THE MAGICAL PALACE (15 page)

‘Chhee chee!’ my father responded. ‘A Muslim! How could she? Binesh is from such a good Brahmin family. How could she do this? What will people say?’

‘But she is a young girl. I remember what it was like to be young and passionate,’ Ma said, looking coy for a second. Then she grew serious. ‘The boy she is seeing must have brainwashed her. He is six years older than her. He must surely know that if people find out no one will marry Shyamala.’

‘So what are they going to do now?’

‘They want to end this affair. Anjali Didi does not know what to do.’

‘Did they confront her?’

‘Yes, she did. When Anjali Didi asked Mallika about the boy, she said he was just a good acquaintance and occasionally accompanied her group of friends when they went to the cafeteria. They also worked on a class presentation together this year.’

‘Do you think she told the truth? Binesh will want to get her married off as quickly as possible,’ my father said. ‘That’s what I would do.’

‘I think it is a mistake to get her married without talking to the boy. It is better that they invite him and his parents to their home and have a frank conversation.’

‘You know Binesh would never do that once he finds out the boy is Muslim. Because of Muslims, his family had to move from Chittagong in East Pakistan to India. Their family lost everything. His mother died on the way to Calcutta, when their train was attacked and set on fire. The train arrived at the station with everyone in it stabbed to death and burnt!’ Baba said, his voice heavy. ‘He saw such terrible things. He told me of one particular incident—he saw a Muslim man take a baby from its mother’s arms and tear it into two before her eyes.’

‘Oh … stop, stop. I can’t bear to think of such cruelty.’ My mother shuddered. ‘I remember stories I heard when
I was young in Allahabad. Bai, our nanny, told us terrible accounts too. Our driver was a man called Adam, he was a Christian. He converted to Sikhism because that was the only way he was allowed to carry a dagger. He fought back and tried to save many Hindu families.’

I walked through the dining room, into the kitchen, the dishes balanced carefully on the tray while my heart raced with horror listening to all the terrible things that had happened during the partition of India. This was the first time I had heard of my parents’ experience of such atrocities. But Salim—Salim, who was so cultured and gentle—how could he ever be involved in such cruelty? I thought about his handsome face and loving eyes, and I was certain that not all Muslims could be so bad. I wished my parents could see him and understand this.

‘Anjali Didi says that this boy Salim’s family is an old one, very cultured and well-to-do. Mallika told her that they did not move here from Pakistan. Their family has been here for generations.’

‘Why can’t Mallika Didi marry the boy she likes?’ I asked fiercely, forgetting to keep quiet.

‘Why are you interrupting our conversation? You are too young to understand these things. Let us, who have seen life, take care of these matters,’ my father said to me in a threatening tone that I dared not disobey. The anger in his voice reminded me that I needed to closely guard all my secrets.

Feeling frustrated, I went out to the darkened veranda. I looked out into the night, the bushes and trees looking like black-shrouded ghosts. The air crackled with the static of summer lightning. The monsoons would be here soon. It seemed that everyone around me was afraid: Mallika, Rani,
my mother, my father, Binesh Kaku, Anjali Mashi. And so was I. I felt a shiver of apprehension run up my spine.

That night, I dreamt of the giant banyan tree in the palace garden. The tree was full of birds that sang and twittered. Under the tree, Salim was singing my favourite song to Mallika: ‘
Mere sapnon ki rani, kab ayegi tu …
’ All of a sudden, a bolt of lightning from the sky split the tree in two. A deafening crack of thunder scared the birds and they rose in a dark cloud, flying away in one sweep, shrouding the palace gardens in sudden gloom. The thunder silenced their song and Salim’s. Then Salim was gone. Only Mallika was left alone, standing under the tree. I woke up, shouting: ‘Mallika Didi, Mallika Didi!’ But no one heard me that night.

7

Saturday Evening. San Francisco.

The bar was now full. I paused, reliving the alienation and helplessness of the situation we had faced in those tumultuous years in Hyderabad. I did not realize that I had been staring at the votive candle in its little red holder for so long. As I looked away, little dots of light danced in front of my eyes and I felt a tightness in my chest and shoulders. I looked at Andrew as he sat silent. My drink lay half full. I took a sip of it and the liquor burnt a fiery path down my gullet. At this rate, I would be tipsy soon. Andrew followed suit and quaffed the dregs of his drink. He stared moodily at his empty glass, a little drunk. I was not there yet.

‘Another round, guys?’ The bartender had apparently been waiting for a chance to break into the conversation.

I looked at Andrew, raising my eyebrows, and shrugged. He shrugged too.

‘Sure,’ he said, not looking at the bartender, still lost in contemplation.

‘One for the road,’ I said, thinking of the road home. Would I go home alone and Andrew to his motel?

‘Wow. That is heavy stuff, Rahul,’ Andrew said, after a
few minutes of uneasy silence. ‘The horrible legacy of your country’s Partition never really hit home, you know. Not even when I watched
Gandhi
. So much hatred! Is it still as bad for inter-religious marriages?’

‘Yes, it is. The memories are deep and regularly reinforced by communal riots and the frequent bombings that are often the work of Muslim terrorist groups and Hindu fundamentalists. It’s a crazy, swinging pendulum of intolerance and hatred. Of course, it’s the ones who have nothing to do with the struggle for power, the innocent bystanders, who suffer the most.’ I paused for a moment. ‘And then, those who suffer turn on their own when same-sex relationships are concerned. It’s almost like there has to be a pecking order.’

‘Funny you should say that. Our most polite and upstanding churchgoers back home would never use a racist word. But they would not flinch or protest if their kids called a gay kid “faggot” and beat up a gay child at school.’ Andrew’s tone was unusually vitriolic. He had suffered so much frustration and pain, just like me. My heart went out to him.

‘Here you go, guys.’ The bartender put down a couple of Manhattans on the counter. Andrew asked him to close the tab and gave him some cash.

‘To breaking the last socially sanctioned Nazi attitudes.’ I raised my glass.

‘Yes, to one day not having to worry about who is marrying whom and what religion, gender and sex they are.’

We clinked our glasses together and I took a big gulp, feeling the fire ignite my insides. I needed it to continue the rest of the story. As the irony of my situation hit
me, I laughed out loud. Here I was, fighting to reclaim a relationship that was for all practical purposes destined to be as much a disaster as Mallika and Salim’s.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Let me go on with the story.’ I tentatively reached for Andrew’s fingers, but he did not respond by touching mine. He looked instead at the light coursing through the liquor in his glass. After caressing his hands for a few moments, I withdrew. Clasping my hands together, I faced the red glow of the candle and continued my story.

July 1973. Hyderabad.

After the horrors of Partition were revealed to me, I started to understand that the deep-rooted mistrust of Muslims that our parents had was going to continue to pose an obstacle to Mallika and Salim’s happiness. I tried to think of a way to help Mallika, but nothing came to mind. A few days went by with me just whiling away time, worrying about the things I had no control over. Then, one day, the telephone rang. It was Ranjan.

‘Hi, Ranjan,’ I said, overjoyed that he had called. I had been waiting for a respectable break before broaching the topic of a Day Spend at Ranjan’s house. ‘I was thinking … we should have another Day Spend. At your house.’ My words came out casually, but inside I was squirming. If I went over to Ranjan’s house, surely I would meet Shubho.

‘Oh, Rahul, that would be so much fun. But we are leaving tomorrow for Nainital to visit my grandmother. She has invited Shubho Dada and me to stay with her for the rest of the summer holidays. I am really excited. It is so nice and cool there and we go swimming in the lake every day!’

This meant that I would not see Shubho for a very long time. My spirits flagged.

‘Oh, that is so nice,’ I said, trying to muster up some excitement for Ranjan. His grandmother had a lovely cottage in Nainital and they went there every summer.

‘Well, I guess I will see you when school starts again,’ Ranjan said. ‘That’s what I was calling to tell you about. Bye!’

‘Bye,’ I said, sliding the phone back into the cradle.

I walked out to the lawn, staring at the lake shimmering in the distance. The stillness of the morning air was a harbinger of the heat that was soon to follow. The raucous crows were scavenging in the garden outside. The marigolds were bright in the morning sunshine and pale-green cabbage butterflies hovered delicately over the golden-orange blossoms. Dragonflies buzzed overhead, their diaphanous wings as finely spun as silver gossamer. But my summer looked bleak and hopeless. It was not fair, I thought bitterly.

‘Rahul, Rahul, where are you?’ Rani called from the portico.

I did not answer and kept walking.

I reached the lawn and took my slippers off, luxuriating in the feel of the warm grass under my feet and between my toes. All around me, the air was heavy and sweet with the scent of lilies, marigolds, champa and chameli. I lay on the grass and felt the heat rise through my clothes and skin. The tang of crushed grass was heavenly and I breathed deep. I thought of Shubho kissing Anamika in the garden and closed my eyes, gently touching my face with my fingers. They lingered on my lips and probed my mouth and, unbidden, my tongue reached up to touch them with urgency, tasting the salt on them. Desire stirred in me
and I stopped, shocked and ashamed of my body. I sat up and quickly looked around to see if anyone had seen me. I missed Shubho, but I would have to wait until he showed up in my world again. Brushing the grass off my shorts, I walked further into the garden.

The morning grew hotter and the still air grew quiet as, one by one, the birds fell silent—to sing in this heat was too exhausting. All the birds except for the koel. It started on a low note and then grew louder and louder, rising in pitch until it sliced the air into thin slivers with its sharp edge, sounding like a frenzied woman calling out in her madness. Summer was exploding against the backdrop of the koel’s cry.

That night, after a day spent in disappointment, I sat outside on the veranda steps, thinking about Mallika. I had not seen her since the time we had gone to Abid Road.

‘I would love to go to visit Mallika Didi for a Day Spend. Please, please?’ My voice sounded whiny and childish to my ears as I posed the question to my father over dinner. Then it broke. I stopped. It had never done that before. My father looked amused. I took a deep breath and continued in a lower voice, ‘It has been so long since we spent time with her.’

‘So you want to see your Mallika Didi?’ Baba smiled. ‘Achha, I will call Binesh and ask him,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘Looks like you are growing into a man, Rahul. Good.’ He gave an approving nod. I was not sure what he meant. In any case, my grown-up request had been received well and I took note of that. ‘It will certainly be good for all you children to spend time together,’ Baba added, with a meaningful look at my mother. After dinner, he called Binesh Kaku.

‘Binesh,’ Baba said over the phone, ‘Rahul and Rani want to visit Mallika and Shyamala for a Day Spend.’ There was
a long pause, then my father said, ‘What? You sent Mallika to the tea estate in Assam for a few months? Don’t you think that this might be a little too hasty? What about her studies? After all, she does need to finish her college, doesn’t she? When do you think you will find … one minute please.’ Baba sounded surprised. He stopped and then turned to Rani and me and said, ‘Mallika has gone to visit her grandmother. But Shyamala is there. You can visit her. Now go play.’ As Rani and I lingered, he snapped, ‘Go!’

Embarrassed, we rushed from the room, but stationed ourselves outside the door, just out of sight. Mallika had been sent off to her maternal grandmother’s home so unexpectedly! I felt angry that I would not see her for the summer. Then I thought of Binesh Kaku and felt afraid for her.

‘Now, Binesh. You are like my brother.’ We strained our ears to hear Baba’s voice. Why did you not consult us? Are you going to keep her there until the marriage? And have you found a boy yet?’ He paused while Binesh Kaku said something in response, then continued: ‘What if she contacts that blighter from there? Be careful that she does not run away.’ He stopped again to listen to what Binesh Kaku was saying. ‘I understand. I would do the same thing if my daughter tried to marry a Muslim boy. They think they know what is best for them, but we have our family honour to think of. We want to walk in society with our heads held high. We will talk more when we meet. You are doing the right thing. Have faith in Ma Durga.’ I could hear the anxiety in my father’s voice.

I broke out in a cold sweat. Mallika, isolated and held prisoner! What about her and Salim? I had a terrible vision of her leaping over a waterfall, disappearing forever from
our lives. Rani said nothing, but her jaw was set and I could see her stubbornly resisting my father’s ownership of her future life as an adult.

‘I have news for you,’ my father called out to my mother, who had cleared the table and was in the kitchen.

‘Mallika is in Assam, at the tea estate. Luckily, there is no telephone in the house and her uncle is checking the mail, so there is no way that the bugger Salim can contact her. What a terrible thing for Binesh and Anjali to have to go through! I hope we never have to suffer anything like this …’

Sick at heart, we did not want to hear any more. Rani and I walked out to the garden and tried to think of ways to help Mallika.