After the Storm (22 page)

‘I may not see you again. I’ll ask Mausi to have it sent back to you.’

She realised Raven wasn’t listening. His eyes lingered on her lips before reaching her eyes. ‘Go, my
child-woman
,’ he finally whispered, wrapping his arms tightly around her. ‘Whatever you decide, soar high, do me proud,’ he whispered hoarsely.

Mili’s eyes glittered with unshed tears. She swallowed. ‘I promise,’ she said in a choked voice. She raised her eyes to his. What she saw in them frightened her. There was passion and something else that she did not wish to read.

Then before she realised what he was doing, his rough lips were crushing hers. She clung to him as he kissed her long and hard, and wished it would never end.

Just as abruptly, he let go of her. Roughly pushing her aside, he went back to his desk, sat down and opened a file. ‘Go now,’ he said with a wave of his hand. ‘I’ve work to do.’

Mili lowered her eyes, nodded and left the room.

She knew Uday was waiting for her in the car. But she had to go there – one last time. She sprinted round the back of the hostel building to the mound. She
remembered how happy and excited she and Vicky had been when they had got admission to study here. She sat down on the mound. Like she used to with Vicky. And wept. For Vicky. For all that they had shared. And then she cried for herself. For a love that would never know fulfilment. Because she would never see Raven again.

It was Janamashtami. Her Lord Kishan’s birthday. There had been a lot of hustle and bustle in the palace since morning. The priest and his helpers were busy decorating the family temple. They were recreating the scene of Kishan’s birth – a prison cell where Lord Kishan’s mother and father sat huddled and shackled. Across the inner courtyard of the temple ran a zigzag piece of blue silk – the River Yamuna. And on the river a statue of Kishan’s father, Vasudev, carrying baby Kishan on his head in a basket and the snake god forming a hood over baby Kishan, to protect him from the torrential rains.

Mili sniffed the air as the smell of sweetmeats and savouries emanated from the kitchen. She usually partook of the preparations with full enthusiasm, but this year she watched from afar. She was at home, in her room, in her palace in Mohanagar, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Why had Raven not tried to stop her when
she had gone to say goodbye? Or said that he loved her? She would have never left Kishangarh if he had.

It was foolish of her to have such expectations. She loved him with every part of her being, she thought of him every waking moment and perhaps even when asleep. But for him, she was just another student. It was time she woke up to that fact and stopped yearning for something that was never there in the first place.

But why did he kiss her, then? If he didn’t have any feelings for her? Why? Why? Would her questions ever be answered? It didn’t matter. Like hell it didn’t. All she knew was, even though her love would never be reciprocated, she would always hold him close to her heart. Always.

So then, was this really the end? Would she never see him again? The thought filled her with despair and a longing so deep …

She looked at her dolls that sat glumly, piled up in a corner of her room, at her bright-blue rocking horse, at her wooden toy utensils. She was back from Kishangarh, back to where she had lived all her life. But it did not feel like home any more. She felt a strange kind of detachment. Nothing felt good, nothing felt right. Would she ever know happiness again?

Ma walked into the room. ‘You’re not yet dressed? Your cousins will be here any minute.’

Mili hid her face in her mother’s bosom. And as the soft folds of her sari engulfed her, she burst into tears.

‘Mili?’ Ma said tenderly. ‘What happened, my child?’

‘Nothing, Ma,’ sniffed Mili, swiping at her tears. ‘I just feel like howling. No reason … at all.’

Ma held her close. She caressed her head, then gently kissed her on the forehead. ‘Hush, my child,’ she whispered. ‘Everything will be all right. Now that you’re back home, it’s all going to work out fine.’

Mili nodded. ‘Where’s Mrs Nunes?’ she asked, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief that Bhoomi had timidly handed her.

‘She’s gone to Kerala to finalise the date for her daughter’s wedding.’

‘I want to meet her when she gets back.’

‘Yes, do that. And now put on that lovely smile of yours … That’s better. And wear some jewellery. It doesn’t bode well for a princess to have a bare neck and bare arms on a festival.’

So saying, she began rummaging through Mili’s jewellery box. ‘Here, wear this,’ she said, holding up a rainbow-coloured necklace.

Mili smiled. One day when she was little it had been raining hard. And the sun was also shining – that’s the time, they say, when jackals get married and rainbows appear in the sky. It was the first rainbow Mili had ever seen and it was beautiful. She wanted it. Ma summoned the jeweller and ordered a special necklace for her. It had rubies, amethysts, panna, sapphire … all the colours of the rainbow.

And Mili used to love it. She wore it even to bed for a month. She smiled again and ran her fingers over the jewels. She’d keep this one, yes, but she’d give the rest of her jewellery away. Just as she had given some of it to Gurpreet, in Kishangarh. She had no need for it now.

It was almost a month since Mili had come back home from Kishangarh. She sat on her bed as Bhoomi brushed her long hair. There was a faint scent of moist soil seeping into the room from outside. The rain was beating down on the window in gentle sprays. The leaves of the rhododendron tree and the amaltas were a brilliant green. A little sparrow sat on the window sill, preening itself. It was the same window that Vicky always used to come into her room.

She looked at Vicky’s photograph that stood on her bedside table and smiled. Vicky had been trying to act the clown when that picture was taken. She had scrunched up her nose and was trying to look at its tip. The outcome had been hilarious. She looked like a crosseyed joker in the picture.

She picked up Vicky’s glasses, which were always kept in front of her picture, and put them on. They were too powerful and everything looked blurred. Or was it because of the tears that had suddenly sprung up? She quickly blinked her eyelids to push them back, then turned her attention to Bhoomi. ‘My hair looks fine now,’ she said. ‘Go and tell Ma and Bauji that I wish to speak to them.’

‘What about the jewellery?’ Bhoomi asked.

‘No, I don’t feel like wearing any.’

Mili noticed the look of disappointment on Bhoomi’s face. Previously, getting dressed, choosing what jewellery to wear used to be the highlight of her day. Sadly, not any more.

She got up and adjusted her dupatta. Her mind was made up. She would go and live in Gandhi Ashram
and join him in his struggle for India’s freedom. She remembered when she had her first glimpse of him. It must have been about seven years ago, when she was at Nani’s house. Everyone was whispering ‘Gandhiji …’ and rushing to the terrace or onto the streets to have a glimpse of him. Just like they did whenever a baraat was passing through the streets.

She was extremely disappointed when she saw him. A scrawny, bald man in a white dhoti. People were pouring out of their homes and joining him. What was so great about him? He was so shabbily dressed and wasn’t even handsome. Plus he needed a walking stick. She had looked uncomprehendingly at the excited crowd and wondered why they were making such a fuss over him.

But now, the more she read about him in the papers or heard about him on the radio, the more fascinating she found him.

Maybe immersing herself in the freedom movement would fill the void in her life that had been left by Vicky and then Gurpreet. And help her forget Raven.

Thanks to the sudden showers that morning, a lovely cool breeze was coming into the room through the windows. Bauji sat on the sofa, poring over the newspaper. Ma sat beside him, going over the guest list for dinner that night and discussing the menu with the chef.

Mili rubbed the tigerskin rug on which she stood with her big toe. ‘Bauji,’ she said, ‘Can I speak to you and Ma in private?’

‘Of course, my child,’ replied Bauji. He waved to the servants to leave the room.

The chef as well as the two servants who stood near the door bowed low and backed out of the room.

‘We too wanted to speak to you, Mili,’ said Ma, as she adjusted the pleats of her sari. She looked up and smiled at her indulgently. ‘Mausi has found an excellent match for you. He’s the Prince—’

‘Ma, I don’t want to marry,’ said Mili in a soft voice, chewing her thumbnail. She hesitated. Just like she had at the entrance to the inner sanctum of the temple … or when Raven’s driver had offered her mithai. Would she finally have the courage to break free of age-old customs and traditions and leave home? To pursue a life which none in her family had ever done before? All the girls in their dynasty had been good little princesses who had married the man of their parents’ choice and become good little wives. Would she be able to break off this tradition? She took a deep breath and said, ‘I wish to serve my country. Go and live in Gandhi Ashram.’

Bauji stared at her with an open mouth. He looked as though he had been struck with a bolt of thunder.

‘What did you say, my child?’ he asked softly.

Lowering her eyes, Mili repeated. ‘I want to live in Gandhi Ashram.’

‘Have you lost your mind?’ said Bauji. ‘Our troops are fighting for the British in Burma and you want to join the movement against them? Are you crazy?’

‘They lead a simple and austere life at the ashram,’ said Ma. ‘You won’t be able to cope.’

‘Maybe not,’ said Mili. ‘But I want to see it for myself.’

There was silence for a long time. Mili listened to the tick-tocking of the grandfather clock that had been
presented to Bauji by one of his English friends.

Bauji finally spoke. ‘We’re afraid we cannot give you permission to go,’ he said.

‘I haven’t come here to seek your consent, Bauji,’ Mili said in a defiant tone. ‘I’ve merely come to inform you.’

Bauji’s nostrils flared and he was about to lash out at her when Ma put a restraining hand on his arm.

Mili sighed with relief and looked at Ma gratefully.

‘Let her go,’ said Ma. ‘We think she wants to be on her own for some time. We’re sure she’ll be back soon.’

Bauji sighed. Mili looked at him from the corner of her eyes. He was growing old and age seemed to have mellowed him. She was sorry she had spoken to him so sharply. She had never talked to him in that manner before. She used to be so scared of him. With downcast eyes she left the room.

As soon as she stepped into the inner courtyard, a dozen pigeons that had been cooing and pecking at some grain took flight. She watched them soar high into the azure. She remembered Raven’s words – ‘Soar high, do me proud’ – and felt strangely uplifted.

Raven was looking for a book on the bookshelf in his study when his eyes fell on
Sons and Lovers
. He smiled as he remembered Mili and Vicky browsing through the book in the library. They’d read a bit, then cover their mouths with their hands and snigger. His thoughts flew to Mili. He recalled how she used to bite her thumbnail whenever sad, excited or nervous. And how he had scolded her for not taking care of her nails.

He remembered the last time he saw her. It had been
raining hard. He watched her leave, becoming smaller and smaller gradually, until the rain-shrouded world swallowed her up completely. She had looked so lost, so adorable in his oversized mackintosh, that he had felt like running after her, hugging her tightly from behind and never letting her go.

And why the hell had he kissed her? Had he no sense? He ought to have controlled himself. She was a princess, for crying out loud, and he … a poor teacher. Moreover, she was his student. Whatever was he thinking?

… But her eyes. They were so intense. And the way they looked at him when he kissed her. He had been staggered by what he saw in them. They were frank and vulnerable and asked him questions to which he had no answers.

Raven shook his head slowly from side to side, as though trying to rid himself of thoughts of her. Was he missing her? Maybe he was. Why else would life seem so desolate, so incomplete ever since she had left?
Don’t be silly, Raven,
he chided himself. He had a life before he met her, didn’t he? Like hell he did. And he’d forget her. Soon. It was just a matter of time. Her face had already begun to blur. Well, not really. Even so. Life did not stop for anyone. It went on and on and on.

March. 1947. Kishangarh. Raven sat in his living room, drumming the centre table with his fingers.

Yes, he’d be fine, absolutely fine. So what if he hadn’t spoken to her in four and a half years? He just had to take it slowly, one step at a time.

Would she come? Raven looked at his watch. He
couldn’t believe only five minutes had passed since he had last looked at it.

‘Your tea, sahib,’ said Digachand, placing a cup of tea before him. ‘Anything else, sahib?’

‘That’ll be all for the moment,’ replied Raven. His hands shook ever so slightly as he picked up the cup and took a sip. He wondered if he had done the right thing – getting in touch with her again, after such a long time. But then he remembered everything so clearly, as though it was yesterday.

He patted his hair as he glanced towards the door. He had been shocked when he saw her that morning, in a starched cotton sari, her hair piled on top of her head. She looked so elegant, and oh so mature. He wouldn’t have recognised her, had it not been for her smile.

She was here. He could hear voices in the hall. He got up and smiled as she entered the room. She smiled back as she sat down. Raven fumbled, not knowing what to say. There was so much he wanted to talk to her about. But would he be able to say them? Much had changed in the intervening years. She had changed. She not only looked different, she even behaved differently. She was not the child he used to know. She had blossomed into a beautiful woman and he simply could not take his eyes off her.

He kicked himself mentally. C’mon, she was his student once upon a time. Yes, once upon a time. Not any more.

‘What brings you to Kishangarh?’ he finally asked.

‘I was invited to come and present a paper and also to speak about our organisation. We are trying to make
people aware of the work we are doing in order to gain more support and funds …’

Raven could only stare at her and blink. Who was she? This was not his child-woman, Malvika. But she smelt the same – like a baby. She had stopped speaking and was waiting for him to say something. He ran a hand over his face and tried to collect himself. Clearing his throat he asked, ‘So what exactly does your organisation do?’

‘It takes care of women who have been raped, beaten or abused in any way. We give them a place to live, teach them how to read and write, embroider, weave and help them become independent …’ She paused and looked at the ribbon tying her hair. A thread was coming loose. She pulled at it and spoke again. ‘And you know what, sir? I’m finally at peace with myself. Whenever I see a smile on the face of a woman who was at the edge of despair, or even suicide, I feel I have saved another Vicky.’

Raven watched her – how zealously she spoke. She had done him proud. Very proud. ‘So is this what you’ve been doing since you left Kishangarh?’ he asked.

‘Oh no, sir …’