THE MAGICAL PALACE (30 page)

I beamed. ‘Mallika Didi, let’s go play Snakes and Ladders.’ I was anxious to get back our special ritual.

Mallika took me by the hand and we went up the stairs. I heard Shyamala say, ‘Rani, let’s go upstairs and practise the lines from our play.’ Shyamala and Rani were in the school play that year. They followed us upstairs.

Once we reached her room and shut the door, Mallika sat down on the bed, her face in her hands, a picture of despair. I went to her and knelt on the floor, my head in her lap, my arms around her legs.

‘We heard shouting when we first came. What happened?’ asked Rani in a low voice.

‘I gave Mallika Didi Salim’s letter and told her what happened when Salim came here,’ Shyamala explained.

Mallika looked up, her eyes flashing. Her voice quaked with fury and unshed tears. ‘I found out what Baba did. Damn, damn, damn! Why did Salim come here? I told him not to. I hoped he would understand that we could not be together. It is too late now anyway. I should have run away before the marriage.

‘Ma and Baba tried to convince me that the right thing to do would be to marry Sanjib, but all they wanted was to save the family reputation. Oh, God, Sanjib is so different from Salim! He has a horrible temper and even his parents are scared of him. He wants a good, Bengali, village girl who will obey his commands, like his mother obeys her husband. He won’t even let me finish college. My life is over! I had such dreams … Now, all I am is Mrs Sanjib Chatterjee, a bloody housewife, and a beaten one at that,’ Mallika finished bitterly and broke into sobs.

We all put our arms around her and held her until she calmed down. Her sobs finally subsided. Rani and Shyamala were in tears too, and so was I. It was so hard to see my beloved Mallika suffer like this. I had never seen
her cry before—it was heart-rending. This was just like the scene from
Bobby
, when the lovers find out that they can’t be together. Except, in the movie, they miraculously survived the jump over the waterfall. But this was real life and Mallika was married and she and Salim would never be together. There was no generous parent waiting on the other side of the rapids, repenting past harshness and finally accepting the lovers.

‘Mallika, come downstairs with the other children for some jol-khaabar,’ called Anjali Mashi.

‘Go on downstairs. Tell them I am in the bathroom and will be down in a minute,’ Mallika said urgently. ‘I need to splash some water on my face and blow my nose.’

We quickly went downstairs. Anjali Mashi was very quiet, and so was my mother. Anjali Mashi’s eyes looked red and weepy like my mother’s—I could always tell when my mother had been crying. I wondered if Anjali Mashi wished that she had let Mallika marry Salim. But then, why would she be sad about the marriage when she was so happy about it earlier? Binesh Kaku and my father did most of the talking as the meal was served, oblivious to the fact that their wives were very quiet. Anjali Mashi had made us a mini-feast, but I had lost my appetite. I could think of little else other than Mallika’s raw grief and tears. Mallika entered the room with a smile painted on her face. Her eyes were swollen, but she had her hair down and it concealed her expression.

‘I have made all of Mallika’s favorite dishes,’ Anjali Mashi said lovingly, stroking Mallika’s beautiful waist-long hair. ‘I don’t want her to pine for my cooking and get thin. Look at her, she has lost so much weight. I am making sure she eats to her heart’s content.’

I stared at my plate glumly. ‘Rahul, you are not eating properly.’ Anjali Mashi’s voice startled me. ‘I thought you liked kochuri and alur dom.’

I started eating quickly, not wanting to draw attention to myself. I did not want anyone to know that we had seen Mallika breakdown like that.

‘So, Rahul,’ Anjali Mashi said with feigned brightness. ‘I heard you have started playing football like a good Bengali boy …’

‘Did you score a goal?’ Binesh Kaku interrupted. ‘When I was your age, I could kick the football so hard that once it flew all the way into the village square from the football field. And the village head was so angry that he took the ball and threw it into the fire.’

‘And I kicked it so hard once that it exploded,’ my father added with a laugh.

‘Now, now, Chatterjee Dada, there is no need to exaggerate,’ Binesh Kaku said with a friendly jab at my father.

Their laughter sounded forced. I gave a polite smile and continued eating, wanting the meal to end so that we could leave the table. Baba and Binesh Kaku continued to make aimless conversation.

After finishing my food, I said to Mallika, ‘Let us go upstairs and play Snakes and Ladders.’

‘Mallika, why don’t you play Snakes and Ladders with Rahul at the kitchen table?’ my mother suggested. ‘I have not seen you for so long.’

‘Achha, Mashi,’ Mallika said obediently. ‘Rahul, will you bring the board from upstairs? You know where it is.’

I ran upstairs as fast as I could. I opened the top drawer of the dresser where all the board games were kept—Ludo,
Snakes and Ladders, Monopoly, Chinese Checkers, and more. I pulled the Snakes and Ladders board out of the drawer, making sure that I had the dice, the counters and the dice thrower. When I got back to the kitchen, I opened up the folded-up board. We had never played there before, but it felt good to be playing the game with Mallika after so many months.

‘You roll the dice first,’ I suggested.

She rolled the dice and moved the counter. She got a ladder after the first throw and moved further up. Then I rolled the dice, but ended up staying on the same row. Before we knew it we were climbing ladders and gaining on each other or being devoured by snakes and falling behind. My mother and Anjali Mashi were busy chatting as they put the dirty dishes in the sink for the servant to wash the next day.

‘Oh, no!’ exclaimed Mallika. She had rolled the dice too hard and it had bounced off the board and fallen on the floor, under the table. Mallika leaned forward to pick up the dice from the floor. As she did so, her blue sleeve drew back and I saw a huge purple bruise on her forearm. She quickly straightened up, pulling the sleeve back over her arm. She looked around to see if anyone else had seen it. My mother and Anjali Mashi quickly looked away, but I heard my mother’s sharp intake of breath.

‘Mallika …’ Ma started to say, turning back, when Anjali Mashi grabbed her firmly by the elbow.

‘Didi, did you see the beautiful tea set Sanjib’s parents presented to us at the wedding?’ Anjali Mashi asked as she spun my mother around and marched her off to the pantry.

‘Mallika Didi, what happened to you?’ I asked.

‘Shh … nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘I … I slipped and fell on the wet bathroom floor and hurt myself. I am so careless sometimes.’

I heard muted whispers from the pantry. Then, either my mother or Anjali Mashi turned the tap on in the pantry sink, drowning out their words.

We returned to our game of Snakes and Ladders, though my mind was in turmoil. Mallika won the game and, like the old days, she laughed, throwing her head back, her dimples appearing suddenly, her eyes sparkling. For a brief moment, it was as if nothing had changed. I did not mind losing. I wanted her to win and be happy. For a little while at least, she seemed to have forgotten her cares and worries.

‘So, Rahul,’ she said, after we had folded the board and put the game aside, ‘have you read any more Enid Blyton books? You should start reading the
Hardy Boy
s’ mysteries. I loved those stories, even though they are boys’ books.’

‘Yes, my friend Ranjan loves the
Hardy Boys
. It will be such fun to read them together. How long will you be staying here, Mallika Didi?’

‘Just two more days. Then I go back,’ she said, looking serious. ‘You will visit me with Rani and your parents, won’t you?’ Her smile had faded and the pain had returned to her eyes.

‘I will, Mallika Didi,’ I promised as she gave me a long hug.

As we left, my mother said to Mallika, ‘Come and visit us in Mint House any time. Come with your husband and his parents.’ As we walked out of the house, Mallika and Shyamala walked out with us. Shyamala and Rani walked ahead with my father.

‘I know it is hard to adjust to a new home,’ Ma said to
Mallika, quietly. ‘Just remember—if you ever need anything, come to me. I am your mashi, just like your mother.’

By then, we were at the car. We waved goodbye to each other, promising to meet again very soon. As we drove home, Rani and I listened to my parents talking.

‘She is having difficulty with her husband,’ Ma said.

‘Yes, Binesh told me. He said Sanjib had beaten her. He has a bad temper. She does not want to go back to his house, but Binesh has told her she has to return to her husband’s home—it is her home now. If she stays with her parents, what will people say?’

‘I don’t think she should go back.’

‘Binesh is upset about Mallika but also worried about Shyamala,’ Baba replied. ‘He knows that he will never be able to find a good boy for Shyamala if Mallika’s marriage does not work out. You know, once the rumours start that the Bannerjees are a bad family, no one will want to be associated with them in that way.’

‘I told Mallika before I left that she could call me any time she needed anything,’ Ma said.

‘Don’t get involved in other family’s matters. Tomorrow, people will say that we broke their marriage up. You know how people are.’ Baba sounded very annoyed.

I wanted to ask my father why Mallika could not leave Sanjib, but kept quiet, fearing his temper for talking about things that I did not understand.

A few days passed by. I was busy studying hard. Before the third round of tests, Ranjan suggested I go to his house to study with him. I was very excited about the invitation—at the possibility of being alone with Shubho.

This time, my father drove me to Ranjan’s house. Rani did not come. She was going to a class picnic with Shyamala. As my father’s white Fiat drove all the way to Banjara Hills and up the winding roads to Ranjan’s house, I felt a flutter of excitement.

‘Study hard and do not inconvenience Bose Mashi in any way,’ Baba warned me. I nodded, feeling anxious and happy as I wondered if Shubho would be home.

‘Rahul! Glad you made it.’ Ranjan ran down the steps to greet us.

My father drove away, the wheels scattering loose gravel, and Ranjan and I entered the house. His mother, Dr Bose, was at the door, looking businesslike and severe, as if she were still at work at the mental hospital. She was very proper, spoke little and only when necessary. I’d always found her rather unapproachable. She intimidated me because my mother was loquacious and expressed affection very easily. I wondered if Shubho was scared of his mother too. Dr Bose’s hair was pulled back tight in a bun and her glasses perched on her prominent nose, making her look beaky. As usual, she was dressed in a dull-coloured sari, unlike the bright colours my mother wore—it was like suddenly seeing in sepia instead of colour. And, though beautifully furnished, with lots of antiques, the house too was monochromatic and dark, with no respite for the eyes. Ranjan’s mother had brought everything from her ancestral home in Bengal and it was difficult to go anywhere without bumping into exquisitely carved and polished pieces.

I stood stiffly, on my best behaviour. The walls were covered with black-and-white pictures of grandparents, great-uncles and great-aunts, looking disapproving as they stared at me from the other world. Somehow, my Rajesh
Khanna shirt did not belong in that house. The dining room was gloomy too, its walls covered with dark teak panelling. The table in the centre of the room, usually set for four—Ranjan, Shubho and their parents—was massive and could seat ten people. The rooms upstairs were more cheerful though, with large windows and light-coloured walls. Ranjan and Shubho had their own rooms. I felt the urge to run to Shubho’s room and find him, but I controlled myself as I stood in the dim foyer.

‘Rahul, how nice to see you,’ Dr Bose said formally, sounding stiff. ‘How are your parents? It has been a long time since I saw them. And how is Rani? I thought she was going to come with you.’

‘They are fine, Mashi,’ I said. ‘Rani had to go for a school picnic.’

‘Would you like some nimbu pani?’

‘Yes, Mashi,’ I answered.

‘Ranjan, take Rahul to your room and start studying for the tests,’ Dr Bose instructed. ‘I hope you cleaned your room like I asked you to. I will be coming up to take a look at it later this morning.’ Dr Bose was very exacting with her sons. There was a penalty each time they disobeyed her.

As we stood up to leave the sitting room, Dr Bose said, ‘Ranjan, please try to learn something from Rahul today. He studies hard and comes first in class. You are never able to get past second place.’

I felt uncomfortable. I hated being compared to Ranjan.

‘Yes, Mum,’ he replied sulkily. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye to see if he was getting angry. He was—I could tell by the way his lower lip jutted out.

Dr Bose left to go into the kitchen to continue with her baking and Ranjan glared at her. Then he looked accusingly
at me and turned on his heel and walked up the stairs to his room. I followed, wanting to appease him. He grabbed me by the hand and pulled me in, shutting the door with a sharp click. Taking a look around, he took a deep breath and forced a smile. He said, ‘If Mum sees this, I will lose my pocket money this week. I have to clean this up first.’

I looked around. The room was a war zone. Books, clothes, magazines and shoes were piled up everywhere. The bed was unmade, and on the wall, even the pictures of Ranjan’s favourite cricketers were askew. It was as if a freak storm had gone through the room, scattering everything.

‘What happened here?’ I asked.

‘Oh, nothing. I had not cleaned my room for a week because Mum was out of town attending a psychiatric conference. And now she is back and I need to straighten it up.’ He added impatiently, ‘Come on, help me.’

We started tidying. In about half an hour, it was tidy enough to pass muster. Ranjan had been quiet all this while. I hoped he was not still angry because his mother had suggested that he needed to learn from me.