"You're mistaken, they have no hearts. They will kill her and her boys." Supriya warned.
"But, Dinesh, you didn't tell her where we are. She has nothing she can tell them!" I declared triumphant.
"They won't care or believe her. They will want to warn us and the others in the brothel too. They must show their authority now as they have done before." Supriya reminded me. Again we fell into a troubled silence.
"I will have to find her and bring her here. That will be best for all. I'll take some time first to think about how I'll do it." Dinesh decided more calmly.
CHAPTER THIRTY
It was a worrying time wondering what might happen if Mona and her men found us. Dinesh did not speak much about what he intended to do but he knew they must not catch him. As we all shared the same knowledge it was impossible for me to pretend there were no more worries for us. It was such a pity. We had got away from Calcutta. We had begun a new life but the snares and traps of the old one still lay in wait. Our secrets bound us and kept us vigilant. We were always afraid we might somehow be found out, caught in some invisible net and betrayed. At least there was the relief of being able to share my secrets with Dinesh and Supriya who now better understood Kajal's depression. We occupied ourselves with work and the chatter of new friends. That helped us to forget our fears, some of the time. To blend in with the colourful ethnic mix around was an opportunity to camouflage our own identities. We began to pick up bits of Nepalese as well as English. We were careful to remain vague about how we had come to our new home and allowed everyone to assume we were all members of the same family.
Liz was a regular visitor to the market now. I was glad Dinesh liked her. She and Sally came often to share a meal with us. Supriya loved cooking. I did the chopping and crushing of spices with the help of the twins. Liz and Sally insisted on being allowed to help. They looked very much alike except Sally's hair was a little darker. The kitchen became a place of fun and struggle to find ways to communicate, not only with speech but also with our hands and eyes, arms and legs even. It became a very inventive game, a dance almost, that everyone contributed to and enjoyed. In this way our understanding of the new languages, we were learning, grew stronger and we were able to appreciate each other's meanings enough to enjoy our friendship. They had not any perception, they told us, how long it took to have dinner in an Indian household and were lavish with their praise. They preferred to contribute their food, and to share with us rather than eat at their hostel. Usually, as the evening progressed, the children's energy flagged and they lay down to sleep as Kajal had, before them. Supriya seemed not to understand as much of what was said as the rest of us, or maybe she was shy but even she took an interest in these women, from Europe, who had become our friends.
One evening after our meal Liz said, "We are travelling south in a couple of days. It's been wonderful to enjoy the beauty of Darjeeling. Good to take a break from the heat of the plains, too but now we're refreshed and looking for more adventure."
I felt very sad. "We will miss you. When will you return to us?"
"Maybe next year. Or, if our money lasts and we can get an extension to our permits, we may come back for a short rest before flying home again."
"You must. You must." I insisted.
I began to explain to Supriya what was being said and once she understood she nodded vigorously, in agreement. I discovered she had extracted some understanding from the jumble of English and Bengali chatter, together with careful study of our facial expressions and tones of voice.
"You'll be welcome to stay with us any time. Our friends do not pay." Dinesh assured them.
I was grateful to him, although it truly shocked me, as well as them, when I said, "I should like to go with you when you leave." I caught Dinesh's bemused look. He obviously thought I was voicing an idle wish.
Liz was more astute." That'd be great. What do you think, Sally?"
"I think she should go for it." Sally smiled at Dinesh. "But isn't that a bit unusual in India?"
"That's what we came here for wasn't it? To make new discoveries." Liz replied scowling at her friend.
I knew their response was positive even if I wasn't sure of the details of what the words meant. It encouraged me to say, "I should like to bring my mother back to visit. She would be good for Kajal." On impulse I turned to Dinesh. "I could find Sharmila and bring her back with me. I am certain that I could persuade her. We have faced harsh times together. I know I could make her listen to me. Surely, I could."
"Is she a relative too?" Sally enquired.
I looked at Dinesh. We had to do something drastic. We must find her. Would he dare, like me, to trust these English women to help us or at least not to reveal what we told them? We held our gaze for long seconds. Finally, he nodded in assent to my unspoken enquiry. Then said. "It's true, we have agreed on equality in our marriage, Manasa, but it'll be a huge risk. It's a lot to expect of you. You know that I'm willing to do this instead of you, but it would be more than foolish for us to do it together."
"I think I know where Sharmila might be found. It will be a lot easier for me to look for a woman with my two friends than for you, Dinesh. Besides, I want to bring mummy back to help Kajal and to meet you." I could feel a huge blush cover my face, which I lowered instinctively.
The women watched agog as they waited for us to end our discussion and explain it to them in simpler terms.
"Of course. That would be an honour but I don't like the risk." Dinesh smiled that special smile he saved for me.
Both Liz and Sally appeared intrigued, also confused. I felt sure that even in England a bridegroom would be introduced to a bride's parents before the wedding. We stumbled through as clear an explanation as we could manage, for our friends. We could not let them take such a risk without telling them more about us and the dangers we feared. I felt acute disappointment at their lack of enthusiasm. I wanted to see mummy and since I had given voice to that wish, I desperately needed it to be fulfilled. Finally, Liz broke the silence and said she would be willing to help but only if Sally agreed. They had journeyed together and it was unfair to expect her friend to take this risk, unless it was something she agreed to, willingly. Without so much as a pause Sally accepted. The temperature in the room soared. We all gabbled excitedly about what was to happen. Supriya joined in half in Bengali and half in the scrappy bits of English she had begun to grasp. It was decided that I should wear European dress for the trip. Liz assured me they would find some clothes for me. Supriya agreed to alter them to fit, since both Liz and Sally were taller and larger than me. They tried to persuade me to cut my hair, to help with the change in how I looked, but I was adamant. Neither Lipika, my mother nor Sharmila would recognise me if I changed myself so completely.
Late into the night Supriya and I lay awake discussing all we thought lay ahead. My biggest dilemma was having to leave Lipika behind. What would happen to her if I was caught and didn't return? Supriya did her best to reassure me and give me encouragement. There seemed nothing else to do that could secure safety for ourselves and dear Sharmila, whom Dinesh had already tried to find. Somehow it felt right for me to be the one to find her and to try to bring mummy back with me. Eventually I fell asleep to dream of mummy cutting my hair and searching, with me, for Lipika and Sharmila.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
For the next few days I tried to avoid the cold fear that threatened my courage and the excitement which might entice me to let spill too much information to Kajal. I did not mean to distance myself from Lipika in a cold way. I needed to reassure myself about our parting. I saw more clearly that Supriya had become her second mother and the twins her sisters. Even Lipika had sensed, in her childish way, that Kajal, her blood relative, was the least dependable. I hoped that mummy would be able to restore her to us and comfort her again with the closeness they used to share. It was agreed not to tell Kajal about the hope of bringing mummy back with me, in case the plan did not work. Supriya had finished altering the dre
ss I was to wear. It was like a long shirt with sleeves and a belt. I liked its pale blue softness but neither of us had any idea whether I wore it correctly or not. Kajal had retreated into sleep as usual. The twins, eager for me to go and fetch their new "grandmother", had to be firmly instructed not to let Kajal hear them. Lipika did not comprehend what my going away meant. She had no conception of time in her little mind. It was a relief from the bustle when Liz and Sally arrived with their bags. We were taking the bus. I had tied a sari and a few belongings into a bundle ready for me to leave.
Liz's inspection of my appearance reminded me of a craftsman scrutinising the images of the gods he had created. "Manasa, you'd have more authority with your hair fixed in a pleat, you know? Carry more weight." I must have looked puzzled for she added, "here I'll show you." She found a comb and some hair fasteners in her smallest bag. With deft fingers my hair was twisted up and pinned in place to everyone's approval. "Hang on. One more prop." From that same small bag she produced a pair of sunglasses with silvered lenses. I put them on. They all applauded as if I'd been transformed into a real film star from Bolywood. "I'd never know you like that, Manasa. You are completely changed." Liz was pleased with herself. Lipika's bottom lip quivered in confusion and she refused to let me console her. Supriya took her hand. Poor Lipika clung to her knees.
"Do my hair, mummy!" Semanti demanded.
"When I come back I will do your hair and Madhu's but now we must go or we'll miss the bus." I persuaded Semanti pointing out that she would have something new to look forward to on my return, when I would give her my hair ornaments. Her smile was back. She bent down to tease and mollify Lipika. Then they chased off after Madhu together.
We said our goodbyes to Supriya before struggling down to the bus, the luggage shared among us. Liz and Sally chatted about the practical details of our journey. A catch in my throat prevented me from being able to join in the conversation. How long would I be gone? As the bus arrived Sally squeezed my arm and smiled gently. "Don't worry," She said. "Together we'll definitely find your friend." Her generous overconfidence warmed me.
I was glad no one waved to us, called goodbye or shed any sad tears at our departure. Dinesh had said it would be better if no one on the bus guessed who I was. Although it made sense, I felt suddenly catapulted out of myself, into an alien identity that I was not quite connected to. I felt vulnerable on this return trip to Calcutta, as though I had stepped into someone else's skin. The clothes I wore, my hair folded into a pleat at the back, the leather sandals, and the sunglasses were all foreign and strange to me. I was literally walking in someone else's shoes, no longer me. Tears smudged the inside of my glasses. I rubbed them casually away afraid that Liz or Sally might think me too weak for they were taking huge risks for us. We had managed to push through the crowd to seat ourselves along a bench near the front of the bus. We watched the cool mountain beauty roll past, leaving us its fresh sharp scent. For a long time we were silent. Already I began to anticipate the frenetic struggle for survival and the harsh smells of the city. I was leaving my family, just as I had that first time I had set out for Calcutta, the unknown. The fierce protectiveness of motherhood had pitched me forward then. This time there was more of a lost and shaky feeling inside me. Would I safely return to see Lipika again? My heart dragged my thoughts back to her. It was a huge effort to focus on what might lie ahead in my search for Sharmila.
I was uncertain Sharmila would come with us. It would be hard for her to leave the place that held her memories of Kalidas and Hiren. How could I persuade her of the danger there now? How insist she escape with her boys and make a new beginning, when the streets were all ears for anything that was said, and time was limited? I imagined our meeting over and over. I must make her think of her boys' future and insist on leaving explanations till later. Boys. Dinesh would enjoy having them in our family. For a moment, I felt the old inadequate feelings wash over me. Boys. Other people's boys. No, not other people's, they belonged to Sharmila and she was my friend, our friend. I must try to forget the troubles that haunted my childhood. Not allow them to hurt our children too. Bitterness would spoil all we had achieved. But the tears came. The lead in my heart for the sons I might have born sank deep into my spirit. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. There were no words for the way I felt. I did not want to share this hurt and humiliation either. It was mine, and I would resolve it myself but not now. I recovered hours of sleep I had been unable to take over the last few days. The rocking bus held me thickly steeped in a torrent of dreams. When Liz gently woke me, it was late afternoon.
"We're coming to our last stop before the city, Manasa. Last chance for freshening up."
Gratefully we clambered out of the bus taking a few bits of luggage. The rest was strapped to the roof.
"We're going to miss our beautiful hill station." Sally complained.
"Better forget that for the time being. Come on." Liz insisted rolling her elbows in small circles and bending and shaking her legs, one at a time.
Disorientated from the movement of the bus, we trailed behind Liz who found a discreet place for the toilet. Sally had brought damp cloths wrapped tightly in plastic bags with her, to refresh us. I must stop worrying and relax.
I had not expected to be hungry and it pleased me that I enjoyed the spiced vegetables, dhal, and rice from one of the hot food vendors along the main street. Our energy restored, we wandered up and down the road beneath a canopy of neem trees, not far from the parked bus. How oddly large and clumsy I felt. Everyone must notice my strangeness but there was no unnerving stares, curious looks or any questions. I began to feel easier about my appearance. We hauled ourselves back into the bus for the end of our journey, gradually revived by air forced over us from the open doorway and windows. A few hours later we arrived in Calcutta. My heart was bumping about inside me with all the memories and old anxieties the city evoked. I was determined to find, inside me, some of the resolve I had discovered that very first time I had arrived there. I put on my sunglasses and sat straight in my seat. We were all dusty, sticky, and longing to leave the bus.
"This place is unbelievable." Liz remarked.
The grotesquely twisted limbs of dirty beggar children demanding pennies, the foul smells of human waste, sweet and bitter spiced foods, mangy scrounging dogs and cats, petrol, and diesel fumes deluged our senses.
"How, Manasa, did you survive in such a hell hole?" Sally looked disbelieving.
"It takes only a short time to see only what you want to see. It was here I first saw a kite flying. That gave me hope." I assured them.
"You've got guts. Things like that must be very important to you when you're afraid and struggling to survive." She put out her hand to me and gave me a look of understanding. "Time to move on now, OK?" She said gently. I nodded and she continued, "Let's try to concentrate. What about this luggage we're hauling about? It's a real nuisance." Sally seemed to be shaking herself into some kind of role.
"I can see an easy answer to that." Liz replied. "We'll pay some of these young hangers-on to carry it for us, no problem." Immediately she chose a couple of the least stick like of little boys surrounding us to tote our heavier bags.
In Bengali I bade them, as part of their job, to ward off the other boys who were haggling and shouting for some job to do. It worked beautifully. My friends were impressed with my calm authority.
"OK, where to, Manasa? We're in your hands." Sally had obviously decided a strong attitude was best.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
"It is a very big walk. Follow me carefully." I put on my sunglasses and strode ahead. Who could hope to recognise me? I felt a lot stronger now that we were on our way to the old street haunt. Sharmila was liked by her neighbours there. They had mourned Kalidas and Hiren with her and shared a little of the food they also desperately needed when she was too exhausted to help herself and her sons.
I had to stop many times to make sure we were all still together in such a crowded place. Eventuall
y, I placed a few rupees in the hands of our porters and told them to keep the European ladies on track with me. It worked much better that way. I could hear them shouting and chivvying Liz and Sally behind me. Around early evening, we found our way to the small patch of pavement that had once been home to Sharmila and her family. She was not there. I checked several times to make sure of the correct location. Neither she, nor Anil, and Tarun were to be found. I made enquiries from the inevitably curious crowd that gathered around us. I had forgotten that no one would recognise me in my new guise without Lipika, but remembered to be grateful for that.
"What is it you want of Sharmila? She didn't tell us she knew distinguished persons from abroad." An old woman wrapped in grubby cloth that must once have been a good sari addressed us. She spoke through stubs of teeth, breathing her stench of wretchedness over us and shaming our robustness that wilted more in the heat, than she.
"She has been working for my family. She was an excellent worker but left without taking her full wages. I want to find her and tell her we have new work for her." It was the nearest I could get to speaking the truth.
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