by Alka Joshi
But...my house! I had dreamed it, worked hard for it, built it. I’d loved knowing that all the decisions were mine. Moving meant I would have to leave it behind.
Yet, what had the house brought me but debt, anxiety, sleepless nights? Did I need it to announce my arrival in the world of the successful, as I once had? Success was ephemeral—and fluid—as I’d found out the hard way. It came. It went. It changed you from the outside, but not from the inside. Inside, I was still the same girl who dreamed of a destiny greater than she was allowed. Did I really need the house to prove I had skill, talent, ambition, intelligence? What if—
All at once I felt lighter. It was the same weightlessness I had felt in Shimla. I breathed deeply. As if I could already smell the bracing air of the blue Himalayan mountains.
Before I lost my courage, I tore a fresh sheet from my notebook.
October 15, 1956
Samir,
It is with great regret that I must leave the city I have called my home for eleven years. Rest assured, I will not leave without settling my debts. In order to repay your loan, however, I must sell my house. Estate agents are loath to represent female owners, so I must ask you to do this for me. If you are amenable, I would appreciate your subtracting my loan from the sales price and forwarding the remainder to the address below.
Had circumstances been different, our association might have continued. But as they say: What is the use of crying when the birds have eaten the whole farm?
I leave for Shimla in a month. Please let me know your decision in the coming week.
Lakshmi Shastri
c/o Lady Bradley Hospital
Harrington Estate
Shimla, Himachal Pradesh
I read it over several times. Satisfied, I tore off another sheet and wrote to Jay Kumar. Then I blew out the lamp and slept for twelve straight hours.
Two days later, a messenger arrived at my door. I opened the lavender-scented envelope.
Lakshmi,
You asked Samir to sell your home. It’s not important how I found out; I just did. However, would it surprise you to learn that I’d rather keep your patterned floor than sell it? Enclosed is the money for your house, less your loan (yes, I know about that, too). I am not buying your favor (we are even on that score), merely acknowledging that we may never again have someone with your hand making our hands a wonder to hold.
Parvati
Not quite forgiveness. Nor an apology. But it unwound something in me: a coil of resentment, a long-held grudge. I sat with the note in my hand for a long time.
TWENTY-ONE
October 20, 1956
I had money now. There was no excuse to put off the inevitable.
I took a rickshaw to Kanta’s house.
I’d been avoiding Kanta, Radha and the baby since their return from Shimla a few weeks ago. I missed them. But I wanted them to have time as a family. And I didn’t want Radha to feel that I was underfoot, trying to manage her life.
“Lakshmi! What a nice surprise!” Kanta gathered me in a hug. She looked happy, refreshed. Gone were the hollows under her eyes. Her cheekbones had filled out.
“Radha’s in the nursery. Go on in. I must sit with Saasuji for her prayers and then I’ll join you.”
Kanta’s mother-in-law had accepted the baby as her grandson. If she guessed the truth about his birth or noted his resemblance to Radha, she said nothing; she had the grandchild she wanted.
I stopped just outside the nursery door, which was ajar. If the baby was sleeping, I didn’t want to wake him. I heard Radha’s voice from inside the room. “‘How dare you taunt me with your presence?’ roared the evil King Kansa. So many times he had tried to destroy Lord Krishna and so many times he had failed.’”
Quietly, I stepped inside. Her back to me, Radha was swaying to and fro in the rocking chair. The baby was cradled in her arms, and she was reading to him from her Tales of Krishna book, now so worn that the pages had been cellotaped to the spine.
Kanta and Manu had named the baby Nikhil. At the naming ceremony, Kanta purified the baby’s forehead with water before handing him to her saas for the ritual blessing. Given the date and time of his birth, the pandit had declared that the baby’s name should start with N. With his blue eyes, Neel would have been the natural choice for a name, but Manu whispered Nikhil four times in the baby’s ear, deciding the issue.
The baby gurgled.
Radha cooed, “Why, that’s exactly what Krishna said!” She bent her head to kiss his cheek. “Aren’t you clever?”
“He’s certainly as handsome as Krishna.”
The rocking chair jerked to a stop, and Radha turned to look at me. “Jiji! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” She was frowning.
In one hand she held the bottle that must have popped out of the baby’s mouth. He reached for it with his plump little fingers, wanting it back, but she dropped the almost empty bottle in her baby bag.
Was that guilt on her face or was I imagining things?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake him if he was sleeping.”
I took one of the baby’s chubby hands in mine and jiggled it. He stared at our joined fingers. He looked well-fed, happy. He wore a baby gown in cream linen.
“Auntie didn’t tell me you were coming.” There was accusation in her voice. As I feared, she thought I was checking up on her.
Radha lifted the baby on her shoulder, where she had a clean towel at the ready, to burp him. I still marveled at how she knew these things, instinctively, as if she’d raised many babies.
“She didn’t know. Malik and I have big news—”
Kanta rushed into the room. “Puja is over! Okay, let me feed him.”
“He’s almost asleep.” Radha rose from the chair, patting the baby’s back.
Kanta stood uncertainly in the middle of the nursery. “But...it’s been hours since he ate. Do you think he’s all right? He’s not sick, is he?”
Radha tilted her head to one side, as if she were the adult and Kanta a child. “He’s fine, Auntie. You worry too much.”
Kanta’s eyes landed on the burping cloth. “You didn’t just give him a bottle, did you?”
Radha glanced at me before responding. “Only a little. He was fussing.”
Behind Kanta, I frowned. The bottle had been nearly empty when I entered the room. Why had Radha lied?
“But, Radha, if you give him the bottle too often, my milk will dry up.” Kanta smiled weakly at me. “It’s just... I want to keep feeding him until he’s a year old—longer if he wishes.” She looked at Radha. “It makes me feel closer to him. Like I’m his mother.”
It was as if she were apologizing to Radha for wanting to feed the baby.
My sister caught my expression. Her cheeks turned pink and she looked away. She placed Niki awkwardly in the crook of Kanta’s arm. “I need to wash the diapers.” She picked up a basket of soiled nappies and left the room.
Kanta sat in the rocking chair and undid the buttons of her blouse. She pulled out a small breast and pointed it toward the baby’s mouth, but he turned his head away. She tried again and again, but he was not interested, having had his fill of the bottle. Her face fell. She raised the baby to her shoulder and patted his back as tears filled her eyes.
“Kanta, what is it?”
All at once, she looked haggard. “I don’t know how to be a mother. I want to—I really do, but...Radha seems to know so much more. Like how to feed him, when to feed him. When to lay him down for a nap. It’s like she is a better mother because, well, she gave birth to him.”
She tried a laugh, but it came out as a croak. “Listen to me! I’m so lucky to have this lovely baby to look after.” She kissed his plump arm. “I’m just being silly.”
“Do you feel—” I began carefully. “Is Radha’s presence...?”
Kant
a shook her head vigorously. “Nahee-nahee. I’m sure it’s—I’m such a goose! I’ve seen it happen to women after motherhood. Emotions running high.”
She got up from the chair and gently laid the baby, now asleep, in his crib. She affected a false brightness as she buttoned her blouse. “Shall we have some tea?”
We eased out of the room.
* * *
Over biscuits and chai, I told Kanta and Manu about Shimla. Kanta clapped her hands. Manu congratulated me. I answered their questions about what I would be doing for Lady Bradley Hospital and Dr. Kumar’s clinic, and they responded with assurances about my future success. If not for Kanta, I told them, I would never have experienced Shimla and fallen in love with its majestic mountain range and its welcoming people.
After an hour, I excused myself to tell Radha the news. I had the feeling she was deliberately avoiding me. I found her in the back courtyard, hanging diapers on the clothesline.
When I told her Malik and I were leaving for Shimla in two weeks and that Parvati Singh had bought the Rajnagar house, she looked stunned. Her arms, which were about to pin a wet diaper on the clothesline, froze in midair.
Her reaction surprised me; I thought she’d be pleased to have me move so far away.
“You know it’s time for me to leave Jaipur,” I said gently. “I can no longer be a henna artist here, and I’m ready to try something different.”
“But...will I ever see you again?”
It occurred to me that after everything that had happened—Pitaji’s drowning, Maa’s death and Ravi’s betrayal—she might be thinking I was abandoning her, too. I squeezed her arm and smiled. “Anytime you want. I’ll send you a ticket. Come as often as you like. Of course, Malik will be busy at school, so you might be a little lonely.”
Radha eyed me warily. “Malik? In school?”
“He’s missed so much of it, but I’m not going to let him get away with it anymore. He’ll go to the Bishop Cotton School for Boys.” I dropped my voice to a mock-whisper. “He’s been practicing wearing shoes.”
I’d thought we would share a laugh, but she was lost in thought. I looked inside the basket of washed diapers and pulled one out. “It must be hard to see Niki every day and know that Kanta wants so much to feel like she’s his mother.”
There was a bag full of wooden clothespins hanging on the line. I pulled out two. “Losing a baby has been so hard for her. She had two miscarriages before this. She seems a lot less sure of herself. Not like the bubbly Kanta she used to be.”
I pinned the diaper to the line. “She probably worries that Niki loves you more. And you’re so good with him, so natural. If you weren’t here—of course, you are here, but if you weren’t—do you think the baby could get used to just being with Kanta?”
I glanced at my sister. She was chewing on her lower lip. With Radha I could only guide and suggest. She was strong-willed and preferred her own counsel. I had learned that much.
I reached for another diaper. “I know of a wonderful ayah who needs a job. She used to be with another family, but they don’t need her anymore. Lala is kind. She loves children. She would love Niki as if he were her own.” I paused. “That is, of course, if you decide to come with us to Shimla.” I touched her shoulder. “It’s up to you.”
She glanced at me and something flickered in her eyes.
I kept talking. “Malik would be over the moon, of course. He’s going to need help with his homework. If you were going to school there, you could help him. And, of course, Dr. Kumar would love it, too.” I laughed. “He misses chatting with you about poetry.”
Radha was quiet. But I could tell by the way she pursed her mouth that she was thinking about it.
* * *
Two weeks later, the Rajnagar house was empty. The movers had taken our heavy trunks for transport to Shimla. Malik had given my sagging cot to one of his friends whose father worked with jute. We were left with only the three vinyl carriers we would take on the train.
Tomorrow morning, Malik would pick me up in a tonga to take us to the station. But tonight, I wanted to say goodbye to my house. I lit lamps along the edges of the walls so I could admire the mosaic on my floor one last time. I circled the room, thought of the hours I spent planning the design. The saffron flowers, for my childlessness. The Ashoka lion: the mark of India’s ambition and my own. My name, in script, hidden in a basket of herbs. And my saas’s name, for everything she had taught me.
I felt my spirits lift. I would leave the map of my life here, in Jaipur. I would leave behind a hundred thousand henna strokes. I would no longer call myself a henna artist but tell anyone who asked: I healed, I soothed. I made whole. I would leave behind the useless apologies for my disobedience. I would leave behind the yearning to rewrite my past.
My skills, my eagerness to learn, my desire for a life I could call my own—these were things I would take with me. They were a part of me the way my blood, my breath, my bones were.
I took a second, then a third round of the room, moving faster. I heard the kathak beat in my head, Dha-dhin—Dha-dha-dhin, the ancient rhythms of a dance that celebrated the slaying of the demon Tripuraasur.
Dha-dha-dhin—Ta-tin—Dha-dha-dhin.
I danced, cupping my hands in the shape of a lotus flower and waving my arms like floating fishes, as I’d seen Hazi and Nasreen do in Agra. What would they say if they could see me now? I pictured them, one clapping her hands with gusto, rolling her plump hips, the other chuckling. “Better leave the dancing to us nautch girls, Lakshmi!”
I laughed.
Dha-dhin—Dha-dha-dhin.
My feet slapped the terrazzo floor, dancing to the tabla drums only I could hear. If not for my saas, I would not have been able to fend for myself, would never have chanced the move to Agra, would never have built my house.
Dha-dhin—Dha-dha-dhin.
A feeling of floating on air, of watching clouds race against the endless Jaipur sky, filled me. I twirled faster. My heart raced.
Dha-dhin—Dha-dha-dhin.
A hundred times I spun—toward an ending and a rebirth.
Dha-dhin—Dha-dha-dhin.
My door flung open and gust of cool air rushed in.
I stopped, out of breath, chest heaving, sweat pooling in the hollow of my throat.
My sister stood in the doorway, cradling a bundle in her arms. It was the quilt I had made for Nikhil.
“Radha?”
She lifted the bundle to her shoulder. Her mouth quivered. “I know Auntie loves Niki. I know she does.” She patted the quilt. Her breath was ragged. “But I don’t want her to. I know she’s good to him, but every time she gets close to him, I want to push her away. I want to tell her, ‘He’s mine!’” She gasped for air—she’d been speaking too fast.
“Radha—”
“I’m grateful to her for keeping me near my baby. But... I want to stop him from loving her. I know that sounds horrible. But it’s true. Why should she be allowed to raise my baby when I’m forbidden to?”
Blood pounded at my temples. “What have you done?”
She was rocking back and forth now, squeezing the quilt—too tightly. “I hate her for it. I don’t want to, but I do.” She let out a painful groan. “And I want Niki to hate her, too. I know how awful that sounds. I know I’m selfish. But I can’t help it!”
Her arms went slack. The bundle slipped from her hands, dropping to the floor.
“No!” I cried. I lunged forward to catch it.
The quilt unfurled. A pair of yellow booties landed at my feet.
Nikhil’s silver rattle skidded across the marble and bounced off the wall.
The book Radha had brought with her from Ajar, The Tales of Krishna, split in two as it hit the terrazzo.
Nothing else.
Radha squeezed her eyes shut. “Jiji.” It was difficult for her to get the
words out. “I have to leave my baby.” Her mouth gaped. She released the sobs she’d been holding back.
I ran to her. My sister clung to me, and I felt the full force of her heartbreak. I rocked her, as she had rocked her baby.
“I’ve been so ungrateful. All I’ve done is cause trouble.” She hiccupped. “The gossip-eaters were right. I’ll always be the Bad Luck Girl.”
I pulled my head back to look at her. I lifted her chin. “No, Radha, you won’t. You never were. You never will be. I’m sorry I ever said that of you. You’ve brought so much good luck into my life, into our lives. If it hadn’t been for you, do you think I’d be going to Shimla? Building my own healing garden? Working with Dr. Kumar? How would I have done any of that without you?”
She blinked her wet lashes.
“For years, I’ve been serving women who only needed me to make them feel better. In Shimla, I’ll be serving people who want me to make them better. Because they’re truly suffering. Those are the people saas trained me to work with. They need me. And I want to be with them.”
I smoothed her hair.
“And look how you’ve helped me create a family. Malik. Kanta and Manu. And Nikhil. And, of course, you. You, Radha, Krishna’s wise gopi.”
What a miracle that she had found me, and I, her.
“So, Rundo Rani, burri sayani...are you coming to Shimla with us?”
Radha looked up at me. After a while, she nodded.
In the pause that followed, I heard a dog yelp, a tonga clop, crows flutter in the trees.
When, at last, she relaxed her hold on me, I kissed the top of her head.
“We’ll get your things in the morning from Kanta’s.” I wiped her face with my sari. “Come. I have aloo gobi subji waiting. I don’t know why it always tastes much better at night.”
* * *
The next morning, while I swept the Rajnagar house, Malik and Radha loaded our carriers onto the waiting tonga. We would stop at Kanta’s and say our goodbyes en route to the railway.