Eight long years of absence and yet Aloka could trek so easily back into the family sphere. India was reassuringly there. Then, realizing this high-spirited welcome had to do with her status as the oldest child in the family, she was frozen with anxiety.
Grandma stepped forth and greeted Aloka with an outstretched arm. She ushered Aloka into the house. They talked for a few minutes, at the conclusion of which Grandma whispered, “By the way, Pranab’s back. He called me the other day.”
“So … you know?”
“Yes, my dear, I have known it for a while. I was saddened by the news, but then I’m too old to let it get me down. I only want what’s best for you. I know you married Pranab for love and, when you divorced, it must have been for reasons of the heart as well.”
“Your understanding makes it a lot easier. Where’s Sujata?”
Grandma mumbled, “Sujata had some errands to run. She’ll be back soon.”
Had Sujata forgotten the old customs? To be present at this occasion would have been the best gift she could bring.
In the living room, Aloka found herself surrounded by more aunts, uncles, and cousins. “How well you look.” One uncle looked over to Aloka’s denim pants and fancy red satin jacket. “A little New Yorkish, if you don’t mind my saying.”
A cousin pinched Aloka’s cheek and complimented her on the extra couple of pounds she’d put on. “No matter how much progress we’ve made, our women don’t have to be quite as thin as women in the West. Isn’t that nice?”
The maidservant brought a tray of soft drinks, and the relatives drifted to one side of the room. Aunt Toru motioned Aloka to the window. She seemed to have some private words for Aloka.
“India is changing, as you’ll surely find,” Aunt Toru said. “We have cows pulling the lawn mower, but our young women are now attending ‘software finishing schools.’ Our door-to-door vegetable seller calls every family in the apartment building from his cell phone and collects orders before we even go down. He no longer gives you chilis and coriander sprigs free of charge with your purchase.”
Just as Aloka began to laugh, Aunt Toru said, “But let me warn you that some relatives might snub you because you’re divorced. You’ll notice many signs of progress in India, but not in this matter. Whenever there’s a divorce, they blame it on the woman.”
“So I see. Is that why Aunt Dipti and her family aren’t here?”
Aunt Toru stared into the space and said no more. Suddenly Aloka ebbed into the fatigue of traveling. She excused herself, but couldn’t go very far, as lunch was being served in the dining room.
After a lovely lunch of begun pora, cholar dabl, and steamed rice, Grandma sent Aloka to her room, telling everyone, “The girl needs to rest after her long trip.” But less than an hour later, Aloka, restless and unable to sleep due to the change in time zones and tidbits of conversation that had clung to her mind, wandered back to the now-deserted drawing room. Except for the mutterings of the domestic help in the kitchen, the house was silent. She strolled along the walls, adorned with framed photographs of generations of Guptas. Eventually she stopped to peer at a portrait of her grandfather on his wedding day, elegant in the classic cone-shaped crown of a groom, then at the black-and-white shot of Mother, taken a year before her death. The resemblance to Sujata was unmistakable. Aloka slid to the next picture, a group photo of a high school class, with Sujata crouching in the back row. Only her eyes and the front wave of her hair were visible.
Aloka heard the front porch creak and turned toward the door just as Sujata sauntered in, slender as ever, her cheeks rosy from the brisk mountain wind. The sari train was tied neatly around Sujata’s waist. The birch-bark print complemented her whimsical orange lipstick perfectly. Aloka couldn’t remember when Sujata had looked so well put together. As if to complete the picture, a handsome man followed her into the room.
Aloka felt a wave of warmth inside her. She cried out, “Sujata!”
Sujata stretched out her arms and gave Aloka a quick embrace. “I meant to come back a lot sooner, Aloka,” she chirped, “but the car broke down.”
No shyness. How unlike Sujata. She appeared transformed, this vivacious woman, full of gusto, informal in her manners, able to look her elder sister directly in the eye as an equal.
“The driver couldn’t get help in time,” Sujata went on. “Fortunately Mreenal was with me, so we walked back together. It took two hours.” She sighed a bit histrionically and her bracelets clinked in seeming accordance.
The man smiled and nodded, as though the car problem hadn’t bothered him the least bit. “Two hours? Was it that long?”
“Oh, Aloka, this is Mreenal.” Then, as greetings were exchanged, Sujata added, “How about some tea?”
How odd that Sujata was acting as the hostess.
Just as they entered the drawing room, Reenu slipped in. “Sujata-di, you’re back! You got so many phone calls.” The maidservant reeled off a series of names, handed Sujata a stack of telephone messages, and proceeded to consult with her about prospective meal menus. Sujata ordered a big pot of stewlike khichuri for the evening meal and a side dish of begun bhaja, just the right pairing. She spoke to the maidservant with authority and kindness.
Aloka pulled up a chair opposite Mreenal. “How did you two meet?” she asked, all the while keeping a discreet eye on Sujata. She still couldn’t believe the changes in her sister.
When Mreenal answered, it was obvious that most of his alertness was focused on Sujata. His eyes wandered in her direction frequently as he recounted the circumstances of their first meeting. Aloka recognized that Sujata and Mreenal were in that early, feverish phase of courtship when every moment spent together was euphoric. This town, with its lush natural surroundings, was conducive in that regard. Aloka called to mind her first encounter with Pranab nearly a decade ago in the hills of Darjeeling. That day had a special brilliance. Perhaps she and Pranab still might be able to slip away from the house together and retrace that hilly route. Now, with Mreenal around, Sujata would be less of an obstacle.
“How does chire bhaja sound to go with the tea?” Sujata inquired.
“Perfect,” Aloka answered. The freshly roasted rice flakes sauteed in ghee, so ethereal on the palate, were a rarity outside India. “Haven’t had it since . I left.”
Over tea, with the perfume of ghee thick in the air, Aloka listened as Sujata chattered enthusiastically about her hikes and sightseeing adventures with Mreenal. Their faces radiated a special fondness for each other. Often they finished each other’s sentences and they agreed more often than not. It was obvious they inhabited their own private universe. Aloka had ventured into it without the proper documents.
Aloka had barely begun to nibble at her chire bhaja when Sujata polished off her plate. Since when did Sujata appreciate food so much? She used to be such a finicky eater.
Presently Sujata turned her gaze to the clock on the wall. “Mreenal’s cousin is acting in a school play. We’re going to a four o’clock rehearsal. Would you care to join us?”
“It’s nearly three A.M. in New York. My eyes won’t stay open much longer. I should take a nap before dinner. But thanks anyway. I’ll see you both this evening.”
Just as Aloka eased up from the couch, Reenu reappeared. “Pranab-babu is here!”
Aloka observed the sudden shock that rippled across Sujata’s face. Did she dread his visit? Before she had time to consider the situation, Pranab strode into the room, fresh in a printed kurta and loose pants, appearing casually confident, perhaps even a bit cocky. Without his trademark tortoiseshell spectacles, he seemed to have regressed to an earlier era, to a younger, more carefree self. She wondered if his attire had been selected to achieve that effect.
Aloka, her throat suddenly lumpy, dropped back onto her seat. She had waited for this moment for so long—to be alone with Pranab in this cozy ambience, to have their voices mingle in small talk, to feel the radiance of their love once again. She hadn’t even remotely pictured a f
oursome, and least of all one that included Sujata.
Pranab noticed Aloka first and walked straight over to her. He seemed to struggle to come up with an appropriate phrase of welcome. “Aloka, how good to see you. Did you just arrive?”
She nodded, as she caught the touch of melancholy in his voice. For a moment they stared at each other in silence. A swelling of emotion stopped her from speaking. Perhaps this room, where they’d spent much time together, evoked memories in him, too.
He queried her about the long journey from New York: Were both the flights on time? Were they full? How had she passed the long, dreary hours? As they chatted, she couldn’t help but detect remorse in his heavy-lidded eyes, in the way he clasped and unclasped his hands.
After a polite interval, Pranab turned and seemed to spot Sujata for the first time. His face broke into an enchanting smile as he gazed at her wistfully, pouring all his warmth and attention into that one act. “Sujata, I decided to drop by and surprise you.”
Sujata appeared surprised, even a trifle embarrassed. Aloka sat back stiffly in the overstuffed couch. Her earlobes ached from the heavy gold earrings she was wearing; in fact, her whole body ached. As she looked on, Sujata introduced Pranab and Mreenal to each others, by names only, no relationships suggested. Though the two men exchanged cordial greetings, the glances that passed between them were guarded and uncertain.
Pranab planted himself in a chair between Aloka and Sujata. In an earnest tone he asked Sujata how she’d spent the last few days. His entire upper body leaned in her direction as he talked. Mentally Aloka tried to assay if this was a sign of intimacy, if any of the old passion had been ignited again. Suddenly that horrible morning in Manhattan unfolded before her, the morning when she had discovered Pranab’s love letter to Sujata, and all the suffering that had ensued. Now Aloka, her face burning, wanted to lash out at her sister, bhoot, who was smiling so coquettishly at both men. How would Aloka survive the next couple of weeks in the same house with this miserable creature?
Something in Pranab’s behavior must have alerted Mreenal. Though he pretended to browse an issue of Outlook magazine, he stole an occasional glance at Pranab, then at Sujata, possibly waiting for just the right opening to assert his presence. Aloka felt a sudden affinity toward Mreenal and with it a diminution of loneliness. She shook her arms to alleviate the tension.
“Just on my way here,” Pranab was saying, “I was approached by a sleek-looking guy, obviously on the take. I figured he wanted a donation and handed him some coins. Do you know what he said? ‘Only five rupees, brother? Why, that won’t even buy me dahl and rice! Surely a man of your class can spare a fifty.’”
Sujata gave a perfunctory smile. “Beggars have gone upscale. They’re keeping up with the economy. They have a right to.” Not a bad answer from Sujata.
“You’re lucky, Pranab,” Mreenal quipped. “He didn’t lift your passport.”
Pranab ignored both comments. “Why are there so few flights from Calcutta to Darjeeling when the route is so popular, do you know, Sujata? And why does the airline try to serve a full meal on a forty-five-minute flight? Such a lack of planning.”
Mreenal set the Outlook aside and cut in. “Will you take a day trip to Sikkim this weekend, Sujata? We can hike up to Tsangu Lake. For you it’ll be a piece of cake, or should I say a plate of chire bhaja?”
Sujata laughed, a merry laugh, and both men gazed at her. They seemed fascinated by her naturalness. How things had changed. Sujata was now the spotlight in the family drawing room, Aloka merely the observer.
“Think before you go, Sujata.” Pranab cleared his throat and touched his breast pocket. “All those switchbacks and hairpin corners. So many accidents on that route.”
Sujata seemed amused by the undercurrent of rivalry for her attention, but didn’t respond, no doubt a tribute to her newly acquired social skills. Aloka was cognizant of the bone-rattling drive on a narrow mountain road, which cut its way along precipitous gorges high above the River Teesta. Molten silver water and green banks, colossal mountain pinnacles ever-present in the background, and a sense of serenity she had yet to experience anywhere else.
Quietly Aloka got up. “Excuse me, I’m going to my room now.” She was aware of the silence that had descended on the room. Just before slipping out the door, she swung around. “The drive to Sikkim is awesome, Sujata. I hope you don’t forgo the chance. There’s danger in any choice you make. Just as there’s danger in not choosing.”
At this Sujata became pensive, as though the words had elicited new reflections in her.
Aloka did not wait to see Pranab’s reaction.
thirty-nine
When Sujata suggested going to Tiger Hill for the sunrise, Nina had readily consented. At almost twenty-six hundred meters, Tiger Hill stood out as the highest point in the greater Darjeeling area. When the sun peeked over the horizon, Nina had marveled at the spectacle of magnificent Kanchenjunga and its lesser sibling Kabru glowing like burnished bronze, as though a flaming torch had licked them in succession. Even after so many years, the view uplifted her spirit and gave her added energy. After sharing a breakfast of tea and buttered toast with Sujata, Nina sank into one of the chairs the driver had set out for them on the ground below the observation pavilion. Her eyelids began to droop and soon she dozed off in the warmth of the morning sun.
Some time later, Nina woke with a start and a sneeze to find herself showered in a velvety light that felt pleasantly warm on her cheeks and forehead. She drew herself up and cast her eyes to the fiery eastern sky. The sun, a giant tangerine, had crept up above the rim of the mountains, splashing its golden elixir across a canvas of fluffy clouds. As she watched, Nina nibbled on a chocolate nugget that Sujata had brought for her, a treat hard to her decaying teeth, intensely pleasurable on the palate.
She looked off to the left where Sujata was standing near the edge of a precarious ledge, the train of her sari flapping in the wind, seemingly lost in the panorama of the cloud-swept valley below. To Nina’s surprise, Pranab had joined her there. Had he just happened to come for the sunrise, or had he known she would be here? Most likely he had found out from the servants at home. In any case, he had timed his arrival perfectly. Most of the spectators who had swarmed the area for the six A.M. sunrise had long since departed. Now only a few hardy, shawl-covered souls wandered about, and that meant he had ample opportunity for a private conversation with Sujata. Nina could not make a guess as to how long they’d been having this tête-à-tête, but from the sound of the fragments floating up to her, the conversation was becoming increasingly heated.
“It’s over, Pranab. We can’t go back to where we were. You must understand.”
Though the words sounded dreadfully final, Sujata’s tone carried a poignant quality, as though she knew this would devastate Pranab, and yet had to follow inner directions.
Pranab sounded incredulous. “Is it because of Mreenal? You just met him! How can you let him ruin what we had? It was so precious.”
To Nina it became obvious that Pranab, not ready to relinquish his position, was grasping at whatever he could. Once he’d succeeded in changing her mind, it would only be a matter of time before he seduced her again.
Sujata: “It’s not because of Mreenal. I’ve changed and moved on. Without that, there’d be no Mreenal.”
Nina didn’t care to listen anymore. Before her eyes Pranab gestured at Sujata with a sweep of a hand, the way a persistent hawker tries to lure a customer back, and pleaded. Sujata appeared to terminate the exchange and take off by herself to another ledge, possibly for a different view. Pranab stood alone for a while. He must have sensed that Nina had awakened, for he spun around, smiled wistfully, and started walking toward her. A mobile phone stuck out stupidly from the side pocket of his dark woolen overcoat. He looked shabbier. A squirrel scampering across the ground barely avoided his heavy tread. At last, a chance for Nina to speak with Pranab in private. She certainly had a few things to get off her chest.
<
br /> Pranab greeted Nina with a well-modulated tone of respect and commented on the great view, both with almost comic grandiloquence, as he lowered himself into a chair next to her.
“I never forgot what you once wrote to us about Tiger Hill, Thakurma. How you’d come here to make a wish and say a prayer for us. The breeze would blow your prayer toward the tallest mountains in the world, then up to the heavens, where the gods would receive it. I promised myself then that I’d visit this place again the first chance I got and make a few wishes myself.”
“I write too much.”
“Your letters were lifesavers for me and Aloka in New York. Every day, I’d go through my daily chores as efficiently as a machine, and with about as much feeling. Then the postman would bring an envelope or an aerogram from you or from my parents, and that’d change everything. All of a sudden I’d breathe more deeply and hum a Rabindrasangeet, and even the traffic noise wouldn’t seem so mind-numbing.”
“You’re not planning to move back here, are you, Pranab?”
He looked away abruptly and hesitated. If in the past Pranab had appeared arrogant to Nina, he didn’t do so now. The lines of his face were humbler. His voice carried less conviction.
“As a matter of fact, Thakurma, I’m looking for a new start and thought I might go knocking at some doors hereabouts. Ah, I see you are skeptical.”
“I don’t have good news for you in that regard.”
“Would you care to explain?”
“I’m afraid, Pranab, no tea estate here will ever hire you. My son made sure of that before he died. His influence still remains strong. And what else is there for you in Darjeeling besides tea?”
“But I hear the Gupta tea estate hasn’t turned a profit in years.” A trace of a sneer had crept into Pranab’s voice. “How long can you go on like that?”
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