After the Storm (5 page)

On the last night at the palace, Ma had come to her at bedtime, followed by Bhoomi, carrying a glass of milk.

‘Ma, I’m not a kid any more,’ Mili had protested.

Ma lovingly pulled her cheeks and said, ‘Mili, let me fuss over you while I can. You will go away tomorrow. Then who am I going to spoil?’

‘Ma, don’t say such things. I’ll get all mushy,’ said Mili.

‘Remember to have milk twice a day at the hostel as well,’ said Ma. ‘And don’t start drinking tea or coffee like Vicky. Otherwise my fair and beautiful girl will become dark. Then how will we find a suitable boy for her?’

Tears rolled down Mili’s cheeks.
Oh, Lord Kishan, you have no idea how much I’m missing Ma
. She buried her chin in the rough, scratchy blanket and tried to get some sleep.

A noise woke her up. It was the fan. It was whirring slowly. Then faster. And faster. The room began to turn icy cold as it rotated faster and faster. A cold chill ran down her back. Her teeth began to chatter and she shivered from the cold. And yet the fan continued to move faster. And faster. And then it fell on top of her. Her eyes flew open. She sat up.
Thank you
,
Lord
Kishan, it was just a dream
. She leant over and shook Vicky hard.

‘What is it?’ Vicky mumbled sleepily.

‘The fan. It’s weird. Scary. I think it’s haunted.’

‘Stop talking nonsense, Mili,’ said Vicky, going back to sleep.

Mili lay back and looked at the fan again. There was definitely something sinister about it.

The next morning Mili sat on her bed, looking woefully at her bare arms. They had never been bare before. Not since she was a week old and Grandma had put two silver baby bracelets on her arms and silver anklets on her feet. She missed the way her bangles would clink each time she moved her hands. As for the drab school uniform, she almost gagged when she first saw it. Grey skirt, white blouse, grey cardigan and grey socks. And the thought that she had to wear it every single day had left her feeling quite desolate. Why, choosing what to wear and selecting jewellery to go with it used to be the high point of her day.

She tugged impatiently at Vicky. ‘Get up, Vicky. It’s Thursday. I want to go to the temple and ask Lord Kishan for his blessings.’

There was no response. Mili tugged at Vicki once more.

‘Let me sleep,’ mumbled Vicky. ‘I’ll see you in class.’ And she buried her head under the blanket.

Mili threw a last look at Vicky as she left the room. She crossed the road with trepidation. Although there wasn’t any traffic other than a few mountain goats,
led by girls in long Gypsy skirts and ponchos, she was still scared. She had never ventured out alone before. Beads of perspiration covered her forehead as she came to a wooden bridge over a stream. It was held together by thick, strong ropes. Halfway across, she paused and looked around. She could see the temple now. Its mammoth roof, in the shape of an upturned cone, dominated the surroundings. The stream culminated in a waterfall just behind the temple. Its roar was deafening and Mili could barely hear the temple bells. And yet peace reigned supreme. Just Mother Nature, Mili and her god. So unlike the temples in Mohanagar – always noisy, crowded and squalid.

She remembered the time when she had gone to the Radha-Kishan temple with her cousins. She was thirteen then. Her aunts, uncles and cousins had come to Mohanagar for the summer holidays. She was about to run up the steps when Ma pulled her aside. ‘You can’t go inside the temple,’ she hissed. ‘You’re menstruating.’

‘So?’ Mili said, hands on her hips.

‘You are not allowed in the temple at this time of the month. Wait here near the steps till we get back.’

‘What happened?’ Chachi enquired. Ma whispered something in her ear. Chachi looked back at her and nodded.

Neelima, her nine-year-old cousin, tugged the edge of her mother’s sari. ‘Why isn’t Mili coming?’ she asked.

‘You’ll come to know in a couple of years,’ her mother replied.

Mili lowered her eyes as Neelima looked at her
quizzically while the other children raced ahead to ring the temple bells.

She had stood there – at the bottom of the steps, alone, feeling like a sinner when she wasn’t one, eyes brimming with tears and cheeks and ears red with embarrassment.

She now took a deep breath. The air was cool and fresh and she felt her spirits lifting with a new taste of freedom. No silly age-old custom was going to stop her communion with her god today. She took off her shoes and entered the spacious courtyard. A statue of baby Kishan in a crib, eating a ball of butter, stood in the centre of the courtyard. She shivered. The temple floor was made of white marble and felt like ice. She was glad the floor was clean and dry. How can one pray when one’s feet are cold
and
wet?

At the entrance of the inner sanctum, she raised her right hand to ring the temple bell, when something stopped her. Ma, Chachi, Neelima – they were all looking at her and shaking their heads in disapproval. Mili pulled her hand down quickly. The smell of incense, camphor and dhoop emanated from the inner sanctum. She looked at the life-sized marble statue of Radha and Kishan. Lord Kishan was playing on his flute. The priest was ringing a bell with one hand and performing the arti with the other. She joined her hands and closed her eyes. The priest had seen her and was beckoning to her to come forward and accept the prasad. But she could not take a single step forward. As though her feet were bound in heavy chains.

She felt ashamed of herself. Would she never be able
to break free of these illogical beliefs and customs? She wished she was like Vicky – she always did as she wanted, without the slightest care.

Mili turned back and fled and did not stop running till she reached the gates of STH.

Vicky was waiting for her at the main entrance.

‘What took you so long?’ she hissed as the two of them sprinted towards their classroom.

‘Whose class is it?’ Mili asked, panting.

‘English. Some Prof. Raven. He’s a new teacher I’m told,’ replied Vicky.

The two of them stole a glance at Prof. Raven from the door. He was buried in some papers and did not notice them. Mili and Vicky slunk to the back of the class and took their seats.

‘Thank goodness. He didn’t see us,’ whispered Vicky.

Raven looked up. ‘You two,’ he said, pointing at them. ‘Stand up, please.’

‘Oh no,’ Vicky groaned as she and Mili stood up.

‘What are your names?’ Raven asked.

‘Victoria Nunes,’ Vicky replied.

‘Malvika Singh,’ Mili said in a small voice.

‘You’re late,’ chided Raven, waving a finger at them. ‘Please don’t make this a habit.’

‘Yes, sir; sorry, sir,’ said Mili and Vicky in unison.

As they sat down, Vicky asked Mili, ‘What happened to your hair today? It looks like a sparrow’s nest.’

‘How should I know? I’ve never done it before. Bhoomi always did it for me,’ replied Mili. She glared at Vicky as she giggled, then opened her book. She looked
at Raven. He now stood in front of the class on the rostrum, his sleeves rolled up and his top button open. He was addressing the class. ‘… and what sets our school apart from the rest of the schools in the country are our excellent facilities – not only is our library stacked with copies of the latest edition, but it is also open all hours …’

Mili’s mouth fell open as she realised something. She tugged at Vicky’s sleeve and whispered, ‘Vicky, he’s the same handicapped man we saw the day we arrived … But today he’s standing on his own two feet.’

‘You’re right,’ replied Vicky. ‘What the devil …’

Raven stopped speaking and looked at Vicky. ‘Is there a problem?’ he asked.

Vicky stood up. ‘No, sir. We saw you on Sunday, on crutches, and thought … you …’

‘That I was a cripple and, to your immense disappointment, I’m not?’ said Raven.

‘No, sir. I meant …’ Vicky’s voice trailed off.

‘I was in an accident a few months back. One of my many injuries was a smashed knee. The plaster was cut some days back.’

‘But, sir, the crutches?’ said Mili.

‘I had to use them for some days after the plaster had been removed,’ replied Raven. ‘Now, if your curiosity has been satisfied, shall we get back to our books?’ He raised his eyebrows questioningly at Mili. ‘You have already disrupted our class twice today.’

Mili looked down, her cheeks crimson. The entire class was looking at her. Without looking up she nodded
her head and muttered, ‘Yes, sir.’ She felt humiliated and could feel her ears turn hot and scarlet. How dare he scold her in front of the whole class? She had never been admonished in front of everyone before. Not even by Bauji.

That evening, after class, Gurpreet and Jatin scurried to Guruji’s house, which lay in the valley, hidden by a clump of deodar trees. They stepped aside as four Bhutias carrying a doli huffed past.

‘Did you hear, the British merchant ships have taken a heavy toll in the war?’ said Gurpreet, looking at Jatin.

Jatin nodded. ‘Yes, I read in the newspaper this morning.’

‘I still don’t understand Gandhi’s stance of not attacking the enemy when they are embroiled in battle with another. They are our oppressors, after all. Whoever waits for the enemy to become strong and then attack? It’s ridiculous.’

‘Preeto, Bapu’s thinking is beyond the comprehension of thickheaded sardars like you,’ Jatin chuckled.

Gurpreet was about to box Jatin but they had reached Guruji’s ramshackle cottage and Jatin was already
knocking on the door. He ran a hand over his stubble and pulled a face at Jatin. A young lad dressed in a khadi kurta, pyjama and a waistcoat like himself answered the door.

‘Is Guruji there?’ Gurpreet asked.

‘Yes,’ answered the lad. ‘In the prayer room.’

Gurpreet and Jatin entered the prayer room quietly, as the smell of dhoop, incense and roses greeted them. Guruji was seated on a sort of a rostrum which was covered with a white sheet. He held the holy Gita in his hands. In front of him was the statue of the Hindu god Krishna. A small earthen lamp flickered before the statue, throwing a warm yellow light on his face. Some thin carpets covered the floor of the rest of the room, which were in turn covered with white sheets. About thirty men and women were seated there, heads bowed, listening devoutly to every word that was being uttered.

Guruji was reading passages from the Gita. ‘Don’t worry about the fruit of your labour. Just keep working …’ He paused and looked at his audience. ‘And your work right now is to free your motherland from the yoke of the oppressive British Raj …’ he continued.

Jatin took off his shoes and sat down at the back of the room.

Gurpreet, however, went up to Guruji and touched his feet. Guruji gave him his blessings, then turned back to his audience. ‘I think that’s enough for today.’ He folded his hands and said, ‘Hare Krishna.’ Immediately there was a buzz as everybody got up, muttered ‘Hare Krishna’ and began to leave the room. Jatin came forward and stood next to Gurpreet.

Guruji smiled and nodded at him, then patted Gurpreet’s shoulder.

‘Bhai Gurpreet,’ Guruji said, shoving a paan in his mouth as he spoke.

‘Yes, Guruji?’ asked Gurpreet.

‘How’s work in the college?’

‘It’s going well. I think I’ve won the support of most of the new students.’

‘Good. I knew you’d do it. And don’t forget …’ he paused to spit out some of the betel juice, ‘next time you speak to them, don’t forget to mention how our boys have been beaten and put behind bars without any trial, for carrying out a peaceful procession.’

‘I definitely will, Guruji. My blood boils when I think of the injustice of it all.’

‘After all, what are we asking these Angrez for?’ said Guruji. ‘To give up the administration of our country. That’s all. After all, this country belongs to us, it is our birthright. We are the citizens of this country, we live in this country, hence we want to govern it ourselves. That’s all we want.’

‘You’re right, Guruji,’ replied Gurpreet.

Some men walked into the room carrying bags and wooden boxes. They looked at Guruji and then at Gurpreet and Jatin.

‘It’s all right,’ Guruji said. ‘They’re one of us.’

The men nodded and pushed aside the rug on which Guruji’s disciples had been sitting a few minutes ago. They lifted a few logs off the wooden floor. Then they began emptying the bags and boxes. Jatin’s mouth fell open as he watched them hiding guns, rifles, dynamite,
bombs and other explosives into the cavity between the wooden floor and solid ground.

Gurpreet’s eyes glittered as he picked up a rifle and ran his hand over its cool barrel.

‘Guruji, these bombs?’ Jatin uttered. ‘Gandhiji would not approve …’

‘Son, let Gandhiji do his work and let us do ours.’

‘But Gandhiji says non-violence—’

‘Non-violence means not hurting anyone. Rest assured these weapons are merely for cutting off the firangi lines of communication.’

But Jatin did not look convinced by Guruji’s explanation. Gurpreet patted his friend’s back and smiled reassuringly at him. Jatin did not smile back. Gurpreet looked at him thoughtfully. He knew the sight of all those arms and ammunition had shaken him. He watched him as he took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow with it. He always carried a white, starched, ironed hanky with him in his pocket. He was a shy, reticent fellow, his Jatin. So quiet that Gurpreet would have never known of his existence had it not been for the scuffle they had after their history exam last year.

Guruji drew Gurpreet and Jatin aside. ‘You know, Jatin,’ he said, ‘a lot rests on your shoulders. You, the youth of today, are going to achieve India’s independence. Do you know why?’

‘Why?’

‘Because you have nerves of steel. You have the zeal and courage that none of these leaders like Gandhi and Nehru have.’

Gurpreet gave Jatin an amused smile as he watched him look at the weapons and swallow. Jatin and nerves of steel! He wouldn’t exactly call them that … He slapped his friend across the back.

Jatin groaned. ‘My back’s broken. Why can’t you keep your hands off me?’

‘You’re as frail as a girl. Come home and have some lassi. It’ll make you stronger.’

They left Guruji’s house and walked in silence for a while.

Jatin finally spoke. ‘I’m not sure I want to be a part of all this,’ he said.

‘Look, Guruji did say the weapons will never be used to hurt any living being,’ said Gurpreet.

‘How is that possible?’ said Jatin. ‘Where there is ammunition, someone is going to get hurt, sooner or later. It’s like saying, “This is a pet tiger. Put your hand inside his mouth, he won’t hurt you.”’

‘Come, yaara, you’re overreacting,’ said Gurpreet, putting his arm around his friend.

Jatin shrugged his arm off. ‘No, Preeto. I think I should quit this movement. My parents don’t know that I’m involved in this struggle for freedom. We’re a simple middle-class family. They’ll be shocked if they come to know.’

‘Don’t quit right now. Give it some time.’

‘If you say so,’ replied Jatin. He shook his head. ‘But I feel very apprehensive about the future. As though something not quite right is going to happen. I can already feel the knots in my stomach.’

They fell silent again. Gurpreet let out a deep sigh. He
did not know how to convince his friend. Who knows? He might turn out to be right after all. Only time would tell.

Mili loved the smell of libraries – of musty old books and printing ink. Raven Sir was right. The school library seemed to have a copy of every single book ever written.
Lucy Poems
…
Lucy Poems
… William Wordsworth … where was it? Ah, there it was, hiding behind all the other books. Mili pulled it out and went and sat next to Vicky in the reading room. Vicky nudged her with her elbow and pointed to the far end of the table. Mili looked at her and then at the chair that Vicky was pointing at. Apart from some books, an open register and a black coat flung across the back of the chair, Mili could see nothing.

‘Guess who’s sitting there?’ whispered Vicky conspiratorially.

‘Who?’

‘Angel. I saw her in that coat. Two days back. She was making fun of your name in class? I’ll teach her a lesson.’

‘What are you planning to do?’

‘You sit here. Warn me if you see her coming.’

Mili watched Vicky tiptoe to Angel’s chair. Angel had made herself very much at home, for she had not only taken off her coat, but her shoes as well. Mili giggled as Vicky put a couple of pieces of orange, that she had sneaked out of the refectory that morning, in each of Angel’s shoes. Then with a demure face, barely able to conceal her giggle, Vicky came back to her chair. Mili hid her face behind
Lucy Poems
and waited.

She sat up straight as she saw Prof. Raven approach the reading room. He was reading something as he walked towards their table. Without looking up, he pulled out the chair with the black coat and sat down.

With a look of horror, Mili pulled at Vicky’s sleeve. ‘Vicky, those weren’t Angel’s shoes,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t you know the difference between a man’s shoes and a woman’s?’

‘Oh no! But I wear them sometimes. Men’s shoes. They’re more comfortable …’

‘We’ve had it now. Hey Lord Kishan, hey Kanha – what’s going to happen?’ groaned Mili, biting her thumbnail.

A few minutes elapsed. Mili watched over the top of her book as Prof. Raven looked at the watch, then put his feet in his shoes. She heard a soft squelching sound and saw a look of surprise on Prof. Raven’s face. He pulled out his feet and looked at his shoes, his eyes widening with bewilderment.

‘Orange? I don’t remember putting them in my shoes,’ he muttered, scratching his head. He looked towards Mili and Vicky.

Mili quickly ducked behind her book.

Prof. Raven was looking at his shoes again. Then with a loud, ‘What the hell …?’ he chucked the squashed orange bits in the bin. He then put on his shoes which were now squeaking like a toddler’s rubber toy. Mili covered her mouth with her hand to suppress her laugh. She watched him as he put on his coat, gathered his books and papers and threw a suspicious look at her and Vicky, before shaking his head and leaving, his shoes
squeaking with every step he took. As soon as he was out of hearing, Mili and Vicky threw down their books and burst out laughing.

Two months had elapsed. Mili was gradually settling down in school and getting used to not having servants to pick up after her. She looked around at the spacious school hall. They had been asked to assemble in the hall this morning instead of the classroom. All the students got up as Prof. Raven walked in. He was engrossed in conversation with an English lady.

‘What?’ asked Mili as Vicky nudged her with her elbow.

‘Who do you think she is?’ Vicky whispered.

Mili looked at the woman in question. ‘She must be his fiancée,’ she replied.

‘Poor girl. She doesn’t know what she’s marrying,’ giggled Vicky.

‘Shh,’ hissed Mili as she saw Prof. Raven looking sternly in their direction.

Raven clapped his hands to quieten the students. ‘Today we have with us Miss Gonzales, who runs a theatre group in London. She’s on a tour of India and has kindly agreed to put up a performance for us.’ There was a sudden buzz in the hall as everyone started talking to each other. Raven raised his hand and there was silence again.

‘But before that, one quick question. Does anyone know anything about Vidushi? It was brought to my notice this morning that she hasn’t come to school for almost a month. Anyone?’

‘Sir, her husband died,’ answered Urmila. ‘She’s in the ashram.’

‘What?’ said Raven. ‘I didn’t know. Can you give me the details after class?’

‘Yes, sir, I will,’ replied Urmila.

‘All right, class,’ said Raven. ‘Please welcome Miss Gonzales and her troupe with a round of applause.’ So saying he moved to the back of the hall and the curtain on the stage began to rise.

Mili watched the adaptation of Shakespeare’s
Romeo and Juliet
with fascination.

‘Do you think he’s going to kiss her?’ Vicky whispered as Juliet sighed and Romeo took her hands in his.

‘I hope so,’ Mili tittered.

‘What the devil!’ Vicky exclaimed as Romeo brought his lips close to Juliet’s.

‘Keep it down, Vicky,’ said Mili. ‘Sir is getting cross. He’s staring at us.’

‘Let him. He can’t eat us up. Can he?’ replied Vicky.

After the performance, Prof. Raven walked up to the front of the hall and called out to Mili and Vicky, ‘Stand up both of you.’

Mili gulped as she stood up and bit her thumbnail.

‘Why were you two talking and giggling during the show?’ His eyes were flashing like smouldering pieces of coal. ‘For Christ’s sake, you are in Junior Cambridge. You’re not little children.’

Hanging her head, Mili looked sideways at Vicky.

Raven thrust his hands in his pockets and carried on his tirade. ‘When are you two going to grow up?’ He now looked at the other students. ‘Remember, class,’
he said, ‘I will not tolerate this sort of behaviour. You are in Junior Cambridge, the second most senior class in school; behave like seniors.’ With that he left the hall.

Vicky pulled a face. ‘He didn’t have to scold us in front of the whole class,’ she sulked.

‘Actually, it
was
our fault,’ said Mili quietly.

‘Now, don’t you start …’ replied Vicky. ‘He should have been named Rav
an
, not Rav
en
,’ she added as she stomped out of the hall.

Mili followed her.

‘Why are you coming after me? Go to your Raven Sir,’ said Vicky, pulling a face and mimicking – ‘Raven Sir, Raven Sir …’

‘Vicky, I’ve got an idea,’ Mili sniggered. ‘Come with me.’ Snatching Vicky’s hand, she ran towards their classroom. She peered into the room from the window. It was empty. ‘Tell me if you see somebody coming, all right?’

‘All right,’ Vicky replied.

Picking up a piece of chalk, Mili started drawing on the blackboard. ‘A nice oval face,’ she said as she drew an oval shape on the board. ‘A broad forehead … with three lines creasing it …’ She drew three curly lines across the forehead. ‘Thin, long nose …’

‘That looks like Raven Sir,’ said Vicky excitedly. ‘Make the nose longer,’ she added and laughed loudly as Mili drew an exceptionally long nose. She then drew another face. This one had a very small button nose. Then another. This one had a tiny moustache. Then another face. And another. Until there were ten faces attached to one another, staring down at them.

Mili finished her handiwork by writing the words ‘RAVAN Sir’ underneath the drawing. Then she stood back to admire her work.

‘That’s for scolding us in front of the whole class,’ Vicky announced with satisfaction.

‘We’d better run before someone sees us,’ said Mili. Giggling hysterically, the two girls left the room, almost bumping into Prof. Raven in the corridor.