THE MAGICAL PALACE (6 page)

It was Colonel Uncle. His voice softened when he saw me. ‘Rahul?’ he asked. ‘What is the matter? Come on in. Are you hurt?’

I was so surprised he knew who I was that I could not answer. I got up, feeling sheepish, and followed him.

‘I was up here because I lost a bet with Rani …’ My voice trailed off. ‘And then I saw the bats and thought there was a furry animal and … I am sorry, Colonel Uncle. Please do not tell my father.’

Colonel Uncle was dressed in a gorgeous silk gown. The design was very intricate and reminded me of some tapestry I had once seen. He said kindly, ‘No, I will not tell your father. Let me see if you have any cuts that need cleaning.’

I looked around. The room was beautiful, with the walls painted a warm beige colour. The ceiling was high and vaulted just like the rooms downstairs and an ornate chandelier hung in the middle. The door that opened to the terrace let in a gust of wind and the chandelier swayed gently in the breeze, the crystals making a soft, tinkling sound. The furniture in the room was very old and the dark wood and exquisite upholstery caught my eyes. Everything looked shiny and clean. A dark-blue Persian carpet covered the floor.

‘I hope I have none, and if I do, please don’t use tincture of iodine …’ My voice became faint at the thought of the burning sensation that the tincture would cause. It was the school nurse’s favourite first-aid medicine and I hated it, preferring the coolness of Mercurochrome when applied on cuts and wounds.

Colonel Uncle laughed. ‘Looks like you only have some scratches on your palms and knees,’ he said. ‘When I was in the army, we did not even have tincture of iodine. The doctors had to amputate arms and legs without any anaesthesia.’

I shivered. ‘My father told me you fought in the Second World War. Is that true? Is that when you did not have anaesthesia?’

Colonel Uncle’s voice grew grave as he said, ‘Yes.’ He was quiet for a few moments, not volunteering any information about the war. But I persisted, thinking of the war in Italy, of villas and gardens and Venice.

‘Oh, you are so lucky!’ I exclaimed. ‘Did you ever ride in a gondola in a Venetian canal? And what about the statue—Michelangelo’s David? Did you see it? And the Sistine Chapel? I wish I could go to Italy. I learnt all about it in school.’ Meeting someone who could tell me about the wonders of Italy I had only read about in books was too exciting for me and I ignored Colonel Uncle’s serious expression.

‘The Italy you study about in school did not really exist when I was there. I was only twenty-one years old and the British sent me from here to fight in the war as part of the British Army. It was a difficult time. Several of my friends died. I was very lucky. Nothing is ever fun in the time of war.’

I pointed to the marble bust of Apollo on his dressing table. ‘Is that from Italy?’ I asked.

‘Yes, it is one of the two things I have left. I gave away most of the things I had to my friends many years ago. In those days, wealthy Italian families abandoned their possessions. One family in particular preferred to give me some of their
family heirlooms. They did not want the Germans to get their hands on them.’

‘What else do you still have?’ I asked.

‘This picture,’ Colonel Uncle said. It was a sepia print, brown and discoloured, set in a leather frame. The leather was dark brown and covered with a fine web of cracks. Colonel Uncle picked it up from the marble-topped table and brushed the cuff of his sleeve across the front of the frame. I looked at the picture. I saw Colonel Uncle, barely recognizable. His arm was wrapped around the shoulders of another handsome young man and they were looking at each other and laughing. They were dressed in army uniforms, the British insignia clearly visible on Colonel Uncle’s uniform. I stared with fascination at the young man in the picture. He had short, dark hair and his smile was radiant. He looked rebellious and wore a devil-may-care expression like James Dean. Like in the poster in Rani’s room, a cigarette was hanging rakishly from his lips.

‘Who is this?’ I asked.

‘That is Claudio. My friend.’ Colonel Uncle saw me looking at Claudio’s picture with interest and added with a hint of laughter: ‘He looks like James Dean, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ I said, unable to hide my admiration. ‘Where is he now? Did he die in the war?’

‘No, he is alive,’ Colonel Uncle said, laughing. ‘He is a very good friend of mine and we write to each other a lot. He lives in Montepulciano with his wife and children.’

‘Why did you not stay in Italy?’ I asked.

‘The war was over. I had to leave.’ He was quiet for a second as he placed the picture back. ‘So why did you run out of the room on the terrace in such a panic?’ Colonel Uncle enquired.

‘I am very scared of the dark. Rani made a bet with me. I lost. So I had to come upstairs. Wait till she finds out I saw your sitting room! Anyway, I saw the bats hanging from the ceiling and suddenly got scared.’

‘Rahul, there is no reason to be scared of bats, you know.’

‘I know, I know! My mother told me the same thing, but then I thought there was a ghost who was pulling on my shirt.’

I felt guilty suddenly about the jokes we had made about uncle by calling him ‘The Ghost Who Walks’. Just like Phantom in the comics, Colonel Uncle was proving to be very wise and capable.

‘Mrs Firdausi killed a bat downstairs yesterday. It probably lived up here,’ I said angrily. ‘She said that bats are dirty and strange creatures that get caught in long hair and bite.’

‘That is one of the oldest myths in the world.’

‘I thought all myths were lovely,’ I said, thinking of all the beautiful Greek myths I had read.

‘Some myths are beautiful, like the myths about Goddess Durga and Goddess Kali. Others are not so inspiring and are created in ignorance.’

Colonel Uncle was not smiling any more. ‘Fear and ignorance are our biggest enemies. They blind us to the truth, make us hate those who are different.’ He looked at the photo again and carefully adjusted it in its place.

‘Is it true that bats are blind?’ I asked. ‘Rani says so. Then how can they fly?’

‘By using sonar. Inside their brain—that tiny little bat brain—is a sonar device that is constantly sensing the world of objects. That is why a bat would never get stuck
in someone’s hair, because it would avoid it easily, given its highly precise sonar system.’

I felt a surge of anger again at Mrs Firdausi.

‘And bats eat many times their body weight in insects, like those annoying mosquitoes,’ Colonel Uncle added. Then he looked at his watch and said, ‘It is almost ten. Your parents are probably getting worried about you. I will walk you downstairs.’

‘Please do not tell my father I was up here,’ I begged him again.

‘Don’t worry. This will be our little secret. You can visit any time you want. I have been travelling to my family home in Rajasthan to take care of the estate for the past few years, but I will be here a lot more in the future. You will find me almost any time you visit.’ Colonel Uncle smiled and I felt comforted. He walked me downstairs, using the other flight of stairs that led to a separate locked door, which was his private entrance.

Rani was beside herself with worry by the time I found her.

‘Where were you and what were you doing up there?’ she demanded. ‘I almost told Ma and Baba. Of course, they would have been furious! So, what is it like upstairs?’

‘Oh, wouldn’t you love to know! If you never tell anyone that I play with your kitchen toy set, I will tell you.’

Rani hesitated. Her eyes glittered and she said, ‘I am not interested.’

‘Fine. Now you will never know what Colonel Uncle showed me,’ I said airily as I walked away, feeling a rare sense of power in our never-ending struggle for the upper hand.

Saturday Evening. San Francisco.

‘I already like Colonel Uncle. He seems to be the coolest of the gang.’ Andrew’s words broke into my memories. ‘Everyone else seems to be really hard to deal with.’

‘Yes, as I said, he was simply amazing.’

‘So tell me, how did Colonel Uncle end up not marrying? From what you say, no one can escape the marriage trap.’ He laughed ironically and said with some bitterness, ‘And you don’t seem to be winning this battle.’

‘Hey, Andrew. Chill out. Give me a break, okay? You promised to hear me out …’

‘Got it.’ Andrew changed the subject swiftly, much to my relief. I really did not want to get into an argument again. ‘I wonder what it is about bats that makes people so afraid. I mean, even here, bats are associated with so much scary stuff around Halloween, but it’s in a “Haha, funny!” way. Although, that stupid superstition that they get caught in hair is quite common. But I love to watch them flying around at dusk around Stowe Lake in Golden Gate Park.’

‘I think they get a raw deal because they are different. They fly and are nocturnal.’

Andrew was quiet for a few moments. ‘But then, so do mosquitoes. They are not associated with darkness and evil.’

I made no answer. Andrew had a point. I looked at the clock and then out at the San Francisco Bay. The fog was rolling in across the bay now, shrouding it with translucent wisps of grey. It would be dark soon—and there was still so much to tell. A cable car rumbled by on its tracks and the apartment walls shook slightly. ‘Let me get back to my story,’ I said. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Hold on, let me get a beer.’ I heard Andrew stomp to the fridge, take out a can and flip the lid with a pop-and-fizz. He took a swig. ‘Shoot,’ he said as he stifled an unexpected burp, ‘Sorry …’

4

April 1973. Hyderabad.

I spent the next week with my nose buried in my school books as the teachers relentlessly ploughed through the last chapters of the syllabus, barely giving us time to revise and catch up on the new lessons. That Saturday, I had to study for my exams all day. I thought longingly about the garden and wished I could embark on the ‘royal tour’ I took of the grounds each year. But I would have to wait until the vacations started.

The palace was flanked by the state secretariat building on one side and the India Government Mint on the other. I heard the clock on the secretariat building chime the hour. It was already five o’clock.

‘Rahul, we will be leaving at six o’clock for the Puja Committee meeting.’ Ma’s voice wafted in from her dressing room. She was already putting on her make-up—I could hear the drawers of the antique dressing table open and shut as she took out her cosmetics. There was a Bengali Association meeting at the Banerjee home. All the local Bengalis were meeting to discuss the upcoming Durga puja celebrations.

I did not really like going to these meetings. But I would
get to see Mallika this time, so I was looking forward to an evening of fun, games and food.

I decided to go to the lakeside for a little while and lay down on a big rock. I wondered if Mallika had ever been tormented by her classmates. No, I reasoned, because Mallika was a good Bengali girl. I could not imagine her doing anything wrong like I had done, and drawing such contempt from her friends. I wanted to confide in her about what had happened in school, but I dared not. I shuddered to think what Binesh Kaku would do to me if he were my father—he was stricter than mine and meted out punishment mercilessly to his daughters.

Rani came running up to me, rudely interrupting my musings. A family of ducks rose up from the reeds, flapping their wings and quacking in alarm as they moved to the far side of the lake.

‘Look what you did,’ I said crossly. ‘You scared them away.’

‘Oh, please,’ Rani said, sounding annoyed. ‘What are you doing, Rahul? Don’t you know we are going to see Mallika Didi and Shyamala? It’s almost six o’clock. You better get dressed right away. Baba will be ready to drive soon—and you know how he hates to be kept waiting.’

‘All right,’ I mumbled. ‘Stop pushing me.’ We walked hurriedly back to the palace. ‘Look,’ I said, pointing to a cluster of snowy white egrets sitting on one of the branches of the giant banyan tree. As I gestured towards them, they rose like a flurry of snowflakes, a luminous white against the emerald green leaves of the banyan tree and glided effortlessly towards the lake, sparkling against the silhouette of the mosque that rose behind the palace walls. ‘They are lovely, aren’t they?’ Rani murmured as caught up in the
beauty of the moment as I was. ‘Anyway, hurry up, you slowpoke,’ she said, soon back to her usual form. I followed her to the palace—she easily outpaced me with her longer legs and brisk stride.

I washed up and searched the almirah for a stylish shirt to wear. I found one designed like the shirts Rajesh Khanna wore in
Anand
. It had a high collar and was made of cotton, light and cool. In that shirt, I felt as if I could be in a movie scene with him right there. For a moment I saw us together, lost to the world, yearning to be in each other’s arms. Then I heard the impatient sound of a car horn coming from the portico.

‘Rahul, Rani, are you ready?’ My father sounded irritated. He had already got the Baby Ford out from the garage.

‘Go join your father, Rani. Rahul, please come and help me with the sari.’ My mother was running late as well.

I ran to her bedroom, where she stood in front of the mirror. I always thought that my mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. She had high cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes and long, lustrous hair down to her waist. For me, she held the secrets of the universe.

‘Your great-grandmother was from the state of Assam, Rahul. That is why we both have such high cheekbones and you have that special hue to your skin,’ she had told me many times.

‘That makes me part Assamese too,’ I always replied, feeling a great deal of affection for all things Assamese— Assam tea, rhinoceri and tea plantations.

At the moment, Ma was busy putting on her jewellery. ‘Please pull the hem of my sari down and make sure all the pleats are even,’ she said.

I got down on all fours at once, adjusting the length of the sari.

‘It is even,’ I said, dusting my knees and elbows and readjusting my collar.

‘Thank you, Rahul. Am I looking pretty?’ Ma preened in front of the full-length mirror of the almirah, knowing she looked smashing. ‘Come here, stand next to me.’