‘Blue poppies.’
‘They’re beautiful. I’ve never seen them before.’
‘That’s because they only grow up here in the mountains where it’s cooler. Vidushi sent them. She has been helping the nuns in the gardens. She is such an asset …’
Mili felt a twinge of jealousy. Always praising Vidushi. As though she was an angel or something. If he liked her so much, why didn’t he marry her?
‘You are aware that Jatin and Vidushi are getting married?’ Raven asked.
‘No,’ replied Mili with a start. It was as though he had read her mind. ‘Jatin never mentioned it.’ She smiled. For some strange reason, she felt relieved that Vidushi was marrying Jatin and not Raven.
‘The date has been set for May, I’m told. I’m not sure whether you are aware – Vidushi’s family has disowned her ever since she left the ashram and started living at the orphanage. And the only other people she knows are the nuns and the little children who live there. So is it possible for you to be with her that day, help her get dressed and just be there for her?’
‘I guess I could do that,’ replied Mili with a shrug.
‘I had thought you’d be ecstatic. Anything the matter?’
‘No, sir, I’m fine.’
‘I’m waiting.’
‘I bumped into George yesterday.’
‘I see. Forget him, Mili. Petty p—.’
‘Yes, you’d think like that. After all, you too are English. It’s a petty matter for you. Your life has always been so easy and rosy for you, Raven, sir.’
Raven stared at her open-mouthed. He got up slowly and strode towards her. Mili bit her lip, then chewed her thumbnail. Now why did she say that? Why was she turning the anger she felt towards George on Raven Sir? But it was too late. The words had been uttered. She could not take them back.
‘How dare you,’ he said catching hold of her by her shoulders and shaking her. ‘You have no right to speak to me in that fashion, especially when you don’t know anything about me.’ He let go of her and putting his hand on his forehead turned towards the window. ‘Besides, I did not say it was a petty matter. I was going to say that petty people like him are best ignored.’ He turned around to face her again. ‘And what d’you mean by “rosy”? Do you know what it’s like for someone to be taunted and call—’ He stopped speaking abruptly.
‘To be called the son of a murderer?’
Raven stared at her for a long moment.
Mili spoke softly. ‘Sir, tell me what happened.’
‘I think you already know.’
‘I want to hear it from you.’
‘You want to hear an Englishman’s words as opposed to all that you’ve heard from the Indians?’
‘Sir, I don’t care what the others say. I believe you and that’s all that matters to me.’
She lowered her eyes as she felt Raven’s eyes on her.
He cleared his throat. ‘We used to live in Amritsar then. I was six years old. I remember clearly because it happened just two days after my birthday. Kartar was my Ayah’s son. She often brought him to our house. We played together while she worked. That morning she greeted me with a cheery “Happy Baisakhi, baba” and gave me a box of sweets. A little later that day, Mother wanted to go to the shops. She asked Ayah to come along as chaperone.’
Raven paused, loosened his tie and began rolling up his sleeves. ‘On the way, as we passed the Jalianwalla Bagh, we heard some bullets being fired. I looked at Mother, not sure what those sounds meant. She looked shocked. The driver stopped the car and stared out of the window. Our car was at an elevated part of the road and we were able to look over the high walls of the bagh. There were a lot of people there, on account of Baisakhi. “Papa,” I cried out as I noticed my father right in front – among the soldiers who had opened fire.’
Raven stopped speaking, picked up his glass of water and had a long drink. ‘Mother covered my eyes. But it was too late. I had already seen what a six-year-old boy should never have to see. People running wildly, screaming, jumping into the well in a state of panic and the agonised shrieks as bullets pelted down on them. I can forget the dead bodies, the smell of blood, but the shrieks haunt me even today.’ He paused and covered his ears with his hands. ‘Parents, children, grandparents – all shot down within minutes.
‘The next morning Ayah came to inform Mother that she wouldn’t be working for us any more. Her husband had said to her that it was better to starve than work for murderers. I clung to her and wept. I was rather fond of her …’ Raven’s voice broke and he did not speak for a couple of minutes. ‘Two days later I saw a huge bonfire in the park in front of our house. Ayah was there. She and her husband were throwing all the clothes that Mother had given her into the fire. And then I saw Kartar throw a toy I had gifted him into the flames.’ Raven’s Adam’s apple moved. ‘That broke my heart, it did. Lots of fires burnt in the city for days. The smell of burning flesh … Mother shut all the doors and windows, and yet that smell permeated the house.’
Raven wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘From that day on, wherever I went, whispers followed me – “son of a murderer”.’ He looked right into Mili’s eyes. ‘Was it my fault that my father obeyed an order and fired? I did not give that order …’
Mili did not know what to say and merely nodded.
‘Mother is a very gentle woman and a stickler for what is right and wrong. She knew what the English had done that day in the Jalianwala Bagh was wrong. And the fact that one of the wrongdoers was her husband disturbed her immensely. She was not happy in her marriage anyway …
‘He was fond of drinking, my father. And frequenting Lol biwi’s kotha. But this incident was the last straw. That summer Mother and I came to Kishangarh like we did every year. But this time we never went back when the rains came. I never saw Father again.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, I had no idea.’
Raven looked at his watch. ‘Oh no, I hope I haven’t kept you from your lunch. Run along, little one, before you get into trouble.’
‘Yes, sir, I’ll go and meet Vidushi on Sunday and work out all the details.’
‘Thank you, Malvika,’ he said in a voice that was barely audible, and smiled softly.
Mili smiled back and left the room. For the rest of the day, she kept thinking about Raven Sir’s revelation about his childhood. What a terrible ordeal for a boy that age. What impression must those killings have made on his mind? And then to have to lose not only his friend and Ayah, but eventually his father as well. No wonder he was so reserved and often kept to himself.
She tried to remember what her life was like when she was six. At that age she must have romped around the palace all day, with a train of servants picking up after her and attending to her every tantrum. And she had accused him of having a rosy life. Mili winced. How her words must have hurt him. If only she could take them back. The way his voice had broken when he was speaking about his Ayah and Kartar, a lump had risen in her throat as well. He had looked so sad, so vulnerable.
Mili used to admire Raven as a teacher, but now she found herself in awe of the man himself.
It was Holi and school was closed for two days. It used to be a day of great excitement for her and Uday. Bhoomi would wake her early and massage oil all over her, including her hair. Donning a white salwar kameez she would wait impatiently for Vicky. And then they would spend the whole morning running after Uday and all her friends with water pistols, squirting each other with colour and gorging on gujjias. The afternoon would be spent scrubbing the colour off. And in the evening there’d be a sea of visitors – friends and relatives with whom they would exchange sweetmeats, hugs and the latest gossip.
But now, ever since Vicky’s death, she preferred spending her holidays either alone or studying. It helped her cope and kept disturbing thoughts at bay. She had come to Raven’s house to borrow a book. Through the open window of his study she could see groups of children and grown-ups going up and down the hill, singing
phaags and shouting ‘Holi hai’. They were covered in pink, red, green and yellow gulal. Pink seemed to be the dominant colour and their faces were smeared with that colour as well.
Unlike in Mohanagar, Holi in Kishangarh was dry. Perhaps it was owing to the cold winds that still blew in from the Himalayas and kept the temperatures very low.
‘So what this basically means is …’ she heard Raven explain and hastily looked back at the open book in front of her.
There was a knock on the door. The college domestic staff had come to play Holi. Raven nodded at them and stepped out onto the veranda.
Mili watched as some of the staff squatted on the ground on the veranda and commenced singing folk songs. A couple of men stood in a corner playing bagpipes. She was fascinated. She had never seen such a dignified and musical Holi before.
The rest of the group now encircled Raven and started dancing. The dance movements were quite intricate, involving a lot of whirls, jumps, twists and turns. Raven danced with them for some time, accompanied by loud cheering and clapping and laughing.
Mili smiled as she watched him from the door. She had never seen him dancing and letting down his hair before. She had always seen him serious and buried in books. But seeing him like this – dancing, swaying his hips, laughing and drinking some of the local brandy – was like looking at a different person altogether. He gestured to her to join in the dance. She shook her head. He came towards her and pulled her to the centre of the veranda.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I know you can dance.’
Biting her thumbnail shyly, Mili joined in.
She blushed as he let out a wolf whistle and said, ‘You dance well.’
The music and dancing stopped after a while. The college chef broke a large block of gur into smaller pieces, which was welcomed with a loud ‘Whoopee!’, and began distributing it to everyone.
Raven took a piece of the jaggery from him and popped it into Mili’s mouth even before she could protest. ‘Happy Holi, Malvika,’ he said with a smile.
‘Happy Holi, sir.’ Mili gave a muffled reply as the sweet brown gur melted in her mouth.
The Holi revellers finally left after Raven had given them money to buy some more jaggery.
As the last one left, Raven turned to Mili. ‘There goes all the money I’d saved to buy a dress for Mother’s birthday.’
‘You didn’t have to give them all your money.’
‘They need it more than I do.’
‘What will you say to your mother?’
‘She’ll get what she gets every year.’
‘And that is?’
Raven laughed. ‘A big hug and a kiss. She knows my wallet is always empty.’
‘You love her very much, don’t you?’
‘She’s all I’ve got,’ Raven said with a sigh. ‘She’s had a difficult life. First she was struggling to make her marriage work. Then she was struggling to meet our needs. But luckily, all these struggles have not made her cynical.’
Mili nodded.
‘Now, let’s get back to our books, shall we? As I was saying, this book has an excellent commentary on how Milton’s bitterness on becoming blind and his gradual acceptance of his handicap are reflected in his writings …’
Picking up her pen, Mili started scribbling in her notebook. Raven reached out over the desk and touched the back of her hand with his finger. ‘Understood? It’s more important that you understand what I’m saying, rather than noting down everything I say.’
Mili stared at Raven’s finger touching her hand. She felt as though it was a red-hot iron nail and was burning a hole through her hand. An alien tingling sensation ran down her spine. She looked at Raven, perplexed. Unable to understand this new feeling, she hurriedly muttered, ‘Yes, sir, thank you, sir. I’m getting late, I’ve got to go.’ She gathered her books hastily and rushed out of the house.
Later that night in her room, as she sat at her desk leafing through the notes, her thoughts flew to Raven. Raven Sir – frowning at her; Raven – smiling indulgently at her; Raven – dancing, laughing, drinking; Raven – touching her hand and awakening feelings in her that hitherto did not exist. Was she falling in love with him? Hey Lord Kishan, was this love?
A flapping sound distracted her and she looked at the lamp. A moth was fluttering around it, getting closer and closer to the light bulb, as though hypnotised by its glow. Just like she felt drawn towards Raven against her will. And if she dared get closer or fall in love, she’d get singed, destroyed. Just like the moth that now lay still on her table – quite dead.
Chapter Nineteen
Mili looked at all the doors that opened onto the main corridor of Kishangarh Club and frowned. Now, how would she know which one was the billiards room? ‘Card Room’, the first door read. She walked on to the next door. ‘Billiards Room’ it said on the door. She listened. She could hear the sound of cue sticks hitting the balls. She heaved a sigh of relief and walked in. There he was – Raven Sir. Bent over the billiards table, concentration furrowing his brow, about to hit a ball with his cue stick.
‘Madam,’ called out the doorkeeper as she entered the billiards room. Mili turned around to look at him. He was panting. Apparently, he had been running after her. ‘I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to leave. This club is exclusively for the English. Indians are not allowed,’ he said, pointing to a placard that stood near the door.
‘It says Indians are not allowed. But nowhere does it say princesses are not allowed,’ Mili coolly replied.
The doorkeeper gaped at her in confusion. Mili brushed past him and looked at Raven. He had straightened up and was looking at her in surprise. Mili realised everyone in the room had stopped playing and was now staring at her.
She watched Raven nod at the others and say, ‘She’s with me.’ He then excused himself from the game, caught hold of Mili’s elbow and led her out of the room.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked as they stepped onto the corridor and the door closed behind them.
‘Sir, the warden asked me to meet you, on my way home. Owing to some personal problem, she had to suddenly rush off to Shaampur.’
‘Oh no. Thank you for letting me know. I shall go to the hostel right away and make sure all the inmates are fine.’
‘Yes, sir, and sorry for barging in on your game like this.’
He looked at her with a crooked smile and a raised brow. ‘I noticed someone is becoming cheeky.’
‘Sir?’ Mili said, puzzled, a frown creasing her forehead.
‘I heard what you said to the doorkeeper. But I’m glad you’re standing up for yourself these days.’
‘I didn’t have to, earlier. Vicky used to do it for me …’ She looked down and chewed her thumbnail. ‘It’s hard to explain, but when you lose something that means the world to you, it makes you … unafraid … kind of. Because now you have nothing to lose.’
She looked towards the main door. She knew Raven was regarding her quietly. He raised his right hand. She thought he was going to caress her cheek, but he let it fall limply by his side.
‘How did you get here?’ he asked.
‘My palanquin, sir,’ replied Mili.
‘Tell them to go. I’ll drop you.’
They had reached the gate of the club and Mili sprinted ahead to tell the doli-bearers to call it a night. Then she walked towards Raven’s car. Raven was already inside. The driver, Murli, held the back door open for her. After she was comfortably seated, he closed her door and slid behind the steering wheel. But he did not start the engine. Instead, he thrust a box of nukti laddoos in front of her and Raven and the aroma of cardamom filled the car.
‘Sahib, my wife gave birth to a boy yesterday,’ he gushed.
‘Congratulations, Murli,’ Raven said, picking up a laddoo and biting into it. ‘Mmm … very sweet. It looks hard, but when you bite into it, it’s actually quite soft.’ He turned to Mili. ‘Try one, it’s delicious,’ he said.
Mili swallowed. Then hesitantly picked one.<
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‘Come on, eat it,’ said Raven as he took another bite.
‘I can’t,’ she replied in a voice barely audible. ‘He belongs to a lower caste.’
‘What?’ Raven exclaimed.
Mili didn’t say anything and tried to bite the laddoo but couldn’t. One did not even shake hands with a low caste, let alone eat something given by them.
‘I’m disappointed with you, Malvika,’ Raven was saying, shaking his head. ‘A few minutes back you yourself were the victim of the discrimination between the English and the Indians. And now you’re behaving in the same way. What do you call this?’
Mili hung her head. She brought the laddoo to her lips but found herself unable to bite into it. It was as though some invisible chains shackled her, and try as hard as she might, she was unable to break them. Just as she had been unable to enter Lord Kishan’s temple all those months ago. Perhaps it was because ever since she was little she had been told that the lower castes were dirty, untouchable, pariahs. Anything touched by them should not be eaten as it was defiled. She knew it was wrong to think in that manner and yet …
She sat in silence for the rest of the journey and quietly slid out of the car when they reached Mausi’s house. Rushing into her room, she flung herself across the bed and cried into her pillow. She didn’t know why she was crying. All she knew was she felt really small. What must Raven Sir think of her? That she was shallow? Narrow-minded? She would never be able to look him in the eye again.
Mili sat outside Mausi’s house, watching the little brook gurgling down the mountainside. During the monsoons it was thick and swollen and the waters made a deafening sound. But at the moment it looked like a thin silver line and the waters purred tamely.
Raising her face heavenward, Mili closed her eyes and breathed in the subtle fragrance of spring. She could smell the freshly cut grass, hear the birds chirping. Such a wonderful day it had been. That morning, Raven was taking their attendance as usual and had called out her name.
After the Storm Page 17
