“Being a teacher is a fine job,” Auntie added. “And we could have used the extra money.”
I wasn’t going to give it to YOU, Asha thought angrily, but she didn’t say it aloud. What was the point of arguing over hypothetical earnings? Nobody could use them now.
“Becoming a schoolteacher would be fine,” Grandmother said sternly. “But sending an unmarried girl of our class and caste to work in someone else’s home is another. What were you thinking, Bontu? Your brother would never have allowed this.”
Ma came in. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“They almost agreed to hire your daughter out as a tutor,” Grandmother answered, tilting her head toward Auntie and Uncle. “Thankfully, I stopped them.”
Ma looked at Asha, who was still glowering, fists clenched by her sides. “Why can’t she take the job? She’s quite good at helping others with their studies.”
“I’m not having the neighbors accuse us of taking advantage of my son’s family,” Grandmother said haughtily. “What would they think if I sent Tuni out to work so soon after his death?”
“That we need money!” Asha said, trying not to shout. “What’s wrong with that?”
“You are not bringing any more shame into this house, young lady,” Grandmother said, wagging a finger in Asha’s face. “If your father had known about your cutting of hair and playing that game in public with a bunch of boys, he would have had a heart attack.”
“No, Baba would have laughed,” she retorted. “Baba would have asked me what shots I used to clinch the match.”
“That’s enough, Tuni,” Uncle said sternly.
Reet flashed her sister a frightened look, but Asha couldn’t stop herself. She was too frustrated at losing the job. “Are you going to pull my ear now, Uncle? Well, go ahead, but no matter how hard you try, you are not my father and you never will be!” She spun around and ran upstairs, leaving behind a stunned silence.
Up, up, and up to the roof she raced, where Jay would be, waiting to listen, comfort, sympathize, talk. Sure enough, he leaned out the window. “What happened? Got the job that fast?”
“No, Jay. Grandmother won’t let me work outside the home.”
“Why not?”
“Something about ‘our class’ and ‘our caste’ and earning money as hired help. I don’t know! It’s so maddening. What am I going to do?”
“If I had my way, Osh, I’d help you get enrolled in the best psychology program in the world. I’d take care of your mother and sister. And you.”
Asha caught her breath. His voice was so tender. “Thank you, Jay,” she managed. “But it’s hard to get your way in this world.”
“But we can try, can’t we?”
She had to smile at that. “We can always try,” she said.
TWENTY-FIVE
THAT NIGHT, WITH THE TWO OF THEM LOCKED INSIDE THE bathroom while they brushed their teeth, Reet filled Asha in on what had happened in the living room after her exit. “They blamed Ma, of course,” Reet said. “Pass the toothpaste.”
“Oh no! What did Ma say?” Asha handed her sister the tube of Colgate.
Reet brushed her teeth, rinsed, and spit before answering. “Nothing. All three of them scolded her about what a terrible job she’d done raising you, and she just sat there and took it.”
Asha’s jubilation over Jay dissipated; she felt crushed. “I made things worse for her, Reet,” she said, putting toothpaste on her own brush. “I never should have spoken to Uncle like that. Or to Grandmother. What should I do?”
“Swallow your pride and ask for forgiveness. From Uncle and Grandmother. For Ma’s sake.”
“But that job! I almost had it, Reet.” Asha started brushing her teeth. Hard.
“Ma doesn’t need us to make things worse for her in this house, Osh. We have to be the two best-behaved, most well-bred girls in Calcutta. Which reminds me, be careful up on the roof. I caught Suma and Sita in the nick of time this afternoon. They were skipping up there because they heard you. Getting caught would be the end of your reputation, Osh. Not to mention Ma’s.”
Asha shuddered as she rinsed and spit. How terrible if she and Jay were discovered! That could never happen. They’d have to be even more careful than they already were, meeting once a week, maybe, instead of three or four times. But being with him had become an addiction; she wasn’t sure she could cut back.
She did take her sister’s advice about the apologies, though. Using her best flowery, formal language, she petitioned her uncle and grandmother for forgiveness and understanding because obviously grief had deranged her. And she knew how badly their mother felt over her rudeness, she told everybody. Ma would never permit such behavior from one of her daughters.
Ma sat quietly in the corner and didn’t say anything, but Grandmother dropped a kiss on her granddaughter’s forehead. “We’re all mixed up after losing your father, Tuni,” she said. “Especially me.”
Uncle sounded weary when he spoke. “I know I can’t take his place, Tuni, but I have to take care of you girls. I’m trying as hard as I can.”
Now she felt genuinely sorry. “I know, Uncle.”
He smiled and turned to Reet. “We’ve begun asking for proposals, Shona. Hopefully they’ll start coming in soon. We have to wait a few more months for a wedding, but I’m glad you are entrusting me and your grandmother with this decision. I’ll find you a good match, don’t worry.”
“It’s getting harder these days to find a decent husband for girls who don’t go to college,” Auntie added. “But we’ll do our best. It’s too bad you’ve lost your figure, Shona. Try to eat something.”
It was true. Reet was now skinnier than Asha had ever been. Her cheekbones and jawline were as sharp as the edges of the faces in Howrah station. There was no longer a group of idiots gathering on the corner to try and glimpse Reet’s figure; there was hardly anything left to ogle. She’d not had her period again, and Asha was getting more and more concerned. The list of worries she couldn’t do a thing about was growing.
Ma came up to their room that night for the first time in months, carrying a steaming bowl of rice and lentils. “Shona, I’ve made you some fresh supper,” she said, using her sweet-sounding village Bangla again. To Asha’s ears, it sounded like a flute in perfect tune. “Sometimes it’s easier to eat without the family around shouting and gossiping. Tuni, tell a story to your sister while she eats. Like your baba used to.”
Asha remembered with a jolt that when they were little girls, Reet would negotiate a story from Baba in exchange for a plate-cleaning finish to a meal.
The twins were already tucked into bed, but they were still awake. “Yes! Yes!” they shouted. “A story! We want a Tuntuni story!” Asha still read fairy tales to the family, but she hadn’t told a Tuntuni story since the telegram.
Asha turned to her sister, who had been combing out her tangles. “Will you eat if I tell it?” she asked.
“I’ll try,” Reet said.
“I’ve made the dal just like my mother used to,” Ma said, and Asha noted the rare reference to one of the Strangers.
Ma kissed her older daughter on the cheek. It was the first time she’d done that to either girl since they’d arrived in Calcutta, and Asha felt a pang as she watched. “Your uncle will take care of you, Shona,” Ma said. “May he find a husband for you as good as your baba.”
Then she leaned down and kissed Asha, too. After she left, the girls smiled at each other through their tears.
“Start eating, Reet,” Asha commanded, and she began a Tuntuni story that she stretched out, just as Baba used to, until her sister finished every bite.
TWENTY-SIX
THE LATE-NIGHT SUPPER, HANDMADE AND HAND-DELIVERED, turned into a ritual, as did the good-night kisses from Ma and a story from Asha. After a few weeks of this special treatment, Reet looked healthier, and soon her rags were drying beside her sister’s in the side garden. The side that was farthest from Jay’s house, for which Asha was grateful.
“It’s strange how girls start to bleed together,” Asha said as they pegged their washed cloths to the line. “At Bishop, a lot of us got our period at the same time, remember?”
“So that’s why the bathroom got jammed three days a month!”
The girls laughed and picked up their empty buckets. They stopped by the pump, and Reet was about to start rinsing out her bucket.
“Shhh,” Asha warned suddenly.
Voices were arguing in the kitchen—Auntie’s and Grandmother’s. And Ma’s. Hardly believing that their mother could be participating so vigorously in a discussion, the girls listened through the open door.
“We simply cannot accept that one,” Ma said.
“There is no other proposal, Sumitra. She used to have her looks, at least, but now those are gone.” That was Auntie, of course.
“But this widower in Madras,” Grandmother said. “How old is he?”
“Not much over twenty-seven or -eight, I’m sure,” Auntie answered. “And he’s a chemistry professor, like Bontu’s father used to be.”
“Oh, lovely,” said Grandmother.
“And his family?” Ma asked.
“His mother’s a widow, like you. She has an older son who’s already married, and they have one boy, but the other daughter-in-law is sickly. They want the unmarried son to find a wife who is ‘young and healthy,’ the ad said, so I’m assuming they need help managing the nephew.”
“So my Shona would have to work hard,” Ma said. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Nothing wrong with hard work,” Auntie said.
Easy for you to say, Asha thought. Ma and Reet do most of it around here.
“And what do the stars say?” Grandmother asked.
“Good news. The astrologer predicts a harmonious match. Their family is of good caste and education, Ma. He’s perfect for Shona.”
“Don’t you read the newspapers?” Ma’s voice sounded like her old self, sharp and strong. “ High-caste, educated husbands do terrible things to their brides, too. That’s why we should find boys in Calcutta, so we can ask questions here and there and find out what we need to know.”
“It’s not as if she has other choices,” Auntie said. “It’s already been two months since we started asking around, and this is her only proposal, Sumitra.”
“Why aren’t more coming?” Grandmother asked. “We’re a good family. And she’s still a lovely girl. Plenty of boys these days don’t require a large dowry, or any at all. What about that Mitra fellow who wanted to marry her some time back?”
“He won’t have anything to do with her. Apparently . . .” Auntie hesitated. “There’s some terrible gossip going around town. I only hope it doesn’t get to Madras before the marriage is fixed.”
“Gossip?” Ma asked quickly. “About us?”
“About the train ‘accident.’ ”
“If you mean that people are implying it wasn’t an accident, then say that, please. I can’t afford to play games. This is my daughter’s future we’re talking about.”
“All right, then. That’s what they’re saying. That the girls’ father was mentally unstable, gave up, took his own life.”
Reet grabbed Asha’s salwar to restrain her. “Ma’s handling it,” she hissed, and Asha subsided.
“My husband died accidentally.” Ma’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was so full of anger that Asha felt like applauding. This was their mother in full glory with no sign of the Jailor, at least for now.
“Well, nobody around here wants to risk bringing that kind of instability into their family line,” Auntie said. “I’m afraid it’s going to hinder my own daughters’ chances when the time comes for them to receive proposals.”
Grandmother spoke up. “If we start acting as if something else might be true, we’ll end up feeding this terrible gossip instead of stopping it. Let’s wait awhile before accepting this proposal. Maybe something else will arrive for our Shona. In the meantime, hold your head high, Sumitra. My son was a good man. He would never have done that to us.”
“I know, I know. Now, where are those daughters of mine?”
Hurriedly, the girls grabbed their buckets and backed away from the door. When their mother came out to find them, they tried their best to seem as though they were just strolling up the garden path.
Ma scanned their faces. “Did you hear our conversation?” she asked.
“What conversation?” Asha asked.
“We were washing our rags, Ma,” Reet added.
“I hope so,” Ma said sternly. “Now come inside and stir this paneer while I run to the bathroom and change my own cloth. It’s my time, too, believe it or not.”
Asha stayed in the kitchen while her sister stirred. “What do you think?”
Reet shrugged. “At least Ma sounded like herself. That’s good.”
“Yes, but what about Mr. Madras with the sickly sister-in-law?”
Reet handed her sister the wooden spoon and reached for the peas. “Here, you stir. I’ll shell these. Listen, I have to trust Uncle. He and Grandmother and Ma will make the right choice for me. What else can I do? Everything Auntie said is true—except for the part about Baba, of course. A girl like me doesn’t get to pick and choose.”
Asha scooped and turned the paneer so it wouldn’t burn. “Well, the good news is that Ma was right there speaking up for you. And Grandmother sounds reasonable, too. Let’s hope for the best.” She put down the spoon and wiped her hands on a towel.
“Where are you going, Osh?”
“Er . . . up to the roof.”
“Not yet, sister of mine. It’s only been two days.”
“Are you keeping a record now?”
“No, but the little girls are. I’ve caught them on the roof twice now when you’re not there. They’re definitely snooping. ‘Why does Tunidi come up here so much?’ they asked me. ‘She likes to write in her diary,’ I told them. But you haven’t written much lately, have you?”
“No, not much. He’s waiting for me, though, Reet. I know it.”
“Let him wait. It’s good for him.”
Asha sighed. “How’s my story going to end, Reet?”
“I have no idea. Hopefully, we’ll both live happily ever after.”
I’m going to make sure we do, Asha thought as their mother returned to start peeling potatoes.
TWENTY-SEVEN
NO OTHER PROPOSALS CAME FOR REET. MA DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING to her daughters directly, but Asha noticed that their mother made sure Reet was always dressed in a good saree and that she opened the curtains as wide as they could go. Weeks went by, and the girls heard nothing more about the potential husband in Madras. Reet stayed calm, as though she really trusted her uncle and grandmother, but Asha’s anxiety grew daily.
“We’ve been in Calcutta for more than a year now,” Asha told her sister one night when the twins were asleep. The hot season was coming again and the ceiling fan whirled overhead; it was easier to talk under the sound of it.
“More than a year since we saw Baba’s face,” Reet said wistfully. “I’m eighteen now, Osh. My birthday was last month.”
“Oh, Reet, I’m sorry. I totally forgot. Of course, we couldn’t celebrate it.”
“We forgot yours, too, in December. Who cares about birthdays, anyway?”
“I remembered it was mine that evening. And I thought about how Baba always gave me a new diary.”
“I’d have gotten you one if I could, Osh. But you haven’t written in your old one much, it’s probably only half full.”
“I know. I’m seventeen, Reet. That sounds so grown up, doesn’t it?” She wanted to add: The proof is that when I’m on the roof, and sense Jay’s eyes on me, my whole body aches for him . . .
Her roof visits were fewer and farther between, and although Jay complained, he understood that they couldn’t chance getting caught. Besides, lately he was missing again, cloistered in the servants’ quarters, immersed once more in finishing a painting. This time he’d
told Asha before disappearing, which she’d appreciated.
“Ma seems a bit better these days,” Reet said. “Don’t you think?”
“A bit. But she hates it here so much.”
“Maybe Mr. Madras will let you move in with me.”
“Sounds like he’s got a mother of his own,” Asha answered. “And a brother with a wife and a son. They won’t want two more stomachs to fill.”
“If he’s as rich as Auntie made him sound . . .”
“I doubt it. Anyway, rich people can be stingier than anybody. We have no idea what this man is really like, Reet.”
“Uncle said he’ll travel there to meet them before arranging the marriage. He’ll do the right thing, Osh.”
“I wish I could go with him,” Asha said. “Hey, maybe Raj could go.”
“That’s a great idea! We’ll ask him to be our spy. We can definitely trust good old Raj.”
When his cousins asked him to accompany his father on a fact-finding mission to Madras, Raj agreed immediately. “You can be sure I’ll go. I’ll get the true story about this fellow, don’t you worry.”
Asha felt better after that. She did trust Raj; he had proved himself more than once.
One night after dinner, Uncle did that throat-clearing thing that Asha had come to recognize. It meant he wanted to talk about something big.
“No other proposals have come in for Shona,” he announced. “And this man in Madras is growing tired of waiting for our answer. What should I tell him?”
“Is it time to take a trip and meet him?” Grandmother suggested.
“Train tickets cost money,” Auntie said. “We should accept the proposal first. Then maybe he’ll send the ticket.”
“What?” Ma asked. “Accept the proposal sight unseen? We can’t do that. The girls’ father would certainly never have acted in such a careless manner.”
Grandmother tilted her head in agreement. “She’s right. Bintu wouldn’t have done that.”
“So what do we do?” Auntie asked. “It’s not as if she’s got other choices. And believe me, we’ve tried hard to get another proposal, but nobody seems interested.”
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