THE MAGICAL PALACE (27 page)

Colonel Uncle did not give any more details, but I knew he was talking about Claudio. A stab of worry shot through me. Was Colonel Uncle going to leave us again?

‘Are you going away again?’ I could hardly keep the panic out of my voice.

‘Listen to Rahul!’ My father laughed. ‘He does not want you to go, Colonel Sahib. He must be very fond of you.’ He patted my head affectionately and I pulled away, trying to save my hair.

‘You can always visit me anywhere I am in the world,’ Colonel Uncle reassured me.

‘Come, help me bring in the snacks,’ my mother said before I could respond. I followed her into the kitchen. She arranged the samosas stuffed with fresh coconut meat, some Parle biscuits and great mounds of upma on the plates.

‘I will carry the dishes out,’ I announced.

‘Yes, of course. Poor Colonel Uncle. All alone and a bachelor at his age.’ Ma sighed. ‘I know he will enjoy these snacks. I hope he has a cook who prepares his meals. Men of his generation are so useless in the kitchen.’ She was still convinced that Colonel Uncle was to be treated with a great amount of compassion and sympathy, almost as if he had only one leg.

I took the dishes out into the sitting room and, then, all of a sudden, heard the dreaded words.

‘Rahul does not play much sport, though he recently did join the football team. I hope he continues playing. I want
him to be the captain of the football team next year, just like I was at his age. He has more of an artistic temperament.’ Baba laughed self-consciously, as if to dispel his discomfort. ‘He is not like the other, typical boys of his age. I transferred him to Hyderabad Royal Academy to make him more of a man, but there have been some unsavoury incidents there lately. As the Trustee of the Board of HRA, you must have heard about that boy Amit Puri …’

I slowed my steps, listening to the conversation. So Colonel Uncle was on the Board of Trustees! This was news to me.

‘Yes, I did hear about the case. I cannot say I agree with the way it was handled.’

‘But Colonel Sahib, how else could they have handled it? I thought that the school would be a good environment for Rahul, but I am not sure any more. After all, ours is a good family and this kind of behaviour is unacceptable to all decent society. I heard the boy had been sent off to an institution to cure him of his illness with shock therapy. Sometimes, I think Rahul would be better off at a boarding school, but how do I protect him from such sickness in his environment?’

‘No, Chatterjee Sahib, do not remove him from home at such a young age.’

‘What to do? Nowadays, children are getting so many ideas. They do not respect and obey their elders like they used to …’ Baba broke off as he saw me approaching with the snacks.

I felt a wave of terror go through my body. Did my father suspect that I was different from the other boys? Was that why he kept talking about sending me to a boarding school? My letter to Rajesh Khanna came to my mind again and I
was relieved that Baba would never see it. Then I thought of how I good it had felt to touch Shubho, to be kissed by him … I deliberately put on a nonchalant expression.

‘Let him be,’ Colonel Uncle said. ‘I used to be like him too.’

I wondered if Colonel Uncle would still be on my side if he knew what I had done.

‘Arre, Colonel Sahib, I am sure you were quite the sportsman in your school. Careful, Rahul,’ my father cautioned as I gingerly laid the tray on the table, my arms trembling a little from the rush of anxiety.

‘Rahul is growing up to be a fine young man. He must make you all very proud,’ Colonel Uncle said with a conspiratorial nod to me. His eyes twinkled.

Ma joined us. ‘Please, Colonel Sahib, there is no formality. Do help yourself to more tea and snacks.’

‘Bhabhiji, how can I say no?’ Colonel Uncle took some more snacks on his plate.

‘So, Colonel Sahib, what are you going to do with the huge estate you have in Rajasthan?’ asked my father.

‘I will leave it to the Wildlife Society Trust,’ Colonel Uncle said. ‘There are so many rare species of birds and animals in the tracts of the forest—I want to make sure that they are protected forever. It is my duty.’

‘That is very generous, Colonel Sahib. But don’t you have any nephews or nieces that you can leave the estate to?’ asked Ma.

‘Oh yes, I have nephews and nieces. But they are greedy and will sell the trees to the highest bidders and destroy the land that has been in my family for centuries. So they get nothing,’ Colonel Uncle said firmly.

My parents looked shocked, though my heart swelled
with pride when I heard that Colonel Uncle was going to take care of the creatures that lived on his land. The conversation meandered on and I sat there with a big smile on my face. I was also very happy that Colonel Uncle had stood up for me.

‘Look at Rahul.’ My mother laughed. ‘I have not seen him so happy in a long time. Colonel Sahib, you must come again.’

‘I will, Bhabhiji. Thank you for inviting me.’

I smiled, delighted that Colonel Uncle was back from his trip. I did not feel so alone any more.

Too soon, his visit was over and he left amidst promises to visit again soon.

‘Rahul, visit me sometime when you are free. And do bring Rani with you too,’ he said to me as he left.

‘Rahul, you never told me that you have been visiting Colonel Uncle,’ Ma said half-admonishingly. ‘I will send him some food through you soon.’

‘He is a fine gentleman. I am sure he will teach you many things that he learnt in the military, like discipline and how to be a strong leader and a tough man,’ Baba said.

I was glad that I did not have to hide my friendship with Colonel Uncle any longer. I had no intention of telling them when I would go upstairs, however. That would be my secret.

For the next two weeks, the midterm tests kept me busy. I scored top marks this time, even in algebra. Durga Puja was only a fortnight away.

‘Well done, Rahul.’ Baba smiled as he saw my tests
results. ‘We can go this Saturday to buy fabrics for your new clothes.’

Since all our clothes would be tailored, we would also have to go visit our family tailor. We had already decided what clothes we would be getting that year. And then, finally, we would get to visit Mallika.

First we had to go to Khairatabad Market because my mother wanted us to get vegetables and meat. Parking the car by the wayside, we walked carefully, avoiding puddles of water and excrement.

We visited the vegetable section first. The vegetable sellers were too poor to own stalls. They sat by the roadside, a tattered piece of cloth covered with onions, potatoes, ginger, squashes, gourds, tomatoes and other vegetables in front of them. An unwelcome sight awaited us as we neared Mohammed, our favourite vegetable vendor. Mrs Khosla, planted firmly in front of him, was flapping her arms as she argued shrilly.

‘Nahin, nahin …’ She was disagreeing with Mohammed and cut him short as we walked up.

‘Namaste, Mrs Khosla.’ My father greeted her with folded hands.

Rani and I looked at her in dismay and revulsion.

Mrs Khosla’s cheeks quivered indignantly as she complained to my father: ‘Mr Chatterjee, this man thinks I am a fool. What do these low-class and dishonest people think we are? Rich? He thinks he can charge whatever he wants from us hard-working people …’ she broke off as she saw Rani and me approach. ‘Hello, Rahul and Rani. What has happened to your manners? Don’t you want to say namaste to your Khosla Aunty?’ She sounded hurt, as if
we were the best of friends. In a moment, the vicious tone returned as she turned to Mohammed to say, ‘Fifty paise a kilo. No more.’ Mohammed was stunned. He would barely break even at that price.

Annoyed, my father had already turned to us in embarrassment. ‘What has happened to you children? Don’t you know how to show respect to your elders?’

‘Namaste, Khosla Aunty,’ we chorused reluctantly.

Rani squeezed my hand in warning. Suresh Khosla had clearly inherited his mother’s beady eyes and scowl, along with her bad temper and meddling ways—I could see the resemblance.

‘Memsahib, jo marzi aye de do,’ Mohammed said, giving up the fight. He was tired of haggling with her. ‘Hum gareeb hain, aapki dua hain,’ he added softly.

Mrs Khosla was unmoved by his plea. ‘Fifty paise,’ she said again.

Mohammed sighed and placed the vegetables on one pan and the weights on the other.

‘Ruko, ruko.’ Mrs Khosla stopped him, asking him to show that the scales were not loaded.

‘Memsahib kya bharosa nahin karte?’ Mohammed said. He sighed again and removed the weights and the vegetables. Some vendors loaded their scales—not Mohammed, whose honesty made him Baba’s favourite vendor.

Mrs Khosla carefully watched Mohammed weigh the potatoes and place them in a bag made from old newspaper. She grunted as she took the bag and carelessly flung a fifty paise coin at him, turning away before Mohammed had completed his gesture of thanks. ‘I don’t know what this world is coming to,’ she grumbled to my father. ‘The prices keep going up all the time. We still have to feed our children,
no? And then there is the price of the books.’ She leaned in close to my father, demanding a response.

‘Yes, Mrs Khosla, what to do?’ Baba agreed, shrinking back as we smirked.

Warming up, Mrs Khosla blocked our access to Mohammed and proceeded to discuss other matters on her mind. ‘And then the education these days. I tell you, there is hardly any discipline. At least no one can say I did not raise my Suresh properly. Mrs Joshi, the principal, said that if it had not been for him …’ She paused and, looking at us, leaned over to my father and whispered something in his ear.

‘I know. I heard. If my son did something like that, I would not be able to show my face in public either. Chhee, chhee!’ Baba responded.

I knew what they were talking about. Had Suresh Khosla said something about me to his mother too? She would surely encourage him to make trouble for me. I nervously clenched my icy hands, praying that she would go away.

‘Well, Mrs Puri is never going to be in the PTA again. I am going to make sure of that,’ Mrs Khosla said with a virtuous nod of her head. I stared at her with burning resentment. The blackheads on her nose were showing through her make-up in the heat. She fanned herself with her plump hand, diamonds glittering on her rings. ‘I saw your children the other day, you know,’ she said. ‘With Mr Bannerjee’s daughter Mallika. I was surprised to see them alone with her. I don’t know if you heard, but …’ Mrs Khosla again lowered her voice and whispered something into my father’s ear.

I looked at Rani’s pale face. We were both wondering if Mrs Khosla was going to get us into trouble.

‘Oh no, no, Mrs Khosla,’ Baba said, shaking his head. ‘I
am sure Mr Khosla was mistaken when he saw Mallika in the college café. She is a very good girl and got married just a few days ago. No, she was not mixing with anyone of bad character.’

Disappointed that she had not uncovered any fresh gossip, Mrs Khosla looked at the diminutive watch encircling her fat wrist and exclaimed, ‘Oh, Mr Chatterjee! It is later than I thought. Don’t let these dishonest people cheat you. Always pay a fair price, no more, no less!’

I was relieved when she left, cutting a swathe through the crowd with her ample figure.

‘See how people talk?’ Baba said to us. ‘Always remember, if you do anything to shame our family, people will talk and we will have to hide our face in decent society.’

After paying Mohammed the price he asked, we left with our shopping bags full of the freshest potatoes, onions, sprigs of coriander and mint, ginger, garlic, green onions, hot green chillies and coconut.

‘I don’t want to go to the butcher’s shop,’ I said, remembering how horrible the carcasses had looked when I was there last.

‘You are a young man now, Rahul. It is time you learnt not to be squeamish,’ Baba insisted.

There were several stalls selling meat. A sawed-off tree trunk served as a chopping block in each stall. There were great iron meat cleavers on these blocks. Behind the butcher were rows of goat carcasses, hung by their hind legs. Depending on the portion requested, butchers reached behind them and carved off a section of meat. The tissue, lining and fat were still attached to the meat. I smelt the stomach lining and raw meat, freshly skinned, and felt nauseous.

‘I think I will vomit,’ I said as I looked upon a sight that I
would never forget. There was a line of severed goat heads— black, dappled, white and in other colours, with eyes that were black, brown or yellow—staring at me balefully, their mouths twisted in a frozen grimace of death. Then I saw some live goats tethered next to the butcher’s stall and got really upset.

‘What must those poor goats be feeling?’ I whispered to Rani.

She turned her face away and so did I while my father ordered some choice cuts. I knew I would not eat meat again.

And then we finally went to the fabric shop, where Rani picked out sequinned and embroidered silk while I had to pick out boring men’s prints.

‘It is not fair,’ I complained. ‘You have all the fun clothes.’

‘Why don’t you wear my frocks and pinafores?’ Rani laughed. ‘In fact, you should stay at home and cook in the kitchen with Ma, wearing a sari …’

‘Rani is right. Rahul, you must start behaving like a young man,’ Baba said, his mouth pursed in disgust. ‘Or else people will say things about you that no person should mention in decent society.’

If Colonel Uncle could help out in the kitchen, I could too, I thought smugly, even as I knew that if my father found out what I had been doing, he would be terribly concerned.

We drove to Charminar, the ornate gateway adorned with four minarets that had been built hundreds of years ago. The air was hot and polluted in this old part of Hyderabad. It was a Muslim neighbourhood. Our family tailor—wizened and stooped, with a pair of thick spectacles—lived here, as his family had for generations. He was happy to see us always and, after taking our measurements, promised to
tailor our clothes in the latest styles, as we had requested. By this time, I was beside myself with impatience to see Mallika. I wondered where Salim was at that moment. Did he know that Mallika was already married?