After the Storm

by Sangeeta Bhargava

  Chapter Eight

  Vicky and Mili stopped whispering when they heard footsteps in the corridor and braced themselves. The door of the office swung open and Raven strode into the room. He flung his jacket over the back of a chair, loosened his tie and unbuttoned the topmost button on his shirt, before turning his gaze on the two of them.

  ‘Why were you two cheating?’ he asked.

  As always, straight to the point. Ravan didn’t believe in mincing words, did he? Silence. Vicky pushed back her glasses and stole a sideways look at Mili. She was busy biting her thumbnail.

  ‘Sir, we weren’t the only ones cheating. Angel and—’ said Vicky.

  Walking around the desk to where she sat, Raven now stood glaring down at her. Vicky squirmed in her seat and wished she hadn’t spoken.

  ‘I don’t care who else was cheating.’ His voice had dropped to a whisper but his tone was laced with ice. ‘I saw you two. Were you or were you not cheating?’

  Vicky and Mili did not say anything but hung their heads.

  Raven went and sat down at his desk. ‘Malvika Singh and Victoria Nunes, were you or were you not cheating?’ he grated through clenched teeth.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Vicky and Mili answered together, their voices barely audible.

  Vicky gulped as he picked up their answer sheets, tore them into two and threw them in the waste bin.

  ‘You two have brains. Why are you frittering your lives away?’ Raven said, his eyes flashing angrily. He got up from his seat and paced the room, running his fingers through his hair. Then he veered around to face them. ‘Do you know the plight of your classmate, Vidushi? I met her a few days back. Poor girl is rotting in an ashram. She would love to be in your place.’

  He walked back to his desk. Speaking slowly, he thumped the desk with each word he spoke. ‘You two are occupying seats that someone else might have occupied more fruitfully.’ He paused for breath, then spoke again. ‘Don’t waste your time. Or mine. I don’t want you getting into any kind of trouble again. Have I made myself clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Vicky murmured.

  Then with a wave of his hand and a ‘Go now, you’re going to be late for your next class,’ he dismissed them.

  That night, after dinner, Vicky and Mili took their customary stroll in the hostel garden. After a while, they sat down on a little mound at the edge of the garden which was hidden from view by a thicket. Leading downhill from it was an unused dirt track that Mili fondly called the Hide-and-Seek Road. Vicky pulled gently at something on the ground and gave it to Mili.

  Mili looked at it, smiled and said, ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Thanks?’ Vicky exclaimed. ‘What the devil. What happened? No whoop of delight? It’s a four-leaf clover. You yourself told me it’s lucky to find one.’

  Mili smiled again.

  The wind was howling tonight; Vicky wrapped her dressing gown tightly about her, then looked at her friend. ‘You’re quiet tonight,’ she said.

  ‘I was thinking about what Raven Sir said. You know, he’s right.’

  ‘I know. That was quite a scolding,’ replied Vicky. She felt sorry for Mili. She was fragile. No one ever raised their voice at her at the palace. And if she did get into mischief on her instigation, the servants covered up for her. Couldn’t that Ravan be less of a beast towards Mili at least? As for her – it didn’t really matter. She was used to scoldings. Not a day had gone by in Mohanagar when she didn’t get into some scrape or another.

  ‘Be serious, Vicky,’ Mili was saying. ‘We can’t keep getting into trouble. If Raven Sir complains to Principal Perkins, we can be thrown out of the school, you know.’

  ‘I guess you’re right. We can’t go back to Mohanagar. In disgrace. Mummum would die. She’d disown me.’

  ‘And what he said about wasting time …’

  Vicky did not reply immediately but thought about what Raven had said that morning. ‘Why are you frittering your lives away?’ he had said. It was true. She had never taken life seriously, never thought of achieving anything. She simply lived, or as he would have said, wasted each day as it came.

  ‘Yes, Mili,’ she said quietly. ‘We need to get serious. I want to work all my life. Like Mummum. You know, Mummum’s always been strong. She met with much opposition when she married Papa. Even after his death, nobody helped her.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Even Ma thinks she’s extraordinary.’

  ‘She calls me her bravest child. Sometimes I wonder. What if I’m really not that courageous?’

  ‘Vicky, you know very well you’re the bravest girl I’ve ever come across. You were climbing trees even before you could walk. You rode your pony bareback when you were just four. It wa—’

  ‘And you were a crybaby. Remember? When I forced you? To climb a tree? You were afraid to come down. You sat there and cried.’ Vicky rubbed her eyes and pretended to cry. ‘And cried …’

  ‘You …’ Mili lunged at Vicky. Vicky ducked and ran away laughing, with Mili after her.

  The following week found Vicky and Mili traipsing towards the Mall. Vicky looked at Mili impatiently as she tripped over her sari for the third time. Whoever wears a sari when walking down a hill? A bicycle bell tinkled and she stepped aside to let it pass. But it halted right next to them. It was Gurpreet.

  He looked at Mili and said, ‘Oh, lucky day, seeing your lovely face, first thing in the morning! What good fortune! It seems as though the moon has come down to earth!’

  The two girls laughed.

  ‘Where’s Jatin?’ Vicky asked.

  ‘In his beloved Jeolikot,’ replied Gurpreet.

  ‘He goes there a lot,’ said Vicky.

  ‘So where are you off to today?’ Gurpreet asked.

  Blushing, Mili answered, ‘We’ve been invited for lunch by Vicky’s aunt.’

  ‘In that case I shall also pay her my respects,’ said Gurpreet. ‘I’ve heard she’s very beautiful.’ So saying, he grabbed Mili’s bag from her hand and flung it over his shoulder.

  ‘You better not come,’ said Vicky. ‘My uncle will also be there.’

  But Gurpreet had already forgotten Vicky and was busy serenading Mili. ‘What silky tresses you have,’ he sang.

  ‘My friend is not interested in you,’ said Vicky. ‘Leave her alone.’ Why was he flirting with Mili? Was he trying to make her jealous? The rascal!

  Gurpreet crossed his hands over his heart and sighed theatrically, ‘Don’t break my heart, my lovely …’

  He could not continue as Uncle George’s cottage came into view and Vicky and Mili hastily waved him goodbye.

  Vicky sniffed the air appreciatively as she entered the house. Aunt Ethel was waiting for them with a smile and freshly baked bread. She ushered them into the living room. Uncle George looked up as they entered.

  ‘Oh, you two,’ he said and went back to his book.

  Aunt Ethel cleared her throat as she fiddled with the cuffs of her dress.

  ‘George, it has taken me a lot of persuasion to get Vicky to come and have lunch with us. She wa—’

  ‘Why? Is she the Queen that she has to be invited with so much fanfare?’ said Uncle George.

  ‘Now, George,’ said Aunt Ethel. ‘We have agreed to be her local guardian. Let’s be nice to our ward.’

  ‘I didn’t say anything wrong, did I? I caught her smoking that day, didn’t I? I don’t have the right to scold her? After all, as you said, we are her guardians and are responsible for her.’

  ‘Come, girls,’ said Aunt Ethel with an exasperated sigh. She put a hand on Vicky’s shoulder. ‘Let’s go and see if the meal is ready.’

  The dining room was small. Vicky looked at the food greedily while they waited for Uncle George to start grace. He was taking his time, tucking the serviette into his shirt, rolling up his sleeves.

  Vicky looked at the food laid out before them. The food at the hostel was wholesome, healthy and tasteless. It lacked that something that set it apart from home food – the touch of the lady of the house. Like when
Mummum would come to the kitchen and, taking the ladle from the cook, taste the stew. She would then look towards the ceiling while still chewing the meat and say, ‘I think it needs to simmer for five more minutes. And a dash of pepper.’ She would then sprinkle some pepper powder and voilà! The dish would be lifted from the ordinary to the divine. Like the dishes set before her right now – touched by Aunt Ethel’s magic.

  After grace, Uncle George read his book while eating and ignored them for the rest of the meal. Vicky and Mili chatted quietly with Aunt Ethel and left the house as soon as the meal was over.

  As they made their way back to the hostel, Vicky said, ‘You know, Mili … Aunt Ethel insisted I bring you along. Else I would have never let you meet Uncle George again.’

  ‘Forget about him, Vicky,’ Mili replied. ‘The food was good. Just remember that.’

  ‘How can you be so sweet? So forgiving? All the time?’

  Mili smiled. ‘Catch me if you can,’ she challenged, running up the Hide-and-Seek Road. She tripped over her sari and fell.

  Vicky smacked her forehead twice, as she ran after her friend to see if she was all right.

  Chapter Nine

  Uncleji’s Tuck Shop was extremely busy that morning. Apparently, toast and boiled eggs that smelt like rotten eggs had been served in the school refectory. One look at the eggs and the girls had made a beeline for Uncleji’s. In contrast, the tuck shop smelt of a strange mixture of omelettes, sausages, bacon, coffee, freshly baked cakes and scones, parathas and pickle. Strange mixture, yes, but appetising enough.

  Gurpreet clicked his fingers at Bahadur and thumped his table. ‘What happened to my tea? Are you getting it from Assam?’

  ‘Two seconds, sahib, just give me a minute,’ Bahadur replied.

  Yawning, Gurpreet looked at Mili and Vicky sitting across the table. How did that Vicky always manage to look so alive? Especially in the morning – she looked as refreshing and bubbly as a freshly churned glass of lassi.

  ‘What are you reading?’ he asked as she laughed again.

  ‘Shakespeare. A Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ she replied. ‘This Bottom is so silly,’ she giggled.

  ‘I think Shakespeare as a playwright is highly overrated,’ said Gurpreet. ‘If you wish to study plays, read Ibsen or Shaw. Their work is much more relevant to today’s society. If you look at the character of Ibsen’s Nora in A Doll’s House, or Eliza Doolittle in Pygmalion—’

  ‘I’m impressed,’ drawled a familiar voice, clapping his hands.

  It was Raven. Standing there with his arms folded, looking down at the three of them. Gurpreet cringed. Damn, he should have known. What was he doing here? Trust him to interrupt just when he was trying to impress Vicky.

  ‘I agree, sir,’ said Vicky. ‘Gurpreet, I had no idea you knew so much.’

  A pleased smile hovered over Gurpreet’s face as he shrugged his shoulders, pretending to be unaffected by the compliment.

  ‘Why don’t you come to school tomorrow and give a lecture to my girls on plays and playwrights? I’m sure they’re bored of my teaching and would welcome a change,’ said Raven.

  ‘Yes, sir, that’s a brilliant idea,’ chirped Vicky.

  Gurpreet looked at her and wiped his brow. His smile had vanished. He had to get out of this. ‘But the principal?’ he asked lamely.

  ‘I’ll get permission from her,’ replied Raven. ‘Don’t worry about that.’

  ‘Oh, what the devil. This sounds like fun,’ said Vicky.

  Raven touched Gurpreet’s shoulder lightly. ‘That’s settled. Tomorrow, ten o’clock sharp. See you then.’ So saying, he walked off, leaving Gurpreet staring after him, fuming and squirming. How he hated that Angrez. Especially after what Mother had told him about Raven’s father.

  Gurpreet looked at his watch and hastened his steps. He had spent all night preparing for the lecture and now he was going to spoil it by being late. As he reached the school building, he looked up and found Raven pacing the corridors. He glanced at his watch again. Damn, he was ten minutes late. ‘Morning, sir,’ he grinned at Raven as he followed him into the classroom.

  He stumbled as he got up on to the rostrum.

  ‘Have you been drinking?’ Raven asked under his breath.

  ‘Oh no, sir,’ replied Gurpreet.

  Raven proceeded to introduce him to the class. Then, with an ‘All yours now’, he went and stood at the back of the classroom.

  Gurpreet nodded at him, then smiled at the class. He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. Pull yourself together, Gurpreet. You can’t teach a bunch of girls and you want to fight for India’s freedom? Stop being a chicken.

  He picked up a piece of chalk from the chalk box and broke it as he spoke. ‘Hello, everyone. As Prof. Raven just said, I have come to speak to you about …’ He picked up another chalk as he lectured and broke it.

  Then another. And another. But soon he had got over his initial nervousness and was speaking confidently. Why, all the girls were listening to him with rapt attention. Even Vicky. Success.

  At the end of the lecture Raven began to clap his hands. The whole class joined in. Gurpreet gave him a triumphant smile and winked at Vicky.

  ‘Like I said yesterday, I’m impressed,’ said Raven. ‘I knew you could do it.’ Then he addressed his students before leaving. ‘Class is dismissed now. Don’t be late tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the students drawled as he left the classroom. They began to crowd around the desk, plying Gurpreet with endless questions. The room was filled with a buzz of voices.

  After most of the students had left, Gurpreet looked around the classroom. Vicky and Mili were still there. He walked up to Vicky and said, ‘Ma’am, aren’t you going to say something? Everybody was full of praise …’

  ‘It was—’ Mili started to speak but Vicky interrupted.

  ‘Umm …’ she said, as she deliberately looked him over – from his turban to the two white streaks on his waistcoat where he had wiped his chalky fingers, the patch on the kurta, the dirty pyjamas and the old slippers.

  Gurpreet grimaced and rubbed a hand consciously over his stubble.

  ‘I might have said something if you weren’t dressed as a vagabond,’ replied Vicky haughtily. She looked him over again and said, ‘Your appearance spoilt the whole show,’ and walked off, followed by Mili.

  The next morning, Gurpreet was slouched over his desk at home, when Jatin entered his room.

  ‘Gurpreet? You’re drinking? That too in the morning?’ he said, alarmed.

  ‘Shh, shut the door, you moron. Maji will hear.’

  ‘But why are you drinking? Is something the matter?’

  Gurpreet did not answer but looked at the plate of green chillies. He picked up one, twirled it around before putting it in his mouth, then took a sip of whisky. Then he bit into another chilli. He felt it explode in his mouth. Eating green chillies like this with whisky gave him a kick. Like a bomb exploding in the face of an Angrez.

  ‘Bloody Angrez,’ he muttered, twirling a green chilli.

  ‘Who? Raven Sir? Why do you hate him so? He has always been good to us.’

  ‘Jatin, you don’t know what I know. All these firangis are brutes. Animals. Bloody palefaces.’

  ‘That’s not true, Preeto,’ replied Jatin. ‘You have no idea how much he has helped Vidushi.’

  ‘He wasn’t helping Vidushi, Jatin,’ said Gurpreet. ‘He just wanted to convert her. That’s what they want to do with all of us – either destroy our religion or convert us. That’s why he sent her to that orphanage run by Catholic nuns. Now, how is the orphanage different from the ashram?’

  ‘I’ll tell you how it’s different,’ replied Jatin. ‘She doesn’t have to live like a starving, shivering beggar any more. She has proper clothes to wear and food to eat. She doesn’t have to shave her head. Do you know how humiliating it is for a woman to have to shave her head? And most important – she can study again.’

  ‘How do you know all
these things?’ asked Gurpreet.

  ‘I just do,’ Jatin answered softly.

  Gurpreet gulped down another mouthful of whisky.

  ‘Look, if you don’t stop drinking, I’m going,’ said Jatin.

  Gurpreet grabbed his hands. ‘Jatin, my yaara, I need your help. Will you come with me to the shops?’

  ‘What? You? You want to go shopping? You’re drunk, Gurpreet, I’m leaving.’

  ‘No. I’m serious. I need better clothes. That chit of a girl … that Vicky. How dare she taunt me?’

  Jatin smiled as he fiddled with the gramophone that stood on a table near Gurpreet’s bed. ‘Are you in love?’

  Gurpreet finished the remaining drink in his glass. He sniffed. Even his clothes smelt of whisky. He needed a bath.

  ‘I don’t know. But I’ve never felt this way for a girl before.’

  Jatin chuckled. ‘First of all, you need a good shave. And since how many days have you not washed these pyjamas?’

  ‘Hey, stop playing mother. I’ve already got one to nag me.’

  ‘You want me to help you or not?’ said Jatin pulling Gurpreet to his feet. ‘First stop – Kallu Barber.’

  Gurpreet was seated on a bench outside Uncleji’s Tuck Shop the following afternoon. He was rolling up the sleeves of his new shirt. It had been starched and felt uncomfortable. He cursed under his breath as he saw Jatin strolling towards him. Scoundrel. Couldn’t he leave him alone for a few minutes? He hoped Vicky hadn’t eaten in the school refectory and would come to the tuck shop.

  ‘Waiting for someone, Preeto?’ Jatin asked with a sheepish smile.

  ‘Not at all. Just enjoying the good weather. Kishangarh is beautiful in summer.’

  ‘You got all dressed up to admire nature?’ Jatin asked with a grin.

  ‘Look, I’ll give you my turban if you keep quiet for a few minutes,’ begged Gurpreet, touching his turban.

  ‘You didn’t shave your moustache?’