Don’t ever leave Baba’s side, do you hear me?” he shouted.

The roughness of his voice surprised her and her face began to pucker. Moni looked flushed, her eyes feverish. Biren felt her forehead; it was unnaturally warm.

He rushed her back to the house and was surprised to find Maya lying in bed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Don’t you feel well?”

“I think I caught a cold,” she said. Her voice sounded clogged and stuffy.

“This
maiyya
has one, too,” he said, setting Moni down on the bed. She crawled under her mother’s blanket. “She has been coughing since you hosed her down at the fair yesterday.”

Maya pushed back Moni’s hair and kissed her forehead.

“I think we all need rest,” she said. “Five days of nonstop excitement is just too much.”

“The whole town will be ill now.” Biren sighed. “The post–Durga Puja collapse. This happens every year. None of the
babus
will come to work tomorrow, just you see.”

“Please eat your dinner. I don’t want any,” Maya said. She looked at Moni fast asleep beside her and gently pried her thumb from her mouth. “I don’t think she will eat anything, either.”

Biren leaned over and felt Maya’s forehead. “I hope you are not running a fever,” he said anxiously, looking into her eyes. He felt her feet. “Why are your feet so cold? Shall I put on my socks for you?”

“No, no, I am all right, please. I just need to rest,” she said.

He smoothed back her hair. “Yes, you must rest,” he said, “because we leave for Calcutta a month from now. You and Moni must be fit for the journey.” He tucked an extra shawl around them both. “I will be in my study. Call me if you need anything,” he said. He went out and closed the door softly behind him.

* * *

A few days later Moni recovered, but Maya was still running a low fever. She lost her appetite, had the night chills, tossed and turned and woke up looking gray and tired. Her skin lost its luster and her hair hung lank and stringy. Alarmed at her rapid deterioration, Biren called the doctor.

Dr. Ghosh was an old friend of Jatin Nandi’s. A kindly man given to pleasantries, he had seen Maya since she was a little girl. He said the fever was a virus, which would run its natural course. He pulled down Maya’s eyelids, declared her anemic and prescribed a diet of ripe mashed banana, almonds soaked in milk and beetroot juice in small quantities, several times a day.

“Egg yolk, liver and spinach are all iron-rich foods,” he added.

“But she is not eating at all,” Biren complained, looking at Maya sitting up in bed. Her tea on the side table had turned cold.

“I will prescribe a tonic,” said Dr. Ghosh, folding his stethoscope and placing it inside his medical valise. “It will help her regain her appetite.”

Biren walked the doctor to the gate. “Will she be well enough to travel?” he asked. “I have steamer tickets booked for Calcutta a month from today.”

“With plenty of rest and her new diet she should be fine,” said the doctor. “Please pick up the medicine from my clinic this evening. My compounder
babu
will have it ready for you. She should take it three times a day before her meals. Rest assured, she will be well.”

* * *

Biren monitored Maya’s diet diligently. He cajoled her to eat raw egg yolk mixed with honey, and small pieces of toast with the liver pâté that Regina Thompson had sent after hearing about Maya’s anemia. Nothing seemed to work. Some days she looked better, but it was always followed by a relapse. There was just one week left before their journey and Maya still had not recovered.

Biren was in a quandary. He had a critical meeting with the executive council of the governor-general to present his final proposal for the education program. It had been set up a whole year in advance, and Reginald Thompson had used all his connections and pulled the right strings to get Biren this appointment. The plan was for Moni and Maya to spend a few days in Chandanagore with Nitin’s family while Biren took care of business in Calcutta, after which they would all enjoy the Christmas lights in the city before returning home.

Maya was certainly not fit to travel, and he worried about leaving her in Silchar. When he voiced his concerns, she was adamant.

“No!” she cried, clutching his hand. “You must go. This opportunity may never come again. Reginald Thompson went through a lot of trouble to secure this meeting with McCauley for you.”

“But how can I leave you in this state, Maya?” Biren spoke in a choked voice. He took her hand in his own. How limp it felt, her fingers so cold. He rubbed her hand between his own, wishing he could pass some of his strength on to her. Maya was a shadow of her former self. Her gray-green eyes looked enormous in her small face. “Let’s give it till the end of the week, then we can decide,” he said.

“You must go to Calcutta,” she said firmly, pulling her hand away. “I won’t have it any other way. You are not going to cancel your trip because of me.” Some of that old fire was back in her eyes. She struggled to sit up. Biren adjusted the pillow behind her back and helped her.

“How can I leave you here with Buri Kaki? She is getting very old and forgetful. I cannot rely on her to give you your medicine. If your father were still in Silchar, it would have been different. You could have stayed with him. I don’t care what you say but I am not comfortable leaving you alone here with the child. I would be worried all the time.”

“Tell me,” she said, clutching his arm, “how long have you waited for this meeting? Years and years, yes? All those trips to Calcutta, all those preliminary meetings. And now you want to cancel the final meeting just because I have a little fever? It’s a virus. It will pass. Now, if I promise to eat that raw egg, liver paste and whatever else Dr. Ghosh has asked me to eat, will you go?”

Biren did not answer. He got up and paced around the room.

“All right,” Maya continued, “let’s add dates to my menu.
I will eat dates!
Are you listening? You know how I hate dates, but yes, I will eat them, if you agree to go. Oh...” She sank back, closing her eyes, exhausted. “What is the use of talking to you? I don’t think you are even listening.”

“I am listening, Maya, I am listening.”

“Do you know something?” she said suddenly. “You are being very unfair to me.”

“Unfair to
you
?” Biren said, startled. “How?”

“Because if you miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, I will have the guilt sitting on
my
head for the rest of my life. I will blame myself for dashing your dreams. And it’s not just your dreams. What about the dreams of all the young girls waiting to go to school? How can you do this to them? You are putting a heavy burden on me, really, you are. This is not fair.”

“What is not fair is that you are emotionally blackmailing,” said Biren. “And who is to say this opportunity won’t come again? The meeting will just have to be rescheduled. I will send a telegram to McCauley saying my wife is serious...”

“Serious?” Maya’s voice rose an octave. “Dr. Ghosh himself said the fever is just a virus. The virus has to run its course. Some viruses take a little more time than others.”

“It has already been three weeks, Maya. I have not seen any signs of improvement. I cannot leave you in this condition. There are no neighbors nearby. If the doctor has to be called in the night, who will go? Please be sensible. I don’t want any arguments about this.”