The Secrets Between Us

by Thrity Umrigar

  “Chitra,” Maya gasps. “I’ve got to call Chitra in Lonavala. She’s dying to know.”

  Now, Bhima can move. “Later,” she says, stopping the girl from making the call. “But the first phone call has to be to someone else.”

  Maya pauses, looks at her with a puzzled frown on her face. “Who?”

  It is all there, in that “Who?” The ingratitude, the moving on, the not looking back. She is not yet ready for this Maya, the Maya who has taken to dressing better, who has spent the past three months of her break poring over law books, who now chats on the phone with her friends almost exclusively in English. It is all Chitra baby’s fault, turning her head like this with big dreams. The uncharitable thought pops into Bhima’s head before she kills it. God forgive you, she chastises herself. What kind of demon grandmother begrudges her granddaughter’s success, especially at the moment of her greatest triumph?

  “Ma-ma,” Maya says impatiently. “Answer me. Who do you want me to call? Gopal Dada?”

  Bhima blinks. “No,” she says, shocked.

  Maya sucks her teeth. “Then who?”

  “Arre, wah. How soon you’ve forgotten the woman whose salt we’ve eaten all these days. The woman who paid for your college in the first place. First call has to be to Serabai.”

  Maya’s reaction is immediate. “Stop saying that,” she yells. “It’s a lie. She didn’t pay for my schooling. You did. With your hard work, you paid.”

  “Chokri,” Bhima says. “Keep your voice down. Do you want the whole basti to hear us?” She waits until Maya has calmed down before she says, “Serabai already paid my salary, no? So your college fees were extra. Out of charity.”

  Maya shakes her head. “Oh, Ma-ma. You understand so little. What charity? How much was your salary, all these years? Did she even give you a pay raise each year? Of course not. In the meantime, inflation in this country is like—” She cuts herself off. “Forget it. If you still want to think like a slave, I cannot stop you.”

  Bhima looks at her in incomprehension, as if Maya is speaking in a new language. Then, a slow realization dawns upon her, and she nods. “Beti. I know you’re still hurting from what . . . what that snake did to you. But Serabai. She was innocent.” She debates whether to tell Maya about their encounter but thinks better of it.

  In any case, Maya is turning away from her. “You just don’t understand,” she repeats. She hands her phone to Bhima. “If you wish to call her, your wish. But I’m not going to speak to her.”

  Bhima dials Serabai’s cell phone number, hoping that she will pick up. The phone is answered immediately, and she hears a little voice say, “Hi?” Her heart beats a little faster. It is the little boy. Darius. “’Allo? Is your . . . is Serabai home?”

  There is the sound of a tussle, and then Sera says, a little breathlessly, “Sera speaking.”

  “Serabai?” Bhima yells into the phone as she is wont to do. “It’s Bhima here.”

  “Bhima?” There is a silence, then, “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

  Bhima laughs at the immediate concern she hears in her former mistress’s voice. If only Maya could’ve heard it, too. “Everything is well,” she yells, even though Maya is gesturing for her to lower her voice. “We are all fine here. I am calling with some good news.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s Maya. She has passed her final exams, bai. With the grace of God, she has stood first class first.”

  “Bhima. This is excellent news. Oh my God. I am so happy for you.” Even though she can’t see her, Bhima knows that Serabai has tears in her eyes.

  Now, at last she lowers her voice. “I am calling you first, only, bai,” she says. “To thank you for forcing me to send Maya to college. And for paying for her schooling. May God repay you for your kindness.”

  There is a long silence, and after a few disconcerting moments, Bhima says, “’Allo?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m here.” She can hear the huskiness in Serabai’s voice. “Bhima. Believe me, I’m just as happy as I was when Dinaz passed her exams. This is a true accomplishment. And it is you who should get the credit, Bhima. I know . . . I know out of what hard clay you have built your mansion.”

  Bhima scratches her head with her left hand. Does Serabai think she’s building a house? Before she can ask, Sera says, “Is Maya there? May I speak to her?”

  She swallows the sudden fear that rises in her. “Yes, bai,” she says. “Just a minute.” She hands the phone to Maya, gesturing and making eyes at her. Be civil, she pantomimes, half-afraid that Maya will refuse to accept the phone and she, Bhima, will have to dig a hole and die of embarrassment. To her relief, Maya grudgingly takes the phone, sighs dramatically, and then says, “Hello.”

  Bhima watches Maya’s face intently and is gratified when, after a few minutes, it relaxes. That Serabai, she thinks appreciatively. A tongue coated with honey. She listens as Maya says, “Sure, sure. Definitely.” Then, “And how is Dinaz?” And then, “Tell her I send my love.” Bhima’s heart swells with pride. Her granddaughter, Pooja’s daughter, has not forgotten her manners, after all.

  “Serabai,” Bhima says when she finally gets the phone back. “Forgive me. I didn’t ask. How is Dinaz? And little Darius?”

  “Fine, fine,” Sera says. “Everybody is okay. But tell me, what about you? Business is good?”

  “Yes,” she says humbly. “By the grace of God.”

  “Great. So how are you celebrating today? The good news, I mean?”

  Bhima freezes. She is unaccustomed to celebrating good news because she is unaccustomed to good news. She looks at Maya and wishes Chitra were in town. She would know what to do. All she can think of doing is taking the girl to the seaside for some snacks and a kulfi. And then it comes to her. “Serabai,” she says. “We are going to Cream Centre tonight. We would be so honored if you would please join us.” She wonders if Serabai remembers the day, decades ago, when she and her late husband, Feroz, had taken her there for lunch on their way home from a shopping trip. Bhima can still taste the chole bhature she’d eaten that day.

  Behind her, she hears a growling sound. It is Maya, shaking her head no, wanting her to revoke the invitation. But it is too late because she hears Serabai’s voice in her ear. “Bhima. I was supposed to go with the children to a movie. But to be honest, I’d rather join you. And they can probably use the privacy, too. What time?”

  Bhima sets up a time, her stomach muscles knotting already at the thought of facing Maya’s recriminations. She hangs up, turns around, bracing herself for Maya’s wrath. And when it doesn’t come, she says in a rush, “You don’t have to understand. But this woman has saved our family more times than I can count. You’re too young to understand. Why she do to me what she do. When you’re a mother . . .”

  “Ma-ma.” Maya gives an embarrassed laugh. “It’s okay. If this is so important to you, we’ll go. Accha? And now, I must give the news to Su and Chitra.”

  “Yes, yes,” she says eagerly. “Call them, beti. We are in their debt, also.”

  Maya frowns. “I’m calling them because they’re my friends,” she says, and as she hears her granddaughter squeal her news to them, Bhima can only marvel at this magician called education, which allows a girl from the slums to refer to the women who employ her grandmother as her friends. Let this be true, she prays. Let Maya always remain as confident as she is today. Let her not suffer the blows and betrayals that I have.

  On the way to Cream Centre, they stop the taxi at the market where Parvati is finishing up. She looks up to see Bhima approaching and guesses the news immediately. “She passed?”

  Bhima feels her face cracking from the breadth of her smile. “First class first. Chitra baby says she will definitely get into the law college.”

  Parvati closes her eyes. “Praise God,” she says. Then she opens her eyes and frowns. “Why are you all dressed up?”

  “Because we are going to a good restaurant. To celebrate. And you are coming with us.”

/>   Parvati lets out a cackle. “Sister, I smell like a week-old jackfruit.”

  “So what?” Bhima’s eyes suddenly turn misty. “Your brains are what has allowed all this to be possible.” She sweeps her hand, encompassing their fruit and vegetable stand.

  “Rubbish,” Parvati says, dismissing the compliment. But she is smiling. “Okay, I will not displease you on such an auspicious day.”

  Parvati and Maya chat the whole way to the restaurant, as if they are old friends. Bhima marvels at how much her life has changed. For years, she worried endlessly about what would happen to her grandchild if she were to die suddenly. Now, Maya has new people in her life—Parvati, who, Bhima knows, will watch over Maya like an old guard dog for as long as she’s alive, and Sunita and Chitra, who, in their own, unassuming way, will pave a path forward for the girl. A treacherous thought enters her mind: Perhaps it is so that being let go by Serabai was a good thing. She stares out the window at the streets rushing by, transfixed by this thought. The words of an old film song that Gopal used to sing come to her: Zindagi ek safar hai suhana / Yahan kal kya ho kisne jaana. Life is a journey that’s beautiful / Who knows what will happen here tomorrow?

  “Look, look,” Parvati is saying to Maya. “Have you ever heard your grandmother sing to herself before?”

  Bhima gives an embarrassed cough and then laughs along with the other two at her own foolishness.

  As the three of them enter the restaurant, Bhima wishes she could’ve warned Maya to behave well around Serabai; to not let success turn her into an ungrateful girl. Having Parvati with them has constrained her, and she can only hope that the girl’s upbringing will turn her bitterness into generosity.

  Serabai arrives five minutes after the three of them are seated at a booth. Maya has already ordered a soft drink for herself, but Bhima has asked only for water, because even though coming here was her idea, she knows that her circumstances do not allow her to spend money foolishly. Maya is facing the door and so she spots Serabai first and waves to her. The girl slips out of the booth and stands as Sera approaches them. “Congrats, Maya,” Sera says to the standing girl, and before Bhima’s astonished eyes, Maya, unprompted, bends down to touch Sera’s feet. Unaccustomed to this, Sera takes a step back, then reaches for Maya, who is still bending forward, and gathers her in her arms instead. “Oh, Maya,” she says. “There’s no need.” As Bhima watches, Maya stays in that embrace but with her hands hanging stiffly by her sides, and then, as the seconds tick by and it is obvious that Sera is not letting go, the girl wraps her arms around Sera, also. Sera must’ve whispered something soft into Maya’s ears as she rocks the girl a little bit, and then Maya sniffs and Bhima watches openmouthed as tears roll down the girl’s cheeks. And still, in the middle of a crowded, noisy restaurant with waiters flitting past them, the two stay in that rocking embrace. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Sera’s voice is muffled against Maya’s shoulder. “I’m so proud of you. You have overcome so much.”

  And Bhima is astonished at her own obtuseness—she has been so busy congratulating herself for her sacrifices that she has taken for granted the hurdles Maya has overcome. Less than three years ago, Maya was sitting at home dejected, listless, a shell of a girl, her unborn child scooped out of her.

  Sera finally releases Maya and turns to Bhima with a big smile, extending both her hands. “Congratulations, Bhima,” she says. “This is such a great day. Look at what our Maya has accomplished.”

  Our Maya. The two words are a rose bouquet that Serabai has presented her. Bhima takes Sera’s hands in her own and raises them to her own forehead. “Serabai,” she says, too overcome to say more. She keeps holding Sera’s hand and reaches for Parvati’s as she introduces them, so that she is holding both their hands against her heart. “I will remain in your debt for the rest of my life,” she says. “Together, we have done this. Together.”

  “Baap re,” Maya says. “I must’ve been a real duffer that it took three old women to get me to finish college.” There is an uncertain moment, but they all see the twinkle in the girl’s eye and burst into laughter. And just like that, Maya lightens the mood at the table.

  After they order, Sera reaches into her handbag and pulls out a small box. “This is a little present for you, Maya,” she says.

  It is a pair of jade earrings. “Thank you,” Maya says.

  “Do you like them?” Sera asks anxiously.

  “Very much.”

  After dinner Bhima excuses herself to go to the bathroom. When she finishes her business and steps outside, Sera is waiting outside the door. “Ah, Bhima,” she says. “This is for you.” She presses an envelope into Bhima’s hand. “What is this, bai?” she says.

  “Shh. It’s a check. For law college. This—this should cover both years. No, don’t argue, Bhima. You never know when the money will come in handy. Just keep it safely in the bank.”

  “But Serabai. Already you have given so much . . .”

  “Bhima. Please. Allow me to do this.” Sera smiles wanly. “Hey, look. Who knows when I’ll need a lawyer? It will be good to have one in the family.”

  The word family burrows into Bhima’s heart. She bows her head in submission and folds and tucks the envelope in her blouse. “You were the first person she met. I had brought her straight to your house,” she says wistfully. “From the train station.”

  “I remember. She was such a skinny little thing. And so quiet. Wouldn’t even look at me. Naturally, after what she’d gone through. Losing both parents like that.” Sera shudders, then smiles suddenly. “You remember how I finally won her over?”

  They both say it at the same time: “By giving her one piece of chocolate every day.”

  The two women fall silent, lost in their memories, and then Bhima says, “Our families go back a long ways, Serabai.” There is so much more she wants to say, but she can’t. Her love for this woman is real, she knows. But so are the circumstances that have driven them apart.

  “So true.” Sera pauses, then clears her throat. “We should go back. The others will wonder.” She takes a step and stops. “Thank you for inviting me. I—it means a lot. I don’t know if you’ll believe me, but there’s not a day that I don’t think of you. You know, we Parsis have a prayer called Tandorosti. It asks for good health for our loved ones. When I pray the names of all my family members, I include yours and Maya’s. Every morning. I’ve done so for years.”

  “Thank you, Serabai,” Bhima whispers. “I . . .”

  “I know,” Sera says, looking deep into Bhima’s eyes. “I know. Me, too.”

  33

  It is only after she has been at the market for two hours that Bhima’s unease turns to fear. Parvati has not shown up to work and Bhima is getting killed by the rush of customers. But the real source of her fear is that she doesn’t know where exactly the woman lives. How can this be? she berates herself between customers. They have worked side-by-side for this long and she doesn’t have an address for Parvati? Given how sick the woman has looked the past few weeks, why had she not asked? But she knows the answer—she has not bothered finding out because she couldn’t see herself setting foot into that house of illicit goings-on no matter what the circumstances.

  So what keeps Parvati away today? Bhima looks all around her, growing more worried by the minute. Car accident? Fainting? Something serious must have happened, especially since Parvati knows that Rajeev has taken a rare day off today. As the sun climbs in the sky, with no sign of Parvati, her alarm grows. It is now almost noon. Where is she? A customer stops by, a young man with powerfully bad breath and a nasally voice that grates on Bhima today. “Ae, baba, listen,” she says, cutting off his bargaining. “This is the price. You take or leave.” The man looks at her, offended, then marches off, but Bhima doesn’t care. “Kanjoos,” she mutters. “Miser.”

  If Parvati were here, they would have enjoyed a quick laugh over the expression on the man’s face. Bhima pictures her on the side of the road somewhere with a broken leg, hit b
y a BEST bus or a taxi, and her stomach turns. No. She will make inquiries. Someone in the market must know where she resides.

  “Oi, mausi,” Vishnu’s young assistant calls. “Phone call for you.”

  “Is it my chokri?”

  “No. Not Maya.”

  “Khon hai?” she asks, puzzled.

  The boy shrugs as he holds out the phone to her. “How would I know?”

  “’Allo?” Bhima hollers.

  The male voice is unfamiliar. “Is this Bhima?”

  “Haan.”

  “I’m calling for Parvati. She had given this number as contact number.”

  Bhima can barely get the words out, her body gripped by a sudden fear. “Is . . . is she dead?”

  She hears the man’s chuckle. “Nahi. Not yet. But she won’t get out of bed. Tell me, is she acting or what?”

  The icy fear heats into anger. “If she can’t get out of bed, she’s sick, no?”

  “Yes, yes, that’s well and good, auntie. But I am needing my room. She is supposed to clear out in the morning. Saala, I’m losing business because of her. You please come just now and take her. If not, I will carry her out to the roadside.”

  “You don’t lay a hand on her. You hear me? If you touch her, I’ll bring the police.” Bhima scarcely knows what she is saying, only dimly realizes that she is channeling Parvati’s fierceness.

  “Don’t threaten me, yaar. As it is, I’m calling you out of courtesy, only. I even called her nephew, but he said he’s too busy at work to come. Now tell me. Are you too busy, also?”

  “I’m coming,” Bhima yells into the phone. “I will leave everything and come. You please give the address to my friend here.” She hands the phone back to Vishnu’s assistant, who scribbles on a piece of paper. When he hangs up, the boy’s eyes are embarrassed. “This is no-good area,” he says. “You must not go.”

  Bhima feels the heat rise in her cheeks. “If I don’t go, what happens to her? Those animals will feed on her carcass. You do me a kindness, chotu. Go get me a taxi. Go now.”