by Marisha Pink
TWENTY-ONE
LOCATED on the opposite side of the village, the mandir was a short, but significant, walk from the house, making a ride in Lucky’s rickshaw more agreeable now that darkness had settled in. The night was humid and still, and when they stepped out of the house Arun struggled to breathe in the thick air, feeling the clothes that Lucky had kindly lent to him moisten and stick uncomfortably to his skin. In a move that appeared somewhat territorial, Hanara climbed into the front seat alongside Lucky, but Arun was simply glad to be accompanying his siblings for the evening and after folding his long limbs into the back seat, the trio were soon on their way.
They journeyed along in the dark, the only lighting provided by the glare of the headlights and the soft glow that emanated from the small houses that they occasionally passed. Hanara was silent, picking at the beading on her sari, whilst Lucky did his best to educate Arun on the principle ideologies of their religion and the practice of their faith. Arun was already familiar with much of it from their visits to the many temples in and around Puri, but he let Lucky complete his explanations all the same, not wanting to appear rude. He learned that every morning, Lucky and Hanara made a small offering to the shrine in the house, asking for good business in the shop, or for Lucky to be kept safe on the crazy roads of Puri. He learned that in the evenings, once the shop was closed and Lucky had returned safely, that they attended the mandir to thank God for answering their prayers, to study more about their faith, and to socialise with their friends. And he learned that the community was Lucky and Hanara’s extended family; an unofficial legion of brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, all bound together in a delicate ecosystem, the heart of which was the mandir.
Approximately ten minutes later, Lucky eased the rickshaw off the dirt road and onto a concrete parking area that was already filled with a jumble of cars, mopeds and people. Arun stepped out, discreetly massaging his bottom, which was now sore from the bumpy ride, and glanced up at the village mandir. It was no Jagannath Mandir, but there was something distinctly more appealing and inherently inviting about the building as it rose up mightily from the darkness, flickering lights dancing across its façade to reveal flashes of its colourful design. It was easily the largest building in the village and its well-maintained brick and stone construction was an obvious testament to its standing in the community.
A short flight of polished concrete steps, virtually obscured by the many groups of worshippers huddled together conspiratorially along its length, led up to a square platform upon which the mandir itself had been built. Four pairs of columns capped by intricately carved archways delineated an open porch area, beyond which a yellow wall was punctuated by three brightly painted lavender doors, the centremost of which was open, marking the entrance. A large, mint-green dome topped by a colourful figure rose over the central hall and to each side, set back slightly from the main façade, two further striped dome structures supported by pillars could be seen.
Arun had barely finished taking in the mandir, when he felt all eyes in the parking area turn to him and his siblings. In a matter of seconds, they were surrounded by a swarm of people, all clearly thrilled that Lucky and Hanara had returned after such a prolonged absence, and equally intrigued by the presence of a new arrival. Whilst his brother and sister chatted amicably with the excitable crowd, answering their relentless barrage of questions, Arun was being pushed and shoved from every direction, as man after man jostled his neighbour, desperate to be the first to welcome him. Social convention usually dictated that Arun would be ignored by the people around him and, not accustomed to being the focus of such attention, he quickly found the situation overwhelming. Soon the noisy chatter from the crowd felt like it was closing in on him and, intuitively sensing his brother’s anxiety, Lucky immediately took charge of the situation. He placed his arm protectively around Arun’s shoulders and proudly set about making formal introductions.
Within the space of five minutes, Arun had shaken more hands, learnt, and forgotten, more names than he had in almost twenty years, but the buzz that surrounded his arrival, and the warmth and enthusiasm with which he was welcomed, made him feel somewhat like a celebrity returning to his home town. It was strange to think that he could so easily and readily be accepted into a place where he had spent such little time, when he had struggled to find similar acceptance at home for much of his life, but it all added to India’s charm and allure. A few moments later he saw Hanara being whisked away by a group of giggling girls who were doing little to disguise the fact that they were talking about him and, before he could object, Lucky was steering him through the crowd towards the open door to the mandir.
Taking his lead from Lucky, under the arches of the porch, Arun kicked off his flip-flops in a mark of respect, and gently rang the large bell floating above his head to announce his arrival. When they entered the mandir, the crowd fell silent at once and in the stillness of such a holy place, the familiar aroma of burning incense filling his nostrils, Arun felt a deep sense of spirituality and calm unexpectedly wash over him. He had never been religious and though the Rutherfords had pledged a faint allegiance to the Church of England that saw them attending services at both Easter and Christmas, his mother had always maintained that this was more for the sake of keeping up appearances, than on account of any true faith.
Despite the tightly packed crowds, the mandir was cooler inside than Arun had anticipated it would be. The polished concrete floor was cold and inviting against his bare feet, and the large fans placed strategically around the main hall gently fanned his face and clothes, keeping his body at a comfortable temperature. There was a sense of peace and serenity that prevailed and it was difficult to imagine that this was the same crowd that had been causing such an excitable drone only a few minutes before. They moved as one, their momentum carrying Arun effortlessly through the dimly lit hall, leaving him free to absorb the full beauty of his surroundings.
The mandir was decorated with colourful murals depicting scenes of gods and goddesses that he recognised from Lucky’s earlier descriptions in the rickshaw, and Arun found himself mesmerised by the enchanting stories that seemed to unfold dramatically across the walls. His attention was soon drawn away by a large shrine at the centre of the hall, which contained an elaborate and more opulent statue of the Elephant God, whom he was familiar with from Mata-ji’s house. The statue was held on a plinth, lavishly adorned with rich fabrics, pretty garlands of flowers, fruits and other small offerings, and was only visible through the glass doors set into each side of the intricately carved white chamber that housed it.
Desperate to keep the crowd moving, Lucky guided Arun to the right of the shrine and tugged sharply at his elbow, encouraging him to sit down amongst the other men that had gathered there to pray. Still gazing at the statue in awe, Arun silently obeyed, folding his long legs beneath him until he was nestled snugly between Lucky and another man about his age, peering over the sea of heads towards the shrine. A balding, rotund man, dressed entirely in white robes appeared to be leading the evening’s proceedings and, entranced, Arun watched while he carefully peeled back one of the doors to the shrine and started to chant a song-like prayer in a strange tongue.
The balding man made further offerings to the Elephant God, flicking pinches of first a red, and then a yellow powder over its head, before sprinkling uncooked grains of rice and small flowers around the base of the plinth. Every so often the balding man would pause in his chanting and the worshippers would call out something undecipherable in unison. The ritual fascinated Arun at first, but when he realised that it was simply being repeated over and over again, his interest began to wane. He looked to his left, trying to gauge from Lucky’s face how much longer the prayers would continue, but his brother’s head was bowed and his eyes were closed deep in worship.
Arun continued to look around the hall and quickly registered that the other men mirrored Lucky’s bowed head and focus on prayer. Out of boredom, his eyes began to follow the tales depicted by the mur
als along the walls, his mind fashioning its own stories to pass the time. He had made it all the way to the opposite side of the hall before he caught sight of the community’s women, clustered together in their brightly coloured saris like the feathers of some exotic, yet flightless, bird. He had been so busy focusing on the balding man, and then on the murals, that he hadn’t realised that they were in the same room.
He watched them for a while, their heads bowed deep in prayer like their male counterparts, and it wasn’t long before his eyes picked out the soft pink folds of his sister’s sari. Lost in prayer, Hanara looked miniscule compared to the other women, the unusually calm and peaceful expression on her face revealing a rare glimpse of the softer side so often concealed beneath her intimidating exterior. He studied her intently, taking advantage of the opportunity to really see her for the first time, safe in the knowledge that it would not end with her scowling at him. She was beautiful in her own way and now that they were starting to get along with one another, her personality had lost some of its ugly edge. He tried to determine whether Hanara resembled their mother, but just when he began to picture Kalpana in his mind, he found himself immediately distracted by the young girl seated in front of his sister.
Dressed in a silky, mint-green sari, the young girl was a picture of perfection, the delicate features of her smooth, milky skin just peeking out from beneath a glossy veil of sepia-coloured hair. Arun gazed longingly at her, unable to tear his eyes away, and his heart began to thump ferociously in his chest; she was the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen. He watched with interest while her soft pink lips silently mouthed the words to each prayer along with the balding man, speaking audibly only when the others did, to answer his calls. He was so absorbed in watching the young girl that he failed to notice the men around him getting to their feet, but a few moments later the sound of Lucky’s voice dragged him from his reverie.
‘What are you looking at, hey, Arun?’
‘Who’s that girl? The one sat in front of Hanara.’
‘Oh, that is Chandni only. She is one of Hanara’s very good friends. Come, we have to go and take prasad now.’
Arun struggled to his feet and followed Lucky to the long line of men queuing in front of the shrine. While his brother chatted away quietly with his friends, Arun found himself scanning the room, desperate to catch another glimpse of the beautiful Chandni, but the band of women had rapidly dispersed and neither Chandni nor Hanara were anywhere to be seen. The queue slowly advanced forward and soon Arun was standing before the shrine with the balding man stood to his right, seemingly poised to offer him something from a large stainless steel pot. Taking his cue from Lucky once more, he clasped his hands together and bowed his head in prayer, unsure how long he ought to continue for. A few seconds later he felt the familiar tug of Lucky’s hand at his elbow and when he looked up, his brother was beaming across at him, motioning with his head for Arun to approach the balding man.
‘Rajubhai Joshi, this is our brother, Arun,’ Lucky announced proudly.
‘Welcome, Arun. It is lovely to meet with you.’
Up close the balding man had a softly spoken demeanour and his kind face, smooth and fair, with sparkling green eyes, instantly put Arun at ease.
‘It’s lovely to meet you too, sir,’ he said, extending his hand politely.
Instead of shaking it, Rajubhai Joshi lifted a small, soft, sand-coloured lump of food from the stainless steel pot and deposited it into Arun’s hand, but before Arun could ask for an explanation, Rajubhai Joshi had done the same to Lucky, and the waiting worshippers had shooed them both away from the shrine.
The brothers made their way back out into the moist night air, while Lucky attempted to explain the significance of the prasad in Arun’s hand. In return for their offerings, the prasad was a gift containing blessings from the Elephant God and its consumption was certain to bring them all good fortune. Slightly dubious, but figuring that he was due a change in fortune, Arun tipped the soft lump into his mouth and was pleasantly surprised by the sweet, moreish taste as the cardamom-tinged mixture dissolved on his tongue. Just as he was licking the residue from his palm, Hanara rejoined them on the steps, the gaggle of girls still in tow, though much to Arun’s delight, a very quiet Chandni was now buried amongst them.
‘Hello girls,’ said Lucky, flashing his most charming, crooked smile.
‘Hi Lucky,’ they chimed in unison, though each of them was too busy staring dreamily at Arun to pay him any further attention.
Arun blushed, unaccustomed to being the recipient of female attention, whilst the girls looked from Hanara to Lucky expectantly, eager for introductions to be made.
‘This is our brother, Arun. He has come to visit all the way from England,’ Hanara announced, an unexpected hint of pride evident in her voice.
This was enough of an opener for the girls, who instantly began falling over each other to introduce themselves, bombarding Arun with questions about England and how long he would be visiting for. Arun did his best to remember each of their names and to answer all of their questions, but his eyes kept wandering back to Chandni, who stood silently behind the other girls, nervously clutching a small bag in her hands. Up close, she was even more beautiful and Arun couldn’t help but notice how her sari complimented the striking green colour of her eyes.
‘All right girls, that’s enough now. I know that you are tired of fighting over me every day only and that my brother is almost as good looking as me, but we are going home now, isn’t it?’ joked Lucky.
The girls groaned in harmony at Lucky’s poor humour, but comprehending the underlying sentiment, they eased up on their questioning.
‘Do you need a ride home?’ Hanara asked, turning to Chandni.
‘Yes, please. Only if it is not too much trouble,’ she answered sweetly, glancing fleetingly at Arun before looking to Lucky expectantly.
Her silky voice was like music to Arun’s ears; soft and melodious, it fitted perfectly with her petite and feminine form.
‘It is never too much trouble for you,’ Lucky answered brightly, inadvertently causing a smile to take possession of Arun’s face.
They waved goodbye to the gaggle of girls gathered on the mandir steps and piled themselves into Lucky’s rickshaw. Just as Arun had hoped, Hanara reclaimed her spot in the front seat, leaving him no option but to sit alongside Chandni in the back. Lucky and Hanara talked animatedly amongst themselves, clearly rejuvenated by their visit to the mandir and glad to be back in the swing of village life, whilst Arun struggled to find the words to make conversation with Chandni. He wasn’t well practised at communicating with the opposite sex, but there was something about Chandni, something that prevented his mind from focusing for more than a few seconds and denied him the power of speech. He needed to say something, anything, to gain her attention, but it was difficult to think straight when the soft light from the village houses intermittently illuminated her face, reminding him just how beautiful she was. Thankfully, Chandni seemed blissfully unaware of his internal struggle, and with her hands folded neatly in her lap, she stared into the passing darkness, her sepia-coloured hair streaming out behind her from the speed of Lucky’s driving.
‘I’m Arun, by the way,’ he managed eventually. It wasn’t the most scintillating of openers, but he reasoned that it was a start. Chandni turned to face him and smiled a beguiling smile that made Arun’s heart stop.
‘Yes, Hanara told me. I’m Chandni.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ he replied, tipping his head, afraid of what might happen if he actually extended his hand to touch Chandni.
‘And you too,’ she said, smiling sweetly again.
She looked up at Arun expectantly, her mesmerising green eyes barely visible between the long lashes that framed them. She seemed to be willing Arun to continue their conversation, but when a few seconds had passed and he had said nothing further, she turned her face back towards the passing darkness disappointedly.
It was a
few minutes before Arun was able to find his voice again and, wary of appearing nosy, the words emerged shakily because of his underlying apprehension.
‘Did you come to the mandir alone?’
‘Oh no, I came with my Bapu-ji, but he is not quite finished there yet.’
The conversation was stunted and short-lived, but they were spared any prolonged awkwardness when Lucky pulled up outside a house that closely resembled his own, and Chandni hastily hopped out.
‘Thank you for the ride, Lucky,’ she smiled, standing on the roadside in the dimly lit glare of the headlights.
‘It is my pleasure, always.’
‘I’ll see you both tomorrow?’
‘Yes, of course. See you tomorrow,’ Hanara answered, leaning across Lucky to wave goodbye to her friend.
‘Nice to meet you, Arun,’ Chandni added shyly over her shoulder, as she started towards the house.
‘You too,’ he croaked in response.
The three of them watched until Chandni was safely inside of her house and, when the door was firmly shut, Lucky began to chart the course towards home.
‘How did you enjoy the mandir, Arun?’ Hanara cried over the whir of the rickshaw’s engine.
‘It was great, really interesting,’ he answered somewhat absent-mindedly, his brain still on the pretty girl that they had just left behind.
‘A bit different to what you are probably used to at home, isn’t it?’
‘A little, yes, but in a good way.’
Hanara turned to smile at him, evidently pleased by his positive responses.
‘Rajubhai Joshi was very impressed by you, I could tell,’ she added proudly.
‘So were Hanara’s friends. I think you can have your pick of any wife now,’ quipped Lucky, laughing good-naturedly.
Arun laughed too, recalling the unwarranted attention that he had received.
‘I don’t think that I will be getting married just yet, Lucky. Let’s not get carried away.’
‘Why not? You are exactly the right age now, isn’t it?’
‘Are you kidding me? I’m nineteen; that’s far too young,’ exclaimed Arun.
‘I'm not kidding. Marriage always happens around this age in India. It is normal only.’
‘If it’s so normal, then why aren’t you and Hanara married already?’ teased Arun playfully.
Lucky and Hanara exchanged knowing glances and Hanara nodded at Lucky, silently authorising him to continue.
‘Because Hanara and I have an agreement; we decided not to leave Mata-ji alone. Bapu-ji already left … and then you went with Dr Cathy … if we had gone too, then who would have looked after Mata-ji? Hanara refused many offers, because if she had married then she would have had to live with her husband’s family only. And I didn’t take a wife, because it is not fair to Hanara if I am married, but she is not, and it would have made more work in the house.’
‘And now? Now that Mata-ji is gone?’
‘Now I am too old, so I am taking care of Lucky,’ answered Hanara simply.
‘And I am taking care of Hanara,’ concluded Lucky, shining his crooked smile at his sister.
Arun was humbled by Lucky and Hanara’s dedication, not only to Mata-ji, but also to each other. Though their small family had experienced many challenges over the years, none had been strong enough to divide the two of them. They were a unit, a whole, bound together by unconditional love and support, and it made Arun proud to finally be a part of it.
A few minutes later, Lucky eased the rickshaw to a standstill outside of their house and when he killed the engine they were plunged into darkness. Blindly, the trio disembarked the vehicle, giggling as they bumped each other accidentally in the blackness of the night.
‘So, how about it, Arun?’ came Lucky’s voice from somewhere up ahead.
‘How about what?’
‘Getting married. You have all these beautiful mandir girls to choose from … I think we should start calling you Lucky!’
‘Both of you would be lucky to marry any of those girls,’ interrupted Hanara, finding Lucky’s shoulder and shoving him playfully in a half-hearted attempt to defend her friends.
‘Your friends are lovely, Hanara,’ began Arun, trying hard to stifle a giggle because he didn’t wish to offend his sister now that they were finally getting along, ‘they just ask a lot of questions.’
‘Women do that,’ retorted Lucky, swerving to avoid another of Hanara’s shoves.
‘Not all of them, Lucky … your friend, Chandni, she was very quiet,’ remarked Arun, surreptitiously trying to steer the conversation round to the only girl that he was interested in discussing.
‘Oh, she is not quiet, just a little shy. She always takes some time to get used to people that she doesn’t know,’ replied Hanara dismissively.
‘How long have you known her for?’
‘Oh, just about her whole life. She’s your age, I think.’
‘How did you meet her?’
‘Everybody knows Chandni. Rajubhai Joshi has been bringing her to the mandir practically every day since she was born,’ answered Hanara, her voice trailing off as she disappeared into the house.
‘Rajubhai Joshi?’ queried Arun, stopping at the door to the house and turning to Lucky for an explanation.
‘Yes, Arun,’ he answered impatiently, shoving his brother forcefully into the house, ‘Chandni is Rajubhai Joshi’s daughter.’
