Secret Keeper

by Mitali Perkins

My dear Asha,

  We were so sorry to hear of the passing of your father. He was a dear man, and I know you must be missing him greatly. Your sister wrote to us of the news of his death, and of her upcoming marriage and move to New York. How thrilled you must be for her! A strange coincidence is that I’ve heard of your brother-in-law because I visit the gallery where his art is displayed quite often. A portrait that everybody was talking about was gone, but a few landscapes were there, and they were stunning. Jay Sen will be famous one day, no doubt.

  Your sister thought you and your mother might be happier with a move back to Delhi. I’ve talked it over with our headmistress and the other faculty, and we feel it’s our duty to let you finish your education here, given the circumstances. We would waive one year’s tuition for you to complete your studies. Your sister also tells us that you’ve been tutoring in Calcutta, and that you’re quite good at it. She sent along copies of your cousin’s math results before and after you took him in hand. Well done, I say, Asha. Well done!

  Given your talents in teaching, we want to offer you a part-time tutoring position. Many of our parents are wealthy, as you know, and eager for the academy to hire a good tutor. The parents’ council decided to fund the position, and I believe the salary we can offer is decent. You would meet with students on campus every afternoon after school.

  As for housing, your sister mentioned a nice flat close to the academy, so you and your mother can start looking as soon as you get here. In the meantime, Kavita’s family has offered space for you in their home. There’s plenty of room for the two of you to stay as long as you desire, her mother assures me.

  Last but not least, I have more good news for you. There has been discussion about expanding the psychology department here at Delhi University. They might be offering a full doctoral program soon. In a year or two, you could take the exam and apply for a scholarship in their master’s program. I’ll help you study, I promise.

  Write soon, after you discuss these possibilities with your family, as I’ll need to make the necessary arrangements. Enclosed is enough money for two one-way train tickets from Calcutta to Delhi, sent with love and affection from your teachers here at Bishop Academy.

  Blessings to you and yours,

  Mrs. Joshi

  P.S. If you decide not to come, use the money as you wish. Knowing you, we decided you’d probably buy books.

  Asha’s eyes were so blurry by the end, she could barely read the postscript, which made her smile. For the first time she could look into the future and see some kind of gain. She’d had to give up Baba, then Jay, and even her sister, but at least now she might not have to lose all of her dreams. And maybe she could even manage to keep the bossy, scolding, engaged version of their mother around, the one she loved so dearly despite all the mistakes Ma had made.

  Asha took the letter and found her sister hanging laundry on the line in the garden. “Where’s the washerwoman?” Asha asked. “Why are you doing that?”

  “I gave her the afternoon off,” Reet said coolly. “I owed her one, anyway. And I like doing laundry. What’s that you’ve got there?”

  “A letter. From Mrs. Joshi. Reet, you wrote to her even while you were furious?”

  Her sister shrugged. “You’re not the only one who made promises, you know. I made some, too, remember?”

  Asha reached over tentatively to take her sister’s hand, and this time Reet didn’t pull away. “Thank you, Reet. Thank you.”

  “It was his idea, too. He offered to send money so that you and Ma could move out of this house before I even asked him about Delhi.” Her sister still wasn’t able to say Jay’s name in front of Asha.

  “I’m so sorry about everything, Reet,” Asha said. “I’ve gone over it a thousand times in my mind, and I can’t think of what else I could have done.”

  Reet handed her one of Uncle’s undershirts. “Here, you may as well help. I tried to think about it from your side after I cooled down a bit, Osh, and I probably would have made the same choice. You ought to have told me first, though.”

  “That would have ruined everything,” Asha said, wringing the shirt as hard as she could to get the last bit of water out. “You never would have let me, Reet. Never.” She pegged the vest to the line.

  Reet picked up a soaking towel, and the sisters began twisting it from either end. Water splashed around their feet, and Asha was reminded of standing together in the Ganges. They had been through so much—she couldn’t imagine life without her sister. But they had also known that the day of separation was inevitable as they watched their mother tuck away another bangle or their father put more rupees into their dowries. And now that day was here.

  Reet was obviously thinking through her sister’s decision again. “I wouldn’t have told you, either,” she said. “I’m still not sure it was the right choice, but there’s not much we can do now.”

  “Thank you, Reet. Thank you for trying to understand.”

  They held the towel to the line, each pegging one corner. “Do you think . . . do you think he’ll come around?” Reet asked.

  “I don’t know,” Asha answered honestly. “He’s furious. But not at you, Reet. And he’ll treat you well, in any case.”

  Reet sighed. “That’s what I said I wanted, didn’t I? If only . . . Oh well, time will tell, I suppose. I’m actually kind of glad that I get to see New York.”

  Asha hesitated. Then she asked, “Will you go to that station?”

  “Of course I will. You would, too. I want to see the place where Baba was last thinking of us, Osh.”

  “Oh, I’d like to see it with you.”

  “Maybe you can visit us. After a while.” And Reet reached over to tug gently on her sister’s braid.

  “A long while,” Asha said, smiling at the familiar gesture.

  They finished wringing out and hanging the rest of the laundry in silence, but at least now the air between them wasn’t fraught with hostility.

  “Let’s go tell Ma the news, Osh,” Reet said once the bucket was empty.

  “Do you think she’ll want to go back to Delhi? She doesn’t like Kavita’s family too much.”

  “Are you joking? She’ll do anything to get out of this house. Plus she’ll have greater freedom there; Delhi’s a far more modern city. We might even get her in a white saree with a colored border. Or at least visiting some of the gatherings she used to enjoy so much. Let’s go ask her now.”

  Reet was right. Ma’s face lit up when Asha read her the letter. “Delhi is the only real home I’ve known,” she confessed. “It’s where I spent my married life, where I had you girls. I’ve been so homesick, I can’t tell you how much. And I’m dying in this house, absolutely dying.”

  “But what about living with Kavita’s family for a while, Ma?” Reet asked. “Can you handle being there until I can send you money for rent?”

  Ma smiled ruefully. “I’ve come down a bit since we left Delhi, girls, and it’s been a good thing in some ways. Your baba used to chide me for not trusting people, and I’ve finally learned my lesson. You were right, Tuni, and I was wrong. That Kavita of yours is a good friend.”

  “I’ll send the money as soon as I get to New York,” Reet said. “You’ll be mistress of your own home again before you know it.”

  “What good girls your baba gave me!” Ma said, drawing both of her daughters close. “I see he’s still keeping his promise to take care of me.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  THE FAMILY’S REACTION TO THE NEWS ABOUT ASHA AND MA’S move to Delhi was predictably mixed. Auntie’s silence told them all that she thought it was the best idea she’d heard in a long time. Uncle, Raj, the little cousins, and Grandmother protested vehemently at first. Bit by bit, Reet, Asha, and Ma wore down their objections.

  “Who is this Kavita?” Grandmother demanded.

  “We’ve been friends for years,” Asha said.

  “She’s the other top student at Bishop—second only to Osh,” Reet added. “I mean Tuni.”
r />   “Good family. Educated. Punjabi, but so kind they almost seem Bengali.” That was Ma, of course.

  “And what is this teaching you’ll be doing, Tuni?”

  “In the school, Grandmother. Not in people’s houses. The school is paying me, so I won’t have to take money from anybody’s hands. I’ll get a salary every month.”

  “The standard of living in Delhi is much better than here in Calcutta,” Ma informed them, showing a flash of her old haughtiness.

  “What would Bintu want?” Uncle asked.

  “Baba would want Ma to make the decision,” Asha answered quickly. Once her mother was no longer under her in-laws’ roof, she might be able to bend the rules of widowhood enough to start enjoying life again. Tradition forbade widows to remarry, but she could still have fun, couldn’t she? Ma would delight in being in charge of her own home again.

  “He’d also want Asha to study,” Reet added.

  “My husband would say this chance was a gift from God,” Ma said firmly, and Grandmother nodded her agreement, settling the matter once and for all.

  Reet was scheduled to leave Calcutta a week after Ma and Asha departed, and Asha was dreading their goodbye. It was also surprisingly hard to leave behind a wailing Sita and Suma, who cried as if they’d never heard of happily-ever-after, or had stopped believing in it, at least.

  And Grandmother, who kissed Asha’s forehead after receiving her pronam. “You’re a good girl, Tuni. You remind me so much of your baba.”

  Auntie embraced both Asha and Ma as though they were dearer than life itself. “Your brother-in-law will lose five kilos now that you won’t be cooking for him, Sumitra.”

  “You’ll have to learn,” Ma said, smiling.

  “Or maybe we’ll hire another cook.”

  Raj rolled his eyes and bent to give his aunt pronam. He turned to Asha, and she flung open her arms. They hugged for the first time since they were little, and she couldn’t keep back the tears. He had been so good to her, this cousin of hers. As good as a brother.

  “Maybe I’ll end up living under your roof,” he said, handing her a clean handkerchief. “I’m applying to engineering programs, and they have a good one in Delhi.”

  She blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “Engineering? Really?”

  “Now that I’m a math genius.”

  “But what about your other dream, Raj?”

  His expression softened. “You’re not the only one who can make a sacrifice, Osh,” he said. “But keep that arm in shape; we have to beat our volley record the next time we see each other.”

  Reet and Uncle took Asha and Ma to the train station. The rest of the family stood at the gate waving, and Asha twisted her neck to keep them in sight until the taxi turned the corner.

  Howrah station was even more crowded than it had been when they’d arrived, with people racing to reach their destinations before the prime minister declared a state of emergency. Nobody knew when it would happen, but it was coming soon.

  The sisters walked hand in hand behind Uncle and Ma on the platform. Asha noticed their mother and uncle talking easily, both of them ignoring the curious glances from passersby who were probably wondering why a white-clad widow was chatting with a man.

  “I’ll miss your cooking, Sumitra,” Uncle said when the time came to say goodbye. “And your stories, Tuni.”

  “I’ll miss playing twenty-nine, Uncle.”

  “You’ll come for a visit. I’ll send the tickets as soon as things settle down a bit. Stay close to your mother, Tuni, and take care of her.”

  This time he did sound exactly like Baba, and after Asha gave her uncle pronam, she reached up to kiss his cheek the way she used to kiss her father’s.

  Uncle began directing the coolie to load the suitcases into their compartment. The conductor called out his warning of the train’s departure. Asha turned to her sister, and they held each other close. “I love you, sister of mine,” Reet whispered.

  “Love you, too.”

  Ma clung to Reet as though her daughter was three years old again. “Take care, my darling girl. Be good to your husband.”

  “I’ll try, Ma,” Reet said.

  Ma and Asha climbed aboard the train and stood at the open door. Reet walked beside them on the platform as the train began to move, still holding her sister’s hand. Uncle followed at a distance.

  “Mail a postcard as soon as you get there, Reet,” Asha said. “Find something new that Baba didn’t already send.”

  “No chance. The first one’s going to have your saree-wearing twin on it. Lift that lantern high!”

  They were laughing and crying as they released each other’s hand. The train gathered speed and Reet tried to keep up on the platform, running as fast as she could. But she wasn’t fast enough. Ma and Asha hurried to their compartment and leaned out the window: Reet and Uncle were already gone.

  The other four seats in the compartment were empty. Uncle had insisted on paying for the entire compartment. “It’s what my brother would do,” he’d said as he bought the tickets, and Asha felt another rush of love for him as she and Ma got settled.

  Ma took off her sandals and sat cross-legged, tucking her feet under her saree. She pulled out the sweater she had just started knitting for her new son-in-law. It was blue, blue like the Calcutta summer sky, like the color of the ocean that separated them now. Asha tried, and almost succeeded, not to imagine Jay wearing it.

  The train slowed, and mother and daughter watched a crow rise from a banyan tree into the sky and disappear behind the clouds.

  “My father was a farmer, Tuni,” Ma said suddenly. “An uneducated man. We struggled to find money for food from week to week. My mother, too, was illiterate. Your baba sent them money after we got married, and we took care of them, but I was always ashamed of them. I shouldn’t have been. They were wonderful people.”

  Asha listened quietly, feeling a pang because Reet wasn’t able to hear this. Her sister deserved these revelations about the Strangers as much as she did.

  “I wanted so badly to give a son to your baba, to show him gratitude for what he had done for my parents,” Ma said. “But I couldn’t. And when you were born, I kept thinking what a perfect boy you would have made. You were so clever, and bright, and agile. I even had a name picked out if you had been a boy. I was going to call you Satya, which means ‘truth.’ ”

  “If I had been a boy,” Asha repeated.

  “But you weren’t,” Ma said simply. “You were a girl. And your baba must have known you would be, because he had a name picked out, too. A good name. A girl’s name.”

  “Asha. Which means ‘hope.’ ” Somewhere deep inside, Asha felt an old knot loosen, like a fist unclenching.

  “And now I see that he chose perfectly. Because life without hope can be worse than death itself.”

  “You’ve got to fight hard for hope, Ma. You can’t just give up.”

  “I’ll try, Tuni. I’ll do my best.” And Ma started knitting again, fiercely, as if her life depended on it.

  “Tell me more about our grandparents, Ma,” Asha said after a while. She’d been wanting to turn the Strangers into family for so long.

  Ma didn’t hesitate. “Nobody could grow flowers like Baba,” she said, still knitting. “His dahlias were the talk of the village. And Ma! She didn’t say much, but she put her love into her cooking, even when we only had rice and dal. That’s how I learned. Ma married Baba when she was only fourteen, and had me at fifteen. She was more like a sister than a mother, because I was their only child. I had a little brother, too, but he died when he was only ten months old.”

  I didn’t know, Asha thought. An uncle. I had another uncle.

  “I never found out what they named him. I wish I had. My mother didn’t get out of bed for weeks. But my father knew how to comfort her. Even when I couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried. Just like your father could comfort me.”

  Ma talked and knitted, knitted and talked, pouring untold stories into the empty c
ompartment like a river flowing down from the Himalayas, through Calcutta, and into the sea. And Asha caught her mother’s secrets, tucking them one by one into the urn of her memory.

  THIRTY-THREE

  WHEN THE TAXI DROPPED THEM AT KAVITA’S HOUSE, IT WAS past midnight, but Asha’s friend greeted them rapturously. “Auntie, Osh, we’re so glad you’re here. Is Reet really married? I can hardly believe it. I want to hear all about it.”

  “You must be tired, Kavi,” Asha said. “It’s so late. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  Kavita’s parents were waiting up also. “We’re honored to have you, Sumitra. And your daughter, too. Thank you for accepting our invitation.”

  “Thank you so much for hosting us,” Ma replied in her hesitant English.

  “Oh, two packages came for you, Osh,” Kavita said. “I’ve left them in your room. One was as heavy as a human being. I asked the servants to be extra careful with it because it was marked fragile.”

  After Kavita’s family said good night, Ma went to take a bath and wash the traveling dust away. Asha followed a servant into the guest room, where he placed their suitcases, turned down the twin beds, and brought in a pitcher of drinking water with two glasses.

  When she was finally alone, Asha took a closer look at the two packages. The smaller one was from Calcutta, and Reet’s handwriting was all over it. Her sister must have sent it a week or so ago for it to arrive before they did.

  The other, much larger package had been sent by courier from a gallery in Delhi. Asha could guess what was inside, but she opened her sister’s gift first. It was a diary, with a key, just like the ones Baba had always found. Asha hugged and kissed it as though it were alive.

  “Nineteen seventy-five, at last,” she whispered.

  She turned to the heavy, flat package that was leaning against a wall. Carefully removing the brown paper and twine, she set it all aside neatly and didn’t peek until it was fully uncovered.