Here was a dazzling collection, imbued with memories. But how would Nina ever be able to touch them again if she chose jewelry over Pranab’s life? If Aloka was miserable, or worse?
Slowly, Nina took out all the ornaments from the case and even took off those she had on. The tiny gold stud earrings she’d worn since she was fifteen smelled of her own skin. She bundled them together in a rag, shoved it inside a shopping basket, then covered the top with a cloth. Her decision made, she huddled in a chair and waited.
In two hours the servant returned. Though exhausted from his long trek, he had signs of good news bubbling on his face. He’d caught the goondas in time and they’d made an offer: a crore of rupees in exchange for Pranab’s head.
If she trembled inside, Nina didn’t let it show. She handed him the basket in an ordinary way.
The old man opened the bundle and gasped in horror. “These are your family heirlooms, Memsahib. You must not sell them.” Eyes glistening with tears, he said, “You have even taken off your earrings. It hurts me to look at you. You’re making a huge sacrifice. But I’m sorry, this jewelry alone will not do. We’re dealing with some real rogues.”
Nina had expected as much. She signaled the man to wait, went to her desk, wrote a check, and signed it. In less than a minute the family savings were gone. In the process, she’d started a chain of events that would put the lives of those closest to her in peril. She had always prided herself in doing what was best for the family, but what a terrible cost pride could exact.
With a stern face, she held up the check to the servant. “You’ve got what you need. Go now, before they change their minds.”
The servant scuttled across the room. Then, at the door, “One more thing, Memsahib. Pranab-babu must flee tonight: You must make sure he does. It will not be safe for him to stay in this town any longer. There are other goondas and barababu will be very angry, indeed.” And then he was gone, down the hallway and out the door.
Her strength was draining, but Nina pulled herself together and phoned Aloka at school. Normally Aloka taught till four, then counseled students as a volunteer for another couple of hours. This marked the second time Nina had called the girl back from school. The first time was when Aloka was a young girl and her grandfather had suddenly died of a heart attack. How the girl needed consolation that day. “Dadu, Dadu.” She kept asking for her grandfather and sobbing. She wouldn’t take food or go to bed. She wouldn’t leave her grandmother. Then, as now, Nina wouldn’t have the time and solitude to grieve.
twelve
All day long, between classes and at recess, Aloka had been on tenterhooks about seeing Pranab this evening since learning of his dalliance with Sujata. She recognized she would have to rise above acrimony, look deeply into his eyes, sense the message in the touch of his hands, and hear him out. Only if she listened to the beat that played inside him could they have a chance to regain what he had so foolishly cast aside.
She faced her last class of the day, a lecture on world geography. Clad in navy and white, their hair fastened with red ribbons, the ten-year-old girls arched their necks to stare at a map of the United States extending across the wall. With her left hand Aloka pointed out the city of New York. Though this was a geography lesson, she began reviewing the city’s history, for she believed the two were intertwined. She became lost in the story of the Algonquin Indians, the meadows, streams, and hills that had sustained them, and the harsh, glittering metropolis of today.
When she paused, she overheard an earnest-looking girl seated in the second row by the aisle whispering to her seatmate, “That’s where I wish to live someday.”
Aloka found that curious in one so young. Even at her age, she’d never desired to live anyplace other than Darjeeling. Her loved ones resided here. Her history was written in the hills and the valleys outside the window.
She had just begun speaking again when the headmistress’s assistant motioned to her from the doorway. Aloka excused herself from the class and went over to see what he wanted. “What is it, Uday?”
“Your grandmother is on the phone.”
It took a moment for the significance of the message to sink in. Grandma would never phone unless something was seriously amiss. Aloka rushed to the headmistress’s office. “What is it, Thakurma?”
“Come home, Aloka dear. Come home right away.”
“As fast as I can, Thakurma.” Aloka was out the door as soon as she hung up.
Just after the wall clock had chimed four times, Nina heard Aloka climbing the stairs to the second floor two at a time, but without any seeming sense of urgency. Even when she hurried, Aloka maintained her usual poise. To keep her inquietude from showing, Nina rearranged the items on a side table: Nivea cream, a letter opener, a bottle of Ayurvedic massage oil, framed photos.
A graceful form in a pale green sari appeared in the doorway. “What’s the matter, Thakurma?” Aloka laid a soft palm on Nina’s forehead. “You’re not feeling well?”
“It has got nothing to do with me. Have a seat and listen carefully to what I have to say.”
Briefly and emphatically Nina told her of the death threat on Pranab. Aloka’s eyes misted with sorrow and her body shrank in alarm. But, from the way she nodded at the salient points in the story, she seemed to comprehend the situation and accept it. If there was a temptation to judgment, if a momentary impulse to lash out arose from within her, she tightened her face and controlled it with dignity, as a Gupta girl would be expected to do.
“I can’t believe what’s happening,” Aloka said. “Tonight I was going to talk with Pranab to make sure he still loved me and wanted to marry me. But there’s no time for that now. His life is more important than my pride. I have to convince him to leave Darjeeling, and the only way that’ll work is if I go with him. I have contacts in other cities; he doesn’t. We’ll leave tonight when everyone’s asleep.”
“Please reconsider, Aloka. Don’t go with him. Not only will you put your life in danger, your father might not let you come back to this house ever again.”
“I do understand, Thakurma. Never for a moment have I thought about leaving Darjeeling or my family. But my life is with Pranab—I’ve made a commitment to him.”
Nina’s chest fairly burst with pride. Aloka, self-sacrificing, so bold in her love, a veritable goddess from ancient times. But how many goddesses would devote themselves the way Aloka did, especially when love turned into a field of suffering, love for a man enamored of her own sister? The selfless girl had an unlimited capacity for forgiveness. Aloka had proven that over and over again since the time she was a little girl. Once, when her sister broke her doll handmade by Calcutta’s famed Kumartuli artists, Aloka had sobbed a little, but didn’t make a fuss. Her heart encompassed everyone. When she served food at family festivities, she always ladled herself last and the smallest portion.
Nina jerked up the trailing end of her sari to her eyes. “Be careful, my darling.”
Aloka touched Nina’s feet. “Please bless us, Thakurma. I’ll write to you no matter where we are.” And she was off.
Nina stood at the window to get a glimpse of Aloka as she emerged onto the street. Her sari kept slipping off her shoulder in the breeze. She walked, her gentle tread now heavy with responsibility and care.
thirteen
An hour after she’d spoken with Grandma, having made the necessary arrangements, Aloka arrived at Pranab’s modest residence. Lack of frequent painting had turned the outside white walls of this old brick building into an ashen shade stricken with black. Her head touched a rapidly growing squash plant, a common vegetable grown around here, stretched out over a trellis arched over the gate. She’d come to this house many times in these past two years to visit her beloved and his family, always with high expectations. She had always marveled at the clean, sparse, and welcoming interior. Today her legs shrank as she let herself in through the front door.
She paused at the door of the music room, which also doubled as the drawing room.
Pranab was sitting on the matted floor. Surrounded by bolsters, he was staring at a pair of tablas before him. He had often expressed his belief that in the right hands these simple drums could transport both the musician and the audience to another realm. And indeed, the last time he’d played the tablas for her, the sounds had shimmered and risen through the ceiling, taking her consciousness with them to a space far beyond this room. Now an aura of hopelessness surrounded him as he sat with head bowed and fingers dangling over his knees.
Aloka’s inner calm crumbled. Aware of how little time they had, she plunked her purse down, scuttled across to him on her knees, drew his head to her breast, and whispered, “Oh, Pranab! I missed you so.”
He pulled away from her. “Aloka! Didn’t expect you so early.” As Aloka tried to control a choked feeling, he went on. “Do you know I was dismissed from my position this morning by your father? We had a little talk, then he had an orderly escort me out. I was told never to come anywhere near the tea garden again.”
Aloka glanced at the bamboo grove beyond the window, sucked in some air. “We have to get out of this town immediately.”
His eyes widened as he gradually grasped the words. “I suspected I was being followed this past week, but I didn’t take it seriously.”
“My father can’t bear the thought of losing to you, even though he knows what you mean to me. His nature is to win. It’s the way he lives.”
“I’m no coward.” Pranab’s fingers, playful and whimsical for a moment, drummed a defiant beat on the tablas. “I won’t leave. I’ll fight this out.”
“Don’t you realize his influence in this town? You won’t stand a chance.”
“I’ll do my best. The workers will support me. Together we will prevail in the end.”
“Please, Pranab. The police will only respond with more force. This time they’ll come for you as well and they won’t be gentle. The commandant is a friend of my father.”
There came a rap at the door. Pranab leaned back in an alert posture. An elderly tea worker shuffled in.
“Come in, Jyotin.” The frown in Pranab’s forehead disappeared. “Have a seat.”
But the old man remained standing. “I only slipped out for a few minutes to see you, Pranab-babu. The woman who was hurt has been taken to the doctor. Her injury isn’t serious. She’s been given paid leave for two weeks.” Then, rubbing his hands together, he added, “Everyone has gone back to work.”
“Were they bribed or intimidated?”
The man flinched. “Right now a representative from the Darjeeling Planters’ Association is discussing our demands.”
“That representative should be talking to me.”
“Please, Pranab-babu, I have a much bigger concern. There are strong rumors that barababu—”
“He has sent goondas after me?” Pranab tossed the word out lightly, a harsh edge to his voice. “I guess I’ll have to be careful about where I go from now on.
“I’m afraid that may not be enough.”
“What are you both trying to tell me?”
“You must get out of town quickly. Go fast and far, very far.”
Pranab slumped back against the wall as though he’d been slapped in the face. “What crime have I committed?”
Jyotin folded his hands at his chest in a prayerful gesture. “I love you as much as I love my sons. Please consider what I’ve said.” With quick steps he backed out of the room. Aloka rose and followed him out to the sidewalk.
They stood in silence for a moment. Aloka thanked him for taking the risk to come here and convey his message. She asked him to be careful and keep this visit a secret.
“Please do your best to convince him, Aloka-di,” Jyotin whispered. “He’s a good man.” He disappeared behind the dark curtain of dusk.
Aloka shut the door and stood motionless a moment, overwhelmed by the shapeless vision of the future that swirled about in her mind. Her utmost concern was Pranab’s safety. Wherever they might end up, she would help Pranab find a larger cause, a higher calling in life. And with Sujata out of the way, she’d be able to rebuild their bond. When she returned to the music room, she noticed how pale Pranab’s face had become.
He forced a smile. “So, my head is that precious?”
“It’s even more precious to me.” She checked her wristwatch. “We’ll go to Calcutta. I have a family friend there who’ll put us up, but we have to hurry.”
“How can I leave? Darjeeling is all I know. All I’ve ever wanted is to live and die here.”
“If you stay, you will surely get your wish, and soon. Now go and pack quickly, take only what you can carry.”
“But what will I do, wherever it is we’re going?”
“You’re well educated and respected, you’ll find a satisfactory career in whatever field you want. And, more importantly, we’ll have each other.”
“But it won’t be the same, Aloka. Do you understand what the tea estate means to me? I am a plant doctor. I know exactly when the bushes will sprout new leaves, when their roots are beginning to dry out, how much pruning they each need. My favorite time of the day is when I watch the sunrise from the field surrounded by the bushes. I get a holistic sense of what this is all about.”
“What good is a tea field at sunrise if you’re lying dead in it? Listen, I’m going home to get myself ready. You should do the same. And whatever you do, don’t answer the door.”
“You must not come with me, Aloka. You’ll lose it all—family, students, your friends, a whole way of life.”
“But I’ll have you, and that’s all that really matters. Yes, it’s been that way from the day I met you … .”
She caught his expression of awe as he looked up at her. “You’re so good, Aloka. You’re making the highest sacrifice for me. Do I deserve you? How will I ever live up to you?”
“Don’t be silly.”
She laughed off his attempts to put her above him. They were lovers, equals, and she held him in the highest regard. She knelt on the floor, drew him nearer, and planted a kiss on his lips. This was a kiss of confidence, a kiss to indicate all that he meant to her. His lips remained hard, immovable, and he didn’t appear to be fully participating. Was it the stress of the moment, or had something been lost forever? She was no longer able to avoid considering the potential implications of the Sujata affair. Pranab might still be emotionally entangled with her. How long would that last? By now Sujata must already have reached Canada. No one knew her whereabouts or her address, Father had made sure of that. How would Pranab contact her, and vice versa? He was about to leave town, with no forwarding address. Away from the tea garden, their daily meetings curtailed, Pranab would forget Sujata. Surely he would. Over time that name would carry no more significance than a fallen tree on the streets of his memory. This notion, if illusory, gave Aloka the sense of optimism she needed to go on. She sprang up and looked through the window, which by now resembled a black mirror. There was no time to lose.
She collected her purse and told him of a specific place to meet. “We’ll have to leave in the middle of the night so no one sees us. I haven’t been able to reach Uncle Govinda this afternoon, but Auntie assured me he’d pick us up no later than ten-fifteen.”
She studied Pranab. Fear and uncertainty had drawn a curtain over his eyes. His cheeks looked leaner. Perhaps suffering a feeling of danger, he rose, peered at her with a plea to save his life, and stood uncertainly. The enormity of her decision struck her. They were about to wipe out their existence from this beloved land. Pranab had once described Darjeeling as “snowfields, mountain quail, orchids with a honey fragrance, the air with an alpine tang, acres of tea fields, and us sharing it all.”
Her voice didn’t waver as she said, “Just a few more hours. We’ll be together again.”
Alone in her room, a fully packed suitcase sitting by the door, Aloka paced back and forth. The cool marble floor tugged at her bare feet. So much life had happened within these four walls, the center of her existence, a
nd now she was forced to leave it all. Her eyes wandered lovingly over the furniture and the artifacts she’d long taken for granted: that half-read novel on the bedside table, the soft pillow that cradled her head at night, the black and yellow decorative vase on the shelf, throw cushions stitched from colorful textiles, and her photo album. In the warmth of this farewell glance, each was etched in her memory.
Then she heard familiar footsteps whose language she understood well. It was Father coming home, fatigued, with his back acting up again. She burst out of her room into the hall, hoping for a chance at reconciliation. Perhaps her presence would soothe him a bit, as it had invariably done in the past. But for the first time she couldn’t come up with the right words to greet him as she waited at the doorstep.
He reached the top of the stairs and walked past her without turning, as though she were a phantom. No courtesy. No warmth. Not even a hint of recognition. The exaggerated sound of his shoes receded, leaving in its wake a sense of dark finality.
“Father!” she screamed after him, then stiffened in horror; she’d never done such a thing before.
He hesitated for a moment, stalked into his room, and slammed the door behind him without bothering to look in her direction. The sound shook her to the bone. She retreated into the cocoon of her room with a heaviness settling inside her.
Minutes later, leaning against the railing of her portico and still shivering, she asked herself: Would his suspicions, his feelings of betrayal be allayed if she knocked on his door and demanded to speak to him?
Just then she saw the lights in his window go off.
The instant the clock struck ten, Aloka sprang to her feet, took one last look around the room, hefted her suitcase, and stole through the back entrance. Misty pine-scented air formed a cloak about her as she scurried along the edge of the rear grounds, keeping to the shadows. Rounding the corner, she saw a blurry figure in white standing at a window on the ground floor. It could only be Grandma. Aloka paused, straining to see her face one last time and to receive her silent blessing, but she could make out only an imperfect outline through the misted window.
Darjeeling Page 9
