by Marisha Pink
SEVENTEEN
THE following morning, Aaron was enjoying his second cup of chai in the hotel restaurant, when the waitress delivered two slips of paper bearing the hotel’s letterhead to his table. Surprised and intrigued, he quickly opened out the first of the two notes and began to read the neatly printed message.
ROOM 702: MR RUTHERFORD, AARON
22/05/12
CALL FROM MR RUTHERFORD, ARTHUR AT 8.42 PM
PLEASE RETURN THE CALL
Aaron glanced at his watch: it was nine o’clock on the 23rd May. He had no idea how he had missed Arthur’s call the night before, especially since he had lain awake in his room for much of the evening, mulling over the events of the day. It was too late in the night to call home now and he would have to return the call later, but such an arrangement suited him better. He still wasn’t certain how he felt about everything that he had learned and moreover how he was going to explain it all to Arthur, but he knew that the old man would be quick to rubbish any hypothesis that might incriminate his beloved wife. Putting the first message to one side, he opened up the second to find a handwritten note, scrawled in the ink from a leaky blue ballpoint pen.
Hello Arun!
I came very early to the hotel, but you are not yet awake. I am doing a few jobs and then I will come back to pick you from the hotel at 10.00 am.
Hope you will be awake!
Your brother, Lucky
Aaron felt a warm, fuzzy feeling wash over him at the words on the page and he was once again struck by Lucky’s thoughtfulness and generosity. Though Hanara’s scathing words had played on his mind for much of the evening, Lucky’s kindness and convivial hospitality had more than compensated for them, and it had left Aaron feeling a strange sense of attachment and acceptance that he hadn’t anticipated. Excitedly, he glugged down the last of his chai and rushed upstairs to prepare himself for the day ahead.
At ten o’clock sharp he presented himself outside of the front of the hotel, but Lucky had not yet arrived. He chatted amicably with the concierge, who by now boasted a healthy fascination with his unusual requests for transport to destinations distinctly off the tourist map, but half an hour later Lucky was still nowhere to be seen. Just when Aaron was beginning to worry that something untoward might have occurred, he spied Lucky’s rickshaw, bedecked in stickers professing his allegiance to the Indian national cricket team, pulling up outside the hotel. The concierge was quick off the mark, stepping into the road to shout angrily at Lucky and to wave him out of the hotel grounds.
‘Wait! What are you doing?’ cried Aaron, leaping to Lucky’s defence.
‘Rickshaws are not allowed, sir. Only official taxis for the hotel guests.’
‘He’s not here for the hotel guests, he’s here for me.’
‘I don’t understand. Do you know this man, sir?’
‘Yes, he’s my brother,’ declared Aaron proudly.
Lucky peeked out of the rickshaw and beamed at him, his sweet, crooked smile consuming his entire face. Aaron flashed him a conspiratorial grin while the concierge apologised profusely, mortified to have caused offence to a hotel guest. When he was satisfied that Aaron had accepted his apology and would not be making a complaint, he moved aside to allow the young man to clamber into the rickshaw behind Lucky.
‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning, brother,’ replied Lucky brightly.
‘I was beginning to think that you weren’t coming.’
‘Why would you think that?’
‘Because you’re almost an hour later than you said that you’d be.’
‘Oh that is nothing only, Aaron. Nobody in India is ever on time; you will see. In fact I am early actually.’
Aaron chuckled at Lucky’s nonsensical logic, but he didn’t press the matter any further. He was simply grateful to be in the shining young man’s company once again.
‘Are we going back to your house?’
‘Eventually,’ Lucky answered with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
He guided the rickshaw out of the hotel complex and, after a near- collision with an oncoming motorcycle, joined the morning madness on Puri’s roads. The day was already hot and sticky, causing the city’s impatient drivers to be more irritable than usual as they sounded long blasts on their horns, fed up of trying to advance through the gridlock. Ordinarily Aaron would have demanded to know exactly where they were going, but there was something about his big brother’s innocently disarming smile that put Aaron at ease, and he was happy to simply sit back and take in the view on the way to wherever Lucky was planning to take him.
It happened that Lucky had taken it upon himself to act as Aaron’s tour guide for the day. During their journey back to Puri the previous night, he had been horrified to learn that Aaron knew almost nothing about his birthplace, and moreover that he hadn’t been to, nor did he plan to, visit the many temples and sites in and around the city. Orissa was a unique state, in which custom and tradition had been carefully preserved despite the seasonal influx of tourists and pilgrims to its treasure trove of sites, and Lucky wanted Aaron to know and love his hometown as much as he did.
He wasted no time showing off the best of the city, weaving in and out of the traffic along the coastal road, affording his brother breathtaking views over the Bay of Bengal. The sea was a glittering, shimmering expanse as the midday sun reflected off its shiny surface, and Aaron found himself captivated by its simple charms as he watched the fishermen trawling amongst the gleaming waters. They had almost travelled the length of the beach, when Lucky abruptly turned inland and, beyond a fortified wall, the tops of an elaborate building complex came into view in the distance.
Two glistening, white-tiered pyramids sat in front of a tall stone tower crowned by an eight-spoke wheel, which itself rose up mightily from between several smaller, salmon-pink buildings and walls. They drew closer and closer, until Aaron became overwhelmed trying to take in the sheer size of the labyrinthine structures.
‘What is that?’ he shouted, leaning forward so that Lucky could hear him over the rhythmic chugging of the rickshaw’s engine.
‘That is the great Jagannath Mandir,’ Lucky shouted over his shoulder.
‘What’s a Jagannath Mandir?’
‘It’s a temple, for Lord Jagannath, one of our gods,’ explained Lucky, pressing his foot harder on the accelerator so that they began to speed even faster towards the cluster of buildings.
When they eventually reached the area surrounding the Jagannath Mandir, Lucky was forced to slow back down as the roads, overrun with crowds of people, became almost impossible to navigate. Day-tripping tourists poured forth en masse from large coaches, vendors sold food, souvenirs and religious offerings at the roadside, and beggars and hustlers surrounded the mandir trying to procure whatever they could. It was at once a majestically chaotic sight to behold, but one that Aaron was becoming accustomed to and now even associated with India.
Lucky parked alongside a long line of other rickshaws and hopped out of the front cabin, motioning for Aaron to follow him. Still in awe at the beauty of the Jagannath Mandir, Aaron dutifully trailed behind him, his eyes never leaving the spectacle so that invariably he trod on the backs of Lucky’s heels several times as they meandered through the crowd. Lucky led Aaron around the fortified wall that surrounded the complex, delivering a thorough and obviously well-versed explanation of the mandir’s history, buildings and significance within the Hindu faith. Aaron listened intently, enthralled by the many stories, and by the richness of the traditions and customs of a culture that he suddenly felt ashamed not to know more intimately.
The Rutherfords were quintessentially British, as were most of their friends, family and surroundings, to the extent that Aaron had never encountered anyone even remotely ethnic unless he was on holiday. It was what had made him stand out so much growing up and equally the reason that he had never really felt comfortable in his own skin. Yet to his surprise and delight, though many of the ideas and practices that Lucky described we
re alien, they somehow resonated with him, touching his soul with the familiarity of an old friend. Eager to learn more, his appetite for information became insatiable, but Lucky’s patience never waned, and he answered all of Aaron’s questions so expertly that people were soon surreptitiously following them and listening to his unofficial guided tour.
An hour later, when they had completely circumnavigated the wall, they found themselves back outside of the main entrance where, much to Aaron’s confusion, Lucky began to lead him away from the mandir.
‘Wait! Aren’t we going to go inside? I want to see all of the things that you’ve just been telling me about.’
‘Ah, but you are not allowed to go inside, Aaron.’
‘Yes I am, Lucky, look – people are going inside.’
‘Look carefully,’ Lucky answered simply, nodding in the direction of the mandir entrance.
Aaron glanced over at the gate where the police were checking crowds of people before allowing them beyond the walls of the complex.
‘I don’t get it,’ moaned Aaron, still mystified.
‘Only Indians are allowed inside, Aaron. Even only Hindu Indians are permitted,’ he added for precision.
Aaron glanced over at the gate again and, sure enough, not one of the throng of visitors entering and exiting the mandir looked foreign.
‘Why is that?’ he asked curiously, feeling like an outsider all over again.
‘I’m not certain exactly. It has not always been this way, but I think some foreign people made a trouble in the mandir one day and now they don’t allow any foreign people inside.’
‘Couldn’t we try?’ whined Aaron, feeling slightly put out. ‘I am Indian after all … and they don’t know that I’m not Hindu.’
‘Oh no,’ replied Lucky gravely, furiously shaking his head, ‘we mustn’t lie, Aaron. Lying is wrong, especially in the mandir. They are making all sorts of checks and they will know it for sure that you are not Hindu; I don’t want to get a punishment.’
Lucky looked genuinely fearful of the consequences of any attempt to break the mandir’s rules and his face was so serious that Aaron could only laugh, conceding that they would not be going inside.
‘You will just have to wait until Rath Yatra like all the other tourists.’
‘Rath what?’
‘How is it you are coming in Puri and you don’t know of Rath Yatra?’ exclaimed Lucky incredulously. ‘Rath Yatra is only the most important festival in Puri. We carry the three gods, Jagannath, Balabhadra and Subhadra on huge chariots, from the mandir, through the streets, until we are reaching Gundicha Mandir. There are always millions of people helping to pull the chariots, because they are heavy, Aaron, more heavy than even you can imagine, and it is a great honour. There is so much colour and sound; it is a magnificent spectacle, you will really love it.’
‘It sounds incredible. Is it soon?’
‘Yes, not long. In a few weeks’ time I think so … 21st June or thereabouts.’
‘Oh, I don’t know if I will still be here by then,’ mumbled Aaron a little sadly, though it was nothing compared to the look now fixed on Lucky’s face.
His crooked smile had completely disappeared and his wide puppy-dog eyes made him look as though he had been physically wounded by Aaron’s words.
‘You’re not staying in Puri?’ he whimpered sadly, half-hoping that he had misheard.
‘Well no, not forever,’ Aaron began cautiously, mindful of upsetting Lucky any further. ‘I had only planned to stay for about two-and-a-half weeks. I’m not sure I can afford to stay for much longer; I used most of my savings to get back from Africa and to get to India.’
Lucky unexpectedly brightened again.
‘If it is only money, then this is not a problem, Aaron. You will stay with Hanara and I in our house and we will look after you.’
Aaron found himself touched once again by his brother’s kindness and simple optimism.
‘That’s very kind of you Lucky, but it’s a little more complicated than that. Besides, I couldn’t inconvenience you like that and I think we both know that Hanara doesn’t want me there.’
‘Family is never an inconvenience, Aaron. And don’t you worry about Hanara; she is pretending to be tough only. In fact, just last night when I came back home, she was asking many questions about you. All that is needed is a little time, you will see.’
‘Oh, Lucky, I don’t know …’
‘Please come and stay with us, Aaron. It will be our honour,’ interrupted Lucky, flashing his special smile as he tried to sway his brother’s decision.
Aaron smiled back at him, powerless to resist the disarming charm of Lucky’s crooked grin. It felt good to know that someone cared so much about him and wanted to spend more time in his company. He had booked the return flight to London partly out of fear of the unknown, and partly under duress from Arthur, who had been unusually insistent that he fixed a firm plan. Yet now that he was in India, two-and-a-half weeks simply didn’t seem long enough to complete a lifetime’s worth of catching up with his family. He had taken a liking to Puri in the short time that he had been there, and despite being too late to meet Kalpana, and in spite of the omnipresent chaos and heat, he felt an unexpected sense of belonging there with his brother by his side.
‘Okay, I will think about it,’ he conceded finally, much to Lucky’s delight.
‘Good. Now, are you hungry?’
Lucky led Aaron back through the crowds to the rickshaw and drove them the short distance to the beachfront, where he parked alongside the other rickshaw drivers vying for business from passing tourists. He lifted two round stainless steel containers and a faded old sari from a bag that Aaron had not noticed before, and charged off down the sand in search of the perfect picnic spot. The wide, open beach was still at the mercy of the sun’s blistering heat, despite the fact that it was mid-afternoon, but a gentle breeze ruffled Aaron’s hair, keeping him cool while he picked his way across the scorching sand.
He joined Lucky a few metres from the water’s edge, where his brother had spread the sari over the sand to form a blanket for them to sit on. The two metallic containers were now open, revealing a series of small compartments containing different items of food, and Lucky was greedily shovelling morsels into his mouth with his fingers.
‘What is it?’ Aaron asked, intrigued as he dropped down beside Lucky and pulled one of the containers towards him.
‘Try it.’
‘Do you have a fork, or a spoon, that I could use?’
Lucky paused, his hand hovering at the entrance to his mouth poised to deliver another tasty morsel, and began to laugh hysterically. Aaron looked at him, somewhat baffled by the outburst and unsure why Lucky found his request so comical. It was a few moments before Lucky had recovered his breath enough to explain why he was laughing.
‘We are not using forks and spoons. You just eat with your hands only, like this,’ he said, demonstrating how to ball up the food into small spheres with his fingers.
Aaron instantly felt embarrassed by his question. He had seen some of the hotel guests consuming their breakfast in this way and stupidly judged them for being ill-mannered and ignorant; it turned out that he was the uncultured one. He rolled his shirt sleeves up to the elbow and after being chided by Lucky for using his left hand, instead of his right, started to lift compact balls of rice, dahl and potato curry past his hungry lips. The food was delicious, if a little spicy, but not having eaten since the morning, Aaron wasted no time in filling his belly.
When they had finished eating, Lucky neatly stacked the stainless steel tins, and the brothers lay back against the warm sand. They watched the waves crashing onto the beach before them and listened to the soporific hum of the city as it buzzed past along the highway behind them. It was a paradisiacal setting and Aaron felt so relaxed and content that it wasn’t long before he had dozed off, the combination of the afternoon heat and his body’s battle with digestion proving too much to handle. When Lucky finally shook
him awake again, the sky was awash with the red, pink and orange hues of the setting sun, its reflection dancing mischievously across the calm waters. It was a magical sight to behold and, in his semi-conscious state, Aaron was quite taken with the tranquil beauty of it all.
He watched dreamily whilst the fishermen heaved their boats onto the shore, the seagulls circling in anticipation overhead, but Lucky was soon tugging impatiently at his sleeve, desperate for him to see something. It took a few minutes for Lucky to rouse Aaron completely from his daze and, finally pulling him to his feet, he dragged his brother a couple of metres down the beach towards the water.
‘Look,’ he said, pointing at the sand excitedly and beaming whilst he waited for his efforts to be recognised.
Aaron rubbed his eyes sleepily and followed Lucky’s finger to the inscription in the sand.
ARUN AND LUCKY
AGAIN BROTHERS TOGETHER
He smiled back at Lucky, warmed by his brother’s boyish enthusiasm and affection, and equally amused by his mastery of the English language.
‘It’s great, Lucky. There’s just one thing …’
‘What is it?’ he asked, immediately looking anxious.
‘You keep spelling my name wrong.’
‘I have not.’
‘Yes you have.’
‘That is the spelling given by Mata-ji only, on the day that you were born,’ he answered defiantly.
‘Kalpana named me?’
‘Yes, of course she did. Who is it that you think has named you?’
‘I had always assumed it was my adoptive mother,’ explained Aaron quietly.
‘No, no, no. If Dr Cathy had named you, then surely you would have been called something very terrible. Something very English … like Rupert,’ Lucky mouthed disdainfully.
Aaron couldn’t contain his laughter at both Lucky’s choice of nomenclature and his obvious disgust.
‘Aaron, spelt A-A-R-O-N is English, Lucky,’ he insisted.
‘Arun, spelt A-R-U-N is Indian. It means “sun”,’ countered Lucky matter-of-factly, ‘and Mata-ji gave you this name because your birth was the start of our new life, all of us, the same as the sun is the start of a new day.’
Aaron was quietly contemplative, silenced by the heretofore unknown poetry of his naming. He twisted the letters of the correct spelling around in his mouth, trying them on for size; he had never given much thought to what his name might mean before, and though it sounded the same out loud, that it was spelt differently and that it had a meaning unexpectedly changed something within him.
His Indian name, with its careful selection for significance, eternally bound him into the lives of his birth family; a family that he hadn’t even known that he had until a few short months ago. Moreover, and perhaps more importantly, the name forged an intimate connection between he and Kalpana, in a way that he hadn’t thought would be possible after arriving at the house to find her gone. His name was a piece of her, a gift, and a lifelong legacy of their brief time together. It was a testament to her belief that she was providing a better life for them all by giving him away, and strangely the thought filled his soul with a deep sense of satisfaction. Overcome with emotion, tears welled up in his eyes and, smiling, he looked from Lucky to the horizon and back again.
‘I guess I’d better start spelling it right then.’
