After the Storm

by Sangeeta Bhargava

  ‘Yes, and I owe his life to Gurpreet bhaisaheb.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘They flogged him all day yesterday. Perhaps all night even; who knows? And when that didn’t work, they hit him with whips dipped in salt water to increase the pain.’

  Mili’s eyes narrowed and her forehead creased at the thought of what he must have had to endure.

  ‘But he would not tell them who the others were and where they were hiding.’

  She stood up. ‘I won’t be seeing you again, Mili. Maybe never again.’

  Mili looked at her questioningly.

  ‘I’m taking the bus today to Pithoragarh. From there we plan to escape to Nepal.’

  Walking over to Vidushi, Mili clutched her hands. She pursed her lips and wiped the tears that were rolling down Vidushi’s cheeks with her fingers.

  ‘They’re going to hang Gurpreet bhaisaheb,’ Vidushi sobbed.

  After making her sit down on the stool in front of the dressing table, Mili went to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. Now she understood why she did not feel elated at the collector’s death. Gurpreet was going to be hanged. She remembered what Gandhiji often said: ‘An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.’ Gurpreet had killed the collector to avenge Vicky’s death. But now he himself was going to die. It all seemed so futile.

  Mili walked slowly towards the town centre where the public execution of Gurpreet was to take place. A huge crowd was already there. It seemed the whole of Kishangarh was there today. Mili pushed her way through the throng, until she was right in front. She looked around as she bit her thumbnail.

  A sudden hush fell on the square as Gurpreet was led towards the gallows, flanked on either side by a dozen policemen carrying rifles. His hands had been tied behind his back. He had been stripped down to the waist and the marks of the flogging could be seen as angry, oozing welts, criss-crossing his entire back. He was ordered to stand on a wooden stool, just below the noose. Mili looked at his face. It was expressionless, his beard matted with blood, the tip of his nose glistening with sweat.

  Mili looked around, feeling an overwhelming sense of helplessness. She wanted to scream, but no sound came out of her mouth. She felt a sense of déjà vu. Was she to watch another friend die in a similar fashion and not be able to do anything about it? Lord Kishan, why? Why were you making her go through all this?

  The mayor arrived and the policemen stood to attention. Mili stared at Gurpreet with terrified eyes. His Adam’s apple moved as the noose was put around his neck. His eyes were vacant. Just like Vicky’s had been, the day she ended her life. They lit up for a second as they alighted on Mili. Tears ran down her cheeks as their eyes met. He looked heavenward, then smiled at her.

  She understood. Vicky will be happy that her death had been avenged, he was saying. She made the V sign with her middle and forefinger, pointed heavenward, then pulled the edges of her lips with her fingers to make a mock smile.

  Gurpreet nodded slowly, closed his eyes, looked heavenward and smiled.

  Mili smiled back. Yes, she was sure his soul would meet hers, up there. Perhaps she was waiting for him to join her and together they would be reborn again.

  The mob had begun to shout, ‘Vande Mataram. Bharat Mata ki Jai.’

  Closing her eyes, Mili said a fervent prayer to her Lord Kishan. ‘Hey Kishan,’ she prayed. ‘You are known for your miracles. Please spare my friend his life.’ Maybe Lord Kishan would suddenly appear out of nowhere and save Gurpreet. Just like he had come to Drapaudi’s aid when the Pandavas had lost her in a game of dice and she was subjected to humiliation in front of the whole court. Her Lord Kishan had saved her. He would save Gurpreet too. He had to.

  Mili opened her eyes slowly.

  ‘Hang him,’ the mayor barked.

  The crowd went silent again.

  The stool, on which Gurpreet stood, was kicked off from beneath his feet. His legs thrashed about for a while as the noose tightened around his neck.

  Covering her mouth with the edge of her dupatta, Mili sank to her feet, her body racked with sobs. No, there had been no miracle and no Kishan Bhagwan had appeared. The crowd had begun to disperse, leaving her alone with the lifeless body of her friend, swinging from the rope.

  That night Mili had a fitful sleep. She dreamt of a puppy she had once seen dying, as a little girl. The puppy had been attacked by a stray dog. Its skin had been so badly torn that its ribs could be seen. It lay whimpering until it died the next day. Every few minutes it would let out a chilling, heart-rending cry, followed by a long whimpering. Suddenly, it was not the puppy’s body that was being torn apart by the stray dog. It was a human body, her own body which was being molested. A pair of stubby white hands with cracked fingernails were pawing it, maligning it, tearing her clothes away. And now the same hands were putting a noose around her neck. Mili screamed. Her scream woke her up. She sat up, sobbing. Soon her sobbing turned into a low, whimpering sound similar to that of the puppy’s.

  Mili looked around Prof. Raven’s room. She had been summoned to this room so many times before. Sometimes with Vicky, sometimes without. But this might be the last time she was here.

  ‘Good evening, Malvika,’ said Raven, looking up from his papers and gesturing to her to sit down. ‘What brings you here today?’

  ‘Sir, I’m leaving STH and going back to Mohanagar,’ she said as she sat down. ‘I can’t stay here any more, after all that has happened.’ She paused to take in a deep breath. Looking down, she said in a low voice, ‘It was all my fault, sir. If I hadn’t left Vicky alone soon after her rape, if I had not blurted to Gurpreet about the collector, both of them would be alive today.’

  ‘Listen to me, Malvika,’ said Raven, leaning forward. ‘No one can change what is to happen. Vicky would have committed suicide no matter what you did and Gurpreet was a revolutionary; he would have got killed sooner or later. Stop blaming yourself.’ He rested the palms of his hands on the desk before adding slowly, ‘Wait for three more months. Sit your Senior Cambridge exams and then go.’

  ‘No, sir, I have to go. I’ve lost two friends, in a way no one should ever have to. I’m confused. I need to work some things out for myself.’

  ‘I understand.’

  Mili looked at him, her eyes beseeching. ‘What do I do, sir?’ she whispered.

  Raven got up, walked over to the window and rubbed the back of his neck. Turning back to her he said, ‘That is for you to decide, Malvika.’

  ‘I’m so confused,’ Mili replied, in a defeated voice.

  Raven walked around the desk to where she was sitting. Pulling up a chair beside her, he sat down, his face just a few inches away from hers. His eyes twinkled as he said, ‘Well, you can now fulfil your lifelong ambition of marrying your Prince Charming.’

  ‘Sir, that’s not my ambition any more,’ she said, smiling slightly. She knew he was trying to distract her.

  Raven raised his brows. ‘It isn’t?’ he asked with mock horror.

  ‘When are you planning to get married?’ Mili asked, her smile widening.

  ‘I don’t believe in the institution of marriage,’ he said, taking Mili’s hand in his and stroking her fingers. ‘Not after what it did to Mother.’

  Mili looked down. Her hands looked so small in his. Getting distracted by a sound, she listened carefully. ‘Is it raining?’ she asked.

  ‘It seems so,’ replied Raven, looking out of the window. He got up and pulled something from his coat stand. ‘Here,’ he said, handing it to her. ‘You can borrow my mackintosh.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, sir. My brother is waiting for me in the car, just outside the school gates.’

  ‘It’s raining too hard. You’ll be drenched by the time you reach it.’

  ‘But sir …’

  ‘I insist.’

  Reluctantly, Mili put on the raincoat, conscious of his eyes looking at her with amusement.

  She turned red as Raven threw back his head and laughed. ‘You’re drowning in it,�
� he said. He lowered his voice and brought his face close to hers. ‘You look cute,’ he said with a smile. ‘Like a penguin.’

  ‘I may not see you again. I’ll ask Mausi to have it sent back to you.’

  She realised Raven wasn’t listening. His eyes lingered on her lips before reaching her eyes. ‘Go, my child-woman,’ he finally whispered, wrapping his arms tightly around her. ‘Whatever you decide, soar high, do me proud,’ he whispered hoarsely.

  Mili’s eyes glittered with unshed tears. She swallowed. ‘I promise,’ she said in a choked voice. She raised her eyes to his. What she saw in them frightened her. There was passion and something else that she did not wish to read.

  Then before she realised what he was doing, his rough lips were crushing hers. She clung to him as he kissed her long and hard, and wished it would never end.

  Just as abruptly, he let go of her. Roughly pushing her aside, he went back to his desk, sat down and opened a file. ‘Go now,’ he said with a wave of his hand. ‘I’ve work to do.’

  Mili lowered her eyes, nodded and left the room.

  She knew Uday was waiting for her in the car. But she had to go there – one last time. She sprinted round the back of the hostel building to the mound. She remembered how happy and excited she and Vicky had been when they had got admission to study here. She sat down on the mound. Like she used to with Vicky. And wept. For Vicky. For all that they had shared. And then she cried for herself. For a love that would never know fulfilment. Because she would never see Raven again.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It was Janamashtami. Her Lord Kishan’s birthday. There had been a lot of hustle and bustle in the palace since morning. The priest and his helpers were busy decorating the family temple. They were recreating the scene of Kishan’s birth – a prison cell where Lord Kishan’s mother and father sat huddled and shackled. Across the inner courtyard of the temple ran a zigzag piece of blue silk – the River Yamuna. And on the river a statue of Kishan’s father, Vasudev, carrying baby Kishan on his head in a basket and the snake god forming a hood over baby Kishan, to protect him from the torrential rains.

  Mili sniffed the air as the smell of sweetmeats and savouries emanated from the kitchen. She usually partook of the preparations with full enthusiasm, but this year she watched from afar. She was at home, in her room, in her palace in Mohanagar, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Why had Raven not tried to stop her when she had gone to say goodbye? Or said that he loved her? She would have never left Kishangarh if he had.

  It was foolish of her to have such expectations. She loved him with every part of her being, she thought of him every waking moment and perhaps even when asleep. But for him, she was just another student. It was time she woke up to that fact and stopped yearning for something that was never there in the first place.

  But why did he kiss her, then? If he didn’t have any feelings for her? Why? Why? Would her questions ever be answered? It didn’t matter. Like hell it didn’t. All she knew was, even though her love would never be reciprocated, she would always hold him close to her heart. Always.

  So then, was this really the end? Would she never see him again? The thought filled her with despair and a longing so deep …

  She looked at her dolls that sat glumly, piled up in a corner of her room, at her bright-blue rocking horse, at her wooden toy utensils. She was back from Kishangarh, back to where she had lived all her life. But it did not feel like home any more. She felt a strange kind of detachment. Nothing felt good, nothing felt right. Would she ever know happiness again?

  Ma walked into the room. ‘You’re not yet dressed? Your cousins will be here any minute.’

  Mili hid her face in her mother’s bosom. And as the soft folds of her sari engulfed her, she burst into tears.

  ‘Mili?’ Ma said tenderly. ‘What happened, my child?’

  ‘Nothing, Ma,’ sniffed Mili, swiping at her tears. ‘I just feel like howling. No reason … at all.’

  Ma held her close. She caressed her head, then gently kissed her on the forehead. ‘Hush, my child,’ she whispered. ‘Everything will be all right. Now that you’re back home, it’s all going to work out fine.’

  Mili nodded. ‘Where’s Mrs Nunes?’ she asked, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief that Bhoomi had timidly handed her.

  ‘She’s gone to Kerala to finalise the date for her daughter’s wedding.’

  ‘I want to meet her when she gets back.’

  ‘Yes, do that. And now put on that lovely smile of yours … That’s better. And wear some jewellery. It doesn’t bode well for a princess to have a bare neck and bare arms on a festival.’

  So saying, she began rummaging through Mili’s jewellery box. ‘Here, wear this,’ she said, holding up a rainbow-coloured necklace.

  Mili smiled. One day when she was little it had been raining hard. And the sun was also shining – that’s the time, they say, when jackals get married and rainbows appear in the sky. It was the first rainbow Mili had ever seen and it was beautiful. She wanted it. Ma summoned the jeweller and ordered a special necklace for her. It had rubies, amethysts, panna, sapphire … all the colours of the rainbow.

  And Mili used to love it. She wore it even to bed for a month. She smiled again and ran her fingers over the jewels. She’d keep this one, yes, but she’d give the rest of her jewellery away. Just as she had given some of it to Gurpreet, in Kishangarh. She had no need for it now.

  It was almost a month since Mili had come back home from Kishangarh. She sat on her bed as Bhoomi brushed her long hair. There was a faint scent of moist soil seeping into the room from outside. The rain was beating down on the window in gentle sprays. The leaves of the rhododendron tree and the amaltas were a brilliant green. A little sparrow sat on the window sill, preening itself. It was the same window that Vicky always used to come into her room.

  She looked at Vicky’s photograph that stood on her bedside table and smiled. Vicky had been trying to act the clown when that picture was taken. She had scrunched up her nose and was trying to look at its tip. The outcome had been hilarious. She looked like a crosseyed joker in the picture.

  She picked up Vicky’s glasses, which were always kept in front of her picture, and put them on. They were too powerful and everything looked blurred. Or was it because of the tears that had suddenly sprung up? She quickly blinked her eyelids to push them back, then turned her attention to Bhoomi. ‘My hair looks fine now,’ she said. ‘Go and tell Ma and Bauji that I wish to speak to them.’

  ‘What about the jewellery?’ Bhoomi asked.

  ‘No, I don’t feel like wearing any.’

  Mili noticed the look of disappointment on Bhoomi’s face. Previously, getting dressed, choosing what jewellery to wear used to be the highlight of her day. Sadly, not any more.

  She got up and adjusted her dupatta. Her mind was made up. She would go and live in Gandhi Ashram and join him in his struggle for India’s freedom. She remembered when she had her first glimpse of him. It must have been about seven years ago, when she was at Nani’s house. Everyone was whispering ‘Gandhiji …’ and rushing to the terrace or onto the streets to have a glimpse of him. Just like they did whenever a baraat was passing through the streets.

  She was extremely disappointed when she saw him. A scrawny, bald man in a white dhoti. People were pouring out of their homes and joining him. What was so great about him? He was so shabbily dressed and wasn’t even handsome. Plus he needed a walking stick. She had looked uncomprehendingly at the excited crowd and wondered why they were making such a fuss over him.

  But now, the more she read about him in the papers or heard about him on the radio, the more fascinating she found him.

  Maybe immersing herself in the freedom movement would fill the void in her life that had been left by Vicky and then Gurpreet. And help her forget Raven.

  Thanks to the sudden showers that morning, a lovely cool breeze was coming into the room through the windows. Bauji sat on the sofa, poring over the newspaper. Ma sat be
side him, going over the guest list for dinner that night and discussing the menu with the chef.

  Mili rubbed the tigerskin rug on which she stood with her big toe. ‘Bauji,’ she said, ‘Can I speak to you and Ma in private?’

  ‘Of course, my child,’ replied Bauji. He waved to the servants to leave the room.

  The chef as well as the two servants who stood near the door bowed low and backed out of the room.

  ‘We too wanted to speak to you, Mili,’ said Ma, as she adjusted the pleats of her sari. She looked up and smiled at her indulgently. ‘Mausi has found an excellent match for you. He’s the Prince—’

  ‘Ma, I don’t want to marry,’ said Mili in a soft voice, chewing her thumbnail. She hesitated. Just like she had at the entrance to the inner sanctum of the temple … or when Raven’s driver had offered her mithai. Would she finally have the courage to break free of age-old customs and traditions and leave home? To pursue a life which none in her family had ever done before? All the girls in their dynasty had been good little princesses who had married the man of their parents’ choice and become good little wives. Would she be able to break off this tradition? She took a deep breath and said, ‘I wish to serve my country. Go and live in Gandhi Ashram.’

  Bauji stared at her with an open mouth. He looked as though he had been struck with a bolt of thunder.

  ‘What did you say, my child?’ he asked softly.

  Lowering her eyes, Mili repeated. ‘I want to live in Gandhi Ashram.’

  ‘Have you lost your mind?’ said Bauji. ‘Our troops are fighting for the British in Burma and you want to join the movement against them? Are you crazy?’

  ‘They lead a simple and austere life at the ashram,’ said Ma. ‘You won’t be able to cope.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ said Mili. ‘But I want to see it for myself.’

  There was silence for a long time. Mili listened to the tick-tocking of the grandfather clock that had been presented to Bauji by one of his English friends.