by Shona Patel
Yours,
Layla
I don’t know when exactly Manik’s letters became love letters. His emotions were so carefully woven into his writing, they were hard to detect. They were like the subtle creeping of dawn that imperceptibly transforms night into day.
If I spread out his letters in chronological order, across my bed, on the floor, along the windowsill and over my desk—because yes, that is how much space they were occupying in my life at that time—I can distinctly see the emotional tilt: a nuanced word here, a small heart tug there and occasionally a tiny but unmistakable flicker of passion.
It took Manik a whole suitcase of letters and two and a half years to declare his love for me. This was the letter I received from him dated November 12, 1945. It was the first time he addressed me as “dearest.”
Aynakhal T.E.
12th November 1945
Dearest Layla,
I stayed up all night thinking of you. Sometimes I long for you so much, it hurts.
I don’t know when I will see you again. I wish there was an easy way. I could meet you in secret someplace. I choose not to. It would be disrespectful to Rai Bahadur—not something I am prepared to do, now or ever. I have decided therefore to play this game by the rules.
Enough water has passed under the bridge and I think it is safe for me to make my next move. Before that, I need to know how you feel about me. I am keeping my fingers crossed.
I have nothing much to offer you, Layla. Only myself and my rather unconventional life here in Aynakhal. If there is any woman I would love to share this adventure with, it’s you. I promise to take care of you with every inch of my being, my life and everything I have.
With all my love,
Manik
PS: How very absurd—I forgot my main reason for writing this letter. WILL YOU MARRY ME, LAYLA?
I thought a hundred times of what to write back. I needed to reply immediately. All I wanted to say was “yes” so I wrote YES in the middle of the page. Was it too big? Too small? Did it look hurried, overeager? Wobbly, unsure? I went over and over the three letters, Y-E-S, with my pen so many times that the ink cracked through the paper to the other side. I wondered what else I should add.
What do you say when you are given everything you have ever wished for, handed to you on a silver platter? So I wrote in pip-squeak letters, small enough to blind an ant, “That makes me very happy.”
* * *
There is thunder in the distance; the sky is a thick slate-gray. The lily pond reflects a broken moon, like cracked eggshells on dark waters. A thousand fireflies spiral down from the sky. They hit the water with a pop and spin in dizzying ripples of electric light. Manik is standing by the edge of the pond. He reaches down to catch the fireflies in his cupped hands but they spin out of reach. He takes a step forward, stumbles and falls. He clutches at the reeds but they give way. I see the long ropelike stems of the lilies unwinding from the muddy depths of the pond. They are muscular and strong. They twist around Manik’s ankles. They pull him down. There is something floating up from the murky depths of the pond. It’s a face: round, pale and placid as the moon. It’s my dead mother. Her eyes are open and staring. She stretches out her pale, white hands. Her fingers are curled like chrysanthemums. She grabs Manik. He kicks and splashes before disappearing in a dark swirl of thick water. Ripples of neon wrinkle at the reedy shore. The waters recompose and the moon rocks like a cradle.
It was an ominous dream and I was overcome with panic. With an aching heart, I wrote Manik a letter.
Dear Manik,
Please do not forget that I am born under an unlucky horoscope. My fate could adversely affect yours. I do not want to jeopardize your life. If you want to reconsider your proposal, I will understand.
Fondly,
L.
Manik shot back a reply so fast that the ink smeared across the page.
Absurdly and completely out of the question, dearest. If you think I am being heedless, ask the Japanese why do they eat fugu? Because it is irresistible and worth dying for.
Yours,
M.
I was reminded of a Japanese rakugo I once read in a collection from Dadamoshai’s library. The pithy stories were printed in beautiful calligraphy on delicate rice paper. This particular one, about the poison fugu fish, had an illustration of a beggar holding a soup bowl with chopsticks while three men peeped at him from behind a doorway.
Three men prepared a fugu stew but they were afraid to eat it, unsure as to whether it was safe.
“Let’s give some to this poor beggar,” one of them suggested. “If he eats it and lives we will know it is not poison.”
And so they gave a bowl of fugu stew to the beggar. Later that day they encountered the beggar again and were delighted to see he was still in good health. The three friends then hurried home to enjoy the rest of the stew.
The canny beggar, who had in fact not eaten the stew but hidden it, now knew it was safe to eat.
Thus the three men were fooled by the wise beggar.
CHAPTER 13
As was the custom, Manik decided to formally ask Dadamoshai for my hand in marriage. What had only been a crack of hope was now becoming full-blown reality. I was not sure I was equipped to deal with it.
My biggest dilemma was Dadamoshai. How would he take the news? He had no inkling about our relationship. All those letters, over all those years. The way I had involved Chaya in my deceit. Surely he would feel hideously betrayed?
It was understood I would take over Dadamoshai’s work someday. All along he had been grooming me to run the school. He was getting old. If I got married and left, what would happen to him? I was sickened with guilt.
Manik outlined his plans. He would write asking to meet Dadamoshai in private. He would explain everything, he said.
The postman delivered Manik’s letter in the familiar blue envelope. It was addressed to my grandfather. His handwriting was confident, precise, without any trace of hesitation.
At dinner Dadamoshai said, “Finally our mystery man has resurfaced. I got a letter from Manik Deb. He wants to see me on a private matter. Some legal consultation, no doubt.”
I did not say anything. Dadamoshai was looking down at his plate. He hummed softly. If I had any shred of integrity, I would have seized this opportunity and blurted it all out. That way I could prepare my grandfather for Manik’s visit. But all I did was push the rice around on my plate. Choked by cowardliness, I was unable to utter a single word.
* * *
The next two weeks I worked myself into a nervous wreck. I lost sleep and ate little. My scalp itched, my skin broke out in angry hives and dark half-moons appeared under my eyes. When I saw myself in the mirror, I looked like scrap fit to be tossed to the crows.
The day of the meeting was the most unbearable of all. Manik was expected to arrive in the early afternoon. It took forever for dawn to break that day and for the sun to crawl across the sky.
Dadamoshai had taken the day off from court and was working in his study. I paced up and down my room, chewing on a hangnail. Random thoughts banged around in my head like bumblebees in a jar. I had not seen Manik in two and a half years. A lifetime, it seemed. I now recalled him only as distilled moments, blurred and sweet. I had turned these memories over a million times in my mind, till they were tumbled smooth like pieces of sea glass that ebbed and flowed in my memory.
A little after two o’clock, a mud-splashed jeep pulled up under the mango tree. It was identical to the one that Alasdair Carruthers had shown up in. I heard the gate clang shut and saw a man stride up the garden path. Was that Manik?
The man walking toward the house was deeply tanned and handsome in a formidable kind of way. His hair was cut short, closely molded to his skull. He wore a tweed jacket and a diagonally striped t
ie, which he straightened as he walked. On the porch steps, he hesitated and glanced down at his shoes. He wiped the dust off them on the back of his trouser legs and then bent and dusted his trousers off. This small gesture of humanness was oddly reassuring. It was Manik.
Chaya showed him into my grandfather’s study. I heard them greet each other. Dadamoshai said something and Manik laughed. Their voices then muffled and became a hum as the door closed behind them.
Through the crack in my bedroom door, I saw Chaya walk by with two cups of tea. The murmur grew louder as the study door opened and closed. The clock ticked, my scalp itched and a horrible panic rumbled across the vast lonely plains of my stomach. An hour passed. The door opened. I held my breath, but it was only my grandfather calling for another round of tea. Another thirty-five minutes. Ticktock. Ticktock. What on earth were they talking about? Manik and Dadamoshai had been locked together for over an hour and a half.
Finally the door opened and my grandfather called, “Layla!”
I jumped to my feet so fast that my head went into a spin. I sat down again and took a deep breath to steady myself. I had not eaten any solid food all day.
I walked into my grandfather’s office. Manik was sitting in the client’s seat. He scraped his chair back with an awfully loud screech and stood up. He seemed incredibly tall. Taller than I remembered. He had taken his jacket off, and it was slung on the back of his chair. His skin was sharply tanned against the white of his shirt.
I could not meet his gaze. It burned through my skin.
Dadamoshai got straight to the point. “Layla, Manik Deb here has asked for your hand in marriage. He tells me you have been writing to each other, and he has communicated his intentions. Is that correct?”
I nodded, looking at the floor.
“Well, what is your decision?”
“My...decision?” I repeated, a little foolishly. I had expected a preamble, a lecture maybe, not a question shot at me like a dart.
“Yes, yours—whose else?” Dadamoshai’s eyes twinkled. “Manik Deb has not asked me to marry him, has he?”
“Oh,” I said dumbly. I had not looked up the entire time.
“Well, I take that as a yes. That settles it, then, young man,” Dadamoshai said, rapping the desk with his knuckles. “Congratulations. I think you two need to talk. Come here, maiyya—sit in my chair.” It was not often that Dadamoshai called me maiyya, little girl. He led me to his enormous high-backed chair, sat me down and planted a small kiss on the top of my head. He patted Manik on the shoulder and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
So that was it. Over in a flash.
Manik was looking at me in that disconcerting way of his that made me want to crawl down and disappear into my toes.
A thick silence floated around the room.
Contrary to popular expectations we did not fly into each other’s arms; if anything at all we were awkward. A new layer of formality had just been added to our relationship. Getting married was serious business. It called for protocol. Decorum.
So there we were, freshly betrothed. I sat like a midget lawyer swallowed by the giant leather chair, fiddling with a yellow pencil, while my fiancé floated like an island across an ocean-size desk bobbing with pens, paper, blotters and paperweights. He stared at me and I stared at the giant globe on the floor stand. A slat of sunlight fell on Africa, a continent I suddenly found myself deeply interested in. I thought of Zulus, giraffes, acacia trees and grassland—anything but my newly acquired fiancé, sitting in front of me.
Now what? My stomach responded with a small squeal of terror.
“So?” said Manik softly. “Do you still want to marry me, Layla?” I peeked at him. He smiled his old slow smile and made my heart skip.
I nodded yes, but truthfully, I was not so sure. I didn’t recognize this stranger before me.
“So what did he say?” I asked finally. My mouth was dry and my voice came out wavery like an old crone.
“The Rai Bahadur? Why, he was relentless!” Manik pretended to flick imaginary sweat from his brow. “He interrogated me like a criminal. He wanted to know all about my job, my life in tea and my future prospects. He wanted to make sure I was good enough for his precious granddaughter.”
“And...?”
“I passed the inspection test, I suppose.”
“What else did he say?”
“Among other things, he said if there was one person in the world he thought you would be happy with, it was me.”
I flushed with joy.
“You are so beautiful,” he said simply.
I covered up my embarrassment by drawing elaborate doodles all over the notepad. Some looked suspiciously like hearts so I scratched them out. Manik was watching me, his thumb stroking his lower lip.
“So when do you say we get married? Sometime early February?” he said suddenly.
I dropped the pencil and stared at him. “But that’s...that’s only six weeks away?”
“I wish it was today.”
“But isn’t February...too soon?”
“Not for me. I have to still give a thirty-day notice to Head Office. My three-year compulsory bachelorhood is up on January 7th. According to my company contract I can get married anytime after February 6th. You pick a date, then.”
“Right now? Don’t we have to ask Dadamoshai?”
“He said to decide a date between ourselves. I mentioned February and he did not seem to have any objections. You don’t believe in getting married on a particular auspicious wedding date or anything, do you?”
“Of course not.”
“I thought as much. If we decide on a date today I can go ahead and put in my application for leave with Jardines tomorrow.”
My head was spinning. It was all happening so fast. Typically elders in the family made all the decisions. Whom to marry, when to marry, how to marry. The bride and groom were treated like sheep. How typical of Dadamoshai to put the onus on us.
“Well, how about...?” I fiddled with the pencil as I tried to think clearly.
“February 7th?” ventured Manik, winking. Then he waved it off. “I am only joking. No pressure.”
Then I thought to myself, why wait? Manik might change his mind, there could be an earthquake, the whole world might collapse—who knows what else.
“All right—the seventh, then. February! Dear God, this is so unreal.”
There was a small knock on the door.
“I am off to the court,” Dadamoshai called from outside.
Manik jumped to his feet and opened the door. I stood up, as well. “Can I give you a lift, sir?” he said.
“No, no, no, you two carry on. You have much to talk about. I just wanted to tell you I am leaving.”
Manik looked at his watch and winced. “Oh! I have to be back at Aynakhal by seven.” He looked at my grandfather. “I will be driving through town, so I can drop you off. It’s no problem. Seriously.”
“All right, if you insist,” said Dadamoshai. “But I didn’t want to break up your tête-à-tête. Are you sure you have to leave now?”
“Positively,” said Manik. “Mr. McIntyre, my General Manager, is throwing a dinner party for the Superintendent tonight. It is imperative I attend. Otherwise...” Manik aimed his finger like a gun to his head.
“Well, I had planned to walk, but if you are going to give me a lift, we still have another twenty minutes,” said Dadamoshai. “You two can talk some more.” He closed the door behind him with a soft click.
“Layla?” Manik turned back to me, his voice soft. “God knows I have waited forever to hold you.”
I stood there trembling, looking at the floor. Manik walked over and pulled me toward him, and then...the stupidest, most absurd thing happened. The books on the shelves began to weave; I tried to gr
ab hold of the desk, and instead collapsed in a dead faint into Manik’s arms.
* * *
The next thing I knew the study was crowded—everybody hovering over me and chattering like monkeys. Even the cat was in there, tail in the air, meowing with alarm. Manik looked horrified. Dadamoshai fanned me with the Court Reporter, while Chaya dabbed my forehead with a damp towel and held a glass of water to my lips.
“I have not eaten all day,” I said feebly, trying to explain. I did not want Dadamoshai to think Manik had pounced on me. He almost had.
Dadamoshai’s face was inscrutable, but I glimpsed tiny winks of mirth glimmering in the stony depths. “Enough of your foolishness, Layla,” he said sternly. “Put her to bed, Chaya, and see she drinks some milk and eats something.” He turned to Manik. “Layla is a hopeless eater.”
“Are you all right, Layla?” Manik looked worried, his eyes full of concern.
“Tcha! Of course I am,” I said impatiently. “I have been tense for weeks. I just collapsed from nerves, that’s all.”
My explanation must have satisfied them both, because they relaxed.
“You just get rested now,” said Manik, gently. “Don’t worry about anything. I will come again soon and we’ll work out the details, okay?”
I nodded, feeling a little miserable for having missed my first kiss. I knew Manik would never be openly demonstrative in front of my grandfather. It would not be respectful or proper.
So just like that, my brand-new fiancé took off down the garden path with Dadamoshai, his jacket slung over his shoulder. He turned around before he opened the car door and gave me a brief sort of wave. The jeep coughed to life, and he drove off in a cloud of red dust, leaving me standing on the porch. It was all over so soon; so short, so sweet, so much and so little.
I turned to go back into the house when I noticed the small wooden chest on the coffee table. It had a stencil stamp:
