After the Storm (18 page)

‘She’ll get what she gets every year.’

‘And that is?’

Raven laughed. ‘A big hug and a kiss. She knows my wallet is always empty.’

‘You love her very much, don’t you?’

‘She’s all I’ve got,’ Raven said with a sigh. ‘She’s had a difficult life. First she was struggling to make her
marriage work. Then she was struggling to meet our needs. But luckily, all these struggles have not made her cynical.’

Mili nodded.

‘Now, let’s get back to our books, shall we? As I was saying, this book has an excellent commentary on how Milton’s bitterness on becoming blind and his gradual acceptance of his handicap are reflected in his writings …’

Picking up her pen, Mili started scribbling in her notebook. Raven reached out over the desk and touched the back of her hand with his finger. ‘Understood? It’s more important that you understand what I’m saying, rather than noting down everything I say.’

Mili stared at Raven’s finger touching her hand. She felt as though it was a red-hot iron nail and was burning a hole through her hand. An alien tingling sensation ran down her spine. She looked at Raven, perplexed. Unable to understand this new feeling, she hurriedly muttered, ‘Yes, sir, thank you, sir. I’m getting late, I’ve got to go.’ She gathered her books hastily and rushed out of the house.

Later that night in her room, as she sat at her desk leafing through the notes, her thoughts flew to Raven. Raven Sir – frowning at her; Raven – smiling indulgently at her; Raven – dancing, laughing, drinking; Raven – touching her hand and awakening feelings in her that hitherto did not exist. Was she falling in love with him? Hey Lord Kishan, was this love?

A flapping sound distracted her and she looked at the
lamp. A moth was fluttering around it, getting closer and closer to the light bulb, as though hypnotised by its glow. Just like she felt drawn towards Raven against her will. And if she dared get closer or fall in love, she’d get singed, destroyed. Just like the moth that now lay still on her table – quite dead.

Mili looked at all the doors that opened onto the main corridor of Kishangarh Club and frowned. Now, how would she know which one was the billiards room? ‘Card Room’, the first door read. She walked on to the next door. ‘Billiards Room’ it said on the door. She listened. She could hear the sound of cue sticks hitting the balls. She heaved a sigh of relief and walked in. There he was – Raven Sir. Bent over the billiards table, concentration furrowing his brow, about to hit a ball with his cue stick.

‘Madam,’ called out the doorkeeper as she entered the billiards room. Mili turned around to look at him. He was panting. Apparently, he had been running after her. ‘I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to leave. This club is exclusively for the English. Indians are not allowed,’ he said, pointing to a placard that stood near the door.

‘It says Indians are not allowed. But nowhere does it say princesses are not allowed,’ Mili coolly replied.

The doorkeeper gaped at her in confusion. Mili brushed past him and looked at Raven. He had straightened up and was looking at her in surprise. Mili realised everyone in the room had stopped playing and was now staring at her.

She watched Raven nod at the others and say, ‘She’s with me.’ He then excused himself from the game, caught hold of Mili’s elbow and led her out of the room.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked as they stepped onto the corridor and the door closed behind them.

‘Sir, the warden asked me to meet you, on my way home. Owing to some personal problem, she had to suddenly rush off to Shaampur.’

‘Oh no. Thank you for letting me know. I shall go to the hostel right away and make sure all the inmates are fine.’

‘Yes, sir, and sorry for barging in on your game like this.’

He looked at her with a crooked smile and a raised brow. ‘I noticed someone is becoming cheeky.’

‘Sir?’ Mili said, puzzled, a frown creasing her forehead.

‘I heard what you said to the doorkeeper. But I’m glad you’re standing up for yourself these days.’

‘I didn’t have to, earlier. Vicky used to do it for me …’ She looked down and chewed her thumbnail. ‘It’s hard to explain, but when you lose something that means the world to you, it makes you … unafraid … kind of. Because now you have nothing to lose.’

She looked towards the main door. She knew Raven was regarding her quietly. He raised his right hand. She
thought he was going to caress her cheek, but he let it fall limply by his side.

‘How did you get here?’ he asked.

‘My palanquin, sir,’ replied Mili.

‘Tell them to go. I’ll drop you.’

They had reached the gate of the club and Mili sprinted ahead to tell the doli-bearers to call it a night. Then she walked towards Raven’s car. Raven was already inside. The driver, Murli, held the back door open for her. After she was comfortably seated, he closed her door and slid behind the steering wheel. But he did not start the engine. Instead, he thrust a box of nukti laddoos in front of her and Raven and the aroma of cardamom filled the car.

‘Sahib, my wife gave birth to a boy yesterday,’ he gushed.

‘Congratulations, Murli,’ Raven said, picking up a laddoo and biting into it. ‘Mmm … very sweet. It looks hard, but when you bite into it, it’s actually quite soft.’ He turned to Mili. ‘Try one, it’s delicious,’ he said.

Mili swallowed. Then hesitantly picked one.

‘Come on, eat it,’ said Raven as he took another bite.

‘I can’t,’ she replied in a voice barely audible. ‘He belongs to a lower caste.’

‘What?’ Raven exclaimed.

Mili didn’t say anything and tried to bite the laddoo but couldn’t. One did not even shake hands with a low caste, let alone eat something given by them.

‘I’m disappointed with you, Malvika,’ Raven was saying, shaking his head. ‘A few minutes back you yourself were the victim of the discrimination between
the English and the Indians. And now you’re behaving in the same way. What do you call this?’

Mili hung her head. She brought the laddoo to her lips but found herself unable to bite into it. It was as though some invisible chains shackled her, and try as hard as she might, she was unable to break them. Just as she had been unable to enter Lord Kishan’s temple all those months ago. Perhaps it was because ever since she was little she had been told that the lower castes were dirty, untouchable, pariahs. Anything touched by them should not be eaten as it was defiled. She knew it was wrong to think in that manner and yet …

She sat in silence for the rest of the journey and quietly slid out of the car when they reached Mausi’s house. Rushing into her room, she flung herself across the bed and cried into her pillow. She didn’t know why she was crying. All she knew was she felt really small. What must Raven Sir think of her? That she was shallow? Narrow-minded? She would never be able to look him in the eye again.

Mili sat outside Mausi’s house, watching the little brook gurgling down the mountainside. During the monsoons it was thick and swollen and the waters made a deafening sound. But at the moment it looked like a thin silver line and the waters purred tamely.

Raising her face heavenward, Mili closed her eyes and breathed in the subtle fragrance of spring. She could smell the freshly cut grass, hear the birds chirping. Such a wonderful day it had been. That morning, Raven was taking their attendance as usual and had called out her name.

‘Malvika Singh.’

‘Present, sir,’ she replied.

Raven looked up from the register and raised his brows in surprise. ‘You have one hundred per cent attendance this term. I’m glad you’re taking your studies seriously. That reminds me – I was browsing through your essay on Milton. It’s brilliant. Well done.’

Mili smiled to herself as the words ‘it was brilliant, it was brilliant’ reverberated through her mind. Raven Sir had actually praised her work. She could scarce believe it. Especially after she had refused to eat the mithai the driver had offered – she’d been convinced Raven despised her. She hugged herself. She had not felt so elated in a long time.

A voice called her from behind – ‘Mili.’

She turned around with a start. It was Gurpreet. He waved and walked up to her. ‘You know Guruji? Our Congress leader in Kishangarh?’

‘Yes, what about him?’ Mili asked in a low voice, looking around to make sure Mausi hadn’t seen him.

‘I spoke to him this morning about you and told him you wanted to meet him. He has agreed to meet us after two days, but he’s not free until five in the evening, when we have our meeting.’

‘Oh, you mean, I will be able to attend one of your political meetings?’

‘Yes. He said his doors are always open for my friends.’

‘Why does everyone call him Guruji?’

‘Because he’s a teacher first, then a politician. He teaches Hindi and Sanskrit in our college. Didn’t you know?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘He’s a very learned man. And not only is he intelligent but he’s also a shrewd diplomat like Chanakya.’

‘Don’t tell me more or I’ll be too scared to meet this haloed Guruji of yours.’

Gurpreet grinned. ‘But don’t mention him to anyone or that I’m taking you to meet him.’

Mili nodded. ‘So what’s going to happen at this meeting?’

‘The party needs more funds, Mili. We’re going to discuss how we can raise some money.’

‘Wait here,’ said Mili as she got up. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’ She went inside the house and emerged ten minutes later with a box encased in red velvet.

‘But this is your jewellery. And a lot of it.’

‘Take it. I don’t need it. Not any more,’ she replied. She smiled as she remembered how some freedom fighters had been collecting money on Mohanagar railway station – when she and Vicky were about to board the train to Kishangarh – and how she had hidden her jewellery.

‘Guruji will not believe this,’ said Gurpreet, still amazed at Mili’s generous donation. ‘So is five o’clock in the evening all right with you?’

‘Of course it is.’

‘What about Mausi?’

‘I’ll make up some excuse about extra classes.’

‘That’s confirmed, then. After the meeting, we’ll go and have supper and then I’ll drop you back here.’

‘Yes, that sounds fine. Now go before Mausi sees you.’

‘It’s settled, then. So we have a date in a couple of
days. Be ready. I’ll pick you up at four-thirty sharp, from school.’

Date? Now where did that come from? He did say something about going for a meal after the meeting. But she hadn’t thought of it as a date. What was she to do? She couldn’t go on a date, she thought miserably, as she got up, dusted her clothes and went inside the house.

Raven looked at the doli and the palanquin-bearers waiting near the school gate and wondered who it was for. He walked into the library and was surprised to find Mili there. He had expected the library to be empty by now. ‘What are you doing so late? Aren’t you supposed to be home by now?’ he asked.

‘Quiet please,’ the librarian said, looking at them sternly.

‘Two minutes, Mrs Ferdinand,’ Raven pleaded.

Mrs Ferdinand nodded slightly and looked the other way.

‘Sir,’ Mili whispered, ‘I was just finishing some assignments …’

‘I hope that doli is for you?’

‘Yes it is. Sir, what is a date?’

Raven dropped the book he was holding. He looked at Mrs Ferdinand from the corner of his eye. She was watching him over the rim of her glasses, her lips a straight line. He mouthed the word ‘sorry’, then turned his attention back to Mili.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You know, a date, when a boy and girl go out together?’

‘Well, you just answered your own question. That’s exactly what a date is. A boy and a girl going out together, for maybe something as simple as a cup of coffee.’

‘Just that?’ She joined her hands and looked heavenward. ‘Oh Lord Kishan, thank you. Thank you.’

‘Why, what did you think?’ Raven asked with an amused smile.

‘Well …’ Mili shifted uncomfortably and avoided his gaze. ‘You know … what they show in the talkies …’

‘What
do
they show in the talkies?’

‘The boy goes to drop the girl home after the dinner, and then they kiss, you know, not on the cheek but right on the lips …’

Raven tried his best to keep a straight face and not smile. ‘Yes, do go on.’

‘Then she has to invite him to her house for coffee …’

Unable to control himself any longer, Raven burst out laughing. ‘So who has asked you out on a date?’ he said, still shaking with laughter.

‘Gurpreet was taking me to meet someone and then we might have dinner together, but …’

‘There’s no need to worry, little one. You don’t have to kiss him or invite him in for coffee if you don’t want to.’

Mili looked at him indignantly. ‘I’m not little any more. I’m going to be eighteen soon.’

‘My, that’s big,’ said Raven with a broad grin. ‘Go home now, before your aunt starts getting worried and sends out a search party.’

‘Yes, sir; good day to you, sir.’

‘Goodbye, little … I mean child-woman.’ Then he winked at her and watched her turn red with embarrassment.

It was May. The month when Kishangarh’s beauty was at its peak. Her voluptuous body was laden with all kinds of fruit – strawberries, kaafal, plums, peaches and apples – while her garish ghagra choli were resplendent with lilies, blue poppies, roses, anemones and dahlias.

Raven stopped to look at the placard that hung over the main door. ‘Vidushi weds Jatin’ it said. He entered the wedding hall with Gurpreet and a couple of other students. He spotted Jatin sitting on one of the special red chairs set aside especially for the bride and groom, at the top end of the hall, and walked towards him.

If he were to be frank, Jatin looked like a clown. His clothes – a silk kurta and pyjama – were fine. But the ridiculous pink turban and the jewellery and jasmine flowers hanging all over his face made him look silly.

But he was glad the nuptials were finally taking place. He’d heard that it had taken a lot of cajoling on Gurpreet’s part to get Jatin’s parents to agree to the wedding. For them, it was an indignity that their only son should be marrying a widow. More so since they were Brahmins, apparently the most revered caste amongst all the Hindus.

All eyes turned towards the entrance as Mili entered the hall slowly, holding Vidushi’s arm and leading her towards Jatin.

‘O balle balle, you’ve won the lottery, Jatin,’ Gurpreet said. ‘Bhabhi’s looking like an apsara.’

Jatin turned red.

‘Just look at him,’ said Gurpreet. ‘He’s blushing even more than bhabhi.’

‘Obviously,’ said Jatin’s mother. ‘After all, this is his first wedding, unlike her.’

But Raven barely heard what was being said around him or noticed the bride; he was so taken in with Mili. Most of the time he saw her in her drab school uniform and here she was in a beautiful peacock-blue sari, all woman. The sari as well as the matching puff–sleeved blouse seemed to shimmer when she walked. A friend whispered something in her ear and she started giggling. Raven smiled. It was such a pleasure seeing her laugh again. She had tied back her hair, which gave her an elegant charm. And she moved so gracefully that she almost seemed ethereal. Raven was spellbound. He could not tear his eyes away from her. She saw him looking at her, blushed and looked away.

They did not get the chance to speak much that evening, but throughout the wedding his eyes sought hers. With great difficulty he tore his eyes away from her and looked at the bride and groom. They were about to exchange garlands.

‘Jatin, lower your head, Vidushi can’t reach,’ Mili was saying.

‘No, Jatin, no,’ said Gurpreet. ‘If you lower your head today, you will be bending to bhabhi’s wishes for the rest of your life.’

Raven chuckled as Jatin paid no heed to his friend and bent his head to enable Vidushi to put the garland around his neck. He smiled again as Mili clapped her hands and stuck out her tongue at Gurpreet.

Dinner was soon served. Jatin’s mother was still in a sulk. She stood in a corner, a permanent scowl on her face. Raven walked over to her and tried to persuade her to have some food.