THE MAGICAL PALACE (29 page)

Women blew on conch shells, producing a soulful chorus. Other women chorused ‘
Ooloolooloo!
’, a wailing ululation that went on and on, creating harmonious vibrations in the air. Men danced in the space before the idols, stripped to the waist. Their sinuous bodies, shining with sweat and gyrating to the beats of the dhak, entranced me. They held in each hand earthen lamps, filled with burning coals and topped with smouldering, frankincense-sprinkled coconut coir that glowed and crackled, producing thick clouds of smoke. Faster and faster the drums beat, and faster and faster the dancers moved. My breath caught in my throat as I looked on, my heart in my mouth. The dancers would be burnt if any of the coals fell from the brimming lamps, but they continued undaunted, their moves skilled, confident and graceful. Through the thick haze, I could see the goddess, primeval, ferocious yet protective, frozen in the moment of her triumph over evil.

‘It is now time for the pushpanjali.’

The same purohit-moshai had led the prayers for as long as I could remember. He was short and rotund, his bald head shining with perspiration, his sacred thread stretched tight across his protruding belly. Tufts of hair sprouted from his shoulders and back, his ears and nostrils and above his eyes.

As was customary, the priest made offerings of incense, sweets, saris and other choice items to propitiate Ma Durga. Then a big basket of flowers was passed around. We each took a few and then repeated the mantras chanted by the priest three times.

‘Say your prayers to Ma,’ the priest said to us all. ‘She will grant all your desires and prayers. Think of what you want for yourself and for those you love and care about.’

I thought of Mallika and Salim. I thought of my secrets and how different I felt from everyone. ‘Please, Ma Durga.’ My silent prayers were fast and furious, the words a jumble in my head. ‘Please let Mallika Didi and Salim be together and protect me from getting into trouble for wanting to touch Shubho Dada and not being first in class. And please don’t let anyone find out about the evening with him in the changing room.’ I paused and looked at Ma Durga’s loving face and whispered quietly, into my folded hands, ‘And please let me be with Shubho Dada again.’ I thought of what the priest had promised—surely the goddess would understand, even if no one else did?

‘Come on, let’s go and have the prasad. Oh look there’s Mallika Didi!’ Rani prodded me with her elbow. As I turned around to go with her, I saw that Mallika was with Sanjib and his parents. Mr and Mrs Ganguly walked ahead of the two, who were in deep conversation, and Sanjib was gesturing emphatically at Mallika. Her head was only partly covered, so I could see her face. She was biting her lip and her hands were twisting the fabric of her sari as she said something. Sanjib’s face was grim and he did not look at her even once. He seemed oblivious to our presence and it was only when they were almost upon us that he put on a polite mask.

‘Rahul, Rani!’ Mallika exclaimed. Her face lit up and she hugged us hard.

‘Go show your respect to your elders and get their blessings,’ my father instructed us.

We walked over dutifully and greeted them with folded
hands, heads bowed to show our respect. ‘Nomoshkar, Uncle and Aunty,’ Rani and I said together, as my father nodded approvingly. We reluctantly greeted Sanjib, even though I did not want to do anything nice for him.

‘Come visit me soon. I will be visiting Ma and Baba at the end of the month,’ Mallika said to us. I was elated. I could not bear to see her in a sari, so reserved and quiet, and looked forward to playing Snakes and Ladders with her and eating tuar dal and rice, just like before. Ma Durga would surely hear my prayers—the priest had promised.

‘We are going to bow to the goddess,’ Sanjib said to us curtly, and he and Mallika left. I saw them prostrate themselves at the feet of the goddess. After they had paid their respects, Mallika made an impatient gesture with her hands and walked away. She made her way to a far corner of the tent and sat down, facing away from the crowd, and opened her purse, looking for something. Sanjib strode after her and sat down next to her.

My parents, Rani and Sanjib’s parents were busy in conversation, so I slipped away. Standing a little distance from Sanjib and Mallika, I strained hard to hear what they were saying.

‘I cannot take this any more,’ Mallika said, her voice breaking. ‘I will tell them … about what you did to me last night. If you beat me again, I will tell them everything … the unspeakable things you have done …’

My heart racing, I moved closer.

‘If you dare say a word, I will divorce you. I will tell them that you are still having an affair with that Muslim bastard. They will believe me, just wait and see.’

‘You are truly a monster—threatening me in front of Ma Durga!’

Sanjib laughed a nasty laugh. ‘We’ll see who will marry Shyamala once there is a divorcee in your family.’

He moved closer to Mallika—to the world, they probably looked like a newly married couple enjoying a little chat. But I heard Mallika’s sari rustle and then her sharp exclamation of pain. There was the tinkle of bangles breaking and falling to the ground.

‘Oh, look what you have done!’ Mallika’s voice was simmering with anger and hurt and was louder now. ‘My favourite bangles from Abid Road, they are in pieces!’

‘Come on. Let’s get back to my parents,’ Sanjib said curtly. ‘No more nonsense and hysterics. Or I will have to teach you a lesson again tonight.’

As they left, I crept to the corner and picked up the pieces of broken bangles one by one. Then I quietly rejoined my family. No one except Rani had missed me.

‘Where did you go?’ she hissed through her teeth. And then, after taking a good look at me, she whispered, ‘What happened? You look as if you are going to cry.’

‘Tell you later,’ I said quickly.

‘Well, I am starving. Let us go and eat prasad. I was waiting for you to come.’

I looked around to see if Mallika was going to join us, but she had disappeared. Sanjib was waving at his parents, asking them to join him, so they left too. Then my parents, Rani and I moved to the area where the prasad was being served. It was a delicious meal—hot khichuri, different vegetable curries, fruits and sweets, served in leaf plates. We sat on the carpet that covered the grassy field inside the tent and ate our prasad. For the first time ever, however, I did not enjoy the meal. Instead, I played the scene I had witnessed over and over again in my head.

On the way home, Rani and I sat silent in the car.

‘Did Anjali Didi say anything to you?’ I heard my mother ask my father.

‘No,’ Baba replied. ‘I did talk to Binesh, though.’

‘Did he say anything?’

‘About what?’

‘About the marriage, you know.’

‘Why? Did Anjali say anything to you?’ my father asked.

‘No, she was very quiet, very preoccupied.’

‘So what? You are imagining things. I am sure she only misses her daughter.’

‘My intuition is telling me something else. I don’t think Mallika is happy.’

‘Wouldn’t she tell us if something was wrong?’

‘No, I don’t think so. Remember, they forced her to marry that boy.’

‘Well … we all saw Mallika with Sanjib and his parents at the pandal,’ Baba remarked. ‘It is not as if she is housebound.’

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘Did you notice anything strange? You did say Mallika was very quiet when you visited her. She seemed very quiet to me too.’

‘All brides are supposed to respect their in-laws and not talk much in front of them. Sanjib did seem a little stern, though.’

‘I am telling you, something is not right.’

And then we were home. The car idled by the gates as they swung open slowly. I heard them close behind us with a loud metallic clang, then the sentries clicked their heels in
attention and we drove up the long driveway. A canopy of darkness shrouded the drive. The wind whispered secrets I could not understand.

On Dashami, the last day of the pujas, the idols of the goddess and her children were immersed into water, symbolizing that she was being sent back to her husband’s home. We duly went to bid her and her children farewell for the year. Mallika too had left for her husband’s home after her wedding—would she also come home just once a year for a few brief days, before leaving again? I wondered sadly about this, watching the spectacle as, with heaving cries, the statues of Ma Durga, Lakshmi, Saraswati, Ganesh and Kartik were borne aloft on the shoulders of devoted volunteers and then loaded on to a lorry. Surrounded by a throng of devotees, the lorry slowly inched its way through crowded streets and open boulevards towards the river. Drummers drummed and the dancers deftly weaved in and out of the crowds of people gathered on the road to watch the procession. Huge plumes of fragrant smoke rose from the lamps they held. The procession slowly weaved through town. When it reached the river, the faithful lifted up the gods and goddesses and slowly took them down to the bank. The priests chanted mantras, amidst which the idols were immersed in the water, one by one. It was a lesson in detachment, I thought, to watch the hard work of the artists, the beautiful decorations, saris and jewellery, all disintegrating and flowing away in the fast-moving currents of the water, swirling into the dusk. And so, to the sound of women ululating and the melody of conch shells, the goddess returned to her husband’s home for another year.

It was a few days after Durga Puja when Mallika finally visited her parents.

‘When is Mallika Didi coming back?’ I asked my mother every day in the meantime.

‘She is not coming back, Rahul,’ Ma explained patiently. ‘In the future, your Mallika Didi will visit her mother’s home for just a short while.’

Hearing her old home referred to as her mother’s home sounded as unfamiliar as thinking of Mallika as Sanjib’s wife. It was as if the old Mallika was a person of the past, someone who had left, never to return. Everyone now acted as if she was Mrs Sanjib Ganguly, a new person altogether, who would dress like a Bengali bride and act and talk like a Bengali daughter-in-law and wife. I wondered if Rani would turn into a stranger as well when she married a boy chosen by my parents. And when they picked a bride for me, would they want her to leave her old life behind and turn into someone else too? Would I be expected to act like a Bengali babu like Sanjib?

At last we made plans to go see Mallika when she visited her parents. I was impatient throughout the day we were going to see her. Classes seemed to go on forever and Shubho was his usual distant self when I saw him during football practice from the edge of the field. I longed for him to put his arms around me again, but I was never alone with him nowadays. He was always with his classmates and just waved to me casually when he saw me. Anyway, when I finally got home that day, I quickly changed into my drainpipe pants and the shirt with extra-long collars like Rajesh Khanna had worn in
Dil Daulat Duniya
. I arranged my hair carefully as well. I wanted to dress nicely for Mallika. I wanted it to be just like the old times. She would
be in her summer frock, her hair smelling sweet and flowing down to her waist. We would play Snakes and Ladders and she would feed me tuar dal with fragrant basmati rice and melted butter. I could not wait.

We got into the car and my father drove us all to Mallika’s house. The chowkidars opened the gate for us. I looked at them and felt a wave of anger rise within me again—I could not forget Salim’s bruised and swollen face.

At the door, I heard loud voices. My parents were walking behind me and could not hear the commotion. I hesitated for a moment, looking at Rani, who raised her finger to her lips, asking me to be quiet and try to listen. We could hear Binesh Kaku’s demanding voice booming as Mallika’s shrill voice responded, defiant.

‘Ring the doorbell, Rahul,’ my mother said, seeing me just standing there. ‘Don’t you want to see your Mallika Didi?’

I reluctantly rang the bell. The voices, which had been getting louder, stopped abruptly. I heard someone run up the stairs and the sound of a door slamming.

Binesh Kaku opened the door, his face mottled. He looked angrily at me for a second.

‘Nomoshkar, Binesh Kaku,’ I said timidly.

Binesh Kaku grunted in reply and then granted me a tight smile when he saw my parents and Rani.

‘Where is Mallika Didi?’ I asked.

‘She is upstairs. She will be down soon,’ Anjali Mashi said, coming up behind her husband. ‘Mallika!’ she called out loud, smiling at me and looking slightly relieved. ‘Look who has come to see you.’

We went into the sitting room. There were newly framed pictures on the table of Mallika and Sanjib, taken at their wedding. Mallika’s face was almost hidden—she was
swathed in silk and brocade and garlands. Then there were the family pictures, taken with the parents of the bride and groom. Everyone else looked overjoyed, but Mallika’s face had not even the hint of a smile.

‘So, Binesh—one daughter married off, one to go,’ my father joked.

‘God willing, Dada, your Rani and our Shyamala will also be fortunate enough to get good husbands,’ Binesh Kaku said.

Rani and Shyamala looked aghast.

I heard Mallika’s familiar footsteps coming down the stairs before she came in. She was wearing a blue salwar-kameez with embroidered sleeves that came down to her wrists. In the old days, she would have been wearing a sleeveless summer frock on an evening like this. But her hair was down, just like before, and I could recognize my Mallika the way she used to be. She was not the docile, stilted new bride here, she looked more at ease.

‘Nomoshkar,’ she said to my parents in a flat voice. ‘Rani, Rahul. How lovely to see you!’ I realized then that her smile was strained and did not light up her eyes. They looked puffy and red, like she had been crying.

‘Doesn’t she look lovely?’ Anjali Mashi said quickly. ‘Oh, the honeymoon days are the best!’

I jumped up from the sofa and ran to Mallika. She gave me a big hug and held me tightly for a moment and, finally, I saw the smile reach her eyes.

‘Oh, Rahul. How are you? I have missed you. You have to tell me all about school, the books you’ve been reading … and everything you have been up to!’