After the Storm

by Sangeeta Bhargava

  ‘Excuse me, sir, smoking is not allowed here,’ said the librarian, as he coughed and spluttered and waved the air before him with both his hands.

  ‘Says who?’ queried Gurpreet.

  ‘It’s the college rule.’

  ‘All right, then,’ Gurpreet replied, stubbing out his cigarette reluctantly. He then handed the book to the librarian.

  ‘This book is only for reference, sir. You cannot take it out of the library,’ said the librarian.

  ‘Preeto, what now?’ whispered Jatin to Gurpreet. ‘You promised that girl. What’ll she think of you now?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ replied Gurpreet in a low voice. ‘I’m not going to give up so easily. I’ve finally found the girl of my dreams – how can I let go of a golden opportunity like this to impress her?’

  Jatin chuckled. ‘Girl of your dreams, indeed! That’s what you call every girl you meet.’

  Gurpreet turned to the librarian. ‘What did you say?’ he asked.

  ‘This book is only for reading in the confines of the library,’ the librarian patiently reiterated.

  ‘Do you think I’m going to eat it if I take it outside the library? Believe me, I’m going to read it, that’s all.’

  ‘Sir,’ the librarian tried again. ‘Books in the reference section are to be rea—’

  But Gurpreet had already snatched the book from his hand. ‘I’m taking it with me,’ he said. ‘Put it on my account. I’ll bring it back as soon as I’m done with it.’ He tucked the book under his arm and strode out of the library, chin up in the air.

  ‘I’ll lose my job,’ the librarian muttered, but Gurpreet pretended not to hear.

  ‘Why are you always so aggressive?’ Jatin asked as they entered the tuck shop for the second time that day. ‘You think you can get anything by force. But that’s not how things work.’

  ‘That’s the only way it works,’ replied Gurpreet, pulling out a chair and sitting down. ‘Didn’t you see? You think the librarian would have given me the book, had I begged for it?’

  Jatin did not reply.

  Gurpreet continued speaking. ‘If you want to acquire something, you’ve got to snatch it, yaara. That’s what the British did. And that’s what we need to do to get our freedom back.’

  ‘I still think you can gain much more by peaceful means – like Gandhiji is doing.’

  ‘Exactly. He has been negotiating with the British government for the last I don’t know how many years. Anything happened? Nothing.’

  He stopped speaking and waved to Vicky as he saw her and her friend Mili enter the tuck shop. Vicky waved back and the two of them moved towards the table where they were seated. Bahadur approached their table and grinned. He was still wearing his holey cap. He wiped the table clean with the gamcha he wore around his neck as a scarf. Then he fetched four glasses of water to the table, a finger dipping into each glass. Gurpreet suppressed a smile as he saw the look of disgust on Mili’s face. She’d get used to it before the year was done, he told himself.

  ‘What are my pretty damsels doing this weekend?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m visiting some relatives,’ replied Jatin.

  ‘Who’s asking you?’ said Gurpreet.

  ‘I have to give my attendance at my local guardian’s. Else news will be sent to Mummum …’ replied Vicky pulling a face.

  ‘Mummum?’ Gurpreet asked.

  ‘My mother,’ replied Vicky.

  ‘Oh,’ said Gurpreet. He turned to Mili hopefully and asked, ‘And you, ma’am?’

  Mili blushed and replied shyly, ‘I’m going with her.’

  Throwing up his hands in exasperation, Gurpreet exclaimed, ‘What luck. Two lovely ladies afore me, and neither wish to go on a date with me.’ Everybody laughed as Gurpreet dramatically put his hand to his heart and let out a long sigh.

  ‘You ought to join a drama troupe,’ Jatin said, rolling his eyes.

  Gurpreet looked at Vicky. She was engrossed in dipping her pakora in tamarind chutney. ‘I almost forgot,’ he said. ‘Is this the book you wanted?’

  Vicky looked up from her plate, licked her fingers and almost snatched the book from Gurpreet’s hand. ‘Why, yes. So you managed to get it from your library? I’d almost given up.’

  Gurpreet crossed his heart theatrically and said, ‘This is a mere book. For you, ma’am, I can even lay down my life.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Vicky. ‘Prove it. Go to the summit of this mountain and jump off from there.’

  ‘Haiyo Rabba,’ Gurpreet exclaimed, smacking his forehead. ‘That was such a romantic dialogue and look what you did to it.’ He smiled as Vicky began to laugh. Her laughter made her eyes twinkle. He put his hands behind his head and watched the girls babble. Ah. Life was good, the tuck shop its quintessence. He would be haunting this place from now onwards, he thought with a grin.

  Vicky drummed the windowpane impatiently as she looked out. There was no place like Kishangarh in May. The entire hillside was bursting with life and colour. Every single minute of this bright Sunday morning spent indoors was a waste. It was the kind of morning that was meant for riding. She looked longingly at the chestnut-brown horse tethered to a tree down in the valley below. She could visualise herself riding it bareback, the summer breeze on her face, the clippity–clop of the hooves, the horse sweating and foaming at the mouth as the two of them challenged the wind to a race. She could even smell it. Why had Mummum insisted she visit Uncle George when she spoke to her two days back?

  ‘George and Ethel are your only relatives in Kishangarh, poppet,’ she had said. ‘There should be someone – a guardian you can turn to if something should happen.’ What the devil. Mummum could be such a pain sometimes. But how she missed her. Even though she had never been able to see much of her. Mummum usually left for work before she woke up and got home after she’d gone to bed.

  Vicky turned away from the window. Pushing back her glasses which had reached the tip of her nose, she peered into Mili’s bag. ‘What are you packing? And all these heavy books? We’ll be gone just one day.’

  ‘Have you forgotten we have a test tomorrow?’ Mili replied as she tried to put the bag over her shoulders.

  Vicky shook her head with exasperation as her friend tottered under the weight of her bag. ‘Here, let me carry it. You carry mine.’

  ‘Where are you two off to?’

  Vicky pulled a face as she recognised the voice. Angel. Such a busybody she was. Always poking her nose into other people’s affairs. ‘Here comes our guardian angel,’ she muttered.

  Mili giggled. ‘We’re going to spend the day with our local guardians,’ she said.

  ‘I hope you’ve signed the register?’ asked Angel.

  Looking at her over the rim of her glasses, Vicky asked, ‘What register?’

  ‘Haven’t you read the rules the warden gave you? Each time you stay overnight at your local guardians’, you must enter your name, place of stay and phone number in the register. Otherwise you can get into serious trouble.’

  ‘Thanks for telling us,’ Vicky replied. ‘Now where’s this register?’

  ‘In the common room, of course,’ replied Angel as she twirled a lock of her hair and strutted out of the room.

  ‘The common room, of course,’ Vicky mimicked. She smiled at Mili who was giggling hysterically, dumped her bag on the floor, then they hurried towards the common room.

  ‘Have you noticed how long her nose is?’ Vicky asked as they walked back to their room. ‘Maybe that’s why she’s so nosy. Perhaps if we could grate it with a cheese grater, she’d become less inquisitive.’

  The two friends looked at each other and sniggered, then picked up their bags and left the hostel.

  Fifteen minutes later, they were walking hand in hand along the Mall, happily singing ‘Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree …’ It was a beautiful day. There was so much to see – the flowers dotting the slopes, the soft mossy grass, the velvety butterflies, the nests with their speckled eggs, the crafty spiders, the clumsy
daddy-long-legs.

  Uncle George’s house soon came into view as they reached the end of the Mall. It was a small cottage with a red-tiled sloping roof and walls the colour of buttercups. It stood on the hill, just a couple of paces above the last shop on the Mall. The black iron gate leading up to the house did not look welcoming, but rather like a giant Alsatian’s teeth, snarling and ready to bite.

  ‘Don’t mention that I missed mass this morning,’ Vicky whispered to Mili as she opened the gate.

  Aunt Ethel was at the door. As soon as she saw Vicky, she exclaimed, ‘Oh my God, Vicky, how you have grown! Come inside, my child.’ Vicky and Mili followed her. Vicky smiled to herself. Aunty resembled Papa so much, she found herself warming to her almost instantly. Aunt Ethel wore a mauve cotton dress, her hair tucked neatly into a bun. Vicky could see why Uncle George hated Mummum so. While his own wife was the epitome of elegance, Mummum was as rough and clumsy as the bears that danced on the streets of Mohanagar on their hind legs. Vicky lifted her chin in the air. Bah! So what if Mummum wasn’t prim and proper? She was the cuddliest and most huggable mother in all the land. She smiled as Aunt Ethel embraced her and nodded her head to acknowledge Mili’s namaste.

  ‘Come, come,’ she said. ‘I’m so glad you decided to visit us today. Your uncle has gone to Nainital and I was beginning to feel a little lonely.’

  She led them through a dark, narrow corridor, with a number of doors on the right. It looked like a firstclass compartment in a train rather than the interior of a house. Vicky looked around the living room – at the heavy teak furniture, the velvet curtains, the beautiful mosaics and tapestry on the floor and the walls. It definitely looked like the house of the Collector.

  ‘You know, the last time I saw Vicky, she was only three,’ Aunt Ethel was saying to Mili. ‘She had lined up all her dolls and was saying to them, “I’m your princess and it’s your duty to obey me.”’

  Mili grinned at Vicky. ‘I didn’t know you wanted to be a princess like me,’ she chuckled.

  ‘But we never got a chance to go to Mohanagar again,’ Aunt Ethel whispered, as she rearranged the flowers on the table.

  Vicky stared at her for a minute, then looked away. Grown-ups were terrible liars. It wasn’t because they had never gone to Mohanagar again. It was because Uncle George wanted to have nothing to do with his native relatives after Papa’s death.

  Aunt Ethel chatted with them for a long time. She asked them about the hostel, the teachers, the food, Mummum, the clinic, her sisters, how long Mili and she had been friends …

  ‘Can you two run to the shops and get me some fresh strawberries while I fix lunch?’ Aunt Ethel was now asking.

  Nodding, Vicky and Mili headed off towards the Mall. As they passed one of the shops, Vicky noticed some packets of cigarettes. She winked at Mili. Then turning to the shopkeeper, she pointed to the cigarettes. ‘One of those for my uncle. And a box of matches please.’

  As soon as they left the shop, Mili pounced on her. ‘What do you need cigarettes for?’

  ‘Mili, I’m sixteen. And you’re seventeen. About time we tried it. Claudia and Michelle had it when they were twelve.’

  ‘I don’t think—’ Mili began to protest.

  ‘Shh,’ hissed Vicky as she put a finger to her lip and pulled Mili to the back of Uncle George’s cottage. She took out two cigarettes, gave one to Mili and held the other one to her nose. Ah, the ethereal smell of tobacco. She then put it between her lips. Her hands shook as she lit hers first and then Mili’s. She lifted her chin in the air, feeling all grown-up and glamorous. She winked at Mili and together they drew their first puff.

  And then she coughed and coughed. ‘What the devil!’ she spluttered and coughed some more. Tears were now rolling down her cheeks and she did not feel that glamorous any more.

  ‘I feel giddy,’ Mili said as she began to retch.

  Vicky looked up with a start as a shadow fell across her. A burly middle-aged man had appeared out of nowhere and stood towering over them. He had to be Uncle George.

  ‘Get inside the house, you two,’ he barked.

  The two girls scuttled indoors.

  ‘So which one of you is Victoria?’ he asked, his lips curling in disgust.

  ‘I am,’ Vicky answered quietly.

  ‘I should have known,’ he said. ‘How could I have expected anything better from that heathen’s daughter?’

  Vicky shot him a venomous look. How dare he speak of Mummum like that? If Mili hadn’t put a restraining hand on her arm and implored, ‘Don’t say anything, Vicky, please,’ she might have hit him.

  Chapter Seven

  Raven thrust his hands in his pockets as he walked across the fields. The fields in Kishangarh were not flat like in the plains. They were terraced – in the form of giant steps cut into the hillside. He could see the hill women, singing as they tended their fields, in their blue gypsy skirts and heavy gold jewellery around their necks, arms and ankles. They were hard-working – hardy, stoic but always smiling. Some of them even had their little ones tied to their backs – fair-skinned, chubby babies with runny noses and red cheeks. And grime on their hands and mouth.

  He looked down and espied two girls walking down the Mall. They looked familiar. He turned to Jatin who was walking beside him. ‘Aren’t they Malvika and Victoria?’ he asked.

  Jatin followed his gaze. ‘Oh yes, they are,’ he said. ‘They must be on their way back from Vicky’s local guardian’s place.’

  Raven looked at the two girls again. He hoped they were not up to any mischief today. He remembered the drawing they had made of him on the board. They had written ‘Prof. RAVAN’ under the picture. Whatever did they mean? Who was Ravan? He knew a little of Indian mythology. He had read the Upanishads and the Mahabharata. But he simply couldn’t recall Ravan. Maybe it was a spelling mistake.

  ‘We’re almost there.’ Jatin’s voice broke into his thoughts.

  ‘Are you sure she’s in this ashram?’

  ‘I’m certain, sir. Her own mother told me.’

  ‘How long did you say you’ve known Vidushi?’

  ‘Ever since we were little. We were neighbours. But I lost touch with her after she got engaged. Her parents and her in-laws are orthodox.’

  ‘I can see that. Who would put a mere child in an ashram otherwise? I’m glad you overheard me when I was making enquiries about her.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Jatin replied.

  As they neared the ashram, Raven became aware of a deep silence. The only sound that could be heard was the murmuring of the Bhoori river. An uneasy chill seemed to grip him. He saw a woman with short grey hair, clad in a white sari … ‘Where can I find the head priest?’ he asked. The woman pointed towards a small door. Raven lowered his head as he walked in through the door. The smell of incense and sandalwood greeted him. It was dark in there. And oh so cold. As though summer had abandoned the ashram. Just like the widows left there by their families – neglected and forgotten.

  A thin, bald man in a saffron robe entered the room. ‘Can I help you?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Raven. ‘I believe a student of mine called Vidushi is here and I would like to see her.’

  ‘That’s not possible. Widows are forbidden from interacting with men.’

  ‘In that case I will have to take the help of the authorities,’ Raven said.

  The priest stared at him. Raven stared back. Was he really the head priest? Or was he Jack Frost?

  ‘I see,’ the priest finally replied. ‘I will send her in. But please keep it short. Ten minutes.’

  ‘I will. Thank you,’ Raven replied.

  He looked around. It suddenly struck him that the room had no windows. He suspected the rest of the rooms in the ashram were the same. He turned as a slight figure approached the door. His mouth fell open when he saw Vidushi. Her head had been shaved and she was clad in a flimsy white cotton sari. She stood before him, her head lowered, bare toes curling on the cold stone floor. This was not the Vi
dushi he used to teach. The girl with two thick plaits, who knew all the answers. Whose hand was up even before he had finished asking the question.

  ‘Vidushi? What happened?’ Raven asked.

  She looked at him, then at Jatin, her lips quivering. ‘My husband is no more. Soon after the wedding ceremonies he got a telegram and left for the war.’ She swallowed. ‘Two weeks later he was shot.’ Vidushi paused and covered her mouth with the edge of her sari. ‘I didn’t get the chance to be alone with him even for a minute.’ She looked down again and rubbed the floor with her big toe.

  ‘And yet they have confined you to this?’ said Raven, barely able to control his temper. ‘I’m not leaving you here. You’re coming with me.’

  Vidushi gave him a startled look.

  ‘I’m going to speak to Miss Perkins,’ said Raven.

  ‘Who will pay the fees, sir?’ said Vidushi quietly. ‘My parents have already forsaken me.’

  ‘Hmm. We have an orphanage in Jeolikot. I’ll arrange for them to take you. Anything will be better than this.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Jatin, who had been too shaken until now to speak.

  ‘Sir, leave me to my plight,’ said Vidushi.

  Raven came closer to her. Vidushi sprang back in fright.

  ‘Is this the same Vidushi who had come crying to me a couple of months back?’ he asked. ‘Begging me to plead with her in-laws to let her continue her education after marriage? Do you think I prostrated before them only to let you rot in this place for the rest of your life?’

  Vidushi did not say anything.

  Lowering his voice, Raven said, ‘Vidushi, I’m going to get you out of here. You’re too intelligent to waste your time in this hellhole. All right?’

  Vidushi nodded. Her eyes were brimming with tears. She bent down, touched his feet, stole a sideways look at Jatin and fled from the room.

  Kicking the door shut, Jatin muttered, ‘Damn,’ through clenched teeth.

  Raven looked at him. He had spoken just once since he had seen Vidushi and had kept his gaze averted while she was there. Yes, it must have been a big shock for him. Raven put a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘I’ll get your childhood friend out of here, whatever it takes, I promise,’ he whispered.