A Walk Across the Sun (26 page)

She led him to the rickshaw and gave the driver directions. After a short trip, they arrived at a wooden gate flanked by plane trees. Two uniformed watchmen let them into the property. Beyond the gate lay a garden of breathtaking beauty. The soft light of dusk framed the trees in silhouette. A circular lawn lay in the midst of the garden, and upon the lawn was a candlelit pavilion. At the center of the pavilion sat a young woman—the bride—in a yellow sari and a matching head scarf. An older woman wielding a tube of henna paste busied herself painting the bride's hands and feet with mendhi designs. Off to the side, a quartet of musicians serenaded them with Hindustani music.

Thomas stood inside the gate for a long moment. He saw the bungalow in the distance, situated in a grove of acacia trees. Its roof was tiled in terra-cotta, and its window shutters were open, inviting the breeze. Beside the house was a terrace dotted with guests.

“We called it Vrindavan when we were children,” Priya said, making reference to the enchanted forests in which Krishna had been raised.

He nodded. “I have a hard time imagining you growing up in this world.”

“Now you see why we left. My father would never have made his own name.”

“Are all these people part of your family?”

“No. Some are friends. But don't worry, I won't introduce you to all of them.”

Thomas smiled. “I'm okay so long as I can call all the guys Rohan and the girls Pooja.”

Priya laughed again. “Behave yourself tonight. First impressions are everything.”

He regarded her thoughtfully. “You know, it's been ages since we flirted.”

She looked away and grew quiet.

“I'm sorry,” he said, worrying that he had pushed too far, too fast.

“No,” she responded. “Don't apologize.”

Sensing her discomfort, he changed the subject. “Is your brother here?”

She gave a little laugh and the mood seemed to lighten again. “Abishek is on the guest list, but I doubt you'll see him. He's no doubt found some secluded spot to romance his new girlfriend. They've been inseparable for at least a month. All of us keep wondering when the novelty will wear off.”

“And your father?”

She pointed toward the terrace. “He's up there, holding court with the intellectuals.”

“In other circumstances, I would join him.”

She took a deep breath and tried to sound optimistic. “You'll enjoy talking to him once he warms up to you. You have a lot in common.”

“Too much, I think.”

She didn't respond. “Come along. My mother wants to see you.”

“Wait,” he said. “You told her about me?”

“She asked me about it when I came home on Wednesday. I couldn't lie to her.”

“And?”

“She has never objected to you, Thomas. She only wants me to be happy.”

“So it's your father alone I have to convince.”

She shook her head and looked into his eyes. “No. You only have to convince me.”

He spoke carefully. “Then why are we here?”

Pain flashed through her eyes, and he knew that he had miscalculated. He held up his hands, entreating her forbearance, but she spoke before he could.

“These people are a part of me. Things can't be different between us unless they are involved from the beginning.”

“You're right, of course. I didn't mean it like it sounded.”

She studied him for a long moment, and he wondered whether she was going to escort him back to the gate. Then she smiled again and the moment passed.

He followed her down the twisting path through the garden. They crossed onto the lawn and walked toward the pavilion. Surekha Patel sat on a cushion, chatting with her neighbors. She was dressed in a purple sari, and her hair was tied in an elegant bun. Seeing them coming, she excused herself.

“Priya, dear,” she said in accented English, taking her daughter's hand and strolling toward a tamarind tree on the edge of the grass, “isn't the music beautiful?”

“It is, Mama,” Priya replied, her expression subdued. “As is Lila.”

“She does make a lovely bride.” Surekha turned to Thomas, her expression inscrutable. “Welcome to Bombay. How do you find the city?”

“Fascinating in all respects,” he said, trying not to appear nervous.

“I suppose that is a compliment.” Surekha looked at her daughter and then back at him. “I do not blame you for taking Priya away from me. It was her decision, and I have always tried to understand it. Still, we are delighted to have her with us again.”

Thomas plunged in, feeling like a man and a coward at the same time. “I understand, Mrs. Patel. Six years ago, I traveled to England to ask for Priya's hand. Your husband was gracious, but he didn't give me his blessing. I should have persisted until he did.”

“You would have failed,” Surekha said. “You were not what he wanted for his daughter. You couldn't have changed his mind then.”

“And now?”

She looked away. “His mother is close to death. Perhaps he is different.”

“If he gives me a chance, I will earn his respect.”

Surekha nodded. “It is a worthy goal. But you must understand how difficult it will be. He has always been idealistic. When Priya was young, he told me that the man who married her would have to possess the character of Lord Rama. In Hinduism, Rama is a guiltless man.”

“Yes,” Thomas replied, “but even Rama questioned Sita's fidelity without cause.”

“It is true.” Surekha looked impressed. “Priya told me that you know our stories.”

“Not as well as I would like.”

“It is a beginning.” Surekha looked at him again. “Come along. I will introduce you.”

Thomas traded a glance with Priya as they walked toward the terrace. They climbed the steps to the veranda and turned toward a cluster of men ranging in age from twenty to seventy. A few were dressed in traditional
sherwanis
—long embroidered coats with matching pants—but the rest wore Western suits. Surya stood at the center, his distinguished face and silvered hair glowing in the firelight. His audience was silent, captive to his every word.

Surekha stood on the periphery, waiting for her husband to see her. At last he did.

“Pardon me, friends,” he said and slipped out of the circle.

He glanced toward Priya and stiffened when his eyes fell on Thomas. He walked to the stone railing, looking out toward the mendhi tent where Lila was receiving her adornment. After a moment, he turned around.

“Surya,” Surekha began, “your daughter has a guest.”

“I remember him,” Surya replied.

Surekha frowned. “Try to be nice, dear. They have made vows.”

“And neither of us was there to witness them,” he retorted.

Thomas bore the brunt of Surya's anger without surprise. Priya, however, was far less sanguine. Her eyes filled with tears and she began to tremble.

“Why have you come to Bombay?” Surya asked.

A cascade of thoughts passed through Thomas's mind, but only one answer seemed right. “I gave your daughter a ring,” he replied.

Surya bristled. “Against my wishes.”

“She gave me her hand.” Thomas felt the heat rising under his collar.

“Your morals confuse me,” the Professor replied. “You betray my trust and take my daughter from her family, and you attempt to justify it. This is the way of things in the West. The young have no respect for their elders.”

“I tried to honor your family,” Thomas replied. “I asked your permission. And you denied me. What was I supposed to do?”

Surya's eyes flashed and he balled his hand into a fist. “What were you supposed to do? What an infantile question! You were supposed to return to your life in the United States and leave her alone.”

“Baba,” Priya whispered.
“Please.
Don't
do
this.”

Surya turned to his daughter. His fist unclenched when he saw her pain. He looked back at Thomas, searching for a target.

“You can never know what it means to me, to Surekha, that Priya didn't have a proper wedding. You can never know what it was like for us when she had a child and we were not there to see her born.” Surya's voice broke. “Or to hold her before she died.”

For the first time, Thomas felt the true weight of Surya's pain. Two thoughts came to mind in opposition to one another. First:
The fact that he wasn't there is his own fault.
Then:
He's just trying to figure out how to deal with the pain.
Thomas stayed silent.

The Professor turned around and leaned back against the railing, crossing his arms. “Are you here to take her back to America?”

Thomas shook his head. “I'm here to work in Bombay.”

Surya stared at him. “Doing what, exactly?”

“I'm working with an NGO in the red-light areas.”

“Ah,” he exclaimed, “yet another Westerner who thinks he can fix all that is broken in India. My friend, you are neither the first nor the last to carry the white man's burden.”

Thomas simmered. He could handle the accusation of stealing Priya, but to be called a racist was infuriating. He considered walking out, but he knew it would be a defeat.

“What is broken here is broken everywhere,” he countered.

Surya was quiet and regarded Thomas through veiled eyes.

“And you feel you are contributing something with this work of yours?”

“We helped the Nagpada police take down a brothel on Monday night.”

Surya shook his head. “There will always be brothels.”

Thomas persisted. “We rescued a minor girl.”

Surya paused. “Well, good for you.” He looked across the terrace at the group of men he had left. “Pardon me, but I have friends to rejoin.” He kissed his daughter's forehead and purposely avoided his wife's eyes.

Thomas watched the Professor walk away and then turned to Priya, masking his anger. She was hugging herself protectively, her eyes on the ground. Surekha touched her cheek and gave Thomas a look that said,
“I told you it wouldn't be easy.”
She left them to attend to the other guests.

“I should go,” Thomas said when they were alone.

Priya nodded, not meeting his eyes. “This was a mistake,” she murmured.

Her words cut him, but he held his tongue. “I'll see you later,” he said and left the terrace for the lawn. He walked quickly through the gardens and out to the street. After five minutes, a taxi appeared and he climbed in.

“Take me to Churchgate Station,” he said.

It was then that he saw her standing at the gate between the watchmen. He held her gaze until the taxi pulled away from the curb and he lost sight of her. If she had come sooner, he would have said goodbye.

But the apology in her eyes was enough for him.

Chapter 14

The sky is overcast with clouds and the rain is ceaseless. I know not what this is that stirs in me—I know not its meaning.
—R
ABINDRANATH TAGORE

Paris, France

For Sita, Paris was a dungeon of suffocation and toil. The walls of the world closed in until nothing existed outside the restaurant and adjoining flat. Her work was endless and she was afforded no break. Navin's aunt, who insisted Sita use the term of respect “Aunti-ji” for her, reminded Sita constantly of her debt and showed no sympathy when the girl exhibited signs of exhaustion. Aunti-ji's commands were dictatorial: “Mop!” “Sweep!” “Scrub the floor!” “Scrub the stove!” “Clean the bathroom!” The quality of Sita's work was never satisfactory, nor did she ever finish fast enough.

She slept each night on the floor of the kitchen closet beneath used tablecloths. For reasons she couldn't understand, the heat that warmed the restaurant and the flat never seemed to reach the vent in the kitchen, and she was always cold. On occasion, she thought about escaping. But she was never left alone during the day, and at night Aunti-ji locked both doors to the kitchen using a key she kept on her necklace. Apart from the doors, the only exits from the kitchen were the heating vent and an exhaust vent over the stove, neither of which was large enough to accommodate her body.

One night the air in the closet grew so cold that Sita found it impossible to sleep. She shivered more violently by the hour and clenched her teeth against their incessant chattering. She kissed the little statue of Hanuman and bundled herself in tablecloths, praying for warmth, but by early morning she began to lose sensation in her toes. Reluctantly, she emerged from her cocoon to soak her feet in the sink.

The kitchen was as dark as the bottom of a well. She tripped over the mop she had left leaning against the refrigerator, and it fell clattering to the floor. She stood still, listening for the sound of footsteps. Auntiji had only slapped her once—when she spilled a bucket of cleaning solution in the bathroom—but she had threatened to beat Sita on countless occasions. Her heart raced when she heard a creak, but it came from upstairs.