by Mahesh Rao
“Like you, you mean?”
“I’m surprised I even make the list.” An odd look crept onto Dev’s face, a look of great hesitation. He pushed his cup to one side and stood up to leave.
Ania continued to look up at him, as though she was trying to amass further evidence against him in her defense.
“Also, I’d love to know how you’re able to feel so confident as a judge of character. I mean, your taste in close friends is hardly impeccable,” she said.
“What close friends?”
“Have you any idea that your dear friend Kamya has been lying to you for weeks?”
“What?”
Ania stood up and leaned across the table.
“She was having an affair with that film director all along. She lied to you. All that ridiculous business about hiding out in Goa. He even came to see her there. I told you there was something weird going on. He’s left his wife now and followed her to America. I’m sorry to say, but she used you.”
“How do you know all this?”
“You’re always accusing me of being a socialite. Well, socialites talk. We know things. It’ll be in the press by the weekend.”
“I don’t know if I believe you.”
He turned away from her, so she raised her voice.
“Believe what you want. Obviously, why would you take my word over the saintly Kamya’s, Blessed Wordsmith, Our Lady of the Human Condition.”
They stared at each other across the table. But a moment later, Dev’s shoulders started to shake with laughter.
“None of this is funny,” he said, sitting down again. But his voice was catching as he spoke. He was still laughing.
“I suppose it’s sort of funny,” she said, sitting down next to him, without a smile.
They stayed silent for a few moments.
“What was that song?” he asked.
“Which song?”
“The Brazilian song we danced to in Goa?”
“I can’t remember the name of the singer now. Why?”
“I don’t know. It was a good song.”
“I thought you hated music and dancing.”
“Mostly, I do.”
The silence returned.
Ania glanced at Dev to see a trace of a smile still on his face, as though for some strange reason their quiet pleased him.
* * *
—
DIMPLE HAD STARTED to read new kinds of books, self-help books that provided insights into overcoming anxiety but also touched on spiritualism and philosophy. The advice they provided was not easy to understand, or even remember, but she persisted. She had always been a finisher. One philosopher said that if gods did exist they carried on with their work, uninterested in what mortals thought of them or even whether mortals existed. She felt sure that she had come close to mortals who had espoused the outlook of the gods.
Ankit had proposed, and she had accepted. He had not asked her directly, still struggling with a small lingering suspicion that she would prefer to disappear into the shimmer of the faraway world she had found. He later told Dimple that he had been terrified of watching reality play itself across her features if he had asked her in person.
Instead, he had sent her an audio file.
“There’s a recording on it. I’ve sung a few songs for you, just to make you laugh when you’re bored. But promise me you’ll listen right to the end,” he said, outside her apartment.
“Of course, I’ll listen to the end.”
“No, you really have to do it. Don’t forget and turn it off halfway.”
“Yes, fine.”
He had got back into his van and reversed out of the parking spot. Sticking his head out of the window, he shouted, “Listen till the end.”
There were choruses belted out in the way she loved; short introductions to each number, as though he were a radio announcer from the ’70s; the sound of his ringtone and a snatch of a conversation accidentally recorded as he tried to appease a supplier. And then the crucial final seconds, where he apologized for not asking her in person and then gabbled his plea—it would make him the happiest man in the world—all the while, a strange clanking noise in the background.
She pulled the earphones out of her ears and let them drop to the ground.
She had called her mother, but it had been difficult to gauge her reaction. There had hardly been one. But when she saw Ankit’s mother and sisters a couple days later, they had been warm and demonstrative. She had reclaimed all her lost ground, and she was grateful, feeling it was more than she deserved.
She had not told Ania yet. But she would. She was waiting for an opportune moment.
* * *
—
THE COLONEL PARKED his car at the edge of the woodland and glanced at Nikhil. His head had fallen toward his chest, and there was a thin line of drool forming at the side of his mouth.
“We’re here,” said the colonel sharply.
Nikhil’s head shot up, and he stared at the dense clumps of amaltas and bamboos, still partly shrouded by the early-morning fog.
He grunted and made a great play of opening the car door.
“It’s not even light yet,” he said.
“It is, although I suppose with a hangover it might be hard to tell.”
The colonel had tried to remain warm and unobtrusive during Nikhil’s stay. But the young man had continued to stumble home in the early hours, spend the day in bed, remain unresponsive during the early evenings, and then spark into action the moment he heard from Ania or one of her friends, darting out of the door with a cheery wisecrack. The colonel would have liked to have had at least one or two interesting conversations, although he knew that he had no right to expect them.
He greeted the guard at the entrance post and waited for Nikhil to catch up.
Dileep had inherited the acres of woodland, once on the outskirts of the city but now surrounded by arterial roads and construction sites. No one in the Khurana family had made much use of the land. A few close friends were permitted to walk their dogs there or go for a morning run, but it was a favor bestowed only after great deliberation. Signs around the property warned that it was private land, and people tended to keep away. It was widely said that a number of forgotten Sufi saints had been buried nearby and that their spirits drifted through the forest, seeking out their devotees. And if that was not alarming enough, a woman who had hanged herself from a peepul tree in the heart of the woodland was known to appear without warning, staring with red-rimmed eyes through thorny branches.
“I’ve been so keen to catch a glimpse of the ghosts,” said the colonel. “But nothing in all these days. Renu wouldn’t be caught dead here. She really believes they roam through the forest.”
Nikhil did not respond. They set off through the trees, the colonel setting a brisk pace.
“I wanted to have a word with you,” he said.
Nikhil looked as though he was finding it difficult to keep up with the colonel, a fact that irritated him: a young man in his prime, not being able to manage a decent stride. He picked up his pace.
“It’s not that I consider myself in any way, you know, in loco parentis. I mean, you have your parents for that. I suppose I’m telling you as an older friend who has seen the fast crowd you’re running with these days. Of course it’s fun, why wouldn’t it be? But in life, one needs a focus.”
Nikhil was silent, still lagging a pace behind.
“All I’m saying is that it is probably time to return to a normal life after the fun you’ve had. Sure, you wanted a break. You called it a sabbatical, didn’t you? Isn’t your firm wondering where you are?”
“What?”
“Your job in America.”
“Yeah, they’re cool. I’m going back soon anyway.”
“You hadn’t mentioned. When?”
&n
bsp; “In a few days. I’m sorry, did I overstay my welcome?”
The colonel stopped and put a hand on Nikhil’s shoulder.
“No, you must never think that. It really wasn’t my intention to make you feel unwelcome. It’s just that I’ve seen so many youngsters here lose focus and end up ruining their lives, so much potential wasted. That’s all.”
The colonel decided not to mention the rumors that he had heard about a liaison with Nina Varkey; an incomprehensible dalliance with a spiteful woman, which if true, would lead only to grief and trouble.
“You are our son too, and we wish you lived closer. It really has been a joy having you. But us old folks sometimes worry about the future in ways that you don’t.”
Nikhil seemed finally to have woken up. He gave the colonel a breezy hug and ended it with a few reassuring pats on the back.
“I know you’re trying to help but trust me, everything’s fine. Like you say, I just needed a break.”
They resumed the walk, this time Nikhil setting the pace, striding down the path, on the verge of breaking into a run, with the colonel anxiously trying to regain his advantage.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
IT HAD BEEN an intimate dinner, and by now almost all the guests had left Serena Bakshi’s apartment. She had redecorated again, and the guests’ various perfumes mingled in the foyer. Silence closed over the hallway and the stairs—and the soft night returned. The cushions on the sofas still bore the imprints of backs; someone had left behind a tortoiseshell lighter on the coffee table; someone else had forgotten a lace fan. It was almost the moment when a hostess could gratefully murmur that nearly everything had gone according to plan and sink into her favorite armchair. In the sitting room, however, Fahim and Mussoorie remained.
Ania spotted them through the doorway as she was returning from the bathroom, preparing to leave. She turned to a passing maid.
“Do you know where madam is?”
“I saw her in the kitchen. If you go straight down this corridor, then turn left.”
In the kitchen, the rubbish had been bagged up, and the clean dishes rested on a draining board. Another maid was returning the unused wineglasses to their cupboards, examining each one for any chips or cracks.
“Serena, I’ve just popped in to say goodbye,” said Ania.
“I’m so sorry, I thought I would get more of a chance to speak to you,” said Serena. “I’ll be out of here in a minute.”
“I know how it is when you’re hosting,” said Ania.
Serena looked drawn and tired, her usual self-possession replaced by a strained restiveness.
“Well, I have you here now, and I’d love to be frank, if I may?”
“Of course.”
“I’m not sure if the air needs to be cleared but I’m going to try to clear it anyway. I’ve always thought of you as a friend; your whole family has meant so much to me. And I know you will have heard these ridiculous rumors about me and your father.”
“I’ve heard a few things,” said Ania, sitting down at the table.
“Absolute lies. Just people spouting trash. I promise you, there’s absolutely nothing between us. We’re friends; I bounce ideas off him, we meet for a drink now and then, that’s about it. Nothing more. You do believe me?”
“I believe you and, more to the point, I believe him. If there had been anything, I know he would have told me.”
“You’re absolutely right. He adores you. I’m so glad we’ve had this conversation. I must confess, it’s the reason why I invited you tonight, even though I wasn’t sure that you’d come.”
“Well, thank you, Serena, it’s sweet of you to be so concerned. I’ll say goodbye now; it’s so late.”
Ania stood up.
“No, you can’t go. Your friends are still here,” said Serena, almost barring her way.
“Who? Those two? They’re not friends of mine.”
“But I met them at a wedding reception, and I’m sure they told me that they had been on vacation with you somewhere. Or at least, Mussoorie did. Maybe I misunderstood. But that’s why I invited them, because I understood that you were all such good friends.”
“I’ve known Fahim very casually, but I’d never met his wife before. And to be completely honest, she’s really not someone I’d spend much time with. I couldn’t think how you’d know them.”
Serena grabbed Ania’s arm.
“Oh my God, what a relief. All evening, I just couldn’t understand how they were close to you. At first, I thought, well, she seems practically to live with the Somwari royals, how bad could she be? I should have known better. I only just remembered that we’d once arranged to do a photo shoot at their palace, but it was horrific because mice kept racing across those gorgeous teak floors. We had to leave. Absolutely in tears, all of us.”
“How awful.”
“Isn’t it? And as for him, I know he did an important story about some war, and as you know, I always try to have a good mix of minorities at my soirees. Unfortunately, that violinist from Nagaland couldn’t make it tonight. But, really, these two have just been intolerable. My God, the overfamiliarity. And now they won’t leave.”
Serena walked to the kitchen door, listened for a moment, and then returned.
“I’m sure they’re still just sitting there.”
“They’re hardly going to leave without saying goodbye.”
“I really wish they would.”
“Why don’t you just tell them you’re really tired and have to wake up early in the morning?”
“I couldn’t possibly. You know how much I hate confrontation. I think I’ll just have to hide here for a bit.”
“Stop being so ridiculous. Look, it’s late and I’m leaving; I’m sure you’ll find a way to deal with them.”
Serena grabbed Ania’s arm again.
“No, you can’t leave me here with them. I’ve not been well. Please, Ania.”
“I’ll stay five more minutes. But only because you’ve had the sense not to have an affair with my father.”
Serena let out a high-pitched laugh, which sounded as though it had been trapped inside her for hours.
“You go, I’ll be right behind you. Give me a minute,” she said.
Nests of candles flickered on the occasional tables as Ania walked down the long passage toward the sitting room. The thought crossed her mind that Serena was engaged in a pronounced bluff, resorting to the pretense of an intimate conversation to divert her from the truth. But she dismissed the suspicion in an instant. Her father was incapable of hiding any kind of affair from her. All these years she had watched him remain insensible to advances from all kinds of women, or brush off the bolder approaches, pretending not to notice their ruses as he politely answered their questions. And she was sure that he had done it all on her account, not wanting to risk their relationship by exposure to a new wife. She had never believed that he remained devoted to the memory of her mother; deceit and degradation could never inspire such fidelity. He had remained unattached for his daughter’s sake. It was a sacrifice that suddenly felt unbearable, the weight of its sadness making her stop to lean against the wall. She couldn’t cry: she had to prepare herself for some sort of unpleasantness in the next room. A few seconds went by. She returned to the sitting room.
Fahim and Mussoorie were on the sofa, his hand in hers, fingers locked together. Ania sat opposite them. Mussoorie reached for the lace fan and began to fan herself, even though the room was decidedly cool. Fahim looked at his glass of red wine.
“We’ve hardly had a chance to speak,” said Mussoorie.
“No, Serena’s so strict with the dinner seating that I didn’t dare interfere.”
“Of course not. She’s such a darling though.”
“One of the best. So, you’re living in Delhi now?”
“I come and go, don’t I?�
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Fahim nodded at her.
“I’m not sure if you know, why would you, although maybe you would? I’m working on a biography of the royal family of Somwari so I spend a fair bit of time there.”
“How wonderful. I’ve never been but I’ve heard it’s magical.”
“Completely. And the family are so delightful. They’ve been so kind to me. You really must come and visit us.”
“That would be something.”
“I’m serious; we really must arrange for you to come up there. The palace is just gorgeous, isn’t it, darling, although we’re having some restoration work done after the monsoons, so maybe toward Christmas would be better.”
Ania nodded.
“Do you ride? The stables are really splendid. I have the most adorable dun called Ophelia. I love her to bits. But if you don’t ride, that’s fine, we could just spend time in the palace. There are lots of gorgeous nooks, the library is marvelous, and, well, there’s some interesting art, shall we say.”
She put the fan down and leaned forward.
“I heard that years ago the maharajah’s mother took great exception to the nudes they had hanging in the palace and had local craftsmen paint saris over all the bare breasts. One of them was an Amrita Sher-Gil, can you imagine?”
“God, how tragic.”
“Absolutely. But that’s enough about us. Tell us about you, what are you up to these days?”
“Up to?”
“I know, how awful of me; that made it sound like you’re up to no good. Although, who knows.”
She laughed and picked up the fan again.
“So, are you seeing anyone at the moment?”
“Not at the moment.”
“You know, I’m sure I know one or two men who would be perfect for you. We must have lunch one day before I disappear into the wilds again. What do you think?”
The housekeeper had dispatched a boy to collect the ashtrays from all the balconies. He walked into the room, expecting it to be empty, and then retreated in fright. They heard his footsteps as he ran down the passage.
Ania watched Fahim staring at the carpet, his face strained and worn. His gaze shifted to one side and came to rest on the coffee table. Ania felt a rush of shame at her previous exuberance. How had she thought that this shell of a man would be suitable for her vibrant friend? And how had he come to entertain his own delusions? It came back to her: the wetness of his mouth.