Authors: Mitali Perkins
Secret Keeper (23 page)
W
HEN THE TAXI DROPPED THEM AT
K
AVITA’S HOUSE, IT WAS
past midnight, but Asha’s friend greeted them rapturously. “Auntie, Osh, we’re so glad you’re here. Is Reet really married? I can hardly believe it. I want to hear all about it.”
“You must be tired, Kavi,” Asha said. “It’s so late. We’ll talk in the morning.”
Kavita’s parents were waiting up also. “We’re honored to have you, Sumitra. And your daughter, too. Thank you for accepting our invitation.”
“Thank you so much for hosting us,” Ma replied in her hesitant English.
“Oh, two packages came for you, Osh,” Kavita said. “I’ve left them in your room. One was as heavy as a human being. I asked the servants to be extra careful with it because it was marked fragile.”
After Kavita’s family said good night, Ma went to take a bath and wash the traveling dust away. Asha followed a servant into the guest room, where he placed their suitcases, turned down the twin beds, and brought in a pitcher of drinking water with two glasses.
When she was finally alone, Asha took a closer look at the two packages. The smaller one was from Calcutta, and Reet’s handwriting was all over it. Her sister must have sent it a week or so ago for it to arrive before they did.
The other, much larger package had been sent by courier from a gallery in Delhi. Asha could guess what was inside, but she opened her sister’s gift first. It was a diary, with a key, just like the ones Baba had always found. Asha hugged and kissed it as though it were alive.
“Nineteen seventy- five, at last,” she whispered.
She turned to the heavy, flat package that was leaning against a wall. Carefully removing the brown paper and twine, she set it all aside neatly and didn’t peek until it was fully uncovered.
Then, and only then, she allowed herself to see it.
And lost her breath.
It was Asha Gupta.
But not really.
Or maybe it was.
Jay had sent a portrait of a young woman on a Calcutta roof, dressed in a moss- green salwar kameez embroidered with tiny white flowers, her silky, sunlit hair tousled by the wind. She was graceful, lovely, her expression so sweet it hurt Asha to look at it. But the girl had power, too, a strength that was obvious in the line of her jaw, the
bend of her elbow, the fingers that clutched the pen tightly.
The entire canvas was painted with such care and detail that Asha felt as if she, too, were forced to gaze with love and desire at this unknown young woman. Just as the painter must have.
The name of the portrait was engraved across the bottom of the frame.
The Secret,
Jay had titled it, and Asha knew she would keep it forever.
I
WAS BORN IN
K
OLKATA,
I
NDIA, THE CITY WHERE MOST OF
Asha’s story takes place, to parents who migrated there from East Bengal (now Bangladesh) during the 1947 partition of India and Pakistan. The U.S. National Origins Act of 1965 raised the quota of Asian immigrants to twenty thousand people a year, matching the number admitted from European countries. However, most Indian professionals only started coming in the 1970s-as did my father, who headed to New York to seek an engineering job. Unlike Asha, I joined him, along with my mother and two older sisters, when I was seven years old. I became an American citizen when I was seventeen.
The country of my birth was ruled by the British for two centuries before winning independence in 1947 (immediately followed by the above- mentioned partition), so India’s
schools, government, hospitals, roads, and railroads are modeled after the United Kingdom’s. Even today, Indians use English as an informal lingua franca and learn it in school along with Hindi, the official national language. Most also speak yet another language as their mother tongue, one of the twenty- one major languages or dozens of regional dialects.
The 1970s were a difficult time for India’s young democracy. The country’s army fought and defeated Pakistan’s army in 1971 at great cost, crops failed in 1972 and 1973, and industries followed suit thanks to skyrocketing world oil prices during 1973 and 1974. Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s government, struggling to stay in power and keep the country from disintegrating into conflict, took over the banks, passed strict land reform laws, and moved the country toward socialism. India drew closer to Russia and moved away from America. With strikes and civil disobedience on the rise, Gandhi declared a state of national emergency in June 1977, and suspended civil rights for almost two years. The government threw thousands of people into prison, forced many to be sterilized against their will, froze wages, and evicted urban squatters and slum dwellers.
Secret Keeper
is set in that time of uncertainty and chaos.
Indian cities today are completely different places, thanks to new technologies, an educated workforce, and an increasingly open economic climate. Women are entering the job market in droves, and urban young people creatively fuse imported cultural practices with age- old Indian customs.
Rural areas, however, are slow to change. Some of the traditions described in this novel still regulate life in Hindu
villages of Bengal. Elders are honored and cared for at home by sons, daughters- in- law, and grandchildren. The closeness of joint families provides community and prevents loneliness.
But some age- old customs make life difficult for village girls and women. Some widows, no matter their age, are expected to dress in white, give up meat, eggs, and fish, and never remarry. When a girl has her first period, she loses the freedom to roam and play and must meet rigid new expectations for her behavior and appearance. Teenagers marry men who are usually five or more years older, and some village girls bring dowries when they move to their inlaws’ homes. The marriage of an older sister is still arranged first, with exceptions proving the rule, and families pick husbands and set wedding dates after consulting astrologers. In some places, lighter skin tones continue to be overvalued, and when a third daughter like me is born to a sonless family, families still grieve.
This story was written after many teatime conversations with my parents, who freely reminisced with humor and tears as I gained insight into my heritage. Their stories enriched my imagination, and I am deeply indebted. My mother, for example, mentioned a rooftop conversation she had once with a handsome next- door neighbor. When the servants tattled to my grandmother, the door to the roof was locked and Ma’s window boarded up. As I listened, the character of Jay came leaping into my mind. I also give thanks for my two older sisters, as precious to me as Reet is to Asha, and for my husband and sons, who give me the space and grace to write.
A BENGALI FOLKTALE
In
Secret Keeper,
Asha Gupta recounts several Tuntuni stories to her extended family. This one is retold and elaborated by Mitali Perkins, but was originally written by Upendra Kishore Roy in
Tuntunir Bai,
1910.
Once upon a time Tuntuni bird wanted to lay her eggs. She found an eggplant tree in the back garden and built a cozy nest by stitching the plant’s leaves together. Soon two small baby birds were asleep in the nest. They were so small they couldn’t fly or even open their eyes. They would just open their mouths and call out “ cheen- cheen, cheen- cheen” when they were hungry
Those baby birds were safe, thanks to the thorns on the stems of the eggplant. But there were plenty of hungry animals around, so Tuntuni watched over them carefully.
Of all the animals, the cat was the most wicked, the most prideful, and the most greedy. Every day he ignored
the delicious sweet milk he was given and prowled the garden instead, gazing up at the eggplant tree, thinking,
If only I could eat Tuntuni's babies.
All he wanted was one juicy bite of those two small birds, and the feel of them gulping, gulping, gulping down his throat.
One day he came close, very, very close indeed, and asked in a careful meow, “What are you doing, dear Tuntuni?”
Tuntuni thought quickly. She knew that the cat was hungry for attention-almost more than he wanted food. She stayed on the branch close to her babies and bowed her head, saying, “What an honor to have you visit, Your Highness. I feel as though the king himself has come to see us. And what beautiful thick golden fur you have. Oh, and those whiskers! Magnificent!”
The cat went away happy-for a time, until the thought of those two juicy babies pushed away the good feeling of Tuntuni’s praises. The next day, he came again, very, very close indeed, and eyed the sleeping fledglings. Staying close to the nest, Tuntuni bowed low, addressed the cat as “King,” and showered him with more praise and admiration. Again and again the cat went away feeling happy, even though his tummy still growled.
Bit by bit, Tuntuni’s fledglings grew up, until they no longer kept their eyes shut. Soon their mother asked them, “My dear ones, can you fly now?”
The little ones answered, “Yes, Ma, we can.”
Tuntuni said, “Let’s see if you can hop over to the top branch of that tall coconut tree.”
The fledglings immediately flew over to the top branch.
Tuntuni flapped her wings in delight, smiled, and said, “Let the evil cat come now!”
After a while, the cat strolled over and said, “So, what are you up to, Tuntuni?”
He was expecting her usual royal treatment, but Tuntuni was done with that game. The bird flew low, threw a kick at the cat’s head, and said, “Get lost, you wretched creature!” Then she quickly darted away.
Snarling in rage, the cat jumped on the eggplant tree, but the nest was gone, and the thorns scratched him. He tried to climb the coconut tree, but it was so tall, he couldn’t reach either Tuntuni or the babies.
With his tail between his legs, the cat returned to his bowl of now sour milk.
Here are some Bangla words that you may already understand after reading
Secret Keeper.
BANGLA
: The national language of Bangladesh, also spoken in West Bengal, a state in India, and the fourth most widely spoken language in the world. It’s sometimes called Bengali, but the official name is Bangla. Literature and poetry are written in high Bangla, while villagers in different corners of Bengal speak dialects that differ in tone and grammar.
BENGALI:
An ethnic term used to identify Indians who originated in Bengal and speak Bangla.
BETA:
A term of affection for a son.
BHAGAVAN:
A name for the personal God.
CHANACHOOR:
A spicy, crunchy mix of fried lentils, nuts, and other goodies.
CRICKET
Considered the second most popular sport on the planet, this game is played by two teams of eleven players on an oval grass field. In the center of the field is a flat strip of ground 22 yards (20.12 meters) long called a cricket pitch.
A wicket, usually made of wood, is placed at each end of the pitch. A bowler from the fielding team, standing by one wicket, throws a hard, fist-sized ball toward the other wicket. The ball usually bounces once before reaching the batsman, a player from the opposing team, who defends the wicket with his wooden bat. Meanwhile, the other members of the bowler’s team stand around the field to retrieve the ball in an effort to stop the batsman from scoring runs and to get him out.
DAK NAM:
A nickname given to every Bengali child used at home by the extended family. Asha’s dak nam is Tuni, Reet’s is Shona, and Raj is called Beta by his parents.
DAL:
Slow- cooked lentils with spices.
DOWRY:
The gift of money, jewelry, clothing, and sometimes furniture given by a bride’s family to the groom’s family at the time of their marriage.
EESH!:
Depending on the speaker’s tone of voice, this Bangla exclamation means that something either shameful, disappointing, or disastrous has happened.
HARMONIUM:
A hand- pumped reed organ played by the musician sitting cross- legged on the floor behind the instrument. This was introduced by British missionaries to India in the mid- nineteenth century and became popular in Bengal.
KOLKATA:
A large city on the east coast of India in the state of West Bengal. The British used to call it Calcutta, but India changed the official spelling in 2001.
KURTA:
Boys and men wear this knee- length shirt over loose drawstring trousers called pajama.
LUCH1:
Round, soft, puffy bread made of fine flour, water, and salt and fried in hot oil.
PAHTHUA:
Spongy brown balls of sweetened cottage cheese drenched in syrup. A traditional Bengali sweet.
POISHA or PAISE:
An Indian coin worth a hundredth of a rupee.
PRONAM:
A greeting given to elders and important people, by bending to touch their feet with the hand and then one’s own forehead.
RICKSHAW:
A small two- wheeled vehicle used as a taxi. Sometimes it’s pulled by a human being who pedals a cycle attached to the seat carrying passengers, but if an engine is used to power it, the vehicle is called an auto- rickshaw or baby taxi.
RUPEE:
The official currency of India. One dollar was equal to forty- one rupees at the time of this writing.
SALWAR KAMEEZ:
Girls wear this three- piece outfit, which consists of a kameez, a long shirt or tunic; a salwar, or loose pajamalike trousers; and a dupatta, a long scarf or shawl.
SAMOSA:
Fried triangular pastry shells stuffed with a savory filling of spiced potatoes, onion, peas, coriander, and sometimes meat or lentils.
SAREE:
A long garment made of five to six yards of cloth that a woman wraps, pleats, and tucks around her waist and then drapes over her shoulder. It’s usually worn over a tight- fitting blouse and a petticoat.
TIK- TIKI:
A small, harmless house lizard.
TWENTY-NINE
: A popular card game involving bids and trumps played in parts of India by two teams of two people each.
