by Marisha Pink
THIRTY-FIVE
ANOTHER week rolled by until only one week remained before Arun was due to fly back to England. It had taken some getting used to, for all of them, but he had made his peace with what he had to do and was trying his best to think positively. He felt encouraged to view the return as the start of a very promising medical career, rather than the end of his time in India. It was this career that had been his lifelong ambition and, if successful, it was this career that would ultimately enable him to return to India to be with his siblings and Chandni when the time was right. There was little for Arun to do by way of preparation for his departure – he had left with one bag and would return with the same – but since his arrival in the village, at the back of his mind there had always been one place that he felt he ought to visit again before leaving.
The monsoon rains were more or less over and one sunny morning, leaving Hanara to mind the shop, Arun travelled into Puri with Lucky and asked to be dropped off outside of the Mayfair Beach Resort Hotel. He was unsurprised to find his concierge buddy on duty and, greeting him with a huge warm smile, he politely requested that a taxi was summoned for him. Within ten minutes he was zipping along the main road once more and when they passed beyond the city limits and ascended the gentle incline, the verdant beauty of the bushy trees and gleaming rice paddies was enough to transport Arun back to his first visit to Rachna Hari. How different it had been then, speeding along on the back of Manoj’s motorcycle, hurtling towards a great unknown in a time when he had dared to hope, to dream and to wish. He couldn’t have predicted that it would be the start of such a wonderful journey and the point beyond which his life would be forever transformed and enriched.
When they reached the top of the hill, the large white colonial house dazzled in the midday sun and, after remunerating the driver, Arun stepped out of the car into the cooling breeze. The security guard regarded him with suspicion, failing to recognise his face beneath the tangled mop that framed it, but he seemed to relax somewhat when Arun politely explained that he was there to see Manoj. He scurried into the house leaving Arun to bask in the warmth of the sun and when he returned a few minutes later, looking decidedly more amiable, he eased back the heavy metal gate and allowed Arun to enter the grounds. Manoj stood waiting for him expectantly on the steps leading up to the house and threw his arms open in a gesture of welcome at the sight of him.
‘Arun, what a lovely surprise. I would have assumed that you had returned to England by now.’
‘Hello Manoj, how have you been?’
‘Very well. Do come through,’ he said, shaking Arun’s hand and motioning for him to proceed into the building.
They walked leisurely through the grand house, the hallways cool, dark and silent, until they emerged onto the terrace at the back with the spectacular view of the city. Seating themselves on the plastic garden furniture as before, Manoj summoned the same young girl who had served them during Arun’s first visit and she obediently fetched two fresh lime sodas for them from the kitchen. They sipped their drinks gratefully in the sunshine and it wasn’t long before Manoj was enquiring about the outcome of Arun’s search for Kalpana. Taking a deep breath, Arun began to recount in detail his experiences from the past few months and he was surprised by just how much he had done.
Manoj listened closely while Arun described his initial meeting with Lucky and Hanara, and explained how he had learned of Mata-ji’s death six weeks before his arrival. He recalled with fondness the early adventures with Lucky and how Hanara’s rejection and resentment had slowly turned to love, acceptance and even a rakhi. He omitted the true details surrounding his adoption, concerned that Catherine and Mata-ji’s agreement might in some way incriminate Rachna Hari because of the refuge’s involvement in their introduction, and he spoke instead of working in the shop by day, attending the mandir by night, and of finally belonging to a community, whose lives were now on the verge of disruption. He delighted in tales of the crowds at Rath Yatra and of the more intimate encounters with Chandni that had caused him to fall in love, despite Rajubhai Joshi’s ban on their courtship. And he reminisced; he reminisced about his short-lived plan to attend medical college in Mumbai, before Arthur had delivered the selfish ultimatum that was now forcing him to return home.
‘It sounds like you have had quite an adventure,’ mused Manoj, when Arun finally ceased talking.
‘It has been quite eventful, yes,’ concluded Arun, sipping his lime soda.
‘I’m terribly sorry to hear of your mother’s passing too; I know how much you were looking forward to meeting her.’
‘Thanks, Manoj, that’s very kind of you. It was a shock, of course, but you know, strangely I can’t help feeling that perhaps I was never supposed to meet her. I can’t imagine how things would have turned out and being reunited with Lucky and Hanara, and meeting Chandni, well it’s been … enough. Maybe they’re the real reason that I had to come, even if I didn’t know it at the time.’
‘I know what you mean; life can be strange like that sometimes. Imagine if we too hadn’t met that day? You know it was purely by chance that I was there; I hadn’t been back to the old refuge building since the last items were moved here. You’d probably still be wandering aimlessly around that desolate town; no-one ever goes there anymore, it’s completely empty.’
Arun started to violently cough and splutter as the sip of lime soda that he had just taken travelled halfway down his throat before beginning to resurface in his haste to speak. Manoj patted him hard on the back trying to calm his swells, but he waved him away, fighting desperately to regain his breath so that he could speak.
‘Around the old refuge,’ he croaked painfully, ‘are you certain that no-one lives or works there anymore?’
‘Positive, why?’
‘Who owns the buildings?’ he continued, ignoring Manoj’s question.
‘Well we still own the refuge building, but I think most of the others have simply been abandoned. Why?’ he pressed, growing increasingly curious as he tried to decipher the wild look in Arun’s eyes.
‘Manoj, do you need the old refuge building? Would you be prepared to sell it?’
‘I’d love to sell it, but no-one will buy in that neighbourhood now. People don’t even want the properties that they already own.’
‘The airport, Manoj!’ cried Arun over-excitedly. ‘What if they were to build the airport in the town where the old refuge is?’
The short man looked at him and smiled benignly.
‘It’s a nice idea, Arun, but I doubt that things are as simple as that.’
‘Why not? The area is big enough and it’s just as close to Puri as the village is. Best of all, there is no-one living there that needs to be moved elsewhere; it’s the perfect solution,’ Arun exclaimed, mildly irritated by Manoj’s lack of enthusiasm for the idea.
‘I quite agree with you, but I can’t see the government agreeing to it, especially after the effort that it sounds like they have already put into securing your village.’
Arun sighed exasperatedly and regarded Manoj with a serious, business-like face.
‘If I can get them to agree to it, will you agree to sell?’
‘Of course I will, Arun, but how do you propose to go about getting them to agree to such a drastic change so late in the proceedings?’
‘I have absolutely no idea, but there must be a way … I need to talk to Rajubhai Joshi, urgently,’ he concluded.
Eager to present his idea to Rajubhai Joshi, the afternoon passed by far too slowly for Arun’s liking, but he could not return to the village until Lucky’s day was over and with no means of contacting his brother, he had no choice except to wait it out. When the sun began to set over the city, Manoj kindly gave him a ride on his motorcycle back to the Mayfair Beach Resort Hotel, where he had arranged to meet Lucky at five o’clock. True to form, it was gone six o’clock by the time Lucky actually arrived, but as soon as Arun divulged the details of his masterful plan, a very enthusiastic Lucky sped back towards the vi
llage with fervour.
A little over thirty minutes later, the brothers found themselves parked outside of the mandir, where they knew Rajubhai Joshi would be preparing for evening prayers.
‘Are you sure that you want to do this?’ asked Lucky.
‘Yes of course, why?’
‘Maybe I should go instead? He doesn’t dislike me quite as much.’
‘No, Lucky, I need to be the one to do this. I’ll have to face him some day and if this doesn’t change his thoughts about me, then I don’t know what will.’
Lucky beamed with admiration at his brother’s courage and, nodding proudly, wished him the best of luck.
Arun found the old man in one of the side rooms preparing the aarti tray. There was no-one else present in the mandir and since it was clear that Rajubhai Joshi hadn’t heard him approaching, he loudly cleared his throat to alert him to his presence.
‘Arun,’ the old man uttered with surprise, ‘is there something that I can help you with?’
‘I need to talk with you, please, sir.’
‘Arun, if this is about Chandni, then I am not interested in whatever it is that you have to say. I’ve already had to endure her incessant pleading on your behalf, without now having to endure yours too,’ he finished curtly.
‘It’s not about Chandni, sir.’
‘Oh? Then?’
Rajubhai Joshi listened carefully whilst Arun quickly retraced his conversation with Manoj and explained about the existence and allure of the uninhabited site. When he finished, he looked expectantly into Rajubhai Joshi’s eyes and awaited the embrace of gratitude and the revelling in the genius of his idea that he was certain would follow, but the old man was silently contemplative.
‘It is a nice idea, in theory at least, but I doubt very much that they would agree to it,’ he concluded calmly.
‘But you could ask. Ask them and see what they say?’
‘I really don’t see the point in that, Arun. Your friend, Mr Rama, was quite right. The project has effectively started and they are just a few days away from beginning construction of the new village.’
‘All the more reason for you to speak with them now, before they start. Before it’s too late,’ wailed Arun, exasperated by Rajubhai Joshi’s apparent refusal to fight.
‘No, Arun. As I have already said, it is a nice idea, but I really think it is too late now. The time has passed and we must accept that we will be moving, and make the necessary preparations.’
‘So you won’t even try?’ he said, pouting in defeat.
‘How dare you, Arun; I have tried. I have been trying since before you even knew of the situation, before you even knew of the village for that matter. What’s done is done; we must all accept it and move on.’
‘But, what if –’
‘Arun, if you don’t mind, I have a lot of things to finish preparing before this evening. I will see you later,’ he finished dismissively.
Irritated by the exchange, Arun trudged back outside to find Lucky, the frustration manifest in his face.
‘How did it go?’ questioned Lucky eagerly, before Arun had even climbed back into the rickshaw.
‘He doesn’t think that they’ll agree to it. He thinks that it’s too late,’ Arun sighed dejectedly.
‘Oh. Well that’s it then.’
‘Actually, Lucky, it’s not,’ cried Arun, suddenly brightening when another thought occurred to him.
‘Arun, if Rajubhai Joshi and Mr Rama are both saying that it is too late, then it must be too late, isn’t it? There’s nothing that we can do.’
‘Yes, yes there is,’ he countered defiantly, more determined than ever to prove Rajubhai Joshi wrong.
‘But Arun –’
‘Just drive, Lucky. I’ll explain on the way.
