After the Storm

by Sangeeta Bhargava

  ‘Malvika Singh.’

  ‘Present, sir,’ she replied.

  Raven looked up from the register and raised his brows in surprise. ‘You have one hundred per cent attendance this term. I’m glad you’re taking your studies seriously. That reminds me – I was browsing through your essay on Milton. It’s brilliant. Well done.’

  Mili smiled to herself as the words ‘it was brilliant, it was brilliant’ reverberated through her mind. Raven Sir had actually praised her work. She could scarce believe it. Especially after she had refused to eat the mithai the driver had offered – she’d been convinced Raven despised her. She hugged herself. She had not felt so elated in a long time.

  A voice called her from behind – ‘Mili.’

  She turned around with a start. It was Gurpreet. He waved and walked up to her. ‘You know Guruji? Our Congress leader in Kishangarh?’

  ‘Yes, what about him?’ Mili asked in a low voice, looking around to make sure Mausi hadn’t seen him.

  ‘I spoke to him this morning about you and told him you wanted to meet him. He has agreed to meet us after two days, but he’s not free until five in the evening, when we have our meeting.’

  ‘Oh, you mean, I will be able to attend one of your political meetings?’

  ‘Yes. He said his doors are always open for my friends.’

  ‘Why does everyone call him Guruji?’

  ‘Because he’s a teacher first, then a politician. He teaches Hindi and Sanskrit in our college. Didn’t you know?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘He’s a very learned man. And not only is he intelligent but he’s also a shrewd diplomat like Chanakya.’

  ‘Don’t tell me more or I’ll be too scared to meet this haloed Guruji of yours.’

  Gurpreet grinned. ‘But don’t mention him to anyone or that I’m taking you to meet him.’

  Mili nodded. ‘So what’s going to happen at this meeting?’

  ‘The party needs more funds, Mili. We’re going to discuss how we can raise some money.’

  ‘Wait here,’ said Mili as she got up. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’ She went inside the house and emerged ten minutes later with a box encased in red velvet.

  ‘But this is your jewellery. And a lot of it.’

  ‘Take it. I don’t need it. Not any more,’ she replied. She smiled as she remembered how some freedom fighters had been collecting money on Mohanagar railway station – when she and Vicky were about to board the train to Kishangarh – and how she had hidden her jewellery.

  ‘Guruji will not believe this,’ said Gurpreet, still amazed at Mili’s generous donation. ‘So is five o’clock in the evening all right with you?’

  ‘Of course it is.’

  ‘What about Mausi?’

  ‘I’ll make up some excuse about extra classes.’

  ‘That’s confirmed, then. After the meeting, we’ll go and have supper and then I’ll drop you back here.’

  ‘Yes, that sounds fine. Now go before Mausi sees you.’

  ‘It’s settled, then. So we have a date in a couple of days. Be ready. I’ll pick you up at four-thirty sharp, from school.’

  Date? Now where did that come from? He did say something about going for a meal after the meeting. But she hadn’t thought of it as a date. What was she to do? She couldn’t go on a date, she thought miserably, as she got up, dusted her clothes and went inside the house.

  Raven looked at the doli and the palanquin-bearers waiting near the school gate and wondered who it was for. He walked into the library and was surprised to find Mili there. He had expected the library to be empty by now. ‘What are you doing so late? Aren’t you supposed to be home by now?’ he asked.

  ‘Quiet please,’ the librarian said, looking at them sternly.

  ‘Two minutes, Mrs Ferdinand,’ Raven pleaded.

  Mrs Ferdinand nodded slightly and looked the other way.

  ‘Sir,’ Mili whispered, ‘I was just finishing some assignments …’

  ‘I hope that doli is for you?’

  ‘Yes it is. Sir, what is a date?’

  Raven dropped the book he was holding. He looked at Mrs Ferdinand from the corner of his eye. She was watching him over the rim of her glasses, her lips a straight line. He mouthed the word ‘sorry’, then turned his attention back to Mili.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You know, a date, when a boy and girl go out together?’

  ‘Well, you just answered your own question. That’s exactly what a date is. A boy and a girl going out together, for maybe something as simple as a cup of coffee.’

  ‘Just that?’ She joined her hands and looked heavenward. ‘Oh Lord Kishan, thank you. Thank you.’

  ‘Why, what did you think?’ Raven asked with an amused smile.

  ‘Well …’ Mili shifted uncomfortably and avoided his gaze. ‘You know … what they show in the talkies …’

  ‘What do they show in the talkies?’

  ‘The boy goes to drop the girl home after the dinner, and then they kiss, you know, not on the cheek but right on the lips …’

  Raven tried his best to keep a straight face and not smile. ‘Yes, do go on.’

  ‘Then she has to invite him to her house for coffee …’

  Unable to control himself any longer, Raven burst out laughing. ‘So who has asked you out on a date?’ he said, still shaking with laughter.

  ‘Gurpreet was taking me to meet someone and then we might have dinner together, but …’

  ‘There’s no need to worry, little one. You don’t have to kiss him or invite him in for coffee if you don’t want to.’

  Mili looked at him indignantly. ‘I’m not little any more. I’m going to be eighteen soon.’

  ‘My, that’s big,’ said Raven with a broad grin. ‘Go home now, before your aunt starts getting worried and sends out a search party.’

  ‘Yes, sir; good day to you, sir.’

  ‘Goodbye, little … I mean child-woman.’ Then he winked at her and watched her turn red with embarrassment.

  It was May. The month when Kishangarh’s beauty was at its peak. Her voluptuous body was laden with all kinds of fruit – strawberries, kaafal, plums, peaches and apples – while her garish ghagra choli were resplendent with lilies, blue poppies, roses, anemones and dahlias.

  Raven stopped to look at the placard that hung over the main door. ‘Vidushi weds Jatin’ it said. He entered the wedding hall with Gurpreet and a couple of other students. He spotted Jatin sitting on one of the special red chairs set aside especially for the bride and groom, at the top end of the hall, and walked towards him.

  If he were to be frank, Jatin looked like a clown. His clothes – a silk kurta and pyjama – were fine. But the ridiculous pink turban and the jewellery and jasmine flowers hanging all over his face made him look silly.

  But he was glad the nuptials were finally taking place. He’d heard that it had taken a lot of cajoling on Gurpreet’s part to get Jatin’s parents to agree to the wedding. For them, it was an indignity that their only son should be marrying a widow. More so since they were Brahmins, apparently the most revered caste amongst all the Hindus.

  All eyes turned towards the entrance as Mili entered the hall slowly, holding Vidushi’s arm and leading her towards Jatin.

  ‘O balle balle, you’ve won the lottery, Jatin,’ Gurpreet said. ‘Bhabhi’s looking like an apsara.’

  Jatin turned red.

  ‘Just look at him,’ said Gurpreet. ‘He’s blushing even more than bhabhi.’

  ‘Obviously,’ said Jatin’s mother. ‘After all, this is his first wedding, unlike her.’

  But Raven barely heard what was being said around him or noticed the bride; he was so taken in with Mili. Most of the time he saw her in her drab school uniform and here she was in a beautiful peacock-blue sari, all woman. The sari as well as the matching puff–sleeved blouse seemed to shimmer when she walked. A friend whispered something in her ear and she started giggling. Raven smiled. It was such a pleasur
e seeing her laugh again. She had tied back her hair, which gave her an elegant charm. And she moved so gracefully that she almost seemed ethereal. Raven was spellbound. He could not tear his eyes away from her. She saw him looking at her, blushed and looked away.

  They did not get the chance to speak much that evening, but throughout the wedding his eyes sought hers. With great difficulty he tore his eyes away from her and looked at the bride and groom. They were about to exchange garlands.

  ‘Jatin, lower your head, Vidushi can’t reach,’ Mili was saying.

  ‘No, Jatin, no,’ said Gurpreet. ‘If you lower your head today, you will be bending to bhabhi’s wishes for the rest of your life.’

  Raven chuckled as Jatin paid no heed to his friend and bent his head to enable Vidushi to put the garland around his neck. He smiled again as Mili clapped her hands and stuck out her tongue at Gurpreet.

  Dinner was soon served. Jatin’s mother was still in a sulk. She stood in a corner, a permanent scowl on her face. Raven walked over to her and tried to persuade her to have some food.

  Gurpreet handed him a plate and whispered, ‘Let her be, sir. She’s even more stubborn than that khotta Jatin. Don’t worry, she’ll eat slyly when no one’s looking.’

  Raven suppressed his smile and looked around. He could not see Mili anywhere and wondered if she had eaten.

  Everyone was now moving towards the sacred fire, where the wedding rites were going to take place. And still no sign of Mili.

  ‘Where are all the girls?’ he asked Gurpreet.

  ‘They’ve gone to help bhabhi change,’ replied Gurpreet. ‘The bride needs to wear a chundri sari given to her by her mama, for the pheras.’

  ‘Pheras?’

  ‘When the bride and groom go around the sacred fire.’

  ‘I see. But I thought her family was not partaking of the wedding?’ said Raven.

  ‘They aren’t. My father gave it to her,’ replied Gurpreet.

  The girls soon arrived, tittering. Mili helped Vidushi sit beside Jatin, before the fire. The priest started reciting the marriage vows. Raven looked at Mili and wondered what she would look like as a bride. What had that girl done to him today? What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn’t get her out of his mind. It was as though she had cast a spell on him.

  A few more steps up the steep incline and Raven had reached the summit of Hem Parvat. He turned around to address his students. ‘I’ve brought you all here today because we’re studying Wordsworth and, as you know, Wordsworth and nature are synonymous. This place is as beautiful if not better than the Lake District where he wrote much of his poetry. I want you to soak in the beauty of this place and then write an essay or a poem on it. We will meet at this very spot in an hour.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ murmured the students and began to disperse in different directions.

  ‘Malvika,’ Raven called out.

  Mili turned around and walked up to him. ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Have you had the chance to meet Vidushi after the wedding?’ he asked, walking towards the adjoining chain of mountains. He slowed down as he realised Mili was finding it hard to keep up with him.

  ‘No, sir, but I’m sure she’s happy.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Raven replied. ‘She’s my responsibility, Malvika. I took her out of the ashram and antagonised her parents by doing so. And then I encouraged her to remarry and upset Jatin’s parents in the pro—’ He stopped speaking as he gazed at the spectacular sight before him. For there stood the snow-capped Himalayas – tall, majestic and aloof, like a monk with his longflowing white beard, who after years of meditation had attained nirvana and now stood calm, cool, elevated.

  Raven and Mili stood transfixed, for a long time. Neither of them spoke. It was one of those rare magical moments when time seems to stand still. And in that moment everyone else ceased to exist.

  Feeling Mili’s eyes on him, he looked at her. As he gazed into her soulful eyes, he felt as though he was drowning in them. He could not look away. He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently.

  ‘Sir.’

  The sound seemed to come from another land.

  ‘Sir.’

  The spell was broken. Raven tore his gaze from Mili and turned around to see who it was. Jatin was walking towards them. Raven hastily let go of Mili’s hand and walked a couple of paces to put some distance between them.

  ‘Isn’t it breathtaking?’ Jatin asked, pointing to the snow-capped mountains.

  ‘Yes,’ Mili whispered. ‘Now I understand why they call the Himalayas the abode of the gods … They look so beautiful … like a string of pearls – pure, untouched …’

  ‘A pearl necklace around Mother India’s neck,’ added Jatin.

  Raven laughed. ‘I think we’d better start trekking back,’ he said and started walking towards Hem Parvat where all the other students were waiting for him.

  Chapter Twenty

  Gurpreet, Jatin and Mili walked together down the hill, making their way home from Hem Parvat. This part of the hillside was lush with pine trees. Even the air smelt of pine. The ground was covered with pine needles and pine cones.

  Gurpreet saw Jatin pick up a closed cone and give it to Mili.

  ‘Hold it over a fire,’ he said. ‘The cone will open up to reveal tiny pine nuts. You can remove the outer case and eat them.’

  Mili looked at the cone with amazement. ‘Really?’ she said as she stroked the woody cone. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘We should be ashamed of ourselves,’ said Gurpreet, grimacing and hitting the bushes by the side of the road with the thin long cane that he was carrying. He looked at Mili and Jatin who were now looking at him in surprise.

  Jatin scratched his head. ‘Ashamed of ourselves? For picking up a pine cone?’

  ‘Here the entire country is rising up in arms against the Raj,’ said Gurpreet. ‘And we are admiring nature, writing poetry. If father hadn’t insisted, I wouldn’t be wasting my time studying English.’

  ‘No, Preeto,’ said Jatin. ‘To understand our enemy better, it is important to know their language. Only then can we defeat them at their own game.’

  ‘Bravo, Jatin,’ said Gurpreet, slapping Jatin across his shoulders. He ignored Jatin’s scowl and carried on speaking. ‘Always has an answer for everything.’

  ‘Like Lord Kishan,’ said Mili, giggling.

  ‘Oye, Lord Kishan’s devotee … I forgot to ask you because of Jatin’s wedding - where were you that day? When we were supposed to meet Guruji?’ asked Gurpreet. ‘I waited outside your school gate for an hour. And got a scolding from Guruji for being so late.’

  ‘I forgot,’ Mili lied.

  ‘You can come with us right now if you wish,’ said Jatin.

  ‘Actually, I think I’ll stay away from all this. Politics is not really for me.’

  ‘This is not politics,’ said Gurpreet. ‘This is fighting for our freedom, for our rights.’

  ‘I haven’t got Mausi’s permission. She gets worried if I stay out after dark,’ said Mili.

  Gurpreet shrugged his shoulders. ‘Ah well, in that case, we’ll just see you to your door.’

  They trudged along in silence for a while. They could hear a brook nearby. Gurpreet thumped Jatin’s back.

  Jatin glared at him angrily. ‘You’re bent upon breaking my back today or what?’

  ‘So tell me, brother, how is married life treating you?’ Gurpreet asked, completely ignoring his friend’s protest.

  ‘Best thing that happened to me in a long time, Preeto,’ Jatin replied with a grin.

  ‘How about a party to celebrate?’ asked Gurpreet.

  ‘Yes, do let’s have a party. It’s been ages,’ said Mili.

  ‘Hmm. This Sunday? Lakeview Club in Nainital?’ said Jatin. ‘I’ll work out all the details. I’ll invite Raven Sir as well.’

  ‘Are you mad?’ exclaimed Gurpreet.

  ‘Why? What’s wrong? He’s not a stick–in-the-mud like the other teachers,’ said Mili.

  ‘Yes
, and he’s only five years older than me,’ said Jatin. He stepped on a loose stone and his right foot skidded. He steadied himself as the stone went hurtling down the hill, before continuing, ‘Besides, Vidushi and I wouldn’t be together today if it hadn’t been for him. We can’t have a party to celebrate our wedding and not have him. We owe him this one, Preeto.’

  ‘All right, do what you will. But remember, it’s a party and I’m going to smoke and drink, whether he likes it or not.’

  Gurpreet and Jatin waved goodbye to Mili and made their way to Guruji’s house. A revolutionary whom they called Comrade Jaidev opened the door for them.

  ‘Is Guruji home?’ Gurpreet asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Jaidev replied. ‘Come with me. I will take you to him.’ He led them to an anteroom beside the prayer hall which was used as a storeroom for stacking things for the puja. Silver plates for the arti, kumkum powder, agarbatti, dhoop, camphor, some broken statues of gods, lots of diyas and candles.

  Comrade Jaidev shifted a small cupboard with their help to reveal a latch.

  Gurpreet and Jatin looked at each other as he lifted the latch and started walking down some narrow wooden stairs. He held a lantern in his hands, to show the way. The two friends followed him to the basement. They had never been to this part of the house before. It looked like a mini laboratory. Something was bubbling over the burner. There were lots of beakers, tubes and decanters. Gurpreet was amazed by what he saw before him. So this was where they made their bombs.

  ‘Good day to you, Guruji,’ Gurpreet said as he touched Guruji’s feet.

  ‘May God always be with you,’ said Guruji, holding his shoulders lightly.

  Gurpreet looked around to see why Jatin had not touched Guruji’s feet. He found him gaping at the bombs curiously.

  Guruji picked up one and held it out to Jatin. ‘Straight out of the chulha,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Want to try it?’ He laughed as Jatin shrank back. ‘Darta hai saala,’ he added as he led them back up the stairs to the living room and ordered the servant to bring some tea.

  ‘What happened to that girl you were going to bring along?’ asked Guruji.