Song of the Cuckoo Bird: A Novel (9 page)

“That is Arjuna, he who is kneeling, and Lord Krishna . . . well, he doesn’t need to be described. He is God, eternal, all-encompassing,” Charvi said with a small smile. “This is where Lord Krishna imparts the
Bhagavad-Gita
to Arjuna.
Bhagavad-Gita
literally means ‘the divine song’ and it is here he tells Arjuna that you have to put your personal feelings aside and fight the good fight.”

“So . . . it was sort of a civil war,” Mark said. “America had one as well.”

“
The Mahabharata
was about a war between good and evil. What were you fighting over?” Charvi asked.

Mark grinned. “Money.”

“I thought the great American Civil War was to free black slaves in the South,” Charvi said with a twinkle in her eye, challenging him with what she knew of his world. She lived in India but she was well read and wanted to show off.

Mark nodded. “That was part of it as well . . . or rather it became part of the issue. The South wanted to protect its cotton industry and wanted a decentralized government and free trade. The North was more industrial and didn’t believe in a decentralized government because that would mean loss of tax income from the wealthy South.”

“And I thought it was about freeing the slaves,” Charvi said, feeling foolish for wanting to impress Mark.

“It was. As the issues remained unsolved, slowly but steadily one of the biggest issues to stand out was slavery,” Mark explained. “In the North, slavery was abolished in 1804, almost fifty years before it was eliminated in the South.”

“So in this case we can assume that the North was trying to free the black people and make your country more just,” Charvi said, and when Mark nodded she smiled. “It was the same in
The Mahabharata.
The Kauravas were hell-bent on destroying goodness, on submerging the Pandavas. It is a matter of principle—you fight for what you believe in and you have to fight for the good of the people, of the society, of the world.”

Charvi spoke passionately, excited and exhilarated by their conversations. Mark was an intelligent man and he was a mine of information. She loved to translate his Western experiences into her knowledge of India and Hinduism.

Mark was cognizant of the fact that these morning
puja
sessions were the most entertaining and invigorating conversations he had had in a long time. Charvi was passionate about the
Bhagavad-Gita
and the Upanishads. She was well read and he couldn’t make her stumble on her words, no matter how hard he tried. This was not a mere twentyfive-year-old girl, this was a learned woman. Maybe there was a goddess inside her that gave her the confidence and the knowledge that made her so sure of her convictions.

“Are you married?” Charvi asked him when they were walking on the beach one evening.

Renuka trailed along suspiciously. They spoke in English and she couldn’t make out what was being said. It annoyed her. What if they were saying improper things? Oh, she wished she had brought Subhadra along to translate. But Subhadra was mortified that Renuka could think that Charvi, who was chaste and unmarked, would be having an unsavory liaison with a devotee.

“No,” Mark said. “And you, are you never supposed to marry?”

Charvi turned to look at the rolling waves of the Bay of Bengal. “I don’t think there is a written law but what could I give a man? I’m submerged in my prayers and meditation. I’m here to serve the people. I don’t think I have anything to offer one man.”

“You are a young, beautiful, intelligent woman. You have a lot to offer,” Mark said.

Charvi blushed. “I am just a normal woman,” she said shyly.

“You are one of the most fascinating women I have ever met,” Mark said honestly.

“And you are the most fascinating man I have ever met,” Charvi said honestly and just a little boldly.

His words fueled her attraction and her words fueled his.

Renuka kept watch but could not understand what they were talking about in English. But she could see what was going on, though. She wasn’t blind or stupid; she could see that the girl was laughing and tittering, while the man was . . . why did he keep shoving his hands inside the pockets of his jeans? What did he have to hide? And couldn’t he wear loose pants like all those boys wore these days? She could see the shape of his buttocks clearly and . . .
chee-chee,
Charvi never should have allowed this white man to stay in the
ashram.

In the end even Charvi felt that it would have been wiser not to have allowed Mark Talbot into Tella Meda and her life because when he left, he broke her heart. And it would have been smarter to have kept Renuka out of Tella Meda because she brought along with her the stubborn, old-fashioned ideas Charvi detested. But the mistake had been made and Charvi could hardly turn the clock back and send a destitute widow such as Renuka out of her home and onto the street.

Ultimately, it wasn’t Renuka’s reaction to Mark that offended Charvi, it was her reaction to Chetana. Charvi had known Chetana since she was born. There was a deep affection that had pooled inside her because of proximity and the knowledge of the circumstances of Chetana’s birth and life.

So when Charvi heard Renuka screaming so loud that Tella Meda shook with its intensity, and came into the courtyard just as Ranuka slapped Chetana, she took a step back, not having seen physical abuse before and unsure of what must be done. Usually, her father would come and clear up the mess, but since Vidura had left, he spent more and more time inside his room, rarely coming out, even eating his meals in his room.

When Renuka slapped Chetana again, Charvi moved into action.

“Stop it,” she said with as much dignity as she could, and pulled Chetana away from Renuka.

“How dare you?” Chetana yelled at Renuka as tears streamed down her face. “I can do what I want to do. You’re not my mother.” Chetana’s body shook with the shock of being slapped by a veritable stranger.

“What’s the matter?” Charvi asked, though she could guess. This was about the lipstick Chetana had painted on her lips, probably in hopes of enticing Mark. Chetana had never told where she got the lipstick, but still . . .
How could a little red paint cause so much commotion?
Charvi thought.

“She wears lipstick like that whore mother of hers,” Renuka said. Her face was constricted with anger and her thin body was shaking under her white
sari.
Her back was slightly bent and Charvi noticed the bitterness in her stance.

“She can wear whatever she wants to wear,” Charvi informed Renuka, and decided to ask Subhadra to explain the rules of Tella Meda to the old widow. “If you ever, and I mean ever, strike anyone again under my roof, you will have to leave Tella Meda.”

“You don’t teach right from wrong and she’ll end up like her mother, selling her body for five
rupees
on the street corner,” Renuka cried out. “I care about what happens to them when they grow up. You . . . you are too busy shaking your ass around that white man.”

Charvi had to wait five seconds before she could pull a calm façade over the anger that was quickly claiming her. “Chetana, ask Subhadra to come here,” Charvi instructed in a controlled voice.

Once Chetana left to get Subhadra, Charvi told Renuka regally, “You are not the voice of morality in my house. You are not to assume that role. If I feel something is amiss, I will deal with it. If you feel something is wrong, you can tell me about it and I will decide if it is worthy of attention. What I do is not your business and it is not for you to judge. What Chetana does or Kokila does is their own business. In Tella Meda we mind our own business. You will not strike anyone, child or adult, in this house. This is a Gandhian house; we don’t permit any violence.”

Subhadra came running out of the kitchen, leaving Chetana with Kokila for consoling. “What? What happened?”

“Nothing,” Renuka said before Charvi could speak. “This woman does not care if that little girl walks around with red paint on her lips like a slut. Well then, why should I care? Let their lives go down the drain. I won’t be responsible, you will.”

Charvi smiled at the woman’s foolishness. “We all make our own destiny and no one is responsible for another’s decisions and their lives. Subhadra, please explain to Renuka the rules of living in Tella Meda. If she doesn’t follow them, she must leave by the end of the week.”

Chetana’s affection for Charvi turned into devotion after the scene with Renuka.

“I don’t like that Renuka,” Kokila said. “She actually told me that I was worse than a widow because my husband left me.”

“You left your husband,” Chetana said with a smirk. “And you must have enjoyed telling her that.”

Kokila’s mouth curved into a smile. “Yes, very much, and then you should have heard her. She went on and on and on about bad morals and how God will strike me down for my sins. If she doesn’t like Tella Meda she should go and stay with her children.”

Chetana lowered her voice to a whisper because they were sitting in the courtyard. Subhadra was hanging wet clothes on the clotheslines and Narayan Garu was reading aloud from a book to Ramanandam Sastri.

“I heard that her children don’t want her. She has nowhere to go,” Chetana told Kokila. “And Subhadra told me that the woman only has some pension coming, that’s all.”

Kokila nodded. She wasn’t surprised. Why would someone with money and kind relatives live in Tella Meda? Everyone in the house lived there because they had nowhere else to go, no one else to take them. Except her, of course; she had rejected her husband and his house to stay at Tella Meda. She didn’t dare regret that decision even though sometimes she wondered why she had stayed, especially since Vidura was gone.

“Oh and that old hag said something about Charvi getting very friendly with that white photographer,” Chetana whispered.

“Maybe something is going on between them,” Kokila suggested, and Chetana immediately shook her head.

“No, that simply can’t be true. Charvi is . . . she’s a goddess, Kokila, and she doesn’t have passions like we do. She is a higher person and she’s godly,” Chetana said. Kokila made a face. Usually, Chetana was happy to talk about Charvi but since Charvi had stood up for her against Renuka, Chetana was feeling especially loyal toward her.

“She’s still human and humans have emotions. She certainly spends enough time with that white man. And so what if she finds him attractive?” Kokila said.

Chetana shook her head vigorously. “We find him attractive because we are lower beings; she doesn’t. Her interest in him is purely religious.”

“Right,” Kokila muttered sarcastically. “Religion is why she goes on long walks with him and sits next to him during meals. Religion is why she smiles as soon as he says something in English.”

“You’re just like Renuka, you know, always criticizing Charvi,” Chetana admonished.

That evening Renuka didn’t follow Mark and Charvi on their walk on the beach. Charvi was tempted to tell Mark about Renuka and what happened in the house that afternoon but it felt too domestic. And then she realized that she had no one to talk to about the small things in life, about seeing a bird fly or a young man sneak a kiss from a girl behind the big boulder on the beach. She had no one to gossip with. She was supposed to be above the usual chitchat anyway. She had to talk about lofty subjects, important matters.

“Do you ever wish for the world to stop?” Mark asked Charvi.

“What a strange thing to wish for,” Charvi replied thoughtfully.

“I mean, do you ever wish that you could stop your life and then change course?”

“You mean like changing buses during a long journey?”

“Yes, exactly,” Mark said, pleased that she understood.

Charvi shook her head. “It’s not a matter of wishing. I couldn’t even if I wanted it.”

Mark shook his head. “What if you could? Would you want to?”

Charvi thought about his question and then shrugged. “It’s pointless to speculate over something that can never happen. I believe it’s a waste of time. Would you want to change your life?”

Mark nodded. “Sometimes I wish I had a wife and children, a house in the suburbs like some of my friends. Other times I wish I had done more with my life professionally than I have. I wish I were more successful.”

“But that is living with regrets,” Charvi said. “Regrets are a good way of drying up the energy within.”

“Yes, yes, you are right,” Mark said.

“I don’t know much about your profession but the photos you have taken of Tella Meda leave me . . . speechless. You make my house look more beautiful than it ever has looked through my naked eyes,” Charvi said. “The photos I have seen are a testament to your art and your craft.”

Mark laughed softly. “But those photos were easy to take. Your house is full of energy. There are vibes all around it and it feels alive. I have never been this compelled to take so many pictures of an inanimate object, a house, before,” Mark said. “You were right when you said in your letter that it has a soul. Your house has a soul. I wonder if the walls move at night and whisper to each other.”

“It has a soul but it is not haunted,” Charvi said, laughing at the image of the walls whispering to each other.

But when she went back into her room, she thought she could hear the walls talk. They were warning her, cautioning her against falling in love.

Did she really swing her ass around Mark? Charvi wondered about Renuka’s accusation. She had walked close to him today, his arm had brushed against hers and his roughness had caressed her softness. There had been a sensation akin to death and birth. Charvi had almost turned to face him and let him read all the pent-up affection and love inside her. She had so much to give, so much to offer, yet she felt her hands were tied. She had duties, Tella Meda, the people who came every Sunday for advice, help, and prayer. She couldn’t turn her back on everyone. Could she?

As it always was, Sunday was a busy day. Devotees and those seeking help, salvation, more money, children, better children, male children—everyone with a need who believed in Charvi came to Tella Meda. They were all seated in the large temple room. Charvi played the
veena
as she sang
bhajans
and Renuka (still angry with Charvi and everyone else at Tella Meda) reluctantly played the harmonium. Narayan Garu was not very good at the
tabla
but still accompanied Charvi on it. The devotees chanted after Charvi as she sang in praise of Lord Venkateshwara Swami and Tella Meda was alight with the glow of devotion.