The Girl in the Garden (19 page)

“Well, I can’t exactly come inside.”

“Perhaps you could wait for my teacher to arrive. She could let you in.”

“No, no, I couldn’t do that,” I said. “Listen, you can’t tell anybody about me, okay? We could both get into big trouble.”

“You are right. Teacher wouldn’t like it. But I do not understand why. I do not want to do anything bad. Why is talking to you bad?”

“No, it’s not bad. It’s just that I’m not supposed to wander this far away from the house. My mother would be worried. She doesn’t know I’m here.”

“It must be lovely to have a mother who worries.”

Maybe she was insane, this Tulasi, but she was also nice, and we did have one thing in common—loneliness.

“I guess so,” I said. In order to break the awkward silence that had sprung up between us I pulled the mango from my pocket. “I have a present for you. Can I throw it over?”

“Yes, please.”

Scrambling to my feet, I shuffled backward, then hurled the fruit and watched it sail over the wall. It landed with a thud on the other side.

“A mango. How kind of you. Thank you, Rakhee Singh.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, pleased that I had had the foresight to bring something along.

“You said you are from Minnesota? What sort of land is that?”

“Well, it’s not really a land, it’s more like a state. I don’t know, it’s not very interesting.”

“But what does it look like? What sorts of people live there?” She sounded like a hungry child begging for food.

I tried my best to describe Minnesota—our house, Merlin, the Plainfield Clinic full of doctors, the cornfields and how they went from green to gold to brown to white as the seasons changed.

“How wonderful,” Tulasi breathed.

She kept asking me questions, weird questions, and she barely took time to process my answers, just dove into the next question: “What does the sky look like in Minnesota? Is the moon white and does it change shapes? Can you see the stars from there, too?”

After a while I started to feel exhausted, and I realized by the distant crowing of the rooster that the morning was wearing on and my absence would soon be discovered.

“I’d better go now, but I’ll come back,” I told her.

“I have an idea,” said Tulasi. “Do you think you could find a rope? You could climb over the wall. It would be like the story of Rapunzel, except my hair is not long enough. Once I tried to grow my hair out but Teacher made me cut it.”

I wondered how she knew about Rapunzel. “Yeah, I think I could find some rope,” I said, feeling excited again. “I’ll have to come back tomorrow, though. Everyone will be waking up soon and they’ll notice I’m gone.”

“Will you vow to return?”

I hesitated only for a moment before I said, “I promise.”

“At the same time?”

I swore to return with a rope at the same time the next day. “See you then,” I said.

“Until tomorrow.”

I turned and ran back through the forest, light-headed.

I had done it—I had taken one step closer to figuring
things out. There was no Rakshasi in the forest, only a sixteen-year-old girl; a nice girl who seemed like she could be a friend, even though she was kind of odd. But why was she there, and how did she get there? Why had Amma forbidden me from meeting Tulasi?

The longer I stayed at Ashoka, the more removed I felt from my regular life, from my regular self. Not long before, I had thought I was too old to believe in witches and monsters, but now I was not so sure. Part of me had wanted to laugh when Tulasi told me her mother was a plant, but another part believed her. What other explanation was there? The only reason I could think of as to why the grown-ups would keep her hidden was that Tulasi had some kind of magical powers. Either that or I was going crazy and had imagined the whole thing. I wondered if I would go back tomorrow and find that the wall, the garden, the cottage, the peacock, and Tulasi had all vanished.

I stole back into my bedroom, undetected, and changed into my nightgown. I walked into the kitchen a few moments later, yawning and sleep rumpled. Amma was sitting alone at the breakfast table, a satiny robe wrapped tightly around her shrinking frame, her eyes misty, and her hands pressed around a teacup, from which a thread of gray steam unraveled.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she said, blinking like a doll and changing back into smiling Amma, as if a switch had been turned off, then on.

“Good morning,” I said, and slid into my seat.

Janaki appeared from the kitchen, carrying my breakfast.

“Now, Rakhee,” said Amma, “I’m feeling a bit better this morning—is there anything you’d like to do together
today? It looks like it won’t rain for a while at least—we could go for a walk or something.”

“No thanks.” Why did Amma suddenly care so much about spending time with me, now that I actually had found something that interested me, something that I cared about? “We probably have play practice—Meenu’s been working us pretty hard,” I said.

“Oh, I see. Well, I’m glad you’ve found something to keep yourself busy and that you’re getting along with your cousins.” She fiddled with the chipped handle of her teacup for a moment, before saying, “You like it here, molay, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, it’s all right and everything, but I miss home. I miss Aba.” I emphasized the last part.

“Of course you do.” Amma looked sad.

“By the way,” I added. “Do you know where I could find some rope? We need it—for the play.” How casually the lies rolled off my tongue!

“Hmm, rope? Hari must have some—I’ll go and ask him for you.” Amma got up from the table and wandered off. She seemed eager to do something for me.

She returned a few minutes later with a long, thick piece of rope encircling her arm. “Will this do?” She gave me a hopeful smile.

“That’s perfect,” I said, my lips twitching.

After lunch, Meenu and Krishna wanted to play foursquare, a game I had taught them, and which we played using an old basketball that Muthashi had brought back from her visit to Minnesota years before. It clearly had never been used and barely bounced. But they seemed delighted
to have discovered a new game and were deterred neither by the ball nor by the fact that we were only three people, since Gitanjali rarely agreed to be our fourth.

But this time my heart wasn’t in the game. All I could think about was that I would finally be meeting Tulasi face-to-face. It was only a matter of hours now. This thought thrilled me but also filled me with a sense of my own disloyalty. My cousins bounced the ball back and forth, laughing, talking, teasing, as if nothing had changed. But things were different, so different now that their companionship seemed suddenly stale.

I also began to wonder what my real reason was for not confiding in at least Krishna. Was it because I didn’t think she would believe me, or was it because I wanted to keep Tulasi all to myself? I had been angry at Amma for not telling me her secret, and now I was doing the exact same thing. But in spite of my guilt, I still knew I would not tell Krishna, not yet, maybe not ever. I was not ready to share Tulasi.

When it became clear that one-third of the party was distracted, our game dispersed, and I retreated to my room where I would have the privacy to daydream. I had stowed the rope that Amma gave me under the bed; I pulled it out, sat down, and held it in my lap. I ran my fingers across the glossy, hay-colored bristles. The rope was heavy, and I imagined that it was not a rope, but a snake coiled upon my legs. I held it there for a second, then shoved it off onto the floor and slid it back under the bed with my foot.

I went to the window, leaned my elbows on the sill, and looked outside at the cloudless sky. A ray of sun shone like a spotlight through the tops of the trees, as if some rare gem was hidden deep inside the heart of the forest. I wrapped my hands on the window bars and pretended that I was
in prison, a game I sometimes played when I was alone in that room. I was the prisoner and Muthashan was my jailor, watching over me from the black frame on the wall.

As I stood there, I heard Amma’s voice in the next room:

“Finally, we’re alone. I thought she’d never let us out of her sight.”

“Well, you can’t really blame her after what happened the last time we were left alone, can you?” said another voice that made me clench the bars so tightly my knuckles went white.

“Prem, don’t joke,” Amma said. “We only have a few minutes before she’ll notice I’m gone, and we have a lot to discuss. She’s been watching me like a hawk. I’ve been going mad.”

“Just tell me one thing: have you made your decision? I can’t wait much longer.”

“You’ve waited all these years, you can’t wait another week?”

“Chitra, why did you come here? If you were just going to toy with me, you shouldn’t have bothered at all. I can do this alone, you know, and I will, because it’s the right thing, and I’m finally in a place where I
can
do it. But it won’t be the same without you. I need your help. And you know how I love you. You say you’ve been going mad? I can’t even tell you what hell these years without you have been for me. I haven’t even really been living. With you, I could live again.”

“You have to understand how difficult this thing you’re asking me to do is, particularly for me. I’ve spent the last half of my life trying to forget, and then you come along with your sweet words, bringing it all back, as fresh as if it happened yesterday,” said Amma.

“It’s in our power to do what we want now. Our families can’t control us anymore. We have a chance to be together, to—”

“I know, I know! Don’t you think I’ve considered all of this?” Amma’s voice rose to a shriek.

“Shhh, Chitra, keep your voice down. We’ll be heard.”

“I’m sick of keeping my voice down, I’m sick of hiding, always hiding.” Amma’s moan sounded muffled, as if she had buried her face in Prem’s shoulder.

“I know, but this is your chance to come out of hiding, to be the woman you were meant to be. Just say yes, please, say yes.”

“It’s not that simple.”

There was a long silence before Prem spoke. “You love him, don’t you?”

“He’s a kind man, Prem, and he’s been good to me.” Amma’s voice faltered. “But I don’t love him the way I love you. I was bound to you from the day I was born. I belong to you.”

“Then say yes.”

“I have my daughter to think about.”

“Don’t you think I know that? I’m always considering her welfare, always. I wouldn’t have sent for you until I knew I could provide for a family. I have a full-time teaching job in Trivandrum now and I’m making decent money. It may not be what you’re used to, but it’s enough. The house I’ve found is small, but it’s beautiful. The windows are large and they face west, and there’s a small garden with a pond in the yard….”

Amma laughed—I couldn’t tell if it was bitter or happy.

“Chitra, it’s all there, ready and waiting for you. You’ll love it, I know it. We’ll be happy there, finally.”

I heard brisk footsteps coming down the hall.

“I don’t know if it’s that easy,” Amma said.

“Say yes, you know it’s the right thing. Say yes now.”

The footsteps grew louder.

“This is so hard.”

“I know, but we have to do it. We must make up for the mistakes we’ve made. Say yes, please. Say yes now, I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” said Amma, and I felt myself going cold all over, from my head to the tip of my toes.

There was a sharp rapping sound on Amma’s door.

“Chitra, are you in there? I need you.” It was Sadhana Aunty.

“I’m here, I was just resting. I’ll be right out,” called Amma, then in a lower voice, “Wait here for five minutes after I go out, then you should be able to slip out without anyone seeing you.”

I remained at the window for a long time after Amma and Prem had both left the room, my entire body trembling. All summer I had been disturbed by Amma’s relationship with Prem, but I kept hoping that once we went back to Plainfield she would forget him and life would somehow go back to normal. After what I had heard, it was clear she was not going to forget. Amma had already betrayed Aba. Now she was planning to betray me, too.