THE MAGICAL PALACE (38 page)

When it became too painful to think about losing all this, I devoted time to my school books, grateful for the distraction.

March 1974. Hyderabad.

By March, I was preparing for the last round of tests, followed by final examinations. In the palace gardens, spring gave way to early summer. The scorching heat of the Hyderabad sun was back, silencing the birds by mid-morning. The mango grove was once again bedecked with the powdery, snow-white flowers.

At school, the afternoons were unbearable and the ancient British-era fans did little to alleviate our misery. We went in a daze from the annoying drone of Mr Swaminathan teaching civics in the torpid heat to the nasal speech of Mrs Desai explaining the difference between the Andes and the Appalachian mountain ranges—all of it was dreadfully boring. Only the history lessons kept me engaged—I devoured with fascination detail after detail of the kings and queens of medieval India.

Shubho was still the football captain, but I never spoke to him any more. Rani and I had stopped competing to see who was taller. It seemed childish and we did not argue like we used to. Asking my father for new trousers to replace my almost-new ones caused me more worry—I was outgrowing them rapidly. I had also started shaving once every week with my father’s fluffy shaving brush and razor blade and loved feeling the faint prickle of a stubble on my chin. My voice did not see-saw any more and had settled down into a surprising baritone that I was still not used to. I felt awkward in my new body.

In class, I was a loner. I discovered that it was safer to
be alone and have no friends because then I did not have to agree or disagree with anyone. It was easier to blend in when I said nothing. I guess I really started shutting down around that time. I still maintained my position in class, but had learnt to ignore the ribald jokes and jibes every time I scored high marks. I was much taller than before and had started filling out, so the bullies too were now turning their attention to easier prey.

I worried about Mallika constantly though, and was frustrated that no one seemed to be doing anything to help her. She rarely visited her parents these days. And when she did, we heard from Shyamala that she slept a lot. Any time we heard that Mallika was at her parents’ home, we made it a point to visit. Each time we saw her, she looked thinner than before. She had stopped wearing make-up and colourful clothes and her hair was no longer lustrous and thick. And there was very little conversation to be had with her—she seemed completely lost in her own thoughts. In the early months after her marriage, she had struggled and railed against her life and it had been horrible to see her so upset. But her current silence and apathy were even more distressing. It was as if she had given up on everything, even herself. Anjali Mashi and Binesh Kaku too had changed. Nowadays, they rarely left their house and did not socialize like they used to.

It was in the last week of March that Mallika visited her parents’ house after almost a month’s absence. I was appalled to see how wan she looked.

‘Mallika Didi, let’s play Snakes and Ladders,’ I suggested, trying to get her to act like her former self, even though I did not really feel like playing the game any longer.

‘All right, Rahul.’ Mallika sighed. She forced herself to
go through the motions of getting the game out. We sat in the kitchen while our mothers talked about this and that. Mallika seemed preoccupied as I set the game up.

I threw the first dice and moved my counter up a ladder.

‘Mallika Didi, your turn,’ I said gently.

She stared vacantly into space.

‘Mallika Didi,’ I said, louder this time.

She jumped and said with a flush, ‘Sorry, Rahul,’ and threw the dice. She moved her counter forward.

I wanted her to clap her hands each time she moved up the board and exclaim with mock disappointment when I did better than her, just like old times. But she did not seem to care about the game and it dragged forever. Finally, we finished. I had won.

‘Rahul, you are a much better player than me.’ Mallika smiled weakly.

I smiled back. ‘No, Mallika Didi, you are a better player than me.’ I bantered, hoping for a rejoinder. But to no avail.

Mallika did not offer to feed me my favourite tuar dal and basmati rice either, and my heart filled with disappointment. The old Mallika was gone, replaced by a gaunt and silent stranger.

Just as I was about to propose another game, she got up and said, ‘I am so tired. I am going to my room.’ She came over to me and gave me a long hug. I clung to her thin frame, willing silently for her to get better.

Mallika slowly walked up the stairs to her room, one step at a time. I heard the door shut with a click. I started putting the dice and board away.

‘What is the matter with Mallika?’ my mother asked Anjali Mashi.

‘Oh, Didi, I don’t know what to say! She is wasting away before my eyes. When I asked her about her marriage, she said everything was fine. And then she asked me if I really cared whether she was happy.’ Anjali Mashi’s voice broke, and she was quiet for a moment trying to regain her composure. She wiped the corner of her eyes with the end of her sari and the keys tied to it jangled harshly. ‘As if I don’t understand. But what can I do, Didi? I do worry about her. She hardly eats and does not talk much about her marriage any more. Your Binesh Dada wants her to make it work. But she has changed so much that I hardly recognize her. If suffering is in her destiny, no one can change that. I have to leave it all in the hands of Ma Durga.’

‘Yes, Anjali Didi. That is all you can do. I will try to talk to her as well.’

My mother went upstairs to see Mallika and shut the door behind her, leaving me in the landing, wondering what was going on. When she came out, she looked very serious.

‘Poor Mallika,’ my mother remarked to my father in the car.

‘Binesh is upset that she is not happy. He feels she is too independent and headstrong.’

‘I think Sanjib is a very difficult person. The girl is miserable.’

‘She must learn to adjust,’ Baba snapped.

The next day, as I was leaving for school, a team of men arrived. They were carpenters and they set about measuring the furniture.

‘What are they doing?’ I asked my father.

‘They are here to build crates and moving boxes for our furniture.’

‘What are the bales of straw for?’

‘To pack around the glass tabletop, the almirah and other breakable furniture. They will take measurements and then start packing everything in May. We will leave on 28 May, right after your final examinations are over.’

The thought of the impending departure was overwhelming. In less than two months, we would be leaving for Bombay.

The call from Rani’s headmistress a week later was unprecedented. I came home from school to find my parents standing on either side of a mutinous-looking Rani, whose hair was tangled and face and elbow were covered with scratches and bruises. The clear line of her fringe was uneven, her hair was tangled and her eye had been punched hard.

‘Chhee, chhee … What kind of behaviour is this? Is this how we raised you—to be a harridan?’ my father asked.

‘It was not my fault. Madhu Khosla was horrible to Shyamala, and I had to teach her a lesson. She deserved it!’

I was astounded. What could have made Rani so angry that she had fought Suresh Khosla’s sister? Rani, whose hair was always in place, whose pencils and pens were in mint condition and whose erasers were never misplaced—how could she have done this?

‘This is the first time you have been given a warning at school. What has happened to you children?’ Baba yelled angrily.

When Rani finally got away, I asked what had happened.

‘Madhu Khosla was gossiping about Mallika Didi.’

‘What did she say?’

‘She said that Mallika has a Muslim boyfriend even though she is married. I have no idea where this gossip is coming from. And then she said that you were a homo.’ Rani looked around to make sure our parents were not listening.

I looked away, trying to think of the right thing to say.
Anything that I came up with was sure to lead to more questions. But then, Rani surprised me. She reached over, took my hand and squeezed it.

‘I don’t care what those horrible people say,’ she said firmly, kissing me on the cheek. ‘I will gladly beat up anyone who says mean things about you.’ She pinched my cheek playfully, her eyes twinkling. ‘But I will always be stronger and taller than you!’

I looked at her in astonishment, unable to hide my smile. She looked like a hooligan, with scratches on her face and arms and a big bruise that was turning purple over her eye.

‘Rani …’

‘Yes?’

‘I … Oh, it doesn’t matter any more.’ I tried to swallow the lump that had formed in my throat. Trying hard to speak normally, I said, ‘Do you think it is a bad thing to be a homo?’

‘Depends on whom you ask. Oscar Wilde, Leo Tolstoy and Michelangelo were all homosexuals and geniuses. I know because we heard about it in class when we studied their biographies. Anyway, who cares about what is good and bad? Don’t you think that Mallika would have been happy with Salim? He was supposed to be a bad person. And look at the “good” match that they approved. Poor Mallika Didi! She should have just run away. I will run away too, rather than be married off to a boy like Sanjib.’ Her voice shook with anger.

I looked at her admiringly. She was almost sixteen now and appeared very confident and poised. I did not want her to suffer like Mallika.

‘I will never let them treat you like they treated Mallika Didi,’ I said, squeezing her arm.

Rani smiled. ‘All right, then. I stand up for you and you stand up for me. This way, they will be forced to deal with both of us. It’s a pact.’

‘Head promise,’ we both said with our hands on each other’s heads and burst out laughing.

‘So, tell me. Did you teach Madhu a lesson?’ I asked.

‘Oh, I gave Madhu quite a trouncing.’ Rani grinned. ‘And she retaliated by pulling my hair and scratching my face. The girls made a circle around us, cheering and screaming. We were rolling around in the dirt, hitting each other as hard as we could, when the headmistress interrupted us. I had to go to her office and was then sent home with a letter. But I don’t care. I am so glad we are leaving this small town with its small-minded people! I cannot wait to go to Bombay and wear what I want and do what I want. It is a different city, you’ll see.’

‘I wish the palace and the gardens did not have to be destroyed,’ I said, my heart aching.

‘Yes, that is a pity. But look around you—the palace is old. If the government does not want to save it, it will fall apart anyway.’

I looked around me and, for the first time, really took in the signs of age. Cracks were visible in the plaster and the floors were uneven. The outlets in the walls were old and outdated. Stains and discoloured patches showed where there had been water damage. Frayed electrical wires looped around the top of the walls. But it was still my precious palace and it did not deserve to be reduced to rubble, and replaced by cold machines and sterile walls. I turned away, sick at heart, feeling as if I had betrayed my friend.

That night, as I lay in bed, I replayed the day’s events. Rani’s positive take on homosexuality had been a big
surprise. But I also knew that she did not write the rules of conduct we were supposed to follow. If anything, it underscored the fact I would have to protect myself and my family from disgrace as long as I lived.

The dry summer storms came then, without warning. Yellow lightning streaked the sky, which roared with roll after roll of thunder. The tempests shook the trees until the mangoes fell. The ground was carpeted with shivli flowers, the bright saffron stalks, a stark contrast to the milky white flowers. The wind wailed. Rani and I snuggled in our beds, glad to be inside.

I stood first in the tests again. And then the final examinations were around the corner.

Sometimes, I would, from a safe distance, watch Shubho practise as he trained the new team, whistle in his mouth. Despite the way he had treated me, I still wanted him to touch me, to hold me again. I wished I could tell him his secret was safe—I knew that he would not tell anyone. He was as scared of discovery as I was. But he never came over to say hello to me and always left with his friends at the end of practice. And since Ranjan and I were no longer friends, I could not see Shubho at his home either.

April 1974. Hyderabad.

The next set of summer storms brought rains. The first clouds arrived, angry at being forced inland before their time.

‘Be careful. Do not let Rahul and Rani go to school without their raincoats. The monsoons are arriving early this week. I will be gone for three days.’ My father was going to New Delhi on a trip.

‘Don’t worry. We will manage just fine.’ Ma laughed.

The night my father left, the storm roared through the palace gardens in a fury. The windows shuddered and the winds lashed the branches of the old banyan tree, tearing young leaves from them. As electric-blue flashes illuminated the sky, the lamp posts in the garden flickered and then went out. The power surged and ebbed a few times. Finally, the waning voltage subsided and the lights went out in the palace too. I looked out at the garden from the veranda. It was pitch-black outside, the canopy of trees illuminated by split second snapshots of lightning. Creaks of protest erupted from the branches of the jamun tree as they rubbed against each other.

‘Rahul, what are you doing outside? Come inside at once! I cannot find the torch. Where are the candles?’

‘In the laundry room, in the top drawer in the hutch,’ I said to Ma.

She went around the sitting room, the dining room and the bedrooms, checking each door and window, making sure that everything was shuttered firmly.

‘Go to bed. It is late,’ she said to Rani and me.

There was little else to do. We changed into our nightsuits and jumped into bed, glad to be tucked in and safe. I could hear the faint crashing sounds from stray window shutters between the rolls of thunder. A lone candle flickered on the dresser in the bedroom and the flickering flame created exaggerated shapes and figures on the wall.