by Marisha Pink
TWENTY-EIGHT
DAYS turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, until Arun could no longer discern what day it was at all. The routines that had come to be so ingrained in his life had become something that he welcomed each morning like an old friend, and he cherished the time that he was able to spend with his family, and even the wider community. His relationship with Chandni had blossomed and, though the time that they shared alone was often brief, it was firmly his favourite part of the week. Lucky was back in Hanara’s favour, having procured a significant sum for driving a visiting couple around Puri for two weeks, and Hanara herself was relaxed and content, the balance between work, play and worship finally restored. The only person unhappy with the arrangement was Arthur and though he never neglected to remind Arun of this fact during their fortnightly telephone calls, Arun had learnt to rise above the bitter comments. For the first time in his life everything seemed to be in its rightful place and he was loathe to disturb it any sooner than he had to, yet in the depths of Arun’s mind remained the inescapable reality that he would soon be forced to leave India.
Every night whilst Lucky lay snoring beside him, he endured a complex debate between logic, his conscience and his heart. Far from extricating himself, he could reasonably be accused of rooting himself deeper and deeper into their lives, taking on additional responsibilities at home and investing more and more time with Chandni until he had bound himself to them so tightly that his departure would be tantamount to a death. Was it wrong to allow them to get used to having him around if it made them all happy? If being there made him happy, then why was he forcing himself to leave? And if becoming a doctor was all that he’d ever dreamed of, then why was he contemplating following any path that might prevent him from achieving it? Each battle was part of a war that no side could win and the ceasefire that held during the day was always the same; he would have to find a way to reconcile pursuing his medical career with keeping Hanara, Lucky and Chandni in his daily life and until he found that way, he would remain in purgatory.
It was mid-August and the monsoon rains had arrived, the long days marked by heavy downpours and occasional bouts of thunder and lightning. Arun had never experienced anything like it before and though the wet weather had forced them all to spend more time indoors than he would have liked, he remained grateful for the drop in temperature that the rains had brought. After a particularly long day of working in the shop, during which Arun had spent almost an hour and a half trying to decipher what Mrs Satpathy wanted to purchase, he closed up for the evening and trudged back through the terracotta sludge of the yard to the house. The strong aromas of chilli and cardamom greeted him when he entered and the living quarters were filled with a thick smoke that curled out from one of the pots bubbling away above the hearth.
‘Hanara?’ he cried out, unable to see anything through the haze.
‘I’m here only, just sit; dinner is almost ready.’
‘Aren’t we waiting for Lucky?’
‘I’m here already, isn’t it?’ came Lucky’s voice as he emerged from the bedroom, his wet hair showering small droplets of water over his face and shoulders.
‘Oh, hi. I didn’t see your rickshaw outside.’
‘It is there only, Arun. Too busy dreaming about Chandni to notice, isn’t it?’
Arun chuckled and shoved his brother playfully as they took up their usual places amongst the cushions.
‘Here,’ instructed Lucky quietly, passing him a weighty plastic bag emblazoned with the name of a shop that he remembered Chandni dragging him into on their last visit to Puri.
‘What’s this?’ he asked curiously, opening the bag.
‘Shh,’ warned Lucky, pressing one hand to Arun’s lips and using the other to reseal the bag. ‘It’s not for you, it’s for Raksha Bandar. Just keep it under your cushion for now … you’ll see.’
Before Arun had time to protest, Hanara was placing dinner before them on the floor and, at the insistence of Lucky’s urgent stare, he quickly shoved the bag behind the cushion against which he was leaning. Together they enjoyed a deliciously thick and spicy curry that to Arun’s delight contained small pieces of chicken; a fact that surprised him since, without exception, all of the meals that Hanara cooked were vegetarian.
‘Is there ... is there chicken in this?’ he asked between mouthfuls.
‘Well spotted, detective,’ she answered with a smile.
‘But we never have chicken?’
‘Today is a special day only. I know that you miss it.’
Arun was both touched and confused, and when Hanara and Lucky exchanged knowing glances he grew increasingly suspicious that they were up to something. Unexpectedly, Arthur’s warning that they would try to extort money from him flashed across his mind and he immediately hated himself for it.
When they had finished eating, Hanara cleared away their empty plates and returned carrying the aarti tray that was usually reserved for her morning prayers, leaving Arun bewildered and intrigued in equal measure. She settled down on her knees in front of Lucky and began to conduct the aarti on him as though he were the Elephant God, placing pinches of coloured powder in the centre of his forehead and sprinkling rice over his head. Arun watched with fascination while she rotated the tray around Lucky’s face, before reaching into her pocket and removing a thin braid of red and gold threads that she proceeded to tie around Lucky’s right wrist.
‘I love you Lucky. Thank you for being such a good brother. I don’t know what I would do without you,’ she whispered sincerely.
‘I love you too, Hanara. And you don’t have to know, because I will always be here to protect you,’ he smiled.
Hanara sat back on her heels expectantly and a beaming Lucky reached beneath his cushion to retrieve a bag identical to the one that he had given Arun. Hanara clapped her hands together gleefully and, accepting the bag from Lucky, wrestled it open to reveal a stunning midnight-blue sari with an intricately stitched gold border.
‘Oh Lucky, I love it, thank you so much,’ she gushed, throwing her arms around her brother’s neck and pulling him into a tight embrace.
‘You deserve it. I know it has been hard without Mata-ji; you are the one who has really kept us both going,’ whispered Lucky into her hair, just loud enough for Arun to hear.
Arun instantly felt like he was intruding on a very intimate and personal moment, and though he was still baffled as to the significance of the exchange between his siblings, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from their obvious display of love and appreciation. He felt close to Lucky and Hanara in the way that he had felt close to his mother, but his siblings had been on a journey together, a journey that had been tougher than his own in so many ways, and it was the strength of their unity that had seen them through.
Hanara released Lucky from her embrace and shimmied leftwards until she was facing Arun. There was no trace of malice when she gazed up at him meaningfully, her soft hazel eyes filled only with love. She repeated the same ritual that she had conducted on Lucky and this time produced a red and silver braid from her pocket to tie around Arun’s wrist.
‘Arun, I love you too,’ she began, almost with tears in her eyes, ‘thank you for coming back to us. I am so grateful to have both of my brothers in my life again; I don’t know what I would do without you either.’
She sat back on her heels once more and looked at Arun expectantly, but he was so warmed by her unexpected words of kindness that his eyes shone with tears and it took a few moments before he was able to find his voice.
‘Hanara, I … I love you too. I know that at first we had our differences … but I feel so privileged to know both you and Lucky … and I am truly humbled and thankful for the way in which you have welcomed me into your home. I … I wish I could stay longer, but I will always be here for you if you need me.’
Hanara smiled at him encouragingly, visibly moved by his choice of words.
‘I’m afraid I don’t have any –’ he continued, but a sharp jab in the ribs from Luc
ky was all that was needed for him to join the dots together. ‘This is for you,’ he said, reaching behind his cushion to produce the bag that his brother had given him before dinner.
Hanara enthusiastically accepted it and reached inside, removing a crimson sari covered in black beading.
‘Wow,’ she gasped, lifting the folds to inspect the delicate handiwork, ‘it’s beautiful, Arun, thank you.’
She placed the sari on top of the one that Lucky had gifted her and reached forward to embrace Arun tightly, allowing him to snake his arms around her small waist. Arun had meant every word and with Lucky smiling and winking at him over Hanara’s shoulder, he was never more grateful to know that he had a big brother looking out for him too, especially when he wasn’t even aware that he needed one.
When the emotional exchanges were over, Lucky disappeared into his room and returned carrying a large wooden square and a small bag. He set the square down on the floor between them and Arun noted the intricate markings that seemed to indicate that the piece of wood was a board game of some sort. A large circle was painted in the centre and there was a hole in each of the four corners with various other lines and small circles arranged on the board in a symmetrical fashion.
‘What is this?’ asked Arun, intrigued.
‘It’s carrom,’ answered Lucky brightly.
‘It’s a family tradition,’ explained Hanara, ‘we always play carrom on Raksha Bandar; that is, on this day. It was Mata-ji’s favourite game only. She was the best at it so she was always making us play, just so that she could at least win something.’
‘You mean she didn’t tie a string and get a sari too?’
‘It’s called a rakhi, and no she didn’t. Only sisters tie rakhis on their brothers, or sometimes also on their very close cousins and friends.’
‘Didn’t Mata-ji have any brothers or cousins?’
‘No, she was an only child, that’s why she always liked to play carrom on Raksha Bandar. Everyone was always busy tying their rakhis, so she would stay home and make first her parents, then Bapu-ji and then us play carrom, to keep her from being bored.’
‘I see,’ replied Arun, delighted to have picked up this new bit of information about Mata-ji. ‘So we’re not going to the mandir tonight?’
‘Oh no, hardly anybody is going to the mandir tonight. Not even your beloved Chandni,’ teased Lucky, noisily pouring a stream of red and black draught pieces onto the board from the bag that he had been carrying.
‘But why not? Chandni doesn’t have any brothers … or cousins or male friends for that matter,’ replied Arun, a little sad that he would not get to see her that evening.
‘Her cousin-brother always comes from Mumbai for Raksha Bandar. Hey, you should be careful while he is here; he is not very nice and he will not like you being close with Chandni.’
‘What are you talking about, Lucky? Naresh is a sweetheart only,’ Hanara swooned.
‘Hmph,’ exclaimed Lucky with a snort of disdain, ‘it is only the girls who are falling for his smooth-talking, Mumbai medical college rubbish. He is always looking down at everybody, always thinking he is better than them. Just because I drive a rickshaw, it doesn’t mean that –’
‘What did you just say, Lucky?’ interrupted Arun, his eyes suddenly wild with excitement.
‘About Naresh? That he’s always looking down on other people?’
‘No, no, the bit before that, about the medical college. Did you say that it’s in Mumbai?’
‘Oh yes, they have many medical colleges in Mumbai. In Delhi also, actually, but Naresh thinks the one that he –’
‘Lucky, you’re a genius!’ cried Arun, launching himself at his brother and flinging his arms around his neck with such vigour that he accidently kicked the draughts that Lucky had been carefully lining up, scattering them across the carrom board.
‘I don’t understand,’ grumbled Lucky, almost falling backwards from the force with which his brother had struck him.
Arun released his brother and calmly sat back in his place. He took one of each of Lucky and Hanara’s hands into his own and after taking a deep breath, squeezed them both tightly. He studied their confused faces while they waited anxiously for him to speak, but he was savouring the moment; savouring the moment of clarity that he had so desperately awaited, a moment that had finally come when he had least expected it to.
‘Lucky, Hanara,’ he began, nodding at each of them in turn, ‘I’m going to apply to medical college in Mumbai.’
