THE MAGICAL PALACE (25 page)

‘Yes! Very good, Andrew.’ I smiled and went on. ‘I used to look at the goddess with awe. She looked so fearless, like the heroine in an action film, her large, doe-like eyes filled with fire. She would ride her lion, a beautiful animal with a golden coat, its mane swaying in the wind, its mouth snarling as its paw ripped open a buffalo and the demon Mahishasura
climbed out of its body … And then Durga’s spear plunged into his chest.’ I stopped to savour my memories.

‘That sounds scary.’

‘No, it isn’t scary. It’s the timeless story of the victory of good over evil.’

‘This is all so different from Christianity’s version of the same struggle.’

‘Of course it is.’

‘And I know you told me but I forget the name of the fat guy with the elephant head all over the apartment?’ Andrew gestured around.

‘Oh, yes, that is Lord Ganesha, my favourite.’

‘Why do you have so many likenesses of him?’

‘Because I like him. And because he is the remover of obstacles.’

‘I am trying to understand. How can you relate to something so out of this world? A man with an elephant’s head?’

‘Our mythology has plenty of strange characters. Nothing unusual in that. Besides, I love elephants! And since he has an elephant head, I find him the most endearing of all our gods. He is very wise, you know. During Durga Puja, Lord Ganesh is married to a small banana tree.’ I held up my hand. ‘Don’t ask me. I don’t know why. It was always a treat to see the tree swathed in a cream-coloured cotton sari with a red border, the green leaves peeping shyly out from under the covered head.’

‘Seriously, this is all fascinating—and so unreal!’

Andrew seemed to be lightening up a little, I noted with satisfaction.

‘Why? That is India. This is America. Of course it is different. Anyway. Where did I stop my story before I digressed?’

‘Let me think. You were telling me about … about … Mallika’s marriage being arranged by her parents. So weird. I know it happens, but it is hard to get used to the idea. I can’t believe that you are also playing the same game.’

I stiffened at the barb. I had to get through to him. ‘Please, Andrew. You promised to hear me out.’ I fought to keep the irritation from my voice. I did not want to risk another argument.

Andrew crossed his arms in front of his chest, defensive. After a few moments of silence, he said, ‘Okay, so did Mallika get forcibly married to some jerk?’

‘Yes …’

September 1973. Hyderabad.

The postman delivered a red envelope with gold lettering a few days after our visit to see Sanjib. I had never seen such a pretty envelope before—it had a picture of a Bengali bride in a palanquin embossed in gold—and it signified the death of Mallika and Salim’s dream. This was not how this story was supposed to end. My real-life heroine would be given away to some stranger Binesh Kaku and Anjali Mashi had found, and I was powerless to do anything.

‘Rahul, come and help me check on the guavas.’ Rani’s voice distracted me from the card. Relieved to have something to occupy me, I joined her in the kitchen, where we carefully cut little squares of cheesecloth to be used to wrap and protect the fruit. When we had enough squares, Rani and I ran out to the garden and raced each other until we reached the far end of the palace grounds, near the guava grove.

‘Did you see the wedding invitation?’ I asked.

‘Yes, I did,’ Rani said, swinging onto a sturdy guava tree, its dark-brown bark weathered by many monsoons. The year before, I had struggled to climb up with ease like Rani. This year, the trees looked shorter and were surprisingly easy to climb. I hauled myself up without any trouble.

Rani had carefully tied little pieces of cheesecloth over each of the baby guavas earlier so that they would be safe from marauding squirrels, bats and birds. Most of the time, this trick worked.

‘This means that Mallika Didi will never be with Salim again,’ I said sadly as I looked under little cloth tents, relieved to find most of the guavas intact and still growing.

Rani didn’t reply. After a while, we looked around for signs of half-eaten fruit. There were a few of them on the ground, in the grass. As we walked back to the palace, I asked Rani if Salim would try to contact Mallika Didi if he found out she was back.

‘I hope Salim talks to Mallika Didi when she returns,’ she said. ‘But if Binesh Kaku finds out this time he will have Salim killed. She will probably refuse to see him, though. She said in her letter that her mind was made up. I cannot believe she is coming back in just a few days.’

I remembered the red-and-gold envelope, waiting to be opened.

‘Let us go and see if Ma has opened the invitation yet.’

We trudged slowly to the house, too dispirited to race each other. When we reached, I went to the dining room, where the wedding invitation lay on the table. My mother had already opened the envelope. I pulled out a bright red card with a golden silk band running through it. Inside, it said: ‘Sri Binesh Bannerjee and Srimati Anjali Bannerjee request the pleasure of your company to celebrate the
auspicious occasion of the marriage of their daughter Mallika to Sanjib, son of Sri Ashok Ganguly and Srimati Aparna Ganguly.’

‘Rani, Mallika Didi is getting married on 20 September, just two weeks away.’ I felt the hollowness in my stomach, staring at the crimson slash of the envelope as it lay on the table like a bleeding wound.

A few days later, the phone rang. I heard my mother pick up the phone and say, ‘Anjali Didi? How are you?’

Anjali Mashi replied and Ma exclaimed in surprise: ‘Oh, Anjali Didi! When did Mallika get back? Why did you not let us know she has been here for some time? Of course we got the card. How is she?’ After a while, she said, ‘She is probably tired with the clothes fittings and jewellery trials and that long train ride from Assam. Sorry to hear she is not feeling too well. That is to be expected, I suppose, considering everything going on. I am so glad she is being cooperative. Yes, we will come by today. Rahul and Rani are dying to see her and keep asking about her all the time.’

Hanging up the phone, she said to my father, who was reading the newspaper, ‘Ogo, shunchho? Mallika is back for her wedding. Anjali Didi wants us to go and see her.’

We visited Mallika Didi that evening. There were many cars parked in the driveway. I wanted to run up to her room to talk to her, but the door was opened by a strange young man and the sitting room was full of many people—there was no sign of Mallika.

‘Shyamala!’ I said with relief, glad to see a familiar face. ‘Where is Mallika Didi?’

‘She is sleeping. She has been sleeping ever since we got back,’ Shyamala complained.

‘Come and help me in the kitchen,’ Anjali Mashi said,
beckoning to my mother. I followed them into the kitchen. Anjali Mashi led her to the pantry, and I heard them talking in a low voice.

‘Mallika has been a little agitated since she returned.’ Anjali Mashi’s voice dropped to a whisper. I moved closer to the pantry entrance and peered under the kitchen table, pretending to look for something, as I strained to hear the conversation. ‘She wanted to go out of the house to Abid Road to do some shopping on her own, but you know how dangerous that is. It is too close to the wedding. If she tries to meet that boy Salim, the wedding will be in jeopardy. We cannot have that. Dr Rao has given her some medicine so that she can rest. He said the medicine will make her relaxed and more cooperative. We have been adding the drops to her tea every morning. The doctor has said it is not going to harm her. There is just so much going on, with all the relatives arriving in droves. More are coming tomorrow.’

‘And then there are all the special ceremonies to go through too, aren’t there?’ My mother’s voice was understanding. ‘Mallika will be very busy and surrounded by people the entire time. How is she dealing with so many relatives in the house?’

The man who had let us in brought some dirty dishes in. Anjali Mashi and Ma heard the clattering of dishes in the kitchen sink and came out of the pantry in a hurry.

‘You don’t need to do this,’ Anjali Mashi said firmly as she guided Binesh Kaku’s nephew outside. ‘The kitchen is the domain of women. Let us do the work. I hope your wife does not make you work in the kitchen!’ Anjali Mashi laughed and he smiled sheepishly and left.

Anjali Mashi slipped back in to the pantry with my mother and started talking faster: ‘She has been really
quiet and very obedient since we have been giving her the medicine. We
had
to get something to keep her calm. The relatives think she is just tired with all that is going on and let her sleep. In Assam, she cried a lot at first, but then she seemed to realize that there is no future for her with Salim. Your Binesh Dada can be very firm and persuasive, you know. And then, once she realized that Shyamala’s future was in jeopardy because of her foolishness, she got over this love nonsense. As if life is like a Hindi film!

‘She agreed to the marriage with Sanjib very easily. I was not happy to see her agitation when she returned. She might have had second thoughts about the marriage—you know how young girls can be. I have not told her that the Muslim boy came here in her absence and have warned Shyamala not to say a word. I pray that he will not come here before the wedding. Otherwise, everything can fall apart. Your Binesh Dada has given special instructions to the chowkidars not to let him enter and to do whatever is necessary to keep him away. Thank goodness there is only a week before the wedding.

‘It has been hell since this nonsense started with that Muslim boy. I thank Ma Kali that everything has been working out all right so far. I have made a promise that, if everything goes fine, I will make a pilgrimage to the Kali temple at Dakshineshwar. When I think of what would have happened if she had got even more brainwashed by that scoundrel of a boy and run away with him, it makes my blood run cold. My whole family’s honour, even the future of my little Shyamala, was in such danger …’

‘Don’t worry, it will all be over soon.’ My mother’s voice was soothing. It reminded me of the times when I would fall and hurt myself and she would make everything seem
all right again. ‘Mallika will thank you for this one day. Do you like that boy Sanjib? His parents seem wonderful and friendly, but he seemed a little withdrawn. Perhaps he was nervous.’

Anjali Mashi sounded a little less frantic as she said, ‘Everyone is nervous before marriage. I wanted Mallika to see some more boys, but she said yes to him right away. She said she would marry him. She is a good girl, she will adjust. Isn’t that what we all had to do? Look at your Binesh Dada. He has his faults, but we both adjusted. When Mallika was young, he was a little restless and used to have a really bad temper. I used to be so scared of him. But now he has settled down and I can depend on him. We have to get our children married so that when they are old they are not alone and so that the family name can continue. When the romance and the honeymoon are over, we women have to raise the children and keep the household together. It is our duty in life.’

‘Yes, that is true. Perhaps Rani and Shyamala will get married at the same ceremony, in two wedding ceremonies, side by side, with nice boys we find for them’ Ma added.

I crept away from the table and silently left the kitchen. I climbed the stairs to Mallika’s room, avoiding the groups of uncles, aunts and grandparents gathered everywhere. Mallika’s door was shut. I turned the knob. It turned easily, but the door stayed shut even when I pushed hard. When I noticed the big brass lock on the door, I thought that there must have been some mistake, because I had never seen Mallika’s room locked before.

Perhaps the saris and gold and jewellery were locked up in Mallika’s room and she was sleeping in the guest room. But when I went to look, I saw that it was full of half-
opened suitcases. Suddenly feeling anxious, I went back to her room and rattled the knob again.

‘Mallika Didi, Mallika Didi,’ I said in a low voice. But there was no response. I looked through the keyhole. I could just about see Mallika on the bed, her face peaceful. For one awful moment, I thought she might be dead, but then I saw her chest rise and fall softly. I called out to her again, but it was useless.

I went downstairs in a hurry to find Rani, but then it was time to have snacks. I could hardly eat, feeling nauseated with the knowledge that my beloved Mallika was locked up and drugged. I wanted to go upstairs to her room and shake her till she woke up. We would open the window of the bedroom and she would run away with a waiting Salim, just like Dimple Kapadia had done in
Bobby
… But this was not a film, and we left soon afterwards.

We attended the wedding the following week. All of us dressed with great care for the event. My mother wore her beautiful peacock-blue Benarasi silk sari, reserved for very special occasions. Her hair was piled high on her head—She had gone to the Sundari Beauty Parlour on Abid Road to have it done. I watched her go to the prayer room, where my mother kept all her jewellery locked up. This was the safest place since it was seldom visited for any reason other than saying our prayers. Since my father was the most religious of the family, the rest of us rarely entered. Ma unlocked her trunk and took out her ruby-encrusted gold necklace with matching bangles and earrings.

‘Ma, please wear that turquoise-studded Favre-Leuba watch you have,’ I begged. I loved that watch—it was thin
and delicate and a fine gold chain hung in a loop from the cunningly wrought clasp.

‘All right!’ She laughed and put the watch on.

My dhoti was a complicated affair—six yards of brown-cream silk, tied across the waist, meticulously pleated and wrapped. My father helped me dress. I stood impatiently, shifting from one foot to the other, while he muttered, ‘Stand still and stop wriggling, Rahul.’

Rani was wearing a beautiful sharara, covered with sequins and a lovely long dupatta which was transparent and had golden-thread-embroidered edges. My father wore a white silk dhoti-kurta. I wished I had his gold buttons set with diamonds, but with my history of losing things, it was out of the question for me to wear anything so expensive. Both my father and I looked like Bengali babus.