Monsoon Memories (30 page)

‘I cannot imagine how it must have been for you, Shirin, saying goodbye to your family, coming home with us,’ Vinod said softly.

She was glad they were finally talking about all this, even though it had been eleven years in coming. ‘It was nerve-wracking,’ she said, remembering…

When the car stopped in a cloud of dust, outside the gates of Vinod’s home,
her
new home, Shirin felt claustrophobic. She was missing her parents, brother, sister and Madhu, to whom she had bid goodbye, and was worrying about the night to come. She had travelled with Vinod, his father and mother. Prem was nowhere to be seen, and for this, Shirin was glad.

Cows, stray dogs and people milled around even at this time of night, some of them fast asleep on rags which passed for mattresses beside the gutter by the side of the street, snoring without a care in the world, one hand busy, even in sleep, squatting flies. The ones who were awake looked curiously at her, decked in her bridal sado and dripping with jewellery, and as she got out of the car, approached, begging for alms. ‘Amma, Amma, I haven’t eaten all day. Give me a few paise, Amma. God will bless you always.’

‘Go away. Shoo!’ Vinod’s father muttered, closing the gates.

Vinod’s mother was already opening the front door. ‘Wait,’ she said as Vinod made to lead Shirin inside. She retrieved a stainless-steel thali filled with rice grains from where she must have left it, behind the front door, before she left for her son’s wedding. ‘You have to step on this as you come into our house. It’s supposed to bring good luck.’

Afterwards, Shirin and Vinod had to kneel in front of the altar, which took pride of place in the living room, and pray for a long and happy married life. When it was over, Vinod led Shirin into their bedroom.

Shirin was shaking with nerves. Vinod must have sensed this. Once inside, he locked the door behind him and turning to her, smiled shyly, ‘I am new to this too. And, like you, I am extremely nervous.’

Shirin laughed, slightly hysterically.

Gently, Vinod walked up to where she was standing, backed up against the wall. He led her to the bed. She looked at him, not knowing what to do, what was expected of her. She knew what was coming of course. She just didn’t know how to get from
now
to
then
. Should she take off her clothes? Wouldn’t it look wanton? She was not comfortable with her body, with its excess flesh in the wrong places. And with Vinod watching...

He smiled softly. ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘How do you wear your hair when you sleep?’

‘Loose,’ she whispered.

‘Then let me help you get rid of these.’ He touched the flowers in her hair.

‘Oh...’ She had forgotten about them. ‘Thank you.’ She was overcome with shyness and something else: a thrill of excitement; a sliver of desire, as he tenderly touched her hair, gently removing all the pins and flowers. With great care, so as not to hurt her, he worked her plait loose. His touch was so soft, so deliciously alien.

‘You’ve got beautiful hair. It’s so thick,’ he said, running his fingers down her hair, his voice a caress.

Desire intensified, became want and longing. She closed her eyes. ‘It feels so light. I had forgotten how heavy the flowers were,’ she whispered.

‘Do you want to go to the bathroom and change from that sari?’ Vinod asked.

Trembling, she nodded.

She was very shy to come out in her nightdress, and hesitated for a long time behind the door of the bathroom.

When she did step out, Vinod smiled at her. ‘You are beautiful,’ he said softly.

Nobody had ever called her beautiful before, not the way he did, like he meant it.

‘Really?’ she wanted to ask, but couldn’t form the words. By the time she was able to speak, he was in the bathroom.

Shirin waited for him, perched on the edge of the bed. Her tiredness had fled, to be replaced by a tingly anticipation. She had read all about what would happen next in one of the forbidden books from the library, but worried that she would be found wanting in some way. She had dieted before the wedding but she was still overweight. Vinod had said she was beautiful but would he still find her so with no clothes on? What about that ugly scar on her left thigh, the scabs on her knees?

Her stomach dipped as the bathroom latch turned and Vinod came out in his pyjamas. She couldn’t look at him. She felt the springs sag as he sat beside her on the bed. He smelled fresh; of Liril soap and something else, something musky. Shirin’s heart was beating so loudly she was sure he could hear it. Gently he placed his hand on top of Shirin’s, sending shivers down her spine. She had read about this feeling too. She closed her eyes.

‘I know, Shirin. I am exhausted too.’

Shirin’s eyes flew open. Did he think she was tired? No.

‘Shall we lie down, maybe just hold each other and get used to each other tonight? I have waited this long for you. I don’t mind waiting a little longer.’

No. No. You’ve got the wrong end of the stick, thought Shirin. But how could she say it out loud without appearing loose, like one of
those
women?

She lay still in Vinod’s unfamiliar arms until his breathing steadied and she was sure he had fallen asleep. Then she turned and looked at him: this stranger who was now her husband. His mouth was slightly open and soft little sighs escaped it. How could he sleep? Didn’t he desire her?
She
desired him. Her whole body was tingling, aching. Lying in his arms was torture. ‘You are beautiful,’ he had said. ‘I have waited this long for you.’ Then why hadn’t he pulled off her nightie and devoured her, like the heroes did in books and movies?

Why hadn’t he kissed her?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Girl in Pigtails

A
unt Anita confronted Deepak at dinner that evening.

She came to the table
sans
sunglasses and winked at Reena as she sat down, and Reena knew then. She had received a reply.

‘Aunty…’ Reena began.

A finger to her lips, ‘Shh…’

She complimented Preeti on the mackerel fry and laughed at something Deepak said even though it wasn’t remotely funny. Deepak leaned back in his chair, chewed his mouthful and regarded his sister quizzically. ‘I know Uttam called and things are fine between the two of you. But there’s something else, isn’t there? What are you not telling us, Anu?’

Aunt Anita laughed, ‘I’ll tell you, then. I got an email, after eleven years, from someone I was instructed to forget.’

A shocked silence around the table.
I was right. The email was from Aunt Shirin.
Reena watched her father’s face flood red, his eyes settle first on Reena (was that fear she saw in them?)—the same expression echoed in her mother’s gaze, huge eyes in a face drained of colour—and then turn to her aunt. Her father opened his mouth a couple of times before he found his voice, ‘Anu, what is the meaning of this? How dare you bring this up in
my
house, at
my
table?’

‘She contacted me, Deepak,’ her aunt’s voice soft. Gentle even. ‘She wants to come back.’

Spot On, Super Sleuth.

‘No.’
Bang
. Deepak’s hand on the table, spilling the rice, overturning the glasses. Water spilling onto the tablecloth, the stain seeping dark red, like blood. Her dad’s panicked glance on her again. ‘Reena, go to your room.’

‘Deepak, she…’ Aunt Anita said.

‘Reena, I said,
go to your room
!’ Her dad yelling, voice laced with dread. Why? That sinking feeling she had had when she read the last letter, which she had tried to dispel and almost succeeded, returned.

‘She knows about Shirin,’ Aunt Anita said.

Her parents turned to her as one, their eyes wide. ‘What? How?’ barked her dad.

‘Deepak.’ Her mother’s hand on his arm, trying to calm him. Her mother’s face white, pinched.

‘I found a photograph when we visited Taipur last month.’ Reena whispered.

‘What photograph? I thought they had all been destroyed.’ Her dad’s voice gruff.

‘It was of the three of you when you were my age. It was hidden behind one of the other pictures.’

Deepak and Preeti exchanged glances. ‘What do you know about Shirin?’

‘She doesn’t know anything, Deepak. Just that she was our sibling. And I showed her some letters Shirin wrote me,’ Aunt Anita said.

Why were her parents so afraid? What didn’t they want her to know?

‘Deepak, you cannot hide it from her forever…’ Aunt Anita said.

Murli’s words echoing in her head, ‘Perhaps they are all protecting you.’ She felt tired suddenly, scared. She wanted her mum.

‘I will if I have to.’ Her dad lowering himself onto a chair like an old man, cradling his head in his hands.

As if she’d read Reena’s mind, her mother came up to her, put her arm round her, led her to her room, tucked her into bed. Her mother’s face pale as she bent close, her kiss laced with fear.
Mum, why are you and Dad so afraid of Aunt Shirin? What is it you are hiding from me?
And in the next instant,
I don’t want to know. I’d rather not know.
And,
Super Sleuth, where’s your courage?
The words of
Shirin’s last letter floated before her: ‘No one to carry on the family name, the long line of Taipur Diazes.’ Who was she then? Who was Reena Diaz, Super Sleuth?
Who am I, Mum?

Raised voices filtering in from the dining room, the argument still going strong. Her dad’s voice: ‘Do you know what this will do to Ma?’ Aunt Anita’s, trembling with indignation, ‘All you care about is Ma and her blasted status in bloody Taipur society… I talked to Ma.’

A startled pause, and then, her dad, ‘What?’

‘When Shirin’s email came, I called Ma. I… I wanted to know how she felt.’

‘And?’

‘Ma is weary, Deepak. She doesn’t care about status as much as she used to. She is getting old and she… she wants Shirin back. “What use this status,” she said, “when I miss her so?” Those were her exact words. She said she tried to tell you this when you went to Taipur in September.’

‘She might have…’ Her dad’s voice defensive.

‘I know it’s hard, Deepak, given the circumstances,’ Aunt Anita’s voice was gentle. ‘Have you once thought about what Shirin went through, is still going through?’

Her dad, defeated: ‘She
didn’t want Reena to know. She was adamant. Why this sudden change of heart?’

Her aunt’s voice, soft: ‘She just wants to come home, Deepak.’

She didn’t want me to know what?
The bed creaking as her mother settled in beside her, holding her close, her spiced breath warm on Reena’s cheek. The casebook under her pillow, a hard damning lump.
Super Sleuth, what have you unearthed?

* * *

The phone rang, shrill, demanding, refusing to stop, dragging Reena out of a sleep populated by visions of a girl in pigtails playing hopscotch, who, when the dust cleared, and her face—Reena’s—was revealed, parroted, ‘They’re protecting you,’ like a robot. The argument between her dad and Aunt Anita had continued late into the night. Reena had drifted in and out of slumber, anchored by her mother’s arms, raised voices filtering into her dreams, turning them into nightmares. She wondered when they’d stopped arguing, called it a night, gone to bed. She blinked at the bedside clock. 3:25 a.m. Reena heard her parents’ bedroom door open, her father curse as he stubbed his toe on the door stopper, his voice thick with sleep, ‘Hello?’ And then, louder, shot through with panic, ‘Madhu?’

Reena sat up, wide awake. Her mother was already at the door, going to Deepak. Madhu? Why was Madhu calling and not Mai? Why was she calling in the middle of the night? Madhu had never called, ever. She didn’t know their number. She was illiterate, she couldn’t read.

She heard Aunt Anita’s door creak open, the soft swish of her nightgown sweeping the floor. ‘Deepak, what…’

On jelly legs, she walked to where her mother and Aunt Anita clustered around her dad at the phone, and her mother, face drawn, eyes wide with worry, put her arm around her, pulled her close.

‘What riots?’ Her father yelled. ‘Riots! In Taipur?’

Slowly Deepak put the phone down and sank into the chair Preeti had pulled out for him. He ran his hand through his hair.

‘What happened?’ Aunt Anita asked the question Reena had been afraid to.

‘There were riots in Taipur. It started off as a harmless fight between college boys and escalated into violence as these things do, with Hindus and Muslims blaming each other.’

‘It’s been building up. There’ve been lots of little incidents, petty fights between the Hindus and Muslims. When we were there last month we witnessed one in front of Aashirwad...’ Her mum wrung her hands.

‘Never mind that. Why is Madhu calling now? Is Ma...?’ Anita interjected.

‘They set fire to buildings, burnt down buses in Mirakatte. The parish council from the church intervened, trying to make peace. So last night, they burnt down the church hall while the parish meeting was in progress. Old Mr D’Sa is the only one who succumbed. Ma is seriously injured. She’s in hospital. One of the nuns looked up our number and dialled it for Madhu.’ Deepak’s voice was shaky, disbelieving.

He stopped, as if afraid to continue. He looked first at Preeti, then Anita and finally his gaze settled on Reena. He looked at her for a long time, and then he looked down at his hands.

Then, so quietly that it was just a whisper, he said, ‘She’s delirious. She keeps saying one word over and over.’

‘What, Deepak?’ Aunt Anita’s voice was harsh with worry.

‘Shirin. She’s asking for Shirin.’

In the silence that ensued, Reena watched an intrepid ant make its way across the dining table carrying a grain of basmati rice twice its size on its back.

‘Coincidence,’ Aunt Anita whispered, her eyes on Deepak. ‘Karma, as the Hindus say.’

Silently, her dad handed Aunt Anita the phone. Aunt Anita’s hands shook as she took it from him. ‘Her number… It was in her email.’

A pause as she looked Shirin’s number up, dialled and put the phone to her ear. A pause that felt like eternity.
Pick up, Aunt Shirin. Please.
Aunt Shirin jolted out of sleep by her phone ringing. Her sister’s voice inhabiting the darkness of her snug bedroom after eleven years of silence. ‘Come home.’ The girl in pigtails from her dream swam before Reena’s eyes: ‘Bring me home, please.’