Secret Keeper (12 page)

Reet watched her eat for a while. “Ma asked about you. She wanted to know if you were feeling better.”

“I don’t care.”

“Don’t lie to yourself, Osh, of course you do. And she cares about you. She’s just…”

“Thinking of herself first, as usual.”

Reet shrugged. “Maybe it’s better than always trying to make someone else happy.”
Like Baba,
Asha thought, popping another bite of potato into her mouth.
And you.

“I have something to ask you, Osh.”

“Anything, Reet,” Asha answered.

“Don’t answer back to our elders if they keep talking about this, all right?”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” Asha said. “Auntie especially drives me mad! Is this for your sake, or for Ma’s?”

“Both, I suppose. But does it matter?”

Asha sighed. “Not really.”

“You’d better come down for tea,” Reet said, picking up the tray, which was empty except for the slices of lime. “Your appetite’s obviously returned. Besides, if you cower up here, they’ll take even longer to stop talking about your escapade.”

Her sister was right, Asha thought. The best thing to do might be to pretend that she hadn’t done anything wrong, which she hadn’t really. She sauntered downstairs once she heard her cousins’ shrill voices and the shrieking of the kettle.

Raj stopped her at the foot of the stairs. “My friends are raving about your topspin,” he said. “Can you give me a lesson in the garden?”

Asha grinned. “Of course. I owe you a lifetime of tennis. But let’s wait a week or two, okay? I’d better not be seen with a racket in my hand until the fuss dies down a bit. And thanks for the chanachoor, by the way.”

After Raj’s request, Asha was able to walk into the living room with her head high. Ma was nowhere in sight, and Asha managed to sip her tea quietly while Auntie, Grandmother, and Uncle debated the possible social consequences of her actions. Asha tried to tune them out by remembering the thwack of the ball against the racket as she
hit that last lob. Maybe what she’d told Reet was true; she’d endure a lot just to have experienced the sheer joy of playing tennis again.
And
winning.

Over the next couple of weeks, Asha somehow endured her disgrace without a word. Family cardplaying was put on hold, and she found herself missing the strategy discussions and teasing that accompanied it. Grandmother’s stern demeanor, Uncle’s disapproving glares, Auntie’s many “ eesh- es” aimed in Asha’s direction were all irritating, as was having to forsake playing with her cousins. But they didn’t compare to her mother’s glum, expressionless face, the sight of which made Asha’s nerves twang like a frayed sitar string. This time, though, Asha didn’t try any of her tactics to battle the Jailor. She was tired of fighting him, at least for a while, promise or no promise.

One afternoon, the relatives abruptly stopped discussing Asha’s “unwomanly” behavior. The college had posted midyear exam scores, and Raj was forced to disclose his failing marks in math. This new calamity proved to be a grand diversion. Now Auntie avoided interactions with the family, throwing angry looks in her son’s direction. Grandmother stopped glaring at Ma and clicked her tongue at Auntie instead.

Soon after that, at breakfast, Uncle patted Asha’s hand
in an affectionate way that almost reminded Asha of Baba. “How’s the best tennis player in the neighborhood?” he asked. “I hear you upheld the family honor on the court quite nicely.”

Asha almost fainted.

“You should have seen her, Baba!” Raj burst out. “Those passing shots! That spin she puts on her second serve!”

“I’d like to learn the game myself,” Uncle said, stroking his rounded belly. “Maybe I’d lose a couple of kilos.”

Asha looked at Ma, who was pouring more tea into Raj’s cup. If Uncle’s brain had gone through some strange transformation, would the same effect take place in hers? But Ma’s face stayed vacant.

“Let’s have a game of twenty-nine tonight, eh, Tuni?” Uncle asked. “It’s been a while. I’ve missed it.”

After Ma and Uncle left the room, Asha turned to Raj. “What happened to your father?” she asked. “How did I make it back into the family again?”

“Now Baba’s sorry he even met with the Y.L.I.’s uncle,” Raj informed her. “Yesterday he found out that they have a distant connection to the Mitra clan. Our family’s despised them for generations.”

“Wonderful,” Asha said sarcastically, slumping back into her chair. “So I didn’t need my stupid plan after all. I could have waited until an Ancient Hatred returned to rescue my sister.”

“That guy needed to be put in his place,” Raj said. “And now the whole family has accepted how Reet feels about getting married. Baba might have started looking for
another eligible fellow if you hadn’t given your sister the chance to say what she thought.”

Asha took another big bite of toast, feeling a new lightness of spirit. Raj was right. What else could she have hoped for? Reet
had
managed to speak for herself. And Asha had been given-or had taken-the chance to play tennis again. It had been worth it.

Now only two things were still worrying her. No, three. One was Baba, taking forever to find a job. The second was Ma, thoroughly at the mercy of the Jailor. And the third was Jay. He had disappeared; there had been no sign of him for days. Where was he? Why hadn’t he told her he was going to be away? The worst part about these three worries was that she had no Plan A or Plan B to deal with any of them. All she could muster was the energy and courage to wait, which was the hardest plan of all.

SEVENTEEN

W
ITH
R
EET’S PROPOSAL GONE AND THE GLOOMY, QUIET
M
A
back, Auntie wasn’t having as much fun. She entered the fray against the Jailor, urging Ma to try on sarees, sing, or go out shopping again. Halfheartedly, Ma finally agreed to a shopping trip, and Auntie commandeered Raj once again to hail the rickshaw and carry the bags.

Reet and Asha stayed home this time, sitting with their grandmother on the veranda and slapping at mosquitoes that nibbled their ankles. The house was quiet and dim; Uncle had taken the twins to the market, and the servants hadn’t turned on any lights before leaving for the day. This was at Grandmother’s insistence; the family always waited until true darkness came to use the expensive electric lights. Besides, mosquitoes swarmed the open gutters at dusk, and lights drew them into the house.

It was peaceful knowing that only three members of the family were at home, with no servants around. The shadowy figure in the corner that was Grandmother broke the silence. “I wish you girls could have known your grand father,” she said. “He was a fine man, a good father and husband. My parents picked well. I’ll never forget our wedding night.”

Reet was about to speak, Asha could tell. She tapped her sister’s hand once in warning and Reet sat back, both girls waiting for their grandmother to continue.

“I was so scared that day,” Grandmother said. “I’d heard such horror stories from my cousins and friends about what happened on a girl’s wedding night. I was only fifteen, and your grandfather was twenty- six. He was already a professor, so handsome, tall, and strong.”

Again, Asha kept silent, and this time Reet followed suit without a hand tap.

“I haven’t slept well in weeks,” Grandmother said, and Asha worried for a moment, but their grandmother’s mind returned to the olden days. “Before my wedding day, I couldn’t sleep, either, I was so scared. The morning was a blur, the putting on of jewelry, the painting of my face with turmeric powder. And then, in the afternoon, after tea, the shouts came from outside:
The bridegroom's coming! He’s here! The bridegroom and his procession are here!
I thought I was going to faint.” She made a small, tinkly sound, and Asha realized it was the first time she’d heard her grandmother laugh since they’d arrived.

“Later I had to leave my parents’ home. Oh, how I wept! I rode with his mother in a rickshaw, and she was talking the
entire time. I didn’t hear a word she said. The house was full of strangers, laughing, staring, making comments about how I looked, touching my skin, saree, hair. They paraded us into the room that would be our living quarters, and I saw that the wedding bed had been decorated with sweet-smelling jasmine flowers. They left us alone, but I could hear them joking outside, eavesdropping on us.”

Asha couldn’t see her grandmother at all; it was now completely dark in the room. She pictured a petite teenager perched on the edge of an unfamiliar bed next to a strange man. She felt the girl’s terror shiver through her own body.

“Then he started talking,” Grandmother said, and her voice broke. “He told me that he’d waited so long for his bride. He’d wait longer, for weeks, or months even, until I was ready to accept him as my husband. He promised not to touch me until I wanted him as much as he wanted me. When we fell asleep that night, I remember feeling completely safe. And he kept his word.”

How long did he have to wait?
Asha wanted to ask, thinking of Jay and feeling her cheeks get hot.
How did it feel when you finally did want him as much as he wanted you

But the telling of secrets was over. The girls could hear their grandmother blowing her nose, and the rustle of her saree as she stood up. “Turn on the lights, girls, will you? I’m feeling sleepy for the first time in days. I think I’ll go and try to rest.”

“Amazing,” Reet said as they followed their grandmother inside and Asha switched on the lamp in the living room. “She really misses him.”

“I miss him, as well,” Asha said. She wondered how his kind, literary presence would affect the household were he still around. She couldn’t imagine it.

The girls were switching on the last electric light when Raj and the two daughters- in- law of the house returned, laden with purchases. Raj looked exhausted, hair askew, semicircles of sweat staining his shirt under each arm. He rolled his eyes at Asha and escaped upstairs, muttering something about taking a bath.

Asha studied the jumble of shopping bags on the floor. “Auntie must have encouraged her to buy everything she set her eyes on,” she said in a low voice to Reet. “Well, at least Ma’s talking again. I wish it were always that easy.”

Grandmother stormed into the living room and regained control of her galaxy. “Why are you spending so much money, Sumitra?” she demanded. “We must save every penny these days, you know that. We can’t afford excesses like this!” Grandmother’s lectures always rose to a crescendo before descending into a prayer. “Bintu must get his family settled soon! How I wish his father were still alive! Oh, Bhagavan!”

After invoking God’s name in tears, she left the room, heading for her shrine to place more offerings there for her son’s sake. Before, Asha had always wondered if the other statues of divinities felt neglected because the goddess of wealth got most of Grandmother’s goodies. This time, though, after carrying the ache of her grandfather’s absence, she felt sadness for her grandmother instead of scorn.

There was an empty silence, but soon Auntie, who had
experienced firsthand the Wrath of the Mother- in- Law, tried to bring back Ma’s short- lived animation. She poured her sister- in- law a cup of tea and begged Reet to sing for them. “You sing and dance almost as well as your mother,” she said cleverly.