“Things are going to get turned around soon.” Nina experienced the pleasure of the last speck of the bonbon that had just coated her throat with a flowing sweetness.
“Will that be easy? The tea bushes haven’t been pruned properly for a long time now. And even if you were to rectify that, their yield will not improve much for several years.”
“The plantation is going to good hands.”
“Well, in any case, I wanted to express my gratitude to you in person, Thakurma, for saving my head.”
Nina watched an elderly worker lop off an overgrown branch of bamboo, wielding a scythe with an emaciated but powerful hand. She felt equally energetic. She looked straight at Pranab’s face. Her clouded eyes, she could feel, were flashing with pent-up bitterness. “You should have thanked Aloka for that long ago, but you never did. She risked her life for you and gave you all she had. You took something precious and defiled it.”
A tattered wicker basket of marigold garlands on his head, a roving vendor, who had been making rounds, threw a glance at them, then turned away.
“I’ve made mistakes,” Pranab said. “I won’t deny that. But I’ve made Aloka happy. She wouldn’t have stayed that many years with me otherwise.”
“We’d raised her in the ancient tradition of Indian women who don’t question their husbands. We thought she’d be a fine wife and mother, but that didn’t work out, thanks to you. Still, I’m proud of what she has accomplished in her life.” With enormous difficulty, Nina suppressed the accusation that burned in her heart. Pranab had maneuvered her granddaughters for his own selfish gratification. He had tried to appropriate their property and use their innate strength of character to compensate for his own weakness. However wounded by love, however exploited, the two girls had risen above the obstacles fate had placed in their path, whereas Pranab had crumbled in the face of adversity due to his inflexibility, his failure to control his appetites.
“I had it in mind,” Nina said in conclusion, “to get you and Aloka back together again. But the more I see it, the more I think that wouldn’t he such a good idea.”
A wisp of graying hair falling on Pranab’s cheek accented the sad eyes. He seemed unable to respond, except to ask, “Where is Aloka, by the way?”
Nina suddenly sensed an opportunity to give Aloka a chance to vent her bridled frustrations to Pranab in private. “Aloka likes to sleep late, then goes to Glenary Bakery for coffee on most days.” She said this casually, while gazing at the chestnut-brown plumage of a robinlike bird as it hopped from a tree.
Pranab chitchatted for a few more minutes: How the coffee was abysmal in most restaurants. How the prices had gone up. How difficult he found walking on the almost vertical streets. Without announcing it, he scrambled to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, Thakurma, I must be going.”
He looked around one last time for Sujata, but she was nowhere to be seen. Shoulders slumping, he walked away toward the road.
Nina watched fragile clouds scudding past the peaks, as though exemplifying the need to move on. She didn’t expect to see Pranab ever again. Their lives had taken different turns. A sudden windblown sprinkle of rain wetted her cheeks.
“It’s beginning to pour, Memsahib,” Nina heard the driver’s voice. “Perhaps I should take you both home?”
Sujata was fast approaching, her face florid from the exertion of the high-altitude hike. “I got lost, Thakurma. Looks like I found my way back just in time.”
Nina collected her walking stick. “Yes, home,” she said to the driver, glancing at Sujata.
forty
Nina adhered to the notion that a part of her remained in each place where she set foot, and that by revisiting a place she would be able to recapture the essence of her lost self. Today she strolled Darjeeling’s Botanical Garden with Sujata. Located only minutes from the town’s bustling market named the Chowk Bazaar and an equally busy bus terminus, this tranquil garden with its scarcity of visitors set her body and thoughts free.
It seemed only yesterday that Sujata, then a winsome five-year-old missing several front teeth, had accompanied Nina to the market. The congested area reminded Nina of a swarm of flies stuck on a syrupy gelabi. Here it was impossible to claim enough space so as not to sneeze directly on someone’s shoulder. But Nina, a young fifty-year-old then, couldn’t leave the critical task of food shopping to a servant’s discretion. So she came down here, preferring to do the shopping herself. Her eyes wouldn’t overlook the freshest chilis, the reddest onions, and the juiciest ginger roots spread out on the mats. She could give one glance at the open vats and locate raisins from Kabul, cashews from Midnapore, and apples from Kashmir. When she finished, she would direct the servant to load the purchases into the car and wait for her. Then she and Sujata would turn away from the market.
Nina would hold Sujata’s delicate, almost boneless baby hand as they would meander through the narrow streets and finally descend a set of steep winding steps. From the very last step they would view the huge expanse of the Botanical Garden, actually a park with flower beds, an orchid house, and tree-canopied trails, and would listen to muted birdsongs. As soon as they reached the garden gate, Sujata would twist out of Nina’s grip and bound off after a fluttering insect, or a crow that waddled onto the grass, or a button-sized wildflower that only her child’s eye could spot. Her tiny feet tinkled with the melodious sound of the anklets she wore. She amused herself with that sound and all she beheld. Nina would find herself hurrying up after her.
Today, Nina was taking much slower steps down a long, gently rolling path shaded by plum and cherry trees and bordered by flowers. She took the time to stare at the oversized blue bloom of a hydrangea plant. She stooped to give an approving eye at the vivid red impatiens that hugged the ground at her feet. They seemed grayed at the edges, or was it her failing eyesight?
Sujata pointed ahead to the gazebolike shelter furnished with benches. “Shall we go sit for a while?”
Nina nodded. She settled herself carefully on the wooden bench, making sure the long overcoat she was wearing over her sari didn’t catch a protruding nail. She gazed idly at a young couple with two children photographing each other in front of a stand of dahlias. The husband, clearly enamored with the camera’s high-tech features, fussed with it, displaying a smile of manly confidence on his face. His young wife pretended that she didn’t want her picture taken. “Oh, it’s such a bother,” she seemed to be saying, while keeping a coy smile afloat. Their boy kept shuffling his feet, while the girl played with the border of her mother’s sari. How mundane these gestures seemed to an onlooker, yet how imbued with meaning to the family.
The ideal nature of the scene also gave Nina a reminder. She turned to Sujata.
“There’s something I want to talk to you about, my dear Sujata. The time has come—it’s my will.”
“Your will? But Thakurma, you have many good years ahead of you.”
“Nevertheless, I’m leaving the plantation to you. You’ll be the sole owner when I’m gone.”
Sujata opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. It was as though her thoughts had flown ahead and her lips were rushing to catch up. “Me?” she finally asked.
“Yes, you. Who’s better suited? You have a soul connection with tea.”
Nina studied the doubt and indecision etched on that face as Sujata said, “You should sell the plantation.”
“Sell it? Out of the question. I couldn’t bear to see some national or, worse yet, large agribusiness company, taking over. They’ll sit in their offices somewhere in Delhi or Mumbai and pay attention only to the balance sheet, not the quality of tea or the health of the land as we do. The plantation has been our fortune for generations. Your great-grandfather owned many other businesses, but in his final days he concentrated on this one alone. He believed it was the family’s good-luck charm. Most of my own life has been dedicated to it. Many moons ago, when I would tell my husband that I wanted more children, he would reply, ‘Tea plants are ou
r babies. Every kilo of leaves they produce comes from our blood, sweat, nerves, and touch. We pour our love on them.’”
Nina controlled a deep sigh as Sujata drew closer and took her hand. They sat still for a while, with Nina’s palm warmly enfolded in Sujata’s hands. Nina guessed the queries running through Sujata’s head: Thakurma, had you really wanted more children? A girl, perhaps?
“My tea company in Victoria needs constant care,” Sujata replied. “I can’t leave it. There’s so much competition.”
“Can’t Janaki run that operation? She can be the sole distributor of Gupta Golden Tip in Canada. This is where you belong, here in Darjeeling.”
“Is that so? You used to talk about how it was a man’s world at the Darjeeling Planters’ Association. The men played billiards in the front room and talked shop over drinks, while the women and children lounged in a small room at the back with tea and pastries. How, as a woman, would I break into their clubby society?”
“Oh, no, there are a few women proprietors now, maybe one percent of the total, certainly not as many as men, but they’re making their presence known. The men will soon discover that you’re very capable. You have the technical knowledge about the soil, the topography, the pests, and the machines. You’ll be able to deal with political and government party leaders effectively. And you’ll take better care of the women tea pluckers. They’re very productive and do the most critical job of all, but traditionally haven’t been paid as well as the men who operate the machines or even those who merely weigh the harvest. It’s time someone like you came along and treated the women fairly.”
Sujata adjusted her seating position to avoid being struck in the eyes by the sun’s whimsical rays. “My life is in Canada now.”
“You love tea.”
“I’m still in a state of shock, Thakurma.”
“It’s not a sudden decision, Sujata. You know, I’ve been dreaming of this ever since you were five.” And Nina glimpsed herself as she was then, a middle-aged woman tireless in the pursuit of her many aspirations, and felt a flush of that long-ago bounce. “It was right here in this Botanical Garden one day when watching you flop down on the grass that I made up my mind you should inherit the tea garden. That’s why I wanted to come back here with you.”
“What was it that made you decide?”
“Aloka always preferred to spend time with her friends and cousins, she was social even then, and she was learning to sing. She went to all the musical events. But you were a loner; you came here with me and played by yourself. You loved the trees, birds, and flowers. It was as if you sang their song. As you grew, you developed a keen sense of what quality tea was. That can’t be taught, you know. As time went on, you also grasped the ins and outs of the tea trade. I saw all this as preparation for owning the tea plantation someday. It takes a special person with a great deal of dedication to stick to the job day after day.” Nina took a deep breath and waited for the oxygen to revitalize her. “I must tell you that we’ve had drought for many years and our productivity has gone down. Although some rain has fallen this year, it’s not nearly as much as we need. In any case, the rain is out of your hands. The major issues you’ll have to deal with are how to work with tough labor unions such as the Uttar Banga Anchalik Committee, and how to better market tea to North America.”
“What about Aloka? Wouldn’t she contest your will? The tea estate was supposed to have been hers.”
“Let me tell you about the rest of my will. Aloka will own the house.”
Sujata let out a controlled laugh. “The house? Would she ever live in it? Don’t you think we’ve lost her to America?”
“I’m certain she’ll miss the peacefulness of this place and come back from time to time.”
“Does that mean I couldn’t live in that house?”
“No. There’s a clause in my will that says you will have the right to occupy it for as long as you live. Tell me, dear, will you be happy taking over the estate? In the end, it’s your choice. I can’t force you.”
“I need time to think. It’s eleven-thirty already. Do you want to grab a bite?”
“I’d love that, but Aloka is taking me out to Windemere for lunch.”
“Oh, the Windemere! Aloka’s classier than I am, always has been.”
“Would you care to join us?”
“I have to run to the store for a few things.”
Nina squeezed Sujata’s hand affectionately and found the particular softness still there. “When you were both little, I’d buy you both the exact same dolls, but you’d put them side by side and measure their heights to see who got the bigger one and which one had more gold on its clothes. Are you still holding on to the old jealousies?”
“I admit I’m still a little jealous of Aloka. I think I always will be, though now I see myself as her equal. Maybe it’s the struggles I’ve gone through, maybe it’s doing work I really like, but I’ve finally lost my feelings of inferiority. But that’s not the reason for my bowing out. You two should have some time together. You and Aloka aren’t as close as you used to be.”
forty-one
The food before her at the Windemere Hotel tantalized Nina with its color, aroma, shape, variety, and, in the case of the cute carrot chrysanthemums, its attempt to entertain. Her appetite had all but disappeared in recent months and so she merely sniffed at the aromatic yellow rice, rolled a dab of gingery sauce on her tongue, nibbled at a sliver of caramelized onion, and sipped at her water. Then, with Aloka in tow, Nina moved over to the privacy of a small lounge, where they settled back in oversized chairs. Outside the window, an expanse of smooth green gave way to a view of scarlet blossoms. In due time a waitress in a black uniform, a white frilly apron, and matching cap turned up.
Aloka ordered two glasses of limewater, then began recounting the details of her years in New York. It was clear that a full measure of joys and struggles were tightly woven into her existence, like the pearl rope coiling around her neck. And if a hint of sadness occasionally crept into her words, she dismissed it with a gesture, a carefree laugh, a glance out the window. Only when she mentioned Pranab was there a note of melancholy in her voice, a flickering pain in her eyes that lingered after the conversation had moved on.
“It must be hard for you, sonamoni.” Precious jewels, was how Nina addressed Aloka. “Pranab still haunts you in a thousand different ways. But in my opinion, there’s nothing like a new love to vanquish the ghosts of the past.”
“Your attitudes are remarkably modern, Thakurma. Indeed, I have met a new man.”
“Tell me about him.”
“His name is Jahar. When I met him, I realized that I have been typecast for a long time—dutiful daughter, suffering wife, faithful friend, reliable relative. The fun-loving Aloka I’d kept suppressed came out. I dropped my seriousness and lived in the joy and the truth of the moment. Now I miss him and that side of me.”
Nina watched her with wonderment. Aloka, self-sufficient from being in touch with her deeper self, could attract a man now and enjoy his company without needing him around her for twenty-four hours. It was clear that a traditional marriage was no longer her only option in life.
“Sujata had a very different set of problems with men.” Then, noting the instantaneous change in Aloka’s expression, Nina said, “You still resent her, don’t you?”
“Yes, a little. I’m still trying to get over the betrayal. I’d like to put it behind us, but she hasn’t made it very easy. Ever since I got back here she’s basically ignored me. When she’s not out running around with Mreenal, she seems bent on taking over the house. I mean, the way she orders the servants around, you’d think she owns the place. And then there’s Pranab always hanging around trying to get her attention. How would you feel in my place, Thakurma?”
Nina smiled sadly, nostalgically. “Do you realize that was exactly how she felt about you in the old days? You had a boyfriend and many admirers, and the whole household revolved around you. Sujata must have felt miser
able sitting alone in her room. I’m sure she developed a real inferiority complex.”
She watched as Aloka sat frozen in shock as the revelation sank in, oblivious to the waitress who had returned with a pitcher and the rattling sound of their glasses being refilled. Another hotel employee dashed in with a pile of firewood, stashed it in a container in one corner, and leapt out, leaving behind him the smell of fresh-cut cedar.
“You still have a chance to reconcile with your sister before you go back to America. It’s important to me. You two are our family’s future.”
“So that’s why you called us both here. It wasn’t just your birthday celebration, was it?”
Nina tried to contain a smile, then plunged ahead. “Sujata seems so determined, so much in control, though inside she’s still a little girl craving affection. She needs her older sister.”
Aloka glanced at the fireplace, her narrowing eyes losing their almond contour. “I don’t know if it’s still possible. We let it go for so long. I know I’m supposed to love my sister. But how can I? There’s something holding us back, something in her eyes. She still hates me.”
“Occasionally I think about my own brothers and sisters,” Nina replied.
“The four of us were very close. Once, when I was five, my youngest brother tripped and scraped his knee. I cried just as hard as he did. My mother said it was because we shared the same blood. You and Sujata have the same blood bond.”
Aloka laced her fingers around the tall glass and took a long slow swallow. “This limewater is so refreshing. I know it’s your favorite. We’re going to serve some for your birthday party. I’ll make it, just the way you taught me—sparkling water, a shot of ginger juice, sugar syrup, and essence of lime.”
“What I’d really like is a taste of your channer payesh.”
“I can make that, too.”
“It’d be even more special if you and Sujata made the payesh together.”
Aloka started to protest, but Nina persisted. “Please. It’d mean a lot to an old lady.”
Darjeeling Page 26
