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ForCarin,whobelievedfromthebeginning,andAlberto,whosawmetotheend
lasciach’iotornialmiopaesesepoltonell’erbacomeinunmarecaldoepesante.
letme return tomy home town entombed in grass as in awarmandhighsea.
—GIORGIOBASSANI,“SalutoaRoma”
ContentsPartI
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
PartII
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
PartIII
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
PartIV
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
PartV
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
PartVI
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
PartVII
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
PartVIII
Chapter1
Chapter2
Acknowledgments
ANoteAbouttheAuthor
AlsobyJhumpaLahiri
PartI
Chapter1East of theTollyClub, afterDeshapranSashmalRoad splits in two, there is a small
mosque.A turn leads to aquiet enclave.Awarrenofnarrow lanesandmodestmiddle-classhomes.
Once,withinthisenclave,thereweretwoponds,oblong,sidebyside.Behindthemwasalowlandspanningafewacres.
After themonsoon thepondswould rise so that the embankmentbuilt between themcould not be seen. The lowland also filledwith rain, three or four feet deep, thewaterremainingforaportionoftheyear.
Thefloodedplainwasthickwithwaterhyacinth.Thefloatingweedgrewaggressively.Itsleavescausedthesurfacetoappearsolid.Greenincontrasttotheblueofthesky.
Simplehutsstoodhereandtherealongtheperiphery.Thepoorwadedintoforageforwhatwasedible.Inautumnegretsarrived,theirwhitefeathersdarkenedbythecity’ssoot,waitingmotionlessfortheirprey.
InthehumidclimateofCalcutta,evaporationwasslow.Buteventuallythesunburnedoffmostofthefloodwater,exposingdampgroundagain.
SomanytimesSubhashandUdayanhadwalkedacrossthelowland.Itwasashortcuttoafieldon theoutskirtsof theneighborhood,where theywent toplayfootball.Avoidingpuddles,steppingovermatsofhyacinthleavesthatremainedinplace.Breathingthedankair.
Certaincreatureslaideggsthatwereabletoendurethedryseason.Otherssurvivedbyburyingthemselvesinmud,simulatingdeath,waitingforthereturnofrain.
Chapter2They’dneversetfootintheTollyClub.Likemostpeopleinthevicinity,they’dpassed
byitswoodengate,itsbrickwalls,hundredsoftimes.
Until themid-forties, from behind thewall, their father used to watch horses racingaround the track. He’d watched from the street, standing among the bettors and otherspectatorsunable toafforda ticket,or toenter theclub’sgrounds.Butafter theSecondWorldWar,aroundthe timeSubhashandUdayanwereborn, theheightof thewallwasraised,sothatthepubliccouldnolongerseein.
Bismillah,aneighbor,workedasacaddyattheclub.HewasaMuslimwhohadstayedoninTollygungeafterPartition.Forafewpaisehesoldthemgolfballsthathadbeenlostorabandonedonthecourse.Somewereslicedlikeagashinone’sskin,revealingapinkrubberyinterior.
Atfirsttheyhitthedimpledballsbackandforthwithsticks.ThenBismillahalsosoldthemaputtingironwithashaftthatwasslightlybent.Afrustratedplayerhaddamagedit,strikingitagainstatree.
Bismillah showed them how to lean forward, where to place their hands. Looselydetermining theobjectiveof thegame, theydugholes in thedirt, and tried to coax theballsin.Thoughadifferentironwasneededtodrivetheballgreaterdistances,theyusedtheputteranyway.Butgolfwasn’tlikefootballorcricket.Notasportthebrotherscouldsatisfactorilyimprovise.
Inthedirtoftheplayingfield,BismillahscratchedoutamapoftheTollyClub.Hetoldthem that closer to the clubhouse there was a swimming pool, stables, a tennis court.Restaurantswhereteawaspouredfromsilverpots,specialroomsforbilliardsandbridge.Gramophonesplayingmusic.Bartenders inwhitecoatswhoprepareddrinkscalledpinkladyandginfizz.
The club’smanagement had recently put upmore boundary walls, to keep intrudersaway.ButBismillah said that therewere still sectionsofwire fencingwhereonemightenter,alongthewesternedge.
Theywaiteduntil close to dusk,when thegolfers headedoff the course to avoid themosquitoes,andretreatedtotheclubhousetodrinktheircocktails.Theykepttheplantothemselves, not mentioning it to other boys in the neighborhood. They walked to themosqueattheircorner,itsred-and-whiteminaretsdistinctfromthesurroundingbuildings.Theyturnedontothemainroadcarryingtheputtingiron,andtwoemptykerosenetins.
Theycrossed to theothersideofTechnicians’Studio.Theyheaded toward thepaddyfieldswhere theAdiGangaonceflowed,where theBritishhadoncesailedboats to thedelta.
These days it was stagnant, lined with the settlements of Hindus who’d fled fromDhaka, from Rajshahi, from Chittagong. A displaced population that Calcuttaaccommodatedbutignored.SincePartition,adecadeago,theyhadoverwhelmedpartsofTollygunge,thewaymonsoonrainobscuredthelowland.
Some of the governmentworkers had received homes in the exchange program.Butmostwere refugees, arriving inwaves, stripped of their ancestral land.A rapid trickle,thenaflood.SubhashandUdayanrememberedthem.Agrimprocession,ahumanherd.Afewbundlesontheirheads,infantsstrappedtoparents’chests.
Theymade sheltersof canvasor thatch,wallsofwovenbamboo.They livedwithoutsanitation,withoutelectricity.Inshantiesnexttogarbageheaps,inanyavailablespace.
TheywerethereasontheAdiGanga,onthebanksofwhichtheTollyClubstood,wasnowasewercanalforSouthwestCalcutta.Theywerethereasonfortheclub’sadditionalwalls.
SubhashandUdayanfoundnowirefencing.Theystoppedataspotwherethewallwaslowenoughtoscale.Theywerewearingshorts.Theirpocketswerestuffedwithgolfballs.Bismillah said theywould find plentymore inside the club,where the balls lay on theground,alongsidethepodsthatfellfromtamarindtrees.
Udayanflungtheputtingironoverthewall.Thenoneofthekerosenetins.StandingontheremainingtinwouldgiveSubhashenoughleveragetomakeitover.ButUdayanwasafewinchesshorterinthosedays.
Laceyourfingers,Udayansaid.
Subhashbroughthishandstogether.Hefelt theweightofhisbrother’sfoot, thewornsole of his sandal, then his whole body, bearing down for an instant. QuicklyUdayanhoistedhimselfup.Hestraddledthewall.
ShouldIstandguardonthissidewhileyouexplore?Subhashaskedhim.
Whatfunwouldthatbe?
Whatdoyousee?
Comeseeforyourself.
Subhash nudged the kerosene tin closer to the wall. He stepped onto it, feeling thehollowstructurewobblebeneathhim.
Let’sgo,Subhash.
Udayan readjusted himself, dropping down so that only his fingertips were visible.Then he released his hands and fell. Subhash could hear him breathing hard from theeffort.
You’reallright?
Ofcourse.Nowyou.
Subhashgrippedthewallwithhishands,huggingittohischest,scrapinghisknees.Asusual he was uncertain whether he was more frustrated by Udayan’s daring, or withhimself forhis lackof it.Subhashwas thirteen,olderby fifteenmonths.ButhehadnosenseofhimselfwithoutUdayan.Fromhisearliestmemories,ateverypoint,hisbrotherwasthere.
Suddenly theywere no longer in Tollygunge. They could hear the traffic continuingdownthestreetbutcouldnolongerseeit.Theyweresurroundedbymassivecannonball
treesandeucalyptus,bottle-brushandfrangipani.
Subhash had never seen such grass, as uniform as a carpet, unfurled over slopingcontoursofearth.Undulatinglikedunesinadesert,orgentledipsandswellsinasea.Itwasshornsofinelyontheputtinggreenthatitfeltlikemosswhenhepressedagainstit.Thegroundbelowwasassmoothasascalp,thegrassappearingashadelighterthere.
Hehadnotseensomanyegretsinoneplace,flyingoffwhenhecametooclose.Thetreesthrewafternoonshadowsonthelawn.Theirsmoothlimbsdividedwhenhelookedupatthem,liketheforbiddenzonesofawoman’sbody.
Theywerebothgiddyfromthethrilloftrespassing,fromthefearofbeingcaught.Butnoguardonfootorhorseback,nogroundsmanspottedthem.Noonecametochasethemaway.
Theybegantorelax,discoveringaseriesofflagsplantedalongthecourse.Theholeswere like navels in the earth, fitted with cups, indicating where the golf balls weresupposedtogo.Therewereshallowpitsofsandinterspersedhereandthere.Puddlesonthefairway,strangelyshaped,likedropletsviewedunderamicroscope.
They kept far from the main entrance, not venturing toward the clubhouse, whereforeigncoupleswalkedarm inarm,or satoncanechairsunder the trees.From time totime,Bismillahhadsaid,therewasabirthdaypartyforthechildofaBritishfamilystillliving in India,with icecreamandponyrides,acake inwhichcandlesburned.ThoughNehruwasPrimeMinister,itwasthenewQueenofEngland,ElizabethII,whoseportraitpresidedinthemaindrawingroom.
Intheirneglectedcorner,inthecompanyofawaterbuffalothathadstrayedin,Udayanswungforcefully.Raisinghisarmsoverhishead,assumingposes,brandishingtheputtingiron likea sword.Hebrokeapart thepristine turf, losinga fewgolfballs inoneof thebodiesofwater.Theysearchedforreplacementsintherough.
Subhashwasthelookout,listeningfortheapproachofhorses’hoovesonthebroadred-dirtpaths.Heheardthetapsofawoodpecker.Thefaintstrikesofasickleasasectionofgrasselsewhereintheclubwastrimmedbyhand.
Groupsof jackalssaterect inpacks, their tawnyhidesmottledwithgray.Asthelightdwindledafewbegantosearchforfood,theirleanformstrottinginstraightlines.Theirdistraughthowling,echoingwithintheclub,signaledthatitwaslate,timeforthebrotherstogohome.
Theyleft the twokerosene tins, theoneon theoutside tomark theplace.Theymadesuretohidetheoneinsidetheclubbehindsomeshrubbery.
On subsequent visits Subhash collected feathers and wild almonds. He saw vulturesbathinginpuddles,spreadingtheirwingstodry.
Once he found an egg that had dropped, intact, from a warbler’s nest. Carefully hecarriedithomewithhim,placingitinaterra-cottacontainerfromasweetshop,coveringitwith twigs.Digging a hole for it in the gardenbehind their house, at the base of themangotree,whentheeggdidnothatch.
Thenoneevening, throwingovertheputtingironfrominsidetheclub,climbingback
overthewall,theynoticedthatthekerosenetinontheothersidewasmissing.
Someonetookit,Udayansaid.Hestartedtosearch.Thelightwasscant.
Isthiswhatyouboysarelookingfor?
Itwasapoliceman,appearingfromnowhere,patrollingtheareaaroundtheclub.
Theycoulddistinguishhisheight,hisuniform.Hewasholdingthetin.
Hetookafewstepstowardthem.Spottingtheputtingironontheground,hepickeditup,inspectingit.Hesetdownthetinandswitchedonaflashlight,focusingitsbeamoneachoftheirfaces,thendownthelengthoftheirbodies.
Brothers?
Subhashnodded.
What’sinyourpockets?
They removed the golf balls and surrendered them.Theywatched the policeman puttheminhisownpockets.Hekeptoneout,tossingitintotheairandcatchingitinhishand.
Howdidyoucometoacquirethese?
Theyweresilent.
Someoneinvitedyoutoday,toplaygolfattheclub?
Theyshooktheirheads.
Youdon’tneedmetotellyouthatthesegroundsarerestricted,thepolicemansaid.HerestedtheshaftoftheputtingironlightlyagainstSubhash’sarm.
Wastodayyourfirstvisit?
No.
Wasthisyouridea?Aren’tyouoldenoughtoknowbetter?
Itwasmyidea,Udayansaid.
You have a loyal brother, the policeman said to Subhash. Wanting to protect you.Willingtotaketheblame.
I’lldoyouafavorthistime,hecontinued.Iwon’tmentionit totheClub.Aslongasyoudon’tintendtotryitagain.
Wewon’treturn,Subhashsaid.
Very well. Shall I escort you home to your parents, or should we conclude ourconversationhere?
Here.
Turnaround,then.Onlyyou.
Subhashfacedthewall.
Takeanotherstep.
Hefeltthesteelshaftstrikinghishaunches,thenthebacksofhislegs.Theforceofthesecondblow,onlyaninstantofcontact,broughthimtohishandsandknees.Itwouldtakesomedaysfortheweltstogodown.
Theirparentshadneverbeaten them.He feltnothingat first,onlynumbness.Thenasensationthatwaslikeboilingwatertossedfromapanagainsthisskin.
Stop it,Udayanshouted to thepoliceman.Hecrouchednext toSubhash, throwinganarmacrosshisshoulders,attemptingtoshieldhim.
Together, pressed against one another, they braced themselves. Their heads werelowered, theireyesclosed,Subhashstill reeling frompain.Butnothingmorehappened.Theyheardthesoundoftheputtingironbeingtossedoverthewall,landingafinaltimeinside the club. Then the policeman, who wanted nothing more to do with them,retreating.
Chapter3SincechildhoodSubhashhadbeencautious.Hismotherneverhadtorunafterhim.He
kept her company,watching as she cooked at the coal stove, or embroidered saris andblousepiecescommissionedbyaladies’tailorintheneighborhood.Hehelpedhisfatherplant the dahlias that he grew in pots in the courtyard. The blooming orbs, violet andorangeandpink,weresometimestippedwithwhite.Theirvibrancywasshockingagainstthedrabcourtyardwalls.
Hewaitedforchaoticgamestoend,forshoutstosubside.Hisfavoritemomentswerewhen he was alone, or felt alone. Lying in bed in the morning, watching sunlightflickeringlikearestlessbirdonthewall.
Heputinsectsunderadomedscreentoobservethem.Attheedgesofthepondsintheneighborhood,where hismother sometimeswashed dishes if themaid happened not tocome,hecuppedhishandsinturbidwater,searchingforfrogs.Helivesinhisownworld,relativesatlargegatherings,unabletosolicitareactionfromhim,sometimessaid.
WhileSubhashstayedinclearview,Udayanwasdisappearing:evenintheirtwo-roomhouse,whenhewasaboy,hehidcompulsively,under thebed,behind thedoors, in thecratewherewinterquiltswerestored.
Heplayedthisgamewithoutannouncingit,spontaneouslyvanishing,sneakingintothebackgarden, climbing into a tree, forcing theirmother,when she called andhedidnotanswer,tostopwhatshewasdoing.Asshelookedforhim,asshehumoredhimandcalledhisname,Subhashsawthemomentarypanicinherface,thatperhapsshewouldnotfindhim.
Whentheywereoldenough,whentheywerepermittedto leavethehouse, theyweretoldnottolosesightofoneanother.Togethertheywandereddownthewindinglanesofthe enclave, behind the ponds and across the lowland, to the playing field where theysometimesmetupwithotherboys.Theywent to themosqueat thecorner, tositon thecoolof itsmarblesteps,sometimes listening toafootballgameonsomeone’sradio, theguardianofthemosqueneverminding.
Eventuallytheywereallowedtoleavetheenclave,andtoenterthegreatercity.Towalkasfarastheir legswouldcarrythem,toboardtramsandbussesbythemselves.Still themosqueonthecorner,aplaceofworshipforthoseofaseparatefaith,orientedtheirdailycomingsandgoings.
Atonepoint,becauseUdayansuggested it, theybegan to lingeroutsideTechnicians’Studio,whereSatyajitRayhadshotPatherPanchali,whereBengali cinemastars spenttheirdays.Nowandthen,becausesomeonewhoknewthemwasemployedontheshoot,theywereusheredinamidthetangleofcablesandwires,theglaringlights.Afterthecallforsilence,aftertheboardwasclapped,theywatchedthedirectorandhiscrewtakingandretakingasinglescene,perfectingahandfuloflines.Aday’swork,devotedtoamoment’sentertainment.
They caught sight of beautiful actresses as they emerged from their dressing rooms,shieldedbysunglasses,steppingintowaitingcars.Udayanwastheonebraveenoughto
ask them for autographs. He was blind to self-constraints, like an animal incapable ofperceivingcertaincolors.ButSubhashstrovetominimizehisexistence,asotheranimalsmergedwithbarkorbladesofgrass.
Inspiteoftheirdifferencesonewasperpetuallyconfusedwiththeother,sothatwheneithernamewascalledbothwereconditionedtoanswer.Andsometimesitwasdifficulttoknowwho had answered, given that their voices were nearly indistinguishable. Sittingover thechessboard theyweremirror images:one legbent, theothersplayedout,chinsproppedontheirknees.
They were similar enough in build to draw from a single pile of clothes. Theircomplexions,alightcopperycompoundderivedfromtheirparents,wereidentical.Theirdouble-jointedfingers,thesharpcutoftheirfeatures,thewavytextureoftheirhair.
Subhashwonderedifhisplacidnaturewasregardedasalackofinventiveness,perhapsevenafailing,inhisparents’eyes.Hisparentsdidnothavetoworryabouthimandyettheydidnotfavorhim.Itbecamehismissiontoobeythem,giventhatitwasn’tpossibletosurpriseorimpressthem.ThatwaswhatUdayandid.
In the courtyard of their family’s house was the most enduring legacy of Udayan’stransgressions.Atrailofhisfootprints,createdthedaythedirtsurfacewaspaved.Adaythey’dbeeninstructedtoremainindoorsuntilithadset.
All morning they’d watched the mason preparing the concrete in a wheelbarrow,spreading and smoothing thewetmixturewith his tools.Twenty-four hours, themasonhadwarnedthem,beforeleaving.
Subhashhad listened.Hehadwatched through thewindow,hehadnotgoneout.Butwhen their mother’s back was turned, Udayan ran down the long wooden planktemporarilysetuptogetfromthedoortothestreet.
Halfway across the plank he lost his balance, the evidence of his path formingimpressionsofthesolesofhisfeet,taperinglikeanhourglassatthecenter,thepadsofthetoesdisconnected.
Thefollowingdaythemasonwascalledback.Bythenthesurfacehaddried,andtheimpressionsleftbyUdayan’sfeetwerepermanent.Theonlywaytorepairtheflawwastoapplyanotherlayer.Subhashwonderedwhetherthistimehisbrotherhadgonetoofar.
Buttothemasontheirfathersaid,Leaveitbe.Notfortheexpenseoreffortinvolved,butbecausehebelieveditwaswrongtoerasestepsthathissonhadtaken.
And so the imperfection became amark of distinction about their home. Somethingvisitorsnoticed,thefirstfamilyanecdotethatwastold.
Subhashmighthavestartedschoolayearearlier.Butforthesakeofconvenience—alsobecauseUdayanprotestedatthenotionofSubhashgoingwithouthim—theywereputintothe same class at the same time. A Bengali medium school for boys from ordinaryfamilies,beyondthetramdepot,pasttheChristianCemetery.
InmatchingnotebookstheysummarizedthehistoryofIndia,thefoundingofCalcutta.Theydrewmapstolearnthegeographyoftheworld.
TheylearnedthatTollygungehadbeenbuiltonreclaimedland.Centuriesago,whentheBayofBengal’s currentwas stronger, it hadbeena swampdensewithmangroves.Thepondsandthepaddyfields,thelowland,wereremnantsofthis.
Aspartoftheirlife-sciencelessontheydrewpicturesofmangrovetrees.Theirtangledrootsabovethewaterline,theirspecialporesforobtainingair.Theirelongatedseedlings,calledpropagules,shapedlikecigars.
Theylearnedthatif thepropagulesdroppedatlowtidetheyreproducedalongsidetheparents,spearingthemselvesinbrackishmarsh.Butathighwatertheydriftedfromtheirsourceoforigin,foruptoayear,beforematuringinasuitableenvironment.
The English started clearing the waterlogged jungle, laying down streets. In 1770,beyond thesouthern limitsofCalcutta, theyestablishedasuburbwhose firstpopulationwas more European than Indian. A place where spotted deer roamed, and kingfishersdartedacrossthehorizon.
MajorWilliamTolly,forwhomtheareawasnamed,excavatedanddesiltedaportionoftheAdiGanga,whichcamealsotobeknownasTolly’sNullah.He’dmadeshippingtradepossiblebetweenCalcuttaandEastBengal.
ThegroundsoftheTollyClubhadoriginallybelongedtoRichardJohnson,achairmanoftheGeneralBankofIndia.In1785,he’dbuiltaPalladianvilla.He’dimportedforeigntreestoTollygunge,fromalloverthesubtropicalworld.
In the early nineteenth century, on Johnson’s estate, the British East India CompanyimprisonedthewidowsandsonsofTipuSultan,therulerofMysore,afterTipuwaskilledintheFourthAnglo-MysoreWar.
The deposed familywas transplanted fromSrirangapatna, in the distant southwest ofIndia.After their release, theywere granted plots inTollygunge to live on.And as theEnglishbegantoshiftbacktothecenterofCalcutta,TollygungebecameapredominantlyMuslimtown.
Though Partition had turned Muslims again into a minority, the names of so manystreetswere the legacyofTipu’sdisplaceddynasty:SultanAlamRoad,PrinceBakhtiarShahRoad,PrinceGolamMohammadShahRoad,PrinceRahimuddinLane.
GolamMohammadhadbuilt thegreatmosqueatDharmatala inhis father’smemory.Foratimehe’dbeenpermittedtoliveinJohnson’svilla.Butby1895,whenaScotsmannamedWilliamCruickshankstumbledacrossitonhorseback,lookingforhislostdog,thegreathousewasabandoned,colonizedbycivets,sheathedinvines.
ThankstoCruickshankthevillawasrestored,andacountryclubwasestablishedinitsplace. Cruickshank was named the first president. It was for the British that the city’stramlinewasextendedsofarsouthintheearly1930s.ItwastofacilitatetheirjourneytotheTollyClub,toescapethecity’scommotion,andtobeamongtheirown.
In high school the brothers studied optics and forces, the atomic numbers of theelements, the properties of light and sound. They learned about Hertz’s discovery ofelectromagneticwaves,andMarconi’sexperimentswithwirelesstransmissions.JagadishChandra Bose, a Bengali, in a demonstration in Calcutta’s town hall, had shown that
electromagneticwavescouldignitegunpowder,andcauseabelltoringfromadistance.
Each evening, at opposite sides of ametal study table, they satwith their textbooks,copybooks,pencilsanderasers,achessgamethatwouldbeinprogressatthesametime.Theystayeduplate,workingonequationsandformulas.ItwasquietenoughatnighttohearthejackalshowlingintheTollyClub.Attimestheywerestillawakewhenthecrowsbeganquarrelinginnearunison,signalingthestartofanotherday.
Udayanwasn’tafraidtocontradicttheirteachersabouthydraulics,aboutplatetectonics.He gesticulated to illustrate his points, to emphasize his opinions, the interplay of hishands suggesting that molecules and particles were within his grasp. At times he wasaskedbytheirSirs tostepoutside theroom, told thathewasholdinguphisclassmates,wheninfacthe’dmovedbeyondthem.
Atacertainpointa tutorwashired toprepare themfor theircollegeentranceexams,theirmothertakinginextrasewingtooffsettheexpense.Hewasahumorlessman,withpalsied eyelids, held open with clips on his glasses. He could not keep them openotherwise.Everyeveninghecametothehousetoreviewwave-particleduality,thelawsof refraction and reflection.TheymemorizedFermat’s principle:The path traversed bylightinpassingbetweentwopointsisthatwhichwilltaketheleasttime.
After studyingbasiccircuitry,Udayan familiarizedhimselfwith thewiring systemoftheir home. Acquiring a set of tools, he figured out how to repair defective cords andswitches, toknotwires, tofileawaytherust thatcompromised thecontactpointsof thetablefan.Heteasedtheirmotherforalwayswrappingherfingerinthematerialofhersaribecauseshewasterrifiedtotouchaswitchwithherbareskin.
Whena fuseblew,Udayan,wearingapairof rubber slippers,never flinching,wouldchecktheresistorsandunscrewthefuses,whileSubhash,holdingtheflashlight,stoodtooneside.
Oneday,cominghomewithalengthofwire,Udayansetaboutinstallingabuzzerforthehouse,fortheconvenienceofvisitors.Hemountedatransformeronthefusebox,andablackbutton topushby themaindoor.Hammeringahole in thewall,hefed thenewwiresthrough.
Oncethebuzzerwasinstalled,UdayansaidtheyshoulduseittopracticeMorsecode.Finding a book about telegraphy at a library, he wrote out two copies of the dots anddashesthatcorrespondedtothelettersofthealphabet,oneforeachofthemtoconsult.
A dashwas three times as long as a dot. Each dot or dashwas followed by silence.There were three dots between letters, seven dots between words. They identifiedthemselvessimplybyinitial.Theletters,whichMarconihadreceivedacrosstheAtlanticOcean,wasthreequickdots.Uwastwodotsandadash.
They took turns,oneof themstandingby thedoor, theother inside, signaling tooneanother, deciphering words. They got good enough to send coded messages that theirparents couldn’t understand. Cinema, one of them would suggest. No, tram depot,cigarettes.
They concocted scenarios, pretending to be soldiers or spies in distress. CovertlycommunicatingfromamountainpassinChina,aRussianforest,acanefieldinCuba.
Ready?
Clear.
Coordinates?
Unknown.
Survivors?
Two.
Losses?
Pressingthebuzzer,theywouldtelleachotherthattheywerehungry,thattheyshouldplayfootball,thataprettygirlhadjustpassedbythehouse.Itwastheirprivateback-and-forth,thewaytwoplayerspassedaballbetweenthemastheyadvancedtogethertowardthegoal.Ifoneofthemsawtheirtutorapproaching,theypressedSOS.Threedots,threedashes,threedotsagain.
Theywereadmittedtotwoofthecity’sbestcolleges.UdayanwouldgotoPresidencytostudyphysics.Subhash,forchemicalengineering,toJadavpur.Theyweretheonlyboysin their neighborhood, the only students from their unremarkable high school, to havedonesowell.
Tocelebrate,theirfatherwenttothemarket,bringingbackcashewsandrosewaterforpulao, half a kilo of the most expensive prawns. Their father had started working atnineteen tohelpsupporthis family.Nothavingacollegedegreewashissoleregret.HehadaclericalpositionwiththeIndianRailways.Aswordspreadofhissons’success,hesaidhecouldnolongerstepoutsidethehousewithoutbeingstoppedandcongratulated.
It had had nothing to dowith him, he told these people.His sons hadworked hard,they’ddistinguishedthemselves.Whatthey’daccomplished,they’daccomplishedontheirown.
Askedwhattheywantedasagift,Subhashsuggestedamarblechesssettoreplacethewornwoodenpiecesthey’dalwayshad.ButUdayanwantedashortwaveradio.Hewantedmorenewsoftheworldthanwhatcamethroughtheirparents’oldvalveradio,encasedinitswoodencabinet,orwhatwasprintedinthedailyBengalipaper,rolledslimasatwig,thrownoverthecourtyardwallinthemornings.
Theyputittogetherthemselves,searchinginNewMarket,injunkshops,findingpartsfrom IndianArmy surplus.They followeda set of complicated instructions, aworn-outcircuitdiagram.Theylaidoutthepiecesonthebed:thechassis,thecapacitors,thevariousresistors, the speaker. Soldering the wires, working together on the task.When it wasfinallyassembled,itlookedlikealittlesuitcase,withasquared-offhandle.Madeofmetal,boundinblack.
Thereceptionwasoftenbetterinwinterthaninsummer.Generallybetteratnight.Thiswas when the sun’s photons weren’t breaking up molecules in the ionosphere. Whenpositiveandnegativeparticlesintheairquicklyrecombined.
They took turnssittingby thewindow,holding the receiver in theirhands, invariouspositions, adjusting the antenna,manipulating two controls at once.Rotating the tuning
dialasslowlyaspossible,theygrewfamiliarwiththefrequencybands.
They searched for any foreign signal. News bulletins fromRadioMoscow,Voice ofAmerica, Radio Peking, the BBC. They heard arbitrary information, snippets fromthousandsofmilesaway,emergingfromgreatthicketsofinterferencethattossedlikeanocean,thatwaveredlikeawind.WeatherconditionsoverCentralEurope,folksongsfromAthens,aspeechbyAbdelNasser.Reportsinlanguagestheycouldonlyguessat:Finnish,Turkish,Korean,Portuguese.
Itwas1964.TheGulfofTonkinResolutionauthorizedAmerica tousemilitaryforceagainstNorthVietnam.TherewasamilitarycoupinBrazil.
In CalcuttaCharulata was released in cinema halls. Another wave of riots betweenMuslims and Hindus killed over one hundred people after a relic was stolen from amosqueinSrinagar.AmongthecommunistsinIndiatherewasdissentovertheborderwarwithChinatwoyearsbefore.Abreakawaygroup,sympathetictoChina,calleditselftheCommunistPartyofIndia,Marxist:theCPI(M).
CongresswasstillrunningthecentralgovernmentinDelhi.AfterNehrudiedofaheartattack that springhisdaughter, Indira, entered thecabinet.Within twoyears, shewouldbecomethePrimeMinister.
Inthemornings,nowthatSubhashandUdayanwerebeginningtoshave,theyheldupahandmirror and a pan ofwarmwater for one another in the courtyard.After plates ofsteaming riceanddalandmatchstickpotatoes theywalked to themosqueat thecorner,leavingtheirenclavebehind.Theycontinuedtogetherdownthebusymainroad,asfarasthetramdepot,thenboardeddifferentbussestotheircolleges.
Onseparatesidesofthecity,theymadedifferentfriends,mixingwithboyswho’dgonetoEnglishmediumschools.Thoughsomeoftheirsciencecoursesweresimilar,theytookexams on different schedules, studying with different professors, running differentexperimentsintheirlabs.
BecauseUdayan’scampuswasfartheraway,it tookhimlongertogethome.BecausehestartedtobefriendstudentsfromNorthCalcutta,thechessboardstoodneglectedonthestudytable,sothatSubhashstartedtoplayagainsthimself.Still,eachdayofhislifebeganandendedwithUdayanbesidehim.
Oneevening in thesummerof1966,on theshortwave, they listened toEnglandplayGermanyintheWorldCupatWembley.Itwasthefamousfinal,theghostgoalthatwastobe disputed for years. They took notes as the lineupwas announced, diagramming theformationonasheetofpaper.Theytrailedtheirindexfingerstomimicthemovesbeingrelayed,asifthebedweretheplayingfield.
Germanyscored first; in theeighteenthminutecameGeoffHurst’sequalizer.Towardtheendofthesecondhalf,withEnglandleadingtwotoone,Udayanturnedofftheradio.
Whatareyoudoing?
Improvingthereception.
It’sgoodenough.We’remissingtheendofthematch.
It’snotover.
Udayanreachedunderthemattress,whichwaswheretheystashedtheiroddsandends.Notebooks,compassesandrulers,razorbladestosharpentheirpencils,sportsmagazines.Theinstructionsforputtingtheradiotogether.Somesparenutsandbolts,thescrewdriverandpliersthey’dneededforthetask.
Usingthescrewdriver,hestartedtakingtheradioapartagain.
Thewiringtooneofthecoilsorswitchesmustbeloose,hesaid.
Youneedtofixthatnow?
He didn’t stop to answer. He’d already removed the cover, his nimble fingersunthreadingthescrews.
Ittookusdaystoputthattogether,Subhashsaid.
IknowwhatI’mdoing.
Udayan isolated the chassis, realigning some wires. Then he put the receiver backtogetheragain.
The game was still going on, the crackle less distracting. While Udayan had beenfiddlingwiththeradio,Germanyhadscoredlateinthesecondhalf,toforceovertime.
Then theyheardHurst scoreagain forEngland.Theballhadhit theundersideof thecrossbar, and bounced down over the line. When the referee gave him the goal, theGerman teamimmediatelycontested.Everythingcame toahaltas therefereeconsultedwithaSovietlinesman.Thegoalstood.
England’swonit,Udayansaid.
Therewere still someminutes left,Germanydesperate to tie.ButUdayanwas right,Hurst even scored a fourth goal at the end of the match. And by then the Englishspectators,triumphantbeforethefinalwhistle,werealreadyspillingontothefield.
Chapter4In1967,inthepapersandonAllIndiaRadio,theystartedhearingaboutNaxalbari.It
wasaplacethey’dneverheardofbefore.
Itwas one of a string of villages in theDarjeelingDistrict, a narrow corridor at thenorthern tip of West Bengal. Tucked into the foothills of the Himalayas, nearly fourhundredmilesfromCalcutta,closertoTibetthantoTollygunge.
Most of the villagers were tribal peasants who worked on tea plantations and largeestates. For generations they’d lived under a feudal system that hadn’t substantiallychanged.
They were manipulated by wealthy landowners. They were pushed off fields they’dcultivated, denied revenue from crops they’d grown. They were preyed upon bymoneylenders.Deprivedofsubsistencewages,somediedfromlackoffood.
ThatMarch,when a sharecropper inNaxalbari tried to plough land fromwhichhe’dbeenillegallyevicted,hislandlordsentthugstobeathim.Theytookawayhisploughandbullock.Thepolicehadrefusedtointervene.
After this, groups of sharecroppers began retaliating.They started burning deeds andrecordsthatcheatedthem.Forciblyoccupyingland.
Itwasn’tthefirstinstanceofpeasantsintheDarjeelingDistrictrevolting.Butthistimetheir tacticsweremilitant. Armedwith primitiveweapons, carrying red flags, shoutingLongLiveMaoTse-tung.
TwoBengalicommunists,CharuMajumdarandKanuSanyal,werehelpingtoorganizewhat was happening. They’d been raised in towns close to Naxalbari. They’d met inprison.TheywereyoungerthanmostofthecommunistleadershipinIndia—menwho’dbeenborn in the late1800s.MajumdarandSanyalwerecontemptuousof those leaders.TheyweredissidentsoftheCPI(M).
Theyweredemandingownershiprightsforsharecroppers.Theyweretellingpeasantstotillforthemselves.
CharuMajumdarwasacollegedropoutfroma landowningfamily,a lawyer’sson. Inthepaperstherewerepicturesofafrailmanwithabonyface,ahookednose,bushyhair.He was an asthmatic, a Marxist-Leninist theoretician. Some of the senior communistscalledhimamadman.Atthetimeoftheuprising,thoughnotyetfifty,hewassufferingaheartailment,confinedtohisbed.
KanuSanyalwas adiscipleofMajumdar’s, inhis thirties.Hewas aBrahminwho’dlearnedthetribaldialects.Herefusedtoownproperty.Hewasdevotedtotheruralpoor.
As the rebellion spread, the police started patrolling the area. Imposing undeclaredcurfews,makingarbitraryarrests.
The stategovernment inCalcutta appealed toSanyal.Theywerehopinghe’dget thepeasantstosurrender.Atfirst,assuredthathewouldn’tbearrested,hemetwiththelandrevenueminister.Hepromisedanegotiation.Atthelastminutehebackedout.
InMay itwas reported that a group of peasants,male and female, attacked a policeinspector with bows and arrows, killing him. The next day the local police forceencounteredariotingcrowdontheroad.Anarrowstruckoneofthesergeantsinthearm,andthecrowdwastold todisband.Whenitdidn’t, thepolicefired.Elevenpeoplewerekilled.Eightofthemwerewomen.
At night, after listening to the radio, Subhash and Udayan talked about what wasunfolding.Secretlysmokingaftertheirparentshadgonetobed,sittingatthestudytable,withanashtraybetweenthem.
Doyouthinkitwasworthit?Subhashasked.Whatthepeasantsdid?
Ofcourseitwasworthit.Theyroseup.Theyriskedeverything.Peoplewithnothing.Peoplethoseinpowerdonothingtoprotect.
Butwillitmakeadifference?Whatgoodarebowsandarrowsagainstamodernstate?
Udayanpressedhisfingertipstogether,asif toclaspafewgrainsofrice.Ifyouwerebornintothatlife,whatwouldyoudo?
Like somany,Udayan blamed theUnited Front, the left-wing coalition led byAjoyMukherjee thatwasnowrunningWestBengal.Earlier in theyearbothheandSubhashhad celebrated its victory. It had put communists into the cabinet. It had promised toestablishagovernment basedonworkers andpeasants. It hadpledged to abolish large-scale landholdings. In West Bengal, it had brought nearly two decades of Congressleadershiptoanend.
But theUnitedFronthadn’tbackedtherebellion.Instead, in thefaceofdissent,JyotiBasu,thehomeminister,hadcalledinthepolice.AndnowAjoyMukherjeehadbloodonhishands.
ThePekingPeople’sDailyaccusedtheWestBengalgovernmentofbloodysuppressionofrevolutionarypeasants.SpringThunderOverIndia,itsheadlineread.InCalcuttaallthepaperscarried the story.On the streets,oncollegecampuses,demonstrationsbrokeout,defending the peasants, protesting the killings.At PresidencyCollege, and at Jadavpur,Subhash and Udayan saw banners hanging from the windows of certain buildings, insupportofNaxalbari.Theyheardspeechescallingforstateofficialstoresign.
InNaxalbari theconflictonly intensified.Therewere reportsofbanditryand looting.Peasantssettingupparalleladministrations.Landownersbeingabductedandkilled.
InJulytheCentralGovernmentbannedthecarryingofbowsandarrowsinNaxalbari.The sameweek, authorized by theWestBengal cabinet, five hundred officers andmenraided the region. They searched themud huts of the poorest villagers. They capturedunarmed insurgents,killing themif they refused tosurrender.Ruthlessly, systematically,theybroughttherebelliontoitsheels.
Udayansprangupfromthechairwherehe’dbeensitting,pushingapileofbooksandpapersawayfromhimindisgust.Heswitchedofftheradio.Hestartedtopacetheroom,lookingdownatthefloor,runninghisfingersthroughhishair.
Areyouallright?Subhashaskedhim.
Udayanstoodstill.Shakinghishead,restingahandonhiship.Foramomenthewasspeechless.The report had shocked themboth, butUdayanwas reacting as if itwere apersonalaffront,aphysicalblow.
Peoplearestarving,andthisistheirsolution,heeventuallysaid.Theyturnvictimsintocriminals.Theyaimgunsatpeoplewhocan’tshootback.
Heunlatchedthedooroftheirbedroom.
Whereareyougoing?
Idon’tknow.Ineedtotakeawalk.Howcouldithavecometothis?
Soundslikeit’soverinanycase,Subhashsaid.
Udayanpausedbeforeleaving.Thiscouldonlybethebeginning,hesaid.
Thebeginningofwhat?
Somethingbigger.Somethingelse.
UdayanquotedwhattheChinesepresshadpredicted:ThesparkinDarjeelingwillstartaprairiefireandwillcertainlysetthevastexpansesofIndiaablaze.
ByautumnSanyalandMajumdarhadbothgone intohiding. Itwas thesameautumnCheGuevarawasexecutedinBolivia,hishandscutofftoprovehisdeath.
In India journalists started publishing their own periodicals. Liberation in English,Deshabrati in Bengali. They reproduced articles from Chinese Communist magazines.Udayanbeganbringingthemhome.
This rhetoric isnothingnew, their fathersaid, leafing throughacopy.OurgenerationreadMarx,too.
Yourgenerationdidn’tsolveanything,Udayansaid.
Webuiltanation.We’reindependent.Thecountryisours.
It’snotenough.Wherediditgetus?Whohasithelped?
Thesethingstaketime.
Their father dismissed Naxalbari. He said young people were getting excited overnothing.Thatthewholethinghadbeenamatteroffifty-twodays.
No,Baba.TheUnitedFrontthinksit’swon,butit’sfailed.Lookatwhat’shappening.
Whatishappening?
Peoplearereacting.Naxalbariisaninspiration.It’sanimpetusforchange.
I’vealreadylivedthroughchangeinthiscountry,theirfathersaid.Iknowwhatittakesforonesystemtoreplaceanother.Notyou.
ButUdayanpersisted.Hestartedchallengingtheirfatherthewayheusedtochallengetheir teachers at school. If hewas so proud that Indiawas independent,why hadn’t heprotestedtheBritishat thetime?Whyhadheneverjoinedalaborunion?Giventhathevotedcommunistinelections,whyhadhenevertakenastand?
Both Subhash andUdayan knew the answer. Because their fatherwas a governmentemployee,hewasbarred fromjoininganypartyorunion.During Independencehewasforbiddentospeakout; thosewerethetermsofhis job.Thoughsomeignoredtherules,theirfatherhadnevertakensuchrisks.
Itwasforoursake.Hewasbeingresponsible,Subhashsaid.
ButUdayandidn’tseeitthatway.
AmongUdayan’sphysicstextstherewerenowotherbookshewasstudying.Theyweremarkedupwithlittlescrapsofpaper.TheWretchedoftheEarth.WhatIstoBeDone?Abook sheathed in a red plastic cover, hardly larger than a deck of cards, containingaphorismsofMao.
WhenSubhashaskedwherehewasgettingthemoneytobuythesematerials,Udayansaid theywere commonproperty, circulated among a group of boys at Presidencywithwhomhe’dbeengrowingfriendly.
Under the mattress Udayan stored some pamphlets he’d obtained, written by CharuMajumdar.MostofthemhadbeenwrittenbeforetheNaxalbariuprising,whileMajumdarwasinprison.OurTasksinthePresentSituation.TakeThisOpportunity.WhatPossibilitytheYear1965IsIndicating?
Oneday, needing a break fromhis studies, Subhash reached under themattress.Theessayswerebrief,bombastic.MajumdarsaidIndiahadturnedintoanationofbeggarsandforeigners.The reactionary government of India has adopted the tactics of killing themasses;theyarekillingthemthroughstarvation,withbullets.
HeaccusedIndiaofturningtotheUnitedStatestosolveitsproblems.HeaccusedtheUnitedStatesof turningIndia into itspawn.HeaccusedtheSovietUnionofsupportingIndia’srulingclass.
He called for the building of a secret party.He called for cadres in the villages.HecomparedthemethodofactiveresistancetothefightforcivilrightsintheUnitedStates.
Throughouttheessays,heinvokedtheexampleofChina.Ifwecanrealizethetruththatthe Indian revolution will invariably take the form of civil war, the tactic of area-wiseseizureofpowercanbetheonlytactic.
Youthinkitcanwork?SubhashaskedUdayanoneday.WhatMajumdarisproposing?
They’dbothjustfinishedsittingforthelastoftheircollegeexams.Theywerecuttingthroughtheneighborhood,goingtoplayfootballwithsomeoftheiroldschoolfriends.
Beforeheadingtowardthefieldthey’dgonetothecorner,sothatUdayancouldbuyanewspaper. He’d folded it to an article pertaining to Naxalbari, absorbed by it as theywalked.
They proceeded down the curving walled-off lanes, passing people who’d watchedthemgrowup.Thetwopondswerecalmandgreen.Thelowlandwasstillflooded,sotheyhadtoskirtarounditinsteadofacross.
At one point Udayan stopped, taking in the ramshackle huts that surrounded thelowland,thebrightwaterhyacinththatteemedonitssurface.
It’salreadyworked,hereplied.MaochangedChina.
Indiaisn’tChina.
No.Butitcouldbe,Udayansaid.
NowiftheyhappenedtopasstheTollyClubtogetherontheirwaytoorfromthetramdepot,Udayancalleditanaffront.Peoplestillfilledslumsalloverthecity,childrenwerebornandraisedonthestreets.Whywereahundredacreswalledofffortheenjoymentofafew?
Subhashrememberedtheimportedtrees,thejackals,thebirdcries.Thegolfballsheavyintheirpockets, theundulatinggreenof thecourse.HerememberedUdayangoingoverthewall first,challenginghim to follow.Crouchingon theground the lastevening theywerethere,tryingtoshieldhim.
ButUdayansaid thatgolfwas thepastimeof thecompradorbourgeoisie.Hesaid theTollyClubwasproofthatIndiawasstillasemicolonialcountry,behavingasiftheBritishhadneverleft.
HepointedoutthatChe,whohadworkedasacaddyonagolfcourseinArgentina,hadcome to the same conclusion. That after the Cuban revolution getting rid of the golfcourseswasoneofthefirstthingsCastrohaddone.
Chapter5By early 1968, in the face of increasing opposition, the United Front government
collapsed,andWestBengalwasplacedunderPresident’sRule.
The education systemwas also in crisis. It was an outdated pedagogy, at odds withIndia’s reality. It taught theyoung to ignore theneedsofcommonpeople.Thiswas themessageradicalstudentsstartedtospread.
EchoingParis,echoingBerkeley,examswereboycottedthroughoutCalcutta,diplomastornup.Studentscalledoutduringconvocationaddresses,disruptingthespeakers.Theysaid campus administrations were corrupt. They barricaded vice-chancellors in theiroffices,refusingthemfoodandwateruntiltheirdemandsweremet.
In spite of the unrest, encouraged by professors, both brothers began postgraduatestudies, Udayan at Calcutta University, Subhash continuing on at Jadavpur. They wereexpectedtofulfilltheirpotential,tosupporttheirparentsoneday.
Udayan’s schedule turnedmore erratic.One nightwhen he did not return for dinner,theirmotherkepthisfoodwaitingin thecornerof thekitchen,underaplate.Whensheasked,inthemorning,whyhehadn’teatenwhatshe’dsetaside,hetoldherhe’deatenatthehomeofafriend.
Whenhewasgone,therewasnotalkduringmealtimesofhowtheNaxalbarimovementwas spreading to other parts of West Bengal, also to some other parts of India. Nodiscussionabout theguerillasactive inBihar, inAndhraPradesh.Subhashgathered thatUdayanturnedtoothersnow,withwhomhecouldtalkfreelyaboutthesethings.
Without Udayan they ate in silence, without strife, as their father preferred. ThoughSubhashmissedhisbrother’scompany,attimesitcameasarelieftositdownatthestudytablebyhimself.
WhenUdayanwas at home, odd hours, he turned on the short-wave.Dissatisfied byofficial reports, he found secret broadcasts from stations in Darjeeling, in Siliguri. HelistenedtobroadcastsfromRadioPeking.Once,justasthesunwasrising,hesucceededintransportingMao’sdistortedvoice,interruptedbyburstsofstatic,addressingthepeopleofChina,toTollygunge.
Because Udayan invited him, because he was curious, Subhash went with him oneevening toameeting, inaneighborhood inNorthCalcutta.Thesmall smokyroomwasfilledmostlywithstudents.TherewasaportraitofLenin,wrappedinplastic,hangingonamint-greenplasterwall.Butthemoodintheroomwasanti-Moscow,pro-Peking.
Subhashhadpicturedaraucousdebate.But themeetingwasorderly, run likeastudysession.Awispy-hairedmedicalstudentnamedSinhaassumedtheroleofprofessor.Theothersweretakingnotes.OnebyonetheywerecalledupontoprovetheirfamiliaritywitheventsinChinesehistory,tenetsofMao.
TheydistributedthelatestcopiesofDeshabratiandLiberation.Therewasanupdateonthe insurgency at Srikakulam. One hundred villages across two hundred mountainousmiles,fallingunderMarxistsway.
Peasantrebelswerecreatingstrongholdswherenopolicemandaredenter.Landownerswere fleeing. Therewere reports of families burned to death in their sleep, their headsdisplayedonstakes.Vengefulsloganspaintedinblood.
Sinhaspokequietly.Sittingatatable,ruminating,hisfingersclasped.
AyearhaspassedsinceNaxalbari,andtheCPI(M)continuestobetrayus.Theyhavedisgracedtheredbanner.TheyhaveflauntedthegoodnameofMarx.
TheCPI(M),thepoliciesoftheSovietUnion,thereactionarygovernmentofIndia,allamount to the same thing. They are lackeys of the United States. These are the fourmountainswemustseektooverthrow.
TheobjectiveoftheCPI(M)ismaintainingpower.Butourobjectiveistheformationofajustsociety.Thecreationofanewpartyisessential.Ifhistoryistotakeastepforward,theparlorgameofparliamentarypoliticsmustend.
Theroomwassilent.SubhashsawUdayanhangingonSinha’swords.Riveted,justasheusedtolooklisteningtoafootballmatchontheradio.
ThoughSubhashwasalsopresent, thoughhesatbesideUdayan,he felt invisible.Hewasn’tconvincedthatanimportedideologycouldsolveIndia’sproblems.Thoughasparkhadbeenlitayearago,hedidn’tthinkarevolutionwouldnecessarilyfollow.
Hewondered if itwasa lackof courage,orof imagination, thatpreventedhim frombelieving in it. If the deficits he’d always been conscious ofwerewhat prevented himfromsharinghisbrother’spoliticalfaith.
HerememberedthesillysignalsheandUdayanusedtosendtooneanother,pressingthebuzzer,makingeachotherlaugh.Hedidn’tknowhowtorespondtothemessageSinhawastransmitting,whichUdayansoreadilyreceived.
Undertheirbed,againstthewall,therewasacanofredpaintandabrushthathadnotbeen there before. Beneath their mattress Subhash found a folded piece of papercontaining a list of slogans, copied out in Udayan’s hand. China’s Chairman is ourChairman!Downwithelections!OurpathisthepathofNaxalbari!
Thewallsofthecitywereturningthickwiththemnow.Thewallsofcampusbuildings,thehighwallsofthefilmstudios.Thelowerwallsflankingthelanesoftheirenclave.
Onenight,SubhashheardUdayancomeintothehouseandgostraighttothebathroom.He heard the sound of water hitting the floor. Subhash was sitting at the study table.Udayanpushedthecanofpaintbeneaththeirbed.
Subhashclosedhisnotebook, replaced thecaponhispen.Whatwereyoudoing justnow?
Rinsingoff.
Udayan crossed the room and sat in a chair by the window. He was wearing whitecottonpajamas.Hisskinwasdamp,thehairdarkonhischest.Heputacigarettetohislipsandslidopenamatchbox.Ittookhimafewstrikestolightthematch.
Youwerepaintingslogans?Subhashaskedhim.
The ruling class puts its propaganda everywhere. Why should they be allowed toinfluencepeopleandnooneelse?
Whathappensifthepolicecatchyou?
Theywon’t.
Heturnedontheradio.Ifwedon’tstanduptoaproblem,wecontributetoit,Subhash.
Afterapauseheadded,Comewithmetomorrow,ifyouwant.
AgainSubhashwasthelookout.Againalerttoeverysound.
TheycrossedawoodenbridgethatspannedanarrowsectionofTolly’sNullah.Itwasaneighborhoodconsideredremotewhentheywereyounger,wherethey’dbeentoldnottowander.
Subhash held the flashlight. He illuminated a section of the wall. It was close tomidnight.They’dtoldtheirparentsthattheyweregoingtoalateshowofafilm.
Hestoodclose.Heheldhisbreath.Thepondfrogswerecalling,monotonous,insistent.
HewatchedasUdayandippedthepaintbrushintothecan.Hewaswriting,inEnglish,LongliveNaxalbari!
QuicklyUdayanformedthelettersoftheslogan.Buthishandwasunsteady,addingtothechallenge.Subhashhadnoticedthispreviously,inrecentweeks—anoccasionaltremorashisbrotheradjustedtheradiodial,orframedtheairinfrontofhisfaceinthecourseofsayingsomething,orturnedthepagesofthenewspaper.
Subhash remembered climbing over the wall of the Tolly Club. This time, Subhashwasn’tafraidofbeingcaught.Perhapsitwasfoolishofhim,butsomethingtoldhimthatsuchathingcouldhappenonlyonce.Andhewasright,noonenoticedwhattheydid,noone punished them for it, and a fewminutes later theywere crossing the bridge again,quickly,smokingcigarettestocalmthemselvesdown.
This time itwasonlyUdayanwhowasgiddy.OnlyUdayanwhowasproudofwhatthey’ddone.
Subhashwasangrywithhimselfforgoingalongwithit.Forstillneedingtoprovehecould.
Hewassickofthefearthatalwaysroseupinhim:thathewouldceasetoexist,andthatheandUdayanwouldceasetobebrothers,wereSubhashtoresisthim.
Aftertheirstudiesended,thebrotherswereamongsomanyothersintheirgeneration,overqualifiedandunemployed.Theybegantutoringtobringinmoney,contributingtheirearningstothehousehold.UdayanfoundajobteachingscienceatatechnicalhighschoolclosetoTollygunge.Heseemedsatisfiedwithanordinaryoccupation.Hewasindifferenttobuildingupacareer.
Subhashdecided toapply toa fewPh.D.programs in theUnitedStates. Immigrationlawshadchanged,making iteasier for Indianstudents toenter. Ingraduateschoolhe’dbeguntofocushisresearchonchemistryandtheenvironment.Theeffectsofpetroleumandnitrogenonoceansandstreamsandlakes.
He thought itwasbetter tobroach itwithUdayan first,before tellinghisparents.Hehoped his brotherwould understand.He suggested thatUdayan should go abroad, too,wherethereweremorejobs,whereitmightbeeasierforbothofthem.
Hementionedthefamousuniversitiesthatsupportedtheworld’smostgiftedscientists.MIT.Princeton,whereEinsteinhadbeen.
ButnoneofthisimpressedUdayan.Howcanyouwalkawayfromwhat’shappening?There,ofallplaces?
It’sadegreeprogram.It’sonlyamatterofafewyears.
Udayanshookhishead.Ifyougo,youwon’tcomeback.
Howdoyouknow?
BecauseIknowyou.Becauseyouonlythinkofyourself.
Subhash stared at his brother. Lounging on their bed, smoking, preoccupied by thenewspapers.
Youdon’tthinkwhatyou’redoingisselfish?
Udayanturnedapageofthenewspaper,notbotheringtolookup.Idon’tthinkwantingtomakeadifferenceisselfish,no.
Thisisn’tagameyou’replaying.Whatifthepolicecometothehouse?Whatifyougetarrested?WhatwouldMaandBabathink?
There’smoretolifethanwhattheythink.
What’shappenedtoyou,Udayan?They’rethepeoplewhoraisedyou.Whocontinuetofeedandclotheyou.You’damounttonothing,ifitweren’tforthem.
Udayan sat up, and strode out of the room. Amoment later he was back. He stoodbeforeSubhash,hisfacelowered.Hisanger,quicktoflare,hadalreadylefthim.
You’retheothersideofme,Subhash.It’swithoutyouthatI’mnothing.Don’tgo.
Itwastheonlytimehe’dadmittedsuchathing.He’dsaiditwithloveinhisvoice.Withneed.
But Subhash heard it as a command, one of somany he’d capitulated to all his life.AnotherexhortationtodoasUdayandid,tofollowhim.
Then,abruptly,itwasUdayanwhowentaway.Hetraveledoutsidethecity,hedidnotspecify where. It was during a period that the school he worked in was closed. HeinformedSubhashandhisparentsthemorningofhisdeparturethathe’dmadethisplan.
Itwasasifhewereheadingoutforaday,nothingbutaclothbagoverhisshoulder.Justenoughmoneyinhispocketforthetrainfareback.
Thisissomesortoftour?theirfatherasked.You’veplanneditwithfriends?
That’sright.Achangeofscene.
Whyallofasudden?
Whynot?
He bent down to take the dust from their parents’ feet, telling them not to worry,promisingtoreturn.
Theydidnothear fromhimwhilehewasgone.No letter,noway toknowifhewasaliveordead.ThoughSubhashandhisparentsdidn’ttalkaboutit,noneofthembelievedthatUdayan had gone sightseeing.And yet no one had done anything to stop him.Hereturnedafteramonth,alungiaroundhiswaist,thebeardandmoustacheovertakinghisfacenotconcealingtheweighthe’dlost.
The tremor in his fingers had gotten worse, persistent enough so that his teacupsometimes rattled on the saucer when he held it, so that it could be noticed when hebuttonedhisshirtorgrippedapen.Inthemorningsthesheetonhissideofthebedwascoldwithsweat,darkwith the imprintofhisbody.Whenhewokeuponemorning,hisheartracing,arashcoveringhisneck,adoctorwasconsulted,abloodtestperformed.
Theyworriedhe’dcontractedanillnessinthecountryside,malariaormeningitis.Butitturnedouttobeanoveractivethyroidgland,somethingmedicationcouldkeepincheck.Thedoctormentioned to thefamily that thedrugcould takesome time towork.That itneededtobetakenconsistently.Thatthediseasecouldcauseapersontobeirritable,tobemoody.
Heregainedhishealth,andlivedamongthem,butsomepartofUdayanwaselsewhere.Whateverhehadlearnedorseenoutsidethecity,whateverhe’ddone,hekepttohimself.
HenolongertriedtoconvinceSubhashnottogotoAmerica.Whentheylistenedtotheradio in the evenings, when he looked through the papers, he betrayed little reaction.Somethinghadsubduedhim.SomethingthathadnothingtodowithSubhash,withanyofthem,preoccupiedhimnow.
OnLenin’sbirthday,April22,1969,athirdcommunistpartywaslaunchedinCalcutta.Thememberscalled themselvesNaxalites, inhonorofwhathadhappenedatNaxalbari.CharuMajumdarwasnamedthegeneralsecretary,KanuSanyalthepartychairman.
OnMayDay,amassiveprocessionfilledthestreets.Tenthousandpeoplemarchedtothecenterofthecity.TheygatheredontheMaidan,beneaththedomedwhitecolumnofShahidMinar.
KanuSanyal,justreleasedfromprison,stoodatarostrum,andaddressedtheexuberantcrowd.
Withgreatprideandboundless joy Iwish toannounce todayat thismeeting thatwehaveformedagenuineCommunistParty.TheofficialnamewastheCommunistPartyofIndia,Marxist-Leninist.TheCPI(ML).
Hedidnotexpressgratitude to thepoliticianswhohad releasedhim.His releasehadbeenmadepossiblebythelawofhistory.NaxalbarihadstirredthewholeofIndia,Sanyalsaid.
Therevolutionarysituationwasripe,bothathomeandabroad,hetoldthem.Ahightideofrevolutionwassweepingthroughtheworld.MaoTse-tungwasatthehelm.
Internationallyandnationally,thereactionarieshavegrownsoweakthattheycrumble
wheneverwehit them.Inappearancetheyarestrong,but inreality theyareonlygiantsmadeofclay,theyaretrulypapertigers.
The chief task of the new party was to organize the peasantry. The tactic would beguerillawarfare.TheenemywastheIndianstate.
Theirswasanewformofcommunism,Sanyaldeclared.Theywouldbeheadquarteredinthevillages.Bytheyear2000,thatisonlythirty-oneyearsfromnow,thepeopleofthewhole world will be liberated from all kinds of exploitation of man by man and willcelebratetheworldwidevictoryofMarxism,Leninism,MaoTse-tung’sthought.
CharuMajumdarwasn’t present at the rally.ButSanyal called for allegiance to him,comparinghimtoMaoinhiswisdom,warningagainstthosewhochallengedMajumdar’sdoctrine.
Wewillcertainlybeable tomakeanewsunandanewmoonshine in theskyofourgreatmotherland,hesaid,hiswordsringingoutformiles.
Inthepaperstherewerephotographs,takenfromadistance,ofthosewhogatheredtohear Sanyal’s speech, to give the Red Salute. A battle cry declared, a generationtransfixed.ApieceofCalcuttastandingstill.
It was a portrait of a city Subhash no longer felt a part of. A city on the brink ofsomething;acityhewaspreparingtoleavebehind.
SubhashknewthatUdayanhadbeenthere.Hehadn’taccompaniedhimtotherally,norhadUdayanaskedhimtocome.Inthissensetheyhadalreadyparted.
Chapter6AfewmonthslaterSubhashalsotraveledtoavillage;thiswasthewordtheAmericans
used.Anold-fashionedword,designatinganearlysettlement,ahumbleplace.Andyetthevillagehadoncecontainedacivilization:achurch,acourthouse,atavern,ajail.
Theuniversityhadbegunasanagriculturalschool.Alandgrantcollegestillsurroundedby greenhouses, orchards, fields of corn. On the outskirts were lush pastures ofscientifically cultivated grass, routinely irrigated and fertilized and trimmed.Nicer thanthegrassthatgrewinsidethewallsoftheTollyClub.
ButhewasnolongerinTollygunge.Hehadsteppedoutofitashehadsteppedsomanymornings out of dreams, its reality and its particular logic renderedmeaningless in thelightofday.
Thedifferencewassoextremethathecouldnotaccommodatethetwoplacestogetherin hismind. In this enormous new country, there seemed to be nowhere for the old toreside.Therewasnothingtolinkthem;hewasthesolelink.Herelifeceasedtoobstructorassaulthim.Herewasaplacewherehumanitywasnotalwayspushing,rushing,runningasifwithafireatitsback.
Andyet,certainphysicalaspectsofRhodeIsland—astatesosmallwithinthecontextofAmericathatonsomemapsitslandmasswasindicatedonlybyanarrowpointingtoitslocation—correspondedroughlytothoseofCalcutta,withinIndia.Mountainstothenorth,anoceantotheeast,themajorityoflandtothesouthandwest.
Bothplaceswereclosetosealevel,withestuarieswherefreshandsaltwatercombined.AsTollygunge, in a previous era, had been flooded by the sea, all ofRhode Island, helearned, hadoncebeen coveredwith sheets of ice.The advance and retreat of glaciers,spreadingandmeltingoverNewEngland,hadshiftedbedrockandsoil,leavinggreattrailsofdebris.Theyhadcreatedmarshesand thebay,dunesandmoraines.Theyhadshapedthecurrentshore.
Hefoundaroominawhitewoodenhouse,closetothemainroadofthevillage,withblack shutters flanking the windows. The shutters were decorative, never opening orclosingastheydidthroughoutthedayinCalcutta,tokeeproomscoolordry,toblockrainorletinabreezeoradjustthelight.
He lived at the topof the house, sharing a kitchen andbathroomwith anotherPh.D.studentnamedRichardGrifalconi.Atnightheheardtheprecisetickingofanalarmclockatthesideofhisbed.Andinthebackground,likeanongoingalarmitself,theshrillthrumof crickets. New birds woke him in the morning, small birds with delicate chirps thatrupturedsleepnevertheless.
Richard,astudentofsociology,wroteeditorialsfortheuniversitynewspaper.Whenhewasn’tworkingonhisdissertationhedecried, in terseparagraphs, the recent firingofazoologyprofessorwhohadspokenoutagainsttheuseofnapalm,orthedecisiontobuildaswimmingpoolinsteadofmoredormitoriesoncampus.
HecamefromaQuakerfamilyinWisconsin.Heworehisdarkhairinaponytail,anddidn’tbother to trimhisbeard.Hepeeredclosely throughwire-rimmedspectaclesashe
pecked out his editorials with two fingers at their kitchen table, a cigarette burningbetweenhislips.
HetoldSubhash thathe’d just turned thirty.For thesakeof thenextgeneration,he’ddecidedtobecomeaprofessor.He’dtraveledtotheSouth,asanundergraduate,toprotestsegregationonpublictransportation.He’dspenttwoweeksinaMississippijail.
HeinvitedSubhashtogowithhimtothecampuspub,wheretheysharedapitcherofbeer and watched the television reports of Vietnam. Richard opposed the war, but hewasn’tacommunist.HetoldSubhashthatGandhiwasaherotohim.Udayanwouldhavescoffed,sayingthatGandhihadsidedwithenemiesofthepeople.ThathehaddisarmedIndiainthenameofliberation.
Oneday,walkingpastthequadrangle,SubhashsawRichardatthecenterofagroupofstudentsandfaculty.Hewaswearingablackarmband,standingontopofavanthathadbeendrivenontothegrass.
Speaking through a megaphone, Richard said Vietnam was a mistake, and that theAmericangovernmenthadhadnorighttointervene.HesaidinnocentpeopleinVietnamweresuffering.
Somepeoplecalledoutorcheered,butmostofthemjustlistenedandclapped,astheymightatthetheatre.Theysprawledbackontheirelbows,sunningtheirfaces,listeningtoRichardprotestawarthatwasbeingfoughtthousandsofmilesaway.
Subhashwastheonlyforeigner.NostudentsfromotherpartsofAsiawerethere.Itwasnothing like the demonstrations that erupted now in Calcutta. Disorganized mobsrepresentingrivalcommunistparties,runninghelter-skelterthroughthestreets.Chanting,unrelenting.Theyweredemonstrationsthatalmostalwaysturnedviolent.
AfterlisteningtoRichardforafewminutes,Subhashleft.HeknewhowmuchUdayanwouldhavemockedhimatthatmoment,forhisdesiretoprotecthimself.
Hedidn’tsupportthewarinVietnam,either.Butlikehisfather,heknewhehadtobecareful. He knew he could get arrested in America for denouncing the government,perhaps even for holding up a sign. He was here courtesy of a student visa, studyingthankstoafellowship.He’dbeeninvitedtoAmericaasNixon’sguest.
Here,eachday,herememberedhowhe’dfeltthoseeveningsheandUdayanhadsnuckintotheTollyClub.Thistimehe’dbeenadmittedofficially,andyetheremainedvigilant,atthethreshold.Heknewthatthedoorcouldclosejustasarbitrarilyasithadopened.Heknewthathecouldbesentbacktowherehe’dcomefrom,andthattherewouldbeplentytotakehisplace.
TherewereafewotherIndiansattheuniversity,mostlybachelorslikehim.ButasfarasSubhashcouldtell,hewastheonlyonefromCalcutta.HemetaneconomicsprofessornamedNarasimhan, fromMadras.HehadanAmericanwifeand two tanned, light-eyedsonswholookedlikeneitheroftheirparents.
Narasimhan wore heavy sideburns, bell-bottomed jeans. His wife had a pretty neck,long beaded earrings, short red hair. Subhash saw them all for the first time on thequadrangle. They were the only people that Saturday afternoon in the square green
enclosureatthecenterofcampus,rimmedwithtrees.
Theboyswerekicking aball on thegrasswith their father.AsSubhash andUdayanused to do, on the field on the other side of the lowland, though their father hadneverjoinedthem.Thewifewaslyingonablanketonthegrass,onherside,smoking,sketchingsomethinginanotebook.
ThiswasthewomanNarasimhanhadmarried,asopposedtowhatevergirlfromMadrashisfamilyhadwantedforhim.Subhashwonderedhowhisfamilyhadreactedtoher.Hewondered ifshe’deverbeen toIndia. Ifshehad,hewonderedwhethershe’d liked itorhatedit.Hecouldnotguessfromlookingather.
TheballrolledoverinSubhash’sdirection,andhekickeditbacktothem,preparingtocontinueonhisway.
Youmust be the new student inmarine chemistry,Narasimhan said,walking towardhim,shakinghishand.SubhashMitra?
Yes.
FromCalcutta?
Henodded.
I’msupposed tokeepaneyeout foryou. Iwasborn inCalcutta,Narasimhanadded,sayingthathestillunderstoodawordortwoofBengali.
SubhashaskedwhereinRhodeIslandhelived,whetheritwasclosetocampus.
Narasimhanshookhishead.TheirhousewasclosertoProvidence.Hiswife,Kate,wasastudentattheRhodeIslandSchoolofDesign.
Andyou?WhereinCalcuttaisyourfamily?
InTollygunge.
Ah,wherethegolfclubis.
Yes.
You’restayingattheInternationalHouse?
Ipreferredaplacewithakitchen.Iwantedtomakemyownmeals.
Andyou’vesettledin?Madesomefriends?
Afew.
Toleratingthecold?
Sofar.
Kate,writedownourphonenumberforhim,willyou?
Sheturnedtothebackofhernotebookandtoreoutapage.ShewrotedownthenumberandhandedittoSubhash.
Anything you need, just give a call, Narasimhan said, patting him on the shoulder,turningbacktohissons.
Thankyou.
I’llmakeyoumyyogurtriceoneofthesedays,Narasimhancalledout.
Butaninvitationnevercame.
The oceanography campus, where most of his classes were held, overlooked theNarragansettBay.Everymorning,onabus,he left thevillagebehind, travelingalongawoodedroadwheremailboxesstuckonpostswerevisible,butmanyofthehomeswerenot. Past a set of traffic lights, and a wooden observation tower, before proceedingdownhilltowardthebay.
Thebuscrossedoverawindingestuary,toanareathatfeltmoreremote.Heretheairwasneverstill,sothatthewindowsofthebuswouldrattle.Herethequalityofthelightchanged.
Thelaboratorybuildingswerelikesmallairplanehangars,flat-toppedstructuresmadeofcorrugatedgraymetal.Hestudied thegases thatweredissolved in thesea’ssolution,the isotopes found in deep sediments. The iodine found in seaweed, the carbon inplankton,thecopperinthebloodofcrabs.
At the footof thecampus,at thebaseofasteephill, therewasasmallbeachstrewnwithgray-and-yellowstoneswherehelikedtoeathislunch.Therewereviewsofthebay,andthetwobridgesgoingtoislandsoffshore.TheJamestownBridgewasprominent,theNewportBridge,afewmilesinthedistance,morefaint.Oncloudydays,atintervals,thesoundofafoghornpiercedtheair,asconchshellswereblowninCalcuttatowardoffevil.
Some of the smaller islands, reachable only by boat, were without electricity andrunningwater.Conditionsunderwhich,hewas told,certainwealthyAmericans liked tospendtheirsummers.Ononeislandtherewasspaceonlyforalighthouse,nothingmore.All the islands,however tiny,hadnames:PatienceandPrudence,FoxandGoat,RabbitandRose,HopeandDespair.
Atthetopofthehill,leadingupfromthebeach,therewasachurchwithwhiteshinglesarrangedlikeahoneycomb.Thecentralportionrosetoasteeple.Thepaintwasnolongerfresh,thewoodbeneathithavingabsorbedsomuchsaltfromtheair,somanystormsthathadtraveleduptheRhodeIslandcoast.
Oneafternoonhewassurprisedtoseecarsliningtheroadwhereitcrested.Forthefirsttimehe saw that the front doorsof the churchwereopen.Agroupofpeople, amixofadultsandchildren,nomorethantwenty,stoodoutside.
He glimpsed a couple in middle age, newly married. A gray-haired groom with acarnationinhislapel,awomaninapalebluejacketandskirt.Theystoodsmilingonthestepsof thechurch,ducking theirheadsas thegroupshowered themwithrice.Lookinglike they should have been parents of the bride and groom, closer to his parents’generationthantohisown.
Heguessedthatitwasasecondmarriage.Twopeopletradingonespouseforanother,dividing in two, theirconnectionsatonceseveredanddoubled, likecells.Orperhaps itwasacaseofacouplewhohadbothlosttheirspousesinmidlife.Awidowandwidowerwithgrownchildren,remarryingandmovingon.
Forsomereasonthechurchremindedhimofthesmallmosquethatstoodatthecornerof his family’s neighborhood in Tollygunge. Another place of worship designated forothers,whichhadservedasalandmarkinhislife.
One day, when the church was empty, Subhash walked up the stone path to theentrance.Hefeltthestrangeurgetoembraceit;thenarrowproportionsweresoseverethatitseemedscarcelywiderthanhisarmspan.Theonlyentrancewastheroundeddarkgreendooratthefront.Aboveit, thewindows,alsorounded,wereasthinasslits.Spaceforahandtopokeoutbutnotaface.
Thedoorwaslocked,sohewalkedaroundthebuilding,standingontheballsofhisfeetand looking into thewindows.Someof the panesweremadeof red glass, interspersedwithclearones.
Insidehe sawgraypews, edgedwith red trim. Itwasan interior atoncepristineandvibrant,bathedwithlight.Hewantedtositinside,tofeelthepalewallsaroundhim.Thesimple,tightlyangledceilingoverhead.
Hethoughtofthecouplehe’dseen,gettingmarried.Heimaginedthemstandingnexttooneanother.
Forthefirsttime,hethoughtofhisownmarriage.Forthefirsttime,perhapsbecausehealwaysfeltinRhodeIslandthatsomepartofhimwasmissing,hedesiredacompanion.
Hewonderedwhatwoman his parentswould choose for him.Hewonderedwhen itwouldbe.GettingmarriedwouldmeanreturningtoCalcutta.Inthatsensehewasinnohurry.
HewasproudtohavecomealonetoAmerica.Tolearnitasheoncemusthavelearnedtostandandwalkandspeak.He’dwantedsomuchtoleaveCalcutta,notonlyforthesakeof his education but also—he could admit this to himself now—to take a stepUdayanneverwould.
Intheendthiswaswhathadmotivatedhim.Andyetthemotivationhaddonenothingtopreparehim.Eachday, inspiteof itsgrowingroutine,feltuncertain, improvisational.Here,inthisplacesurroundedbysea,hewasdriftingfarfromhispointoforigin.Here,detachedfromUdayan,hewasignorantofsomanythings.
MostnightsRichardwasoutatdinnertime,butifhehappenedtobehomeheacceptedSubhash’s invitationtoshareameal,bringingouthisashtrayandapacketofcigarettes,offeringoneofhisbeersasSubhashcookedcurryandboiledapotofrice.Inexchange,Richardbegan todriveSubhash,onceaweek, to the supermarket in town, splitting thecostofthegroceries.
Oneweekend,whentheybothneededabreakfromstudying,RicharddroveSubhashtoanemptyparkinglotoncampus,teachinghimtoshiftgearssothatSubhashcouldapplyforadriver’slicenseandborrowthecarwhenheneededto.
When Richard decided Subhash was ready, he let him take the car through town,navigatinghimtowardPointJudith,thecornerofRhodeIslandthatabuttednoland.Itwasathrill tomaneuverthecar,slowingdownfortheoddtrafficlightandthenacceleratingagainontheabandonedseasideroad.
HedrovethroughGalilee,wherethefishingboatscameandwent,pastmudflatswheremenwadedinrubberboots toharvestclams.Pastclosed-upshackswithmenusoffriedseafoodpaintedlikegraffitiontothefacades.Theycametoalighthouseonagrassyhill.Darkrocksdrapedwithseaweed,aflagthatwrithedlikeaflameinthesky.
Theyhadarrivedintimetoseethesunsettingbehindthelighthouse,thewhitefoamofthe waves pouring over the rocks, the flag and the choppy blue water gleaming. Theysteppedouttosmokeacigarette,andfeelthesaltsprayontheirfaces.
The talked aboutMy Lai. The details had just appeared. Reports of amassmurder,bodiesinditches,anAmericanlieutenantunderinvestigation.
There’sgoingtobeaprotest inBoston.Ihavefriendswhocanputusupforanight.Whydon’tyoucomewithme?
Idon’tthinkso.
You’renotangryaboutthewar?
It’snotmyplacetoobject.
SubhashfoundthathecouldbehonestwithRichard.Richardlistenedtohiminsteadofcontradictinghim.Hedidn’tmerelytrytoconverthim.
As theydroveback to thevillageRichardaskedSubhashabout India, about its castesystem,itspoverty.Whowastoblame?
Idon’tknow.Thesedayseveryonejustblameseveryoneelse.
Butisthereasolution?Wheredoesthegovernmentstand?
Subhashdidn’tknowhowtodescribeIndia’sfractiouspolitics,itscomplicatedsociety,to anAmerican.He said itwasanancientplace thatwasalsoyoung, still struggling toknowitself.Youshouldbetalkingtomybrother,hesaid.
Youhaveabrother?
Henodded.
You’venevermentionedhim.What’shisname?
Hepaused, thenutteredUdayan’snamefor thefirst timesincehe’darrived inRhodeIsland.
Well,whatwouldUdayansay?
Hewouldsaythatanagrarianeconomybasedonfeudalismistheproblem.Hewouldsaythecountryneedsamoreegalitarianstructure.Betterlandreforms.
SoundslikeaChinesemodel.
Itis.HesupportsNaxalbari.
Naxalbari?What’sthat?
Afewdayslater,inhismailboxathisdepartment,SubhashfoundaletterfromUdayan.Paragraphs inBengali, darkblue ink against the lighter blueof the aerogramme. It hadbeenmailedinOctober;itwasNovembernow.
Ifthisreachesyoudestroyit.Noneedtocompromiseeitherof us. But given thatmy only chance to invade theUnitedStates is by letter, I can’t resist. I’ve just returned fromanother trip outside the city. ImetComrade Sanyal. Iwasable to sit with him, speak with him. I had to wear ablindfold.I’lltellyouaboutitsometime.
Why no news? No doubt the flora and fauna of theworld’s greatest capitalist power captivate you. But if youcanbeartotearyourselfawaytrytomakeyourselfuseful.Iheartheantiwarmovementthereisinfullswing.
Here developments are encouraging. A Red Guard isforming, traveling to villages, propagating Mao Tse-tung’squotations.Ourgeneration is thevanguard; thestruggleofstudents is part of the armed peasant struggle, Majumdarsays.
You’ll come back to an altered country, a more justsociety, I’mconfident of this.A changedhome, too.Baba’stakenout a loan.They’readding towhatwealreadyhave.Theyseemtothinkit’snecessary.Thatwewon’tgetmarriedandraisefamiliesunderthesameroofifthehousestaysthewayitis.
I told them itwas awaste, an extravagance, given thatyoudon’t even livehere.But theydidn’t listenandnow it’stoo late, an architect came and the scaffolding’s gone up,theyclaimthey’llbefinishedinayearortwo.
The days are dull without you. And though I refuse toforgive you for not supporting a movement that will onlyimprove the lives of millions of people, I hope you canforgivemeforgivingyouahardtime.Willyouhurryupwithwhateveritisyou’redoing?Anembracefromyourbrother.
He’dconcludedwithaquotation.Warwillbringtherevolution;revolutionwillstopthewar.
Subhashrereadtheletterseveraltimes.ItwasasifUdayanwerethere,speakingtohim,teasinghim.Hefelttheirloyaltytooneanother,theiraffection,stretchedhalfwayacrosstheworld.Stretchedtothebreakingpointbyallthatnowstoodbetweenthem,butatthesametimerefusingtobreak.
PerhapstheletterwouldhavebeensafeamonghispossessionsinRhodeIsland.ItwaswritteninBengali,itcouldhavebeensomethingSubhashkept.ButheknewUdayanwasright, and that thecontents, the reference toSanyal, in thewronghands,might threatenthemboth.Thenextdayhetookittohislab,lingeringonsomepretenseattheendofthesession,waitingtobealone.Ceremoniallyheplaceditonthedarkstonecounter,strikingamatch,watchingtheedgesblacken,hisbrother’swordsdisappear.
I’ve been studying chemical processes unique to estuaries,sediments that oxidize at low tide. Strips of barrier beachrunparalleltothemainland.Theferroussulfideleaveswideblackstainsonthesand.
Asstrangeas it sounds,when the sky isovercast,whenthe clouds are low, something about the coastal landscapehere, thewaterand thegrass, the smellofbacteriawhen Ivisit themudflats, takesmehome.I thinkof thelowland,ofpaddy fields. Of course, no rice grows here. Only musselsand quahogs, which are among the types of shellfishAmericansliketoeat.
Theycallthemarshgrassspartina.Ilearnedtodaythatit has special glands for excreting salt, so that it’s oftencovered with a residue of crystals. Snails migrate up anddown the stems. It’s been growing here over millennia, indepositsofpeat.Itsrootsstabilizetheshore.Didyouknow,it propagates by spreading rhizomes? Something like themangrovesthatoncethrivedinTollygunge.Ihadtotellyou.
Thelawnofthecampusquadranglewascoverednowasifwithaseaofrust,thedeadleavesscuttlingandheavinginthewind.Hewaded,ankle-deep,throughtheirbulk.Theleavessometimesrosearoundhim,asifsomethinglivingweresubmergedbeneaththem,threateningtoshowitsfacebeforesettlingdownagain.
Hehadobtainedhisdriver’slicense,andhehadthekeystoRichard’scar.RichardhadtakenabustovisithisfamilyforThanksgiving.Thecampushadshutdownandtherewasnowheretogo;forafewdayseventhelibraryandthestudentunionwereclosed.
Intheafternoonshegot intothecaranddrovewithnodestinationinmind.HedroveacrossthebridgetoJamestown,hedrovetoNewportandback.Helistenedtopopsongsontheradio,weatherconditionsforthoseonlandandonsea.Northwindstentofifteenknots,becomingnortheast in theafternoon.Seas two to four feet.Visibilityone to threenauticalmiles.
Eveningscamequickly,headlightsonbyfive.Onenightwhenitwastimefordinnerhedecided tohaveeggplantparmigianaat an Italian restauranthewent to sometimeswithRichard. He sat at the bar, drinking beer, eating the heavy dish, watching Americanfootballonthetelevision.Hewasoneoftheonlycustomers.Hewastold,ashepaidhisbill,thattherestaurantwouldbeclosedforThanksgiving.
That day the roads were empty, the whole town at rest.Whatever happened on theoccasion,howeveritwascelebrated,therewasnosignofit.Noprocessionthatheknewof, no public festivity. Apart from a crowd that had gathered for a football game oncampus,therewasnothingtoobserve.
Hedrovethroughresidentialneighborhoods,areaswheresomeofthefacultymemberslived.Hesawsmokerisingfromchimneys,carswithlicenseplatesfromdifferentstates,parkedalongtheleaf-strewnstreets.
HecontinuedouttothebreachwayinCharlestown,wherethespartinahadturnedpalebrown.Thesunwasalreadylowinthesky,itsglaretoostrong.Approachingasaltpond,hepulledovertothesideoftheroad.
Blendingintothegrasswasaheron,closeenoughforSubhashtoseetheamberbeadofitseye,itsslate-coloredbodytintedwiththelateafternoonlight.ItsneckwassettledintoanS, the sharp length of the bill like the brass letter opener his parents had given himwhenheleftIndia.
Herolleddownhiswindow.Theheronwasstill,butthenthecurvedneckextendedandcontracted,asifthebirdwereawareofSubhash’sgaze.TheegretsinTollygunge,stirringthemuddywaterastheyhunted,werescrawnier.Neverasshapely,asregalasthis.
His satisfaction was in watching: its breast feathers drooping as it dipped its headtowardthewater,asittookslowstridesonlong,backward-bentlegs.
Hewantedtositinthecarandwatchasthebirdstoodthere,staringouttowardthesea.Buton thenarrowdirt road,whichwasnormallyempty,acarapproachedfrombehind,wanting topass, forcingSubhash todriveon.By the timehecircledback, thebirdwasgone.
The next afternoon he returned to the same spot. He walked along the edge of themarsh,searchingforthebird’soutline.Hestoodwatchingthehorizonasthelightturnedgoldenand thesunbegan toset.Hewondered ifperhaps thebirdhad flownoff for theseason.Thensuddenlyheheardaharsh,repetitivecroaking.
It was the heron taking flight over the water, its great wings beating slowly anddeliberately,lookingatonceencumberedandfree.Itslongneckwastuckedin,darklegsdanglingbehind.Againsttheloweringskythesilhouettewasblack,thetipsofitsprimaryfeathersdistinct,theforkeddivisionofitstoes.
Hewentbacka thirdday,butwasunable tosee itanywhere.For thefirst timeinhislife,hefeltahelplesslove.
A new decade began: 1970. In winter, when the trees were naked, the stiff groundcoveredwithsnow,asecondlettercamefromUdayan,inanenvelopethistime.
Subhashtoreitopenandfoundasmallblack-and-whitephotographofayoungwoman,standing.Herslenderarmswerefoldedacrossherchest.
Shewasatease,alsoalittleskeptical.Herheadturnedpartlytooneside,herlipsclosedbutplayful,hersmileslightlyaskew.Herhairwasinabraid,drapedoverthefrontofoneshoulder.Hercomplexionwasdeep.
Shewascompellingwithoutbeingpretty.NothinglikethedemuregirlsthathismotherusedtopointouttoUdayanandSubhashatweddings,whentheywereincollege.Itwasacandid shot, somewhere on the streets of Calcutta, in front of a building he did notrecognize. He wondered if Udayan had taken the picture. If he’d inspired the playfulexpressiononherface.
This is in lieu of a formal introduction, and it will be asformal an announcement as youwill get. But it’s time thatyoumether.I’veknownherforacoupleofyears.Wekeptitquiet,butyouknowhowit is.HernameisGauriandshe’sfinishinga degree in philosophyatPresidency.Agirl fromNorth Calcutta, Cornwallis Street. Both her parents aredead, she lives with her brother—a friend of mine—andsome relatives. She prefers books to jewels and saris. ShebelievesasIdo.
Like Chairman Mao, I reject the idea of an arrangedmarriage. It is one thing, I admit, that I admire about theWest. And so I’ve married her. Don’t worry, apart fromrunningoffwithherthere’snoscandal.You’renotabouttobeanuncle.Notyet,anyway.Toomanychildrenarevictimsofourdefectivesocialstructure.Thisneedsfirsttobefixed.
Iwishyoucouldhavebeenhere,butyoudidn’tmissanytypeofcelebration.Itwasacivilregistration.ItoldMaandBabaafter the fact, as I am telling you. I told them, eitheryouaccepther,andwereturntoTollygungetogether,orweliveashusbandandwifesomewhereelse.
They are still in shock, upset with me and also for noreasonwithGauri,butwe’rewiththemnow,learningtolivewithoneanother.Theycan’tbeartotellyouwhatI’vedone.SoI’mtellingyoumyself.
Attheendoftheletter,heaskedSubhashtobuyafewbooksforGauri,sayingthattheywouldbeeasiertofindintheStates.Don’tbotherputtingtheminthemail,they’llonlygetlostorstolen.Bringthemwithyou.Youwillshowuptocongratulatemeoneofthesedays,won’tyou?
Thistimehedidn’trereadtheletter.Oncewasenough.
Though Udayan had a job, it was hardly enough to support himself, never mind afamily. He was not yet twenty-five years old. Though the house would soon be bigenough,toSubhashthedecisionfelt impulsive,animpositiononhisparents,premature.AndhewaspuzzledthatUdayan,sodedicatedtohispolitics,soscornfulofconvention,wouldsuddenlytakeawife.
Not only had Udayan married before Subhash, but he’d married a woman of hischoosing.Onhisownhe’dtakenastepthatSubhashbelievedwastheirparents’placetodecide.HerewasanotherexampleofUdayanforgingaheadofSubhash,ofdenyingthathe’dcomesecond.Anotherexampleofgettinghisway.
ThebackofthephotographwasdatedinUdayan’shandwriting.Itwasfromoverayearago,1968.UdayanhadgottentoknowherandfalleninlovewithherwhileSubhashwasstillinCalcutta.Allthattime,UdayanhadkeptGauritohimself.
OncemoreSubhashdestroyedtheletter.Thephotographhekept,atthebackofoneofhistextbooks,asproofofwhatUdayanhaddone.
From time to time he drew out the picture and looked at it. He wondered when hewouldmeetGauri,andwhathewould thinkofher,nowthat theywereconnected.AndpartofhimfeltdefeatedbyUdayanalloveragain,forhavingfoundagirllikethat.
PartII
Chapter1Normallyshestayedonthebalcony,reading,orkepttoanadjacentroomasherbrother
andUdayan studied and smoked and drank cups of tea.Manash had befriended him atCalcuttaUniversity,where theywere both graduate students in the physics department.Muchofthetimetheirbooksonthebehaviorsofliquidsandgaseswouldsit ignoredastheytalkedabouttherepercussionsofNaxalbari,andcommentedontheday’sevents.
The discussions strayed to the insurgencies in Indochina and in Latin Americancountries.InthecaseofCubaitwasn’tevenamassmovement,Udayanpointedout.Justasmallgroup,attackingtherighttargets.
All over the world students were gaining momentum, standing up to exploitativesystems. It was another example of Newton’s second law of motion, he joked. Forceequalsmasstimesacceleration.
Manashwasskeptical.Whatcould they,urbanstudents,claim toknowaboutpeasantlife?
Nothing,Udayansaid.Weneedtolearnfromthem.
Through an open doorway she saw him. Tall but slight of build, twenty-three butlookingabitolder.Hisclothinghungonhimloosely.HeworekurtasbutalsoEuropean-style shirts, irreverently, the top portion unbuttoned, the bottom untucked, the sleevesrolledbackpasttheelbow.
Hesat in the roomwhere they listened to the radio.On thebed that servedasa sofawhere, at night, Gauri slept. His arms were lean, his fingers too long for the smallporcelaincupsofteaherfamilyservedhim,whichhedrainedinjustafewgulps.Hishairwaswavy,thebrowsthick,theeyeslanguidanddark.
Hishandsseemedanextensionofhisvoice,alwaysinmotion,embellishingthethingshesaid.Evenashearguedhesmiledeasily.Hisupperteethoverlappedslightly,asiftherewereonetoomanyofthem.Fromthebeginning,theattractionwasthere.
He never said anything toGauri if she happened to brush by.Never glancing, neveracknowledgingthatshewasManash’syoungersister,untilthedaythehouseboywasoutonanerrand,andManashaskedGauriifshemindedmakingthemsometea.
Shecouldnotfindatraytoputtheteacupson.Shecarriedthemin,nudgingopenthedoortotheroomwithhershoulder.Lookingupatheraninstantlongerthanheneededto,Udayantookhiscupfromherhands.
Thegroovebetweenhismouthandnosewasdeep.Clean-shaven.Still lookingather,heposedhisfirstquestion.
Wheredoyoustudy?heasked.
Because she went to Presidency, and Calcutta University was just next door, shesearchedforhimonthequadrangle,andamongthebookstalls,atthetablesoftheCoffeeHouseifshewenttherewithagroupoffriends.Somethingtoldherhedidnotgotohisclassesasregularlyasshedid.Shebegantowatchforhimfromthegenerousbalconythatwrappedaroundthetwosidesofhergrandparents’flat,overlookingtheintersectionwhere
CornwallisStreetbegan.Itbecamesomethingforhertodo.
Thenoneday she spottedhim, amazed that sheknewwhichof thehundredsofdarkheadswashis.Hewasstandingontheoppositecorner,buyingapacketofcigarettes.Thenhe was crossing the street, a cotton book bag over his shoulder, glancing both ways,walkingtowardtheirflat.
Shecrouchedbelowthefiligree,under theclothesdryingon the line,worried thathewouldlookupandseeher.Twominuteslatersheheardfootstepsclimbingthestairwell,and then therattleof the ironknockeron thedoorof theflat.Sheheard thedoorbeingopened,thehouseboylettinghimin.
Itwasanafternooneveryone, includingManash,happened tobeout, andshe’dbeenreading,alone.Shewonderedifhe’dturnback,giventhatManashwasn’tthere.Instead,amomentlater,hesteppedoutontothebalcony.
Nooneelsehere?heasked.
Sheshookherhead.
Willyoutalktome,then?
Thelaundrywasdamp,someofherpetticoatsandblouseswereclippedtotheline.Thematerial of the blouses was tailored to the shape of her upper torso, her breasts. Heunclippedoneoftheblousesandputitfurtherdownthelinetomakeroom.
Hedidthisslowly,amildtremorinhisfingersforcinghimtofocusmorethananotherpersonmight on the task. Standing beside him, shewas aware of his height, the slightstoopinhisshoulders,theangleatwhichheheldhisface.Hestruckamatchagainstthesideofaboxandlitacigarette,cuppinghiswholehandoverhismouthwhenhedrewthecigarettetohislips.Thehouseboybroughtoutbiscuitsandtea.
They overlooked the intersection, from four flights above. They stood beside oneanother,bothof themleaninginto therailing.Together theytookin thestonebuildings,with their decrepit grandeur, that lined the streets. Their tired columns, their crumblingcornices,theirsulliedshades.
Herfacewassupportedbythediscreetbarrierofherhand.Hisarmhungovertheedge,the burning cigarette was in his fingers. The sleeves of his Punjabi were rolled up,exposingtheveinsrunningfromhiswristtothecrookoftheelbow.Theywereprominent,thebloodinthemgreenishgray,likeapointedarchwaybelowtheskin.
There was something elemental about so many human beings in motion at once:walking, sitting inbussesand trams,pullingorbeingpulledalong in rickshaws.On theothersideofthestreetwereafewgoldandsilvershopsallinarow,withmirroredwallsand ceilings. Always crowded with families, endlessly reflected, placing orders forwedding jewels. There was the press where they took clothes to be ironed. The storewhere Gauri bought her ink, her notebooks. Narrow sweet shops, where trays ofconfectionswerestuddedwithflies.
Thepaanwallahsatcross-leggedatonecorner,underabarebulb,spreadingwhitelimepasteonstacksofbetelleaves.Atrafficconstablestoodatthecenter,inhishelmet,onhislittlebox.Blowingawhistleandwavinghisarms.Theclamorofsomanymotors,ofso
manyscootersandlorriesandbussesandcars,filledtheirears.
Ilikethisview,hesaid.
She’d observed the world, she told him, all of life, from this balcony. Politicalprocessions,governmentparades,visitingdignitaries.Themomentousstreamofvehiclesthat started eachday at dawn.The city’s poets andwriters passing by after death, theircorpses concealedby flowers.Pedestrianswadingknee-deep through the streets, duringthemonsoon.
In autumn came the effigies of Durga, and in winter, Saraswati. Their majestic clayformswerewelcomedinto thecityasdhakwerebeaten,as trumpetsplayed.Theywereushered in on the backs of trucks, then carried away at the end of the holidays to beimmersedintheriver.ThesedaysstudentsweremarchingupfromCollegeStreet.GroupsinsolidaritywiththeuprisingatNaxalbari,carryingflagsandplacards,raisingtheirfistsintheair.
He noticed the folding chair on which she’d been sitting. It had a sagging piece ofstriped fabric, like a sling, for a seat. A book was neglected beside it. A volume ofDescartes’sMeditationsonFirstPhilosophy.Hepickeditup.
Youreadhere,withallthisgoingby?
Ithelpsmetoconcentrate,shesaid.
She was used to the noise as she studied, as she slept; it was the ongoingaccompaniment to her life, her thoughts, the constant din more soothing than silencewouldhavebeen.Indoors,withnoroomofherown,itwasharder.Butthebalconyhadalwaysbeenherplace.
Whenshewasalittlegirl,shetoldhim,shewouldsometimesstumbleoutofbedduringthenight,andhergrandparentswouldfindherinthemorning,fastasleeponthebalcony,herfaceagainsttheblackenedfiligree,herbodyonthestonefloor.Deaftothetrafficthatrumbledpast.Shehadlovedwakingupout-of-doors,withouttheprotectionofwallsandaceiling.The first time, seeing that shewasmissing from the bed, they thought she haddisappeared.Theyhadsentpeopledowntothestreettosearchforher,shoutinghername.
And?Udayanasked.
TheydiscoveredthatIwashere,stillsleeping.
Didyourgrandparentsforbidyoufromdoingitagain?
No.Aslongasitwasn’ttoocoldorraining,theyleftalittlequiltoutforme.
Sothisisyourbodhitree,whereyouachieveenlightenment.
Sheshrugged.
Hiseyesfelltothepagesshe’dbeenreading.
WhatdoesMr.Descartestellusabouttheworld?
Shetoldhimwhatsheknew.Aboutthelimitsofperceptionandtheexperimentwithapieceofwax.Helduptoheat,theessenceofthewaxremained,evenasitsphysicalaspectchanged.Itwasthemind,notthesenses,thatwasabletoperceivethis,shesaid.
Thinkingissuperiortoseeing?
ForDescartes,yes.
HaveyoureadanyMarx?
Alittle.
Whydoyoustudyphilosophy?
Ithelpsmetounderstandthings.
Butwhatmakesitrelevant?
Platosaysthepurposeofphilosophyistoteachushowtodie.
There’snothingtolearnunlesswe’reliving.Indeathwe’reequal.Ithasthatadvantageoverlife.
Hehandedthebookbacktoher,closingitsothathecausedhertoloseherplace.
Andnowadegreehasbecomemeaninglessinthiscountry.
You’regettingamaster’sinphysics,shepointedout.
Myparentsexpectmeto.Itdoesn’tmattertome.
Whatmatterstoyou?
Helookeddownatthestreet,gesturing.Thisimpossiblecityofours.
Hechangedthesubject,askingabout theotherswholivedwithherandManash: twouncles,theirwives,twosetsofchildren.Hermaternalgrandparents,whohadonceownedtheflat,weredead,aswereherownparents.Heroldersisterslivedelsewhere,scatteredhereandthere,nowthattheyweremarried.
Youallgrewuphere?
She shook her head. There had been various homes in East Bengal, in Khulna, inFaridpur,whereherparentsandsistershadoncelived.Herfatherwasadistrictjudge,andherparentsandher sistershadmovedevery fewyears fromplace toplace, tobeautifulbungalowspaidforbythegovernment,inprettypartsofthecountryside.Thehouseshadcomewithcooks,servantswho’dopenedthedoors.
Manashwasbornintooneofthesehomes.Hebarelyremembered,buthersistersstillspokeofthatphaseoftheirupbringing,theirsharedpast.Theteacherswhowouldcometogivethemdanceandsinginglessons,themarbletablesonwhichtheyatemeals,thebroadverandahsonwhichtheyplayed,aseparateroominthehousethatwasjustfortheirdolls.
In1946 thosepostings ended, and the family cameback toCalcutta.But after a fewmonthsher father saidhedidnotwant to liveout his retirement there.After a lifetimeoutsideit,hehadnopatienceforcitylife,especiallywhenitspeoplewerebutcheringeachother,whenentireneighborhoodsweregoingupinflames.
Onemorningduringtheriots,fromthesamebalconyGauriandUdayanwerestandingon now, her parents had witnessed a scene: a mob surrounding the Muslim man whodeliveredtheirmilkonhisbicycle.Themobwasseekingrevenge;itwasreportedthata
cousinofthemilkmanhadbeeninvolvedinanattackonHindusinsomeotherpartofthecity.Theywatchedoneof theHindusplungeaknife intotheribsof themilkman.Theysawthemilk thefamilywouldhavedrunkthatdayspillingontothestreet, turningpinkwithhisblood.
SothefamilymovedtoavillagewestofCalcutta,afewhoursaway.Inanuneventfulplace, removed from their relatives, protected from turmoil, her parents preferred toestablishtheirfinaldomain.Therewasapondtofishandwadein,chickensfortheireggs,a garden her father liked to tend.Nothing but farmland, dirt roads, sky and trees. Theclosestmovietheatrewastwentymilesaway.Afairbroughtbooksellersonceayear.Thedarknessatnightwasabsolute.
BythetimeGauriwasborn,in1948,hermotherwasalreadypreoccupiedwithsettlingthe marriages of her older sisters. Her sisters belonged almost to another generation:teenagedgirlswhenshewasaninfant,youngwomenwhenshewasachild.Shewasanaunttochildrenherownage.
Howlongdidyouliveinthecountryside?
UntilIwasfive.
Her mother was bedridden around that time. She’d had tuberculosis in her spine.Gauri’soldersistershadbeenuseful,helpingwithhouseholdchores,butsheandManashwere only a complication. So they were sent away to the city, cared for by theirgrandparents,inthecompanyoftheirauntsanduncles.
After hermotherwas on her feet again they had stayed on.Manash had enrolled atCalcuttaBoys’School,andGaurididn’twanttobewithoutManash.Whenitwasherturntostartschool,giventhatthecity’sschoolswerebetter,itmadesenseforhertoremain.
There had always been the option to return to her parents’ village. But though shevisited, taking the train to see them for holidays, rural life held no appeal for her. Shedidn’t think she resented her parents for not raising her. Itwas theway ofmany largefamilies,andconsideringthecircumstances,itwasnotsostrange.Really,sheappreciatedthemforlettinghergoherownway.
Thatwastheirgifttoyou,Udayansaid.Autonomy.
A motor accident on a mountain road had killed them. They were traveling in badweather toahill station, forachangeof scene.Gaurihadbeen sixteen.Thehousewassold, no trace of her family in that quiet place remained. It was a blow to lose themsuddenly, but her grandparents’ deaths, more recently, had saddened her more. She’dgrown up in their home, slept on a bed between them. She’d seen them day after day,watched them turn ill and frail. It was her grandfather, who’d been a professor at theSanskritCollege,who’ddiedwithabookonhischest,who’dinspiredhertostudywhatshedid.
Shesawthattheunremarkablejourneyofherlifethusfarwasfascinatingtohim:herbirth in thecountryside,herwillingness to liveapartfromherparents,herestrangementfrommostofherfamily,herindependenceinthisregard.
Helitanothercigarette.Hetoldherhischildhoodwasdifferent.Therewasonlyhimself
andabrother.Ithadbeenonlythetwoofthemandtheirparents,inahouseinTollygunge.
Whatdoesyourbrotherdo?
HetalksthesedaysofgoingtoAmerica.
Willyougo,too?
No.Heturnedtolookather.Andyou?Willyoumissallthis,whenyougetmarried?
Shesawthathismouthneverfullyclosed,thattherewasadiamond-shapedapertureatthecenter.
I’mnotgettingmarried.
Yourrelativesdon’tpressureyou?
I’mnottheirresponsibility.Theyhavetheirownchildrentoworryabout.
Whatwouldyoudoinstead?
Icouldteachphilosophyatacollegeoraschool.
Andstayhere?
Whynot?
That’sgood.Foryou,Imean.Whyshouldyouleaveaplaceyoulove,andstopdoingwhatyoulovetodo,forthesakeofaman?
Hewasflirtingwithher.Shefelthimforminganopinionevenashestoodtherelookingat her, talking to her. An aspect of her, in his mind, that he already possessed. He’dpluckeditfromherwithoutpermission,atransactionnoothermanhadattempted,onethatshecouldnotobjectto,becauseitwashim.
Afteramoment,pointingtowardtheintersection,hesaid:
Ifyoumarriedsomeonewholivedononeoftheseotherthreecorners,ifyouonlyhadtomovetooneoftheotherbalconies,woulditbeallrightthen?
She couldn’t help herself; she smiled at this, at first hiding the smilewith her hand.Thenlaughing,lookingaway.
They began meeting at his campus, and at hers. But now, even when they hadn’tarrangedameeting, theykeptrunningintoeachother.HewouldwalkthroughthegatesovertoPresidency,watchingasshecamedownthegreatstaircaseafteraclass.Theysatalongtheportico,drapedwithbannerstheStudents’Unionputup.Whenspeechesweredeliveredon thequadrangle,about thecontinuingrise infoodprices,about thegrowingpopulation, about the shortage of jobs, they listened to them together. When marchessproutedalongCollegeStreet,hebroughtheralong.
He started giving her things to read. From the bookstalls he bought her Marx’sManifesto,andRousseau’sConfessions.FelixGreene’sbookonVietnam.
Shesawthatsheimpressedhim,notonlybyreadingwhathegaveher,butbytalkingtohimaboutit.Theyexchangedopinionsaboutthelimitsofpoliticalfreedom,andwhetherfreedom and powermeant the same thing. About individualism, leading to hierarchies.
Aboutwhatsocietyhappenedtobeatthemoment,andwhatitmightbecome.
Shefelthermindsharpening,focusing.Wrestlingwiththeconcretemechanismsoftheworld,insteadofdoubtingitsexistence.ShefeltclosertoUdayanonthedaysshedidnotseehim,thinkingaboutthethingsthatmatteredtohim.
AtfirsttheytriedtokeepthingsasecretfromManash,onlytofindoutthatManashhadbeenquietlyplottingit;thathe’dbeencertainthetwoofthemwouldgetalong.Hemadeiteasier forGauri tospend timewithUdayan,explainingawayto therestof thefamilywhereshe’dgone.
Theirpartingswereabrupt,theattentionhepaidhersuddenlycomingtoanendbecausetherewas somewhere he had to go. Somemeeting, some study session, he never fullyexplained.Heneverlookedbackatherbutalwayspausedinaspotwhereshewassuretoseehim, raisinghishand in farewellbeforecupping it to lightacigarette, and then shewatchedhislonglegscarryinghimawayfromher,acrosscampus,oracrossthewideandbusystreet.
Hetalkedsometimesabouttraveling,goingtooneofthevillageswhereshemighthavebeen raisedhad shenot fled.WhereafterNaxalbari, shegathered, lifewasnot soquietanymore.
He wanted to see more of India, he said, the way Che had traveled through SouthAmerica. He wanted to understand the circumstances of its people. He wanted to seeChinaoneday.
HementionedcertainfriendswhohadalreadyleftCalcutta,toliveamongthepeasants.Wouldyouunderstand,ifIeverneededtodosomethinglikethat?Udayanaskedher.
She was aware that he was testing her. That he would lose respect if she turnedsentimental, if shewasunwilling to facecertain risks.Andso, thoughshedidnotwanthimtobeawayfromher,didnotwantanyharmtocome tohim,she toldhimthatshewould.
Withouthimshewasremindedofherselfagain.Apersonmostateasewithherbooks,spending afternoons filling her notebooks in the cool high-ceilinged reading room ofPresidency’s library.But thiswasaperson shewasbeginning toquestionaftermeetingUdayan. A person that Udayan, with his unsteady fingers, was firmly pushing aside,wiping clean. So that she began to see herselfmore clearly, as a thin film of dustwaswipedfromasheetofglass.
Inchildhood,awareofheraccidentalarrival,shehadnotknownwhoshewas,whereortowhomshe’dbelonged.WiththeexceptionofManashshehadnotbeenabletodefineherselfinrelationtohersiblings,nortoseeherselfasapartofthem.Shehadnomemoryof spending amoment, even in a house in such an isolated place, ever, alonewith hermotherorfather.Alwaysattheendofaqueue,intheshadowofothers,shebelievedshewasnotsignificantenoughtocastashadowofherown.
Aroundmenshe’dfeltinvisible.Sheknewshewasnotthetypetheyturnedtolookaton the street, or tonotice across the roomat a cousin’swedding.She’dnotbeenaskedafter and married off a few months later, as some of her sisters had been. She was adisappointmenttoherself,inthisregard.
Aside fromher complexion, deep enough tobe considered a flaw,perhaps therewasnothing wrong with her. And yet, whenever she stopped to consider what made herappearancedistinctive,sheobjectedtoit,thinkingtheshapeofherfacewastoolong,thatherfeaturesweretoosevere.Wishingshecouldalterherself,believingthatanyotherfacewouldhavebeenpreferable.
ButUdayanregardedherasifnootherwomaninthecityexisted.Gaurineverdoubted,whentheyweretogether,thatshehadaneffectonhim.Thatitexcitedhimtostandbesideher,turninghisfacetowardher,hisgazeneverwavering.Henoticedthedaysheswitchedthepartinginherhair,sayingitsuitedher.
Oneday, insideoneof thebookshe’dgivenher, therewasanoteaskingher tomeethimatthecinema.Amatineeshowing—ahallclosetoParkStreet.
Shewasafraidtogo,afraidnotto.Itwasonethingtofallintoconversationswithhimon theportico, or at theCoffeeHouse, or towalkover toCollegeSquare towatch theswimmersinthepool.Theyhadnotyetstrayedfromthatimmediateneighborhood,wheretheyweresimplyfellowstudents,whereitwasalwaysreasonableforthemtobe.
Theafternoonofthefilmshehesitated,andsheendedupbeingsolatethatshedidn’tarriveuntiltheinterval,flustered,worriedthathe’dchangedhismindorhadgivenuponher,almostdaringhimtodothis.Buthehaddaredher,too,toshowup.
Hewasthere,outsidethetheatre,smokingacigarette,standingapartfromthegroupsofpeoplealreadydiscussingthefirstpartofthefilm.Thesunwasbeatingdownandheliftedhishandassheapproached,anglinghisheadtowardherface,formingalittlecanopyovertheir heads. The gesture made her feel alone with him, sheltered in that great crowd.Distinctfromthepedestrians,afloatonthecity’sswell.
Shesawnosignofirritationorimpatienceinhisexpressionwhenhespottedher.Shesawonlyhispleasureinseeingher.Asifheknewshewouldcome;asifheknew,even,thatshewoulddeliberate,andbeasridiculouslylateasshewas.Whensheaskedwhathadhappenedinthefilmsofar,heshookhishead.
Idon’tknow,hesaid,handinghertheticket.He’dbeenstandingthereallthewhileonthe sidewalk,waiting forher.Waiting,until theywere in thedarknessof the theatre, totakeherhand.
Chapter2In the second year of his Ph.D. Subhash lived on his own, now thatRichard,who’d
foundateachingjobinChicago,wasgone.
In the springsemester, for threeweeks,heboardeda researchvesselwithagroupofstudentsandprofessors.As the shippulledaway, thewater cleaveda foaming trail thatvanishedevenas itwasbeing formed.Theshoreline receded, restingcalmly likea thinbrownsnakeuponthewater.Hesawtheearth’smassshrinking,turningfaint.
Underthesun’sglare,astheypickedupspeed,hefeltthewind’smotiononhisface,thewild turbulenceof the atmosphere.Theydocked first inBuzzardsBay.Abargehadhitrocks off the coast of Falmouth two years before, running aground on a foggy night,spillingnearlytwohundredthousandgallonsoffueloil.ThewindhadpusheditintoWildHarbor.The hydrocarbons had killed off themarsh grass. Fiddler crabs, unable to burythemselves,hadfrozeninplace.
They lowerednets for trawling fish andcoffee cans for sampling the sediment.Theylearnedthatthecontaminationcouldpersistindefinitely.
TheycontinuedontosurveyGeorgesBank,wherethephytoplanktonwasinbloom,thepopulationofdiatomsexplodingingreatswirlsofpeacockblue.Butoncloudydaystheoceanlookedopaque,asdarkastar.
Hewatched the life that circled the ship, gannetswith creamy heads and black-and-white wings, dolphins that leaped in pairs. Humpback whales spouted mists as theybreathed,playfullybreachinginthewater,sometimesswimmingbeneaththeshipwithoutdisturbingit,emergingontheotherside.
SailingevenslightlyeastremindedSubhashofhowfarawayhewasfromhisfamily.Hethoughtofthetimeittooktocrossevenatinyportionoftheearth’ssurface.
Isolatedontheshipwiththescientistsandotherstudentsandcrew,hefeltdoublyalone.Unabletofathomhisfuture,severedfromhispast.
Forayearandahalfhehadnotseenhisfamily.Notsatdownwiththem,attheendoftheday,toshareameal.InTollygungehisfamilydidnothaveaphoneline.He’dsentatelegram to let them know he’d arrived. He was learning to live without hearing theirvoices,toreceivenewsofthemonlyinwriting.
Udayan’s letters no longer referred to Naxalbari, or ended with slogans. He didn’tmentionpoliticsatall.Insteadhewroteaboutfootballscores,oraboutthisorthatintheneighborhood—acertain store closingdown, a family they’dknownmoving away.ThelatestfilmbyMrinalSen.
He askedSubhash howhis studieswere going, and howhe spent his days inRhodeIsland.HewantedtoknowwhenSubhashwouldreturntoCalcutta,askinghim,inoneoftheletters,ifheplannedtogetmarried.
Subhashsavedafewoftheseletters,sinceitnolongerseemednecessarytothrowthemaway. But their blandness puzzled him. Though the handwriting was the same, it wasalmostasifthey’dbeenwrittenbyadifferentperson.Hewonderedwhatwashappening
inCalcutta,whatUdayanmightbemasking.Hewonderedhowheandhisparentsweregettingalong.
Letters fromhis parents referred only obliquely toGauri, andonly as an example ofwhatnottodo.Wehope,whenthe timecomes,youwill trustus tosettleyour future, tochooseyourwifeandtobepresentatyourwedding.Wehopeyouwillnotdisregardourwishes,asyourbrotherdid.
He replied, reassuring his mother and father that his marriage was up to them toarrange.Hesentaportionofhisstipendtohelppayfortheworkonthehouse,andwrotethathewaseagertoseethem.Andyet,dayafterday,cutofffromthem,heignoredthem.
Udayanwasnotalone;he’dremainedinTollygunge,attachedtotheplace,thewayoflifehe’dalwaysknown.He’dprovokedhisparentsbutwasstillprotectedbythem.Theonly differencewas that hewasmarried, and that Subhashwasmissing. And Subhashwonderedifthegirl,Gauri,hadalreadyreplacedhim.
•••
Onecloudydayinsummerhewentdowntothebeachatthefootofthecampus.Atfirsthesawnoonethereapartfromafishermancastingforscupatthetipofthejetty.Nothingbutshallowwavesbreakingover thegray-and-yellowstones.Thenhenoticedawomanwalking,withachildandajet-blackdog.
Thewomanwas locating stickson the sandand throwing them to thedog.Sheworetennissneakerswithoutsocks,arubberrainslicker.Acottonskirtbillowedoutaroundherknees.
Theboywasholdingabucket,andSubhashwatchedastheyuntiedtheirsneakersandwanderedovertherocksintothetidepools.Theywerelookingforstarfish.Theboywasfrustrated,complainingthathecouldnotfindany.
Subhashrolleduphispants.Heremovedhisshoesandwadedin,knowingwheretheyhid.Hepriedoneoffarock,andallowedittorest,stiffbutalive,inhishand.Heturnedhiswristtorevealtheunderside,pointingtotheeyespotsatthetipsofthearms.
DoyouknowwhatwillhappenifIputitforamomentonyourarm?
Theboyshookhishead.
Itwillpulloffthelittlehairsonyourskin.
Doesithurt?
Notreally.Letmeshowyou.
Wherehaveyoucomefrom?thewomanaskedhim.
Herfacewasplainbutappealing,thepaleblueofhereyesliketheliningofamusselshell.ShelookedabitolderthanSubhash.Herhairwaslong,darkblond,marshgrassinwinter.
India.Calcutta.
Thismustbeprettydifferent.
Itis.
Doyoulikeithere?
Noonehadaskedhimthis,untilnow.Helookedoutatthewater,atthesteelpilesofthetwobridgesstretchingacrossthebay:thelower,cantileveredcenterpieceofthefirst,andthesoaringsteeltowersofthesecond.ThesymmetricalriseandfalloftheNewportBridge,recentlycompleted,hadarchedportalsandcablesthatwouldlightupatnight.
Hehadlearnedfromoneofhisprofessorsaboutthebridge’sconstruction.Endtoend,hewas told, thewires of all the suspended cableswould span just over eight thousandmiles.ItwasthedistancebetweenAmericaandIndia;thedistancethatnowseparatedhimfromhisfamily.
Hesawthesmall,squared-offlighthouse,withthreewindows,likethreebuttonsontheplacket of a shirt, that stood atDutch Island’s tip.Therewas awoodenpier that endedwithacoveredhut,whereboatsweremoored,juttingoutatoneendofthebeach.Afewsailboatswereout,specksofwhiteagainstthenavysea.
TherearetimesIthinkIhavediscoveredthemostbeautifulplaceonearth,hesaid.
Hedidn’tbelong,butperhaps itdidn’tmatter.Hewanted to tellher thathehadbeenwaiting all his life to find Rhode Island. That it was here, in this minute but majesticcorneroftheworld,thathecouldbreathe.
Her namewas Holly. The boy, Joshua, was nine, and his summer vacation had justbegun. The dog’s namewas Chester. They lived inMatunuck, close to one of the saltponds.Theycametothecampusbeacheverysooftentowalkthedog.They’dgottentoknowitbecauseawomanwhowaslookingafterJoshua,onthedaysHollyworkedasanurseatasmallhospitalinEastGreenwich,livednearby.
Shedidn’tmentionwhatherhusbanddid.ButJoshuahadreferredtohiminthecourseof theafternoon,askingHolly ifhis fatherwasgoing to takehimfishing thatweekend.Subhashsupposedheworkedatanofficeatthattimeofday.
ThenexttimehenoticedHolly’scarparkedinthelotheventuredouttosayhello.Sheseemed pleased to see him, waving from a distance, Chester bounding ahead of her,Joshuatrailingbehind.
They began walking together, loosely, as they talked, up and down the short beach.Seaweedwasstrewneverywhere,rockweedwithairbladdersliketexturedorangegrapes,lonelyscrapsofsealettuce,tanglednestsofrustykelpcaughtinthewaves.AjellyfishhaddriftedupfromtheCaribbean,spreadlikeaflattenedchrysanthemumonthehardsand.
Whenheaskedheraboutherbackground,shesaidshehadbeenborninMassachusetts,thatherfamilywasFrenchCanadian,thatshehadlivedinRhodeIslandmostofherlife.She’dstudiednursingattheuniversity.Sheaskedabouthisstudiesthere,andheexplainedthatafterhiscourseworktherewasacomprehensiveexamtostudyfor,thenanoriginalpieceofresearchtoconduct,adissertationtosubmit.
Howlongwillallthattake?
Anotherthreeyears.Maybemore.
Holly knew all about the seabirds. She told him how to distinguish buffleheads andpintails,gullsand terns.Shepointed to thesandpiperssprinting to thewater’sedgeandback.Whenhedescribed theheronhe’dseenhis firstautumninRhodeIsland,she toldhimithadbeenajuvenilegreatbluewithoutitsplumes.
Going to her car to fetch binoculars, she showed him how to magnify a group ofmergansers,beatingtheirwingsinasteadfastdirectionoverthebay.
Doyouknowwhatthebabyploversdo?
No.
Theygroupthemselves in theskybecausetheadultskeepcallingtoeachother.TheyflyallthewayfromNovaScotiatoBrazil,restingonlyoccasionallyonthewaves.
Theysleeponthesea?
They navigate the world better than we can. As if compasses were built into theirbrains.
ShewascuriousaboutbirdsinIndia,andsohedescribedthosethatshewouldnothaveseen.Mynasthatnestedinthewallsofbuildings,kokilsthatcriedthroughoutthecityatthestartofspring.SpottedowletshootingattwilightinTollygunge,tearingapartgeckoesandmice.
Andyou?sheasked.WillyoureturntoCalcuttawhenyoufinish?
IfIcanfindworkthere.
For she was right; it was assumed, by his family, by himself, that his life here wastemporary.
Whatdoyoumissaboutit?
It’swhereIwasmade.
Hetoldherhehadparents,abrotherwhowasslightlyyounger.He toldherhehadasister-in-lawnow,awomanhehadyettomeet.
Wheredoyourbrotherandhiswifelive,nowthatthey’remarried?
Withmyparents.
Heexplainedthatdaughtersjoinedtheirin-lawsaftertheymarried,andsonsstayedathome.Thatgenerationsdidn’tseparateastheydidhere.
He knew that it was impossible for Holly, probably for any American woman, toimaginethatlife.Butsheconsideredwhathe’ddescribed.
Itsoundsbetter,inaway.
One afternoon Holly spread a bedcover, unpacking cheese sandwiches, sticks ofcucumberandcarrot,almondsandslicedfruit.Shesharedthissimplefoodwithhim,andbecause the light lingered, it became their dinner. In the course of conversation, whileJoshuawasplayingatadistancefromthem,shementioned thatsheandJoshua’sfatherlivedseparately.Thishadbeenthecasefornearlyayear.
Shelookedoutatthewater,herlegsfolded,herkneesbent,herfingersclaspedlooselyaroundthem.Herhairwaslikeaschoolgirl’sthatday,intwobraidsthattrailedoverhershoulders.
Hedidn’twanttopry.Butwithouthishavingtoaskshesaid,He’swithanotherwomannow.
He understood that shewasmaking something clear to him. That though shewas amother,shebelongedtonooneelse.
ItwasthepresenceofJoshua,alwayswiththem,alwaysbetweenthem,thatcontinuedtomotivatehimtoseekHollyout.Itkepttheirfriendshipincheck.Underthebroadsky,onthebeachwithher,hismindemptied.Untilnowhehadworkedthrougheveningsandweekendswithoutabreak.Asifhisparentswerewatchinghim,monitoringhisprogress,andhewasprovingtothemthathewasnotwastinghistime.
One particularly warm day, when she wore a sheer button-down shirt, he saw thecontourofonesideofherbody.Thecurveofherunderarm.
Whensheunbuttonedhershirtandremovedit,revealingthebathingsuittopsheworeunderneath,hesawthatherstomachwassoft.Herroundedbreasts,setwideapart,facedslightly away from one another. Her shoulders were spotted with freckles from manysummersinthesun.
ShelayoutonthebeachwhileheplayedwithJoshuaatthewater’sedge.JoshuacalledhimSubhash,justasHollydid.Hewasamild-temperedboy,speakingonlywhenspokento,drawntoSubhashbutalsosuspiciousofhim.
Theyformedatentativebond,skippingstones,andplayingwithChester,whoprancedintothewatertowashhimself,shakingoffhisfur,boundingbackwithatennisballinhisteeth.Hollylaywatchingthemthroughhersunglasses,lyingonherstomach,sometimesclosinghereyes,nappingalittle.
WhenSubhashcamebacktoher,todryoffhisquicklytanningskin,sheneitherliftedhereyesfromthebookshewasreadingnormovedawayashesettledhimselfbesideherontheblanket,closeenoughfortheirbareshouldersnearlytotouch.
Hewas aware of the great chasms that separated them. Itwas not only that shewasAmerican,andthatshewasprobablytenyearsolderthanhewas.Hewastwenty-seven,andheguessedshewasabout thirty-five.Itwas thatshehadalreadyfallen in love,andbeenmarried,andhadachild,andhadherheartbroken.Hehadyettoexperienceanyofthosethings.
Thenoneafternoon,goingdowntomeether,hesawthatJoshuawasnotthere.ItwasaFriday, and the boy would be spending the night with his father. It was important forJoshuatocontinuetohavecontactwithhim,shesaid.
It disturbedSubhash to think ofHolly speaking to Joshua’s father,making this plan.Behaving reasonably toward amanwho had hurt her. Perhaps even seeing him, in thecourseofdroppingJoshuaoff.
Whenalightrainbegantofallsoonaftertheblanketwasspread,Hollyinvitedhimtojoin her for dinner at her home. She said there was some stew in the refrigerator that
wouldbeenoughforthemboth.Andheaccepted,notwantingtopartfromher.
AstherainturnedsteadierhefollowedhertowardMatunuckinRichard’scar.Hestillthoughtofitthatway,eventhough,whenRichardmovedtoChicago,Subhashhadboughtthecarfromhim.
Afterthehighwaythelandscapeturnedflatterandemptier.Hedrovedownadirtroadlinedwithbulrushes.Thenhearrivedattherestrainedpaletteofsandandseaandsky.
Hepulledbehindherintothedriveway,bleachedshellscracklingunderthetiresasheslowedtoastop.Thebackofthecottageoverlookedasaltpond.Therewasnolawnatthefront, just a bit of slanted fencing, bound together by rustedwire.Here and therewereothersingle-storycottages,plainlybuilt.
Whyarethewindowsboardedup?heasked,noticingthehousethatwasclosesttohers.
Incaseofstorms.Noone’slivinginthatonenow.
Hegazedat theotherhomes thatwerevisible,allof themfacing the sea.Whoownsthese?
Richpeople.TheycomedownfromBostonorProvidenceontheweekends,nowthatit’ssummer.Somestayaweekortwo.They’llallbegonebyfall.
Noonerentsthem,whenthey’reempty?
Sometimesstudentsdo,becausethey’recheap.InspringIwastheonlyoneouthere.
Holly’scottagewastiny:akitchenandasittingareaatthefront,abathroomandtwobedroomsat theback, theceilings low.Even thehomehe’dgrownup inhad feltmorespacious.She’dopenedthedoorwithoutinsertingakey.
Theradiowason,reportingtheweatherastheywalkedthroughthedoor.Showersthateveningwouldbeheavyattimes.Chestergreetedthemwithhisbarking,wagginghistailandpressinghisbodyagainsttheirlegs.
Didyouforgettoshutitoff?heaskedher,assheturneddowntheradio’svolume.
Ikeepiton.Ihatecomingbacktoaquiethouse.
He remembered the shortwave radio that he and Udayan had put together, drawinginformation from all over theworld to another isolated place.He realized that in somesense Holly was more alone than he was. Her isolation, without a husband, withoutneighborsaroundher,seemedsevere.
Theroofofthecottagewasasthinasamembrane,thepeltingsoundoftherainlikeanavalancheofgravel.Sandwaseverywhere,betweenthecushionsofthesofa,onthefloor,ontheroundcarpetinfrontofthefireplacewhereChesterlikedtosit.
Hastilyshesweptitout,justasthedustwassweptouttwiceadayinCalcutta,thenshutthewindows.Themantelabovethefireplacewaspiledwithstonesandshells,piecesofdriftwood;thereseemedtobelittleelsedecoratingthehouse.
Helookedoutthewindow,seeingtheoceancoveredwithstormclouds,thedarksandatthewater’sedge.
Whybothergoingtothecampusbeach,whenyouhavethis?
It’sachangeofscene.Ilovearrivingatthebottomofthathill.
She busied herself in the kitchen. Shewas turning on the oven, filling the sinkwithwater,soakinglettuceleaves.
Willyougetafirestarted?
Hewenttothefireplaceandlookedatit.Therewerelogstooneside,asetofirontools.Someasheswithin.Heremovedthescreen.Henoticedabookofmatchesontopofthemantel.
Letmeshowyou, she said, alreadynext tohimbeforeheneeded to turnaroundandask.
She opened a vent that was inside, then arranged the logs and the thinner sticks.Handinghimoneofthetools,shetoldhimtonudgethemtogetheraftertheflamewaslit.Hesatmonitoringthefire,butshehadlititperfectly.TherewasnothingtodootherthanallowittowarmhisfaceandhandsasHollypreparedthemeal.
Hewonderedif thiswaswhereshehadlivedwithJoshua’sfather,andif thiswasthehome he had left her in. Something told him no. There were only Holly’s things, andJoshua’s.Theirtworaincoatsandsummerjacketshangingonpegsbythedoor,theirpairsofbootsandsandalslinedupbeneath.
DoyoumindcheckingthewindowoverJoshua’sbed?IthinkIleftitopen.
Theboy’sroomwaslikeaship’scabin,constrictedandlow.Hesawthebedbeneaththewindow,coveredwithaplaidquilt,thepillowdampwithrain.
On the floor, below a bookcase, was a partially completed jigsaw puzzle of horsesgrazinginameadow,lookinglikeaframetoamissingimage.Hecroucheddownandputa hand into the box, sifting through seemingly identical pieces that were neverthelessdistinct.
WhenhestooduphenoticedasnapshotlyingonJoshua’schestofdrawers.RightawaySubhash knew itwas Joshua’s father,Holly’s husband.Aman in shorts, barefoot, on abeachsomewhere,holdingasmallerversionofJoshuaonhisshoulders.Hisfacetiltedupathisson,bothofthemlaughing.
Hollycalledhimtodinner.Theyatepiecesofchickencookedinmushroomsandwine,served with bread warmed in the oven instead of with rice. The taste was complex,flavorfulbutwithoutheatofanykind.
Hepulledoutthebayleafshe’dputin.Thesegrowonatreebehindmyfamily’shome,hesaid.Onlythey’retwicethesize.
Willyoubringsomebackforme,whenyougotovisitthem?
Hetoldherhewould,butitfeltunreal,inhercompany,thathewouldeverbebackinTollygunge,withhis family.Evenmoreunreal thatHollywouldstillcare tospend timewithhimwhenhereturned.
Shetoldhimshe’dlivedinthecottagesincelastSeptember.Joshua’sfatherhadoffered
tomoveoutoftheoldplacethey’dshared,offMinisterialRoad,butshedidn’twanttobethere.Thecottagehadbelongedtohergrandparents.She’dspenttimeinitasayounggirl.
Afterthestewtherewereslicesofanapplecakeandmugsoflemontea.Astherainfellharder,lashingthewindowpanes,HollyspokeofJoshua.Shewasworriedabouthowtheseparation was affecting him. Since his father had left, she said, he’d turned inward,frightenedbythingsthathadnotfrightenedhimbefore.
Whatthings?
He’safraidofsleepingalone.Youseehowcloseourroomsare.Buthe’sbeencomingintomybedatnight.Hehasn’tdonethatforyears.He’salwayslovedswimming,butthissummerhe’snervousinthewater,afraidofthewaves.Andhedoesn’twanttogobacktoschoolinthefall.
Heswamatthebeachtheotherday.
Maybebecauseyouwerethere.
ChesterbegantobarkandHollygotupandclippedtheleashtohiscollar.Shethrewonherrainjacket,andpickedupanumbrellabytheentrance.
Youstaywhereit’sdry.I’llonlybeaminuteortwo.
While he waited for her to return, he went to the sink and washed the dishes. Hemarveledattheself-sufficientnatureofherlife.Andhewasalsoslightlynervousforher,livingaloneinsucharemoteplace,withoutbotheringtolockherdoor.Therewasnoonetohelpher,apartfromthebabysitterwholookedafterJoshuawhilesheworked.Thoughherparentswerealive,thoughtheylivednearby,inanotherpartofRhodeIsland,theyhadnotcometotakecareofher.
Andyethehimselfdidnotfeelcompletelyalonewithherhere.TheywereaccompaniedbyChester,andJoshua’sclothesandtoys.Evenapictureofthemanshe’donceloved.
That’sthefirstnightinalongtimeIhaven’thadtodothedishesafterdinner,shesaid,joininghimagain.Theplatesandglasseshadbeenputaway,thedishtowelwasdryingonahook.
Idon’tmind.
You’llbeallright,drivinghomeinthisweather?CanIlendyouajacket?
I’llbefine.
Letmewalkyouundertheumbrellatoyourcar.
Heputhishandonthedoorknob.Buthedidn’twanttogo;hestilldidn’twanttoleaveher.Ashestoodwavering,hefeltthesideofherface,pressedlightlyagainstthebackofhisshirt.Thenherhand,restingonhisshoulder.Hervoice,askingifhe’dliketostay.
Herbedroomwas themirror imageofJoshua’s.Butbecause thebedwas larger therewasroomforpracticallynothingelse.Insidethisroomhewasabletoforgetaboutwhathis parents would think, and the consequences of what he was about to do. He forgotabout everything other than the body of the woman in the bed with him, guiding hisfingers to the hollow of her throat, over the ridge of her collarbones, down toward the
softerskinofherbreasts.
Thesurfaceofherskinfascinatedhim.Alltheminutemarkingsandimperfections,thepatternsoffrecklesandmolesandspots.Therangeoftonesandshadesshecontained,notonly the inverseshadowsfromtanning,highlightingportionsofherbodyhewasseeingfor the first time, but also an inherent,more subtlemixture, as quietly variegated as ahandfulofsand,thathecoulddiscernonlynow,underthelamplight.
Sheallowedhimtotouchtheslackskinofherbelly,thecoarsemound,darkerthanherhair,betweenherlegs.Whenhepaused,uncertain,shelookedupathim,incredulous.
Really?
Heturnedhisface.Ishouldhavetoldyou.
Subhash,itdoesn’tmatter.Idon’tcare.
He felt her fingers clasping his erection, positioning it, drawing him near. He wasembarrassed,exhilarated.Hefeltanddidwhathehadonlyimagineduntilnow.Hemovedinsideher,againsther,unawareandalsoaware,witheverynerveofhisbeing,ofwherehewas.
The rain had stopped.He heard the sound ofwater, from the leaves of the tree thatspreadovertheroofofherhouse,asoundthatwaslikesporadicburstsofapplause.Helaybesideher,meaningtogobacktohisapartmentbeforethenextdaybegan,butherealizedafterafewminutesthatHollywasnotsimplybeingquiet.Withoutwarning,shehadfallenasleep.
Itfeltwrongtowakeher,ortogowithouttellingher.Soheremained.Inthebedthatwas warm from the heat of their bodies, he was unable at first to fall asleep. He wasdistractedbyherpresenceinspiteoftheintimacythey’djustshared.
InthemorninghewokeuptothesoundofChester’sbreathing,tothesmellofhisfur,hispawsclickingsoftlyaroundthethreesidesofthebed.Thedogstoodpatiently,pantingbyHolly’sside.Theroomwaswarmandbright.
She’dbeensleepingwithherbacktoSubhash,nestledagainsthim,unclothed.Shegotoutofbedandpulledonthejeansandblouseshe’dbeenwearingthenightbefore.
I’llmakecoffee,shesaid.
Hedressedquickly.Steppingouttousethebathroom,hesawtheopendoortoJoshua’sroom.Theboy’sabsencehadmadeitpossible.HewastherebecauseJoshuawasnot.
Holly came back from taking Chester outside, and offered to make breakfast. ButSubhashtoldherhehadworktocatchupon.
ShouldIletyouknow,thenexttimeJoshuagoesovertohisfather’s?
Hefeltuncertain;hesawthat theencounterofthenightbeforemightbeabeginning,notanend.Atthesametimehewasimpatienttoseeheragain.
Ifyoulike.
Openingthedoor,hesawthatthetidewasin.Theskywasbright,theoceancalm.Nosign,apartfromalltheseaweedthathadwashedlikeemptynestsuponthesand,ofthe
stormtherehadbeen.
Chapter3HewantedtotellUdayan.Somehow,hewantedtoconfesstohisbrothertheprofound
step he’d taken.Hewanted to describewhoHollywas,what she looked like, how shelived.Todiscusstheknowledgeofwomenthattheynowshared.Butitwasn’tsomethinghecouldconveyinaletteroratelegram.Notaconversationhecouldimagine,evenifaconnectionwerepossible,takingplaceoverthephone.
Fridayevenings: thiswaswhenhewasabletovisitHollyat thecottageandtospendthenight.Therestofthetimehekeptadistance,sometimesmeetingherforasandwichonthebeachbutnothingmore.Formostoftheweekhewasabletopretend,ifheneededto,thathedidnotknowher,andthatnothinginhislifehadchanged.
ButonFridayeveningshedrovetohercottage,turningoffthehighwayontothelongwooded road that gaveway to the saltmarsh. Through Saturday, sometimes as late asSundaymorning, he stayed. Shewas undemanding, always at easewith him. Trusting,eachtimetheyparted,thattheywouldmeetagain.
Theywalkedalongthebeach,onfirmsandribbedbythetide.Heswamwithherinthecoldwater,tastingitssaltinhismouth.Itseemedtoenterhisbloodstream,intoeverycell,purifyinghim,leavingsandinhishair.Onhisbackhefloatedweightless,hisarmsspread,theworld silenced.Only the sea’s low-pitchedhum,and the sunglowing likehot coalsbehindhiseyes.
Once or twice they did certain ordinary things, as if theywere already husband andwife.Goingtogethertothesupermarket,fillingthecartwithfood,puttingthebagsinthetrunkofhercar.Thingshewouldnothavedonewithawoman,inCalcutta,beforegettingmarried.
In Calcutta, when hewas a student, it had been enough to feel an attraction towardcertainwomen.He’dbeentooshytopursuethem.Hedidn’tcourtHollyashe’dobservedcollege friends trying to impress women they were interested in, women who almostalwaysbecametheirwives.AsUdayanhadsurelycourtedGauri.Hedidn’ttakeHollytothe movies or to restaurants. He didn’t write her notes, delivered, so as not to rousesuspicionfromagirl’sparents,bytheaidofafriend,askinghertomeethimhereorthere.
Hollywasbeyondsuchthings.Theonlyplaceitmadesenseforthemtomeetwasatherhome,whereitwaseasiesttobe,wherehelikedtospendtime,andwhereshesawtotheirneeds.Thehourspassedwiththeir talking, longconversationsabout theirfamilies, theirpasts,thoughshedidn’ttalkabouthermarriage.Shenevertiredofaskinghimabouthisupbringing.Themostordinarydetailsofhislife,whichwouldhavemadenoimpressiononagirlfromCalcutta,werewhatmadehimdistinctivetoher.
Oneevening,astheydrovebacktogetherfromthegrocerystore,wherethey’dboughtcornandwatermelontocelebratetheFourthofJuly,Subhashdescribedhisfathersettingouteachmorningtothemarket,carryingaburlapsackinhishand.Shoppingforwhatwasavailable,whatwasaffordablethatday.Iftheirmothercomplainedthathehadn’tbroughtback enough, he’d say, Better to eat a small piece of fishwith flavor than a large onewithout.He’dwitnessedafamineofdevastatingproportions,never takingasinglemealforgranted.
Somemornings,Subhashtoldher,heandUdayanhadaccompaniedtheirfathertoshop,ortopickuprationedriceandcoal.Theyhadwaitedwithhiminthelonglines,undertheshadeofhisumbrellawhenthesunwasstrong.
Theyhadhelpedhimtocarrybackthefishandthevegetables,themangoesthattheirfather sniffed and prodded, that he sometimes set to further ripen under the bed. OnSundaystheyboughtmeatfromthebutcher,carvedfromahanginggoatcarcass,weighedonthescale,wrappedinapacketofdriedleaves.
Areyouclosetoyourfather?Hollyaskedhim.
For some reasonhe thought of the picture in Joshua’s room, of Joshuaon top of hisfather’sshoulders.Subhash’sfatherhadnotbeenanaffectionateparent,buthehadbeenaconsistentone.
Iadmirehim,hesaid.
Andyourbrother?Doyoutwogetalong?
Hepaused.Yesandno.
Sooftenit’sboth,shesaid.
•••
Inhercrampedbedroom,settingasidehisguilt,hecultivatedanongoingdefianceofhisparents’expectations.Hewasawarethathecouldgetawaywithit,thatitwasmerelytheshoalsofphysicaldistancethatallowedhisdefiancetopersist.
He thought of Narasimhan as an ally now; Narasimhan and his American wife.SometimesheimaginedwhatitwouldbeliketoleadasimilarlifewithHolly.TolivetherestofhislifeinAmerica,todisregardhisparents,tomakehisownfamilywithher.
At thesame timeheknewthat itwas impossible.ThatshewasanAmericanwas theleastofit.Hersituation,herchild,herage,thefactthatshewastechnicallyanotherman’swife,allofitwouldbeunthinkabletohisparents,unacceptable.Theywouldjudgeherforthosethings.
Hedidn’twanttoputHollythroughthat.AndyethecontinuedtoseeheronFridays,forgingthisnewclandestinepath.
Udayanwouldhaveunderstood.Perhapshewould even respect him for it.But therewasnothingUdayancouldsaythatSubhashdidnotalreadyknow;thathewasinvolvedwithawomanhedidn’tintendtomarry.Awomanwhosecompanyhewasgrowingusedto,butwhom,perhapsduetohisownambivalence,hedidn’tlove.
And so he divulged nothing about Holly to anyone. The affair remained concealed,inaccessible.Hisparents’disapprovalthreatenedtounderminewhathewasdoing,lodgedlikeasilentgatekeeperatthebackofhismind.Butwithouthisparentsthere,hewasabletokeeppushingbacktheirobjection,fartherandfarther,likethepromiseofthehorizon,anticipatedfromaship,thatoneneverreached.
OneFridayhewasunabletoseeher;Hollyphonedtosaytherehadbeenalast-minutechangeinplans,andJoshuawasnotgoingtogotohisfather’s.Subhashunderstoodthatthesewere the terms.Andyet, thatweekend, he foundhimselfwishing theplanwould
change.
Thefollowingweekend,whenhevisitedheragain,thephonerangastheywerehavingdinner.Shebegantalking,trailingthecordsothatshewasabletositonthesofa,onherown.HerealizeditwasJoshua’sfather.
Joshuahadcomedownwithafever,andHollywastellingherhusbandtoputhimintoalukewarmbath.Explaininghowmuchmedicinetogive.
Subhash was surprised, also troubled, that she could speak to him calmly, withoutacrimony.Thepersonontheotherendofthelineremaineddeeplyfamiliartoher.HesawthatbecauseofJoshua,inspiteoftheirseparation,theirliveswerepermanentlytied.
Hesatatthetablewithhisbacktoher,noteating,waitingfortheconversationtoend.HelookedatthecalendarthatwasonthewallnexttoHolly’sphone.
The following day was August 15, Indian Independence. A holiday for the country,lightsongovernmentbuildings,flaghoistingandparades.Anordinarydayhere.
Hollyhungupthephone.Youlookupset,sheobserved.Issomethingwrong?
Ijustrememberedsomething.
What’sthat?
Itwashisfirstmemory,August1947,thoughsometimeshewonderedifitwasonlyacomfortingtrickofthemind.Foritwasanighttheentirecountryclaimedtoremember,andtherecollectionthatwashishadalwaysbeensaturatedbyhisparents’retelling.
Ithadbeentheonlythingonhisparents’mindsthatevening,asfireworkswentoffinDelhi, asministerswere sworn in.AsGandhi fasted to bring peace toCalcutta, as thecountrywasborn.Udayanhadbeenjusttwo,Subhashclosertofour.Herememberedtheunfamiliar touchofadoctor’shandonhis forehead, theslightslapsonhisarms,on thesolesofhisfeet.Theweightofthequiltswhenchillsovertookthem.
Herememberedturningtohisyoungerbrother,bothofthemshivering.Herememberedtheunfocusedglaze inUdayan’seyes, the flushofhis face, thenonsensical thingshe’dsaid.
Myparentswereworriedthat itwas typhoid,he toldHolly.Theywereworried,forafewdays,thatwemightdie,thewayanotheryoungboyinourneighborhoodrecentlyhad.Evennow,when they talkabout it, theysoundafraid.As if they’restillwaiting forourfeverstobreak.
That’s what happens when you become a parent, Holly told him. Time stops whensomethingthreatensthem.Themeaninggoesaway.
Chapter4OneweekendinSeptember,whenJoshuawasvisitinghisfather,Hollysuggestedthat
the twoof themgo to apart ofRhode Islandhehadn’t seen.They took the ferry fromGalileetoBlockIsland,travelingmorethantenmilesouttosea,andwalkedtogetherfromtheharbortoaninn.
Therehadbeena last-minutecancellation,andso theyweregivena roomon the topfloor,nicer thantheoneHollyhadbooked,withaviewof theocean,afour-posterbed.Theyhadcome tosee thekestrels, starting to flysouthnowover the island.Unpackingtheirthingsfortheweekend,shepresentedhimwithagift:itwasapairofbinoculars,inabrownleathercase.
Thisisunnecessary,hesaid,admiringthem.
Ithoughtitwastimetostoppassingminebetweenus.
Hekissed her shoulder, hermouth.He had nothing else to give her in exchange.Hestudiedthelittlecompassthatwasaffixedbetweenthelenses,andplacedthestraparoundhisneck.
Theislandwouldsoonbeshuttingdownfortheseason,thetouristsdisappearing,onlyoneor two restaurants remainingopen for the tinypopulation that never left.The asterwasinbloom,thepoisonivyturningred.Butthesunshoneandtheairwascalm,aperfectlatesummer’sday.
Theyrentedbikesandcycledaround.Ittookhimamomenttoregainhisbalance.Hehadnotbeenonabicyclesincehewasaboy,sinceheandUdayanhadlearnedtorideonthequietlanesofTollygunge.Herememberedthefrontwheelwobbling,oneofthemontheseat,theotheronepedalingtheheavyblackbicyclethey’dmanagedtoshare.
FoldedinhispocketwasaletterfromUdayan.Ithadcomethedaybefore.
Asparrowgotintothehousetoday,intotheroomweusedtoshare. The shutters were open, it must have hopped inthroughthebars.Ifounditflappingaround.AndIthoughtofyou, thinking how much this nuisance would have excitedyou.Itwasasifyou’dcomeback.OfcourseitflewawayassoonasIwalkedin.
Beingtwenty-sixfeelsfinesofar.Andyou,inanothertwoyears,willturnthirty.Anewphaseoflifeforusboth,morethanhalfwaynowtofifty!
Ihavealreadygrownquiteboring,stillteaching,tutoringstudents. Let’s hope they’ll go on to accomplish greater
thingsthanIdid.ThebestpartofthedayiscominghometoGauri.We read together,we listen to the radio, and so theeveningspass.
Did you know twenty-six was the age Castro wasimprisoned? By then he’d already led the attack on theMoncada Barracks. And did you know, his brother was injail with him at the same time? They were kept isolated,forbiddentoseeoneanother.
Speaking of communication, I was reading aboutMarconi the other day. He was just twenty-seven when hewas sitting inNewfoundland, listening for the letterS fromCornwall.Hiswireless station onCapeCod looks close towhereyouare.It’sinaplacecalledWellfleet.Haveyoubeenthere?
TheletterconsoledSubhash,alsoconfusedhim.Invokingcodesandsignals,gamesofthepast, the singularbondhe andSubhashhad shared. InvokingCastro, butdescribingquieteveningsathomewithhiswife.HewonderedifUdayanhadtradedonepassionforanother,andhiscommitmentwastoGaurinow.
He followed Holly along curving narrow roads, past the enormous salt pond thatbisectedtheislandandtheglacialravines.Pastrollingmeadowsandturretedproperties.Thepastureswerebarren,withbouldershereand there,partiallyframedbystonewalls.Henoticedthattherewerehardlyanytrees.
Quickly they traveled fromonesideof the island to theother,onlyabout threemilesacross. The kestrels glided over the bluff and out to sea, their wings motionless, theirbodiesseemingtodriftbackwardwhenthewindwasstrong.HollypointedtoMontauk,atthetipofLongIsland,visiblethatdayacrossthewater.
In the afternoon they cooled themselves in the ocean, walking down a steep set ofricketywooden steps, stripping to theirbathing suits and swimming in roughwaves. Inspiteofthewarmth,thedayswereturningbriefagain.Theyrodeovertoanotherbeachtowatchthesunsinklikeameltingscarletstainintothewater.
Returningtothetown,theysawaboxturtleattheedgeoftheroad.Theystopped,andSubhashpickeditup,studyingitsmarkings,thenremovingit tothegrassfromwhichithadcome.
We’llhavetotellJoshua,Subhashsaid.
Holly said nothing. She’d turned pensive, the glow of twilight tinting her face, hermood strange. He wondered if his mentioning Joshua had upset her. She was quiet atdinner,eatinglittle,sayingthattheirdayinthesunhadleftherwithabitofaheadache.
Forthefirsttimetheykissedeachothergoodnightbutnothingmore.Helaybesideher,listeningtothecrashofthesea,watchingawaxingmoonriseintothesky.Helongedforsleep,butitwouldnotimmersehim;thatnightthewatershesoughtforhisreposeweredeepenoughtowadein,butnottoswim.
Inthemorningsheseemedbetter,sittingacrossfromhimatthebreakfasttable,hungryfor toast, scrambled eggs. But as they waited for the ferry on the way back to themainland,shetoldhimthatshehadsomethingtosay.
I’veenjoyedgettingtoknowyou,Subhash.Spendingthistime.
Theshifthefeltwasinstantaneous.Itwasasifshe’dpickedthemupandputthemofftheprecariouspath theywereon, just ashe’d removed the turtle from the road thedaybefore.Puttingtheirconnectiontooneanotheroutofharm’sway.
Iwantustoendthisnicely,shecontinued.Ithinkwecan.
Heheardhersay thatshehadbeenspeakingwithJoshua’s father,and that theyweregoingtotrytoworkthingsoutbetweenthem.
Heleftyou.
He wants to come back. I’ve known him for twelve years, Subhash. He’s Joshua’sfather.I’mthirty-sixyearsold.
Whydidwecomeheretogether,ifyoudon’twanttoseemeagain?
Ithoughtyoumightlikeit.Youneverexpectedthistogoanywhere,didyou?Youandme?WithJoshua?
IlikeJoshua.
You’reyoung.You’regoingtowanttohaveyourownchildrensomeday.Inafewyearsyou’llgobacktoIndia,livewithyourfamily.You’vesaidsoyourself.
Shehadcaughthiminhisownweb,tellinghimwhathealreadyknew.Herealizedhewould never visit her cottage again. The gift of the binoculars, so that they would nolongerhavetoshare;heunderstoodthereasonforthis,too.
Hecouldnotblameher;shehaddonehimafavorbyendingit.Andyethewasfuriouswithherforbeingtheonetodecide.
Wecanremainfriends,Subhash.Youcoulduseafriend.
He toldherhehadheardenough, thathewasnot interested in remaining friends.Hetoldherthat,whentheferryreachedtheportinGalilee,hewouldwaitforabustotakehimhome.Hetoldhernottocallhim.
Ontheferrytheysatseparately.HetookoutUdayan’sletter,readingitonceagain.Butwhenhewasfinished,standingonthedeck,hetoreitintopieces,andletthemescapehishands.
HebeganhisthirdautumninRhodeIsland,1971.
Oncemoretheleavesofthetreeslosttheirchlorophyll,replacedbytheshadeshehadleftbehind:vividhuesofcayenneandturmericandgingerpoundedfresheverymorning
inthekitchen,toseasonthefoodhismotherprepared.
Oncemorethesecolorsseemedtohavebeentransportedacrosstheworld,appearinginthe treetops that lined his path. The colors intensified over a period ofweeks until theleaves began to dwindle, foliage clustered here and there among the branches, likebutterfliesfeedingatthesamesource,beforefallingtotheground.
He thoughtofDurgaPujocomingagain toCalcutta.Ashewas firstgetting toknowAmerica, the absence of the holiday hadn’tmattered to him, but now hewanted to gohome. The past two years, around this time, he’d received a battered parcel from hisparents,containinggiftsforhim.KurtastoothintowearmostofthetimeinRhodeIsland,barsofsandalwoodsoap,someDarjeelingtea.
HethoughtoftheMahalayaplayingonAllIndiaRadio.ThroughoutTollygunge,acrossCalcuttaandthewholeofWestBengal,peoplewerewakingupindarknesstolistentotheoratorioaslightcreptintothesky,invokingDurgaasshedescendedtoearthwithherfourchildren.
Every year at this time, Hindu Bengalis believed, she came to stay with her father,Himalaya. For the days of Pujo, she relinquished her husband, Shiva, before returningoncemoretomarriedlife.ThehymnsrecountedthestoryofDurgabeingformed,andtheweaponsthatwereprovidedforeachofher tenarms:swordandshield,bowandarrow.Axe,mace,conchshell,anddiscus.Indra’sthunderbolt,Shiva’strident.Aflamingdart,agarlandofsnakes.
Thisyearnoparcelcamefromhisfamily.Onlyatelegram.Themessageconsistedoftwosentences,lifeless,driftingatthetopofasea.
Udayankilled.Comebackifyoucan.
PartIII
Chapter1Heleftbehindthebriefwinterdays,theobscureplacewherehe’dgrievedalone.Where
anotherChristmaswascoming,whereinDecemberthedoorwaysandwindowsofsmallshopsandhomesweredecoratedwithbeadedframesoflight.
He took a bus to Boston and boarded a night flight to Europe. The second flightinvolvedalayoverintheMiddleEast.Hewaitedintheterminals,hewalkedfromgatetogate. At last he landed in Delhi. From there he boarded an overnight train to HowrahStation.
AshetraveledhalfwayacrossIndia,fromcompanionsonthetrain,heheardabitaboutwhathadbeentakingplaceinCalcuttaduringthetimehe’dbeenaway.InformationthatneitherUdayan nor his parents hadmentioned in letters.EventsSubhash had not comeacrossinanynewspaperinRhodeIsland,orheardontheAMradioinhiscar.
By1970,peopletoldhim,thingshadtakenaturn.BythentheNaxaliteswereoperatingunderground.Memberssurfacedonlytocarryoutdramaticattacks.
They ransacked schools and colleges across the city. In themiddle of the night theyburned records and defaced portraits, raising red flags. They plastered Calcutta withimagesofMao.
They intimidatedvoters, hoping to disrupt the elections.They firedpipe guns on thestreets.Theyhidbombsinpublicplaces,sothatpeoplewereafraidtositinacinemahall,orstandinlineatabank.
Then the targets turned specific. Unarmed traffic constables at busy intersections.Wealthybusinessmen,certaineducators.Membersoftherivalparty,theCPI(M).
Thekillingsweresadistic,gruesome,intendedtoshock.ThewifeoftheFrenchconsulwasmurderedinhersleep.TheyassassinatedGopalSen,thevice-chancellorofJadavpurUniversity.Theykilledhimoncampuswhilehewastakinghiseveningwalk.Itwasthedaybefore heplanned to retire.Theybludgeonedhimwith steel bars, and stabbedhimfourtimes.
Theytookcontrolofcertainneighborhoods,callingthemRedZones.TheytookcontrolofTollygunge.Theysetupmakeshifthospitals,safehouses.Peoplebeganavoidingtheseneighborhoods.Policemenstartedchainingtheirriflestotheirbelts.
Butthennewlegislationwaspassed,andanoldlawwasrenewed.Lawsthatauthorizedthe police and the paramilitary to enter homeswithout a warrant, to arrest youngmenwithoutcharges.TheoldlawhadbeencreatedbytheBritish,tocounterIndependence,tocutoffitslegs.
After that, the police started to cordon off and search the neighborhoods of the city.Sealing exits, knocking on doors, interrogating Calcutta’s young men. The police hadkilledUdayan.ThismuchSubhashwasabletosurmise.
He had forgotten the possibility of so many human beings in one space. Theconcentrated stench of somuch life.Hewelcomed the sun on his skin, the absence ofbittercold.ButitwaswinterinCalcutta.Thepeoplefillingtheplatform,passengersand
coolies,andvagrantsforwhomthestationwasmerelyashelter,werebundledinwoolencapsandshawls.
Only two people had come to receive him. A younger cousin of his father’s, BirenKaka, and his wife. They were standing by a fruit vendor, unable to smile when theyspottedhim.Heunderstood thisdiminishedwelcome,buthecouldnotunderstandwhy,afterhe’dtraveledformorethantwodays,afterhe’dbeenawayformorethantwoyears,hisparentswereunwillingtocomeeventhisfartoacknowledgehisreturn.Whenhe’dleftIndiahismotherhadpromisedahero’swelcome,agarlandofflowersdrapedaroundhisneckwhenhesteppedoffthetrain.
Itwashere,atthestation,thatSubhashhadlastseenUdayan.He’darrivedlateontheevening of his departure, not riding with Subhash and his parents and other relativeswho’dformedasmallcaravanfromTollygunge,butassuringhimthathe’dmeetupwiththemon theplatform.Subhashwas already seatedon the train, hehad already saidhisgood-byes,whenUdayanputhisheaduptothewindow.
Heextendedhishandthroughthebars,reachingforSubhash’sshoulderandpressingit,thenslappinghisfacelightly.Somehow,atthefinalmoment,theyhadfoundoneanotherinthatgreatcrowd.
Hepulledsomegreen-skinnedorangesfromhisbookbag,giving themtoSubhash toeatonthejourney.Trynottoforgetuscompletely,hesaid.
You’lllookafterthem?Subhashasked,referringtotheirparents.You’llletmeknowifanythinghappens?
What’sgoingtohappen?
Wellthen,ifyouneedanything?
Comebacksomeday,that’sall.
Udayan remained close, leaning forward, his hand on Subhash’s shoulder, sayingnothingelse,untiltheenginesounded.Hismotherbeganweeping.Evenhisfather’seyesweredampasthetrainbegantopullaway.ButUdayanstoodsmilingbetweenthem,hishandraisedhigh,hisgazefixedasSubhashretreatedfartherandfartherawayfromthem.
AstheycrossedHowrahBridgethelightwasstillgray.Ontheotherside,themarketshad just opened. The sidewalks were lined with baskets, displaying the morning’svegetables. They traveled through the broad heart of the city, toward Dalhousie, downChowringhee.Acitywithnothing,witheverything.By the time theywereapproachingTollygunge,crossingPrinceAnwarShahRoad,thedaywasbustlingandbright.
Thestreetswereasheremembered.Crowdedwithcyclerickshaws,thesquawkingoftheirhorns sounding tohis ears likea flockof agitatedgeese.Thecongestionwasof adifferent order, that of a small town as opposed to a city. The buildings lower, spacedfartherapart.
He saw the tram depot come into view, the stalls where people sold biscuits andcrackersinglassjars,andboiledaluminumkettlesoftea.Thewallsofthefilmstudios,theTollyClub,werecoveredwithslogans.Make1970sthedecadeofliberation.Riflesbringfreedom,andfreedomiscoming.
As they turned before the smallmosque off BaburamGhoshRoad, Subhash felt hisprolongedjourneyendingtoosoon.Thetaxifitbutjustbarely,threateningtoscrapethewallsoneitherside.Hewasassaultedbythesour,septicsmellofhisneighborhood,ofhischildhood.Thesmellofstandingwater.Thestinkofalgae,ofopendrains.
As they approached the twoponds, he saw that the small homehe’d left behindhadbeenreplacedbysomethingimpressive,ungainly.Somescaffoldingwasstillinplace,butthe construction looked complete. He saw palm trees rising behind the house. But themangotreethathadspreaditsdarkbranchesandleavesovertheoriginalroofwasgone.
Hesteppedacrossaslabsetoverthegutterthatseparatedhisfamily’spropertyfromthestreet.Apairofswingingdoorsledtothecourtyard.Mildewcoatedthewalls.Butitwasstill awelcoming space,with a tubewell in one corner, and terra-cotta pots containingdahlias,and themarigoldandbasilhismotherusedforprayers.Avinewitha tangleofyellowbrancheswasinfloweratthattimeofyear.
ThiswastheenclosurewhereheandUdayanhadplayedaschildren.Wheretheyhaddrawnandpracticedsumswithbitsofcoalorbrokenclay.WhereUdayanhadrunoutthedaythey’dbeentoldtostayin,fallingofftheplankbeforetheconcretehaddried.
Subhashsawthefootprintsandwalkedpastthem.Helookedattheupperportionofthehouse,risingoutofwhathadfirstbeenthere.Longterraces,likeairycorridors,ranfromfronttobackdownoneside.Theywereenclosedbygrillesforgedinatrefoilpattern.Theemeraldpaintwasglossyandbright.
Throughoneofthegrilleshesawhisparents,sittingonthetopfloor.Hestrainedtoseetheir expressions but could make out nothing. Now that he was so close, part of himwantedtoreturntothetaxi,whichwasbackingoutslowly.Hewantedtotellthedrivertotakehimsomewhereelse.
HepressedthebuzzerthatUdayanhadinstalled.Itstillworked.
Hisparentsdidnotstandorsayhisname.Theydidnotcomedownstairstogreethim.Instead his father lowered a key on a string through the ironwork. Subhash waited toretrieveit,andopenedaheavypadlockatthesideofthehouse.Finallyheheardhisfatherclearinghisthroat,seemingtoloosenthesecretionsofalongsilence.
Lockthegatebehindyou,heinstructedSubhash,beforeretractingthekey.
Subhashclimbeda staircasewith smoothblackbanisters, sky-bluewalls.BirenKakaandhiswifefollowedbehind.Whenhesawhisparents,standingtogetherontheterrace,he bent over to touch their feet. He was an only son, an experience that had left noimpressioninthefirstfifteenmonthsofhislife.Thatwastobegininearnestnow.
At first his parents looked the same to him.The oily sheen to hismother’s hair, thepallidcastofherskin.Thelean,stoopingframeofhisfather,thesheercottonofhiskurta.Thedownwardturntohismouththatmighthaveconveyeddisappointment,butsuggestedafixedamiabilityinstead.Thedifferencewasintheireyes.Callousedbygrief,bluntedbywhatnoparentshouldhaveseen.
Inspiteofthepicturethathunginhisparents’newroom,whichtheytookhimtosee,hecouldnotbelieve thatUdayanwasnowhere.Butherewas theproof.Thephotohad
been taken nearly ten years ago by a relative who owned a camera, one of the onlypictures of the brothers that existed. Itwas the day they had gotten the results of theirhighersecondaryexams,thedayhisfathersaidhadbeentheproudestofhislife.
HeandUdayanhadposed sideby side in the courtyard.Subhash sawan inchofhisownshoulder,pressedupbesideUdayan’s.The restofhim, inorder tomake thedeathportrait,hadbeencutaway.
He stood before the image and wept, his head cradled in his arm, in an awkwardembraceofhimself.Buthisparents,beyondtheshockofit,observedhimastheymightanactoronastage,waitingforthescenetoend.
From the terrace he had an open view of the placewhere he andUdayan had beenraised. Lower rooftops of tin or tile,with squash vines trailing over them. The tops ofwalls,dottedwhite,splatteredwithexcrementfromcrows.Twooblongpondsontheothersideofthelane.Thelowland,lookingtohimlikeamudflatafterthetide.
Hewentdownstairs,tothegroundfloor,tothepartofthehousethatwasunchanged,totheroomheandUdayanhadonceshared.Hewasstruckbyhowdarktheroomwas,howsmall.Therewas the study table beneath thewindow, the shelves set into thewall, thesimplerackwherethey’ddrapedtheirclothes.Thebedthey’dsleptontogetherhadbeenreplacedbyacot.Udayanmusthaveusedtheroomtotutorstudents.Hesawtextbooksonthe shelves, measuring instruments and pens. He wondered what had happened to theshortwave.Allthepoliticalbooksweregone.
Heunpackedhisbelongingsandbathedwithwaterthatthepumpreleasedtwiceadayfromthecorporationtank.Thewater, toorichwith iron,hadametallicsmell. It lefthishairstiff,hisskintackytothetouch.
He’dbeentoldtogoupstairstoeathislunch.Thatwaswherethekitchenwasnow.Onthefloorofhisparents’bedroom,whereUdayan’sportraitwas,plateshadbeensetoutforhisfather,forBirenKakaandhiswife,forSubhash.Hismotherwouldeatafterservingthem,asshealwaysdid.
Hesatwithhisbacktotheportrait.Hecouldnotbeartolookatitagain.
Hewasravenousforthesimplemeal:dalandslicesoffriedbittermelon,riceandfishstew.Sweetpabdafishfromtheriver,theircookedeyeslikeyellowpebbles.
Again thebroadplatesofheavybrass.The freedom toeatwithhis fingers.Drinkingwaterwaspouredfromablackclayurninthecorneroftheroom.Thecupheavyinhishand,therimslightlytoowideforhismouth.
Whereisshe?heasked.
Who?
Gauri.
Hismotherladledthedalontohisrice.Shetakeshermealsinthekitchen,shesaid.
Why?
Sheprefersit.
Hedidn’tbelieveher.Hedidn’tsaywhatcametohismind.ThatUdayanwouldhavehatedthemforsegregatingher,forobservingsuchcustoms.
Isshetherenow?Iwouldliketomeether.
She’sresting.She’snotfeelingwelltoday.
Haveyoucalledadoctor?
Hismotherlookeddown,preoccupiedwiththefoodshewasservingtotheothers.
There’snoneedforthat.
Isitserious?
Finallysheexplainedherself.
Sheisexpectingachild,shesaid.
After lunchhewentout,walkingpast the twoponds.Therewerescatteredclumpsofwaterhyacinthinthelowland,andstillenoughwatertoformpuddleshereandthere.
Henoticedasmallstonemarker thathadnotbeentherebefore.Hewalkedtowardit.OnitwasUdayan’sname.Beneaththat,theyearsofhisbirthanddeath:1945–1971.
Itwasamemorialtablet,erectedforpoliticalmartyrs.Herewherethewatercameandwent,whereitcollectedandvanished,waswherehisbrother’spartycomradeshadchosentoputit.
SubhashrememberedanafternoonplayingfootballwithUdayanandafewoftheotherneighborhoodboys,inthefieldontheothersideofthelowland.He’dtwistedhisankleinthemiddleofthegame.He’dtoldUdayantokeepplaying,thathe’dmanageonhisown,butUdayanhadinsistedonaccompanyinghim.
HeremembereddrapinganarmoverUdayan’sshoulder, leaningonhimashelimpedback, the swollen ankle turning heavy with pain. He remembered Udayan teasing himeven then for the clumsy move that had led to the injury, saying their side had beenwinninguntilthen.Andatthesametimesupportinghim,guidinghimhome.
Hereturnedtothehouse,intendingtorestbriefly,butfellintoadeepsleep.Whenhewokeupitwaslate,pastthehourhisparentsnormallyatedinner.He’dsleptthroughthemeal. The fan wasn’t moving; the current had gone. He found a flashlight under themattress,switchediton,andwentupstairs.
Thedoortohisparents’bedroomwasclosed.Goingtothekitchentoseeiftherewasanythinglefttoeat,hesawGaurisittingonthefloor,withacandlelitbesideher.
Herecognizedheratonce,fromthesnapshotUdayanhadsent.Butshewasnolongerthe relaxedcollegegirlwhohad smiled forhisbrother.Thatpictureofherhadbeen inblackandwhite,butnowtheabsenceofcolor,eveninthewarmlightofthecandle,wasmoreprofound.
Herlonghairwaspulledbackaboveherneck.Shesatwithherheaddown,herwristsbare, dressed in a sari of crispwhite. Shewas thin,without a trace of the life shewascarrying.Sheworeglasses,adetailwithheldfromthephotograph.Whenshelookedupathim,hesaw inspiteof theglassesanother thing thephotohadnot fullyconveyed.The
frankbeautyofhereyes.
Hetookherinbutdidnotspeaktoher,watchinghereatsomedalandrice.Shecouldhavebeen anyone, a stranger.Andyet shewasnowapart of his family, themother ofUdayan’schild.Shewasdraggingafewgrainsofsaltwithherindexfingerfromthelittlepileattheedgeofherplateandmixingitintoherfood.Hesawthatthefishhehadbeenservedatlunchhadnotbeengiventoher.
IamSubhash,hesaid.
Iknow.
Idon’tmeantodisturbyou.
Theytriedtowakeyoufordinner.
I’mwideawakenow.
Shestartedtogetup.Letmefixaplateforyou.
Finishyourmeal.Icangetitmyself.
Hefelthereyesonhimashescannedtheshelveswithhisflash-light,retrievedadish,uncoveredthepotsandpansthathadbeenleftforhim.
Yousoundjustlikehim,shesaid.
Hesatdownbesideher,thecandlebetweenthem,facingher.Hesawherhandrestingoverherplate,thetipsofherfingerscoatedwithfood.
Isitbecauseofmyparentsthatyou’renoteatingfish?
Sheignoredhisquestion.Youhavethesamevoice,shesaid.
Quicklyheturnedpassive,wakingupinhisboxofwhitemosquitonetting.Waitingforhisteatobehandedtohiminthemorning,waitingforhisdiscardedclothestobewashedand folded, for his meals to be served. He never rinsed a plate or cup, knowing thehouseboywouldcometotakethemaway.Coarsecrystalsofsugarstuddedhisbreakfasttoast,whichhewasheddownwithhottoo-sweettea, tinyantsarrivingtohaulawaythecrumbs.
Thelayoutofthehousewasdisorienting.Thewhitewashwassofreshthatitrubbedoffonhishandwhenhe touched thewalls. In spiteof thenewconstruction, thehouse feltunwelcoming.Therewasmorespace towithdraw to, tosleep in, tobealone in.Butnoplacehadbeendesignatedtogathertogether,nofurnituretoaccommodateguests.
Theterraceonthetopfloorwaswherehisparentspreferredtosit,theonlypartofthehousetheyseemedfullytopossess.Itwasherethat,afterhisfatherreturnedfromwork,they took their evening tea, on a pair of simple wooden chairs. At that height themosquitoeswerefewer,andwhenthecurrentfailedtherewasstillsomebreeze.Hisfatherdidn’tbothertounfoldthenewspaper.Hismotherhadnosewinginherlap.Untilitgrewdark, through the pattern of the trefoil grille, they looked out at the neighborhood; thisseemedtobetheironlypastime.
Ifthehouseboywasoutonanerrand,itwasGauriwhoservedtea.Butsheneverjoinedthem.Afterhelpinghismotherwiththemorningchoresshekepttoherownroom,onthe
secondfloorofthehouse.Henoticedthathisparentsdidnottalktoher;thattheyscarcelyacknowledgedherpresencewhenshecameintoview.
BelatedlyhewaspresentedwithhisgiftsforDurgaPujo.Therewasgraymaterialfortrousers, striped material for shirts. Two sets of each, for he was also given Udayan’sshare.More thanonce,offeringhimabiscuit, asking ifheneededmore tea,hismothercalledhimUdayaninsteadofSubhash.Andmorethanonceheanswered,notcorrectingher.
Hestruggledtointeractwiththem.Whenheaskedhisfatherhowhisdayswereattheoffice,hisfatherrepliedthattheywereasthey’dalwaysbeen.Whenheaskedhismotheriftherehadbeenmanyordersthatyear,toembroidersarisforthetailorshop,shesaidhereyescouldnolongertakethestrain.
His parents asked no questions about America. Inches away, they avoided lookingSubhash in the eye. He wondered whether his parents would ask him to remain inCalcutta,toabandonhislifeinRhodeIsland.Buttherewasnomentionofthis.
Norwas therementionof thepossibilityof their arranging amarriage for him.Theywere in no position to plan awedding, to think about his future.Anhour often passedwithout their speaking.The sharedquiet fellover them,binding themmore tightly thananyconversationcould.
Againitwasassumedthathewouldasklittleofthem,thatsomehowhewouldseetohisownneeds.
Intheearlyevening,alwaysatthesametime,hismothergatheredafewflowersfromthepotsinthecourtyardandleftthehouse.Fromtheterracehesawher,walkingpasttheponds.
Shestoppedatthemarkerbytheedgeofthelowland,rinsingthestonecleanwithwatershedrewfromasmallbrassurn,theoneshehadusedtobathehimandUdayanwhentheyweresmall,andthensheplacedtheflowersontop.Withoutasking,heknewthatthiswasthehour;thatthishadbeenthetimeofday.
OnthefamilyradiotheylistenedtothenewsofEastPakistanturningintoBangladeshafter thirteendaysofwar.ForMuslimBengalis itmeant liberation,but forCalcutta theconflicthadmeantanothersurgeofrefugeesfromacrosstheborder.CharuMajumdarwasstill inhiding.HewasIndia’smostwantedman,abountyoftenthousandrupeesonhishead.
Silently they listened to the reports, but his father hardly seemed to pay attention.Thoughthecombingraidshadended,hisfatherstillkeptthekeytothehouseunderhispillowwhenheslept.Sometimes,atrandom,sittingatthetopofthepadlockedhouse,heshoneaflash-lightthroughthegrille,toseeifsomeonewasthere.
TheydidnottalkofUdayan.Fordayshisnamedidnotescapetheirlips.
ThenoneeveningSubhashasked,Howdidithappen?
Hisfather’sfacewasimpassive,itwasasifhehadn’theard.
Ithoughthe’dquittheparty,Subhashpressed.Thathe’ddriftedawayfromit.Hadhe?
Iwasathome,hisfathersaid,notacknowledgingthequestion.
Whenwereyouhome?
Thatday.Iopenedthegateforthem.Iletthemin.
Who?
Thepolice.
Finally hewas getting somewhere. Some explanation, some acknowledgment.At thesametimehefeltworse,nowthathissuspicionhadbeenconfirmed.
Whydidn’tyoutellmehewasindanger?
Itwouldnothavemadeadifference.
Well,tellmenow.Whydidtheykillhim?
Hismother reacted then, glaring at Subhash. She had a small face,with just enoughspaceforwhatitcontained.Stillyouthful,herdarkhairdecoratedwithitsbrightcolumnofvermillion,tosignifythatshehadahusband.
Hewasyourbrother,shesaid.Howcanyouasksuchathing?
Thenextmorning,hesoughtGauriout,knockingonthedoorofherroom.Herhairhadjustbeenwashed.Shewaswearingitloosetoletitdry.
In his hand was a paperback book he’d bought for her at Udayan’s request. One-DimensionalMan,byHerbertMarcuse.Hegaveittoher.
Thisisforyou.FromUdayan.He’daskedme.
She lookeddownat the cover, and then at theback.Sheopened it and turned to thebeginning.Foramomentitseemedshe’dbeguntoreaditalready,herfacesettlingintoaplacidexpressionofconcentration,forgettingthathewasthere.
Standingatherdoorway,hefeltthathewastrespassing.Heturnedtoleave.
Youarekindtobringit,shesaid.
Itwasnotrouble.
Hewantedtotalktoher.Buttherewasnowhereinthehousewheretheymighthaveaconversationalone.
Shallwegoforawalk?
Notnow.
Shesteppedtoonesideandpointedtoachairintheroom.
Hehesitated,thenentered.Itwasdim,untilGauripushedopentheshuttersofthetwowindows, admitting a starkwhite glow.A square of sunlight fell onto the bed, a calmbrightpatchcontainingtheverticalshadowsofthewindowbars.
Thebedwaslowtothefloor,withslenderposts.Therewasalsoashortarmoire,andasmalldressing tablewithabench. Insteadofpowdersandcombs therewerenotebooks,fountain pens, bottles of ink. The room smelled sharply of teak, emanating from the
furniture.Hecouldsmellthefragranceofherfreshlywashedhair.
Thelightisnice,hesaid.
Onlynow.Inafewminutesthesunwillbetoohighandtheanglewillbelost.
Heglancedatasetofshelvesbuiltintoonewall,whereshestoredherbooks.Wedgedamong themwas the shortwave radio.He pulled it out, not bothering to turn it on, butfiddlinginstinctivelywithoneofthedials.
Weputthistogether.
Hetoldme.
Doyoulistentoit?
Hewastheonlyonewhocouldgetittowork.Wouldyoulikeitback?
Heshookhishead,andreplaceditontheshelf.
She perched on the edge of the bed. He saw other books spread open, facedown,coveredinsmoothbrownpaper.Shehadwrittenthetitlesatthecenter,inherownhand.Hewatchedassheretrievedanoldsectionofnewspaperandbegantowrapthecoverofthebookhe’dgivenher.HeandUdayanusedtodothistogether,afterbuyingtheirnewschoolbooksfortheyear.
Noonedoesthatoverthere.
Whynot?
I don’t know.Maybe the covers aremore durable. Ormaybe they don’t mind themlookingold.
Wasithardtofind?
No.
Wheredidyougetit?
Inthecampusbookstore.
Isitfarfromwhereyoulive?
Justaroundthecorner.
Youcanwalkthere?
Yes.
Thepaperfeelsdifferent.Smooth.
Henodded.
Doyoustayatahostel?
Ihavearoominahouse.
Isthereamesshall?
No.
Whocooksforyou,then?
Ido.
Doyoulikelivingonyourown?
Unexpectedly he thought of Holly, and the dinners at her kitchen table. That briefturbulenceinhislifefelttrivialnow.LikestoneshewouldstoptogatherinRhodeIsland,that he would briefly clasp and then toss back into the sea when hewalked along thebeach,he’dlethergo.
Still,hewonderednowwhat shewouldhavemadeof this sadandemptyhouse, thisswampyenclavesouthofCalcuttawherehe’dbeenraised.HewonderedwhatshewouldhavemadeofGauri.
HeaskedGauriaboutherstudies,andshetoldhimshe’dcompletedherbachelor’sinphilosophyearlierintheyear.Ithadtakenlongerthanitshouldhave.Ithadbeendifficult,because of the unrest. She said that she’d been considering amaster’s program, beforeUdayanwaskilled.Beforeshelearnedshewaspregnant.
DidUdayanknowhewasgoingtobeafather?
No.
Herwaistwasstillnarrow.ButUdayan’sghostwaspalpablewithinher,preserved inthisroomwhereshespentallhertime.Whenshespokeofhimitwasanevocationofhim.Shehadnotshutdownashisparentshad.
Whenwillthebabybeborn?
Insummer.
Howisitforyouhereinthehouse?Withmyparents?
Shesaidnothing.Hewaited, thenrealizedhewasstaringather,distractedbyasmalldarkmoleonthesideofherneck.Helookedaway.
Icantakeyousomewhereelse,hesuggested.Wouldyouliketovisityourfamilyforawhile?Yourauntsanduncles?
Sheshookherhead.
Whynot?
Forthefirsttimeasmilenearlycametoherface,theunevensmileherememberedfromthe photograph, slightly favoring one side of hermouth.Because I ran off andmarriedyourbrother,shesaid.
Evennowtheydon’twanttoseeyou?
Sheshrugged.They’renervous. Idon’tblame them.Imightcompromise theirsafety,evenyourparents’safety,whoknows?
Butsurelythere’ssomeone?
Mybrothercametoseemeafterithappened.Hecametothefuneral.HeandUdayanwerefriends.Butit’snotuptohim.
Canyoutellmesomethingelse?
Whatdoyouwanttoknow?
Iwanttoknowwhathappenedtomybrother,hesaid.
Chapter2ItwastheweekbeforeDurgaPujo.ThemonthofAshvin,thefirstphaseofthewaxing
moon.
At the tram depot,Gauri and hermother-in-law hired a cycle rickshaw to take themhome.They settled themselveson thebenchof the rickshaw,packets andbagson theirlapsandheapedat their feet.Theywere returning fromadayof shopping, a little laterthanthey’dintended.
The packets contained gifts for extended family, also for themselves. New saris forGauriandhermother-in-law,Punjabisandpajamasforherfather-in-law,shirtandtrousermaterial to clothe Udayan the following year. New sheets to sleep on, new slippers.Towelstodrytheirbodies,combstountangletheirhair.
Astheyapproachedthemosqueatthecornerhermother-in-lawtoldthedrivertoslowdownandturnleft.Butthedriverstoppedpedaling,tellingthemthathewasunwillingtotraveloffthemainroad.
Pointingtoallthebagsandpackets,hermother-in-lawofferedtopaymore.Butstillthedriver refused.He shookhis head,waiting for them to disembark. So they finished thejourneyonfoot,carryingthethingsthey’dbought.
The lanehooked to the right,past thepandal in theirenclave, thedeitiesadornedbutunattended.Nofamilieswerewalkingabout.Soonthetwopondsacrossfromtheirhousecameintoview.
OnthebankofthefirstpondGaurisawavanbelongingtotheCentralReservePolice.Policemen and soldiers stood here and there, in their khaki uniforms and helmets. Notmany,butenoughofthemtoformalooseconstellationwherevershelooked.
No one stopped them from walking through the swinging wooden doors into thecourtyard.Theysawthattheirongate,locatedatthesideofthehouse,wasopen.Thekeywasdanglinginthepadlock,openedinhaste.
They removed their street slippers and set down their bags.Theybegan to climb thefirst set of steps.Halfwayup,Gauri sawher father-in-lawdescending, his hands raisedoverhishead.Hehesitatedbeforeloweringeachfoot,asifafraidoflosinghisbalance.Asifhe’dneverwalkeddownasetofstepsbefore.
Anofficerfollowedhim.Hewaspointingarifleathisback.Gauriandhermother-in-lawwereinstructedtoturnaround,towalkbackdownstairs.Sotherewasnoopportunitytogofurtherintothehouse,toseetheroomsthathadbeenoverturned.Clothesknockedoff the lines strung along the terrace where they had been hung to dry that morning,wardrobedoorsflungopen.Pillowsandquiltspulledoffthebeds,coalsdumpedfromthecoal basket, lentils and grains tossed out ofGlaxo tins in the kitchen.As if theywerelookingforascrapofpaperandnotaman.
The three of them—her father-in-law, hermother-in-law andGauri—were ordered toexitthehouse,towalkthroughthecourtyard,tostepoverthestoneslabandbackontothestreet.Theywere told toproceed insingle file,past the twoponds, toward the lowland.
Therainshadbeenheavy,andithadfloodedagain.Waterhyacinthshroudedthesurfacelikeamoth-eatencloak.
Gauri felt people in the surrounding homes taking inwhatwas happening.Watchingthroughchinksintheirshutters,standingstillindarkenedrooms.
Theywerearrangedinarow.Theystoodclosetogether,theirshoulderstouching.Thegunwasstilltrainedonherfather-in-law.
She heard a conch shell blowing, the ringing of a bell. The sounds carried in fromanother neighborhood. Somewhere, in some house or temple, someone was praying,givingofferingsattheendofanotherday.
WeareunderorderstolocateandarrestUdayanMitra,saidthesoldierwhoseemedtobe commanding the others.He announced this through amegaphone. If anyone in thislocalityknowswherehe ishiding, if anyone is harboringhim,youare required to stepforward.
Noonesaidanything.
MysonisinAmerica,hermother-in-lawsaidquietly.Aliethatwasalsothetruth.
Theofficerignoredher.HesteppedovertoGauri.Hiseyeswerealighterbrownthanhisskin.Hestudiedher,pointinghisgunather,movingitcloseruntilshewasnolongerabletoseeit.Shefeltthetip,acoldpendantatthebaseofherthroat.
Youarethewifeofthisfamily?ThewifeofUdayanMitra?
Yes.
Whereisyourhusband?
Shehadnovoice.Shewasunabletospeak.
Weknowheishere.Wehavehadhimfollowed.Wehavesearchedthehouse,wehaveblockedoffthemeansofegress.Heiswastingourtime.
Gauriwasawareofapainfulcurrenttravelingupanddownthebacksofherlegs.
Whereishe?theofficerrepeated,pressingthegunagainstherthroatalittleharder.
Idon’tknow,shemanagedtosay.
Ithinkyouarelying.Ithinkyoumustknowwhereheis.
Behind the water hyacinth, in the floodwater of the lowland: this was where, if theneighborhoodwasraided,Udayanhadtoldherhewouldhide.Hetoldherthattherewasasectionwherethegrowthwasparticularlydense.Hekeptakerosenetinbehindthehouse,to help him over the back wall. Even with an injured hand he could manage it. He’dpracticedit,lateatnight,afewtimes.
Wethinkhemightbehidinginthewater,thesoldiercontinued,notremovinghiseyesfromher.
No,shesaidtoherself.Sheheardthewordinherhead.Butthensherealizedthathermouthwasopen,likeanidiot’s.Hadshesaidsomething?Whisperedit?Shecouldnotbesure.
Whatdidyousay?
Isaidnothing.
The tip of the gun was still steady at her throat. But suddenly it was removed, theofficertippinghisheadtowardthelowland,steppingaway.
He’sthere,hetoldtheothers.
Againtheofficerbeganspeakingthroughamegaphone.
UdayanMitra,stepforward,surrenderyourself,hesaid,thewordsatoncedistortedandpiercing, audible throughout the enclave.We are prepared to eliminate themembers ofyourfamilyifyoudon’tdoaswesay.
Hepaused,thenadded,Onememberforeachfalsestep.
Atfirstnothinghappened.Onlythesoundofherownbreathing.Someofthesoldierswere wading into the water, aiming rifles. One of them fired a shot. Then, fromsomewhereinthelowland,sheheardthesoundofthewater’ssurfacebreaking.
Udayan appeared.Amid the hyacinth, inwater up to hiswaist.Bent over, coughing,gaspingforair.
Hisrighthandwasbandaged,concealedbylayersofgauze.Hishairwasstickingtohisscalp,theshirthewaswearingwasstickingtohisskin.Hisbeardandmoustacheneededtrimming.Heraisedhisarmsoverhishead.
Good.Walktowardusnow.
Hesteppedthroughtheweeds,outofthewater,untilhestoodonlyafewfeetaway.Hewasshivering,strugglingtoregulatehisbreathing.Shesawthelipsthatneverfullymet,leavingthesmalldiamond-shapedgapatthecenter.Thelipswereblue.Shesawflecksofalgae coating his neck, his forearms. She could not tell if it was water or perspirationdrippingdownthesidesofhisface.
Hewas told to bend down and touch his parents’ feet. Hewas told to ask for theirforgiveness.He had to do thiswith his left hand.He stood before hismother and bentdown.Forgiveme,hesaid.
Whatarewetoforgive?herfather-in-lawasked,hisvoicecracking,whenUdayanbentbeforehim.Heappealedtotheofficers.Youaremakingamistake.
Yoursonhasbetrayedhiscountry.Itishewhohasmadethemistake.
The current in Gauri’s legs intensified, radiating all the way to her feet. She felt atinglingsensationspreadingfromthebaseofherneckacrossherscalp.Shethoughtthatherlegswouldbuckle,therewasnostrengthinthem.Nothingwassupportingher.Butshecontinuedtostand.
Hishandswereboundbya rope.She sawhimwincewhen theydid this, the injuredhandtwitchinginpain.
Thisway,theofficersaid,pointingwithhisgun.
Udayanpaused,andglancedather.Helookedatherfaceashealwaysdid,absorbing
itsdetailsasifforthefirsttime.
Theypushedhimintothevanandslammedthedoorshut.Gauriandherin-lawswereordered back into the house. One of the soldiers escorted them. She wondered whichprisontheywouldtakehimto.Whattheywoulddotohimthere.
Theyheard thevanstarting.But insteadof reversingandheadingoutof theenclave,toward themain road, it traveled over the dampgrass that edged the lowland, the tiresleavingthicktracks.Overtowardtheemptyfieldthatwasontheothersideofit.
Insidethehousetheyclimbedtothethirdfloor,totheterrace.Theycouldmakeoutthevan, andUdayan standing next to it. Itwould have been impossible for anyone else intheirneighborhoodtowitnesswhatwashappening.Butthetopfloorofthehouse,recentlycompleted,affordedthemthisview.
They saw one of the soldiers undoing the rope around hiswrists. They sawUdayanwalkingacrossthefield,awayfromtheparamilitary.Hewaswalkingtowardthelowland,backtowardthehouse,armsraisedoverhishead.
Gaurirememberedall thetimesshe’dwatchedhimfromhergrandparents’balconyinNorthCalcutta,crossingthebusystreet,comingtovisither.
Foramomentitwasasiftheywerelettinghimgo.Butthenagunwasfired,thebulletaimed at his back.The sound of the shotwas brief, unambiguous.Therewas a secondshot,thenathird.
Shewatchedhisarmsflapping,hisbodyleapingforward,seizingupbeforefalling tothe ground. There was the clean sound of the shots, followed by the sound of crows,coarselycalling,scattering.
Itwasn’tpossibletoseewherehe’dbeenwounded,whereexactlythebulletshadgone.Itwastoodistanttoseehowmuchbloodhadspilled.
Thesoldiersdraggedhisbodybythelegs,thentossedhimintothebackofthevan.
Theyheard thedoors slamshut, theenginestartingupagain.Thevancontaining thebody,drivingaway.
In their bedroom, under themattress, forgotten among folded sections of newspaperthey’d not bothered to toss,was a diary the police had discovered. It contained all theprooftheyneeded.AmongtheequationsandnotesonroutineformulasandexperimentswasapageofinstructionsforhowtoputtogetheraMolotovcocktail,ahomemadebomb.Notes on the difference in effect between methanol and gasoline. Potassium chlorateversusnitricacid.Stormmatchesversusakerosenewick.
InthediarytherewasalsoamapUdayanhadsketchedofthelayoutoftheTollyClub.The locations and names of the buildings, the stables, the caretaker’s cottage. Thearrangementofthedriveway,theconfigurationofthewalkingpaths.
Certain times of day had been jotted down, a schedule of when the guards movedaround,whenemployeeswentonandoffduty.Whentherestaurantsandbarsopenedandclosed,whenthegardenersclippedandwateredthegrass.Variousplaceswhereapersonmightenterandexitthepremises,targetswhereonemightthrowanexplosive,orleavea
timeddevicebehind.
Afewmonthsagohe’dbeenbroughtinforquestioning.Ithadbecomeroutinebythen,for thecity’syoungmen.At the timetheybelievedwhathe’d told them.Thathewasahighschoolteacher,married,livinginTollygunge.NotiestotheCPI(ML).
Hewasasked ifhe’dknownanythingabout an incidentofvandalism in the school’slibrary:whohadbrokenintoitonenighttoslashtheportraitsofTagoreandVidyasagarhangingon thewalls.At the time theyweresatisfiedwithhisanswers.Concluding thathe’dhadnothingtodowithit,theyaskedhimnothingelse.
Thenonenight,aboutamonthbeforehewaskilled,hedidnotcomehome.Hereturnedearlythenextmorning,notenteringthroughthecourtyard,notringingthebell.Hewentaroundtotheback,climbingoverthewallthatwasshoulderhigh.
Hewaitedinthegarden,behindtheshedfilledwithcoalandbrokenwoodtolightthestove.He tossed up bits of terra-cotta from a broken flowerpot, untilGauri opened theshutterstotheirbedroomandlookeddown.
Hisrighthandwasbandaged,hisarminasling.Heandhissquadmembershadbeentrying to assemble a pipe bomb, using a firecracker as an explosive. Udayan,with theslighttremorthathadneverfullylefthisfingers,shouldnothavebeentheonetoattemptit.
Theblasthadoccurredataremotelocation,atasafehouse.He’dmanagedtogetaway.
Hetoldhisparentsithadhappenedinthecourseofaroutineexperimentatschool.Thatabitofsodiumhydroxidehadspilledonhisskin.Hetoldthemnottoworry,thatthehandwould heal in a few weeks. But he told Gauri what had really happened. The twocomradeswho’dbeenhelpinghimhadsteppedawayintime,butnotUdayan,andunderhisbandage therewasnowauselesspaw.Thebandagewouldcomeoff,but thefingersweregone.
Bythen,inthecourseofraidsinTollygunge,thepolicehaddiscoveredammunitioninthe filmstudios. Inmakeup rooms, inediting rooms.Theywereconducting searchesatrandom,harassingyoungmenon the streets.Arresting them, torturing them.Filling themorgues, the crematoriums. In the mornings, dumping corpses on the streets, as awarning.
FortwoweeksUdayanwasgone.Hetoldhisparentshewassimplytakingprecautions,thoughbythenthey,too,musthaveknown.AndhetoldGaurithathewasafraid,thattheinjurytohishandmadehimconspicuous,thatthepolicemightputitalltogethernow.
Gauri did not know where he was, whether it was one safe house or several.Occasionallytherewasanote,retrievedatthestationer’sonthemainroad.Asignthathewas still alive, a request for fresh clothes, his thyroidpills.Therewas still enoughof anetwork in the neighborhood to arrange for this.At the end of the twoweeks, becausetherewasnootherplacetoshelterhim,hereturnedtotheirenclave.
Oncehewashomeagainhewasunable to leave.Hisparents, anxious forhis return,preferredhimtherethananywhereelse.Theymadesurenoonesawhim.Noneighbor,noworkman,novisitortothehouse.Thehouseboywassworntosecrecy.Theygotridofhis
things,as ifhewerealreadydead.Hisbookshidden,hisclothesstoredina trunkunderthebed.
Hekepttothebackrooms.Nevershowinghisfacefromaterraceorawindow.Neverspeakingaboveawhisper.Hisonlyfreedomwastogouptotherooftopinthemiddleofthe night, to sit against the parapet and smoke under the stars.Because of his hand heneededhelpdressingandbathing.Hewaslikeachild,needingtobefed.
Hehadtroublehearing,askingGauritorepeatherself.Therehadbeendamagetooneofhiseardrumsfromtheexplosion.Hecomplainedofdizziness,ahigh-pitchedsound thatwould not go away. He said he could not hear the shortwave, when she could hear itperfectlywell.
Heworriedthathemightnotbeabletohearthebuzzer,ifitrang,ortheapproachofamilitary jeep. He complained of feeling alone even though theywere together. Feelingisolatedinthemostbasicway.
Nearlyaweekpassed.Perhaps thepolicehadnot connected thedots,perhaps they’dlosttrackofhim.Perhapstheywouldbedivertedbytheapproachingfestival,hesaid.Hewastheonewho’dconvincedGauriandhismothertoleavethehousefortheday,todowhattheyhadputoff.Todistractthemselves,toappearnormaltotheirneighbors,todosomeholidayshopping.
Thebodywasnot returned to them.Theywerenever toldwhere ithadbeenburned.When her father-in-law went to the police station, seeking information, seeking someexplanation,theydeniedanyknowledgeoftheincident.Aftertakinghiminfullview,hiscaptorshadleftnotrace.
Fortendaysafterhisdeaththerewererulestofollow.Shedidnotwashherclothesorwearslippersorcombherhair.Sheshut thedoorand theshutters topreservewhateverinvisibleparticlesofhimfloated in theatmosphere.Sheslepton thebed,on thepillowUdayanhadusedandthatcontinuedtosmellforafewdaysofhim,untilitwasreplacedbyherownodor,hergreasyskinandhair.
Noonebotheredher.Shewasawareofholdingherbodyverystill,as ifposingforaphotographthatwasnevertaken.Inspiteofthestillness,shefeltattimesasifshewerefalling, thebed seeming to giveway.Shewasunable to cry.Therewereonly the tearsdisconnectedtofeeling,thatgatheredandsometimesfellfromthecornersofhereyesinthemorning,aftersleep.
ThedaysofPujoarrivedandbegantopass:Shashthi,Saptami,Ashtami,Navami.Daysofworshipandcelebrationacross thecity.Ofmourningandseclusion inside thehouse.Thevermillionwaswashedcleanfromherhair,theironbangleremovedfromherwrist.Theabsenceoftheseornamentsmarkedherasawidow.Shewastwenty-threeyearsold.
Afterelevendaysapriestcameforthefinalrites,andacooktopreparetheceremonialmeal.Insidethehouse,Udayan’sportraitwasproppedagainstthewallinaframe,behindglass,wreathedwithtuberoses.Shewasunabletolookathisfaceinthephotograph.Shesatfortheceremony,herwristsbare.
Ifanythinghappenstome,don’tletthemwastemoneyonmyfuneral,he’doncetoldher. But a funeral took place, the house filled with people who’d known him, family
members and party members coming to pay their respects. To eat dishes made in hishonor,theparticularfoodsthathehadloved.
Afterthemourningperiodendedherin-lawsbegantoeatfishandmeatagain,butnotGauri.Shewasgivenwhitesaristowearinplaceofcoloredones,sothatsheresembledtheotherwidowsinthefamily.Womenthreetimesherage.
Dashamicame:theendofPujo,thedayofDurga’sreturntoShiva.Atnighttheeffigiesthat had stood in the small pandal in their neighborhoodwere taken to the river to beimmersed.Itwasdonewithoutfanfarethisyear,outofrespectforUdayan.
But inNorthCalcutta,belowthebalconywhere theyhadfirstspoken tooneanother,theprocessionswouldcontinuethroughoutthenight.Peoplelineduponthesidewalksforafinalglimpse,thenoisesogreatitwouldhavebeenimpossibletosleep.Shewillcomeback,shewillreturntous,peoplechantedastheymarchedonthestreet,accompanyingthegoddesstotheriver,biddingheranotheryear’sfarewell.
Onemorning,after thefirstmonthhadpassed,shewasunabletogotothekitchentohelphermother-in-lawwiththeday’spreparations,asshewasonceagainexpectedtodo.Feelingdrainedofenergy,dizzywhenshetriedtostandup,sheremainedinbed.
Fiveminutespassed,another ten.Hermother-in-lawentered the roomand toldher itwaslate.SheopenedtheshuttersandlookeddownatGauri’sface.Sheheldacupofteainherhandsbutdidnotofferitrightaway.Foramomentsheonlystoodthere,staringather.Gaurisatupslowly,totaketheteafromherhands.
I’llbeupstairsinamoment.
Don’tbothertoday,hermother-in-lawsaid.
Whynot?
Youwon’tbeofhelp.
Sheshookherhead,confused.
Anintelligentgirl.Thisiswhathetoldusafterhemarriedyou.Andyet,incapableofunderstandingsimplethings.
Whathaven’tIunderstood?
Her mother-in-law had already turned to leave the room. At the door she paused.Carefulfromnowon,nottoslipinthebathroom,oronthestairs.
Fromnowon?
You’regoingtobeamother,Gauriheardhersay.
Fromthebeginningof theirmarriagehedidnot touchher foroneweekoutofeverymonth.Hehadaskedhertokeeptrackofherperiodsinthepagesofherdiary,tellinghimwhenitwassafe.
Aftertherevolutionwassuccessful,he’dtoldher,they’dbringchildrenintotheworld.Onlythen.Butinthefinalweeksbeforehisdeath,whenhewashidingatthehouse,theyhadbothlosttrackofthedays.
Shehadbeenbornwithamapoftimeinhermind.Shepicturedotherabstractionsaswell,numbersandthelettersofthealphabet,bothinEnglishandinBengali.Numbersandletterswerelikelinksonachain.Monthswerearrayedasifalonganorbitinspace.
Eachconceptexisted in itsown topography, three-dimensional,physical.So thateversinceshewasachilditwasimpossibleforhertocalculateasum,tospellawordshewasunsure of, to access a memory or await something in the coming months, withoutretrievingitfromaspecificlocationinhermind.
Her strongest image was always of time, both past and future; it was an immediatehorizon,atonceorientingandcontainingher.Acrossthelimitlessspectrumofyears,thebrieftenancyofherownlifewassuperimposed.Totherightwastherecentpast:theyearshe’dmetUdayan,andbeforethat,alltheyearsshe’dlivedwithoutknowinghim.Therewastheyearshewasborn,1948,prefacedbyalltheyearsandcenturiesthatcamebefore.
Totheleftwasthefuture,theplacewhereherdeath,unknownbutcertain,wasanendpoint. In less thanninemonths a babywould come.But its life had already started, itsheartalreadybeating,representedbyaseparatelinecreepingforward.ShesawUdayan’slife,nolongeraccompanyingherownasshe’dassumeditwould,butceasinginOctober1971.Thisformedagraveinhermind’seye.
Onlythepresentmoment,lackinganyperspective,eludedhergrasp.Itwaslikeablindspot, justoverhershoulder.Ahole inhervision.But thefuturewasvisible,unspoolingincrementally.
Shewantedtoshuthereyestoit.Shewishedthedaysandmonthsaheadofherwouldend.Buttherestofherlifecontinuedtopresentitself,timeceaselesslyproliferating.Shewasmadetoanticipateitagainstherwill.
There was the anxiety that one day would not follow the next, combined with thecertainty that itwould. Itwas likeholdingherbreath, asUdayanhad tried todo in thelowland. And yet somehow she was breathing. Just as time stood still but was alsopassing,someotherpartofherbodythatshewasunawareofwasnowdrawingoxygen,forcinghertostayalive.
Chapter3ThedayafterspeakingtoGauri,Subhashwentout,alone,intothecityforthefirsttime.
He took the material his parents had given him, his share and Udayan’s, to a men’stailoring shop. He didn’t need new shirts and trousers, and yet he felt obligated, notwanting thematerial to go towaste. The news that therewas nowhere to have clothestailored in Rhode Island, that American clothing was all ready-made, had come to hisparentsasasurprise.Itwasthefirstdetailofhislifetherethey’dopenlyreactedto.
Hetook the tramtoBallygunge,walkingpast thehawkerswhocalledout tohim.Hefound the small shop owned by distant relatives, where he and Udayan always wenttogether,onceayear,tobemeasured.Alongcounter,afittingroominthecorner,arodwherethefinishedclothingwashung.Heplacedhisorder,watchingthetailorsketchthedesigns quickly in a notebook, clipping a triangle of thematerial and stapling it to thecornerofeachreceipt.
Therewasnothingelseheneeded,nothingfromthecityhewanted.AfterhearingwhatGaurihadtoldhim,afterpicturingit,hecouldfocusonlittleelse.
Hegotonabus,ridingwithnodestinationinmind,gettingoutclosetoEsplanade.Hesaw foreigners on the streets, Europeans wearing kurtas, beads. Exploring Calcutta,passingthrough.ThoughhelookedlikeanyotherBengalihefeltanallegiancewith theforeignersnow.Hesharedwiththemaknowledgeofelsewhere.Anotherlifetogobackto.Theabilitytoleave.
Therewerehotelshemighthaveenteredinthispartofthecity,tohaveawhiskeyorabeer,tofallintoaconversationwithstrangers.Toforgetthewayhisparentsbehaved,toforgetthethingsGaurihadsaid.
Hestoppedtolightacigarette,Wills,thebrandUdayansmoked.Feelingtired,hestoodinfrontofastorethatsoldembroideredshawls.
Whatwouldyouliketosee?theownerasked.HewasfromKashmir,hisfacepale,hiseyeslight,acottoncaponhishead.
Nothing.
Comehavealook.Haveacupoftea.
Hehadforgottenaboutsuchgesturesofhospitalityfromshopkeepers.Heenteredandsatonastool,watchingasthewoolenshawlswerespreadoutonebyoneonalargewhitecushiononthefloor.Thegenerosityoftheeffort,thefaithimplicitinit,touchedhim.Hedecidedtobuyoneforhismother,realizingonlynowthathe’dbroughthernothingfromAmerica.
I’ll take this,he said, fingeringanavy-blue shawl, thinking shewouldappreciate thesoftnessofthewool,theintricacyofthestitch.
Whatelse?
That’sall,hesaid.ButthenhepicturedGauri.Herecalledherprofileasshe’dtoldhimabout Udayan. The way she’d stared straight ahead at nothing, telling him what he’dwantedtoknow.
Itwas thanks toGauri thatheknewwhathadhappened: thatsheandhisparentshadwatched Udayan die. He knew now that his parents had been shamed before theirneighbors.Unable to helpUdayan, unable in the end to protect him.Losing him in anunthinkableway.
Hesiftedthroughthechoicesathisfeet.Ivory,gray,abrownthatwaslighterthantheteahe’dbeengiventodrink.Thesewereconsideredappropriateforhernow.Butavividturquoiseonewithaborderofminuteembroiderycaughthiseye.
He imagined itwrappedaroundher shoulders, trailingoveroneside.Brighteningherface.
Alsothisone,hesaid.
His parents were on their terrace, waiting. They askedwhat had taken him so long.Theysaiditstillwasn’tsafe,towandersolateonthestreets.
Thoughtheirconcernwasreasonableitannoyedhim.I’mnotUdayan,hewastemptedtosay.Iwouldneverhaveputyouthroughthat.
He gave hismother the shawl he’d bought for her. Then he showed her the one forGauri.
I’dliketogiveherthis.
Youshouldknowbetter,shesaid.Stoptryingtobefriendher.
Hewassilent.
Iheardthetwoofyoutalkingyesterday.
I’mnotsupposedtotalktoher?
Whatdidshetellyou?
Hedidn’tsay.Insteadheasked,Whydon’tyouevertalktoher?
Nowitwashismotherwhowassilent.
You’vetakenawayhercoloredclothes,thefishandmeatfromherplate.
Theseareourcustoms,hismothersaid.
It’sdemeaning.Udayanwouldneverhavewantedhertolivethisway.
Hewasnotusedtoquarrelingwithhismother.Butanewenergyflowedthroughhimandhecouldnotrestrainhimself.
Doesitmeannothing,thatshe’sgoingtogiveyouagrandchild?
Itmeanseverything.It’stheonlythinghe’sleftus,hismothersaid.
AndwhataboutGauri?
Shehasaplacehereifshechooses.
Whatdoyoumean,ifshechooses?
Shecouldgosomewheretocontinueherstudies.Shemightpreferit.
Whatmakesyouthinkthat?
She’stoowithdrawn,tooalooftobeamother.
Histempleswerethrobbing.Haveyoudiscussedanyofthiswithher?
There’snopointinworryingheraboutitnow.
Hesawthatalready,coldly,sittingontheterrace,hismotherhadplotteditout.Buthewasjustasappalledathisfather,forsayingnothing,forgoingalongwithit.
Youcan’tseparatethem.ForUdayan’ssake,accepther.
Hismotherlostherpatience.Shewasangrywithhim,too.Shutyourmouth,shesaid,hertoneinsulting.Don’ttellmehowtohonormyownson.
Thatnight,underthemosquitonetting,Subhashwasunabletosleep.
Perhapshewouldnever fullyknowwhatUdayanhaddone.Gauri had conveyedherversiontohim,andhisparentsrefusedtodiscussit.
He supposed they’d been lenient regardingUdayan, as they’d always been. Intuitingthathewasinoverhishead,butneverconfrontinghim.
Udayanhadgivenhislifetoamovementthathadbeenmisguided,thathadcausedonlydamage, that had already been dismantled. The only thing he’d altered was what theirfamilyhadbeen.
HehadkeptSubhash,andprobablytoagreatdegreealsohisparents,deliberatelyinthedark. The more his involvement had deepened, the more evasive he’d turned.Writingletters as if themovementno longermattered tohim.Hoping to throwSubhashoff thetrailashe’dputtogetherbombs,ashe’dsketchedmapsoftheTollyClub.Ashe’dblownthefingersoffhishand.
Gauriwas the one he’d trusted.He’d inserted her into their lives, only to strand herthere.
Likethesolutiontoanequationemergingbitbybit,Subhashbegantoperceiveaturnthingsmighttake.HewasalreadyeagertoleaveCalcutta.Therewasnothinghecoulddofor his parents. Hewas unable to console them. Though he’d returned to stand beforethem,intheendithadnotmatteredthathehadcome.
ButGauriwasdifferent.Aroundher, he felt a sharedawarenessof theperson they’dbothloved.
He thought of her remaining with his parents, living by their rules. His mother’scoldnesstowardGauriwasinsulting,buthisfather’spassivitywasjustascruel.
Anditwasn’tsimplycruelty.TheirtreatmentofGauriwasdeliberate,intendedtodriveherout.Hethoughtofherbecomingamother,onlytolosecontrolofthechild.Hethoughtofthechildbeingraisedinajoylesshouse.
TheonlywaytopreventitwastotakeGauriaway.Itwasallhecoulddotohelpher,theonlyalternativehecouldprovide.Andtheonlywaytotakeherawaywastomarryher.To takehisbrother’splace, to raisehischild, tocome to loveGauriasUdayanhad.Tofollowhiminawaythatfeltperverse,thatfeltordained.Thatfeltbothrightandwrong.
The date of his departure was approaching; soon enough he would be on the planeagain.TherewasnoonethereforhiminRhodeIsland.Hewastiredofbeingalone.
He had tried to deny the attraction he felt forGauri. But itwas like the light of thefireflies that swam up to the house at night, random points that surrounded him, thatglowedandthenrecededwithoutatrail.
Hementionednothingtohisparents,knowingthattheywouldonlytrytodissuadehim.Heknew the solutionhe’d arrived atwould appall them.Hewent to her directly.He’dbeenafraidofhowhisfamilymightreacttoHolly.Buthewasnolongerafraid.
Thisisforyou,hesaid,standinginherdoorway,givinghertheshawl.
Sheliftedthecoveroftheboxandlookedatit.
I’dlikeforyoutowearit,hesaid.
Hewatchedherstepintotheroomandopenherwardrobe.Sheplacedtheshawl,stillfoldedinthebox,inside.
Whensheturnedtofacehimagain,heobservedthatamosquitohadlandedattheveryedgeofherforehead,closetothehairline.Hewantedtoreachoverandbrushitaway,butshestood,unbothered,perhapsunaware.
Ihatehowmyparentstreatyou,hesaid.
Shewassilent.Shesatdownatherdesk,infrontofthebookandthenotebookspreadthere.Shewaswaitingforhimtogo.
Helosthisnerve.Theideawasridiculous.Shewouldnotweartheturquoiseshawl,shewouldneveragreetomarryhimandgotoRhodeIsland.ShewasmourningforUdayan,carryinghischild.Subhashknewhewasnothingtoher.
Thefollowingafternoon,atatimenoonewasexpected,thebuzzerrang.Subhashwassittingontheterrace,readingthepapers.Hisfatherwasatwork,hismotherhadgoneoutonanerrand.Gauriwasinherroom.
Hewentdownthestaircasetoseewhoitwas.Hefoundthreemenstandingontheothersideofthegate.Twopolicemencarryingguns,andaninvestigatorfromtheIntelligenceBureau.Theinvestigatorintroducedhimself.HewantedtospeaktoGauri.
She’ssleeping.
Gowakeher.
Heunlockedthegateandtookthemtothesecondfloor.Heaskedthemtowaitonthelanding.ThenhewalkeddownthecorridortoGauri’sroom.
Whensheopenedthedoor,shewasnotwearingherglasses.Hereyeslookedtired.Herhairwasdisheveled,thematerialofhersariwrinkled.Thebedwasunmade.
Hetoldherwhohadcome.I’llstaywithyou,hesaid.
Shetiedbackherhairandputonherglasses.Sheremadethebedandtoldhimshewasready.Shewascomposed,betrayingnoneofthenervousnesshefelt.
The investigator stepped into the roomfirst.Thepolicemen followed, standing in the
doorway.Theyweresmokingcigarettes,allowingtheashestofallontothefloor.Oneofthemhada lazyeye, so thathe seemed tobe lookingatbothGauriandSubhashat thesametime.
The investigator was observing the walls, the ceiling, taking in certain details. Hepickeduponeof thebooksonGauri’s table, thumbing througha fewpages.He tookanotepad and pen out of his shirt pocket.Hemade some notes. The tips of some of hisfingershadlosttheirpigment,asifspottedwithbleach.
You’rethebrother?heasked,notbotheringtolookupatSubhash.
Yes.
TheoneinAmerica?
Henodded,buttheinvestigatorwasalreadyfocusedonGauri.
Youmetyourhusbandinwhatyear?
Nineteensixty-eight.
WhileyouwereastudentatPresidency?
Yes.
Youweresympathetictohisbeliefs?
Inthebeginning.
Areyoucurrentlyamemberofanypoliticalorganization?
No.
I’dliketogooversomephotographs.They’reofsomepeopleyourhusbandknew.
Allright.
Hetookanenvelopeoutofhispocket.Hebeganhandingherpictures.SmallsnapshotsSubhashwasunabletosee.
Doyourecognizeanyofthesepeople?
No.
You’venevermetthem?Yourhusbandneverintroducedyoutothem?
No.
Lookcarefully,please.
Ihave.
Theinvestigatorputthesnapshotsbackintotheenvelope,mindfulnottosmudgethem.
DidheevermentionsomeonenamedNirmalDey?
No.
Youarecertain?
Yes.
GopalSinha?
Subhashswallowed,andglancedather.Shewaslying.EvenherememberedSinha,themedical student, from themeetinghe’d attended.SurelyUdayanhadmentionedhim toGauri.
Orhadhe?Perhaps, for thesakeofprotectingher,he’dbeendishonestwithher, too.Subhash had noway of knowing. As vivid as her account of Udayan’s final days andmomentshadbeen,certaindetailsremainedvague.
Theinvestigatortookafewmorenotes,thenwipedhisfacewithahandkerchief.MayItroubleyouforsomewater?
Subhash poured it for him, from the urn in the corner of the room, handing him thestainless-steelcupthatwaskept,overturned,besideit.Hewatchedtheinvestigatordrainthecup,thensetitdownonGauri’sdesk.
We’llreturnifwehavefurtherquestions,theinvestigatorsaid.
Thepolicemensteppedon theircigarettes toput themout, and then thegroup turnedback toward the staircase.Subhash followed, seeing themout of thehouse, locking thegatebehindthem.
WhendoyoureturntoAmerica?theinvestigatorasked.
Inafewweeks.
Whatisyoursubject?
Chemicaloceanography.
You’renothinglikeyourbrother,heremarked,thenturnedtogo.
•••
Shewaswaitingforhimontheterrace,sittingononeofthefoldingchairs.
You’reallright?heasked.
Yes.
Howlongbeforetheycomeback?
Theywon’tcomeagain.
Howcanyoubesure?
Sheraisedherhead,thenhereyes.BecauseIhavenothingelsetotellthem,shesaid.
You’recertain?
Shecontinuedtolookathim,herexpressionneutral,composed.Hewantedtobelieveher. But even if there was anything else she had to tell, he understood that there wasnothingelseshewaswillingtosay.
You’renotsafehere,hesaid.Evenifthepoliceleaveyoualone,myparentswon’t.
Whatdoyoumean?
Hepaused,thentoldherwhatheknew.
Theywantyououtofthishouse,Gauri.Theydon’twanttotakecareofyou.Theywanttheirgrandchildtothemselves.
Aftershehadabsorbedthis,hesaidtheonlythingshecouldthinkof,themostobviousoffacts:thatinAmericanooneknewaboutthemovement,noonewouldbotherher.Shecouldgoonwithherstudies.Itwouldbeanopportunitytobeginagain.
Becauseshesaidnothingtointerrupthim,hewenton,explainingthatthechildneededafather.InAmericaitcouldberaisedwithouttheburdenofwhathadhappened.
HetoldherheknewshestilllovedUdayan.Hetoldhernottothinkaboutwhatpeoplemightsay,howhisparentswouldreact.IfshewentwithhimtoAmerica,hepromisedher,itwouldallceasetomatter.
She’d recognized most of the people in the photographs. They were all Udayan’scomrades,partymembersfromtheneighborhood.Sherememberedsomeofthemfromameeting she’d gone to once, before it got too dangerous. She’d recognized Chandra, awoman who worked at the tailor shop, and also the man from the stationer’s. She’dpretendednotto.
Amongthenamestheinvestigatorhadgoneover,therewasonlyonethatUdayanhadnevermentioned.Onlyone,truthfully,shedidnotknow.NirmalDey.Andyetsomethingtoldhershewasnotinignoranceofthisman.
Youdon’thavetodothis,shesaidtoSubhashthefollowingmorning.
It’snotonlyforyou.
Hewouldn’thavewantedthis.
Iunderstand.
I’mnottalkingaboutourgettingmarried.
What,then?
Intheendhedidn’twantafamily.Hetoldmethedaybeforehedied.Andyet—
Shestoppedherself.
What?
Heoncetoldme,becausehegotmarriedbeforeyou,thathewantedyoutobethefirsttohaveachild.
PartIV
Chapter1Hewasthere,standingbehindaropeattheairport,waitingforher.Herbrother-in-law,
herhusband.Thesecondmanshehadmarriedintwoyears.
The sameheight, a similarbuild.Counterparts, companions, thoughshe’dnever seenthemtogether.Subhashwasamilderversion.ComparedtoUdayan’s,hisfacewasliketheslightly flawed impression theman at Immigration had just stamped into her passport,indicatingherarrival,stampedoverasecondtimeforemphasis.
Hewaswearingcorduroypants,acheckeredshirt,azipperedjacket,athleticshoes.Theeyesthatgreetedherwerekindbutweak;theweakness,shesuspected,thathadledhimtomarryher,andtodoherthefavorhe’ddone.
Herehewas, to receiveher, toaccompanyher fromnowon.Nothingabouthimhadchanged; at the endofhervoyage, therewasnothing togreet herbut the realityof thedecisionshe’dmade.
Butshesawhimregisteringtheobviouschangeinher.Fivemonthspregnantnow,herface and hips fuller, herwaist thick, the child’s presence obvious beneath the turquoiseshawlhe’dgivenher,drapedaroundherforwarmth.
Sheenteredhiscarandsatbesidehim, tohis right,her twosuitcasesstacked in theircanvasslipcoversonthebackseat.Shewaitedwhilehestartedtheengineandletitrunforabit.Heunpeeledabananaandpouredhimselfsometeafromaflask.Sheputherlipstotheothersideofthecapwhenheoffered,swallowingahottastelessliquid,likewetwood.
Howdoyoufeel?
Tired.
Again thevoice,alsoUdayan’s.Almost theexactpitchandmannerofspeaking.Thiswasthedeepestandmoststartlingproofoftheirfraternity.ForamomentsheallowedthisisolatedaspectofUdayan,preservedandreplicatedinSubhash’sthroat,totravelbacktoher.
Howaremyparents?
Thesame.
Theheat’sarrivedinCalcutta?
Moreorless.
Andthesituationgenerally?
Somewouldsaybetter.Othersworse.
ThiswasBoston,he toldher.Rhode Islandwas southofhere.Theyemerged fromatunnelthatwentbelowariver,passingbyaharbor,andthenthecityfellaway.Hedrovemorequickly thanshewasusedto,moreconsistently thancarscouldtravelonCalcuttastreets. The continuousmovement sickened her. She had preferred being on the plane,detachedfromtheearth,theillusionofsittingstill.
Alongthesideoftheroadweregray-andwhite-skinnedtreesthatlookedincapableof
ever producing leaf or fruit. Their brancheswere copious but thin, dense networks shecouldseethrough.Onsometrees,afewleavesstillclung.Shewonderedwhytheyhadnotfallenliketheothers.
Among the trees, here and there, were patches of snow. She would remember thesmooth pitch of the roads, the flat, squared-off shapes of the cars. And all the spacebetweenandaroundthings—thecarstravelingintwodirections,theinfrequentbuildings.Thebarrenbutdenselygrowingtrees.
Heglancedather.Isitwhatyouexpected?
Ididn’tknowwhattoexpect.
Againthechildwasstirringandshifting.Itwasunawareofitsnewsurroundings,andoftheastonishingdistanceithadtraveled.Gauri’sbodyremaineditsworld.Shewonderedifthenewenvironmentwouldaffectitinanyway.Ifitcouldsensethecold.
Shefeltasifshecontainedaghost,asUdayanwas.Thechildwasaversionofhim,inthatitwasbothpresentandabsent.Bothwithinherandremote.Sheregardeditwithasortofdisbelief,justasshestilldidnotreallybelievethatUdayanwasgone,missingnownotonlyfromCalcuttabutfromeveryotherpartoftheearthshe’djustflownacross.
As theplanewas landing inBoston, she’dmomentarily feared that their childwoulddissolveandabandonher.She’dfearedthat itwouldperceive,somehow,that thewrongfatherwaswaitingtoreceivethem.Thatitwouldprotestandstopforming.
After entering Rhode Island she expected to see the ocean, but the highwaymerelycontinued. They approached a small city called Providence. She saw hilly streets,buildingsclosetogether,peakedrooftops,anornatewhitedome.Sheknewthatthewordprovidencemeantforesight,thefuturebeheldbeforeitwasexperienced.
Itwasthemiddleof theday, thesundirectlyoverhead.Abrightbluesky, transparentclouds.A timeofday lackingmystery,onlyanassertionof theday itself.As if theskywerenotmeanttodarken,thedaynotmeanttoend.
Ontheplanetimehadbeenirrelevantbutalsotheonlythingthatmattered;itwastime,notspace,she’dbeenawareof traveling through.She’dsatamongsomanypassengers,captive,awaitingtheirdestinations.Mostofthem,likeGauri,freedinanatmospherenottheirown.
ForafewminutesSubhashturnedonthecarradio,listeningtoamanreportlocalnews,theweatherforecast.She’dhadanEnglisheducation,she’dstudiedatPresidency,andyetshecouldbarelyunderstandthebroadcast.
Eventuallyshesawhorsesgrazing,cowsstandingstill.Homeswithglasswindowsshuttight toblockout thecold.Walls lowenoughtostepover,formingboundaries,madeoflargeandsmallstones.
They reached a traffic light swayingon awire.While theywere stopped, hepointedleft.Shesawawooden tower, rising likean internalstaircase toanonexistentbuilding.Overthetopsofpinetrees,inthedistance,atlast,wasathindarkline.Thesea.
Mycampusisthatway,hesaid.
She looked at the flat gray road,with two ongoing stripes painted down themiddle.Thiswastheplacewhereshecouldputthingsbehindher.Whereherchildwouldbeborn,ignorantandsafe.
She thoughtSubhashwould turn left,wherehe toldherhis campuswas located.Butwhenthelightturnedgreen,andhepushedthegearshiftforward,theyturnedright.
Theapartmentwasonthegroundfloor,facingthefront:alittlegrass,apathway,thenastrip of asphalt. On the other side of the asphalt was a row of matching apartmentbuildings,lowandlongandfacedwithbricks.Thetwoofthemwereposedlikebarracks.AttheendoftheroadwasthelotwhereSubhashparkedhiscarandtookoutthegarbage.Asmallerbuildinginthelotwaswhereonedidthelaundry.
Themaindoorswerealmostalwaysleftopen,heldinplacebylargerocks.Thelocksontheapartmentdoorswereflimsy,littlebuttonsonknobsinsteadofpadlocksandbolts.Butshe was in a place where no one was afraid to walk about, where drunken studentsstumbledlaughingdownahill,backtotheirdormitoriesatallhoursofthenight.Atthetopof thehillwas the campuspolice station.But therewerenocurfewsor lockdowns.Studentscameandwentanddidastheypleased.
Theneighborswereothergraduatestudentcouples,afewfamilieswithyoungchildren.They seemed not to notice her. She heard only a door shutting, or themuffled ring ofsomeoneelse’stelephone,orfootstepsgoingupthestairs.
Subhashgaveherthebedroomandtoldherhewouldsleeponthesofa,whichunfoldedandbecameabed.Throughthecloseddoorshelistenedtohismorningroutine.Thebeepsofhisalarmclock, theexhaust fan in thebathroom.Whenthefanwasswitchedoffsheheardagentleswishingofwater,arazorbladescrapinghisface.
Noonecametopreparethetea,tomakethebeds,tosweepordusttherooms.Onthestovehe cookedbreakfast on a coil that reddened at a button’s touch.Oatmeal andhotmilk.
Whenitwasfinishedsheheardthespoonmethodicallyscrapingthebottomofthepan,then the water he immediately ran to make it easier to clean. The clink of the spoonagainst thebowl,andat thesametime, inaseparatepan, therattleof theeggheboiledandtookawayforhislunch.
She was thankful for his independence, and at the same time she was bewildered.Udayan had wanted a revolution, but at home he’d expected to be served; his onlycontributiontohismealswastositandwaitforGauriorhermother-in-lawtoputaplatebeforehim.
Subhash acknowledged her independence also. He left her with a few dollars, thetelephonenumbertohisdepartmentwrittenonaslipofpaper.Akeytothemailbox,andasecondkeytothedoor.Afewminuteslatercamethesoundshewaitedforbeforegettingup:thechainontheinsideoftheapartment,likeanuglybrokenbitofanecklace,slidingopen,andthenthedoorshuttingfirmlybehindhim.
Inawayithadbeenanotherflauntingofconvention,perhapssomethingUdayanmighthave admired. When she’d eloped with Udayan, she’d felt audacious. Agreeing to beSubhash’swife,tofleetoAmericawithhim,adecisionatoncecalculatedandimpulsive,
feltevenmoreextreme.
Andyet,withUdayangone,anythingseemedpossible.Theligamentsthathadheldherlife together were no longer there. Their absence made it possible to couple herself,however prematurely, however desperately, with Subhash. She’d wanted to leaveTollygunge.Toforgeteverythingherlifehadbeen.Andhehadhandedherthepossibility.In the back of her mind she told herself she could come one day to love him, out ofgratitudeifnothingelse.
Herin-lawshadaccusedGauri,assheknewtheywould,ofdisgracingtheirfamily.Hermother-in-law had lashed out, telling her she’d never been worthy of Udayan. Thatperhapshewouldstillbealive,ifhe’dmarriedanothersortofgirl.
TheyhadaccusedSubhashalso,ofwronglytakingUdayan’splace.Butintheend,afterdenouncingbothof them, theyhadnotforbiddenit.Theyhadnotsaidno.Perhaps theyappreciated,asGauridid, that theywouldno longerhave toberesponsible forher, thattheywouldbe free fromone another.And so, though inoneway she’dburrowed evenmoredeeplyintotheirfamily,inanotherwayshe’dsecuredherrelease.
Againithadbeenaregistrywedding,againinwinter.Manashhadcome.Herin-laws,therestofthefamilyonherside,hadrefused.Thepartyhadopposedit,too.Likeherin-laws,theyexpectedhertohonorUdayan’smemory,hismartyrdom.NotknowingshewascarryingUdayan’schild,Gaurinotwantinganyone toknow this, theyhadcut their tieswithher.Theyhaddeemedhersecondmarriageunchaste.
ShehadmarriedSubhashasameansofstayingconnectedtoUdayan.Butevenasshewasgoing throughwith it sheknew that itwasuseless, just as itwasuseless to save asingleearringwhentheotherhalfofthepairwaslost.
She’dwornanordinaryprintedsilksari,withonlyherwristwatchandasimplechain.Putupherhairbyherself.Itwasthefirsttimeshe’dlefttheneighborhood,thefirsttimesincetheshoppingexpeditionwithhermother-in-lawthatshewassurrounded,invigoratedbythecity’senergy.
The second time, there was no lunch afterward. No cotton quilt like the one underwhich she andUdayan had first lain as husband andwife, in the house in Chetla, thecoolness of that evening driving them into each other’s arms, the modesty that hadcheckedherdesirequicklygivingway.
After the registration Subhash took her to apply for her passport, and then to theAmerican consulate for her visa. The person in charge of the application congratulatedthem,assumingthattheywerehappy.
I spentmysummers inRhode Islandwhen Iwasakid,he said, after learningwhereSubhashlived.HisgrandfatherhadtaughtliteratureatBrownUniversity,whichwasalsoinRhodeIsland.HetalkedtoSubhashaboutthebeaches.
You’llloveitthere,hesaidtoGauri.HewouldtrytospeedupGauri’sapplication.Hewishedthemallthebest.
AfewdayslaterSubhashwasgone.Againshewasalonewithherin-laws.Againtheylivedwithherwithoutspeakingtoher,alreadyactingasifshewerenotthere.
Ontheeveningofherflight,Manashcametoaccompanyhertotheairportandseeheroff.Shebentdownbeforeherin-lawsandtookthedustfromtheirfeet.Theywerewaitingforhertogo.Shesteppedthroughtheswingingwoodendoorsofthecourtyard,overtheopendrain,intoataxithatManashhadcalledfromthecorner.
She leftTollygunge,whereshehadnever feltwelcome,whereshehadgoneonly forUdayan.Thefurniturethatbelongedtoher,theteakbedroomset,wouldstandunusedinthe small square roomwith strongmorning light, the roomwhere they had unwittinglymadetheirchild.
HerfinalglimpseofCalcuttawasofthecitylateatnight.Theyspedpastthedarkenedcampuswhereshehadstudied,theshutteredbookstalls,thefamilieswhosleptshroudedduring those hours on the streets. She left behind the deserted intersection below hergrandparents’flat.
As they approached the airport, fog began to accumulate on VIP Road, turningimpenetrable.Thedriversloweddown,thenstopped,unabletocontinue.Theyseemedtobeenvelopedinthethicksmokeofaragingfire,buttherewasnoheat,onlythemistofcondensationthattrappedthem.
This was death, Gauri thought; this vapor, insubstantial but un-yielding, drawingeverythingtoahalt.ShewascertainthiswaswhatUdayansawnow,whatheexperienced.
Shebegantopanic,thinkingshewouldnevergetout.Inchbyinchtheymovedon,thedriverpressingonhishorntoavoidacollision,untilfinallythelightsoftheairportcameintoview.ShehuggedManashandkissedhim,sayingshewouldmisshim,onlyhim,andthenshegatheredtogetherherthingsandpresentedherdocumentsandboardedtheplane.
No policeman or soldier stopped her. No one questioned her about Udayan. No onegavehertroubleforhavingbeenhiswife.Thefoglifted,theplanewasclearedfortakeoff.Noonepreventedherfromrisingabovethecity,intoablackskywithoutstars.
Thecalendaronthekitchenwallshowedaphotographofarockyisland,withspaceforalighthouseandnothingmore.ShesawsomethingcalledSt.Patrick’sDay.ThetwentiethofMarch,whatwouldhavebeenUdayan’stwenty-seventhbirthday,wasofficiallythefirstdayofspring.
But the cold inRhode Islandwas still severe in themornings, thewindowpanes likesheetsoficewhenshetouchedthem,milkywithfrost.
OneSaturday,Subhashtookhershopping.Musicplayedinalarge,brightlylitstore.Nooneofferedtohelpthem,orseemedtocareiftheyspentmoneyornot.Heboughtheracoat,apairofboots.Thicksocks,awoolenscarf,acapandgloves.
Butthesethingswerenotused.Apartfromthatonetriptothedepartmentstore,shedidnotventureout.Shestayed indoors, resting, reading thecampuspaperSubhashbroughthomewithhimeachday,sometimesturningonthetelevisiontowatchitsinsipidshows.Young women interviewing bachelors who wanted to date them. A husband and wife,pretendingtobicker,thensingingromanticsongs.
Hesuggestedthingsshecoulddothatwerenearby:amovieatthecampusfilmhall,alecture by a famous anthropologist, an international craft fair at the student union. He
mentionedthebetternewspapersonecouldreadatthelibrary,themiscellaneousitemsthebookstoresold.TherewereafewmoreIndiansoncampus thanwhenhe’dfirstarrived.Somewomen,wivesofothergraduatestudents,shemightbefriend.Whenyou’reready,hewouldsay.
Unlike Udayan’s, Subhash’s comings and goings were predictable. He came homeeveryeveningatthesametime.Ontheoccasionsshecalledhimathislab,tosaythattheyhad run out ofmilk or bread, he picked up the phone. He had taught himself to cookdinner so she didn’t interfere. He would leave out the ingredients in the morning, icypacketsfromthefreezerthatslowlymeltedandrevealedtheircontentsduringthecourseoftheday.
ThecookingsmellsnolongerbotheredherastheydidinCalcutta,butshesaidtheydid,becausethisprovidedanexcusetoremaininthebedroom.ForthoughshewaitedalldayforSubhashtocomebacktotheapartment,feelinguneasywhenhewasn’tthere,oncehedid,sheavoidedhim.Afraid,nowthattheyweremarried,ofgettingtoknowhim,oftheirtwolivescombining,turningclose.
Eventuallyhewouldknock,sayinghernametosummonhertothetable.Itwouldallbeready:twoplates,twoglassesofwater,twomoundsofsoftriceaccompaniedbywhateverhehadmade.
WhiletheyatetheywatchedWalterCronkiteathisdesk,reportingthenightlynews.Itwasalways thenewsofAmerica,ofAmerica’sconcernsandactivities.Thebombs thatthey were dropping on Hanoi, the shuttle they were hoping to launch into space.Campaignsforthepresidentialelectionthatwouldbeheldlaterintheyear.
She learned the names of the candidates: Muskie, McCloskey, McGovern. The twoparties,DemocraticandRepublican.TherewasnewsofRichardNixon,whohadvisitedChinathemonthbefore,shakinghandswithMaoforthewholeworldtosee.TherewasnothingaboutCalcutta.Whathadconsumed thecity,whathadaltered thecourseofherlifeandshatteredit,wasnotreportedhere.
One morning, setting down the book she was reading and turning her head to thewindow,shesawthesky,grayandlusterless.Itwasraining.Itfellsteadily,drearily.Alldayshestayedin,butforthefirsttimeshefeltconfined.
Intheafternoon,aftertherainended,sheputonherwintercoatoverhersari,herboots,her hat and gloves. She walked along the damp sidewalk, up the hill, turning by thestudentunion.Shesawstudentsgoinginandout,meninjeansandjackets,womenindarktightsandshortwoolcoats,smoking,speakingtooneanother.
Shecrossedthequadrangle,pastthelamppostswiththeirroundedwhitebulbsonironpoles.Itwasmilderthansheexpected,theglovesandhatunnecessary,theairfreshaftertherain.
Ontheothersideofthecampussheenteredalittlegrocerystorenexttothepostoffice.Amongthesticksofbutterandcartonsofeggsshefoundsomethingcalledcreamcheese,which came in a silverwrapping, looking like a bar of soap. She bought it, thinking itmightbechocolate,breakingthefive-dollarbillSubhashleftforhereachday,fillingthedeeppocketofhercoatwiththechange.
Inside thewrapperwas somethingdense, cold, slightly sour.Shebroke it intopiecesand ate it on its own, standing in the parking lot of the grocery. Not knowing it wasintendedtobespreadonacrackerorbread,savoringtheunexpectedtasteandtextureofitinhermouth,lickingthepaperclean.
She began to explore other parts of the campus, wandering in and out of variousdepartmentalbuildings,groupedaroundthequadrangle: theschoolofpharmacy,foreignlanguages,politicalscienceandhistory.Thebuildingshadnames:Washburn,Roosevelt,Edwards.Anyonecouldwalkin.
She found classrooms and the offices of professors lining the halls. Bulletin boardsannouncingupcominglecturesandconferences,displaycaseswithbooksthatprofessorsat theuniversityhadpublished.Therewasnoguardpreventingher,questioningher.Noarmedsoldiers sittingonsandbags,as theyhad formonthsoutside themainbuildingatPresidency.
The dayRobertMcNamara had visitedCalcutta, a year after theNaxalbari uprising,communistprotestersat theairportforcedhimto takeahelicopter into thecenterof thecity.Theywouldnotlethiscarpass.She’dbeenonhercampusthatday.Asthehelicopterwas flying over College Street, students had hurled stones from the roof of one of thecampus buildings. They had locked the vice-chancellor of Calcutta University into hisoffice.She’dseentramsbeingburned.
Onedayshefoundthephilosophydepartment.Shecameuponalargelecturehallwithrowsofdescendingseats.Thedoorswerestillopenasstudentscontinuedfiling in.Shetookaseatattheveryback,highenoughsothatshewaslookingdownatthetopoftheprofessor’shead.Closeenoughtothedoorsothatshecouldslipoutifsheneededto.Butafterherlongwalk,feelingheavy,shewasgratefultositdown.
Peeringatthesyllabusofthestudentnexttoher,shesawthatitwasanundergraduatecourse, an introduction to ancient Western philosophy. Heraclitus, Parmenides, Plato,Aristotle.Thoughmostofthematerialwasfamiliar,shesatforthefullclassperiod.ShelistenedtoadescriptionofPlato’sdoctrineofrecollection,inwhichlearningwasanactofrediscovery,knowledgeaformofremembering.
Theprofessorwasdressedcasually,inasweaterandjeans.Hesmokedcigarettesashelectured.Hehadathickbrownmoustache,longhairlikemanyofthemalestudents.Hehadnotbotheredtocalltheroll.
Studentsaroundherwerealsosmoking,orknitting.Afewhadtheireyesclosed.Therewasacoupleattheback,withtheirlegspressedtogether,theboy’sarmdrapedaroundthegirl’swaist,strokingthematerialofhersweater.ButGaurifoundherselfpayingattention.Eventually,wantingtotakenotes,shesearchedinherbagforasheetofpaperandapen.Findingnopaper,shewrotehernotesinthemarginsofthecampusnewspapershe’dbeencarryingaround.Later,onapadshefoundintheapartment,shecopiedoverwhatshe’dwritten.
Surreptitiously,twiceaweek,shebeganattendingtheclass.Shewrotedownthetitlesofthetextsonthereadinglistandwenttothelibrary,borrowingSubhash’scardtocheckoutafewbooks.
She’d intended to remain anonymous, to go unnoticed. But one day while she wasimmersed in the lecture,herhandshotup.TheprofessorwasspeakingaboutAristotle’srules of formal logic, about the syllogisms used to distinguish a valid thought from aninvalidone.
Whataboutdialecticalreasoning?Onethatacknowledgedchangeandcontradiction,asopposedtoanestablishedreality?DidAristotleallowforthat?
He did.But no one paidmuch attention to those concepts untilHegel, the professorsaid.
He’drepliedasifGauriwereanylegitimatememberoftheclass.Andspontaneouslyhealteredthecourseofthelecture,buildingonherquestion,accommodatingthepointshe’dmade.
Shemadealittleroutineofit,followingthewaveofstudentsaftertheclassletouttoeatherlunchatthecafeteriaofthestudentunion,orderingFrenchfriesatthegrill,breadandbutterandtea,sometimestreatingherselftoadishoficecream.
Atoneendof thecafeteria,presidingover the space,agiantclockwasbuilt into thebrickwall.Therewerenonumbers, no secondhand, just piecesofmetal superimposedonto thesurface, thegianthourandminutehands joiningandseparating throughout theday.
Shekepttoherself.ShewasSubhash’swifeinsteadofUdayan’s.EveninRhodeIsland,evenon thecampuswherenooneknewher, shewasprepared for someone toquestionher,tocondemnherforwhatshe’ddone.
Still,shelikedspendingtimeinthecompanyofpeoplewhoignoredbutsurroundedher.Who went to the terrace to unwind and talk and smoke in the sun, or who gatheredindoors, in the lounges and game rooms, watching television, or playing pool. It wasalmostlikebeinginacityagain.
The lounge of thewomen’s bathroomwas an oasis: a vast private space carpeted inwhite, withmirrored columns, and sofas to sit on, even to lie down on, with standingashtraysinbetween.Itwaslikeawaitingroominatrainstation,orthereceptionareaofahotel, largerandmoreaccommodatingthantheapartmentwheresheandSubhashlived.Here she sometimes sat, resting, leafing through the campus newspaper, observing theAmericanwomenwhocametotouchuptheirlipstickorleanovertodrawabrushthroughtheirhair.
Thepaperwasdedicatedsometimestospecialissues,onthesubjectsofwhatitmeanttobeablackpersoninAmerica,orawoman,orahomosexual.Longarticlesfocusedonformsofexploitation,individualidentities.ShewonderedifUdayanwouldhavescornedthemforbeingself-indulgent.Forbeingconcernedlesswithchangingthelivesofothersthanwithassertingandimprovingtheirown.
When’syourbabydue?astudentsittingbesideherinthelounge,smokingacigarette,askedheroneday.
Afewmoremonths.
You’reinmyancientphilosophyclass,right?
Shenodded.
Ishouldhavedroppedit.Thestuff’sovermyhead.
Thestudentseemedsoatease,wearinglongsilverearrings,agauzyblouse,askirtthatstoppedatherknees.HerbodywasunencumberedbytheyardsofsilkmaterialthatGauriwrappedandpleatedandtuckedeverymorningintoapetticoat.Thesewerethesarisshe’dworn since she stopped wearing frocks, at fifteen. What she’d worn while married toUdayan,andwhatshecontinuedtowearnow.
Ilikeyouroutfit,thegirlsaid,gettinguptogo.
Thankyou.
Butwatchingthegirlwalkaway,Gaurifeltungainly.Shebegantowanttolookliketheotherwomenshenoticedonthecampus,likeawomanUdayanhadneverseen.
April came, studentswelcoming the sunshine,gatheringon thequadrangle andalongtheledgeofthestudentunion,whiteblossomsfillingthetrees.OnFridayafternoonsshesawundergraduateslinedupoutsidetheunion,withsmallsuitcasesorbackpacks,sacksofdirtylaundry.Theyboardedenormoussilverbussesthattookthemawayfortheweekend.TheywenttoBoston,orHartford,orNewYorkCity.Shegatheredthattheywenthometosee their parents, or to visit their boyfriends and girlfriends, staying awayuntil Sundaynight.
Thoughshehadnoonetoseeoff,shelikedtoobservethisritualegress,watchingthedriverplacethepassengers’luggageintothebellyofthebus,watchingthestudentssettleintotheirseats.Shewonderedwhattheplacestheyweregoingtowerelike.
Yougettingon?oneofthemaskedheronce,offeringtohelpher.
Sheshookherhead,steppingawayfromthecrowd.
Thehealthserviceattheuniversityreferredhertoanobstetricianinthetown.Subhashdroveher there, sitting in thewaiting roomwhile a silver-hairedmannamedDr.Flynnexaminedher.Hiscomplexionwaspink,lookingtenderdespitehisyears.Asanursestoodinthecorneroftheroomheexploredtactfullyinsideher.
Howareyoufeeling?
Fine.
Sleepingatnight?
Yes.
Eatingfortwo?Feelingkicksthroughouttheday?
Shenodded.
That’s only the start of the trouble they’ll give, he said, smiling, telling her to comebackamonthlater.
Whatdidhesay?Subhashasked,whentheappointmentwasover,andtheywereinthecaragain.
SheconveyedwhatDr.Flynnhadsaid,thatthebabywasnowaboutafootlong,thatit
weighedaroundtwopounds.Itshandswereactive,itseyessensitivetolight.Theorganswouldcontinuetodevelop:thebrainandtheheart,thelungs,preparingforlifeoutsideofher.
Subhashdrovetothesupermarket,tellinghertheyneededafewthings.Heaskedhertojoinhim,butshetoldhimshe’dwaitinthecar.Heleftthekeyintheignition,sothatshecouldlistentotheradio.Sheopeneduptheglovecompartment,wonderingwhatwaskeptinside.
ShefoundamapofNewEngland,aflashlight,anicescraper,aninstructionmanualtothecar.Thensomethingelsecaughthereye.Itwasawoman’shairelastic,amalleableredringfleckedwithgold.Onethatshedidnotrecognizeasherown.
Sheunderstoodthattherehadbeensomeonebeforeher,anAmerican.Awomanwho’donceoccupiedtheseatshewasinnow.
Perhaps ithadnotworkedout forwhatever reason.OrperhapsSubhashcontinued toseeher,togetfromherwhatGaurididnotgive.
Shelefttheelasticwhereshefoundit.Shefeltnoimpulsetoaskhimaboutit.
She was relieved that she was not the only woman in his life. That she, too, was areplacement.Thoughshewascurious,shefeltnojealousy.Insteadshewasthankfulthathewascapableofhidingsomething.
It validated the step she’d taken, in marrying him. It was like a high mark after adifficultexam.Itjustifiedthedistanceshecontinuedtomaintainfromhernewhusband.Itsuggestedthatmaybeshedidn’thavetolovehim,afterall.
Oneweekend he took her to the ocean, to show herwhat had given his life here itsfocus.Graysand,finerthansugar.Whenshebentovertotouchit,itspilledinstantlyfromherfingers.Itwaslikewater,roughlyrinsingherskin.Grassgrewsparselyonthedunes.Gray-and-whitebirdspacedstiffly,likeoldmen,alongtheshore,orbobbedinthesea.
Thewaveswere low, thewater reddishwhere theybroke.She removedher shoes,asSubhashdid,steppingoverhardstones,overseaweed.Hetoldherthetidewascomingin.Heindicatedtherocks,juttingout,thatwouldbesubmergedinanotherhour’stime.
Let’swalkabit,hesuggested.
Butthewindpickedupandopposedthem,andshestoppedafterafewpaces,feelingtoocumbersometogoon,toochilled.
Childrenwerescatteredhereand thereon thebeach,bundled in jackets,climbing therocks,runningonthesand.Itwasstilltoocoldtoswim,buttheydugtrenchesandcraters,lying flat, legs spread. They decorated piles of mud with stones. Watching them, shewonderedifherchildwouldplaythisway,dosuchthings.
Haveyouthoughtofaname?heasked.Itwasasifhe’dreadhermind.
Sheshookherhead.
DoyoulikeBela?
Shewasbotherednotbythenamebutbythefactofhissuggestingit.Butitwastrue,
shehadnotthoughtofone.
Maybe,shesaid.
Ican’tthinkofanyboys’names.
Idon’tthinkitwillbeone.
Whynot?
Ican’timagineit.
Doesithelpatall,Gauri?
What?
Beinghere?Anyofthis?
Atfirstshedidn’tanswer.Thenshesaid,Yes,ithelpstobeaway.
Your brother was supposed to be here, she added. This child should have been hisresponsibility,whetherhewanteditornot.
I’llmakeitmine,Gauri.I’vepromisedyouthat.
Shewasunable toexpresshergratitude forwhathe’dundertaken.Shewasunable toconveythewayshewasabetterpersonthanUdayan.Shewasunabletotellhimthathewasprotectingher,forreasonsthatwouldcausehimtoregardherdifferently.
She looked back at the set of footprints they had made in the damp sand. UnlikeUdayan’sstepsfromchildhood,whichenduredinthecourtyardinTollygunge,theirswerealreadyvanishing,washedcleanbytheencroachingtide.
Chapter2He’dbegunthenewsemestertwoweekslate,catchinguponhisclasses,movingintoa
furnishedapartmentreservedformarriedstudentsandtheirfamilies.He’dboughtsheetstofitthedoublemattress,andbycallingpeoplewhoadvertisedthingsforsaleonbulletinboards he’d set up a household forGauri. He acquired a fewmore dishes and pans, apottedjadeplant,ablack-and-whitetelevisiononawobblycart.
All he saw of her body were glimpses when she came out of the bathroom after ashower.AfterRichard,hewasusedtosharingaspacewithanotherpersonwhilekeepingtohimself.Intheeveningsheremovedtheclotheshewouldwearthenextdayfromthedrawersinthebedroom,sothathewouldnotdisturbherinthemornings.
Atnighthewassometimesawareofherdooropening.Shewenttothebathroom,shegotherselfaglassofwater.Heheldhisbodystillas thestreamofherurinefell. In thelight of early morning, he saw her hair unsprung from its customary knot, tensile,suspendedlikeaserpentfromthebranchofatree.Shewalkedthroughthelivingroomasifitwereempty,asifhewerenotthere.
He trusted that thingswouldchange,after thebabycame.That thechildwouldbringthemtogether,firstasparents,thenashusbandandwife.
Once, in themiddleof thenight,heheardher locked insideanightmare.Heranimalwhimperingstartledhim;itwasthesoundofascreamstifledbyaclenchedjaw,aclosedmouth.Anarticulatebutwordlessfury.Helayonthesofa,listeningtohersuffer,listeningtoherrelivinghisbrother’sdeath,perhaps.Waitingforherterrortopass.
HeranintoNarasimhan,andbecauseNarasimhanasked,hetoldhimhisnews.Thathewas nearly finished with his course work, that later in the spring he would take hisqualifyingexam.ThathisbrotherhaddiedinIndia.Thathehadawifenow,thatshewasexpecting.Hedidnotrevealtheconnection,thathehadmarriedhisbrother’swife.
Hewasunwell?
Hewaskilled.
How?
Theparamilitaryshothim.HewasaNaxalite.
I’msorry.It’saterriblelosstobear.Butnowyou’llbeafather.
Yes.
Listen,it’sbeentoolong.Whydon’tyouandyourwifecometodinneroneday?
He had the directions written on the back of an envelope. He got a little lost onunfamiliarroads.Thehousewasinthewoods,downashadeddirtpath,withoutaproperlawn,withnootherhomesinview.
Theywere one of a number of Indian couples at the university thatNarasimhan andKate had invited. A few of them already had children, who went off to play withNarasimhan’s boys, running along a deck thatwrapped around two sides of the house.Subhash and Gauri were introduced to the other couples, mostly graduate students in
engineering, in mathematics, and their wives. A number of the women had broughtofferingsofdishesthey’dcooked,dalsandvegetablesandsamosas,tastyaccompanimentstothelasagnaandsaladthatKatehadserved.
The guests filled a large wood-paneled living room, standing and sitting, talking,holding their plates.Books crowded the shelves, plants hung inwoven slings from theceiling, record albumswere stacked beside the turntable.Therewere no curtains in thewindows,onlyviewsofthetreesoutside.Onthewallswereabstractpaintings,boldblotsofcolorthatKatehadproduced.
HewasrelievedtoseeGaurimixingwiththeotherwomen.Shewaswearingaprettysari.Thechildwasbeginningtooverwhelmher.Hesawsomeofthewomenputtingtheirhandsonherbelly.Heheardthemtalkingaboutchildren,aboutrecipes,aboutorganizingaDiwalifestivaloncampusthefollowingyear.Hewasgratefultohavearrivedwithher,and toknowthathewouldbe leavingwithher.That theyweregreetedandregardedasone.
NoonequestionedthatGauriwashiswife,orthathewassoontobethefatherofherchild.Thegroupwishedthemwell,andtheyweresentoffwithanassortmentofobjectsNarasimhan’ssonshadonceused,whichKatehadsetaside:afoldingplaypen,towelsandblankets,capsandpajamasthatseemedmeantfordolls.
Inthecaragain,GauriwasquietasSubhashretracedthedrive.Onthewaythereshe’dreadoneofherbooks.Butnowthatitwasdarkshehadnothingtodistracther.
Thewomenseemedfriendly.Whowerethey?
Idon’trememberthenames,shesaid.
The enthusiasm she’d mustered in the company of others had been discarded. Sheseemedtired,perhapsannoyed.Hewonderedifshehadnotreallyenjoyedherself,ifshe’donlybeenpretending.Still,hepersisted.
Shouldweinviteafewofthemtoourplace,sometime?
It’suptoyou.
Theymightbehelpful,afterthebabycomes.
Idon’tneedtheiradvice.
Imeantascompanions.
Idon’twanttospendmytimewiththem.
Whynot,Gauri?
Ihavenothingincommonwiththem,shesaid.
Afewdayslater,hecamehometotheapartmentanddidnotseehersittinginthelivingroomassheusuallywasatthattime,readingabookonthesofa,takingnotes,drinkingacupoftea.
Heknockedonthedoortothebedroom,openingitpartwaywhenshedidnotanswer.The roomwas dark, but he didn’t see her resting on the bed.He called out her name,wonderingifshe’dgoneforawalk,thoughitwasclosetodinnertime,gettingdark,and
she’dmentionednothingaboutgoingoutwhenhe’dcalledafewhoursago,tocheckinonher.
Hewent to the stove to put water on for tea. Hewondered if she’d left him a notesomewhere. A moment of panic flickered through him, wondering if something hadhappened to thebaby.Hechecked thebathroom.He returned to thebedroom, this timeturningonthelight.
Onthedressingtablewasapairofscissorsthathenormallykeptinthekitchendrawer,alongwithclumpsofherhair.Inonecornerofthefloor,allofhersaris,andherpetticoatsandblouses,werelyinginribbonsandscrapsofvariousshapesandsizes,asifananimalhad shredded the fabricwith its teeth and claws.He opened her drawers and saw theywereempty.Shehaddestroyedeverything.
A few minutes later he heard her key in the lock. Her hair hung bluntly along herjawbone,dramaticallyalteringherface.Shewaswearingslacksandagraysweater.Theclothescoveredherskin,buttheyaccentuatedthecontoursofherbreasts,thefirmswellofherstomach.Theshapeofherthighs.Hedrewhiseyesawayfromher,thoughalreadyavisionhadentered,ofherbreasts,exposed.
Wherewereyou?
Itookabusfromtheunion,intotown.Iboughtafewthings.
Whydidyoucutoffyourhair?
Iwastiredofit.
Andyourclothes?
Iwastiredofthose,too.
Hewatched as shewent into the bedroom, not apologizing for the spectacularmessshe’dmade,justputtingawaythenewclothesshe’dbought,thenthrowingtheoldthingsintogarbagebags.Forthefirsttime,hewasangryather.Buthedidn’tdaretellherthatwhat she’d done was wasteful, or that he found it disturbing. That such destructivebehaviorcouldn’thavebeengoodforthechild.
Thatnight,asleeponthecouch,hedreamedofGauriforthefirsttime.Herhairwascutshort.Sheworeonlyapetticoatandablouse.Hewasunderthediningtablewithher.Hewasastrideher,unclothed,makinglovetoherasheusedtomakelovetoHolly.Hisbodycombiningonthehardtiledfloorwithhers.
Hewoke up, confused, still aroused.Hewas alone on the couch in the living room,Gauriasleepbehindthebedroomdoor.Theyweremarried,shewashiswifenow,andyethefeltguilty.
Heknew that itwas still too soon.That itwaswrong to approachher until after thebabywasborn.Hehadinheritedhisbrother’swife;insummerhewouldinherithischild.But theneed forherphysically—wakingup from thedream, in the apartment inwhichtheywerelivingbothtogetherandseparately,hecouldnolongerdenythathe’dinheritedthatalso.
Chapter3As summer approached she began spendingmore time at the library,whichwas air-
conditioned. A place where she was expected to be anonymous and industrious,concentratingonthepagesbeforeher,nothingmore.
At her sidewas a long rectangularwindow, from floor to ceiling, looking out at thecampus.Sunlightstreamedinovertreetopsthathadturnedgreenandlushinamatterofweeks.Fromher desk she could see the surroundingwoods and fields.Thequadranglewas demarcated now by lengths of white rope, where white folding chairs were beingarrangedinrowsforthecommencementceremony.
In June there was no one. After classes finished and the undergraduates vanished,hardlyasound.Onlythemelodicchimeofthecampusclockinitsstonetower,remindingherthatanotherhourhadpassed.Inthelibrary,thesqueakingrubberwheelsofawoodencart,stoppinghereandtheresothatanabsentbookcouldbereturnedtoitsplace.
Oftenshehadawholefloorofthelibrarytoherself.Theatmosphere,initsorderandcleanliness,waslikethatofahospital,onlybenign.Thestairwellrosethroughthecenterofthebuilding.Theshallowsteps,coatedwithrubber,easytoclimb,seemeddisconnectedfromoneanother,leadingallthewaytothetop.
She sat close to the philosophy section, browsing randomly in the stacks, readingHobbes,HannahArendt,takingnotes,alwaysreturningthebookstothespotswheretheybelonged.Shewassteadiedby thequietbuzzof the lights, thefluorescentpanelsaboveherlikegiantversionsoftheicecubetraysinthefreezer.Hemmedinfromthewaistupbythethreesidesofthecarrel,facingtheblankwhiteenclosure,thehardwoodofthechairpressingintothesmallofherback.Thebabynestledinsideher,providingcompanybutalsoleavingherbe.
ByJuly,withinminutesofsteppingoutside, for thebriefwalkback to theapartment,shewas coated in sweat, feeling it traveling down the center of her back. The airwasheavy with humidity, the sky sometimes threatening but refusing to release rain. Thepurityoftheheatseemedtosilenceothersounds.
Shehadgrownupinsuchweather.Buthere,wherejustmonthsagoitwascoldenoughforhertoseeherbreathwhenshewalkedoutside,itcameasashock,assomethingalmostunnatural.
Because the semester had ended, certain campus buildings, certain dormitories andadministrativeoffices,wereclosed.Oftenshewasabletowalkthroughcampus,fromthelibrary back to the apartment, and not cross paths with anyone. As if a strike were ineffect,oracurfewinplace.Sheheardthemechanicalshriekofthelocuststhatlivedinthetrees.Theirrisingsoundwaslikeanintermittentsiren,theonlyelementofdistressinthatotherwiseuneventfulplace.
The contractions began in the library, three days before Dr. Flynn had predicted. Apressure between her legs, the baby’s head like a ball of lead suddenly ten times itsweight.Shereturnedtotheapartmentandpackedherbag.ThenshewaitedforSubhash,knowinghewouldbehomesoonenough.
Thecrampscausedhertodoubleover,clutchingthetowelbarinthebathroomsothatitthreatenedtoloosenfromthewall.Heputhisarmaroundherwhenhecame,escortingherto the car, standing with her when she was forced to stop because of a contraction,allowinghertoclampherhandaroundhiswrist.
Graspingthedashboard,asiftopushitaway;thiswastheonlywayshecouldbeartheride to the hospital, her body threatening to split apart unless she held herself in thatposition.
Now the sky released a hot pouring summer rain. It forced Subhash to slow down,unable to seemore than a few feet in front of him through thewindow, in spite of thewindshieldwiperspumpingbackandforth.Sheimaginedthecarspinningoutofcontrol,skiddingintotheoppositelaneofoncomingcars.
Sherememberedthefogonthewaytotheairport,thenightshewasleavingCalcutta.Thatnightshehadbeendesperatetomovethroughit,togetout.Now,inspiteofthepain,inspiteoftheurgency,partofherwantedthecartostop.Partofherwantedthepregnancysimplytocontinue,forthepaintosubsidebutforthebabynottobeborn.Todelay,ifonlyforalittlelonger,itsarrival.
ButSubhashleanedforwardinhisseatanddroveon,sendingupgreatspraysofwaterfromtherollingtiresofthecar,untilthesmallbrickhospital,setonahilltop,cameintoview.
Itwasagirl,asshewascertainitwouldbe.Shewasrelievedthatherhopehadbeenfulfilled,andthatayoungversionofUdayanhadnotcomebacktoher.AndinawayitwasbettertogivethechildanameSubhashhadthoughtof,togranthimthatclaim.
As she’d pushed she’d clenched her teeth, her body convulsed, but she had notscreamed.Itwaseightintheevening,stilllightoutside,nolongerraining.ThecordwasclippedandsuddenlythechildwasnolongerapartofGauri.Otherswerebundlingher,cleaningandweighingandwarmingher.Alittlelater,whenSubhashwascalledupfromthewaitingroom,Belawasplacedinhisarms.
She dreamed of gulls on the beach in Rhode Island, screeching and attacking oneanother, blood and feathers, dismembered wings on the sand. Again, as it was afterUdayan’sdeath,therewasanacuteawarenessoftime,ofthefuturelooming,accelerating.Thebaby’slifetime,soscant,alreadyoutdistancingandoutpacingherown.Thiswasthelogicofparenthood.
Afterbringingherhometheytendedtoher,Subhashinhisway,Gauriinhers.AtfirstapartofherresistedsharingBelawithhim,includinghimintheexperiencethathadbeensolelyhers.Itwasonethingforhimtobeherhusband,anothertobeBela’sfather.Forhisnametobeonthebirthcertificate,afalsehoodnoonequestioned.
Seekingonlythemilkfromherbody,Belarested,burrowedagainstGauri’sbreast.Herchild’smindcontainednothing.Herheartwassimplyaninstrumentforpumpingblood.
Shedemandedlittle,andyetshedemandedeverything.Theawarenessofherwasall-consuming.Itabsorbedeveryparticle inGauri’sbody,everynerve.But thenurse in thehospitalhadbeen right, shecouldnotdo it allbyherself, andevery timeSubhash tookover,sothatshecouldgetsomerestortakeashowerordrinkacupofteabeforeitturned
cold,everytimehepickedBelaupwhenshecriedsothatGaurididnothaveto,shecouldnotdenythereliefshefeltatbeingallowed,howeverbriefly,tostepaside.
Framedbetweentwopillowsarrangedoneithersideofher,Belaslept.Whenshewasawake, shewould slowly twist her neck and her cloudy eyeswould intently search thecornersoftheroom,asifalreadysheknewthatsomethingwasmissing.
Whenshewassleeping,shebreathedwithherwholebody,likeananimaloramachine.ThisfascinatedGauributalsopreoccupiedher:thegrandeffortofeachbreath,oneafterthenextforaslongasshewouldlive,drawnfromtheairsharedbyeveryoneelseintheworld.
While pregnant she had felt capable.But nowGauriwas aware of how the slightestoversightonherpartcouldcauseBelatobedestroyed.Carryingheroutofthehospital,throughthelobbythatledtotheparkinglot,wherepeoplestreamedbybrisklywithoutaglance, shehad felt terrified, aware thatAmericawas just as dangerous a place as any.Awarethattherewasnoone,otherthanSubhash,toprotectBelafromharm.
Shebegan to imagine scenarios, unbiddenbut persistent.Grotesque imagesofBela’shead snapping back, her neck breaking. When Bela fell asleep at her breast, Gauriimaginedfallingasleepalso,forgettingtounlatchherfromhernipple,Bela’scapacitytobreatheputtoanend.Atnight,alonewithherinthebedroom,GauristartedtoworrythatBelawouldfalltothefloor,orthatGauriwouldrollontopofher,crushingher.
The day they took her for awalk through campus,Gauri stood on the terrace of thestudentunion,withBela inher arms,waiting forSubhash tobuy someCoca-Colas.Atfirstshestoodattheedgeoftheterrace,butthenshebackedaway,afraidoflosingcontrolofhermuscles,afraidofdroppingherdaughter.Standingstillonasultry latesummer’sday,withoutatraceofbreeze,shewasneverthelessafraidthatasuddenwindwouldpryBelafromhergrasp.
Laterthatevening,intheapartment,knowingsheshouldn’t,wantingtoseewhatwouldhappen, she loosened her grip ever so slightly behind Bela’s neck, relaxing her ownshoulders.ButBela’sinstinctforsurvivalwasreflexive.Instantlyshestirredfromadeepsleep,protesting.
TherewasonlyonewayforGauritominimizetheseimages,toridhermindoftheseimpulses.TohandleBelaless,toaskSubhashtoholdherinstead.
Sheremindedherselfthatallmothersneededassistance.SheremindedherselfthatBelawasherchildandUdayan’s;thatSubhash,forallhishelpfulness,fortherolehe’ddeftlyassumed,wassimplyplayingapart.I’mhermother,shetoldherself.Idon’thavetotryashard.
Heenteredthebedroomwithoutknockingnow,theminuteBelawokeupinthemiddleof the night and cried. Picking her up, walking her around the apartment. He wasunprepared forhow small shewas.Heronlyweight seemed to come from theblanketswrappedaroundher,nothingmore.
Already,sheseemedtoberecognizinghim.Toaccepthim,andtoallowhimtoignoretherealitythathewasanuncle,animposter.Shereactedtothesoundofhisvoiceasshelayinaflatcradleheformedbycrossingoneofhislegsandrestinghisankleontopofthe
opposite knee. In that nest of his folded limbs, cushioned against his thigh, she laycontentedly,seekinghimwithhereyes.Hefeltpurposefulasheheldher,essentialtothelifeshe’dbegun.
OnenightheswitchedoffthetelevisionandenteredthebedroomwithBela.Gauriwasturnedawayfromhim,asleep.Heperchedontheothersideofthebed,thenleanedback,placingBela’smoistblackheadonhischest,quietingher.HeextendedhislegsonthebedsothatBelacouldstretchout.
Heremainedontopofthecovers,hiseyesopeninthedark.ThoughBelarestedontopof his body, his awareness ofGauri, no longer pregnant,was greater.His curiosity, hisdesire for her, hadonly intensified.For nowhemarveled at how shehadproduced thechildthatlayagainsthim,trusting,tranquil,hercheekturnedtooneside.
WhenheopenedhiseyesBelawasno longeronhischestbutbesidehim, inGauri’sarms,feeding.Theroomwasdark, theblindsdown.Birdswerechirping.Hisbodywaswarm,stillclothed.
Whattimeisit?
Morning.
Hehadfallenasleep;theyhadpassedthenightinthesamebed.Lyingnexttoherontopofasharedsheet,withBelabetweenthem.
Whenherealizedwhathadhappenedhesatup,apologizing.
Gaurishookherhead.Shewas lookingdownatBela,but thenshe turnedherface tohim.Sheputoutahand,notusingittotouchhim,butofferingittohim.
Stay.
Shetoldhimithadbeenreassuring,havinghimwithherintheroom.Shesaidthatshewasready,thatithadbeenlongenough.
Her altered appearance made it easier: her shortened hair, her face that was turninggauntagainafterthebaby’sbirth,theslacksandtopsshenowworeexclusively.AlsotheeffectsofBela’sbirth,theshadowsthatwerebeneathhereyes,thesmellofmilkonherskin,sothatherbodywasmarkedlessbythefactofUdayanimpregnatingher,andmorebytheinfanttheynowshared.
Atfirstsheexpressednoobviousdesire,onlyawillingness.Andyetthiscombinationofindifferenceandintentexcitedhim.TheysetuptheplaypenforBela,andwhenshewasinit,asleep,thebedwastheirs.
She lay on her stomach, or on her side.Her back to him, her head turned, her eyesclosed.He pushed thematerial of her nightgown up to herwaist. He saw the taperingshapeofit.Thelongstraightvalleybisectingherback.
Insideofher,surroundedbyher,heworriedthatshewouldneveraccepthim,thatshewouldneverfullybelongtohim,evenashebreathedinthesmellofherhair,andclaspedherbreastinhishand.
Herskinwasuniform,thecoloreven.Notanlines,notablemishorafleckofvariationastherehadbeen,everywhere,onHolly’sbody.Nonicksonhercalvesfromshaving,not
thepricklytextureheexpectedtofindonherbuttocksandthighs.Itwasalmostdisturbinginitssoftness,likeanunderbellythatoughtnottobeexposed.
Andyetitdidnotbruisefromhisweight,didnotreddenorswellfromthepressureofhisteethorhands.Thebrinyodorbetweenherlegs,transferredtemporarilytohisfingerswhenheprobedher,wasabsentthefollowingmorningwhenhesoughtitagain.
Shedidnotspeaktohim,butafterthefirstfewtimesshebegantotakehishandandputitwheresheneededittobe.Shebeganturningtohim,kneelinguponthebed,facinghim.Shereachedthemomentwhenherbreathingquickenedandwasaudible,herskinglowing,herbodytenselyheld.
Itwastheonlymomenthefeltnopartofherresistinghim.Shewatchedashefinishedup outside her, wipingwhat spilled on the surface of her abdomen, or watching as hedirected the proof of his desire into his cupped hand. She bore his weight when hecollapsedontopofher,whenhehadnothingmoretogive.
Chapter4At fourBelawas developing amemory.Theword yesterday entered her vocabulary,
thoughitsmeaningwaselastic,synonymouswithwhateverwasnolonger thecase.Thepastcollapsed,innoparticularorder,containedbyasingleword.
It was the English word she used. It was in English that the past was unilateral; inBengali, the word for yesterday, kal, was also the word for tomorrow. In Bengali oneneeded an adjective, or relied on the tense of a verb, to distinguish what had alreadyhappenedfromwhatwouldbe.
TimeflowedforBelaintheoppositedirection.Thedayafteryesterday,shesometimessaid.
Pronouncedslightlydifferently,Bela’sname,thenameofaflower,wasitselfthewordforaspanoftime,aportionoftheday.Shakalbelameantmorning;bikelbela,afternoon.Ratrirbelawasnight.
Bela’s yesterday was a receptacle for anything her mind stored. Any experience orimpression that had come before. Hermemorywas brief, its contents limited. Lackingchronology,randomlyrearranged.
SothatonedayshetoldGauri,whowascombingastubbornknotoutofBela’sthickhair:
Iwantshorthair,likeyesterday.
It had beenmanymonths ago thatBela’s hairwas short.And at first, thiswaswhatGauritoldher.Sheexplainedthatittookmorethanadayforhairtogrowlongagain.ShetoldBelathatherhairhadbeenshortperhapsonehundredyesterdaysago,notone.
ButforBela,threemonthsagoandthedaybeforewerethesame.
ShewasfrustratedwithGauriforcontradictingher.Disappointmenttraveledlikeadarkcloudacrossherface.TherewasnoobvioustraceinitofGauriorofUdayan.Howwasitthatherforeheadwasfaintlyconvex,thattheinnercornersofhereyesdippeddown?Theplacementoftheeyeswasdistinctive.Gauriwasawareofthecontrastofherowntoffeeskin to Bela’s lighter complexion, a creamy fairness she had received from Gauri’smother-in-law.
Where ismy other jacket? Bela asked another day, asGauri handed her a new one.Theywereontheirwaytoschool.
Which?
Theyellowonefromyesterday.
Itwastrue,therehadbeenayellowonethepreviousspring,withahoodtrimmedinfur.Toosmallforhernow,givenawaytoachurchoncampusthattookinusedclothes.
Thatwaslastyear’sjacket.Itfityouwhenyouwerethree.
YesterdayIwasthree.
ShewaswaitingforBelatostopmarchingthiswayandthat in thecorridor.Tostand
stillsothatGauricouldputherarmsintothesleevesofthejacket,sothattheycouldbeontheirway.WhenBelaresisted,shegrippedherbytheshoulders.
Thathurt.Youhurtme.
Bela,we’reinahurry.
The jacketwasonnow,unfastened.Belawanted topull up the zipper.Her fumblingattempttodothiswasdelayingthemfurther,andafteramomentGauricouldnotbearit,shepriedBela’sfingersaway.
Babaletsmedoitmyself.
Yourfather’snothere.
She tugged thezipper shut at thebaseofBela’s throat,perhapsabitharder than sheshould have, almost catching the skin. She chided herself for being impatient. ShewonderedwhenherdaughterwouldknowthefullmeaningofwhatGaurihadjustsaid.
AfterdroppingoffBelasheboughtacupofcoffeeatthestudentunion.Everysummerandagaineverywinter,atthestartofeachterm,hundredsofstudentsstoodinlonglines,registeringforclasses.FromtimetotimeGauriwouldpickupacatalogueabandonedonthe floor.She lookedat theofferings in thephilosophydepartment, circlingclasses thatappealedtoher.Sherememberedsittinginontheancientphilosophyclass,secretly,aftershe’dfirstarrivedinRhodeIsland.
There were no classes that term during the time Bela was at school. Instead Gauriwalkedovertothelibrary,tositandread.Theeffortofconcentrationeliminated,ifonlyforanhouror two, theobligationofanythingelse. Iteliminatedherawarenessof thosehourspassing.
Shesawtime;nowshesoughttounderstandit.Shefillednotebookswithherquestions,observations. Did it exist independently, in the physical world, or in the mind’sapprehension?Wasitperceivedonlybyhumans?Whatcausedcertainmomentstoswelluplikehours,certainyearstodwindletoanumberofdays?Didanimalshaveasenseofitpassing,whentheylostamate,orkilledtheirprey?
In Hindu philosophy the three tenses—past, present, future—were said to existsimultaneouslyinGod.Godwastimeless,buttimewaspersonifiedasthegodofdeath.
Descartes,inhisThirdMeditation,saidthatGodre-createdthebodyateachsuccessivemoment.Sothattimewasaformofsustenance.
On earth timewasmarked by the sun andmoon, by rotations that distinguished dayfrom night, that had led to clocks and calendars. The present was a speck that keptblinking,brighteninganddiminishing,somethingneitheralivenordead.Howlongdiditlast?Onesecond?Less?Itwasalwaysinflux;inthetimeittooktoconsiderit,itslippedaway.
InoneofhernotebooksfromCalcuttawerejottingsinUdayan’shand,onthelawsofclassicalphysics.Newton’stheorythattimewasanabsoluteentity,astreamflowingatauniform rate of its own accord. Einstein’s contribution, that time and space wereintertwined.
He’d described it in terms of particles, velocities. A system of relations amonginstantaneous events. Something called time reversal invariance, inwhich therewas nofundamental distinction between forward and backward, when the motions of particleswerepreciselydefined.
Thefuturehauntedbutkeptheralive;itremainedhersustenanceandalsoherpredator.Eachyearbeganwithanunmarkeddiary.Aversionofaclock,printedandbound.Shenever recordedher impressions in them. Instead sheused them towrite roughdrafts ofcompositions,orworkoutsums.Evenwhenshewasachild,eachpageofadiaryshehadyet to turn, containing events yet to be experienced, filled herwith apprehension. Likewalkingupa staircase indarkness.Whatproofwas there that anotherDecemberwouldcome?
Most people trusted in the future, assuming that their preferred version of it wouldunfold. Blindly planning for it, envisioning things that weren’t the case. This was theworkingofthewill.Thiswaswhatgavetheworldpurposeanddirection.Notwhatwastherebutwhatwasnot.
TheGreekshadhadnoclearnotionofit.Forthemthefuturehadbeenindeterminable.InAristotle’s teaching, amancouldnever say for certain if therewouldbe a seabattletomorrow.
Willfullyanticipating,inignoranceandinhope—thiswashowmostpeoplelived.Herin-laws had expected Subhash andUdayan to grow old in the house they had built forthem.TheyhadwantedSubhashtoreturntoTollygungeandmarrysomeoneelse.Udayanhadgivenhislifeforthefuture,expectingsocietyitselftochange.Gaurihadexpectedtostaymarriedtohim,notforlessthantwoyearsbutalways.InRhodeIsland,SubhashwasexpectinghimandGauri andBela tocarryonasa family.ForGauri tobeamother toBela,andtoremainawifetohim.
At times Gauri derived comfort from Bela’s version of history. According to Bela,Udayanmight stillhavebeen living thedaybefore, andGaurimight stillbemarried tohim,when really almost five years had passed since hewas killed. Almost five years,she’dbeenmarriedtoSubhash.
Whatshe’dseenfromtheterrace,theeveningthepolicecameforUdayan,nowformeda hole in her vision. Space shielded her more effectively than time: the great distancebetweenRhodeIslandandTollygunge.Asifhergazehadtospananoceanandcontinentstosee.Ithadcausedthosemomentstorecede,toturnlessandlessvisible,theninvisible.Butsheknewtheywere there.Whatwasstored inmemorywasdistinct fromwhatwasdeliberatelyremembered,Augustinesaid.
Bela’s birth, on the other hand, remained its own yesterday forGauri. That summereveningformedavividtableauthatseemedjusttohaveoccurred.Sherecalledtherainontheway to the hospital, the face of the nursewho’d stood at her side, the view of themarinaoutthewindow.Thefeelofthehospitalgownagainstherskin,aneedleinsertedintothetopofherhand.Justyesterday,itseemed,shehadheldBelaandlookedatherforthe first time. She remembered the ballast of pregnancy, suddenly missing. Sherememberedastonishmentthatsuchaspecific-lookingbeing,containedforsolongwithinher,hademerged.
AtnoonshewentbacktothenurseryschooltofetchBela,adutythatwasalwayshers,never Subhash’s. He had a postdoc in New Bedford, nearly fifty miles away. It wasunderstoodthatheleftthehouseatacertainhour,andreturnedatacertainhour,andthatGauriwasresponsibleforBelaallthehoursinbetween.
ShewouldfindBelasittinginhercubby,anenclosurethatlookedtoGaurilikeatinyuprightcoffin.Herjacketon,waiting,linedupwithherclassmates.ShedidnotrushintoGauri’s arms like some of the other children, seeking praise for the crinkled paintingsthey’dmade,theleavesthey’dgatheredandgluedontosheetsofpaper.Shewalkedover,herpacemeasured,askingwhatGauriwouldmakeherforlunch,sometimesaskingwhySubhashhadn’tcome.Reportsofheractivitiesatschool,detailsthatoverflowedfromthemouthsofherclassmatesassoonastheysawtheirparents,werekepttoherself.
Together they returned to their apartment building. In the lobby Gauri unlocked themailboxlabeledMitrathatsheandSubhashshared.
InCalcuttathenameswerepaintedontowoodenboxeswiththecarefulstrokesofafinebrush.But here theywere hastily scribbled, one or two of the scuffedmetal doors leftblank.Shepulledoutthebills,anissueofascientificjournalthatSubhashsubscribedto.Couponsfromagrocerystore.
Therewasseldomanythingaddressed toher.Onlyanoccasional letter fromManash.She resisted reading them, given what they reminded her of. Manash and Udayan,studying together inhergrandparents’ flat, andUdayanandGauri, getting toknowoneanother as a result.A time she’d crushed between her fingertips, leaving no substance,onlyaprotectiveresidueontheskin.
FromManash,alsofrominternationalpapersthatcametothelibrary,shereceivedsomenews. At first she tried to picture what might be happening. But the pieces were toofragmentary.Thebloodoftoomany,dissolvingtheverystain.
KanuSanyalwasalivebutinprison.CharuMajumdarhadbeenarrestedinhishideout,put into the lockup at Lal Bazar. He had died in police custody in Calcutta, the samesummerBelawasborn.
SomanyofUdayan’scomradeswerestillbeingtorturedinprisons.SiddharthaShankarRay,thecurrentchiefministerinCalcutta,wasbackedbyCongress.Hewasrefusingtoholdenquiriesonthosewhohaddied.
News of the movement had by now attracted the attention of some prominentintellectuals in theWest. Simone deBeauvoir andNoamChomsky had sent a letter toNehru’s daughter, demanding the prisoners’ release. But in the face of rising protest,against corruption, against failed government policies, Indira Gandhi had declared theEmergency.Censoringthepress,sothatwhatwashappeningwasnotbeingtold.
Even now, part of Gauri continued to expect some news from Udayan. For him toacknowledgeBela,andthefamilytheymighthavebeen.Attheveryleasttoacknowledgethattheirlives,awareofhim,unawareofhim,hadgoneon.
Chapter5It had been two years since he’d written and defended his thesis, an analysis of
eutrophication in the Narrow River. Nineteen seventy-six, the year of America’sbicentennial.Sevenyearssincehe’dfirstarrived.
InalmostfiveyearshehadnotreturnedtoCalcutta.Thoughhisparentswrotenowofwanting tomeetBela, Subhash told them that shewas too young tomake such a longjourney,andthatthepressuresofhisworkweretoogreat.Hesentpicturesfromtimetotime,andhestillsenthisparentsmoney,nowthathisfatherhadretired.Hesensedthattheyhadsoftened,buthewasnotreadytofacethemagain.Inthismatter,heandGauriwereallied.
Buthismotivationwashisown.Hedidn’twanttobearoundtheonlyotherpeopleintheworldwhoknewthathewasnotBela’sfather.Theywouldremindhimofhisplace,theywouldregardhimasheruncle,theywouldneveracknowledgethathewasanythingmore.
HewasfinishinguphispostdocinNewBedford.He’dbeeninvitedtoparticipateinanenvironmentalinventory.Intheevenings,toearnsomeextramoney,hetaughtachemistryclassatacommunitycollegeinProvidence.
He’d consideredmoving to southernMassachusetts to be closer to hiswork.But hisfellowshipwouldendsoon,andhe’dalready founda largerapartment inRhode Island,onethatwasstillwalkingdistancefromthemaincampus.TherewasthepossibilityofalabinNarragansetthiringhim.NowthatBelawasattendingtheuniversitynurseryschool,nowthatlifetherehadbecomefamiliartohim,itfeltsimplertostay.
It tookhimaboutanhour to return,drivingpast themillsandfactories inFallRiver,pastTiverton,crossingtheseriesofbridgesoverthebay.Hecrossedtothemainland,thenanothertenminutesorsotothequietleafycomplex,behindarowoffraternities,wheretheylived.EacheveningwhenhesawBela,sheseemedslightlyaltered—herbonesandteethmoresolid,herhuskyvoicehavingturnedmoreemphaticinthehoursthathe’dbeenaway.
She’dbeguntowritehername,tospreadthebutteronhertoast.Herlegsweregrowinglong,thoughherbellywasstillrounded.Herbackwassoftwithhair,anelegantlineofitrunningalongthelengthofherspine.Therewasaperfectloopofitatthecenter,likethewhorlsofherfingertips,orinthebarkofatree.Wheneverhetracedit,ashewashedBelainthesoapytubbeforebed,thehairsrearrangedthemselves,andthepatterndissolved.
Though she’d learned to tie her laces she could not tell her left foot from her right.Othergesturesofher infancylingered—thewayshereachedoutandopenedandclosedherfistwhenshewantedsomething.Aglassofwater,forexample,thatwasoutofreach.
Shewasafraidof thunder,andevenwhentherewasnone,sometimeswokeupin themiddleofthenight,callingoutforhim,orsimplywalkingintotheroomhesharedwithGauriandtuckingherselfbesidehiminbed.Inthemornings,onthevergeofwaking,shewouldlieonherstomach,legstuckedin,crouchedoverlikealittlefrog.
Everynight,atBela’sinsistence,helaywithheruntilshefellasleep.Itwasareminder
oftheirconnectiontoeachother,aconnectionatoncefalseandtrue.Andsonightafternight,afterhelpingherbrushherteethandchangingherintoherpajamas,heswitchedoffthelightandlaybesideher.Belainstructedhimtoturnandfaceher,tolockeyeswithherso that their breath mingled. Look at me, Baba, she whispered, with an intensity, aninnocence,thatoverwhelmedhim.Sometimessheheldhisfaceinherhands.
Doyouloveme?
Yes,Bela.
Iloveyoumore.
Morethanwhat?
Iloveyoumorethanyouloveme.
That’simpossible.That’smyjob.
ButIloveyoumorethananybodylovesanybody.
Hewondered how such powerful emotions, such superlative devotion, could exist insuchasmallchild.Patientlyhewaiteduntilsheloweredhereyelidsandbecamestill.Herbodyalwaystwitchingalittle;thiswasthesignthatdeepsleep,withinseconds,wasnear.
Everynight, thoughthesamethinghappened, itcameasashock.AfewminutesagoBelawouldhavebeenleapingoffthebed,herlaughterfillinguptheroom.Butwhensheclosedhereyesthatcessationofactivityfeltasunsettling,asfinal,asdeath.
Somenights he, too, fell asleep briefly besideBela.Carefully he removedher handsfrom thecollarofhis shirt, andadjusted theblanketon topofher.Herheadwas thrustbackonthepillow,inacombinedpostureofprideandsurrender.He’dexperiencedsuchclosenesswithonlyoneotherperson.WithUdayan.Eachnight,extractinghimselffromher,foramomenthisheartstopped,wonderingwhatshewouldsay,thedayshelearnedthetruthabouthim.
OnSaturdaysheandBelawenttothesupermarket; thiswastheir timealonetogetheroutsidetheapartment,a timehelookedforwardtomorethananyother in thecourseoftheweek.Shenolongerfitintotheseatatthefrontofthecart,andnowshehungontothebackashesteered,hoppingofftohelphimchoosetheapples,aboxofcereal,ajarofjam.
Faster, shewould insist, and sometimes, if the aislewas empty, heobliged, sprintingforward,playingalong.InthissenseUdayanhadmarkedher,leavingbehindanexuberantreplica of himself. And Subhash loved this about her; that there was such a liberaloutpouringofwhoshewas.
Standingwithhimatthedeli,sheatelittlecubesofcheesespearedontotoothpicks,thespoonsofpotatosaladsetoutontrays,pinkwedgesofham.Therewasacafeteriaatthebackofthesupermarket,andherehetreatedhertoahotdogandacupofpunch,aplateofonionringstoshare.
Oneday,crossingtheparkinglotafterthey’dfinishedshopping,pushingthecartfilledwithbrownpaperbags,hesawHolly.
Belawasstillclingingtothebackofthecart,facinghim.Itwasacoldautumnday,theskybright,thewindofftheoceanstrong.
Forsomanyyearshehadbeencarefultoavoidplaceswherehemightrunintoher,nolongervisiting the saltpond thatwasclosest toherhouse,makingsurehercarwasnotparkedatthebeachwherethey’dfirstmet.
Butnowhesawher,inaplacehecameeveryweekwithoutfail.ShewasaccompaniednotbyJoshuabutbyaman.HehadhisarmaroundHolly’swaist.
Themanwas her husband, the same face in the photograph in Joshua’s room.Oldernow,goinggray,hishairlinereceding.
Sheappearedrelaxedwiththismanwhohadonceforsakenher,whohadbetrayedher.ShewasunawareofSubhash.Heheardherlaughterastheycrossedtheparkinglot,andsawhertossingbackherhead.He’dbeeninhistwentieswhenheknewher.Shewouldbeoverfortynow;Joshuawouldbefourteen,oldenoughtostayathomebyhimselfwhilehismotherandfatherwentshopping.
Theyearsbetweenthemhadn’tmatteredtoSubhash.Buthewonderedifshe’dbrokenitoffbecauseofthis;becausehe’dbeenimmature,innopositiontoreplacethemannowoncemoreatherside.
Theybeganwalkingtogethertowardthesupermarket,Hollyslowingdown,seeinghim,wavingnowinrecognition,stillapproaching.Herblondhairwascutdifferently,inlayersaroundherface.Wearingclogs,flaredtrousers,acowl-neckedsweater,clothingforcolderweather.Otherwiseshewasunchanged.
Whatareyoulookingat,Baba?
Nothing.
Let’sgo,then.
Hewasunabletomoveforward.Anditwastoolatetoavoidhernow.
Belasteppedoffthebackofthecartandstoodnexttohim.Hefeltherleaningagainsthiship.Hesmoothedherhair,andsoughtthewarmthatthebaseofherthroat.Herfacewasstillsmallenoughforhimtocupmostofitinhishand.
Subhash,Hollysaid.Youhavealittlegirl.
Yes.
Ihadnoidea.ThisisKeith.
ThisisBela.
Theyshookhands.SubhashwonderedifKeithknewaboutthetimeheandHollyhadspenttogether.HollywastakingBelain,admiringher.
Howlonghaveyoubeenmarried?
Aboutfiveyears.
Youdecidedtostayhere,afterall.
Idid.Joshuaiswell?
Uptohereonme,shesaid,indicatinghisheightwithherhand.
Shereachedout, touchinghisarmforaninstant.Shelookedgenuinelypleasedtoseehim,tohavemetBela.Herememberedhowmuchshe’dlovedlisteningtohimtalkabouthis childhood, about Calcutta. What had she remembered? He’d never told her thatUdayanwasdead.
Goodtorunintoyou,Subhash.Takecare.
Thoughjealousyshouldnothaveflared,hefeltitsholdastheywalkedpasthim,ashepushedthecartloadedwithgroceriestowardhiscar.HesawthatithadnotsimplybeenforJoshuathatshe’dforgivenherhusband.Thattheylovedoneanotherstill.
Subhash andGauri shared a bed at night, they had a child in common.Almost fiveyearsago theyhadbegun their journeyashusbandandwife,buthewasstillwaiting toarrivesomewherewithher.Aplacewherehewouldnolongerquestiontheresultofwhatthey’ddone.
Sheneverexpressedanyunhappiness,shedidnotcomplain.Butthesmiling,carefreegirl inthephotographUdayanhadsent, thathadbeenSubhash’sfirst impressionofher,thathehadalsohopedtodrawout—thatpartofherhe’dneverseen.
Andanother thingwasmissing, something that troubledhimevenmore toadmit.Hehated thinking about it. He hated remembering the terrible prediction his mother hadmade.
Butsomehowhismotherhadknown.ForthetendernessSubhashfeltforBela,thatwasimpossibleforhimtorationorrestrict,wasnotthesameonGauri’send.
ThoughshecaredforBelacapably,thoughshekepthercleanandcombedandfed,sheseemeddistracted.RarelydidSubhashseehersmilingwhenshelookedintoBela’sface.RarelydidheseeGaurikissingBelaspontaneously.Instead,fromthebeginning,itwasasifshe’dreversedtheirroles,asifBelawerearelative’schildandnotherown.
On the beach with Bela, he was aware of families who traveled to Rhode Island toreinforcetheircloseness.Forsomanyitseemedasacredrite.
SubhashandGaurihadnevergoneonvacationtogether,withBela.Subhashhadneversuggestedit,perhapsbecauseheknewthattheideawouldn’tappealtoGauri.HespenthistimeoffwithBela,drivingwithherhereandtherefor theday.Hecouldn’t imagine thethreeofthemexploringanewplacetogether,orrentingacottagewithanotherfamily,assomeofhiscolleaguesdid.
He’dhoped thatbynowGauriwouldbe ready tohaveachildwithhim,and togiveBelaacompanion.He’dgoneso faras tosuggest itoneday,sayinghedidnotwant todenyBelaasibling.Hebelieveditwouldcorrecttheimbalance,iftheywerefourinsteadofthree.Thatitwouldcloseupthedistance.
Shetoldhimshewouldthinkaboutitinanotheryearortwo;thatshewasnotyetthirty,thattherewasstilltimetohaveachild.
Andsohecontinuedhoping,thougheverymonth,inthemedicinecabinet,wasanewpacketofbirth-controlpills.
Attimeshefearedthathisoneactofrebellion,marryingher,hadalreadyfailed.He’d
expectedmoreresistancefromherthen,notnow.Hewonderedsometimesifsheregrettedit.Ifthedecisionhadbeenmadeinerror,inhaste.
She’s Udayan’s wife, she’ll never love you, his mother had told him, attempting todissuadehim.Atthetimehe’dstooduptoher,convinceditcouldbeotherwise,andthathecouldmakeGaurihappy.He’dbeendeterminedtoprovehismotherwrong.
InordertomarryGaurihe’dcompromisedhistiestohisparents,perhapspermanently,hedidnotknow.Buthewasafathernow.Hecouldnolongerimaginealifeinwhichhehadnottakenthatstep.
Chapter6Playwithme,Belawouldsay.
IfSubhashwasnotthereshesoughtoutGauri’scompanionship,instructinghertositonthefloor inBela’sroom.Shewantedher tomovepiecesalongaboard,orhelptodressandundressherdolls, tugging theclothesonandoff theirunyieldingplastic limbs.Shespreaddozensofidenticalcardsfacedown,amemorygameinwhichtheyweresupposedtolocatematchingpairs.
AttimesGauricapitulated,holdingontoabookshewasreading,stealingglanceswhileitwasBela’sturn.Sheplayed,butitwasneverenough.
You’renotpayingattention,Belaprotested,whenGauri’smindstrayed.
She sat on the carpet, conscious of Bela’s reproach. She knew that a sibling mightrelieveheroftheresponsibilitytoentertainBelathisway.Sheknewthatthiswaspartlywhatmotivatedpeopletohavemorethanonechild.
ShedidnottellSubhash,whenhebroughtitupwithher,whatshealreadyknew:thatthoughshehadbecomeawifeasecondtime,becomingamotheragainwastheonethinginherlifeshewasdeterminedtopreventfromhappening.
She slept with him because it had become more of an effort not to. She wanted toterminate the expectation she’d begun to sense from him.Also to extinguishUdayan’sghost.Tosmotherwhathauntedher.
NothingintheirlovemakinghadremindedherofUdayan,sothat, intheend,thefactthattheyhadbeenbrotherswasnotsostrange.Therewasthefocusofseekingpleasure,andthenumbingeffect,oncetheywerefinished,removingallspecificthoughtsfromherbrain.Itusheredinthesolid,dreamlesssleepthatotherwiseeludedher.
Hisbodywasadifferentbody,morehesitantbutalsomoreattentive.Intimeshecametorespondto it,eventocrave it,asshehadcravedoddcombinationsoffoodwhenshewaspregnant.WithSubhashshelearnedthatanact intendedtoexpresslovecouldhavenothingtodowithit.Thatherheartandherbodyweredifferentthings.
She’d seen signs in the student union advertising babysitters, services provided bystudentsandprofessors’wives.Shebeganwritingdownsomenamesandphonenumbers.
SheaskedSubhash if theycouldhire somebody, togiveher time to takea surveyofGermanphilosophy thatmet twiceaweek.ThoughBelawas fivenow, inkindergarten,she still attended school for only half the day. Gauri said that this was a reasonablesolution,giventhatSubhashwasbusy,giventhattheyknewnooneelsewhocouldhelp.
Hetoldherno.Notforthemoneyitwouldcostbutonprinciple,notwantingtopayastrangertocareforBela.
It’scommonhere,shesaid.
You’rehomewithher,Gauri.
Thoughhehadencouragedhertovisit thelibraryinhersparetime,toattendlecturesnowandagain,sherealizedthathedidn’tconsider thisherwork.Thoughhe’dtoldher,
whenheaskedhertomarryhim,thatshecouldgoonwithherstudiesinAmerica,nowhetoldherthatherpriorityshouldbeBela.
She’snotyourchild,shewantedtosay.Toremindhimofthetruth.
Butofcourseitwasnotthetruth.AtBela’sballetrecitalafewweeksbefore,GaurisawthechangeinherassoonasSubhash,arrivingafewminuteslate,hadtakenhisplaceandwaved;Belafillingwiththeawarenessofhim,herchintuckedintohershoulder,bashfullyperformingonlyforhim.
Afewdayslatershebroughtitupagain.
Thisisimportanttome,shesaid.
Willingtocompromise,hetoldherhewouldtrytorearrangehisschedule.Hebegantoleaveearlieroncertainmornings,andreturn,a fewdaysaweek,by lateafternoon.Sheregistered for the class andwent to the bookstore, filling a basket with books.On theGenealogy of Morals. The Phenomenology of Mind. The World as Will and Idea. Sheboughtapacketofpensandadictionary.Awire-boundnotebookbearingtheuniversity’sseal.
•••
WithBela,shewasawareoftimenotpassing;oftheskyneverthelessdarkeningattheendofanotherday.Shewasawareoftheperfectsilenceintheapartment,repletewiththeisolationsheandBelashared.WhenshewaswithBela,eveniftheywerenotinteracting,itwasasiftheywereoneperson,boundfastbyadependencethatrestrictedhermentally,physically.Attimesitterrifiedherthatshefeltsoentwinedandalsosoalone.
Onweekdays,assoonasshepickedupBelafromthebusstopandbroughtherhome,she went straight to the kitchen, washing up the morning dishes she’d ignored, thengettingdinnerstarted.Shemeasuredoutthenightlycupofrice,lettingitsoakinapanonthe counter. She peeled onions and potatoes and picked through lentils and preparedanothernight’sdinner,thenfedBela.Shewasneverabletounderstandwhythisrelativelyunchallenging set of chores felt so relentless. When she was finished, she did notunderstandwhytheyhaddepletedher.
ShewaitedforSubhashtotakeover,toallowhertoleave,toattendherclassortostudyatthelibrary.Fortherewasnoplacetoworkintheapartment,nodoorshecouldshut,nodeskwhereshecouldkeepherthings.
ShebegrudgedSubhash’sabsencewhenhewasatwork,hisabilitytocomeandgoandnothingmore.SheresentedthefewmomentsofthemorningheenjoyedwithBela,beforeleavingforhislab.
She resented him for going away for two or three days, to attend oceanographyconferencesortoconductresearchatsea.Duetonofaultofhisown,whenhedidappear,sometimesshewasbarelyable tostand thesightofhim,or to tolerate thesoundof thevoicethat,inthebeginning,haddrawnhertohim.
Shebegantoeatdinnerearly,withBela,leavingSubhash’sportiononthestove.Sothatalmostassoonashewasthere,Gauriwasabletopackuphertotebagandgo.Shefeltthefreshairofearlyeveningonherface.Brightinspringtime,darkandcoldinfall.
Atfirstitwasjusttheeveningsshehadclass,butthenitwaseveryeveningoftheweekthatshespentatthelibrary,awayfromthem.HappytospendtimewithBela,Subhashlethergo.Andsoshefeltantagonizedbyamanwhodidnothingtoantagonizeher,andbyBela,whodidnotevenknowthemeaningoftheword.
Butherworstnemesisresidedwithinher.ShewasnotonlyashamedofherfeelingsbutalsofrightenedthatthefinaltaskUdayanhadleftherwith,thelongtaskofraisingBela,wasnotbringingmeaningtoherlife.
Inthebeginningshe’dtoldherselfthatitwaslikeathingmisplaced:afavoritepenthatwouldturnupafewweekslater,wedgedbetweenthesofacushions,ordiscreetlysittingbehindasheafofpapers.Oncefound, itwouldneverbe lostsightofagain.Tolookforsuch amisplaced itemonlymade itworse. If shewaited long enough, she toldherself,thereitwouldbe.
Butitwasnotturningup;afterfiveyears,inspiteofallthetime,allthehourssheandBela spent together, the love she’d once felt for Udayan refused to reconstitute itself.Insteadtherewasagrowingnumbnessthatinhibitedher,thatimpairedher.
She was failing at something every other woman on earth did without trying. Thatshouldnothaveprovedastruggle.Evenherownmother,whohadnotfullyraisedher,hadlovedher;ofthattherehadbeennodoubt.ButGaurifearedshehadalreadydescendedtoaplacewhereitwasnolongerpossibletoswimuptoBela,toholdontoher.
NorwasherloveforUdayanrecognizableorintact.Angerwasalwaysmountedtoit,zigzaggingthroughherlikesomehelplesslymatingpairofinsects.Angerathimfordyingwhen he might have lived. For bringing her happiness, and then taking it away. Fortrustingher,onlytobetrayher.Forbelievinginsacrifice,onlytobesoselfishintheend.
Shenolongersearchedforsignsofhim.Thefleetingawarenessthathemightbeinaroom, looking over her shoulder as she worked at her desk, was no longer a comfort.Certaindaysitwaspossiblenottothinkofhim,torememberhim.NoaspectofhimhadtraveledtoAmerica.ApartfromBela,he’drefusedtojoinherhere.
Thewomeninthephilosophydepartmentweresecretaries.Theprofessor,andtheotherstudents in her class, were men. It was a small group, seven people including theprofessor.Quickly they grew to knowone another by name.They liked to argue aboutantipositivism, about praxis. About immanence and the absolute. They never solicitedGauri’sopinion,butasshebegantocontribute to thediscussion they listened,surprisedthatsheknewenough,attimes,toprovethemwrong.
Her professor, OttoWeiss, was a short man with a thick accent, a slow manner ofspeaking,wirespectacles,rust-coloredcurlsonhishead.Hedressedmoreformallythantheotherprofessors.Alwayswithpolishedleathershoes,ajacket,alittlepinsecuringhistie.He’dbeenborninGermany,putintooneofthecampswhenhewasaboy.
Ineverthinkofit,hetoldtheclass,speakingbrieflyofthisexperience,afteroneofthestudentsaskedhimwhenhehadleftEurope.Asiftosay,Donotpityme,thoughtherestof his family had perished before the camp was liberated; though there was anidentificationnumberonhislowerarm,thetattooconcealedbeneathhisclothing.
He was perhaps only a decade older than Gauri but seemed of another sensibility,
another generation. He had lived in England before coming to theUnited States. He’ddonehisdoctorateatChicago.Hewouldnever return toGermany,hesaid.Reading theattendancelistonthefirstdayofclass,hehadcalledouthernamewithouthesitation.Shehadnothadtocorrecthispronunciation,totoleratethewaymostAmericansutteredhermarriedname.
Hereferredtononoteswhenhelectured.Thoughheguidedthemcarefullythroughthetextshe’dassigned,heseemedmore interested inwhat thestudentshad tosay, takingafewnotesonblanksheetsofwhitepaperastheyspoke.He’dreadtheUpanishads,talkedabout their influenceonSchopenhauer.She felt akinshipwith thisman.Shewanted topleasehim,tosalutehimsomehow.
At the end of the semester, after writing a comparison of Nietzsche’s andSchopenhauer’sconceptsofcirculartime,shewasaskedtocometohisofficeafterclass.She’dworkedontheessayforweeks,writingitoutbyhand,thentypingupthefaircopyonSubhash’s typewriter, at thekitchen table.Surroundedby theappliances, thecordofthefluorescentfixtureoverhead.Thetaskhadkeptherawakeuntildawn.
Shesawcrowdednotations in themargins, slantingcomments thatvirtually formedaframe.
Thisisambitiousmaterial.Onemightsaypresumptuous.
Shedidnotknowhowtorespond.
Doyouthinkyouhavesucceeded?
Stillshedidnotknowwhattosay.
Iaskedforanessayoftenpages.Youhavewrittenclosetoforty.Andyetyouhavestillfailedutterlytoproveyourpoint.
I’msorry.
Don’tapologize.Iamalwaysgratefultohaveanintellectualintheroom.SuchagraspofHegelIhavenotencounteredamongmystudentshere.
He scanned certain portions of the essay, a finger trailing below thewords. It needsrevising,hesaid.
Icanprepareitfornextweek?
He shook his head, brushing his hands against one another. I have finishedwith thisclass.AndIsuggestyouputthispaperinadrawerandnotlookatitforafewyears.
Shethoughthewasbrushinghishandsofheralso.Shethankedhimfortheclass.Shestooduptogo.
WhatbringsyoutoRhodeIslandfromIndia?
Myhusband.
Whatdoeshedo?
Hestudiedherealso.
YoumetinAmerica?
Sheturnedherfaceaway.
I’veaskedsomethingIshouldnothave?
He was patient, steadily gazing up at her from his chair. He did not press. But heseemedtosensethatshehadmoretosay.
Sheturnedtohimagain.Shelookedat thebooksbehindhim,thepaperspiledonhisdesk.Shelookedatthecrispmaterialofhisshirt,thecuffscoveringhiswristswherethesleevesofthejacketended.Shethoughtofwhathe’dexperienced,atlessthanBela’sage.
Myfirsthusbandwaskilled,shesaid.Iwatchedithappen.Imarriedhisbrother,togetaway.
Weiss continued to look at her.His expression had not changed.After amoment henodded.Sheknewshe’dtoldhimenough.
Hestoodup,andwalkedovertothewindowinhisoffice.Helifteditopenacrack.
DoyoureadFrenchorGerman?
No.ButI’vestudiedSanskrit.
Youwillneedbothlanguagestogoon,buttheywillbesimpleforyou.
Goon?
Youbelonginadoctoralprogram,Mrs.Mitra.Theydon’tofferonehere.
Sheshookherhead.Ihaveayoungdaughter,shesaid.
Ah,Ididnotrealizeyouwereamother.Youmustbringhertoseeme.
He turned around a framed picture thatwas on his desk, and showed her his family.They were standing with their backs to a valley in autumn, flaming leaves. A wife, adaughter,twosons.
Withchildrentheclockisreset.Weforgetwhatcamebefore.
Hereturned to thedeskandwrotedownthenamesofa fewbooksherecommended,telling her which chapters weremost important. From the shelves he lent her his owncopies of Adorno and McTaggart, with his annotations. He gave her copies of NewGermanCritique,indicatingsomearticlessheshouldread.
He told her to continue taking upper-level courses at the university, saying that theywouldcount towardamaster’s.After thathe couldmake somephonecalls, todoctoralprogramsthatwouldsuither,universitiestowhichshecouldcommute.Hewouldseetoitthatshewasadmitted.Itwouldmeantravelingafewtimesaweekforsomeyears,butshecould write her dissertation from anywhere. He would be willing to serve on hercommittee,whenthetimecame.
Hehandedthepaperbacktoher,andstooduptoshakeherhand.
Chapter7Atthefrontoftheapartmentcomplextherewasabroadslopinglawn.Theschoolbus
stoppedon theother sideof it.For the first fewdaysof first grade,GauriwalkedBelaacross the lawn, waiting with her for the bus, seeing her off, then going back in theafternoons,toreceiveher.
The following week, Bela wanted to walk to the bus stop on her own, as the otheryoungchildreninthecomplexdid.Therewereoneortwomotherswhoalwayswent,andtheytoldGauritheywerehappytomakesurethateveryonegotsafelyontothebus.
Still,GauriwouldkeepaneyeonBelaasshewalkeddownthepathwayatthefootoftheir building, across the grass. Shemoved the dining table sheworked at over to thewindow.Thebusalwayscameatthesametime,thewaitonlyfiveminutesorso.Lunchboxesarrangedonthesidewalkmarkedthechildren’splacesintheline.
Shewasgratefulforthisslightchangeinthemorningroutine.Itmadeadifferencethatshedidnothavetogetdressed,didnothavetostepoutsidetheapartmentandmakesmalltalk with other mothers, before sitting down to study. She was taking an independentcoursewithProfessorWeiss,readingKant,beginningtograspitforthefirsttime.
Onemorning,afteranightofdownpours,alightrainstillfalling,shehandedBelaherlunchboxandsentheroff.Shewasstillinhernightgown,herrobe.Thedaywasherownuntil three,whenBela’s school ended,when thebuswoulddropheroff and shewouldreturnacrosstheslopinglawn.
Buttoday,aminutelater,therewasaknockonthedoor.Belawasback.
Didyouforgetsomething?Doyouwantyourrainhat?
No.
Whatisit,then?
Comesee.
I’minthemiddleofsomething.
Belatuggedatherhand.Ma,youhavetocomesee.
Gauri took off her robe and slippers, putting on a raincoat and a pair of boots. Shesteppedoutside,openinganumbrella.
Outside, the air was humid, saturated with a deep, fishy stench. Bela pointed to thepathway.Itwascoveredbyacarnageofearthworms;they’demergedfromthewetsoiltodie.Nottwoorthreebuthundreds.Someweretightlycurled,othersflattened.Theirrosybodies,theirfivehearts,slicedapart.
Belashuthereyestightly.Sherecoiledattheimage,complainedofthesmell.Shesaidshedidn’twanttosteponthem.Andshewasafraidtowalkacrossthelawnfromwhichthey’dcome.
Whyaretheresomany?
Ithappenssometimes.Theycomeouttobreathewhenthegroundistoowet.
Willyoucarryme?
You’retoobig.
CanIstayhome,then?
Gauri lookedup towhere theother children stood,underhoods andumbrellas.Theyseemtohavemanaged,shesaid.
Please?Bela’svoicewassmall.Tearsformed,thensliddownherface.
Anothermothermighthaveindulgedher.Anothermothermighthavebroughtherback,letherstayhome,skipadayofschool.Anothermother,spendingthetimewithher,mightnothaveconsidereditawaste.
Gauri rememberedhowhappySubhashhadbeen, thosedays lastwinterwhen it hadsnowed soheavily, andmost everythingwas shutdown.For awholeweekhe’d stayedhomewithBela,makingaholidayofit.Playinggames,readingstories,takingherouttoplayoncampus,inthesnow.
Thensherememberedanotherthing.How,attheheightofthecrackdown,thebodiesofpartymemberswereleft instreams, infieldsclosetoTollygunge.Theywereleftbythepolice,toshockpeople,torevoltthem.Tomakeclearthatthepartywouldnotsurvive.
Theschoolbuswasapproaching.
Come.
ButBelashookherhead.No.
Ifyoudon’tgetonthebuswe’regoingtowalktoschool.Overmorewormsthanthis.
WhenBelastillrefusedtomove,Gaurigraspedhertightlybythehand,causinghertotrip,draggingheracross.Belawassobbingaudibly,miserablynow.
Theothermothersandchildren,gatheredat thebusstop,had turned theirheads.Thebuscametoastop,thedooropening,therestofthechildrengettingon.Thedriverwaswaitingforthem.
Don’tmakeascene,Bela.Don’tbeacoward.
Iwatchedyourfatherkilledbeforemyeyes,shemighthavesaid.
Idon’tlikeyou,Belacriedout,shakingherselffree.I’llneverlikeyou,fortherestofmylife.
She ran ahead.Abandoninghermother on the heels of summoningher.NotwantingGauritoaccompanyhertherestoftheway.
Ithadbeenachild’s temper,posturing,grandiose.By theafternoon,whenBelacamehome,theincidentwasforgotten.ButBela’swordshadpervadedGaurilikeaprophecy.
Iwanthertoknow,shetoldSubhashthatevening,takingabreakfromtypingapaper,afterBelawasinbed.Subhashwassittingatthekitchentable,balancingthecheckbook,payingbills.
Knowwhat?
IwanttotellheraboutUdayan.
Subhash stared at her. She saw fear in his eyes. She rememberedwhenUdayanwashiddenbehindthewaterhyacinth,andthegunwasatherthroat.Sherealizedtheweaponwasinherhandsnow.Everythingthatmatteredtohim,shecouldtakeaway.
It’sthetruth,shecontinued.
Heshookhishead.Hisexpressionhadchanged.Hestooduptofaceher.
Shedeservestoknow,Subhash.
She’stooyoung.She’sonlysix.
When,then?
Whenshe’sready.Nowitwouldonlydomoreharmthangood.
Shehadbeenpreparedtoinsistonit, topeelthefalsecoatingoftheirlivesaway,butshe knew he was right. It was too much for Bela to absorb. And perhaps it wouldcompromise thealliancebetweenSubhashandBela she’dcome todependon. ItwouldcauseBelatoregardSubhashinadifferentway.
Allright,then.Sheturnedtogo.
Wait.
What?
Youagreewithme?
Isaidyes.
Thenpromisemesomething.
What’sthat?
Promiseyouwon’ttellheronyourown.Thatwe’lldothattogethersomeday.
Shepromised,butshefelttheweightofit,sinkingdowninsideher.Itwastheweightofmaintaining the illusion that he was Bela’s father. A weight always settling instead ofsurfacing.
Sherealizeditwastheonlythinghecontinuedtoneedfromher.Thathewasbeginningtogiveupontherest.
Shebecameawareofamanwholookedather,turninghisheadslightlyasshepassedby. His glance shifting, though he never stopped to introduce himself—there was noreasonforhimto.Sheknewthereweren’t toomanywomenwholookedlikeheronthecampus.MostoftheotherIndianwomenworesaris.Butinspiteofherjeansandbootsandbeltedcardigan,orperhapsbecauseofthem,Gauriknewshestoodout.
Atfirstshefoundhimunappealing,physically.Amaninhisfifties,sheguessed,alittlethicksetat thewaist.Theeyesweresmall, inscrutable.Palehair thatstuckupa little.Athinmouth,theskinofhisfacecreased,seemingdry.
Heworeabrowncorduroyjacket,asweaterunderneath.Hecarriedabatteredleatherbriefcase in his hand. Though they crossed paths with comic predictability, mutely
acknowledgingoneanother,sheneversawhimsmile.
Sheassumedhewasaprofessor.Shehadnoideawhatdepartmenthewasin.Onedayshenoticedaweddingbandonhisfinger.ShewouldseehimonthewaytoherGermanclass,alwaysalongthesamesectionofthepath.
One day she looked back at him. Staring at him, challenging him to stop, to saysomething.Shehadnoideawhatshewoulddo,butshebegantowantthistohappen,towill it. She felt her body reactingwhen she sawhim, the acceleration of her heart, thetautnessofherlimbs,adampreleasebetweenherlegs.
SeekingoutSubhashinbed,shepretendedshewaswiththisman,inahotelroom,orinhishome.Feelinghismouth,hissexagainstherown.
OnWednesdays,thedaysshesawhim,shebegantoprepareherselffortheencounter.Theclassmetinthemorning,whichmeanttherewouldbetime.Alittleoveranhour,togowithhimandcomeback,beforeshehadtogetBela.OnTuesdaysshepreparedmorethan she needed for dinner the next day, to accommodate the potential lapse in herschedule.
ButthenexttimeshesawhimwasaMondayafternoon,inadifferentpartofcampus.Sherecognizedhimfrombehind.SheneededtopickupBelainhalfanhour,she’dbeenonherwaytothelibrarytogetabook,butshechangedcourseandbegantofollowhim,racingtokeepupwhileatthesametimeleavingaspace.
Shefollowedhimintothestudentunion.Shefeltherinhibitionsdissolving.Shewouldgouptohim,lookathim.Please,shewouldsay.
Shewalkedbehindhimintothedouble-chamberedroomlinedwithsofas,televisionsinthecorners.Hestoppedtopickupacopyof thecampusnewspaper,glancingat it foramoment.Thenshesawhimwalktooneofthesofas,leanovertokissawomanwhowaswaiting.Touchherknee.
Sheescapedtotheonlyplaceshecouldthinkof,theenormouswomen’sroom,pushingagainsttheheavydoor,crossingthethickcarpetofthelounge,lockingherselfintoastall.Shewasalone,therewasnooneintheneighboringstalls,andshecouldnothelpherself,shepushedherhanduphershirt, toherbreast,caressing it,anotherhandunzippingherjeans,hookingherfingersovertheridgeofbone,herforeheadagainstthecoldmetalofthedoor.
Ittookonlyamomenttocalmherself,toputanendtoit.Shewashedherhandsatthesink, smoothed her hair, saw the color that had risen to her face. She strode past thelounge,notcheckingtoseeifthemanandhiscompanionweresittingthere.
ThefollowingWednesday,shetookanalternateroutetoherclass.Shemadesuresheneverranintohimagain,walkingintheoppositedirectionifshedid.
OneafternoonBelawasoccupiedwithapairofscissors,abookofpaperdolls.ItwasJuly, Bela’s school closed for the long vacation; the campus was at rest. Subhash wasteaching summer courses in Providence, spending the rest of his time in a lab inNarragansett. Gauri spent her days with Bela, without a car in which they might goanywhere,withoutabreak.
Gaurisatwithherownbookbesideher,Spinoza’sEthics,tryingtoreadasectiontoitsend.Butsomethingwasbeginningtochange:itwasbecomingpossibletoreadabookandtobewithBelaatthesametime.Possibletobetogether,engagedinseparateways.
Thetelevisionwasturnedoff,theapartmentquietapartfromtheintermittentsoundofBela’sscissors,slowlyslicingthroughthickpiecesofpaper.
Goingtothekitchentomaketea,Gaurisawthattheywereoutofmilk.Shereturnedtothelivingroom.ShesawthebackofBela’sneck,bentoverhertask.Shewastalkingtoherself,carryingonadialogueindifferentvoicesbetweenthepaperdolls.
Putonyourshoes,Bela.
Why?
Let’sgoout.
I’mbusy,shesaid,soundingsuddenlylikeagirloftwelveinsteadofsix.Asif,withasnipofherscissors,shehadslicedawaytheneedforGauri,eliminatingher.
The idea presented itself. The store was just behind the apartment complex, a two-minutewalk.Shecouldseeitthroughthekitchenwindow,pasttheDumpsterandthesodamachineandthecarsparkedinback.
I’mjustgoingdowntogetthemail.
Without stopping to think things through, shewent out, locking the door. Down thesteps,cuttingacrosstheparkinglot,intothehotleafyday.
Shewas runningmore thanwalking.Her feetwere light. In the store she felt like acriminal,worriedthat theelderlymanstandingbehindtheregister,alwayskindtoBela,thoughtGauriwasstealingthemilkshe’dcometobuy.
Where’syourdaughtertoday?
Withafriend.
He smiled and handed her a piece of peppermint candy from the little bowl by theregister.Tellherit’sfromme.
Quicklybutcarefullyshecountedoutherchange.Thetransactionoverwhelmedher,asitusedtowhenshe’dfirstcomehere.Sherememberedtosaythankyou.Shethrewoutthecandybeforeshegottotheapartmentbuilding,hidingthemilkinhertotebag.
The following day she set Bela up at the coffee table in front of the television. Sheconsidered every detail: a glass of water in case she was thirsty, a generous plate ofbiscuits and grapes. Extra pencils, in case the tip of the one she was drawing withhappenedtosnap.Halfanhour’scarefulpreparation,toallowforfiveminutesaway.
Thefiveminutesdoubledtoten,sometimesabitmore.Fifteenminutestobealone,toclearherhead.Itwastimetorunacrossthequadrangletothelibrarytoreturnabook,asimpleerrandshecouldhavedoneatanytimebutthatshewasdeterminedtoaccomplishatthatmoment.Timetogotothepostofficeandsendaletter,requestinganapplicationfor one of the doctoral programs Otto Weiss had suggested she look into. Time tospeculatethat,withoutBelaorSubhash,herlifemightbeadifferentthing.
It turned into a dare, a puzzle to solve, to keep herself sharp.Aprivate race she feltcompelledtorunagainandagain,convinced,ifshestopped,thatherabilitytoperformthefeat would be lost. Before stepping out she checked that the stovewas turned off, thewindowsshut,theknivesplacedoutofreach.NotthatBelawasthatsortofchild.
So it began in the afternoons. Not every afternoon but often enough, too often.Disorientedbythesenseoffreedom,devouringthesensationasabeggardevoursfood.
Sometimes she simply walked to the store and back, without buying anything.Sometimesshereallydidgetthemail,andsatonabenchoncampusandsortedthroughit.Orshewentovertothestudentuniontogetacopyofthecampuspaper.Thenbackinside,rushinguptheflightofstairs,atoncetriumphantandappalledatherself.Sheunlockedthedoor,whereBelawouldbe, justasshe’d lefther.Neversuspecting,neveraskingwhereshe’dbeen.
Then one day that summer Subhash came home earlier than usual, intending to takeadvantageofthelastofthewarmweather,andtakeBelatothebeach.
HefoundBelaconcealedbeneathoneofthetentsshesometimesmadebyremovingtheblanketsfromherbed,drapingthemoverthesofaandthecoffeetableinthelivingroom.Shewascontentwithinthisstructure,playingonherown.
Shetoldhimthathermotherhadgonetogetthemail.ButGauriwasn’tatthebottomofthe stairs. Subhash knew that, having just retrieved the mail and come up the stairshimself.
TenminuteslaterGaurireturnedwithanewspaper.Shehadn’tnoticedSubhash’scarintheparkinglot.Becausehehadn’tcalledtosayhewasleavingearly,therewasnoreasontothinkhewasalreadyhome.
Theresheis,Belasaidwhenshewalkedthroughthedoor.See,I toldyoushealwayscomesback.
But it tookSubhash,whowas standing at thewindow, his back to the room, severalminutesbeforeheturnedaround.
At first he had said nothing to reproachher. For aweekhis only punishmentwas inrefusing tospeak, refusing toacknowledgeher, justasher in-lawshad ignoredherafterUdayanwaskilled.Livingwithher in theapartmentas if shewere invisible, as ifonlyBelawerethere,hisfurycontained.Thedayhebrokehissilencehesaid,
Mymotherwas right.Youdon’tdeserve tobeaparent.Theprivilegewaswastedonyou.
Sheapologized,she toldhimitwouldneverhappenagain.Thoughshehatedhimforinsultingher,sheknewthathisreactionwasjustified,andthathewouldneverforgiveherforwhatshe’ddone.
While continuing to live in the samehousehe turnedaway fromher, just as shehadturned away from him. The wide berth for herself that she had been seeking in theirmarriage,henowwillinglygave.Henolongerwantedtotouchherinbed,henolongerbroughtupthepossibilityofasecondchild.
When shewas admitted the following spring to a doctoral program inBoston,whentheyofferedtopayherway,hedidnotobject.Hesaidnothingwhenshestartedtakingthebustheretwodaysaweek,orwhenshearrangedforundergraduatestolookafterBelathedaysshewasgone.Hedidn’tfaultherforcreatingadisruption,orforwantingtospendthattimeaway.
Because of Bela, the possibility of separating was not discussed. The point of theirmarriagewasBela, and in spite of the damageGauri hadwrought, in spite of her newschedule,hercomingandgoing,thefactofBelaremained.
Besides, she was a student, without an income. Like Bela, Gauri wouldn’t survivewithouthim.
PartV
Chapter1Eachdayitdiminishes:alittlelesswatertoseethroughtheterracegrille.Bijoliwatches
asthetwopondsinfrontofthehouse,andthetractoflowlandbehindthem,arecloggedwith waste. Old clothes, rags, newspapers. Empty packets of Mother Dairy. Jars ofHorlicks, tins of Bournvita and talcum powder. Purple foil from Cadbury chocolate.Brokenclaycupsinwhichroadsideteaandsweetenedyogurtwereonceserved.
Theheap formsa thickeningbankaround thewater’s edge.Whitish fromadistance,colorful up close.Evenherowngarbagehas endedup there:wrappers frompacketsofbiscuitsorblocksofbutter.AnotherflattenedtubeofBoroline.Thebrittleclumpsofhairherscalpsheds,pulledfromtheteethofhercomb.
Peoplehavealwaystossedrefuseintothesebodiesofwater.Butnowtheaccumulationisdeliberate.Anillegalpracticetakingplaceinponds,inpaddyfields,alloverCalcutta.Theyarebeingpluggedupbypromoterssothatthecity’sswampylandturnssolid,sothatnewsectorscanbeestablished,newhomesbuilt.Newgenerationsbred.
Ithadhappenedonamassivescaleinthenorth,inBidhannagar.Shehadreadaboutitin thepapers, theDutchengineers layingdownpipes tobring in silt from theHooghly,closingupthelakes,turningwaterintoland.They’destablishedaplannedcity,SaltLake,initsplace.
Longago,whentheyhadfirstcometoTollygunge,thewaterhadbeenclean.SubhashandUdayanhadcooledoff in thepondsonhotdays.Poorpeoplehadbathed.After therainsthefloodwaterturnedthelowlandintoaprettyplacefilledwithwadingbirds,clearenoughtoreflectmoonlight.
Thewaterthatremainshasbeenreducedtoagreenwellinthecenter,adullgreenthatremindsherofmilitaryvehicles.Winterdays,whenthesun’sheatisstrong,whenmostofthe lowland has turned back to mud, she sees water from certain puddles evaporatingbeforehereyes,risinguplikesteamfromtheground.
Inspiteofthegarbagethewaterhyacinthstillgrows,stubbornlyrooted.Thepromoterswhowantthislandwillhavetoburnittoeradicateit,orremoveitwithmachines.
Atacertainhourshegetsupfromherchair.Shegoesdowntothecourtyardtopickafewmarigoldtopsandjasmine,enclosingtheminherhand.Herhusband’sdahliasarestillinbloomthiswinter,peoplepeeringoverthewalltoadmirethem.
Shewalkspastthepondstotheedgeofthelowland.Hergaithaschanged.Shehaslostthecoordinationrequiredtoplaceonefootdirectlyinfrontoftheother.Insteadshemovesbyshiftingherbodyfromsidetoside,leaninginwithoneshoulder,herfeetfeelingfortheground.
That evening was long enough ago now for stories to be told. The neighborhoodchildren,bornafterUdayan’sdeath,goquietwhentheyseeherwiththeflowersandsmallbrassurn.
Shewashesthememorialtabletandreplacestheflowers,brushingawaythosethathavedriedoutfromthedaybefore.ThispastOctoberwasthetwelfthanniversary.Sheputsher
handintoapuddle,sprinklingtheflowerswiththewaterthatclingstoherfingers,tokeepthemmoistthroughthenight.
Bijoli understands that she scares these children; that to them she, too, is a kind ofghostly presence in the neighborhood, a specter watching over them from the terrace,always emerging at the same time every day. She is tempted to tell them that they areright,andthatUdayan’sghostdoeslurk,insidethehouseandaroundit,inandaroundtheenclave.
Some days, she would tell them if they asked, she sees him coming into view,approachingthehouseaftera longdayatcollege.Hewalksthroughtheswingingdoorsintothecourtyard,abookbagoverhisshoulder.Stillclean-shaven,focusedonhisstudies,eager tosettledownathisdesk.Tellingherhe’shungry, thirstyfor tea,askingwhyshehasn’talreadyputthekettleon.
She hears his footsteps on the stairs, the fan in his bedroom spinning. Static on theshortwave that stoppedworkingyears ago.Thebrief soundhismatchmakes, the flameraging,thenebbing,whenitstrikestheedgeofthebox.
Asafinaldisgracetotheirfamily,hisbodywasneverreturned.Theyweredeniedeventhe comfort of honoring his bullet-ridden corpse. They had been unable to anoint it, todrapeitwithflowers.Ithadnotbeencarriedoutoftheenclave,hoistedontheshouldersofhiscomrades,carriedintothenextworldtoshoutsofharibol.
Afterhisdeath therewasno recourse to the law. Itwas the law,at the time, thathadmadeitpossibleforthepolicetokillhim.Forawhilesheandherhusbandhadlookedforhis name in the papers.Needing proof even afterwhat they’d seen.But no noticewasprinted. No admission of what had been done. The small stone tablet that his partycomradesthoughttoputupistheonlyacknowledgment.
Theyhadnamedhimafterthesun.Thegiveroflife,receivingnothinginreturn.
The year after Udayan’s death, the year Subhash took Gauri to America, Bijoli’shusbandhadretired.Hewokebeforedawnand took the first tramnorth, toBabuGhat,wherehebathedintheGanges.Fortherestoftheday,afterhisbreakfast,hesequesteredhimselfinhisroomandread.Herefusedriceforlunch,tellinghertocutupfruit,towarmabowlofmilkinstead.
This routine, these small deprivations, structured his days. He’d stopped reading thepapers.He’d stopped sittingwithBijolion the terrace, complaining that thebreezewastoodamp,thatitsettledinhischest.HereadtheMahabharatainBengalitranslation,afewpagesatatime.Losinghimselfinfamiliartales,inancientconflictsthathadnotafflictedthem.Whenhiseyesbegantogivehimtrouble,cloudywithcataracts,hedidnotbothergettingthemchecked.Insteadheusedamagnifyingglass.
Atacertainpointhesuggestedselling thehouseandmovingaway fromTollygunge,leaving Calcutta altogether. Perhaps moving to another part of India, to some restfulmountaintown.Orperhapsapplyingforvisas,andgoingtoAmericatostaywithSubhashandGauri.Nothing,hesaid,boundthemtothisplace.Thehousestoodpracticallyempty.Amockeryofthefuturethey’dassumedwouldunfold.
Brieflyshe’dconsideredit.Traveling,makingamendswithSubhash,acceptingGauri,
gettingtoknowUdayan’schild.
But itwasn’t possible forBijoli to abandon thehousewhereUdayanhad lived sincebirth, theneighborhoodwherehedied.Theterracefromwhichshe’dlastseenhim,atadistance.Thefieldpastthelowland,wherethey’dtakenhim.
The field is no longer empty. A block of new houses sits on it now, their rooftopscrowdedwithtelevisionantennas.Inthemornings,closeby,anewmarketsetsup,whereDeepasaysthepricesforvegetablesarebetter.
Amonthago,beforegoingtobed,herhusbandtiedhismosquitonettingtothenailsinthewall andwound hiswatch tomark the hours of the following day. In themorningBijolinoticedthatthedoortohisroom,nexttohers,wasstillshut.Thathehadnotgoneforhisbath.
Shedidn’tknockonhisdoor.Shewenttotheterrace,tositandviewtheskyandsiphertea.Therewereafewcloudsintheskybutnorain.ShetoldDeepatobringherhusbandhistea,torousehim.
Afewminuteslater,afterDeepaenteredtheroom,Bijoliheardthecupandsaucerbreakintopiecesagainstthefloor.BeforeDeepacametofindherontheterrace,totellherhe’ddiedinhissleep,Bijolialreadyknew.
She became awidow, asGauri had become.Bijoli nowwearswhite saris,without apattern or a border. She’s removed her bangles, and stopped eating fish.Vermillion nolongermarksthepartingofherhair.
ButGauriismarriedagain,toSubhash,aturnofeventsthatstillstupefiesher.Insomeways itwas less expected,more shocking, thanUdayan’s death. In someways, just asdevastating.
Deepadoeseverythingnow.Acapableteenagedgirlwhosefamilylivesoutsidethecity,who has five siblings to help support.Bijoli has givenDeepa her costume jewelry andcolorfulthings,thekeystoherhouse.DeepawashesandcombsBijoli’shair,arrangingitsothatthethinningpartsarelessobvious.ShesleepsinthehousewithBijoliatnight,intheprayerroomwhereBijolinolongerprays.
Shehandles themoney,goes to themarket, cooks themeals, fetches themail. In themorningsshedrawsthedrinkingwaterfromthetubewell.Atnight,shemakessurethatthegateislocked.
IfsomethingneedstobehemmedsheoperatesthesewingmachinethatUdayanusedtooil,thathewouldrepairwithhistoolssothatBijolineverhadtotakeitintoashop.BijolitellsDeepatousethesewingmachineasoftenasshelikes,andbynowithasbecomeasourceofextra incomeforher,as itused tobeforBijoli,hemmingfrocksand trousers,takinginorlettingoutblousesforwomenintheneighborhood.
Intheafternoons,ontheterrace,DeepareadsBijoliarticlesfromthenewspaper.Neverthewholestory,justafewlines,skippingoverthedifficultwords.Shetellsherthatafilmstar is thepresidentofAmerica.That theCPI(M)hasbeen runningWestBengal again.ThatJyotiBasu,whomUdayanusedtorevile,isthechiefminister.
Deepa has replaced everyone: Bijoli’s husband, her daughter-in-law, her sons. She
believesUdayanarrangedforthis.
Sheremembershimsittingwithapieceofchalkinthecourtyard,teachingtheboysandgirls who used to work for them, who’d not gone to school, to write and read. Hebefriendedthesechildren,eatingbesidethem,involvingtheminhisgames,givingthemthemeat fromhis own plate ifBijoli hadn’t set enough aside.Hewould come to theirdefense,ifshehappenedtoscoldthem.
When he was older he collected worn-out items, old bedding and pots and pans, todistribute to families living in colonies, in slums. He would accompany amaid to herhome, into thepoorest sectionsof thecity, tobringmedicine.To summonadoctor if amemberofherfamilywasill,toseetoafuneralifsomeonedied.
Butthepolicehadcalledhimamiscreant,anextremist.Amemberofanillegalpoliticalparty.Aboywhodidnotknowrightfromwrong.
Shelivesonherhusband’spension,andtheincomefromthedownstairsroomsthattheybegantorenttoanotherfamilyafterGaurimovedaway.OnceinawhileacheckwrittenoutindollarsarrivesfromSubhash,somethingthattakesmonthstocash.Shedoesnotaskforhishelp,butsheisinnopositiontorefuseit.
InallitisenoughtobuyherfoodandtopayDeepa,eventohaveasmallrefrigerator,toinstallatelephoneline.Thelinesareunpredictable,butonthefirsttryshehadpickedupthephoneanddialedSubhash’snumberandtransmittedhervoicetoAmerica,conveyingthenewsofherhusband’sdeath.Itwasafewdaysafterthefact.Itcameasasurprise,yes,buthowdeeplyhaditaffectedher?
Foroveradecadethey’dlivedinseparaterooms.ForoveradecadeherhusbandhadnotspokenofwhathadhappenedtoUdayan.HerefusedtotalkaboutitwithBijoli,withanyone. Every morning, after his bath in the river, he picked up fruit at the market,stopping on his way home to chat with neighbors about this and that. Together, neverspeaking, the two of them had taken their evening meals, sitting on the floor underUdayan’sdeathportrait,neveracknowledgingit.
Theyhadlovedthishouse;inasenseithadbeentheirfirstchild.They’dbeenproudofeachdetail,caringforittogether,excitedbyeverychange.
Whenitwasfirstbuilt,whenithadbeenonlytworooms,electricitywasjustcomingtothearea,lanternslittopreparetheeveningmeal.Theironstreetlampoutsidetheirhouse,anelegantexampleofBritishcityplanning,hadnotyetbeenconverted.Someone fromtheCorporationcameeachdaybeforesunset,andagainatdaybreak,climbinga ladder,switchingthegasonandoffbyhand.
Theplotwastwenty-fivefeetwide,sixtyfeetdeep.Thehouseitselfwasnarrow,sixteenfeetacross.Therewasamandatorypassagewayoffourfeetoneithersideofthebuilding,thentheboundarywall.
Bijolihadcontributedheronlyresource.She’dsoldoffthegoldshe’dbeengivenwhenshe became a wife. For her husband had insisted, even before having children, thatbuilding a home for their family, owning however ordinary a property inCalcutta,wasmoreimportant.He’dbelievednosecuritywasgreater.
The roofwas originally coveredwith tiles of dried clay, replaced later by corrugatedasbestos. For a time Subhash and Udayan slept in a room without any bars on thewindows.Burlapwastackedupatnightbecausetheshuttershadnotbeeninstalled.Rainblewinattimes.
Sheremembersherhusbandpolishinghingesandlatcheswithpiecesofheroldsaris.Beatingmattressestoreleasedust.Onceaweek,afteraprivatebathroomwasbuilt,he’dclean it before he cleaned himself, pouring phenyle into the corners and eliminatingcobwebsassoonastheyformed.
Within the rooms, each day, Bijoli had taken a meticulous inventory of theirpossessions.Lifting,dusting,replacing.Preciselyawareofwhereeverythingwas.Underher watch, the bedsheets had been tautly spread. The mirror free from smudges. Theinteriorsofteacupsunmarredbyrings.
Waterwaspumpedmanually from the tubewell, a seriesofbuckets filledup for theday’s use, drinkingwater stored in urns. Sometime in the fifties they’d gotten a septictank.Beforethattherehadbeenanouthousebytheentrance,andamanhadcometocarrytheirdailywasteawayonhishead.
MejoSahib,thesecondofthreeNawabbrothers,hadownedtheparcelthatformedtheirenclave, and had sold them their plot. Hewas a descendant of Tipu Sultan,whom theBritishhadkilled,whosekingdomwasdivided,whoseoffspringweresequestered foratimeintheTollyClub.AvisitortoEngland,Bijolihadonceheard,couldseeTipu’sswordand slippers, pieces of his tent and throne, displayed as trophies of conquest in one ofQueenElizabeth’shomes.
During the first years of Subhash’s andUdayan’s lifetimes,when itwas still unclearwhether Calcutta would belong to India or Pakistan, these royal-blooded families hadlived among them.Theyhadbeenkind toBijoli, inviting her to step off the street intotheirpillaredhomes,offeringhersherbet todrink.SubhashandUdayanhadstroked therabbits they’d kept as pets, in cages in their courtyards. Together they’d swung on awoodenplank,beneathabowerofbougainvillea.
In1946sheandherhusbandhadworriedthattheviolencewouldspreadtoTollygunge,and thatperhaps theirMuslimneighborswould turnagainst them.Theyhadconsideredpackingupthehouse,livingforawhileinanotherpartofthecity,whereHinduswerethemajority.ButanephewofMejoSahib’shadbeenoutspoken.Hehadgoneoutofhiswaytoprotectthem.AnyonewhoentersthisenclavetothreatenaHinduwillhavetokillmefirst,he’dsaid.
ButafterPartition,MejoSahib’sfamily,alongwithsomany,hadfled.Theirnativesoilturning corrosive, like salt water invading the roots of a plant. Their gracious homesabandoned,mostofthemoccupiedorrazed.
Bijoli’shomefeelsjustasforsaken,itscoursejustasdiverted.Udayanhasnotlivedtoinheritit,andSubhashrefusestocomeback.Heshouldhavebeenacomfort;theonesonremainingwhen theotherwas taken away.But shewasunable to loveonewithout theother.Hehadonlyaddedtotheloss.
Themoment he returned to them afterUdayan’s death, themoment he stood before
them,she’dfeltonlyrage.RageatSubhashforremindinghersostronglyofUdayan,forsoundinglikehim,forremainingaspareversionofhim.She’doverheardhimtalkingwithGauri,payingattentiontoher,beingkind.
She’dtoldhim,whenheannouncedthathewasgoingtomarryGauri,thatthedecisionwasnothistomake.Whenheinsisted,shetoldhimthathewasriskingeverything,andthattheywerenevertoenterthehouseashusbandandwife.
She’dsaidittohurtthem.She’dsaiditbecauseagirlshedidnotliketobeginwith,didnotwantinherfamily,wasgoingtobecomeherdaughter-in-lawtwiceover.She’dsaiditbecauseitwasGauri,notBijoli,whocontainedapieceofUdayaninherwomb.
She’dnotfullymeantwhatshesaid.ButfortwelveyearsbothSubhashandGaurihavehelduptheirendofthebargain.Theyhavenotreturned,eithertogetherorseparately,toTollygunge; they have stayed far from it, away. So that she feels the deepest shame amothercanfeel,ofnotonlysurvivingonechildbutlosinganother,stillliving.
Forty-oneyearsagoBijolihadlongedtoconceiveSubhash,morethanshe’dlongedforanythinginherlife.Shehadbeenmarriedforalmostfiveyearswhenithappened,alreadyinhermid-twenties,beginningtothinkthatperhapsshewasunabletobearchildren,thatperhapssheandherhusbandwerenotmeanttohaveafamily.Thattheyhadinvestedinthepropertyandbuilttheirhomeinvain.
Butattheendof1943hewasborn.Tollygungehadbeenaseparatemunicipalitybackthen. The new Howrah Bridge had opened to traffic, but horse-drawn carts were stilltakingpeople to the train station.Gandhi had fasted against theBritish, and theBritishwere fighting theAxis powers, so that the trees ofTollygungewere filledwith foreignsoldierspreparedtoshootdownJapaneseplanes.
Thesummershewaspregnant,villagersbeganspillingoutatBallygungeStation.Theywereskeletal,half-crazed.Theywerefarmers,fishermen.Peoplewhohadonceproducedandprocured food forothers, nowdying from the lackof it.They layon the streetsofSouthCalcutta,beneaththeshadeofthetrees.
A cyclone the year before had destroyed paddy crops along the coast. But everyoneknewthatthefaminethatfollowedwasaman-madecalamity.Thegovernmentdistractedbymilitaryconcerns,distributioncompromised,thecostofwarturningriceunaffordable.
Sheremembersdeadbodies turningfetidunder thesun,coveredwithflies,rottingonthe road until theywere carted away. She remembers somewomen’s arms so thin thattheirweddingbangles, their only adornment,werepusheduppast the elbow topreventthemfromslidingoff.
Thosewithenergyaccostedpeopleon thestreet, tappingstrangerson theshoulderastheybegged for thecloudedstarchywater that trickledoutofa strainedpotof riceandwasnormallythrownaway.Phen.
Bijoliused tosave thiswater,giving it togroupsofdeliriouspeoplewhogatheredatmealtimesoutsidetheswingingdoorsofherhouse.HeavywithSubhash,shehadgonetovolunteerkitchenstoservebowlsofgruel.Thesoundoftheirbeggingcouldbeheardatnight, likeananimal’s intermittentbleating.Like the jackals in theTollyClub, startlingherinthesameway.
Inthepondsacrossfromtheirhouse,andinthefloodedwaterofthelowland,shesawpeoplesearchingfornourishment.Eatinginsects,eatingsoil,eatinggrubsthatcrawledintheground.Inthatyearofubiquitoussuffering,shehadfirstbroughtlifeintotheworld.
Fifteen months later, not long before the war ended and Japan surrendered, Udayanarrived.Inhermemoryithadbeenonelongpregnancy.TheyhadoccupiedBijoli’sbodyoneafter theother,Udayan’scellsbeginningtodivideandmultiplybeforeSubhashhadtakenhisfirststep,beforehehadbeengivenapropername.Inessenceitwasthethreemonths between their birthdays that seemed to separate them, not the fifteen that hadelapsedinrealtime.
She’dfedthembyhand,riceanddalmixedtogetheronthesameplate.She’dextractedthebonesfromasinglepieceoffish,liningthemupatthesideoftheplatelikeasetofhersewingneedles.
From thebeginningUdayanwasmoredemanding.For some reasonhehadnot beensecure in her love for him. Crying out, protesting, from the very instant he was born.Cryingoutifshehappenedtohandhimtosomeoneelse,orlefttheroomforamoment.Theefforttoreassurehimhadbondedthem.Thoughhe’dexasperatedher,hisneedforherwasplain.
PerhapsforthisreasonshestillfeelsclosertoUdayanthantoSubhash.Bothhaddefiedher,runningoffandmarryingGauri.InUdayan’scase,atfirst,she’dtriedtobeaccepting.She’dhopedhavingawifewouldsettlehim,thatitwoulddistracthimfromhispolitics.She’llgoonwithherstudies,he’dtoldthem.Don’tturnherintoahousewife.Don’tstandinherway.
He camehomewith gifts forGauri, he tookher to restaurants and films, to visit hisfriends.When Bijoli and her husband heard about what the students were doing afterNaxalbari, what they were destroying, whom they were killing, they told themselvesUdayanwasmarried.Thathehadafuturetoconsider,afamilyonedaytoraise.Thathewouldn’tbemixedupwiththem.
Withoutdiscussingitthey’dbeenpreparedtohidehim,tolietothepoliceiftheycame.They’dassumeditwassimplyamatterofprotectinghim.
Without asking where he went in the evenings, without knowing whom he went tomeet, they’d been prepared to forgive him. They were his parents. They’d not beenprepared,thatevening,nottobehisparentsanymore.
She can no longer picture it.Nor can she picture the life Subhash andGauri lead inAmerica,intheplacecalledRhodeIsland.Thechild,namedBela,whomtheyareraisingashusbandandwife.ButnowSubhashhas losthisfather.For thesecondtimesinceheleftIndia,forthesakeofaseconddeath,heisobligedtofaceher.
Onemorning,watchingfromtheterrace,Bijolihasanidea.Shegoesdownthestaircaseandwalksthroughtheswingingdoorsofthecourtyard,intotheenclave,andthenoutontothestreet.Schoolchildren inuniformsarewalkingpast, inwhite socksandblackshoes,satchels heavywith their books. Sky-colored skirts for the girls, shorts and ties for theboys.
Theylaughuntiltheyseeher,steppingoutofherway.Hersariisstainedandherbones
haveturnedsoft,herteethnolongerfirminhergums.Shehasforgottenhowoldsheis,butsheknowswithouthavingtostoptothinkthatUdayanwouldhaveturnedthirty-ninethisspring.
She carries a large shallow basket meant to store extra coal. She walks over to thelowland,hoistinguphersarisothathercalvesarerevealed,speckledlikesomeeggshellswithafinebrownspray.Shewadesintoapuddleandbendsover,stirringthingsaroundwithastick.Then,usingherhands,shestartspickingitemsoutofthemurkygreenwater.Alittlebit,afewminuteseachday;thisisherplan,tokeeptheareabyUdayan’sstoneuncluttered.
Shepilesrefuseintothebasket,emptiesthebasketalittlewaysoff,andthenbeginstofill it again. With bare hands she sorts through the empty bottles of Dettol, Sunsilkshampoo.Thingsratsdon’teat, thatcrowsdon’tbothertocarryaway.Cigarettepacketstossedinbypassingstrangers.Abloodiedsanitarypad.
She knows shewill never remove it all. But each day she goes out and fills up herbasket,once,thenafewtimesmore.Shedoesnotcarewhensomepeopletellher,whentheystoptonoticewhatshe’sdoing,thatitispointless.Thatitisdisgustingandbeneathher dignity. That it could cause her to contract some sort of disease. She’s used toneighborsnotknowingwhattomakeofher.She’susedtoignoringthem.
Eachdaysheremovesasmallportionoftheunwantedthingsinpeople’slives,thoughallofit,shethinks,waspreviouslywanted,onceuseful.Shefeelsthesunscorchingthebackofherneck.Theheatisatitsworstnow,therainsstillafewmonthsaway.Thetasksatisfiesher.Itpassesthetime.
OnedaytherearesomeunexpecteditemspiledupbyUdayan’smemorialstone.Heapsofdirtiedbananaleaves,stainedwithfood.Soiledpapernapkinsbearingacaterer’sname,andbrokenvesselsfromwhichguestshavesippedtheirfilteredwaterandtea.Garlandsofdeadflowers,usedfordecoratingtheentrywayofahouse.
They are remnants of a marriage somewhere in the neighborhood. Evidence of anauspicious union, a celebration. Amess that repels her, that she refuses to touch or toclean.
Neither of her sons was married this way. They had not celebrated, guests had notfeasted. ItwasnotuntilUdayan’s funeral that theyhad fedpeopleat thehouse,bananaleaves with heaps of salt and wedges of lemon lined on the rooftop, relatives andcomradeswaiting single fileon the landing for their turn toclimb the stepsandeat themeal.
Shewonderswhichfamilyitis,whosechildhasbeenmarriedoff.Theneighborhood’sboundarieshavebeenexpanding;shenolongerhasasenseofwherethingsbeginandend.Onceshecouldhaveknockedontheirdoorsandbeenrecognized,welcomed,treatedtoacupoftea.Shewouldhavebeenhandedaninvitationtothewedding,beseechedtoattend.Buttherearenewhomesnow,newpeoplewhoprefertheirtelevisions,whonevertalktoher.
Shewantstoknowwhohasdonethis.Whohasdesecratedthisplace?WhohasinsultedUdayan’smemorythisway?
Shecallsouttotheneighbors.Whowasresponsible?Whydidtheynotcomeforward?Hadtheyalreadyforgottenwhathappened?Orweretheyunawarethatitwasherethathersonhadoncehidden? Justbeyond, inwhatused tobeanempty field,wherehe’dbeenkilled?
She begs, cupping her hands, just as starving people used to, entering the enclave,seekingfood.Forthosepeopleshehaddonewhatshecould.Shehadcollectedthestarchinherricepotandgivenittothem.ButnoonepaysattentiontoBijoli.
Come forward, she calls out to those who are watching from their windows, theirrooftops.Sheremembersthevoiceoftheparamilitary,speakingthroughthemegaphone.Walkslowly.Showyourfacetome.
ShewaitsforUdayantoappearamidthewaterhyacinthandwalktowardher.Itissafenow,shetellshim.Thepolicehavegone.Noonewilltakeyouaway.Comequicklytothehouse.Youmustbehungry.Dinner is ready.Soon itwillbedark.YourbrothermarriedGauri.Iamalonenow.YouhaveadaughterinAmerica.Yourfatherhasdied.
Shewaits,certainthatheisthere,thathehearswhatshetellshim.Shetalkstoherself,to no one. Tired ofwaiting, shewaits somemore.But the only personwho appears isDeepa. She rinses Bijoli’s soiled hands andmuddied feet with fresh water. She puts ashawloverhershoulders,andplacesanarmaroundherwaist.
Comehaveyourtea,Deepasays,coaxingheraway,takingherindoors.
On the terrace, along with her plate of biscuits, her cup of tea, Deepa hands hersomethingelse.
What’sthis?
Aletter,Mamoni.Itwasintheboxtoday.
It is fromAmerica, from Subhash. In it he confirms his plans to visit this summer,informingherofthedateofhisarrival.Bythennearlythreemonthswillhavepassedsincehisfather’sdeath.
Hetellsherit’snotfeasibletocomeanysooner.HetellsherthathewillbringUdayan’sdaughterwithhim,butthatGauriisunabletocome.HementionssomelecturesheintendstogiveinCalcutta.Hetellsher theywillbe thereforsixweeks.Sheregardsmeasherfather,hewritesinreferencetothegirlthey’venamedBela.Sheknowsnothingelse.
The air is still. Government quarters, built recently behind their house, obstruct thesouthern breeze that used to course the length of the terrace. She returns the letter toDeepa.Like a sparepacketof tea shedoesn’tneedat themoment, she stores away theinformation,andturnshermindtootherthings.
Chapter2Theyarrivedat the startof themonsoonseason. InBengali itwascalledbarshakal.
Eachyear around this time, her father said, thedirectionof thewind changed, blowingfromseatolandinsteadoffromlandouttosea.OnamapheshowedherhowthecloudstraveledfromtheBayofBengal,overthewarminglandmass,towardthemountainsinthenorth. Rising and cooling, unable to retain their moisture, trapped over India by theHimalayas’height.
When the rain came,he toldBela, tributaries in thedeltawould change their course.Riversandcitystreetswouldflood;cropswouldthriveorfail.Pointingfromtheterraceofhergrandmother’shouse,he toldher that the twopondsacross the lanewouldoverflowandbecomeone.Behind theponds, excess rainwouldcollect in the lowland, thewaterrisingforatimeashighasBela’sshoulders.
In theafternoons, followingmorningsofbrightsun,cametherumbleof thunder, likegreatsheetsofripplingtin.Theapproachofdark-rimmedclouds.Belasawthemloweringswiftly like a vast gray curtain, obscuring the day’s light.At times, defiantly, the sun’sglow persisted, a pale disc, its burning contours contained so as to appear solid,resemblingafullmooninstead.
The rooms grew dark and then the clouds began to burst. Water came in, over thewindowsills, through the ironbars, ragswedgedbeneath shutters thathad tobequicklyclosed.AmaidnamedDeeparushedintodrywhatleakedontothefloor.
FromtheterraceBelawatchedthethintrunksofpalmtreesbendingbutnotbreakinginthe maritime wind. The pointed foliage flapped like the feathers of giant birds, likebatteredwindmillsthatchurnedthesky.
Hergrandmotherhadnotbeenat theairport towelcome them. InTollygunge,on theterracewhereshesat,onthetopfloorofthehousewhereherfatherhadbeenraised,Belawas presented with a short necklace. The tiny gold balls, like decorations meant forholiday cookies, were strung tightly together. Her grandmother leaned in close. Sayingnothing,shefastenedthenecklaceatthebaseofBela’sthroat,thenarrangeditsothattheclaspwasattheback.
Thoughhergrandmother’shairwasgray,theskinofherhandswassmooth,unmarked.Thesariwrappedaroundherbody,madeofwhitecotton,wasplainasasheet.Herpupilswere milky, navy instead of black. Taking in Bela, her grandmother’s eyes traveledbetweenBelaandherfather,asiffollowingafilamentthatconnectedthem.
Watchingthemunpacktheirsuitcases,hergrandmotherwasdisappointedthattheyhadnotbroughtspecialgiftsforDeepa.Deepaworeasari,andageminhernostril,andshecalledBelaMemsahib.Herfacewasshapedlikeaheart.Shewasstrongenough,inspiteofherleanframe,herwiryarms,tohelpBela’sfathercarrytheirheavysuitcasesupthestairs.
Deepa slept in the room next to her grandmother’s. A room that was like a largecupboard,upahalfflightofsteps,withaceilingsolowitwasnotpossibletostand.ThiswaswhereDeepaunrolledanarrowcushionattheendoftheday.
HergrandmothergaveawaytheAmericansoapsandlotionsBela’smotherhadpickedout, the flowered pillowcase and sheet. She told Deepa to use them. She set aside thecolorfulspoolsofthread,theembroideryhoop,thetomatopincushion,sayingDeepadidthesewingnow.Theblackleatherpurseshapedlikealargeenvelope,fastenedbyasinglesnap,whichBela hadhelpedhermother choose inRhode Island, at theWarwickMall,wenttoDeepaalso.
Thedayaftertheyarrivedherfathersatforaceremonytohonorhergrandfather,whohaddiedafewmonthsbefore.Apriesttendedasmallfirethatburnedinthecenteroftheroom.Fruitwasheapedbesideitonbrassplatesandtrays.
Onthefloor,proppedagainstthewall,wasalargephotoofhergrandfather’sface,andbeside it, a photo of an older boy, a smiling teenager, in a dirty frame of pale wood.Incense burned in front of these pictures, fragrant white flowers draped like thicknecklacesinfrontoftheglass.
Beforetheceremonyabarbercametothehouseandshavedherfather’sheadandfacein thecourtyard, turninghis facestrangeandsmall.Belawas told toputoutherhands,andwithoutwarning,thenailsofherfingers,thenhertoes,wereparedoffwithablade.
AtduskDeepa lit coils towardoff themosquitoes.Celery-skinnedgeckoesappearedindoors, hovering close to the seamwhere wall and ceilingmet. At night she and herfathersleptinthesameroom,onthesamebed.Athickbolsterwasplacedbetweenthem.Thepillowbeneathherheadwas likeasackofflour.Themeshof themosquitonettingwasblue.
Everynight,whentheflimsybarricadewasadjustedaroundthem,whennootherlivingthingcouldenter,shefeltrelief.Whenhehadhisbacktoherinsleep,hairless,shirtless,herfatheralmostlookedlikeanotherperson.Hewasawakebeforeshewas,themosquitonettingballeduplikeanenormousbird’snestsuspendedfromonecorneroftheroom.Herfatherwasalreadybathedanddressedandeatingamango,scrapingoutthefleshwithhisteeth.Noneofitwasunfamiliartohim.
For breakfast she was given bread toasted over an open flame, sweetened yogurt, asmallbananawithgreenskin.HergrandmotherremindedDeepa,beforeshesetoutforthemarket,nottobuyacertaintypeoffish,sayingthattheboneswouldbetootroublesome.
Watching Bela try to pick up rice and lentils with her fingers, her grandmother toldDeepatofetchaspoon.WhenDeepapouredBelasomewaterfromtheurnthatstoodonalittlestool,inthecorneroftheroom,hergrandmotherreproachedher.
Notthatwater.Givehertheboiledwater.She’snotmadetosurvivehere.
After the firstweek her father began to go out during the day.He explained that hewouldbegivingafewlecturesatnearbyuniversities,andalsomeetingwithscientistswhowere helping himwith a project. Initially it upset her, being left in the housewith hergrandmother and Deepa. She watched him leave through the terrace grille, carrying afoldingumbrellatoshieldhisshavedheadfromthesun’sglare.
Shewasnervousuntilhereturned,untilhepressedthedoorbellandakeywasloweredandheunlockedthegateandstoodbeforeheragain.Sheworriedforhim,swallowedupbythecity,atonceramshackleandgrand,whichshe’dseenfromthetaxithathadbrought
themtoTollygunge.Shedidn’tliketoimaginehimhavingtonegotiateit,beingpreytoitsomehow.
OnedayDeepainvitedBelatoaccompanyhertothemarket,andthentowanderabitthrough the narrow lanes of the neighborhood. They walked past small windows withverticalbars.Scrapsoffabric,strungthroughwires,servedascurtains.Theywalkedpasttheponds,rimmedwithtrash,chokedwithbrightgreenleaves.
On the quiet walled streets, every few paces, people stopped them, askingDeepa toexplainwhoBelawas,whyshewasthere.
ThegranddaughteroftheMitrahouse.
Theolderbrother’sgirl?
Yes.
Themothercame?
No.
Doyouunderstandwhatwe’re saying?DoyouspeakBengali?awomanaskedBela.Shepeeredather.Hereyeswereunkind,herstainedteethuneven.
Alittle.
Likingithere?
Belahadbeeneagertogooutofthehousethatday,toaccompanyDeepatothemarket,toexploretheplaceshe’dtraveledsofartosee.Butnowshewantedtoreturninside.Notliking,astheyretracedtheirsteps,thewaysomeoftheneighborswerepullingbacktheircurtainstolookather.
Inadditiontothewaterthatwasboiledandcooledforhertodrink,waterwaswarmedeverymorning for her bath. Her grandmother said Bela would catch a cold otherwise,even though theweather was so hot. Thewarmed bathwater was combinedwith freshwaterthattraveledatlimitedtimesofdaythroughathinrubberhose,releasedbyapump,fillingatankonthepationexttothekitchen.
Deepatookhertothepatio,handingheratincup,tellingherwhattodo.Shewastoldtopourthewarmedwater,cooledtoherlikingwithwaterfromthehose,overherbody,then latherherselfwithabarofdarksoap, then rinse.The runningwaterwasnot tobewasted.Itwascollectedinabucket,andwhateverwasleftwasstoredinthetank.
Belahadwantedtostandinsidethetank,whichwaslikeahigh-sidedbathtub,butthiswas not permitted. And so she bathed in the open air instead of in the privacy of abathroom, or even the protection of a tub, among the plates and pans that also neededwashing.SupervisedbyDeepa,surroundedbypalmtreesandbanana trees, regardedbycrows.
You should have come later, not now,Deepa said, drying offBela’s legswith a thincheckeredtowel.Itwascoarse,likeadishcloth.
Why?
That’swhenDurgaPujocomes.Nowitonlyrains.
I’mhereformybirthday,Belasaid.
Deepasaidshewassixteenorseventeen.WhenBelaaskedDeepawhenherbirthdaywas,shesaidshewasn’tsure.
Youdon’tknowwhenyouwereborn?
BasantaKal.
Whenisthat?
Whenthekokilstartssinging.
Butwhatdaydoyoucelebrate?
Ineverhave.
Inapatchofsunlightontheterrace,hergrandmotherrubbedBela’sarmsandlegsandscalpwithsweet-smellingoilfromaglassbottle.Belastoodinherunderpants,asifshewerestillayoungchild.Armslimp,legsparted.
HergrandmothercombedoutBela’shair,sometimesusingherfingerswhentheknotswerestubborn.Shehelditinherhandsandexaminedit.
Yourmotherhasn’ttaughtyoutokeepittied?
Sheshookherhead.
Thereisn’taruleaboutitatyourschool?
No.
Youmustkeepitbraided.Atnight,especially.Twooneithersidefornow,oneat thecenterwhenyouareolder.
Hermotherhadnevertoldherthis.Hermotherworeherhairasshortasaman’s.
Yourfather’shairwasthesame.Neverbehavinginthisweather.Heneverletmetouchit.Eveninthepictureyoucanseewhatamessitis.
In the roomwhereher grandmother sleptBela ate her lunch.Shewasused to eatingrice,butherethesmellwaspungent,thegrainsnotaswhite.Sometimesshebitdownonatiny pebble thatDeepa hadn’t picked out, the sound of it, crushing against hermolars,seemingtoexplodeinherear.
Therewasnodiningtable.Onthefloorwasapieceofembroideredfabric,likealargeplace mat, for her to sit on. Her grandmother squatted on the flats of her feet, hershouldershunched,armsfoldedacrossherknees,observingher.
High on thewall hung the two photographs her father had sat in front of during theceremony. The pictures of her dead grandfather and the teenaged boy her grandmothertoldherwasherfather,smiling,hisfaceslightlytiltedtooneside.Belahadneverseenaversionofherfathersoyoung.Hewasyoungenough,inthepicture,tobeanolderbrothertoher.Shehadneverseenproofofhimfromthetimebeforeshewasborn.
Below these images, always slightly rustling in the fan’s breeze, was a sheaf ofhousehold receipts and ration slips, punctured and held in place by a nail. Over the
impaled slips of paper the teenaged face of her father watched her eat her rice with aspoon, amused,whereas her grandfather, his tired gaze fixed before him, his eyebrowssparse,seemednottonoticethatshewasthere.
Apartfromthetwophotographs,thestackofreceipts,therewasnothingtolookatonthe walls. No books, no souvenirs from past journeys, nothing to indicate how hergrandmotherlikedtopassthetime.Forhoursshesatontheterrace,herbacktotherestofthehouse,staringthroughthegrille.
Everyday,atacertainpoint,Deepatookhergrandmotherdowntothecourtyard,whereshesnappedoff theheadsofafewof theflowers thatgrewthereinpots,andalongthevinesthattrailedupthewall,gatheringtheminsidealittlebrassurn.
She left thehouse,accompaniedbyDeepa,walkingpast theponds to theedgeof thefloodedlowland.Shewenttoacertainspot,andstood,andafterafewminutesshecameback.Whenhergrandmotherreturnedtothecourtyard,theurnthathadheldtheflowerswasempty.
Whatdoyoudothere?Belaaskedheroneday.
Hergrandmotherwassittinginherfoldingchair,herhandscurledinward,likefiststhatdidnotclose,inspectingtheridgedsurfaceofherfingernails.Withoutlookingupshesaid,Italktoyourfatherforabit.
Myfatherisinside.
Shelookedup,hernavyeyeswidening.Ishe?
Hecamehomealittlewhileago.
Where?
He’sinourroom,Dida.
Whatishedoing?
He’slyingdown.HesaidhewastiredaftergoingtotheAmericanExpressoffice.
Oh.Hergrandmotherlookedaway.
Thelightdimmed.Itwasgoingtorainagain.Deepahurrieduptotheroof,toremovetheclothesfromtheline.Belafollowed,wantingtohelpher.
DoyouhaverainlikethisinRhodeIsland?Deepaasked.
ItwastoomuchtoexplaininBengali.ButahurricaneinRhodeIslandwasamongherearliest memories. She didn’t remember the storm itself, only the preparation, theaftermath. She remembered the bathtub filled with water. The crowded supermarket,emptyshelves.She’dhelpedherfathercrisscrossmaskingtapeonthewindows,thetracesremaininglongafterthetapewaspulledaway.
The following day she’d walked with her father to campus to see torn branchesscattered on the quadrangle, streets greenwith leaves.They found a thick tree that hadfallen,thetangledrootsexposed.Theysawthedrenchedgroundthathadgivenway.Thetree seemedmoreoverwhelmingwhen it layon theground. Its proportions frightening,onceitnolongerlived.
Herfatherhadbroughtphotographstoshowhergrandmother.MostofthemwereofthehousewhereBelaandherparentsnowlived.They’dmovedtheretwosummersago,thesummerBelaturnedten.Itwasclosertothebay,notfarfromwhereherfatherhadoncestudiedattheoceanographyschool.Itwasconvenienttothelabwhereherfatherwenttowork.But itwas farther from the bigger campuswhereBela had grown up,where hermotherwentnow,twoeveningsaweek,toteachaphilosophyclass.
Belahadbeendisappointedthatthoughthehousewashardlyamilefromthesea,therewas no view of the water through the windows. Only, every so often, when she wasstandingoutside,astraywhiffofit,theconcentrationofsaltdiscernableintheair.
Therewerepicturesofthediningtable,thefireplace,theviewoffthesundeck.Allthethings sheknew.The large rocks formingabarrierwith thepropertybehind theirs, thatBela sometimes climbed.Pictures of the front of thehouse in autumn,when the leaveswereredandgold,andpicturesinwinter,ofbarebranchescoatedwithice.ApictureofBelanexttoatinyJapanesemaplethatherfatherhadplantedinspring.
Shesawherselfstandingonthelittlecrescent-shapedbeachinJamestownwheretheylikedtogoSundaymornings,herfatherbringingdonutsandcoffee.Itwaswherethetwolobes of the islandmet, where he had taught her to swim, where she could see sheepgrazinginameadowasshefloatedinthewater.
Shewatched her grandmother studying the pictures as if each one showed the samething.
WhereisGauri?
Shedoesn’tliketoposeforthecamera,herfathersaid.She’sbeenbusy,teachingherfirstclass.Andshe’sfinishingherdissertation.She’sabouttohanditin.
Her mother spent her days, even Saturdays and Sundays, in the spare bedroom thatservedasherstudy,workingbehindacloseddoor.Itwasheroffice,hermothertoldher,andwhenshewasinitBelawastobehaveasifhermotherwerenothome.
Beladidn’tmind.ShewashappytohavehermotherathomeinsteadofinBostonforpartoftheweek.Forthreeyearshermotherhadgonetoauniversitythere,totakeclassesforherdegree.Leavingearlyinthemorning,notgettingbackuntilBelawasasleep.
Butnow,otherthantheeveningsshetaughtherclass,hermotheralmostneverleftthehouse.Hourswouldpass, thedoornotopening,hermothernot emerging.Occasionallythesoundofacough,thecreakofachair,abookdroppingtothefloor.
SometimeshermotheraskedifBelacouldhearthetypewriteratnight,ifthenoiseofitbotheredher,andBelasaidno, thoughshecouldhear itperfectlywell.SometimesBelaplayedagamewithherselfasshelayinbed,tryingtoanticipatewhenthesilencewouldbedisruptedagainbytheclatteringofkeys.
Itwaswithhermotherthatshespentmostofhertimeduringtheweek,buttherewasnopicture of Bela’s time alone with her. No evidence of Bela watching television in theafternoons, orworking on a school project at the kitchen table, as hermother prepareddinnerorreadthroughapileofexambookletswithapeninherhand.Noproofofthemgoingtothebiglibraryattheuniversitynowandagain,todropborrowedbooksintobins.
TherewasnothingtodocumentthetripstoBostonsheandhermotherhadmadeonceinawhile,duringherschoolvacations.They’dtakenthebustheretogether,thenatrolley,toacampusinthemiddleofthecity,sandwichedbetweentheCharlesRiverandalongbusyroad.NoproofofthedaysBelahadspenttrailingbehindhermotherthroughvariousbuildings as hermothermet with professors, or of the time Belawas taken toQuincyMarketasatreat.
Heresheis,Belasaidashergrandmothercametothenextpicture.
Hermother appeared in it inadvertently. The picturewas ofBela from several yearsago, posing for the camera in their old apartment, with the linoleum floors. She wasdressedupasRedRidingHoodforHalloween,holdingabowlheapedwithcandytogiveaway.
Butthereinthebackgroundwashermother,leaningslightlyoverthekitchentable,intheprocessofclearingthedinnerplates,wearingslacksandamaroontunic.
Sostylish,Deepasaid,lookingoverhergrandmother’sshoulder.
Hergrandmotherhandedthepicturestoherfather.
Keepthem,Ma.Imadethemforyou.
Buthergrandmothergavethemback, looseninghergripso thatafewof thepicturesfelltothefloor.
I’veseenthemalready,shesaid.
ForthepastfewyearsBelahadheardtheworddissertationandnothadanyideawhatitmeant.Thenoneday,intheirnewhouse,hermothertoldher,Iamwritingareport.Liketheonesyouwriteforschool,onlylonger.Itmightbeabookoneday.
The reality had disappointedBela. She’d thought until then that it was some sort ofsecret, anexperimenthermotherwasconductingwhileBela slept, like theexperimentsher father monitored in the salt marshes. Where he took her sometimes to see thehorseshoecrabsscuttlingacrossthemud,disappearingintoholes,releasingtheireggsintothe tide. Insteadsherealized thathermother,whospentherdayssequestered inaroomfullofbooks,wasonlywritinganotherone.
Sometimes,whensheknewhermotherwasout,orwhenshewastakingashower,Belasteppedintothestudytolookaround.Apairofhermother’sglassessatdiscardedonthedesk.ThesmearedlensesturnedthingsindistinctwhenBelaraisedthemtoherface.
Cupscontainingcoldpuddlesofteaorcoffee,someofthemsproutingdelicatepatternsofmold,satforgottenhereandthereontheshelves.Shefoundcrumpledsheetsofpaperinthewastebasket, coveredwith nothing but p’s andq’s. All the books had brown papercovers,with titles thathermotherhadrewrittenon thespinesso thatshecould identifythem: The Nature of Existence. Eclipse of Reason. On the Phenomenology of theConsciousnessofInternalTime.
Recentlyhermotherhadstartedreferringtothedissertationasamanuscript.Shespokeofitasshemightspeakofaninfant,tellingherfatheronenightatdinnerthatsheworriedaboutthepagesbeingblownoutanopenwindow,orbeingdestroyedbyafire.Shesaidit
worriedher,sometimes,toleavethemunattendedinthehouse.
Oneweekend, stopping at a yard sale, Bela and her father found a brownmetal filecabinetamongtheoddsandendsforsale.Herfathermadesurethedrawersopenedandclosed easily, then bought it. He carried it from the trunk of the car into hermother’sstudy,knockingonherdoor,surprisingherwiththisgift.
They foundherather typewriter,holdingherhead thewayshealwaysdidwhensheconcentrated, staring up at them. Her elbows on the desk, the last two of her fingerspressedagainsthercheekbone,makingaV,creatingapartialtrianglethatframedhereye.
Herfatherhandedheratinykeythatdangledlikeanearringfromahoop.Ithoughtyoucouldusethis,hesaid.
Hermotherstoodup,clearingthingsoffthefloorsothatBelaandherfathercouldentertheroommoreeasily.Wherewouldyoulikeit?herfatherasked,andhermothersaidthatthecornerwasbest.
ToBela’ssurprisehermotherwasn’tangry,thatday,thatthey’dinterrupted.Sheaskedthemiftheywerehungry,andemergedfromherstudy,andpreparedthemlunch.
EverydayBelaheardthedrawersopeningandclosing,containingthepageshermothertyped.Shehadadreamonenight,ofreturninghomefromschoolandfindingtheirhouseburneddowntoaskeletalframe,likethehousesshewouldconstructoutofPopsiclestickswhenshewasyounger,withonlythefilecabinet,intact,onthegrass.
OnedayinTollygunge,pacingupanddownthestairs,shenoticedsmallringsboltedtoeither sideof the landing.Black ironhoops.Deepawaswipingdown the staircase.Shewastwistingaragintoabucketofwater,workingonherhandsandknees.
Whatarethese?Belaasked,tuggingatoneoftheringswithherfingers.
They’retomakesureshedoesn’tgooutifI’mnothere.
Who?
Yourgrandmother.
Howdoesitwork?
Iputachainacross.
Why?
Shemightgetlostotherwise.
Likehergrandmother,BelawasnotabletoleavethehouseinTollygungeonherown.Shewasnotpermittedeventomovethroughitfreely,togodowntothecourtyardortovisittheroofwithoutpermission.
Shewasnotabletojointhechildrenshesometimessawplayinginthestreet,ortoenterthekitchen tohelpherself toasnack. Ifshewas thirstyforaglassof thecooledboiledwaterinherwaterbottle,shehadtoask.
But in Rhode Island, since third grade, hermother had let Bela wander through thecampus in theafternoons.She’ddone thiswithAlice, anothergirl aroundherage,who
hadlivedintheirapartmentcomplex.Theyweretoldtoremainonthecampus,thiswasall. But the campus was enormous to her, with streets to cross, cars to bemindful of.EasilysheandAlicemighthavelosttheirway.
SheandAlicehadplayedon thecampusasotherchildrenmighthavevisitedapark,amusingthemselvesbyclimbingupanddownsteps,racingacrosstheplazainfrontofthefineartsbuilding, chasingeachotheron thequadrangle.They stopped in at the library,whereAlice’smotherworked.
Theywouldgo toherdesk, sit at emptycubicles.Swivelingonchairs, eating snacksthatAlice’smotherkeptinherdeskdrawer.Theywoulddrinkcoldwateratthefountain,andhideamongtheshelvesofbooks.
Afewminuteslaterthey’dbeoutdoorsagain.Theylikedtogotothegreenhousethatflanked thebotanybuilding, surroundedbya flowergarden filledwithbutterflies.Theyplayedinthestudentuniononrainydays.
Belahadpridedherselfonbeingunsupervised,findingthewayhomewithouthavingtoask.Theyweretolistentotheclockchiming,toheadbackinwinterbyhalfpastfour.
She’d mentioned nothing of these occasions to her father. Knowing he would haveworried,she’dkeptthemasecretfromhim.Andso,untiltheymovedawayfromcampus,theseafternoonsremainedabondbetweenBelaandhermother,aclosenessbasedonthefact that they spent that time apart. She’d given hermother those hours to herself, notwantingtofailatthis,notwantingtothreatenthislink.
BynowBelawasoldenoughtowakeuponherown,toretrievetheboxofcereallefton the counter in themornings, her hands steady enough to pourmilk.When shewasreadytoleavethehouse,shewalkedunaccompanieddownthestreettothebusstop.Herfatherleftthehouseearly.Hermother,afterstayingupinherstudyatnight,likedtosleeplate.
There was no one to observe whether she had toast or cereal, whether or not shefinished, thoughshealwaysdid,spooningupthelastof thesweetenedmilk,puttingthedirtybowlintothesink,runningalittlewaterinitsothatitwouldbeeasiertorinseclean.Afterschool,ifhermotherwasoutattheuniversity,shewasnowoldenoughtoretrieveakeyherfatherkeptinanemptybirdfeederandletherselfin.
Everymorningshewentupstairs,downtheshorthallway,andknockedonherparents’doortotellhermothershewasleaving,notwantingtodisturbhermotherbutalsohopingshe’dbeenheard.
Thenonemorning,needingapaperclip tokeep twopagesofabookreport together,shewentintohermother’sstudy.Shefoundhermotherwithherbackturnedawayfromthedoor,asleeponthesofa,onearmflungoverherhead.Shebegantounderstandthattheroomhermother referred toasa studyalsoservedasherbedroom.And thather fathersleptintheotherbedroom,alone.
How oldwere you in that picture? she asked her father as they lay together in bed,underthemosquitonetting,beforebeginninganotherday.
Whichpicture?
InDida’sroom,whereweeat.ThepicturenexttoDadu’sthatshestaresatallthetime.
Herfatherwaslyingonhisback.Shesawhimclosehiseyes.Thatwasmybrother,hesaid.
Youhaveabrother?
Iusedto.Hedied.
When?
Beforeyouwereborn.
Why?
Hehadanillness.
Whatkind?
Aninfection.Somethingthedoctorswereunabletocure.
Hewasmyuncle?
Yes,Bela.
Doyourememberhim?
Heturnedtofaceher.Hestrokedherheadwithhishand.He’sapartofme.Igrewupwithhim,hesaid.
Doyoumisshim?
Ido.
Didasaysit’sapictureofyou.
She’sgettingold,Bela.Sheconfusesthings,sometimes.
Hebegantotakeheroutduringthedays.Theywalkedtothemosqueatthecornertogeta taxiora rickshaw.Sometimes theywalked to the tramdepotand tooka tram.Hetookherwithhimifhehadameetingwithacolleague,leavinghertositinachairinahigh-ceilingedcorridor,givingherIndiancomicbookstoread.
He took her to darkened Chinese restaurants for lunch, for plates of chowmein. Tostallssothatshecouldbuycoloredglassbraceletsanddrawingpaper,ribbonsforherhair.Prettynotebookstowriteanddrawin,translucenterasersthatsmelledoffruit.
Hetookher to thezoogardentovisitwhite tigers thatnappedonrocks.Onthebusysidewalkshestoppedinfrontofbeggarswhopointedtotheirstomachs,andtossedcoinsontotheirplates.
OnedaytheywentintoasaristoretobuysarisforhergrandmotherandDeepa.Whiteonesforhergrandmother,coloredonesforDeepa.Theyweremadeofcotton,rolleduponthe shelves like fat starchy scrolls that the salesmanwould shake out for them. In thewindowoftheshopwerefancieronesmadeofsilk,drapedonmannequins.
CanwebuyoneforMa?Belaasked.
Sheneverwearsthem,Bela.
Butshemight.
The salesmanbegan to shake out the fanciermaterial, but her father shookhis head.We’llfindsomethingelseforyourmother,hesaid.
Hetookhertoajewelrystore,whereBelachoseanecklaceoftiger’s-eyebeads.Andthey bought the one thing her mother had requested, a pair of slippers made of palereddish leather, her father telling the salesman, at the lastminute, that they’d take twopairsinsteadofone.
In the taxis theysat in traffic,pollutionfillingherchest,coating theskinofherarmswitha finedarkgrit.Sheheard theclangingof tramsand thebeepingofcarhorns, thebells of colorful rickshawspulled byhand.Rumblingbusseswith conductors thumpingtheirsides,recitingtheirroutes,holleringforpassengerstogeton.
Sometimessheandherfathersatforwhatfeltlikeanhouronthecongestedroads.Herfather would get frustrated, tempted to stop the meter, to get out and walk. But Belapreferredittobeingstuckinhergrandmother’shouse.
Passingastreetlinedwithbookstalls,herfathermentionedthatitwaswherehermotherhadgonetocollege.Belawonderedifsheusedtoresemblethefemalestudentsshesawonthe sidewalk, going in andoutof thegate.Youngwomenwearing saris, their longhairbraided,pressinghandkerchiefstotheirfaces,carryingcottonsatchelsofbooks.
On the streets she noticed certain buildings decorated, standing out from the rest.Though it was August they were drapedwith Christmas lights, their facades disguisedbehind colorful cloths. In the taxi one day they were stopped close to one of thesebuildings,behindarowofcars.Athinredcarpetwasspreadovertheentrance,usheringinguests.Musicwasplaying,peopleinfancyclotheswerewalkingin.
What’shappeningthere?
Awedding.Seethecarupahead,coveredwithflowers?
Yes.
Thegroomisabouttostepoutofit.
Andthebride?
She’swaitingforhiminside.
DidyouandMagetmarriedlikethat?
No,Bela.
Whynot?
IhadtogetbacktoRhodeIsland.Therewasn’ttimeforabigcelebration.
Idon’twantabigcelebration,either.
Youhaveawhiletothinkaboutthat.
Matoldmeoncethatyouwerestrangerswhenyouweremarried.
Thiscouplemaynotknoweachotherverywell,either.
Whatiftheydon’tlikeeachother?
They’lltry.
Whodecideshowpeoplegetmarried?
Sometimesparentsarrangeit.Sometimesthebrideandgroomdecideforthemselves.
DidyouandMadecideforyourselves?
Wedid.Wedecidedforourselves.
Theyspenttheafternoonofhertwelfthbirthdayataclubnotfarfromhergrandparents’house.Anacquaintanceofherfather’s,anoldcollegefriend,wasamember,andhehadinvitedthemtobehisguests.
Therewasapool forher toswim in.Abathingsuitmagicallyproduced,becausehermotherhadnotpackedone.Tablestoeatanddrinkat,overlookingthegrounds.
Therewereother children for her to playwith in thepool andon theplayground, tospeak to inEnglish.Theywereamixof Indians,mostof themvisiting, likeBela, fromother countries, and some Europeans. She felt emboldened to speak with them, tellingthemhername.Shewasgivenaponyride.Therewerecheeseandcucumbersandwichesforher toeatafterward,abowlofspicy tomatosoup.Aslabofmelting icecreamonaplate.
Herfatherandhisfriendsattalkingtooneanother,drinkingteaatoneoftheoutdoortables, followedbyabeer, and thensheandher fatherwalkedalongpaths thatcoveredtheir shoeswith red dust, along the edges of a golf course, past potted flowers, amongtreesfilledwithsongbirds.
Herfatherpausedtowatchthegolfers.Theystoppedunderanenormousbanyan.Herfatherexplained that itwasa tree thatbegan lifeattached toanother, sprouting from itscrown. The mass of twisted strands, hanging down like ropes, were aerial rootssurrounding the host.Over time they coalesced, forming additional trunks, encircling ahollowcoreifthehosthappenedtodie.
Posingherbeforethetree,herfathertookherpicture.Astheyweresittingtogetheronabench,heproducedasmallpacketwrappedinnewspaperfromhisshirtpocket.Itwasapairofmirroredbanglesshe’dadmiredonedayinthemarket,thathe’dgonebacktobuy.
You’reenjoyingyourself?
Shenodded.Shefelthimleantowardherandkissthetopofherhead.
I’mgladwecametoday.Therain’sheldoff.Notlikethedayyouwereborn.
They continued on, walking farther away from the clubhouse, past clearings wherepacks of jackals were resting. She felt mosquitoes beginning to sting her ankles, hercalves.
Wherearewegoing?
Therewasanareabackthisway,wheremybrotherandIusedtoplay.
Youcameherewhenyouweregrowingup?
Hehesitated,thenadmittedthatonceortwice,attheverybackoftheproperty,heandhisbrotherhadsnuckin.
Whydidyouhavetosneakin?
Itwasn’tourplace.
Whynot?
Thingsweredifferentbackthen.
Henoticedsomethinga littlewaysoff,onthegrass,andwalkedover topickitup.Itwasagolfball.Theykeptwalking.
Whoseideawasittosneakin?
Udayan’s.Hewasthebraveone.
Didyougetcaught?
Eventually.
Herfatherstopped.Hetossedthegolfballaway.Hewaslookingtoeithersideofhim,thenupatthetrees.Heseemedconfused.
Shouldweturnback,Baba?
Yes,Ithinkweshould.
Shewantedtoremainattheclub,torunonthelawnandcatchthefirefliesthattheotherchildrenwhoweretheresaidcameoutatnight.Shewantedtosleepinoneoftheguestrooms, to takeahotbath ina tub,andspend the followingdayasshe’dspent thisone,swimming in the pool and visiting the reading room filled with English books andmagazines.
Butherfathersaiditwastimetogo.Thebathingsuitwasreturned,acyclerickshawwith a tin carriage and a sapphire-blue bench summoned to take them back to hergrandmother’shouse.
Shecouldnotpicturehergrandmotherat theclubwhere they’d justbeen,among thepeoplewho sat at tables, laughing,with cigarettes and glasses of beer.Men asking forcocktails, theirwives prettily dressed. She could not picture her grandmother anywherebuton the terraceof thehouse inTollygunge,withchainsputacross thestaircasewhenDeepawasnotthere,ortakingherbriefwalktotheedgeofthelowland,wheretherewasonlydirtywaterandgarbagetosee.
Bela missed her mother suddenly. She’d never spent a birthday without her. In themorningshe’dhopedforaphonecall,butherfathertoldherthelinewasoutoforder.
Canwetryhernow?
Theline’sstilldown,Bela.You’llseehersoon.
Belapicturedhermotherlyingonthesofainherstudy.Booksandpapersstrewnacrossthecarpet,thehumofaboxfaninthewindow.Theday’slight,startingtocreepin.
InRhodeIsland,onherbirthdays,Belawouldwaketothefragranceofmilkwarming
slowlyonthestove.There,undisturbed,itthickened.Hermothersteppedoutofherstudytomonitorit,toaddthesugar,therice.
Later in the day, in the afternoon, once it had been poured and slightly cooled, hermotherwouldcallBelatohaveherfirsttasteofthepeach-coloredpudding.Shewouldletherscrapeoffthetastiestbit,thecongealedmilkthatcoatedthepan.
Baba?
Yes,Bela?
Canwegobacktotheclubanotherday?
Perhapsthenexttimewevisit,herfathersaid.
Hetoldherhewantedhertorest,thatitwasalongjourneybacktoRhodeIsland.Fiveof the sixweeks in India had passed.Already her father’s hairwas beginning to growback.
Therickshawspedforward,pastthehutsandstallsthatlinedtheroad,sellingflowers,selling sweets, selling cigarettes and sodas.When they approached the mosque on thecorner,therickshawsloweddown.Aconchshellwasbeingblown,tosignalthestartoftheevening.
Stophere,herfathertoldthedriver,reachingforhiswallet,sayingthattheywouldwalktherestoftheway.
Chapter3TheytookabusfromLoganAirporttoProvidence,thenataxitothehouse.Belawas
wearingthemirroredbanglesaroundherwrist.Herfaceandarmsweretanned.Thebraidshergrandmotherhadtightlywoventheeveningof theirdeparturereachedthemiddleofherback.
Everythingwasjustasthey’dleft it.Thebrightblueofthesky, theroadsandhomes.Thebayinthedistance,filledwithsailboats.Thebeachesfilledwithpeople.Thesoundofalawnmower.Thesaltyair,theleavesonthetrees.
Astheyapproachedthehouseshesawthatthegrasshadgrownnearlytohershoulders.The different varieties sprouted like wheat, like straw. It was tall enough to reach themailbox,toconcealtheshrubsoneithersideofthedoor.Nolongergreenatthatheight,somesectionsreddishforlackofwater.Thepalespecksattheirtipsseemedattachedtonothing.Likeclustersoftinyinsectsthatdidn’tmove.
Lookslikeyou’vebeenawayawhile,thetaxidriversaid.
Hepulledintothedriveway,helpingherfathertounloadthesuitcasesfromthetrunk,bringingthemuptothehouse.
Belaplungedintothegrassasifitwerethesea,herbodybrieflydisappearing.Pushingherwaythroughit,herarmsspreadwide.Thefeatheryendsshimmered in thesunlight.Softlytheyscrapedherface,thebacksofherlegs.Sherangthedoorbell,waitingforhermothertoopenthedoor.
Whenthedoordidnotopen,herfatherhadtounlockitwithhiskey.Insidethehousethey called out. There was no food in the refrigerator. Though the daywas warm, thewindows were shut and locked. The rooms dark, the curtains drawn, the soil of thehouseplantsdry.
AtfirstBelareactedasiftoachallenge,agame.Foritwastheonegamehermotherhad liked playing with her when she was little. Hiding behind the shower curtain,crouchinginacloset,wedgedbehindadoor.Neverbreakingdown,nevercoughingafterafewminuteselapsedandBelacouldnotfindher,neveroncegivingheraclue.
Shewalkedlikeadetectivethroughthehouse.Downthesetofhalfstepstothelivingroom and kitchen, up the half steps to where the bedrooms were, where the hall wascarpetedinthesametightlywovenoliveshade,unifyingtheroomslikeamossthatspreadfromonedoorwaytothenext.
Sheopenedthedoorsandfoundcertainthings:bobbypinsinthebathroom,astapleronthedustysurfaceofhermother’sdesk,apairofscuffedsandalsinthecloset.Afewbooksontheshelves.
Herfatherwassittingonthesofa,notseeingBelaassheapproached,noteventhoughshe stood a few feet away.His face looked different, as if the bones had shifted.As ifsomeofthemweren’tthere.
Baba?
Onthetablebesidehimwasasheetofpaper.Aletter.
Heputouthishand,seekinghers.
I have notmade this decision in haste. If anything, I havebeen thinking about it for too many years. You tried yourbest. I tried, too, but not as well. We tried to believe wewouldbecompanionstooneanother.
Around Bela I am only reminded of all the ways I’vefailedher.InawayIwishshewereyoungenoughsimplytoforgetme.Nowshewillcometohateme.Shouldshewanttospeak tome, or eventually to seeme, I will domy best toarrangethis.
Tellherwhateveryouthinkwillbeleastpainfulforhertohear,but Ihopeyouwill tellher the truth.That Ihavenotdied or disappeared but that I have moved to California,becauseacollegehashiredmetoteach.Thoughitwillbeofnocomforttoher,tellherthatIwillmissher.
AsforUdayan,asyouknow,formanyyearsIwonderedhow and when we might tell her, what would be the rightage, but it no longer matters. You are her father. As youpointedoutlongago,andasIhavelongcometoaccept,youhaveprovenyourself tobeabetterparent than I. I believeyouareabetterfatherthanUdayanwouldhavebeen.Givenwhat I’mdoing, itmakes no sense for her connectionwithyoutoundergoanychange.
Myaddress is uncertain, but you can reachme care oftheuniversity.Iwillnotaskanythingelseofyou;themoneytheyofferwillbeenough.Youarenodoubtfuriouswithme.Iwill understand if youdo notwish to communicate. I hopethatintimemyabsencewillmakethingseasier,notharder,foryouandforBela.Ithinkitwill.Goodluck,Subhash,andgood-bye.Inexchangeforallyouhavedoneforme,IleaveBelatoyou.
TheletterhadbeencomposedinBengali,sotherewasnodangerofBeladecipheringitscontents.Heconveyedaversionofwhatitsaid,somehowmanagingtolookintoherconfusedface.
ShewasoldenoughtoknowhowfarawayCaliforniawas.WhensheaskedwhenGauriwascomingback,hesaidhedidn’tknow.
Hewaspreparedtocalmher,toquellhershock.Butitwasshewhocomfortedhiminthat moment, putting her arms around him, her strong slim body exuding its concern.Holdinghimtightly,asifhewouldfloatawayfromherotherwise.I’llnevergoawayfromyou,Baba,shesaid.
He knew the marriage, which had been their own choice, had become a forcedarrangement day after day. But there had never been a conversation in which sheexpressedawishtoleave.
He’dsometimes thought, in thebackofhismind, thatafterBelawentoff tocollege,after shemoved away from them, he andGaurimight begin to live apart. That a newphasecouldbeginwhenBelawasmoreindependent,whensheneededthemless.
He’d assumed, because ofBela, thatGauriwould tolerate theirmarriage for now, ashe’dbeentoleratingit.Heneverthoughtshewouldlackthepatiencetowait.
Of the threewomen inSubhash’s life—hismother,Gauri,Bela—there remainedonlyone.Hismother’smindwasnowawilderness.Therewasnoshape to itany longer,noclearing. It had been overtaken, overgrown. She’d been converted permanently byUdayan’sdeath.
Thatwildernesswasheronlyfreedom.Shewaslockedinsideherhome,takenoutonceeachday.Deepawouldpreventherfromendangeringherself,fromembarrassingherself,frommakingfurtherscenes.
ButGauri’smindhad savedher. Ithadenabledher to standupright. Ithadclearedapathforher.Ithadpreparedhertowalkaway.
Whatelsehadhermotherleftbehind?OnBela’srightarm,justabovetheelbow,inaspot she had to twist her arm to see, a freckled constellation of her mother’s darkerpigment,analmostsolidpatchatoncediscreetandconspicuous.Atraceofthealternativecomplexion she might have had. On the ring finger of her right hand, just below theknuckle,wasasinglespotofthissameshade.
In the house in Rhode Island, in her room, another remnant of hermother began torevealitself:ashadowthatbrieflyoccupiedasectionofherwall,inonecorner,remindingBelaofhermother’sprofile.Itwasanassociationshenoticedonlyafterhermotherwasgone,andwasunablethereaftertodispel.
Inthisshadowshesawtheimpressionofhermother’sforehead,theslopeofhernose.Hermouthandchin.Itssourcewasunknown.Somesectionofbranch,someoverhangoftheroofthatrefractedthelight,shecouldnotbesure.
Eachdaytheimagedisappearedasthesuntraveledaroundthehouse;eachmorningitreturnedtotheplacehermotherhadfled.Sheneversawitformorfade.
Inthisapparition,everymorning,Belarecognizedhermother,andfeltvisitedbyher.Itwas the sort of spontaneous association onemightmakewhile looking up at a passingcloud.Butinthiscaseneverbreakingapart,neverchangingintoanythingelse.
Chapter4Theeffortofbeingwithherwasgone.Initsplacewasafatherhoodthatwasexclusive,
a bond thatwould not have to be unraveled or revised.He had his daughter; alone hemaintained the knowledge that she was not his. The reduced elements of his life satuneasily,onebesidetheother.Itwasneithervictorynordefeat.
Sheentered theseventhgrade.Shewas learningSpanish,ecology,algebra.Hehopedthenewbuilding,thenewteachersandcourses,theroutineofmovingfromclasstoclass,woulddistracther.Initiallythisseemedtobethecase.Hesawherorganizingathree-ringbinder,writing in thenamesofher subjectson the tabbeddividers, tapingher scheduleinside.
Herearrangedhishoursatwork,nolongergoinginasearly,makingsurehewasthereinthemorningstofixherbreakfastandseeheroff.Hewatchedhersettingouteachdayforthebusstop,abackpackstrappedtohershoulders,heavywithtextbooks.
OnedayhenoticedthatbeneathherT-shirts,hersweaters,herchestwasnolongerflat.She’d shed somepart of herself inTollygunge.Shewason the vergeof a new typeofprettiness.Blossoming,inspiteofhavingbeencrushed.
Shebecamethinner,quieter,keepingtoherselfonweekends.BehavingasGauriusedtodo.Sheno longersoughthimout,wanting to takewalks togetheronSundays.Shesaidshehadhomeworktodo.Thisnewmoodsettleduponherswiftly,withoutwarning,likeanautumnsky fromwhich the light suddenlydrained.Hedidnotaskwhatwaswrong,knowingwhattheanswerwouldbe.
Shewasestablishingherexistenceapartfromhim.Thiswastherealshock.Hethoughthewouldbetheonetoprotecther, toreassureher.Buthefeltcastaside,indictedalongwithGauri.Hewasafraidtoexerthisauthority,hisconfidenceasafathershakennowthathewasalone.
SheaskedifshecouldchangeherbedroomandmoveintoGauri’sstudy.Thoughthisrattledhim,heallowedit,tellinghimselfthattheimpulsewasnatural.Hehelpedhertosetuptheroom,spendingadaymovingherthingsintoit,hangingherclothesinthecloset,retapingherposterstothewalls.HeputherlamponGauri’sdesk,herbooksonGauri’sshelves.Butwithinaweekshedecidedshepreferredheroldroomandsaidshewantedtomovebackintoitagain.
Shespoketohimonlywhennecessary.Certaindays,shedidnotspeaktohimatall.Hewonderedifshe’dtoldherfriendswhathadhappened.Butshedidnotseekhispermissiontoseethem,andnonevisitedheratthehouse.Hewonderedifitwouldhavebeeneasieriftheystill livedclosetocampus, inanapartmentcomplexthatwasfilledwithprofessorsand graduate students and their families, and not in this isolated part of the town. HeblamedhimselffortakinghertoTollygunge,forgivingGauritheopportunitytoescape.HewonderedwhatBelahadmadeofhismother,ofthethingsshe’dheardaboutUdayan.Thoughshenevermentionedeitherofthem,hewonderedwhatshe’dgleaned.
InDecemberheturnedforty-one.NormallyBelalikedtocelebratehisbirthday.She’dgetGauritogiveheralittlemoneysothatshecouldbuyhimsomeOldSpicefromthe
drugstore,oranewpairofsocks.Lastyear,she’devenbakedandfrostedasimplecake.This year,when he returned fromwork, he found her in her room as usual.After theyfinishedeatingdinner,therewasnocard,nosmallsurprise.Herretreatfromhim,hernewindifference,wastoodeep.
Onedaywhenhewasatwork,Bela’sguidancecounselorcalled.Bela’sperformanceinmiddleschoolwasconcerning.Accordingtoherteachersshewasunprepared,distracted.On the recommendation of her sixth-grade teacher she’d been placed in upper-levelclasses,buttheywereprovingtobetoogreatachallenge.
Putherindifferentclasses,then.
But it wasn’t just that. She no longer seemed connected to the other students, thecounselorsaid.Inthecafeteria,atthelunchtable,shesatalone.Shehadn’tsignedupforanyclubs.Afterschoolshehadbeenseenwalkingbyherself.
Shetakesthebushomefromschool.Sheletsherselfinanddoesherhomework.SheisalwaystherewhenIreturn.
Buthewastoldthatshe’dbeenseen,morethanonce,wanderingthroughvariouspartsofthetown.
Belahasalwayslikedgoingonwalkswithme.Perhapsitrelaxesher,togetsomefreshair.
Therewereroadswherecarstraveledquickly,thecounselorsaid.Asmallhighwaynotmeantforpedestrians.Nottheinterstate,butahighwayallthesame.ThiswaswhereBelahadlastbeenspotted.Balancingontheguardrailbesidetheshoulderlane,herarmsraised.
She’dacceptedaridehomefromastrangerwho’dstoppedtoaskifshewasallright.Fortunately,ithadturnedouttobearesponsibleperson.Anotherparentattheschool.
Thecounselorrequestedameeting.SheaskedbothSubhashandGauritoattend.
He felt his stomach turning over on itself. Her mother no longer lives with us, hemanagedtosay.
Sincewhen?
Sincesummer.
Youshouldhavenotifiedus,Mr.Mitra.YouandyourwifesatdownwithBelabeforeyouseparated?Youpreparedher?
Hegotoffthephone.HewantedtocallGauriandscreamather.Buthehadnophonenumber,only theaddressat theuniversitywhere she taught.He refused towrite toher.Stubbornly, he wanted to keep the knowledge of Bela, of how Gauri’s absence wasaffectingher,tohimself.Youhaveleftherwithmeandyetyouhavetakenheraway,hewantedtosay.
He began to drive Bela, the same evening every week, to see a psychologist theguidancecounselorhadsuggested,inthesamesuiteofofficeswherehisoptometristwas.He’d resisted at first, saying he would talk to Bela, that there was no need. But thecounselorhadbeenfirm.
Shesaid thatshehadalreadyspoken toBelaabout itand thatBelahadnotobjected.ShetoldhimthatBelaneededaformofhelphecouldnotprovide.Itwasasifabonehadbrokeninherbody,thecounselorexplained.Itwasnotsimplyamatteroftimebeforeitmended,norwasitpossibleforhimtosetitright.
AgainhethoughtofGauri.Thoughhe’dtriedtohelpherhe’dfailed.HewasterrifiednowthatBelawouldshutdownpermanently,andthatshewouldrejecthiminthesameway.
Andsohewroteoutacheckinthepsychologist’sname,Dr.EmilyGrant,andplaceditinanenvelope,ashemightanotherbill.Thebillswere typedonsmall sheetsofpaper,mailedtohimattheendofthemonth.Thedatesoftheindividualsessions,separatedbycommas,werewritteninbyhand.Hethrewoutthebillsafterhepaidthem.Intheledgerofhischeckbook,hehatedwritingDr.Grant’sname.
Belaattendedtheappointmentsalone.HewonderedwhatshesaidtoDr.Grant,ifshetoldastrangerthethingsshenolongertoldhim.Hewonderedwhetherornotthewomanwaskind.
HerememberedfirstlearningthatUdayanhadmarriedGauri,andfeelingreplacedbyher.Hefeltreplacednow,asecondtime.
Ithadbeenimpossible,theoneoccasionhe’dseenDr.Grantinperson,togetasenseofher.Adooropened,andhestooduptoshakeawoman’shand.Shewasyoungerthanheexpected,short,withamopofunrulybrownhair.Apalesteadyface,sheerblacktights,plumpcalves, flat leathershoes.Likea teenagerdressedup inhermother’sclothes, thejacketalittletoobigforher,alittlelong,thoughthroughtheopendoorofherofficehesaw the progression of framed degrees on her wall. How could a woman with such aconfusedappearancehelpBela?
Dr.Granthadexpressednointerestinhim.She’dlockedeyeswithhimforaninstant,afirmbutimpenetrablelook.She’dusheredBelathroughthedoortoheroffice,thenshutitinhisface.
That look, knowing, withholding, unnerved him. She was like any other intelligentdoctor,examiningthepatientandalreadyknowingtheunderlyingdisease.Inthecourseoftheirsessions,hadsheintuitedthesecrethekeptfromBela?Didsheknowthathewasnotherrealfather?Thatheliedtoheraboutthis,dayafterday?
He was never invited into the room. For somemonths he received no indication ofBela’sprogress.Sitting in thewaitingarea,withaviewof thedoorBelaandDr.Grantwereontheothersideof,madehimfeelworse.Heusedthehourtobuygroceriesfortheweek.Hetimedtheappointments,andwaitedforherintheparkinglot,inthecar.Whenitwasovershesatbesidehim,shuttingthedoor.
Howdiditgotoday,Bela?
Fine.
It’sstillahelptoyou?
Sheshrugged.
Wouldyouliketogotoarestaurantfordinner?
I’mnothungry.
Shewas deflecting him, asGauriwould.Hermind elsewhere, her face turned away.Punishinghim,becauseGauriwasnottheretobepunished.
Wouldyouliketowriteheraletter?Trytospeaktoheronthephone?
Sheshookherhead.Itwaslowered,herbrowfurrowed.Hershoulderswerehunched,pressedtowardoneanother,astearsfell.
Standinginherdoorwayatnight,watchingherassheslept,herememberedtheyounggirl she’d been. On the beach with her when she was six or seven. The beach nearlyempty,hisfavoritehour.Thedescendingsunpoursashaftoflightoverthewater,wideratthehorizon,taperingtowardland.
Bela’s limbsarepink,glowing.Sheneverseemsasaliveaswhenhebringsherhere,hersolitarybodybravelypoisedagainstthesea’simmensity.
He is teachingher to identify things, theyareplayingagame:onepoint foramusselshell,twoforscallop,threeforcrab.Theplovers,dartingsingle-mindedlyfromthedunestowardthewaves,getfive.Thefirstonetocalloutgetsthepoint.
Shetrailsatadistancebehindhim,stoppingeveryfewpacestofingersomethingontheground.Overrockysectionsshetreadscarefully.Sheishummingalittletune,asectionofherhairtuckedbehindoneear.Theycalltooneanother,revisingthescore.
Hestopstowaitforher,butshehasasuddenburstofenergy,passinghim.Onandonshesprints,unobstructed,kickingupherheelsatthewater’sedge.Darkhairtoherchin,rearrangedbythewind,obscuringherface.Justwhenhethinksshewillhavetheenergytorunforever,toescapehissight,shepauses.Turningback,breathinghard,herhandonherhip,makingsureheisthere.
•••
The following year, slowly, a release fromwhat had happened.A new clarity in hereyes, a calmness in her face. She turned outward, toward others. She carried herselfdifferently,thewindnolongeropposingherbutatherback,thrustingherintotheworld.
Insteadofalwaysbeingathomeshewasnevertherenow.Byeighthgradethephonewasringingthroughouttheevening,differentpeople,maleandfemale,wantingtotalktoher.Behindacloseddoor,forhoursatatime,sheconversedwithherpeers.
Hergradesimproved,herappetitereturned.Shenolongersetdownherforkaftertwobitessayingthatshewasfull.She’djoinedthemarchingband,learningtoplaypatrioticsongsontheclarinet,fittingtogetherthepartsoftheinstrumentafterdinnerandpracticingscales.
OnVeteransDayhestoodonasidewalkinthecenteroftownandwatchedherfilingpast.Dressed in uniform, bearing the autumn chill, focused on the sheetmusic hookedaroundherneck.Anotherday,emptyingthedustbininthebathroom,hesawthediscardedwrapper fromasanitarypadandrealizedshe’dbegunmenstruating.Shehadmentionednothingtohim.Shehadboughtthesupplies,keptthemhidden,maturingonherown.
Inhigh school she joined thenature studies club, assisting thebiology teacher in thetaggingofturtlesandthedissectionofbirds,goingtobeachestocleanupnestinggrounds.ShewenttoMainetostudyharborseals,andtoCapeMayforthemonarchbutterflies.Shebegan to occupy herselfwith other pursuits he could not object to: going fromdoor todoorwithanotherstudent,seekingsignaturesforpetitionstorecyclebottles,ortoraisetheminimumwage.
Whenshereceivedherlearner’spermitshebegandrivingtolocalrestaurants,collectingdiscardedfoodandcontributingittoshelters.Insummersshegotjobsthatkeptheroutofdoors,wateringplantsatanurseryorassistingatchildren’scamps.Shewasuncovetous,uninterestedinbuyingthings.
Thesummeraftershegraduatedfromhighschoolshedidn’ttravelwithhimwhennewscame fromDeepa, sayinghismotherhadsuffereda stroke.She toldhimshewanted tostayinRhodeIsland,tospendtimewiththefriendsfromwhomshe’dsoonbeseparated.Hearrangedforhertostaywithoneofthem.Andthoughhedidn’tliketheideaofbeingsofarawayfromBelaforafewweeks, inawayitwasarelief,not tohavetotakeherbacktoTollygungeagain.
ItwasuncleartoSubhash,thedegreetowhichhismotherrecognizedhim.Shespoketohiminfragments,sometimesasifhewereUdayan,orasiftheywereboys.Shetoldhimnottomuddyhisshoesinthelowland,nottostayoutlateplayinggames.
Hesawthathismotherwasdwellinginanalternatetime,amorebearablereality.Thecoordinationofherlegswasgone,sotherewasnolongertheneedtoplaceachainacrossthestairwell.Shewasboundtotheterrace,onthetopfloorofthehouse,forgood.
He understood that perhaps he no longer existed in his mother’s mind, that she’dalready let go of him.He’d defied her bymarryingGauri; for years he’d avoided her,leadinghislifeinaplaceshe’dneverseen.Andyet,asachild,he’dspentsomanyhourssittingbyherside.
Butnowthedistancebetweenthemwasnotmerelyphysical,orevenemotional.Itwasintractable.IttriggeredadelayedburstofresponsibilityinSubhash.Anattempt,onceitnolongermattered,tobepresent.EveryyearforthefollowingthreeyearshetraveledbacktoCalcuttainwinter,toseeher.Hesatbesideher,readingnewspapers,drinkingteawithher.FeelingascutoffasBelamusthavefelt,fromGauri.
HestayedinTollygungeasifhewereayoungboyagain,neverstrayingfartherthanthemosqueatthecorner.Onlywalkingthroughtheenclavenowandagain,alwaysstoppingatUdayan’smemorial,thenturningback.Therestofthecity,alive,importunate,heldnomeaningforhim.Itwassimplyapassagewayfromtheairportandback.Hehadwalkedaway from Calcutta just as Gauri had walked away from Bela. And by now he hadneglecteditfortoolong.
Inthecourseofhis lastvisithismotherhadneededtobehospitalized.Herheartwastoo weak, she’d needed oxygen. He’d spent all day at her side, arriving early eachmorningatthehospitaltoholdherhand.Theendwascoming,andthedoctorstoldhimhisvisithadbeenwelltimed.Buttheattackhappenedlateatnight.
Bijoli did not die in Tollygunge, in the house to which she’d clung. And though
Subhashhadreturnedtobeclosetoher,fromsofar,he’darrived,thatfinalmorningatthehospital, too late. She’d died on her own, in a room with strangers, denying him theopportunitytowatchherpass.
ForcollegeBelachoseasmallliberalartsschoolintheMidwest.Hedroveherthere,crossingPennsylvania,OhioandIndiana,occasionallylettinghertakethewheel.Hemetherroommate,herroommate’smotherandfather,andthenheleftherthere.Thecollegehadanalternativecurriculum,withoutexamsorlettergrades.Theatypicalmethodsuitedher.Accordingtothelengthyevaluationlettersherprofessorswroteattheendoftheyear,shedidwell.Shemajoredinenvironmentalscience.Forherseniorthesisshestudiedtheadverseeffectsofpesticiderunoffinalocalriver.
Butgraduateschool,whichhehopedwouldbethenextstep,wasofnointeresttoher.Shetoldhimshedidnotwanttospendherlifeinsideauniversity,researchingthings.Shehadlearnedenoughfrombooksandlabs.Shedidn’twanttocutherselfoffthatway.
Shesaidthistohimnotwithoutsomedisdain.ItwastheclosestshecametorejectinghowbothheandGauri lived.AndherememberedUdayan,suddenlyturningcoldtohiseducation,justasBelahad.
ShetalkedattimesaboutthePeaceCorps,wantingtotraveltootherpartsoftheworld.Hewondered if shewould join, ifmaybeshewouldwant togoback to India.Shewastwenty-one,oldenoughtomakesuchdecisions.Instead,aftergraduating,shemovednotterriblyfarawayfromhim,toWesternMassachusetts,whereshegotajobonafarm.
Hethoughtatfirstitwasinaresearchcapacitythatshewasthere,totestthesoilorhelpcultivateanewcropbreed.Butno,shewastheretoworkasanagriculturalapprentice,inthe field. Putting in irrigation lines,weeding and harvesting, cleaning out animal pens.Packingcratestosellvegetables,weighingthemforcustomersonthesideoftheroad.
Whenshecamehomeonweekendshesawthattheshapeandtextureofherhandswerebeingalteredbythedemandsofherlabor.Henoticedcallusesonherpalms,dirtbeneathher nails. Her skin smelled of soil. The back of her neck and her shoulders, her face,turnedadeeperbrown.
Sheworedenimcoveralls,heavysoiledboots,acottonkerchieftiedoverherhair.Shewoke at four in the morning. A man’s undershirt with the sleeves pushed up to hershoulders,darkstripsofleatherknottedaroundherwristinplaceofbangles.
Eachtimetherewassomethingnewtotakein.Atattoothatwaslikeanopencuffaboveherankle.Ableachedsectionofherhair.Asilverhoopinhernose.
Itbecameherlife:aseriesofjobsonfarmsacrossthecountry,somecloseby,othersfar.WashingtonState,Arizona,Kentucky,Missouri.Ruraltownshehadtolookuponamap,townswhereshesaidsometimestherewerenostoplightsformiles.Shetraveledfor thegrowingseasonorthebreedingseason,toplantpeachtreesormaintainbeehives,toraisechickensorgoats.
Shetoldhimshelivedinclosequarters,oftennotpaidinwagesbutsimplybythefoodandshelterthatwereprovided.She’dlivedwithgroupswhopooledtheirincome.She’dlived for a fewmonths inMontana, in a tent.She foundodd jobswhen sheneeded to,sprayingorchards,doing landscapework.She livedwithout insurance,withoutheed for
herfuture.Withoutafixedaddress.
Sometimesshesenthimapostcard to tellhimwhereshe’dgone,orsentacardboardboxcontainingsofteningbunchesofbroccoli,orsomepearswrappedinnewspaper.Driedredchilies,fashionedintoawreath.HewonderedifherworkevertookhertoCalifornia,whereGauristilllived,orifthiswasaplacesheavoided.
He’dhadnocontactwithGauri.Onlyapostofficeboxtowhich,forthefirstfewyears,he’ddirectedtheirtaxreturns,untiltheystartedfilingseparately.Apartfromthisofficialcorrespondencehehadnotsoughtherout.
Oneithersideof theenormouscountry theylivedapart,Belaroamingbetweenthem.Theyhadnotbotheredtoobtainadivorce.Gaurihadnotaskedforone,andSubhashhadnotcared.Stayingmarriedwasbetterthanhavingtonegotiatewithheragain.ItappalledhimthatshehadnevercontactedBela,neversentanote.Thatherheartcouldbesocold.Atthesametimehewasgratefulthatthebreakwasclean.
Nowandagain,atadinnerheattendedatthehomeofanAmericancolleague,oroneofthe local Indian families with whom he kept cordial ties, there would be someone, awidoworawomanwho’dnevermarried.Onceortwicehe’dcalledthesewomen,ortheywouldcallhim,invitinghimtoattendaclassicalmusicconcertinProvidence,oraplay.
Though he had little interest in such entertainments, he’d gone; on a handful ofoccasions,cravingcompany,hehadspentafewnightsinawoman’sbed.Buthehadnointerestinarelationship.Hewasinhisfifties,itwastoolatetostartanotherfamily.HehadoversteppedwithGauri.Hecouldn’timagineeverwantingtotakethatstepagain.
TheonlycompanyhelongedforwasBela’s.Butshewasskittish,andhecouldneverbecertainofwhenhewouldseeheragain.Shetendedtoreturninthesummer,takingoffaweekortwoaroundthetimeofherbirthday,tovisitthebeachesandswiminthesea,intheplacewherehe’draisedher.NowandthenshecameduringChristmas.Onceortwice,promisingtobethere,thentellinghimsomethinghadcomeupatthelastminute,shedidnotshowupintheend.
Whenshewasthereshesleptinheroldbed.Sherubbedcamphoraceoussalvesontoherarmsandlegs,andsoakedherselfinthebathtub.Sheallowedhimtocookforher,totakecareofher,briefly, in thissimpleway.Shewatchedoldmovieson televisionwithhim,andtheywentonwalksaroundNinigretPond,orthroughthegrovesofrhododendronsinHopeValley,astheyusedtodowhenshewassmall.
Still,sherequiredacertainamountoftimetoherself,sothatevenduringthecourseofhervisitsshewouldstayuplateafterhe’dgonetobed,bakingloavesofzucchinibread,orshewouldborrowhiscarandgo foradrive,not invitinghim togowithher.Heknew,evenwhenshereturned,thatpartofherwasclosedofffromhim.Thathersenseoflimitswasfierce.Andthoughsheseemedtohavefoundherself,hefearedthatshewasstilllost.
At theendofeachvisitshezippedherbagandlefthim,neversayingwhenshe’dbeback. She disappeared, as Gauri had disappeared, her vocation taking precedence.Definingher,directinghercourse.
•••
Overtheyearsherworkstartedmergingwithacertainideology.Hesawthattherewasaspiritofoppositiontothethingsshedid.
She was spending time in cities, in blighted sections of Baltimore and Detroit. Shehelpedtoconvertabandonedpropertiesintocommunitygardens.Shetaughtlow-incomefamilies to grow vegetables in their backyards, so that they wouldn’t have to dependentirelyon foodbanks.ShedismissedSubhashwhenhepraisedher for theseefforts. Itwasnecessary,shesaid.
In Rhode Island, she went through his refrigerator, chiding him for the apples hecontinued to buy from supermarkets. She was opposed to eating food that had to betransportedlongdistances.Tothepatentingofseeds.Shetalkedtohimaboutwhypeoplestill died from famines, why farmers still went hungry. She blamed the unequaldistributionofwealth.
She reproachedSubhash for throwingout his vegetable scraps insteadof compostingthem. Once, during a visit, she went to a hardware store to buy plywood and nails,buildingabininhisbackyard,showinghimhowtoturnthepileasitcooled.
Whatweconsumeiswhatwesupport, shesaid, tellinghimheneeded todohispart.Shecouldbeself-righteous,asUdayanhadbeen.
Heworried at times aboutherhaving suchpassionate ideals.Nevertheless,when shewasgone, even though itwasquicker and cheaper simply togo to the supermarket, hebegantodriveouttoafarmstandonSaturdaymornings,togethisfruitsandvegetables,hiseggsfortheweek.
Thepeoplewhoworked there,whoweighedhis itemsandplaced them inhiscanvasbag,whoaddedupwhatheowedwith thestubofapencil insteadofatacashregister,reminded himofBela. They brought back tomind her pragmatic simplicity.Thanks toBelahegrewconsciousofeatingaccordingtowhatwasinseason,accordingtowhatwasavailable.Thingshe’dtakenforgrantedwhenhewasachild.
Herdedicationtobetteringtheworldwassomethingthatwouldfulfillher,heimagined,fortherestofherlife.Still,hewasunabletosetasidehisconcern.Shehadeschewedthestability he had worked to provide. She’d forged a rootless path, one which seemedprecarioustohim.Onewhichexcludedhim.But,aswithGauri,he’dlethergo.
Alooseconfederationoffriends,peopleshespokeoffondlybutneverintroducedhimto, providedherwith an alternate formof family.She spokeof attending these friends’weddings.Sheknittedsweatersfortheirchildren,orsewedthemclothdolls,mailingthemoff as surprises. If there was any other partner in her life, a romantic interest, he wasunawareofit.Itwasalwaysjustthetwoofthem,whenevershecame.
He learned toaccepther forwho shewas, to embrace the turn she’d taken.At timesBela’ssecondbirthfeltmoremiraculousthanthefirst.Itwasamiracletohimthatshehaddiscoveredmeaninginherlife.Thatshecouldberesilient,inthefaceofwhatGaurihaddone.Thatintimeshehadrenewed,ifnotfullyrestored,heraffectionforhim.
Andyetsometimeshefeltthreatened,convincedthatitwasUdayan’sinspiration;thatUdayan’sinfluencewasgreater.Gaurihadleft them,andbynowSubhashtrustedhertostay away. But there were times Subhash believed that Udayan would come back,
claiminghisplace,claimingBelafromthegraveashisown.
PartVI
Chapter1In theirbedroom, inTollygunge, shecombsoutherhairbeforebed.Thedoorbolt is
fastened, the shutters closed. Udayan lies inside the mosquito netting, holding theshortwave on his chest. One leg folded, the ankle resting on the other knee. On thebedcover,besidehim,hekeepsasmallmetalashtray,aboxofmatches,apacketofWills.
It is 1971, the second year of their marriage. Almost two years since the party’sdeclaration.AyearsincetheofficesofDeshabratiandLiberationwereraided.TheissuesUdayancontinuestoreadaresecretlypublishedandcirculated.Hehidesthemunderthemattress. Their content has been deemed seditious, and possessing themmight now beusedasevidenceofacrime.
RanjitGuptaisthenewpolicecommissioner,andtheprisonsareswelling.Thepoliceseizecomrades from theirhomes, from their campuses, fromsafehouses.Theyconfinethem in lockups throughout the city, extracting confessions. Some emerge after a fewdays.Othersaredetainedindefinitely.Cigarettebuttsarepressedintotheirbacks,hotwaxis poured into their ears. Metal rods pushed into their rectums. People who live nearCalcutta’sprisonscannotsleep.
Oneday,withina fewhours, four studentsare shotdeadnearCollegeStreet.Oneofthem had nothing to do with the party. He’d been passing through the gates of theuniversity,toattendaclass.
Udayanturnsofftheradio.Doyouregretyourdecision?heasks.
Whichdecision?
Becomingawife?
Sheholdsthecombstillforamoment,glancingathisreflectioninthemirror,unabletoseehisfaceclearlythroughthemosquitonetting.No.
Becomingmywife?
Shegetsupandliftsthenetting,sittingontheedgeofthebed.Shestretchesoutbesidehim.
No,shesaysoncemore.
They’vearrestedSinha.
When?
Afewdaysago.
Hesaysthiswithoutdiscouragement.Asifithasnothingtodowithhim.
Whatdoesitmean?
Itmeanseitherthey’llgethimtotalk,orthey’llkillhim.
Shesitsupagain.Shestartsbraidingherhairforsleep.
Buthedrawsherfingersaway.Heundrapeshersari,lettingthematerialfallfromherbreasts,revealingtheskinbetweenherblouseandpetticoat.Hedrapesherhairaroundher
shoulders.
Leaveitlikethistonight.
Thehairshedsintohishands,strandsofitscatteringontothebed.Thentheweightisgone,itturnsshortagain,ofacoarsertexture,streakedwithgray.
But in thedreamUdayan remains aboy inhis twenties.Threedecadesyounger thanGauri isnow,almostadecadeyoungerthanBela.Hiswavyhair issweptbackfromhisforehead,hiswaistnarrowcomparedtohisshoulders.Butsheisawomanoffifty-six,theyearsmadepresentbyvirtueoftheresiliencetheyhavetakenaway.
Udayanisblindtothisdisjuncture.Hepullshertohim,unhookingherblouse,seekingpleasurefromherdormantbody,herneglectedbreasts.Shetriestoresist,tellinghimthatheshouldhavenothingtodowithher.ShetellshimthatshehasmarriedSubhash.
The information has no effect. He removes the rest of her clothes, the touch of herhusbandfeelingforbidden.Forsheiscouplednakedwithaboywhoappearsasyouthfulasason.
WhenshewasmarriedtoUdayan,herrecurringnightmarewasthattheyhadnotmet,that hehadnot come intoher life. In thosemoments returned the conviction she’dhadbefore knowing him, that she would live her life alone. She had hated those firstdisorientingmomentsafterwakingupintheirbedinTollygunge,inchesawayfromhim,still cloistered in an alternateworld inwhich they had nothing to dowith one another,evenasheheldherinhisarms.
She’d known him only a few years.Only beginning to discoverwho hewas.But inanotherwayshehadknownhimpracticallyallherlife.Afterhisdeathbegantheinternalknowledgethatcamefromrememberinghim,still trying tomakesenseofhim.Ofbothmissingandresentinghim.Withoutthattherewouldbenothingtohaunther.Nogrief.
She wonders what he might have looked like now. How he would have aged, theillnesses hemight have suffered, the diseases towhich hemight have succumbed. Shetriestoimaginetheflatstomachsoftening.Grayhairsonhischest.
Inallherlife,apartfromwhenSubhashasked,andthedayshetoldOttoWeiss,shehasnotspokentoasinglepersonaboutwhathadhappenedtohim.Nooneelseknowstoask.What had happened in Calcutta in the last years of his life.What she’d seen from theterraceinTollygunge.Whatshe’ddoneforhim,becausehe’dasked.
InCalifornia,inthebeginning,itwasthelivingthathauntedher,notthedead.SheusedtofearthatBelaorSubhashwouldmaterialize,sittinginalecturehall,orwalkingintoameeting.Sheusedtolookupfromthepodiumtoscantheroomonthefirstdayofanewclass,halfexpectingoneofthemtobeoccupyingachair.
Sheusedtofearthattheywouldfindheronthesunnycampus,ononeofthesidewalksthat led fromonebuilding toanother.Confrontingher,exposingher.Apprehendingher,thewaythepolicehadapprehendedUdayan.
Butintwentyyearsnoonehadcome.Shehadnotbeensummonedback.Shehadbeengivenwhatshe’ddemanded,grantedexactlythefreedomshehadsought.
Bythe timeBelawas ten,Gaurihadbeenable, somehow, to imagineherdoubled,attwenty. By then Bela had spent most of her time at school, she’d spent weekendssometimesatthehomeofafriend.She’dhadnotroublespendingtwoweeksatovernightGirlScoutcampinsummer.She’dsatbetweenGauriandSubhashatdinner,putherplateintothesinkwhenfinishedandthendriftedupstairs.
Still,Gaurihadwaiteduntilshe’dbeenoffereda job,until theoccasionofSubhash’sreturntoCalcutta.Sheknewthattheerrorsshe’dmadeduringthefirstyearsofBela’slifewere not things she could go back and fix. Her attempts kept collapsing, because thefoundationwasnotthere.Overtimethisfeelingateawayather,exposingonlyherself-interest,herineptitude.Herinabilitytoabideherself.
She’d convinced herself that Subhashwas her rival, and that shewas in competitionwithhimforBela,acompetitionthatfeltinsulting,unjust.Butofcourseithadnotbeenacompetition, ithadbeenherownsquandering.Herownwithdrawal,covert, ineluctable.With her own hand she’d painted herself into a corner, and then out of the picturealtogether.
During that first flight across the country the plane was so bright she’d put onsunglasses. For much of it she had been able to see the ground, her forehead pressedagainst theovalwindow.Belowhera riverglinted likeacrudelybentwire.Brownandgoldearthwasveinedwithcrevasses.Precipicesroselikeislands,crackedfromthesun’sheat.
Therewereblackmountainsonwhichnothing,nograssortrees,seemedtogrow.Thinlinesthattwistedunpredictably,withtributariesarrivingnowhere.Notrivers,butroads.
Therewasageometricsection,likeapatternedcarpetinshadesofpinkandgreenandtan. Composed of circular shapes in various sizes, close together, some slightlyoverlapping,somewithasliceneatlymissing.Shelearnedfromthepersonsittingnexttoherthattheywerecrops.ButtoGauri’seyestheywerelikeapileoffacelesscoins.
They crossed the unpopulated desert, featureless and flat, and finally reached theoppositeedgeofAmerica,andthelowsprawlofLosAngeles,denseandongoing.Aplacesheknewwouldcontainher,wheresheknewshewouldbeconvenientlylost.Withinherwas theguilt and theadrenalineunleashedbywhat she’ddone, the sheerexhaustionofeffort.Asif,inordertoescapeRhodeIsland,she’dwalkedeverystepoftheway.
She entered a newdimension, a placewhere a fresh lifewasgiven to her.The threehoursonherwatchthatseparatedherfromBelaandSubhashwerelikeaphysicalbarrier,asmassiveasthemountainsshe’dflownovertogethere.She’ddoneit,theworstthingthatshecouldthinkofdoing.
Afterher first jobshe’dmovedbrieflynorth, to teach inSantaCruz,and then inSanFrancisco.But shehadcomeback toSouthernCalifornia to liveouther life, ina smallcollege town flanked by biscuit-coloredmountains on the other side of the freeway.Acampusmainlyofundergraduates,atasmallbutwell-runschoolbuiltafterWorldWarII.
Itwas impossible, at suchan intimate institution, to leadananonymous life.Her jobwasnotonly to teach studentsbut tomentor them, toknow them.Shewasexpected tomaintaingenerousofficehours,tobeapproachable.
Intheclassroomsheledgroupsoftenortwelve,introducingthemtothegreatbooksofphilosophy, to the unanswerable questions, to centuries of contention and debate. Shetaughtasurveyofpoliticalphilosophy,acourseonmetaphysics,aseniorseminaronthehermeneutics of time. She had established her areas of specialization,German IdealismandthephilosophyoftheFrankfurtSchool.
Shebrokeherlargerclassesintodiscussiongroups,sometimesinvitingsmallbatchesofstudentstoherapartment,makingteaforthemonSundayafternoons.Duringofficehoursshespoketotheminherbook-linedofficeinthesoftlightofalampshe’dbroughtfromhome.Shelistenedtothemconfessthattheywerenotabletohandinapaperbecauseofapersonal crisis that was overwhelming their lives. If needed, she handed them a tissuefromtheboxshekeptinherdrawer,tellingthemnottoworry,tofileforanincomplete,tellingthemthatsheunderstood.
The obligation to be open to others, to forge these alliances, had initially been anunexpectedstrain.ShehadwantedCaliforniatoswallowher;shehadwantedtodisappear.Butover time these temporary relationshipscame to fill acertainspace.Hercolleagueswelcomed her. Her students admired her, were loyal. For three or four months theydependedonher,theyaccompaniedher,theygrewfondofher,andthentheywentaway.Shecametomissthemeasuredcontact,oncetheclassesended.Shebecameanalternateguardiantoafew.
Becauseofherbackgroundshewasgivena special responsibility tooverseestudentswho came from India. Once a year she invited them to dinner, catering biriyani andkebabs.Thestudentstendedtobewealthy,pleasedtobeinAmerica,notintimidatedbyit.They’dbeenmadeinadifferentIndia.Atease,itseemed,anywhereintheworld.
Certainformerstudentssenthernotesattheholidays,invitedhertotheirweddings.Shemadetimeforthem,becauseshecametohavethetime,becauseshesawtotheneedsofnooneelse.
Heroutput,apart from the teaching,wassteady,esteemedbyahandfulofpeers.Shehad published three books in her life: a feminist appraisal of Hegel, an analysis ofinterpretivemethodsinHorkheimer,andthebookthathadbeenbasedonherdissertation,that had grown out of a blundering essay she’d written for Professor Weiss: TheEpistemologyofExpectationinSchopenhauer.
She remembered the slow birth of the dissertation, behind a closed door in RhodeIsland.Awarethattheexigenciesofherworkweremaskingthoseofbeingamother.Sheremembered fretting, as the years passed, as the process of the dissertation deepened,thinkingthatitwouldneverbedone,thatperhapsshewouldfailatthisobjective,too.ButProfessorWeisshadcalledherafterreadingit,tellingherhewasproudofher.
ShecouldhavespokentoProfessorWeissinGermannow,havingstudieditforsolong,thenspendingayear,herfortieth,asavisitingscholaratHeidelbergUniversity.Hewasstillalive.She’dheardthathe’dmovedtoFloridaforhisretirement.HehadhelpedGaurigetintothedoctoralprograminBoston,andthengetherfirstteachingjob,inCalifornia.Hewastheonetomentionittoher,wantingtodoherafavor,alwayskeepingherinmind,notrealizingthatshewouldchoosethisjoboverthejobofraisingherchild.
She’dnotkept in touchwithhim.She imaginedwordhad spread, and thatpeople in
RhodeIsland,attheuniversity,hadlearnedofwhatshe’ddone.AndsheknewthatWeiss,whohadmentoredher,whohadbelievedinher,whohadalwaysaskedafterBela,wouldhavelosthisrespectforher.
Her ideologywas isolated frompractice, neuteredby its long tenure in the academy.Long ago she’d wanted her work to be in deference to Udayan, but by now it was abetrayalofeverythinghehadbelievedin.Allthewayshehadinfluencedandinspiredher,shrewdlycultivatedforherownintellectualgain.
Afewtimesayearsheattendedconferences,heldinvariouspartsofthecountry,orinforeignones.Theyweretheonlylong-distancejourneysshemade.Attimessheenjoyedthebriefchangeofscene,theshiftinroutine.Attimessheenjoyedsharingtheinfrequentfruitofhersolitarylabor.
Theembroideredturquoiseshawlshelikedtohaveonhandduringflightswasalwaysfoldedupinsidehercarry-onbag.TheonethingSubhashhadgivenherthatshe’dkept.Shehadtraveledbackto theEastCoast, thoughshe’davoidedProvidence,evenBostonandNewHaven.Itfelttooclose.Tooillicit,tocrossthatline.
Impractically, she’d remained a citizen of her birthplace. She was still a green-cardholder,renewingherIndianpassportwhenitexpired.ButshehadneverreturnedtoIndia.Itmeantstandinginseparatelineswhenshetraveled,itmeantextraquestionsthesedays,fingerprints when she reentered the United States from abroad. But she was alwayswelcomedback,usheredthrough.
For the sakeof retirement, for the sakeof simplifying the endofher life, shewouldneedtobecomeanAmerican.Inthisway,too,Udayanwouldsoonbebetrayed.
Inanycase,Californiawasheronlyhome.Rightawayshehadadaptedtoitsclimate,bothcomfortingandstrange,hotbutseldomoppressive.Aridinsteadofdamp,apartfromtherichfogofcertainafternoons.
Gratefully she embraced its lackofwinter, its paucityof rainfall, its blisteringdesertwinds.Theonlycoldoftheplacewasvisual,onthemountaintops,theabbreviatedpatchesofwhitethatcollectedamongtheirpeaks.
She’dmetotherrefugeesfromtheEastCoastwhohadfledfortheirownreasons,whohadslippedfromtheirformerskins,notknowingwhattheywouldfindbutcompelledtomake the journey. Like Gauri, they had tethered themselves to California, never goingback.Therewereenoughofthesepeoplethatitceasedtomatterwhereshewasoriginallyfrom,orwhathadbroughtherhere.Instead,atsocialgatherings,whenrequiredtomakesmalltalk,shewasabletoparticipateinthatcollectivesenseofdiscovery,ofgratitudefortheplace.
Certainplantswerefamiliartoher.Stuntedbananatreeswithleavesthatwererustyattheiredges,bearingthepiercingvioletblossomshermother-in-lawhadtaughthertosoakand chop and cook inTollygunge.The bleached bark of eucalyptus. Shaggydate trees,sheathedwithpointedscales.
Thoughshewasclose toanothercoast, themassiveoceanon thissideof thecountrykepttoitself; itneverfeltasencroaching,ascorrosive,astheharshseainRhodeIslandthathadstrippedthingsdown,thathadalwayslookedsoturbulenttoherandatthesame
time starved for color, for life.The new sense of scale, the vast distances between oneplaceandanother,hadalsobeenarevelation.Thehundredsofmilesoffreewayonecoulddrive.
She had explored little of it, and yet she felt protected by that impersonal ongoingspace.Thespinygrowth,thehotair,thesmallconcretehouseswithred-tiledroofs—allofithadwelcomedher.Thepeoplesheencounteredseemedlessreserved, lesscensorious,offeringasmilebut thenkeepingoutofherway.Tellingher, in this landofbright lightandsharpshadows,tobeginagain.
Andyetsheremained,inspiteofherWesternclothes,herWesternacademicinterests,awoman who spoke English with a foreign accent, whose physical appearance andcomplexion were unchangeable and, against the backdrop of most of America, stillunconventional.Shecontinuedtointroduceherselfbyanunusualname,thefirstgivenbyherparents,thelastbythetwobrothersshehadwed.
Herappearanceandaccentcausedpeopletocontinuetoaskherwhereshecamefrom,andsome to formcertainassumptions.Once, invited togivea talk inSanDiego, she’dbeenpickedupbyadrivertheuniversityhadsent,sothatshewouldbesparedtheeffortofdrivingherself.Shehadgreetedhimatthedoorwhenherangthebell.Butthedriverhadnot realized,when she told himgoodmorning, that shewashis passenger.Hehadmistakenherforthepersonpaidtoopenanotherperson’sdoor.Tellher,whenevershe’sready,he’dsaid.
In the beginning she’d retreated willingly into the pure and proper celibacy ofwidowhood that, because of Bela and Subhash, she was initially denied. She avoidedsituationswhere shemight be introduced to someone, adopting theWestern custom ofwearingaweddingbandduringtheday.
She turned down dinner invitations, offers to have lunch. She kept to herself atconferences,alwaysretiringtoherroom,notcaringifpeoplefoundherunfriendly.Givenwhatshe’ddonetoSubhashandBela,itfeltwrongtoseekthecompanionshipofanyoneelse.
Isolationoffereditsownformofcompanionship:thereliablesilenceofherrooms,thesteadfasttranquilityoftheevenings.Thepromisethatshewouldfindthingswheresheputthem,thattherewouldbenointerruption,nosurprise.Itgreetedherattheendofeachdayandlaystillwithheratnight.Shehadnowishtoovercomeit.Rather,itwassomethinguponwhichshe’dcometodepend,withwhichshe’denteredbynowintoarelationship,more satisfying and enduring than the relationships she’d experienced in either of hermarriages.
Whendesireeventuallybegantopushitswaythrough,itspatternwasarbitrary,casual.Andgivenherlife,thedinnersshewasexpectedtoattendatthehomesofcolleagues,theconferences,opportunitieswerethere.
Mainly theywere fellowacademics,butnotalways.Therewas themanwhosenameshe’dforgotten,who’dbuiltthebookshelvesinherapartment.TherewastheidlehusbandofamusicologistattheAmericanAcademyinBerlin.
Sometimes she juggled lovers, andatother times, forextendedperiods, therewasno
one.She’dgrown fondof someof thesemen, remaining friendlywith them.But she’dneverallowedherselftoreachthepointwheretheymightcomplicateherlife.
OnlyLornahadunraveledher.ShehadknockedonGauri’sdoorduringherofficehoursone day, a stranger introducing herself, tilting her head against the doorframe. A tallwoman in her late thirties, her center-partedhair in a small chignon.Nicelydressed, infitted trousers,awhitebutton-downshirt.So thatat firstGauri thoughtshewasanotherprofessoratthecollege,wanderinginfromsomeotherdepartment,withaquestiontoask.
Butno,shewasagraduatestudentatUCLA,she’ddriven inandfoundGauri, she’dreadeverythingGaurihadwritten.She’dworkedforyears inadvertising, livinginNewYork,inLondon,inTokyo,beforequittingherjobandgoingbacktouniversity.Shewasseekinganoutside reader forherdissertation, a studyof relational autonomy,holdingapartialdraftofitinherhand.ShewaswillingtohelpGauriwithanyresearchorgradinginexchangefortheprivilege.
Pleasesayyes.
Her beautywas sober, in its prime.A longneck, clear gray eyes, abbreviatedbrows.Earlobessoscanttheyseemedalmosttobemissing.Slightlyvisibleporesonherface.
IheardyourtalklastmonthatDavis,Lornasaid.Iaskedyouaquestion.
Idon’tremember.
Youdon’trememberthequestion?
Idon’trememberyouraskingit.
LornareachedintohersatchelandpulledoutaPowerBar.
ItwasaboutAlthusser.I’msorry,Ihaven’thadlunch.Doyoumind?
Gaurishookherhead.ShewatchedasLornaunwrappedandbrokeapartandchewedthePowerBar, explaining, betweenbites, thegenesisofherproject, theparticular angleshewantedtopursue.Herhandsseemedsmallforherheight,thewristsdelicate.ShetoldGaurishe’dbeenworkingupthenervetoapproachherfornearlyayear.
Gaurifeltdisorientedinthelittleofficethatwassofamiliartoher.Atonceambushedandflattered.Howcouldshehaveforgottensuchaface?
The topic interested her, and they set up a schedule, exchanging e-mails,meeting atrestaurantsandcoffeeshops.Lornaworkedinfitsandstarts,distractingherselffordays,then suddenly producing coherent chapters. She called Gauri when she felt stuck,whenevershedoubtedherself,wheneveritwasnotgoingwell.
AttractionmotivatedGauri topickupthephone, toallowtheconversations toextendbeyondareasonablearc.ImagesofLorna,fragmentsoftheirexchanges,begantodistracther.When theymet in person she began to dresswith care. She hadno recollection ofcrossing a line that drove her to desire awoman’s body.WithLorna she found herselfalreadyontheothersideofit.
Thereweretimes,astheysattogetheratatable,scrutinizingapageofmanuscript,thatthesidesoftheirhands,eachholdingapenwithwhichtomarkthetext,brushedtogether.Times their faceswereclose.Therewere times, asLorna talkedandGauri listened, the
twoofthemaloneinaroom,perhapsstandingafewfeetapart,thatGaurifeltherbalancefaltering.Sheworriedthatshewouldnotbeabletocontrolthetemptationtotakeonestepcloser,thenanother,untilthemomentthespacebetweenthemwasobliterated.
Sheactedonnoneoftheseimpulses.Whateverhadinducedthem,whatevercontinuedtoprovokethem,shecouldnotbecertainwhetherLornathoughtofherinthesameway.
One evening Lorna showed up at her office without calling first. She did this oftenenough.She’djustfinishedthefinalchapter,thepagestuckedinathickmanillaenvelopethatshecradledinonearm.
Thefloorofthedepartmentwasquiet,thestudentsintheirdorms,onlythejanitorsandafewscatteredprofessorswereinthebuildingatthathour.
LornahandedtheenvelopetoGauri.Shelookedexhausted,exultant.Forthefirsttimeshewasdressedcasually,injeans,aT-shirt.She’dnotbotheredtoputupherhair.Shehadbeentoagrocerystore.Insidethetotebagshesetonthedeskwerewrappedwedgesofcheese,grapes,aboxofcrackers.Twopapercups,abottleofwine.
What’sthis?
Ithoughtwemightcelebrate.
Here?
Gauri stood up from her desk and shut the door, locking it, knowing it should haveremainedopen.WhensheturnedaroundLornawasfacingher,lookingather,standingtooclose.
ShetookGauri’shand,puttingitinsideherT-shirt,ontopofoneofherbreasts,beneaththepliantmaterialofherbra.Gaurifeltthenippleunderthebrathickening,hardening,asherownwere.
The softness of the kisseswas new.The smell of her, the sculptural plainness of herbodyastheclotheswereremoved,aspilesofpaperswerepushedasidetomakeroomonthedaybedbehindthedesk.Thesmoothnessofherskin,thefocuseddistributionofhair.ThesensationofLorna’smouthonhergroin.
She’d never had a lover younger than herself. Gauri had been forty-five, her bodybeginningtobreakdowninsmallways:molarsthatneededtobecrowned,apermanentlyburstbloodvesselthatforkedlikescarletlightninginthecornerofhereye.Consciousofhergrowingimperfections,shehadbeenpreparingtoretreat,notrushheadlong,asshe’ddone.
Though Lorna wasn’t technically her student—at least, not at the institution thatemployedher—itwasstillabreachofconduct. Itwouldhavebeenascandal ifanyonedetectedwhatwasgoingon.Not just thatevening inherofficebutvariousother times,sporadicallybutoftenenough,ineitherGauri’sbedorLorna’s,andintheroomofahoteltheydrovetooneweekend,onthecoast.
WhenthedissertationwascompleteGaurisatat thedefense,amongtheotherreadersonLorna’scommittee,posingquestions.As if theyhadnotspent thoseoccasions, thoseevenings,together.
ThenLornawasofferedajobinTorontoandmovedaway.Therehadneverbeenanydiscussion of their encounters evolving into anything else. The liaison ended, withoutrancorbutdefinitively.YetGauriwashumiliated,fornottakingitaslightly.
SomehowsheandLornahadremainedonfriendly terms,making timeforacoffee iftheyhappenedtorunintooneanotherataconference.Gaurisawhowtherelationshiphadshifted:howshehadrevertedfromlovertocolleague,nothingmore.
Itwasnotunlikethewayherrolehadchangedatsomanyotherpointsinthepast.Fromwife to widow, from sister-in-law to wife, from mother to childless woman.With theexceptionoflosingUdayan,shehadactivelychosentotakethesesteps.
She had married Subhash, she had abandoned Bela. She had generated alternativeversionsofherself,shehadinsistedatbrutalcostontheseconversions.Layeringherlifeonlytostripitbare,onlytobealoneintheend.
NowevenLornawasoveradecadeago,longenoughtobreakawayfromthestemofherexistence.Receding,fading,alongsidetheotherdisparateelementsofherpast.
Her life had been pared down to its solitary components, its self-reliant code. Heruniformofblackslacksandtunics, thebooksandthelaptopcomputersheneededtodoherjob.Thecarsheusedtogetfromoneplacetoanother.
Herhairwasstillcutshort,amonkishstylewithamiddlepart.Sheworeovalglassesonachainaroundherneck.Therewasabluishtingenowtotheskinbelowhereyes.Hervoiceraspyfromyearsoflecturing.Herskindrierafterabsorbingthisstronger,southernsun.
Herworkhabitswereno longernocturnal;onherown, she followedancientpatternsandcues,inbedbyten,uprightatdawn.Sheallowedherselffewfrivolities.Agroupofplantsshecultivatedinpotsonherpatio.Jasminethatopenedupintheevenings,flame-coloredhibiscus,creamygardeniawithglossyleaves.
Onthepatio,withitswoodentrellisoverhead,terra-cottatilesunderfoot,shelikedtositaftera longdayinherstudy, todrinkacupof teaandsort throughherbills, tofeel theafternoonlightonherface.Tolookoverasheafofprintedpagesshewasworkingon,andsometimestoeatdinner.
In her car,when she tired of public radio, she listened to a biography or someothercommerciallypublishedbook she’dmeantbutnevermade time to read.But even thesesheborrowedfromthelibrary.
Beyondtheseelementsshedidnottendtoindulgeherself.Herexistencealltheseyears,afterUdayan,withoutBelaorSubhash, remained indulgenceenough.Udayan’s lifehadbeentakeninaninstant.Buthershadgoneon.
Her body, in spite of its years, was as stubbornly intact as themuddy green teapot,shapedvaguelylikeanAladdin’slamp,awedgeofcorkinitslid,thatshe’dboughtforadollaratayardsaleinRhodeIsland.Itstillkepthercompanyduringherhoursofwriting.IthadsurvivedherflighttoCalifornia,wrappedupinacardigan,andservedherstill.
Oneday,pausingtolookthroughoneofthecataloguesthatclutteredhermailbox,shecame across a picture of a small round wooden table meant for outdoors. It wasn’t
essential,andyetshepickedupthephoneandplacedtheorder,havingmeantfortoolongtoreplacethedirtyglass-toppedwickertablethathadbeenonthepatioforyears,coveredbyaseriesofprintedcloths.
A week or so after she’d placed the order, a delivery truck stopped in front of herbuilding.Sheexpecteda flatheavybox,adayspentporingoveran instructionmanual,withabagofnutsandboltsthatshewouldhavetotightenherself.Insteadthetablewasdeliveredtoherfullyassembled,carriedoffthetruckandintoherhomebytwomen.
Shetoldthemwheretoputit,signedasheetofpapertoacknowledgeitsarrival,tippedthem,andsatdown.Sheputherhandsflatonthetableandsmelledthestrongodorofthewood.Ofteak.
Sheputher face to the table’s surface, inhalingdeeply,hercheekagainst the slats. Itwasthesmellofthebedroomfurnitureshe’dleftbehindinTollygunge,thewardrobeanddressing table, the bed with slim posts on which she and Udayan had created Bela.OrderedfromanAmericancatalogue,deliveredoffatruck,ithadcometoheragain.
Thearomaofthetablewasn’taspowerful,asconstant,asthatoftheotherfurniturehadbeen.Butnowandthenitroseupasshesatonthepatio,enhancedperhapsbythesun’swarmth,orcirculatedbytheSantaAnawinds.Aconcentratedpepperysmellthatreducedalldistance,alltime.
What had Subhash told Bela, to keep her away? Nothing, probably. It was the justpunishmentforhercrime.Sheunderstoodnowwhatitmeanttowalkawayfromherchild.Ithadbeenherownactofkilling.Aconnectionshehadsevered,resultinginadeaththatapplied only to the two of them. It was a crime worse than anything Udayan hadcommitted.
ShehadneverwrittentoBela.Neverdaredreachout,toreassureher.Whatreassurancewas hers to give?What she’d done could never be undone. Her silence, her absence,seemeddecentincomparison.
As forSubhash,hehaddonenothingwrong.Hehad let hergo,neverbotheringher,neverblamingher,atleasttoherface.Shehopedhe’dfoundsomehappiness.Hedeservedit,notshe.
Thoughtheirmarriagehadnotbeenasolution,ithadtakenherawayfromTollygunge.Hehadbroughther toAmericaandthen, likeananimalbrieflyobserved,brieflycaged,releasedher.Hehadprotectedher,hehadattempted to loveher.Every timeshehad toopenanewjarofjam,sheresortedtothetrickhe’dtaughther,ofbangingtheedgeofthelidthreeorfourtimeswithaspoon,tobreaktheseal.
Chapter2Inthenewmillenniumapathwascompleted,aneasementofarailspurthathadonce
takenpassengersfromKingstonstationtoNarragansettPier.
Thecoursewasmoderate, through forest cover, skirtinga river, somesmaller creeks.Therewerebencheshereand there to reston ifonewas tired, andat longer intervalsasign,indicatinghispositiononthetrail,perhapsalsoindicatinganativespeciesoftree.
OnSundaymornings,afterbreakfast,hedrovetothewoodentrainstationwherehehadfirstarrivedasastudent,wherehewentonoccasiontogreetBelaontheplatform,whenshevisited.Manyyearsagotherehadbeenafire,butintimethestationwasrestoredandahigh-speedrailputin.Heparkedthecarandbeganwalking,alone,throughtheshelteredinnardsof the town.At times,evennow,Subhashcouldnot fathomtheextremesofhislife:comingfromacitywithso littlespace forhumans,arriving inaplacewhere therewasstillsomuchofittospare.
He keptmoving for at least an hour, sometimes a littlemore, for it was possible totravelsixmilesandback.Itwas the townhehadlived informore thanhalfhis life, towhich he had been quietly faithful, and yet the new path altered his relationship to it,turning it foreign again. Hewalked past the backs of certain neighborhoods, alongsidefields where schoolchildren played sports, over a wooden footbridge. Past a bog filledwithcattails,pastaformertextilemill.
Hepreferredshadethesedaystothecoastline.He’dbeenbornandbredinCalcutta,andyetthesuninRhodeIsland,bearingdownthroughthedepletedozone,nowfeltstrongerthan the sun of his upbringing. Merciless against his skin, striking him, especially insummer, in a way he could no longer endure. His tawny skin never burned, but thesensation of sunlight overwhelmed him.He sometimes took it personally, the enduringblazeofthatdistantstar.
He passed a swamp at the start of hiswalks,where birds and animals came to nest,whereredmapleandcedargrewfrommossymounds.ItwasthelargestforestedwetlandinsouthernNewEngland.Ithadoncebeenaglacialdepression,andwasstillborderedbyamoraine.
According to signs he stopped to read, it had also once been the site of a battle.Growingcurious,heturnedonhiscomputeronedayathome,andbeganlearning,ontheInternet,detailsofanatrocity.
Onasmall island in themiddleof theswamp the localNarragansett tribehadbuiltafort. In a camp of wigwams, behind a palisade of sticks, they had housed themselves,believingtheirrefugewasimpregnable.Butinthewinterof1675,whenthemarshgroundwas frozen, and the treeswere bare, the fort was attacked by a colonialmilitia. Threehundredpeoplewereburnedalive.Manywho’descapeddiedofdiseaseandstarvation.
Somewhere, he read, therewas amarker and a granite shaft that commemorated thebattle.ButSubhashgotlostthedayhesetoutthroughtheswamptofindit.Whenhewasyounger he had loved nothing more than to wander like this, with Bela. He’d beencompelled,backthen,tofollowcrudedirections,unmarkedtrailsthroughwoods,isolated
withher,discoveringblueberrybushes,secludedpondsinwhichtoswim.Buthehadlostthatconfidence,thatintrepidsenseofdirection.Hefeltonlyawarenowthathewasalone,thathewasoversixtyyearsold,andthathedidnotknowwherehestood.
One Sunday, lost in his thoughts, he was surprised to see a helmeted man with afamiliarfaceapproachingonhisbike,ontheothersideofthepath,coastingtoastop.
Jesus,Subhash.Didn’tIteachyoutoalwayskeepyoureyesontheroad?
Sittingastridea thin-framedten-speedwasRichard,hisapartmentmatefromdecadesago,shakinghishead,smilingathim.Whatthehellareyoustilldoinghere?
Ineverleft.
I thoughtyou’dgonebacktoIndiaafteryoufinished.Ididn’teventhinktolookyouup.
There was a bench nearby, and here they sat and talked. The hair under Richard’shelmetwasnolongerdark,apatchofitgoneattheback,butwhathehadhestillworeinaponytail.He’dputonsomeweight,butSubhashrecalledthehandsome,wirygraduatestudenthe’dfirstmet,who’dremindedhiminsomewaysofUdayan.Atimebeforeeitherof themhadmarried,when theyhad livedwithoneanother, anddriven together tobuygroceries,andsharedtheirmeals.
Richardwasmarried,agrandfather.AfterleavingRhodeIslandhe’dmissedit,alwaysintendingsomedaytoretirehere.Ayearagoheandhiswife,Claire,hadsoldtheirhouseinEastLansingandboughtacottageinSaunderstown,notfarfromSubhash.
He’d founded a center for nonviolent studies at a university in theMidwest and stillservedasamemberofitsboard,thoughhe’dmanagednevertowearatieadayinhislife.Hewasfullofsundryplans—anotherbookhewasinthemiddleofwriting,akitchenhewastryingtoremodelhimself,apoliticalbloghemaintained.AtriptoSoutheastAsia,toPhnomPenhandHoChiMinhCity,hewasplanningwithClaire.
Canyoubelieveit?hesaid.Afterallthat,I’mfinallygoingtoVietnam.
Sittingbesidehim,Subhashdelivered the sparsedetails ofhis own life.Awife fromwhomhewas estranged, a daughterwho had grown up andmoved away.A job at thesamecoastalresearchlabhe’dbeenwithnearlythirtyyears.Someconsultingworkonoilspillsfromtimetotime,orforthetown’sDepartmentofPublicWorks.Hewaswithoutafamily,justashe’dbeenwhenhe’dknownRichard.Buthewasaloneinadifferentway.
Stillworkingfull-time?
Foraslongastheyletme.
Stilldrivingmycar?
NotsinceNixonresignedandthetransmissiondied.
I always tellClaire about that curryyouused tomake.Howyou’dput onions in theblender.
RichardhadtraveledtoIndia,toNewDelhiandtovisitGandhi’sbirthplaceinGujarat.He’dwantedtoincludeCalcutta,buthadn’tmadeitthere.Maybeonthewaybackfrom
Vietnam,hesaid.
The next question came innocently. That brother of yours, the Naxalite. What everhappenedtohim?
•••
HeandRichardexchangedphonenumbersande-mails.Theymetupforawalkalongthepaths,orintownforabeer.Twicethey’dgonefishing,castingtheirrodsofftherocksatPointJudith,hookingsearobins,throwingbackwhattheycaught.
Subhashwouldpromise,whenevertheyparted,thatthenexttimethey’dmeetwouldbeatSubhash’shome,thatClairewouldcome,andthatSubhashwouldprepareacurry.Hethought of planning it for oneofBela’s visits, so thatRichard couldmeet her.But thishadn’tyethappened.Thefriendshipremainedaloosebuteasybondbetweenthem,justasithadalwaysbeen.
BynowhewasusedtoRichard’smasse-mails,announcinglecturesandrallies,quotingstatisticsaboutthecostoftheIraqWar,directinghimtoalinktoRichard’sblog.HewasusedtothenumberandRichard’slastname,Grifalconi,salutinghimfromtimetotimeinthelittlewindowofhistelephone.
HesawitoneweekendmorningashewatchedaprogramonCNN.Heturneddownthevolumewiththeremote.HedidnotexpectthevoicetobelongtoRichard’swife,Claire,awomanhehadnotyetspokentoormet,tellinghimRichardhaddiedafewdaysago.AbloodclotinhisleghadtraveledtohislungsthedayafterabikerideRichardandClairehadtakentogether,outtoRomePoint.
Subhashputdownthephone.Heshutoffthetelevision.Hiseyesweredistractedbyamovementhesawthroughthewindowofhislivingroom.Itwastherestlessnessofbirds,rearrangingthemselves.
Hewalkedtothewindowtohaveabetterlook.Atthetopofatreeinhisyard,agroupof them,smallandloudanddark,werefranticallycomingandgoing.Taking, inwinter,what nourishment the tree still had to give. There was a determined fury to theirmovements.Anactofsurvivalthatnowoffendedhim.
For the first time in his life Subhash entered a funeral home, kneeled down andregarded a body laid out in a coffin, neatly dressed. He observed the lack of life inRichard’sface,thefacilebetrayalofit,asifanexperthadcarvedaneffigyoutofwax.Herememberedhislastglimpseofhismother,coveredbyashroud.
After the service he drove to the reception at Richard’s home, not so different fromotherAmericanreceptionshe’dattendedinhislife.Therewasalongtablewithfoodlaidout,plattersofcheeseandsalads.Peopledressedindarkcolorsweredrinkingglassesofwine,carvingslicesfromaham.
Claire stood at one end of the room, flanked by their children, their grandchildren,thankingpeopleforcoming,shakingtheirhands.Sayingtherehadbeennosignofdistressuntil Richard complained that he felt short of breath. The next morning, he’d shakenClaire awake, pointing at the telephone, unable to speak. He’d died in the ambulance,Clairefollowingintheircarbehind.
Theguestsstoodincircles, talking.Somephotographsweretakenbydistantrelativesforwhom thegatheringwasa reunionaswell asa funeral.For thosewhohad traveledlong distances it was an opportunity to explore Rhode Island, to drive to Newport thefollowingday.
EliseSilvawasaneighbor.
She cameup to the slidingglasswindowwhereSubhashwas standing, taking in theviewof thedescendingbirch-filledpropertybehindRichard’shouse.Whenhe turned tolookather,sheintroducedherself.
IsawRichardandClaireafewweeksago,handinhandlikethey’djustmet,shesaid.Shetoldhimthattherewasasmallpondbehindthetrees.Whenitfrozeover,Elisesaid,RichardandClairewouldgoskatingwiththeirelbowslinked.
Shehadoliveskin,nearlyastanashis.Herhairhadturnedwhitebutherbrowswerestilldark.ThehairwaspulledbackasBelasometimesworehers,asingleclipfastenedatthebackofherheadsothatitwouldnotinterferewithherface.Sheworeablackdresswithlongsleeves,graystockings,asilverchainaroundherneck.
Theyspokeofhowlongthey’dbothknownRichard.ButtherewasanotherconnectionEliseandSubhashshared.Itemergedwhenhetoldherhisname,andthensheaskedifbyanychancehewasrelated toastudentnamedBelaMitra,whohad takenherAmericanhistoryclassmanyyearsagoatthelocalhighschool.
I’mherfather.
Hestillfeltnervous,proclaimingitthatway.
He looked at thiswomanwho had once taught her. Elise Silvawas one of somanythings he had not known about his daughter, after she’d reached a certain age.He stillrememberedthenamesofsomeofherteachersinelementaryschool.Butbyhighschoolitwasjustthereportcard,thelistofgradeshescanned.
You don’t knowme, and yet you’ve let me drive your daughter to Hancock ShakerVillage,shesaid.ShehadtakenBelawithasmallgroupofotherstudentsonafieldtripthere.
Myignoranceisshameful.Idon’tevenknowwhereHancockShakerVillageis.
Shelaughed.Thatisshameful.
Whydoesonevisit?
Sheexplained.Areligioussectbegunintheeighteenthcentury,dedicatedtocelibacy,tosimplelife.Autopianpopulationwhoseveryfaithhadcausedtheirnumberstodwindle.SheaskedwhereBelalivednow.
Nowhere.She’sanomad.
Letmeguess,shecarriesherlifearoundinabackpack,doingthingstomaketheworldabetterplace?
Howdidyouknow?
Somekidsformearly.They’refocused.Belawasone.
Hehadasipofwine.Shehadnochoice,hesaid.
Elise looked at him, nodding. Indicating that she knew the circumstances, thatGaurihadleft.
Shetalkedtoyouaboutit?
No.Butherteachersweretold.
Doyoustillteach?
Afterfifty-fiveIcouldn’tkeepupwiththem.IsupposeIneededachange.
Sheworkedpart-timeatthelocalhistoricalsocietynow,shesaid.Shewastransferringarchivesonline,editingtheirnewsletter.
He told her he’d been reading about the Great Swamp Massacre. He asked if anyrecordsremained.
Ohsure.Youcanevenfindmusketballsifyoupokearoundtheobelisk.
Itriedtofinditonce.Igotlost.
It’stricky.Youusedtohavetopayafarmerwhomaintainedtheroad.
Hefelttiredfromstanding.Herealizedhehadnoteaten.I’mgoingtogetsomefood.Wouldyouliketojoinme?
Theyapproachedthebuffet table.Richard’swidowstoodatoneend.Shewascrying,beingembracedbyoneofherguests.
I went through this, years ago, Elise said. She had watched her husband die fromleukemia at forty-six. He’d left her with three children, two sons and a daughter. Theyoungesthadbeenfour.Afterherhusband’sdeathshe’dmovedwithherchildrenintoherparents’home.
I’msorry.
Ihadmyfamily.Soundslike,withBela,youwereonyourown.
Her daughter had married a Portuguese engineer and lived in Lisbon. It was whereElise’sancestorswerefrom,butshe’dnevervisitedEuropeuntilherdaughter’swedding.Hersons lived inDenverandAustin.Forawhile,after she retired, she’dsplither timeamongthoseplaces,helpingoutwithgrandchildren,goingtoLisbononceayear.ButshehadmovedbacktoRhodeIslandaboutadecadeago,afterherfatherdied,tobeclosertohermother.
Shementionedatourthefollowingweekend,ahouseinthevillagethatthehistoricalsocietyhadrestored.Shehandedhimapostcardthatwasinherpurse,withthedetails.
Heacceptedthecard,thankingher.Hefoldedittofitintohisjacketpocket.
Tell Bela hello from me, she said, leaving him with no one to talk to, turning tosomeoneelseintheroom.
Afterthefuneral,forseveralnights,sometimesaslateasthreeo’clockinthemorning,helayawake,unabletoloseconsciousnessforanysustainedperiod.Thehousewassilent,
theworldsurroundingitsilent,nocarsontheroadatthathour.Nothingbutthesoundofhisownbreathing,orthesoundhisthroatmadeifheswallowed.
The house, always to his regret, was too far from the bay to hear the waves. Butsometimes the wind was strong enough to approximate the roar of the sea as it blewinland. A violent power, insubstantial, rooted in nothingness. Threatening, as he layunmovingunderhisblanket,toteartheroomsofthehousefromthefoundation,tofellthetremblingtrees,todemolishthestructureofhislife.
Acolleague,noticinghisfatigueatwork,suggestedgettingmoreexercise,oraglassofwineintheeveningswithdinner.Acupofchamomiletea.Therewerepillshecouldtake,but he resisted this option.Already therewas a pill to lower his cholesterol, another toraisehispotassium,adailyaspirintopromotethepassageofbloodtohisheartthroughhisveins.Hestoredtheminaplasticboxwithsevencompartments,labeledwiththedaysoftheweek,countingthemoutwithhismorningoatmeal.
Againitwasanxietythatkepthimup,thoughnotthesameanxietythatusedtorousehimfromsleepafterGaurifirstleftandhewasalonewithBelainthehouse,asleepinthenextroom.Awarethatshewassuffering,awarethathewastheonlypersonintheworldresponsibleforraisingher.
HerememberedBelaasaninfant,whenthedistinctionbetweennightanddaydidnotexistforher:awake,asleep,awake,asleep,shallowalternatingphasesofanhourortwo.He’dreadsomewherethatatthestartoflifetheseconceptswerereversed,thattimewithinthewombwastheinverseoftimeoutsideofit.Herememberedlearning,thefirsttimehewasatsea,abouthowwhalesanddolphinsswamclosetothesurfaceof thewater,howtheyemergedtodrawairintotheirlungs,eachbreathaconsciousact.
He drew breath through his nostrils, hoping this essential function, as faithful as thebeatingofhisheart,mightreleasehimforafewhours.Hiseyeswereclosed,buthismindwasunblinking.
ItwaslikethisnowsincethenewsofRichard’sdeath:adisproportionateawarenessofbeingalive.Heyearned for thedeepandcontinuoussleep that refused toaccommodatehim.Areleasefromthenightlytormentthattookplaceinhisbed.
Whenhewasyoungerwakefulnesswouldnothavetroubledhim;hewouldhavetakenadvantageoftheextrahourstoreadanarticle,orstepoutsidetolookatthestars.Attimesevenhisbodyfeltfullofenergy,andhewisheditweredaylight,sothathecouldgetupandwalkalongthebikepath.Hewouldwalkasfarasthebenchwherehe’dbumpedintoRichardtwoyearsago,tositandthink.
Instead, inhisbed,he foundhimself traveling into thedeeperpast, siftingat randomthroughthedetritusofhisboyhood.Herevisitedtheyearsbeforehe lefthisfamily.Hisfatherreturningfromthemarketeverymorning,thefishhismotherwouldsliceandsaltandfryforbreakfast,silver-skinnedpiecesspillingoutofaburlapbag.
Hesawhismotherhunchedovertheblacksewingmachinesheusedtooperatewithherfeet,pumpingapedalupanddown,unabletotalkbecauseofthepinssheheldbetweenherlips.Shesatbeforeitintheevenings,hemmingpetticoatsforhercustomers,stitchingcurtainsforthehouse.Udayanwouldoilthemachineforher,fixthemotorfromtimeto
time.AbirdinhisyardinRhodeIsland,itscallarapidstoppingandstarting,mimickedthesoundofit.
HesawhisfatherteachinghimandUdayanhowtoplaychess,drawingthesquaresonasheetofpaper.Hesawhisbrotherhunchingover,cross-leggedonthefloor,extendinghisindex finger as hewas finishing up ameal, to consume the final sauce that coated hisplate.
Udayan was everywhere.Walking with Subhash to school in the mornings, walkinghomeintheafternoons.Studyingintheeveningsonthebedthey’dshared.Booksspreadbetweenthem,memorizingsomanythings.Writinginanotebook,concentrating,hisfacejustinchesabovethepage.Lyingbesidehimatnight,listeningtothejackalshowlingintheTollyClub.Quick-footed,assured,controllingtheballinthefieldbehindthelowland.
Theseminor impressions had formed him.They hadwashed away long ago, only toreappear,reconstituted.Theykeptdistractinghim,likepiecesoflandscapeviewedfromatrain.Thelandscapewasfamiliar,butcertainthingsalwaysjoltedhim,asifseenforthefirsttime.
Untilhe leftCalcutta,Subhash’s lifewashardlycapableof leavinga trace.Hecouldhaveputeverythingbelongingtohimintoasinglegrocerybag.Whenhewasgrowingupin his parents’ house,what had beenhis?His toothbrush, the cigarettes he andUdayanusedtosmokeinsecret,theclothbaginwhichhecarriedhistextbooks.Afewarticlesofclothing.UntilhewenttoAmericahehadnothadhisownroom.HehadbelongedtohisparentsandtoUdayan,andtheytohim.Thatwasall.
Herehehadbeenquietlysuccessful,educatinghimself,findingengagingwork,sendingBelatocollege.Ithadbeenenough,materiallyspeaking.
ButhewasstilltooweaktotellBelawhatshedeservedtoknow.Stillpretendingtobeherfather,stillhoardingwhathadnotbeenearned.Udayanhadbeenrightincallinghimself-serving.
Theneedtotellherhungoverhim,terrifiedhim.Itwasthegreatestunfinishedbusinessofhislife.Shewasoldenough,strongenoughtohandleit,andyet,becauseshewasallheloved,hecouldnotmusterthestrength.
Hewasincreasinglyawarethesedaysofhowmuchheowned,oftheongoingefforthisliferequired.Thethousandsoftripstothegrocerystorehehadmade,alltheheapingbagsoffood,firstpaper,thenplastic,nowcanvassacksbroughtfromhome,unloadedfromthetrunkof thecarandunpackedandstoredincupboards,all tosustainasinglebody.Thepillsheswallowedeverymorning.Thecinnamonstickshepriedoutofatintoflavortheoilforapotofcurryordal.
Onedayhewoulddie, likeRichard,andhis thingswould remain forotherpeople topuzzleoverorsortthrough,tothrowaway.Alreadyhisbrainhadstoppedholdingontodirectionshewouldneverhave to followagain, thenamesofpeoplehewouldspeak toonlyonce.Somuchofwhatoccupiedhismindwasnegligible.Therewasonlyonething,thestoryofUdayan,thathewantedtolaybare.
He recognized the house at once. It was the rooming house he’d once lived inwithRichard, across from the hand pump and the villagewell.Awhitewooden housewith
blackshutters.Becausetheaddressesofthehouseshadchangedsincethen,becausetherehadnotbeenapictureonthepostcardElisehadgivenhim,hehadnotknown.
Elisesmiledwhenshesawhim,handinghimhisticketoffafatspool,hischange.Shelookeddifferenttoday,wearingalooseshiftofsage-coloredlinen,hersilverhairframingherface,apairofsunglassesonherhead.
Thankyouforcoming.Howhaveyoubeen?
Iknowthishouse.Iusedtolivehere.WithRichard.
Youdid?
WhenIfirstgothere,yes.Youdidn’tknow?
Herfacechanged,thesmilefading,buttherewasalookofconcernnowinhereyes.Ihadnoidea.
Shedidn’tsharewhathe’dtoldherwiththerestofthegrouponcethetourbegan.Thelayout had changed, the number of rooms fewer than they’d been. The rooms weresparselyfurnished,thedoorwaysfittedwithironlatches,thefurnituremadeofdarkwood.The tables had dropped leaves that partially concealed their pedestals, like a modestwoman’s skirt. The surface of thewriting desk could be tucked away and locked. Thelintelofthefireplacewasmadeofoak.
He rememberednothing.Andyethehad livedhere,hehad lookedout through thesesmallwindowsashe’dstudied.A timeso longago,whenhewasnewtoRhodeIsland,whenUdayanwasstillalive.HerehehadreadUdayan’sletters.HerehehadlookedataphotographofGauri,wonderingabouther,notrealizingthathewastomarryher.
Elisepointedtothedifferentstylesofchairsthatwerepopular:slat-back,banisterback,fiddleback.Thestreethadbeen the town’scommercialdistrict, she told thegroup.Nextdoortherehadbeenahatshop,andafterthatabarbershop,wherethevillagemenwenttogetshaved.
Thishousehad firstbeena tailor’s shopand residence, thena lawyer’soffice, thenafamily’s home for four generations. It was cut up into a rooming house in the sixties.Whenthelastlandlorddied,he’dbequeathedittothehistoricalsociety,andslowlytheyhadraisedfundstorestoreit,collaboratingwithalocalartgallerysothattherewouldbeexhibitsintheroomsdownstairs.
He was struck by the effort to preserve such places. The corner cupboard encasedplattersandbowlspeoplehadeatenfrom,candlesticksfromwhichtheirlighthadburned.Thekitchenwallsdisplayedtheladlesandgriddlestheyhadcookedwith.Thepinefloorswerethesamehuethey’dbeenwhenthosepeoplehadwalkedthroughtherooms.
Theeffectwasdisquieting.Hefelthispresenceonearthbeingdenied,evenashestoodthere.Hewasforbiddenaccess;thepastrefusedtoadmithim.Itonlyremindedhimthatthisarbitraryplace,wherehe’d landedandmadehis life,wasnothis.LikeBela, ithadacceptedhim,whileatthesametimekeepingadistance.Amongitspeople,itstrees,itsparticulargeographyhehadstudiedandgrowntolove,hewasstillavisitor.Perhapstheworstformofvisitor:onewhohadrefusedtoleave.
Hethoughtofthetwohomesthatbelongedtohim.ThehouseinTollygunge,whichhehadnotreturnedtosincehismother’sdeath,andthehouseinRhodeIslandinwhichGaurihad left him, which he imagined would be his last. A relative managed the house inTollygungeonhisbehalf,collectingtherentanddepositingit intoabankaccountthere,drawingontheincometooverseeanyrepairs.
Hewouldnevergobacktolivethere,andyethecouldnotbringhimselftosellit;thatsmallplotofland,andtheprosaichousethatstoodonit,stillborefamily’sname,ashisparentshadhopeditwould.
A doctor and his family lived in it now, the bottom floor serving as his chamber.Perhapsignorantof itshistory,perhapshavingheardsomeversionof it fromneighbors.Nogroupwouldgooutofitswaytoadmireit,twohundredyearsfromnow.
Attheendofthetourheaddedhisnameandphonenumber,hise-mail,toalistforthehistorical society.He accepted anotherpostcard fromElise, announcingaplant sale thefollowingmonth.
After theirbriefexchangeshehadpaidhimnospecial interest thatafternoon,alwaysspeakingtothegroup.Shehadnotapproachedhim,ashehopedshemight,whenhehadlingeredaloneintheupstairshallway,inthepartofthehousethathadfeltmostfamiliartohim.
Heconcludedithadbeenfor thesakeof thehistoricalsociety thatshe’dinvitedhim,thatithadmeantnothingelse.Butafewdayslater,shecalled.
You’reallright?
Whydoyouask?
Youseemedshakentheotherday.Ididn’twanttointrude.
Shewantedtoinvitehimtosomethingelse.Notaplayoraconcert,somethinghemighthaveturneddown.Shesaidsherememberedhimmentioning,atRichard’sfuneral,thathelikedwalkingalongthebikepath.Shebelongedtoahikingclubthatgottogetheronceamonth,toexploretucked-awaylandmarksandtrails.
We’remeeting at the Great Swamp next time, so I thought of you, she said, beforeaskingifhewantedtocomealong.
Chapter3Theginkgoleaves,yellowafewdaysago,glowapricotnow.Theyaretheonlysource
ofbrightnessthismorning.Rainfromthenightbeforehascausedafreshbatchofleavesto fallonto thebluestone slabs thatpave the sidewalk.The slabs areuneven, forceduphereandtherebytherootsofthetrees.Thetreetopsaren’tvisiblethroughthewindowsofBela’s room, two steps ground level. Only when she emerges from the stoop, pushingopenawrought-irongate,tostepoutintotheday.
Theblockislinedwithrowhousesfacingoneanother.Mostlyinhabited,afewboardedup.She’sbeen in theneighborhooda fewmonths,because theopportunityarose.She’dbeenlivingupstate,eastofAlbany.DrivingdowneverySaturdaytooneof thefarmers’marketsinthecity,unloadingthetruck,settinguptents.Someonementionedaroominahouse.
ItwasanopportunitytolivecheaplyinBrooklynforawhile.Therewasajobshecouldwalk to, clearing out a dilapidated playground, converting it into vegetable beds. Shetrainsteenagerstoworkthereafterschool,showingthemhowtoshoveloutthecrabgrass,how to plant sunflowers along the chain-link fence. She teaches them the differencebetweenarowcropandacovercrop.Sheoverseesseniorcitizenswhovolunteer.
Sheliveswithtenotherpeopleinahousemeantforonefamily.Theyarepeoplewritingnovelsandscreenplays,peopledesigningjewelry,peoplewhosecomputerstart-upshavefailed.Peoplewho’verecentlygraduatedfromcollege,andolderpeoplewithpasts theydon’tcare todiscuss.Theyallkeep to themselves,operatingondifferent schedules,buttheytaketurnsfeedingoneanother.Thereisonesetofbills,onekitchen,onetelevision,rotatingchores.Inthemorningstheysignupfortimeslotstousethebathrooms.Onceaweek,onSundays,thosewhocanmakeitsitdowntoacollectivemeal.
Peoplestilltalkabouttheshootingafewyearsago,inthemiddleoftheday,outsidethedrugstoreonthecorner.Theytalkaboutafourteen-year-oldboy,whoseparentsliveacrossthe street, who was killed.Most people get their groceries from bodegas or run-downsupermarkets.Butnowthere’sacoffeeshopwithanespressomachine,wedgedamongtheotherstorefronts.Therearefathersinsuits,walkingchildrentoschool.
Oneofthehousesattheendoftheblockisshroudedwithnetting.Thepeelingfacadeisbeing scraped down to reveal a base layer of thickly ridged gray. Climbing roses, acombinationoforangeandred,areinbloominthesmallplotbehindthegate.Thenameofthecontractor,accordingtothesignpostedoutfront,isItalian,buttheworkmencomefromBangladesh.TheyspeakinthelanguageBela’sparentshadusedwithoneanother.Alanguage she’d understood better than she’d spoken in her childhood. A language shestoppedhearingafterhermotherleft.
Hermother’sabsencewaslikeanotherlanguageshe’dhadtolearn,itsfullcomplexityandnuanceemergingonlyafteryearsofstudy,andeven then,because itwasforeign,alanguageneverfullyabsorbed.
Shecan’tunderstandwhatthesemenaresaying.Justsomewordshereandthere.Theaccentisdifferent.Still,shealwaysslowsdownwhenshepassesthem.She’snotnostalgicforherchildhood,butthisaspectofit,atoncefamiliarandforeign,givesherpause.Part
ofherwonderswhether thedormantcomprehension inherbrainwill everbe jostled. Ifonedayshemightrememberhowtosaysomething.
Some days she sees the workmen sitting on the stoop of the house, taking a break,jokingwith one another, smoking cigarettes.One of them is older,with awispywhitebeardnearlytohischest.Shewondershowlongthey’velivedinAmerica,whetherandinwhatwaytheymightberelated.Shewondersiftheylikeithere.Whetherthey’llreturntoBangladesh,orstaypermanently.Sheimaginesthemlivinginagrouphouse,asshedoes.Sheseesthemsittingdowntodinnertogetherattheendoftheirlongday,eatingricewiththeirhands.PrayingatamosqueinQueens.
Whatdotheymakeofher?Ofherfadedgrayjeans,theunlacedbootsonherfeet?Longhairshe’ll tieback later,mostof it tuckedfornowinsideherhoodedsweatshirt.Afacewithoutmakeup,aday-packstrappedacrossherchest.Ancestorsfromwhatwasonceasinglecountry,acommonland.
Apart from their vocabulary, their general coloring, none of thesemen resemble herfather.But somehow they remindherofhim.Theycauseher to thinkofhim inRhodeIsland,towonderhowhe’sdoing.
Noelremindsherinanotherwayofherfather.Helivesinthehouse,withhisgirlfriend,Ursula,and theirdaughter,Violet, in tworoomson the top floor thatBela’sneverseen.NoelspendshisdayswithViolet;Ursula,acookinarestaurant,aprettywomanwithapixiehaircut,istheonewhoworks.
Bela seesNoel takingViolet to kindergarten in themornings and, a few hours later,bringingherhome.Sheseeshimtakinghertothepark, teachinghertorideabike.Sheseeshimrunningbehindhisdaughterasshestrugglestogainherbalance,grabbingontoawoolen scarf he’s tied aroundher chest.She seeshim fixingViolet’s dinners, grilling asinglehamburgerforheronthehibachibehindthehouse.
Violetdoesn’tbegrudgeUrsulaall the timeshe’saway.NordoesNoel.Theykisshergood-byeinthemornings,theyfallintoherarmswhenshecomeshome,sometimeswithdessertsfromtherestaurant.Becauseshe’stheexception,andnottherule,Violetformsadifferent relationship toUrsula.Less frequentcontact,butmore intense.Sheadjustsherexpectations,justasBelaoncedid.
NoelandUrsulasometimesknockonBela’sdoorastheypreparetheirowndinner,lateratnight,afterViolethasgonetobed.Thereisalwaysplenty,sheisalwayswelcome,theysay.Breadandcheese,abigsaladUrsulatosseswithherfingers.Ursulaisalwaysalittlewiredwhenshegetshomefromhershiftsattherestaurant.Shelikestorollajointforthethreeofthem,listentomusic,tellstoriesaboutherday.
Belaenjoysspendingtimewiththem,andtriestobegenerousinkind.ShelooksafterViolet, if Ursula and Noel want to go see a movie. She’s taken Ursula out to thecommunitygarden,sendingherbackwithherbsandsunflowersforherrestaurant.Butshedoesn’twanttocometodependonthem.ShesaysnowhenNoelandUrsuladecide,onUrsula’sbirthday,tohaveapicniconFireIsland.She’sbeenintoomanyfriendshipswithother couples likeNoel andUrsula.Coupleswhogooutof theirway to includeher, toofferherthecompanyshelacks,onlytoremindherthatshe’sstillonherown.
She’sused tomaking friendswherever shegoes, thenmovingon, never seeing themagain.Shecan’timaginebeingpartofacouple,orofanyotherfamily.She’sneverhadaromanticrelationshipthat’senduredforanylengthoftime.
She feels no bitterness, seeing Noel and Violet and Ursula together. Their closenessfascinatesher,alsocomfortsher.Evenbeforehermotherleft,they’dneverreallybeenafamily.Hermotherhadneverwantedtobethere.Belaknowsthisnow.
Visiting her father last summer, she’d learned that he was seeing someone. Not justanyone, but someone she knew.Mrs. Silva had been her history teacher.ButBelawasasked,thedaytheyallwentouttobreakfast,tocallherElise.
She’dbeenastonishedtolearnoftheirinvolvement;themostsignificantfigureofherupbringing,pairedwithaminorone.She’dbeensecretlyupsetbyit,atfirst.Butsheknewit was unfair of her, given that she barely saw her father, given that she continued tomeasureouthercontactwithhim,whethertodenyherselfortodenyhim,shecouldnotbesure.
She saw he’d been nervous, telling her. She saw that hewas afraid shewould reactbadly,thatmaybeshewouldusethisasfurthercausetokeepaway.Intuitinghishesitance,notwishingtointimidatehim,shehadreassuredhim,sayingshewashappyhe’dfoundacompanion,thatofcourseshewishedhimwell.
The truth is, she had always likedElise Silva.Bela had forgotten about her, but sheremembered lookingforward toherclass.Last summer, rightaway,she’dperceived theaffection between Elise and her father. The way they’d studied the menu together atbreakfast,herfatherlookingoverElise’sshoulderwhenhemighthavepickeduphisown.ThewayEliseencouragedhimtoforgotheoatmealandindulgeinBelgianwaffles.Sheobserved a tranquility in their faces.She sawhow, shyly, in contrast to hermother andfather,theywerealreadyunited.
Shewonders if her father and Elise will eventuallymarry. But this wouldmean hisdivorcing her mother first. Bela will never marry, she knows this about herself. Theunhappinessbetweenherparents:thishasbeenthemostbasicawarenessofherlife.
Whenshewasyoungershe’dbeenangryatherfather,moreangrythanshe’dbeenathermother.She’dblamedhimfordrivinghermotheraway,andfornotfiguringoutawaytobringherback.Perhapsaremnantofthatangeristhereasonshedoesn’tbothertotellhimnowthatshe’slivingjustthreehoursawayinNewYorkCity.Butthishasbeenherpolicy:seeinghimonherownterms,nevermakingitclearwheresheis.
At thispoint she’s livednearlyhalfher lifeapart fromhim.Eighteenyears inRhodeIsland,fifteenonherown.She’llbethirty-fouronhernextbirthday.Shecravesadifferentpacesometimes,analternativetowhatherlifehascometobe.Butshedoesn’tknowwhatelseshemightdo.
Shewishesitwereeasier,thetimeshespendswithherfather.ShewishesRhodeIsland,whichshe’d lovedasachild,wouldn’t remindherofhermother,who’dhated it.WhenBela’s thereshe’saware thatshe isunwanted, thathermother isnevercomingbackforher.InRhodeIslandshefeelswhatever issolidwithinherdraining.Andso, thoughshecontinuesvisiting,thoughshe’smoreorlessmadepeacewithherfather,thoughheisher
onlyfamily,shecanneverbearitforverylong.
Yearsago,Dr.Granthadhelpedhertoputwhatshefeltintowords.She’dtoldBelathatthe feeling would ebb but never fully go away. It would form part of her landscape,wherever shewent. She said that hermother’s absencewould always be present in herthoughts.ShetoldBelathattherewouldneverbeananswerforwhyshe’dgone.
Dr.Grantwasright,thefeelingnolongerswallowsher.Belalivesonitsperiphery,shetakesitinatadistance.Thewayhergrandmother,sittingonaterraceinTollygunge,usedtospendherdaysoverlookingalowland,apairofponds.
Sheapproachestheworkmen.Onceagainsheabsorbstheirconversation,bothforeignand familiar. They have no idea that their talk affects her. Shemoves down the block,salutingthem,wonderingwhereshe’llgoafterBrooklyn.Theyseeherandwave.
Thenexttimeshevisitsherfathershe’llspeaktohiminEnglish.Werehermotherevertostandbeforeher,evenifBelacouldchooseanylanguageonearth inwhichtospeak,shewouldhavenothingtosay.
Butno,that’snottrue.Sheremainsinconstantcommunicationwithher.EverythinginBela’s lifehasbeenareaction. IamwhoIam,shewouldsay, I liveasIdobecauseofyou.
Chapter4June brought clouds that concealed the sun, storms that turned the sea gray. The
atmospherewas raw enough for Subhash to keepwearing corduroy slippers instead offlip-flops; tocontinue topreheat theelectricblanketon thebed.The rhythmof the rainwas nocturnal, drumming heavily on the rooftop, tapering to a drizzle in themornings,pausingbutneverclearing.Itgatheredstrengthandweakened,thenintensifiedagain.
At the side of the house he scraped scales of fungus off the shingles. His basementsmelledofmildew,hiseyesstingingwhenheputinthelaundry.Thesoilofhisvegetablegarden was too wet to till, the roots of the seedlings he’d planted washing away. Therhododendrons shed their purple petals too soon, the peonies barely opening before thestalks bent over, the blossoms smashed across the drenched ground. It was carnal, thesmellofsomuchmoisture.Thesmelloftheearth’sdecay.
Atnighttherainwouldwakehim.Hehearditpeltingthewindows,washingthepitchofthedrivewayclean.Hewonderedifitwasasignofsomething.Ofanotherjunctureinhis life.He remembered rain falling the first night he spentwithHolly, in her cottage.HeavyraintheeveningBelawasborn.
Hebeganexpecting it to leak throughthebricksaroundthefireplace, todrip throughtheceiling,toseepinbelowthedoors.HethoughtofthemonsooncomingeveryyearinTollygunge.Thetwopondsflooding,theembankmentbetweenthemturninginvisible.
InJulyhisgardenstartedfillingwithweeds.Theeveningswerelong,themorningskyturned light at five.Bela called to say shewas arriving. Sometimes she came by train,othertimessheflewintoBostonorProvidence.Oncesheshowedupafterdrivingherselfhundredsofmilesinaborrowedcar.
Hevacuumedthecarpetinherbedroom,launderedthesheets,thoughnoonehadsleptonthemsinceBela’slastvisit toRhodeIsland.Hebroughtupanotherboxfanfromthebasement now that it had turned warm and sunny, a bit humid, even, unscrewing theplasticgrillesandwipingthebladesbeforesettingitintoherwindow.
On her shelves were certain things they’d discovered together, in the canopy of thewoods,oralongtheshore.Asmallbird’snestofwoventwigs.Theskullofagartersnake.The vertebra of a porpoise, shaped like a propeller. He remembered the excitement offindingthesethingswithher,howshe’dpreferredthemtotoysanddolls.Herememberedhowshe’dputpineconesandstonesintothehoodofhercoat,whenitwaswinter,whenherpocketsgottoofull,whenshewassmall.
Shewouldstirupthestaidatmosphereofhislife.Shewouldscatterherthingsthroughthehouse,shedherclothesonthefloor;herlonghairswouldslowtheshowerdrain.Thefoodsshelikedtoeat,thatshewouldgotothehealthfoodstoretobuy,wouldstandoutforawhileonthekitchencounter:amaranthflakes,chunksofcarob,herbal teas.Buttermadefromalmonds,milkderivedfromrice.Thenshewouldgoaway.
HesetoutforBostontogreether.HerememberedthedrivetomeetGauriattheairport,in1972,believinghewouldspendhislifewithher.HerememberedcomingbackfromthesameairportwithBela,twelveyearslater,todiscoverthatGauriwasgone.
Shearrivedwithaduffelbag,abackpack.HerplanehadlandedfromMinnesota.Shestoodoutfromtheothersintheirsuitsandwind-breakers,checkingmessagesontheircellphones,tenselyrollingtheirluggagebehindthem.Shewasbrown,sturdy,unadorned.Shestoodundistracted.Sheapproachedhim,herskinradiant,embracinghimwithherstrongarms.
Howareyou,Bela?
I’mgood.I’mwell.
Areyouhungry?Wouldyouliketogoouttoeatsomewhere,inBoston?
Iwanttogohome.Let’sgotothebeachtomorrow.Howhaveyoubeen?
Hetoldherthathishealthwasfine,thathewasbusywithhisresearch,withanarticlehewascontributingto.Hesaidthatthetomatoesinhisgardenweren’tthriving;therewereblackspotsontheleaves.
Don’tbotherwiththem.Toomuchrainthisspring.HowisElise?
He told her Elisewas fine.But such small talk felt imbalanced, given thatBela hadneverbroughtaboyfriendhome.
She’dneversoughthispermission,whenshewasateenagerandstilllivedwithhim,todate.Shehadgivenhimnotroubleinthatregard.Thelackofittroubledhimnow.
Even today part of him had hoped that she would surprise him, and appear with acompanionattheairport.Someonetocareforher,tosharetheunconventionallifesheled.Iwon’tbehereforever,he’doncegoneasfarastosay,conveyingthenewsofRichard’sdeathbyphone.ButBelahadonlyreproachedhimforbeingmelodramatic.
Hehadlearnedtosetasidetheresponsibilityhe’doncebelievedwouldbehis:todohisparttosecureadaughter’sfuturebypairingitwithanotherperson’s.Ifhe’draisedherinCalcutta itwouldhavebeenreasonable forhim tobringup thesubjectofhermarriage.Hereitwasconsideredmeddlesome,out-of-bounds.Hehadraisedherinaplacefreefromsuchstigmas.Whenhe’dvoicedhisconcernsoneeveningtoElise,shehadadvisedhimtosaynothing, remindinghim that somanypeople thesedayswaiteduntil their thirties tomarry,eventheirforties.
Thenagain,howcouldheexpectBelatobeinterestedinmarriage,giventheexamplehe and Gauri had given? They were a family of solitaries. They had collided anddispersed.Thiswasherlegacy.Ifnothingelse,shehadinheritedthatimpulsefromthem.
ShemissedNewEngland.Shealwayssaidsoashedroveherbacktothehouse.Theexpressiononherfaceasshelookedthroughthewindowofthecarwasoneofunfilteredrecognition.Sheaskedhimtopulloverwhenshesawoneofthetrucksthatappearedhereandthereinsummer,thatsoldcupsoffrozenlemonade.
Atthehousesheopenedupherbags,unwrappingfragrantplumsandnectarinesfromsheetsoftissue,arrangingtheminbowls.
Howlongwillyoustay?heaskedoverdinner,overthelambandricehe’dmade.Twoweeksthistime?
Shehadeatentwohelpings.Sheputherforkdown.
Itdepends.
Onwhat?Issomethingthematter?
Shelookedintohiseyes.Hesawnervousnessinhers,combinedwitheagerness,andacertainresolve.Herememberedhowshewouldpressherpalmstogetherwhenshewasalittle girl, bobbing up and down in waist-deep water when she was learning to swim.Pausing,deliberating,preparingfortheeffort,fortheleapoffaithitrequired.
There’ssomethingIneedtotellyou,Baba.Somenews.
Hisheartskippedabeat,thenstartedracing.Heunderstooditnow.Thereasonforthesmilethathadbeenonherfacewhenhesawherattheairport,thecontentmentthathe’dsensedallevening,hummingwithinher.
Butno,shehadnotmetanyone.Therewasnospecialfriendshewantedtointroducehimto,toinvitetothehouse.
Shetookadeepbreath,exhaled.
I’mpregnant,shesaid.
Shewasmorethanfourmonthsalong.Thefatherwasnotapartofherlife,notawareofher condition. He was simply someone Bela had known, with whom she had beeninvolved,perhapsforayear,perhapsmerelyforanevening.Shedidnotsay.
Shewantedtokeepthechild.Shewantedtobecomeamother.Shetoldhimthatshe’dthoughtaboutitcarefully,thatshewasready.
Shesaiditwasbetterthatthefatherdidnotknow.Itwaslesscomplicatedthatway.
Why?
Becausehe’snotthekindoffatherIwantformychild.Sheaddedafteramoment,He’snothinglikeyou.
Isee.
Buthedidnotsee.Whowasthismanwhohadturnedhisdaughterintoamother?Whowasunaware,undeserving,ofpaternity?
Hebegangently.It’snotsoeasy,Bela,bringingupachildalone.
Youdidit.Lotsofpeopledo.
Ideally,achildhasbothparentsinitslife,hecontinued.Afatheraswellasamother.
Doesitbotheryou?
What?
ThatI’mnotmarried?
Youhavenofixedincome,Bela.Nostablehome.
Ihavethisone.
Andyouarewelcomehere,always.Butyoustaywithmetwoweeksoftheyear.Therestofthetimeyouareelsewhere.
Unless.
Unless?
Shewantedtocomehomeagain.Shewantedtostaywithhim,togivebirthinRhodeIsland.Shewantedtoprovidethesamehomeforherchildthathehadprovidedforher.Shewantednottohavetoworkforawhile.
Wouldthatbeallrightwithyou?
The coincidence coursed through him, numbing, bewildering. A pregnant woman, afatherless child.Arriving inRhode Island, needing him. Itwas a reenactment ofBela’sorigins.AversionofwhathadbroughtGauritohim,yearsago.
Afterdinner,afterclearingthetableandwashingthedishes,Belatoldhimshewantedtotakeadrive.
Where?
IwanttowatchthesunsetfromPointJudith.
Youdon’tneedtorest?
I’mfullofenergy.Willyoucomewithme?
ButhesaidhewastiredfromthetriptoBostonandback,thathepreferrednottogooutagain.
I’llgo,then.
Onyourown?
Hecouldnothelpit,thethoughtofherdrivingthecar,somethingshe’ddonecapablysinceshewassixteen,worriedhimnow.Hehadanirrationalimpulsenottoletheroutofhissight.
She shookher head as hehandedher thekeys. I’ll be careful. I’ll be back in a littlewhile.
And though they had not seen each other in a year, though she’d asked him toaccompanyher,hefelt,asshemusthavefelt,theneedtobealone,tothinkprivatelyaboutwhatshe’dsaid.
Heturnedthelightsonoutside.Butinsidewherehesat,aftersheleft,hedidnotbother.Hewatchedtheskyturnpalebeforedeepening,thesilhouettesofthetreesturningblack,the contrast acute. They looked two-dimensional, lacking texture. After a few moreminutestheiroutlineswereindistinguishablefromthenightsky.
Gauri hadwalked out on her. But he knew that his own failingwasworse.At leastGauri’s actions had been honest, definitive. Not craven, not ongoing, not stealthilyleechinghertrust,likehis.
Andyetthischild,theirchild,wasnowdeterminedtobeamother.Alreadyheknewshewould be a differentmother thanGauri.He sensed the pride, the ease,withwhich shecarriedthechild.
Her refusal to revealwho the fatherwas, her insistence upon raising a childwithout
one;hecouldnotsetthisconcernaside.Butitwasn’ttheprospectofBelabeingasinglemotherthatupsethim.Itwasbecausehewasthemodelshewasfollowing;thathewasaninspirationtoher.
Aconversationbetweenthemrosetohismemory,fromlongago.
Whyaren’ttheretwoofyou?she’dasked,sittingacrossfromhim.
Thequestionhadstartledhim.Atfirsthehadnotunderstood.
Ihavetwoeyes,she’dpersisted.WhydoIseeonlyoneofyou?
Aninnocentquestion,anintelligentone.She’dbeensixorseven.He’dtoldherthatinfacteacheyedidtakeinadifferentimage,ataslightlydifferentangle.He’dcoveredoneofhereyes,thentheother,soshecouldseeforherself.Sothathe’dappearedtodouble,shiftingbackandforth.
He’dtoldherthebrainfusedtheseparateimagestogether.Matchingupwhatwasthesame,addinginwhatwasdifferent.Makingthebestofboth.
SoIseewithmybrain,notmyeyes?
Shewouldhavetoseewithhermindnow.Somehow,shewouldhavetoprocesswhathewouldsay.
Hewasstillsittinginthedarkwhen,aboutanhourlater,heheardthecar’sapproach.Thesharpcroakoftheemergencybrake,thesoftthudofthedoor.
Hewalkedtotheentry,openingthefrontdoorbeforesherangthebell.Hesawherontheothersideofthescreenthatwascoveredwithmoths.Foryearshehadworriedabouthowmuchthe informationwouldupsether,but therewasnowadoubledworry,for thechild shewas carrying. She had returned to him, seeking stability.Nowwas theworsttime.Andyethewasunabletowaitanothermoment.
The presence of another generation within her was forcing a new beginning, alsodemandinganend.HehadreplacedUdayanandturnedintoherfather.Buthecouldnotbecomeagrandfatherinthesamesurreptitiousway.
HewasafraidBelawouldhatehimnow,justasshehatedGauri.Becauseshehadnotmarried,hehadnotgivenheraway,symbolicallyorotherwise, toanotherman.Butthiswaswhathefelthewasabouttodo.HepreparedhimselftogiveherbacktoUdayan.Topushherawayattheverymomentshewantedtocomebacktohim.Torisklettinghergo.
What are you doing,Baba? she said, causing the insects to scatter, stepping into thehouse.It’sgettinglate.Whyareallthelightsoff?Whyareyoustandingherelikethis?
Inthedarkenedhallway,shecouldnotseethetearsalreadyforminginhiseyes.
Allnighttheystayedup.Untilitgrewlightagain,heattemptedtoexplain.
I’mnotyourfather.
Whoareyou,then?
Yourstepfather.Youruncle.Boththosethings.
Sherefusedtobelievehim.Shethoughtsomethinghadhappenedtohim,thathe’dlost
hismind, that perhaps he’d suffered a stroke. She kneeled in front of him on the sofa,grippinghimbytheshoulders,inchesfromhisface.
Stopsayingthat,shesaid.Hesat,passive,inherclutches,andyethefeltasifhewerestrikingher.Hewasawareofthebruteforceofthetruth,worsethananyphysicalblow.Atthesametimehehadneverfeltmorepathetic,morefrail.
She shouted at him, askingwhyhe’dnever toldher, pushinghimangrily against thesofa.Thenshestartedtocry.Shebehavedjustashefelt—asifhehadsuddenlydiedinfrontofher.
Shestartedshakinghim,willinghimtocomebacktolife,asifhewerejustashellnow,asifthepersonshe’dknownweregone.
As thenightworeonand the informationsettledoverher, sheaskeda fewquestionsaboutthecircumstancesofUdayan’sdeath.Sheaskedabitaboutthemovement,ofwhichshewasignorant,andwasnowcurious;thiswasall.
Washeguiltyofanything?
Certainthings.Yourmothernevertoldmethefullstory.
Well,whatdidshetellyou?
He told her the truth, that Udayan had plotted violent acts, that he had assembledexplosives.Butheaddedthatafteralltheseyearsitremaineduncertain,theextentofwhathehaddone.
Didheknowaboutme?DidheknowIwasgoingtobeborn?
No.
Shesatacrossfromhim,listening.Somewhereinthehouse,hetoldher, therewereafewlettershe’dsaved,thatUdayanhadsenttohim.LettersthatreferredtoGauriashiswife.
HeofferedtoreadthemtoBela,butsheshookherhead.Herfacewasimplacable.Nowthathe’dcomebacktolife,hewasastrangertoher.
He was unaware of the conversation reaching any conclusion, only of his growingexhausted. He covered one of his eyes with his hand because of the strain, theimpossibilityofkeepingitopen.Allthesleeplessnights,eversinceRichard’sdeath,werecrushinghim,andheexcusedhimself,unabletostayawake,goinguptohisbed.
Whenhewokeinthemorningshewasalreadygone.Partofhimknewshewouldbe,thattheonlywaytokeepherinthehouseafterwhathe’dtoldherwouldbetotiehertoit.Still, he rushed into her bedroom and saw that though the bed had been slept in, andremade,thebagsshe’dbroughtwithherwerenotthere.
Downstairson thekitchencounter,among thebowls filledwithfruit, thephonebookwasstillopen,turnedtothepagethatlistedthetaxicompanythatservedthetown.
•••
The facts of her paternity had changed. Two instead of one. Just as shewas now inpregnancy,fusedwithabeingshecouldnotseeorknow.
ThisunknownpersonmaturinginsideherwastheonlybeingwithwhomBelafeltanyconnectionasshetraveledawayfromRhodeIslandtocalmherself,totakeinwhatshe’dbeen told. It was the only part of her that felt faithful, familiar. As she stared out thewindowofaPeterPanbusatthesceneryofherchildhood,sherecognizednothing.
She’dbeenliedtoallherlife.Butthelierefusedtoaccommodatethetruth.Herfatherremainedherfather,evenashe’dtoldherhewasn’t.Ashe’dtoldherthatUdayanwas.
Shecouldnotblameherfatherfornottellingheruntilnow.Herownchildmightblameher,someday,forasimilarreason.
Herewasanexplanationforwhyhermotherhadgone.Why,whenBelalookedback,she remembered spending timewith either one parent or the other, but so seldomwithbothatthesametime.
Herewasthesourceofthecompunctionthathadalwaysbeeninher,ofbeingunabletobringpleasure tohermother.Of feelinguniqueamongchildren,beingachildwhowasincapableofthis.
AroundBelahermotherhadneverpretended.Shehadtransmittedanunhappinessthatwassteady,anambientsignal thatwasfixed.Itwastransmittedwithoutwords.AndyetBelawasawareofit,asoneisawareofamountain.Immovable,insurmountable.
Nowtherewasathirdparent,pointedouttoherlikeanewstarherfatherwouldteachher to identify in thenight sky.Something that hadbeen there all along, contributing auniquepointoflight.Thatwasdeadbutnewlyalivetoher.Thathadbothmadeherandmadenodifference.
She remembered vaguely the portrait in Tollygunge, on the wall above a stack ofreceipts. A smiling face, a dirty frame of pale wood. A young man her grandmotherreferredtoasherfather,untilherfathertoldheritwasaportraitofUdayan.Shenolongerrememberedthefaceindetail.Afterbeingtolditwasnotherfather,she’dstoppedpayingattentiontoit.
She understood now why her mother had not returned with them that summer toCalcutta.Whyshe’dnevergonebackatanyothertime,andwhyshe’dnevertalkedaboutherlifethere,whenBelahadasked.
When her mother had left Rhode Island, she’d taken her unhappiness with her, nolonger sharing it, leaving Bela with a lack of access to that signal instead. What hadseemedimpossiblehadtakenplace.Themountainwasgone.
Initsplacewasaheavystone,likecertainstonesembeddeddeepinthesandwhenshedugonthebeach.Toolargetounearth,itssurfacepartlyvisible,butitscontoursunknown.
She taught herself to ignore it, towalk away.And yet the hole remained her hollowpointoforigin,thecoldcrosshairsofherexistence.
Shereturnedtoitnow.Atlastthesandgaveway,andshewasabletopryoutwhatwasburied,toraiseitfromitsenclosure.Foramomentshefeltitsdimensions,itsheftinherhands.Shefelt thestrainitsentthroughherbody,beforehurlingitonceandforall intothesea.
ForafewdaysSubhashheardnothing.Hetriedhercellphone,notsurprisedwhenshedidn’tanswer.Hehadnoideawhereshe’dgone.Therewasnoonewhomhemighthaveasked.HewonderedifshehadgonetoCalifornia,totrackGauridown,tohearhersideofit.Hebegantoconvincehimselfthatthismusthavebeenwhatshe’ddone.
ThenexttimehespoketoElisehesaidthatBela’splansforvisitinghadchanged.Manytimeshe’dwantedtoexplain toElise thathewasnotreallyBela’sfather—that thiswaspart of the reasonGauri had left.He’d felt that shewouldhaveunderstood.But out ofloyaltytoBelahe’dsaidnothing.ItwasBelawhodeservedtoknowfirst.
Hesleptandslept,wakingonlybriefly,neverrefreshed.Whenhewasnolongerabletorestheremainedinbed.Herememberedtheisolationofbeingatsea,thesilencewhenthecaptainwould cut the engine. Though he had unburdened himself, his head felt heavy,therewasadiscomfortthatwouldnotgoaway.Forafewdayshecalledinsicktothelab.
Hewondered if he should retire. If he should sell the house andmove far away.HewantedtocallGauri,tolashoutather,totellhershehaddefeatedhimutterly.Thathehadsurrenderedthetruth,thatfromnowonBelawouldalwaysseehimforwhathewas.ButreallyheonlywantedBelasomehowtoforgivehim.
Atnight,inspiteofthesultrydays,thewindgusted,thecoolairchillinghimthroughtheopenwindows,theseasonthreateningtoslipawaythoughithadonlyjustarrived.
At theendof theweek, thephonerang.Hisstomachfeltvacant,hehadeatenalmostnothing.Only teanowandagain, and the softening fruitBelahadbrought.The stubblewasstiffagainsthisface.Hewasinbed,thinkingitmightbeElise,checkinginonhim.
Hethoughtoflettingitring,butpickedupatthelastminute,wantingtohearhervoice,needingnowtotellherwhathadhappened,toseekheradvice.
ButitwasBela.
Whyaren’tyouatwork?sheaskedhim.
Quicklyhe sat up. Itwas as if she’d stepped into the roomand foundhim thatway,disheveled,desperate.
Iam—Idecidedtotakethedayoff.
I sawpilotwhales.Theywere so close to the shore I couldhave swumout to touchthem.Isthatnormalatthistimeofyear?
He could not think straight enough to fully grasp what she was saying, never mindrespond. As relieved as he was to hear from her, he was afraid that he would say thewrongthing,andthatshewouldhangup.
Whereareyou?Wheredidyougo?
She’dtakenataxitoProvidence,abustoCapeCod.SheknewafriendinTrurotostaywith,afriendfromhighschool,marriednow,who’dspentsummersthere,who’dmovedtherepermanentlysomeyearsago.Thebeacheswerebeautiful,shesaid.Shehadn’tbeenupthatwaysinceshewasateenager.
Herememberedtakingher to theCapewhenshewaslittle.Latespring, thefirstyearthatGauriwasgone.Whenthey’dwalkedtogetheralongthebay,she’drunaheadofhim,
excitedtolookatsomething.
Hecaughtuptoherandsawthatitwasabeacheddolphin,itseyesocketshollow,stillseemingtogrin.He’dtakenouthiscameratophotographit.Loweringthecamerafromhisface,herealizedBelawascrying.Silentlyatfirst,thenaudiblywhenheputhisarmsaroundher.
Howlongwillyoubethere?heaskedhernow.
I’mgettingaridebacktoHyannis.There’sabusfromtherethatgetsintonightateight.
Getsinwhere?
Providence.
For a moment he was silent, as she was. She was calling from her cell phone; hecouldn’ttellifshewasstillthere,orifthelinehadgonedead.
Baba?
Hehadheardher.He’dheardherstillcallinghimthis.Canyoupickmeup,heheardhersay,orshouldIgetacab?
InthedaysthatfollowedshethankedhimfortellingheraboutUdayan—itwasbynamethatshereferredtohim—sayingthatithelpedtoexplaincertainthings.She’dheardwhatwasnecessary;shedidn’tneedhimtotellheranythingmore.
In away, she said, it helped her to feel closer to the child shewas having. Itwas adetail,anelementoflifethat,fordifferentreasons,theywouldshare.
Inautumnherdaughterwasborn.AftershebecameamothershetoldSubhashitmadeherlovehimmore,knowingwhathe’ddone.
PartVII
Chapter1OnherpatioinCalifornia,Gaurihashertoastandfruitandtea.Sheturnsonherlaptop,
raisesher spectacles toher face.She reads theday’sheadlines.But theymightbe fromanyday.Aclickcantakeherfrombreakingnewstoarticlesarchivedyearsago.Ateverymoment thepast is there, appended to thepresent. It’s aversionofBela’sdefinition, inchildhood,ofyesterday.
OnceinawhileGaurinoticesapieceinAmericanpapersmentioningNaxaliteactivityinvariousparts of India, or inNepal.Short pieces aboutMaoist insurgents blowinguptrucksandtrains.Settingfiretopolicecamps.FightingcorporationsinIndia.Plottingtooverthrowthegovernmentalloveragain.
Sheskimsthesearticlesonlysometimes,notwantingtoknowtoomuch.SomeofthemreferbacktoNaxalbari,providingcontextforthosewhohaveneverheardofit.Theyofferlinkstotimelinesofthemovement,whichsummarizetheeventsofthosehalf-dozenyearsasadoomedcritiqueofpostcolonialBengal.Andyetthefailureremainsanexample,theembersmanagingtoigniteanothergeneration.
Whowerethey?WasthisnewmovementsweepingupyoungmenlikeUdayanandhisfriends?Would it be as rudderless, as harrowing?Would Calcutta ever experience thatterroragain?Somethingtellsherno.
Toomuch iswithinhergraspnow.First at the computers shewould logon to at thelibrary, replaced by the wireless connection she has at home. Glowing screens,increasingly foldable, portable, companionable, anticipating any possible question thehumanbrainmightgenerate.Containingmoreinformationthananyonehasneedfor.
Somuch of it, she observes, is designed to eliminatemystery, tominimize surprise.Therearemapstoindicatewhereoneisgoing,imagesofhotelroomsonemightstayin.The delayed status of a plane one need not rush to board. Links to people, famous oranonymous—people one might reunite with, or fall in love with, or hire for a job. Arevolutionaryconcept,alreadytakenforgranted.CitizensoftheInternetdwellfreefromhierarchy.Thereisroomforeveryone,giventhattherearenospatialconstraints.Udayanmighthaveappreciatedthis.
Some of her students no longer go to the library. They don’t turn to a dog-eareddictionary to look up aword. In away they don’t have to attend her class.Her laptopcontainsa lifetimeof learning,alongwithwhatshewillnot live to learn.Summariesofphilosophicalarguments inonlineencyclopedias,explanationsofmodesof thinkingthattookheryears tocomprehend.Links tochapters inbooksshe’doncehad tohuntdownand photocopy, or request from other libraries. Lengthy articles, reviews, assertions,refutations,it’sallthere.
SheremembersstandingonabalconyinNorthCalcutta,talkingtoUdayan.ThelibraryatPresidencywherehewouldcome to findher sometimes, sittingat a tablebarricadedwithbooks,agiantfanrustlingthepapers.He’dstandbehindher,sayingnothing,waitingforhertoturnaround,tosensethathewasthere.
SheremembersreadingsmuggledbooksinCalcutta,theparticularstalltotheleftofthe
Sanskrit College that carried what Udayan liked, that went out of its way for him.Ordering foreign volumes from publishers. She remembers the incremental path of hereducation,hourssiftingthroughcardcatalogues,atPresidency,theninRhodeIsland,evenearly on inCalifornia.Writing down call numberswith short pencils, searching up anddown aisles that would turn dark when the timers on the lights expired. She recalls,visually,certainpassagesinthebooksshe’dread.Whichsideofthebook,whereonthepage.She remembers the strapof the totebag,digging intoher shoulderas shewalkedhome.
Shecannotavoidit;sheisamemberofthevirtualworld,anaspectofhervisibleonthenew sea that has come to dominate the earth’s surface.There is a profile of her on thecollegewebsite, a relatively recentphotograph.A list of the courses she teaches, a trailmarking her accomplishments. Degrees, publications, conferences, fellowships. Her e-mail, and her mailing address at the department, should anyone want to send hersomethingorgetintouch.
A little more digging would yield footage with a small group of other academics,historians and sociologists, participating in a recent panel discussion atBerkeley. Thereshe iswalking into theroom, takingherplaceat the table,behindaplacardbearinghername.Patientlylistening,reviewingherindexcards,aseachmemberofthepanelclearshisthroat,leansforward,andslowlycomestohispoint.
Too much information, and yet, in her case, not enough. In a world of diminishingmystery,theunknownpersists.
She’sfoundSubhash,stillworkingatthesamelabinRhodeIsland.ShediscoversPDFfiles of articles he coauthors, his name mentioned in connection to an oceanographysymposiumheattends.
Onlyonce,unable tohelpherself, she’d searched forUdayan.Butas shemighthavepredicted, in spite of all the information and opinion, there was no trace of hisparticipation,nomentionof the thingshe’ddone.Therehadbeenhundreds likehim inCalcutta at that time, foot soldiers who’d been anonymously dedicated, anonymouslyexecuted.Hiscontributionhadnotbeennoted,hispunishmentwasstandardforthetime.
LikeUdayan, Bela is nowhere. Her name in the search engine leads to nothing. Nouniversity,nocompany,nosocialmediasiteyieldsanyinformation.Gaurifindsnoimage,notraceofher.
It doesn’t mean anything, necessarily. Only that Bela doesn’t exist in the dimensionwhereGaurimight learn something about her.Only that she refusesGauri that access.Gauriwonders if the refusal is intentional. If it is a conscious choiceonBela’spart, toensurethatnocontactismade.
Onlyherbrother,Manash,hassoughtherout, reconnecting toherviae-mail.Askingafter her, asking if shewould ever return toCalcutta to visit him. She’s told him she’sseparated from Subhash. But she’s invented a vague and predictable destiny for Bela,sayingshe’dgrownup,thatshe’dgottenmarried.
EverysooftenGauricontinuestosearchforher,continuestofail.Sheknowsthatit’suptoher,thatBelawon’tcometoherotherwise.Andshedoesn’tdareaskSubhash.The
effort flops like a just-caught fish insideher.Abrief burst of possibility as thename istypedontothescreen,assheclickstoactivatethesearch.Hopethrashingintheprocessofturningcold.
•••
Dipankar Biswas was a name new to her in-box, but stored in memory. A Bengalistudent of hers frommany years ago. Hewas born the same year as Bela, raised in asuburb ofHouston. She’d felt generous toward him.They’d exchanged a fewwords inBengali.She’dregardedhim,for theyearshewasherstudent,asagaugeforhowBelamightbe.
He’dspentsummersinCalcutta,stayingathisgrandparents’houseonJamirLane.Shethoughthe’dgoneofftolawschool,butno,he’dchangedhismind,explaininginhise-mailthathewasavisitingprofessorofpoliticalscienceatoneoftheothercollegesintheconsortium,specializinginSouthAsia.Tellinghershe’dbeenaninfluence.
Hewaswriting tosayhello, tosayhewasnearby.Hewascoming tohercollege thefollowingweek,toattendapanel.HeaskedGauriifhecouldtakehertolunch.Hewasputting together a book, hoping she might contribute to it. Would she be open todiscussingthepossibility?
She considered saying no. Instead, curious to see him again, she suggested a quietrestaurantsheknewwell,whereshecamefromtimetotimeonherown.
Dipankarwasalreadyatthetable.Nolongerintheshortsandsandalshewouldweartoherclass,nostringof shellsaroundhisneck.Astripedcottonshirtnow, loafers,beltedtrouserscoveringhislegs.He’dgonetoNebraskaforgraduateschool,Buffaloforhisfirstjob.HewasgladtobeinCaliforniaagain.HetookouthisiPhone,showingherpicturesofhistwins,aboyandgirl,inthearmsofhisAmericanwife.
Shecongratulatedhim.ShewonderedifBelareallywasmarriedbynow.Ifshe’dalsohadachild.
Theyorderedtheirfood.Shehadanhour,shetoldDipankar,beforesheneededtogetbacktocampus.Tellme,what’sthisbookabout?
YouwereatPresidencyinthelatesixties,right?
He’d gotten a contract from an academic press, towrite a history of students at thecollegewhentheNaxalitemovementwasatitsheight.TheideawastocompareittotheSDSinAmerica.Hewashopingtowriteitasanoralhistory.Hewantedtointerviewher.
Hereyelidtwitched.Itwasanervousticshe’ddevelopedatsomepoint.Shewonderedifitwasnoticeable.ShewonderedifDipankarcoulddetectthenervefiring.
Iwasn’tinvolved,shesaid.Hermouthfeltdry.
Sheliftedherglasstoherlips.Shedranksomewater.Shefelttinycubesofice,slippingdownherthroatbeforeshecouldcatchthem.
Itdoesn’tmatter,Dipankarsaid. Iwant toknowwhat theatmospherewas like.Whatstudentswerethinkinganddoing.Whatyouobserved.
I’msorry,Idon’twanttobeinterviewed.
Notevenifweprotectyouridentity?
Shewassuddenlyafraidthatheknewsomething.Thatmaybehernamewasonalist.Thatanold filehadbeenopened,an investigationofa long-agooccurrenceunderway.Sheputahandoverhereyelid,tosteadyit.
Butno,shesawthathe’dsimplybeencountingonher.Thatshewasjustaconvenientsource.Therewasapauseastheirfoodwasbroughttothetable.
Listen,IcantellyouwhatIknow.ButIdon’twanttobepartofthebook.
Fairenough,Professor.
Heaskedherpermission,andturnedonasmallrecordingdevice.ButitwasGauriwhoposedthefirstquestion.
Whatgotyouinterestedinthis?
Hetoldherhisownfather’sbrotherhadbeeninvolved.Acollegestudentwho’dgottenin over his head,who’d been imprisoned.Dipankar’s grandparents hadmanaged to gethimout.They’dsenthimtoLondon.
Whatdoeshedonow?
He’sanengineer.He’s the subjectof the first chapterof thebook.Underanalias,ofcourse.
She nodded,wonderingwhat the fate had been of somany others. If they’d been asfortunate.Therewassomuchshemighthavesaid.
Hetalkedtomeabouttherallythedaythepartywasdeclared,Dipankarcontinued.
She remembered standing in the heat onMay Day, under theMonument.WatchingKanuSanyalattherostrum,setfree.
SheandUdayanhadbeenamongthousandsontheMaidan,listeningtohisspeech.Sherememberedtheseaofbodies,theflutedwhitecolumn,withitstwobalconiesatthetop,risingintothesky.Therostrum,decoratedwithalife-sizedportraitofMao.
SherememberedKanuSanyal’svoice,emittedthroughtheloudspeaker.Ayoungmanwithglasses,ordinary-looking,charismaticnevertheless.Comradesand friends! shestillheardhimcallingout,greetingthem.Sherememberedthesingleemotionshe’dfeltapartof.Sherememberedbeingthrilledbythethingshe’dsaid.
Her impressions were flickering, from a lifetime ago. But they were vivid insideDipankar.Allthenames,theeventsofthoseyears,wereathisfingertips.Hecouldquotefrom thewritingsofCharuMajumdar.Heknewabout the rift, toward theend,betweenMajumdarandSanyal,Sanyalobjectingtotheannihilationline.
Dipankarhadstudiedthemovement’sself-defeatingtactics,itslackofcoordination,itsunrealisticideology.He’dunderstood,withouteverhavingbeenapartofthings,farbetterthanGauri,whyithadsurgedandfailed.
MyunclewasstilltherewhenSanyalgotarrestedagain,in1970.HewassentawaytoLondonsoonafter.
This,too,sheremembered.Hisfollowershadbegunrioting.ItwasafterSanyal’sarrest,ayearaftertheparty’sdeclaration,thattheworstviolenceinCalcuttahadbegun.
Iwasmarriedthatyear.
Andyourhusband?Washeaffected?
HewasinAmerica,studying,shesaid.Hehadnothingtodowithit.Shewasgratefulthatthesecondrealitycouldpaperoverthefirst.
I’mplanningtodosomefieldworkinCalcutta,hesaid.Isthereanyoneyoustillknow,peopleImightwanttotalkto?
I’mafraidnot.I’msorry.
I’d like togetup toNaxalbari if Ican. I’d like tosee thevillagewhereSanyal lived,afterhewasreleasedfromprison.
Shenodded.Youshould.
Itfascinatesme,theturnhislifetook.
Whatdoyoumean?
The way he was chastened but remained a hero. Still cycling through villages inNaxalbariyearslater,mobilizingsupport.Iwouldhavelikedtospeaktohim.
Whydon’tyou?
He’sdead.Youhadn’theard?
Ithadhappenednearlyayearago.Hishealthwasindecline.Hiskidneysandeyesightfailing. He’d been suffering from depression. A stroke in 2008 had left him partlyparalyzed.He’drefusedtobetreatedinagovernmenthospital.He’drefusedtoapproachthestatewhilehewasstillfightingit.
Hediedofkidneyfailure?
Dipankarshookhishead.Hekilledhimself.
Shewenthome, toherdesk,andswitchedonthecomputer.ShetypedKanuSanyal’snameintothesearchbox.Thehitsappeared,oneafterthenext,inaseriesofIndiansitesshe’dneverlookedatbefore.
Shebegan clicking themopen, readingdetails of his biography.Oneof the foundingmembers of themovement, alongwithMajumdar.Amovement that still threatened theIndianstate.
Bornin1932.EmployedearlyonasaclerkinaSiliguricourt.
He’dworkedasaCPI(M)organizerinDarjeeling,thenbrokenwiththepartyaftertheNaxalbariuprising.He’dgonetoChinatomeetwithMao.He’dspentclosetoadecadeinjail. He’d been the chairman of the Communist Party of India, Marxist-Leninist.Followinghisrelease,he’drenouncedviolentrevolution.
He’d remained a communist, dedicating his life to the concerns of tea plantationworkers, rickshaw drivers. He’d never married. He’d concluded that India was not a
nation.HesupportedtheindependenceofKashmir,ofNagaland.
Heownedafewbooks,clothes,cookingutensils.FramedpicturesofMarxandLenin.He’ddiedapauper.Iwaspopularonce,Ihavelostmypopularity,he’dsaidinoneofhisfinalinterviews.Iamunwell.
Many of the articles celebrated his life, his commitment to India’s poor, his tragicpassing.Theyreferredtohimasahero,alegend.Hiscriticscondemnedhim,sayingthataterroristhaddied.
It was the same set of information, repeated in various ways. She opened the linksanyway,unabletostop.
Oneofthemledtoavideo.AtelevisionnewssegmentfromMarch23,2010.Afemalenewscaster’svoicewassummarizingthedetails.Therewassomeblack-and-whitefootageof Calcutta streets in the late sixties, banners and graffiti, a few seconds of a protestmarch.
Itcut toashotofweepingvillagers, their faces in theirhands.Peoplegatheredatthedoorway of a house, the thatchedmud hut that had served as Sanyal’s home, his partyoffice.Hiscookwasbeinginterviewed.Shewasagitated,nervousinfrontofthecamera.Speakingintheparticularaccentofthevillage.
She’dcometocheckonhimafterhislunch,sheexplainedtothereporter.Shelookedthroughthewindowbutdidn’tseehimrestinginhisbedroom.Thedoorwasn’tlatched.Shecheckedagain.Thenshesawhiminanotherpartoftheroom.
Gaurisawhim,too.Onthescreenofhercomputer,onherdesk,inherdarkenedstudyinCalifornia,shesawwhatthecookhadseen.
Aseventy-eight-year-oldman,wearinganundershirtandcottonpajamas,hangingfromanylonrope.Thechairhe’dusedtosecuretheropestillstoodinfrontofhim.Ithadnotbeenknockedover.Nospasm,nofinalreaction,hadkickeditaway.
Hisheadwascocked to the right, thebackofhisneckexposedabove theundershirt.Thesidesofhisfeetweretouchingthefloor.Asifhewerestillsupportedbytheearth’sgravity.Asifallhehadtodowasstraightenhisshouldersandmoveon.
Forafewdaysshewasunabletoridhermindoftheimage.Shecouldnotstopthinkingaboutthefinalpassivityofamanwho’drefused,untilthemomenthislifeended,tobowhishead.
Shecouldnotridherselfoftheemotionitchurnedupinher.Shefeltaterribleweight,combinedwithavoid.
The following week, stepping off a staircase outside a campus building, not payingattention,shelostherfootingandfell.Shereachedout,brokethefallwithherhand.Theskinhadsplitfromitscontactwiththepathway.Shelookedandsawbloodbeadingacrossit,highlightingtheetchedlinesofherpalm.
Someonerushedover,askingifshewasallright.Shewasabletostand,totakeafewsteps.Thegreaterpainwasinherwrist.Herheadwasspinning,andtherewasathrobbingononeside.
A university ambulance took her to the hospital. The wrist was badly sprained, andbecausethepaininherheadhadnotsubsided,becauseithadspreadtotheothersidealso,shewouldneedtogetsomescans,sometests.
Shewasgivenformstofilloutandaskedtonamehernextofkin.Allherlife,onsuchforms, havingnoother choice, she’dputSubhash’s name.But there hadnever been anemergency,neveraneedtocontacthim.
Weaklysheformedtheletterswithherlefthand.TheaddressinRhodeIsland,andthephonenumbershestillremembered.Sheusedtodialitsometimeswhenthereceiverwasstill on its hook, when thinking of Bela.When she was appalled by her transgression,overtakenbyregret.
ShehadnotbeenapatientinahospitalsinceBelawasborn.Evennowthememorywasintact.A rainy evening in summer. Twenty-four years old.A typed bracelet around herwrist. Everyone congratulating Subhash when it was over, flowers coming from hisdepartmentattheuniversity.
Againshewasgivenabracelet,enteredintothehospital’ssystem.Shegavethemtheinformationtheyneededabouthermedicalhistory,theinsurancecard.Therewasnoonetohelpherthistime.Shewasdependentonthenurses,thedoctors,whentheycame.
AfewX-rayswere taken,aCTscan.Her righthandwasboundup, justasUdayan’shadbeenafterhisaccident.Theytoldhershewasabitdehydrated.Theyputfluidsintoherveins.
Shewaskeptthereuntilevening.Thescansshowednobleedingonthebrain.Shewenthomewith nothingmore than a prescription for painkillers and a referral to a physicaltherapist.Shehadtocallacolleague,forshewastoldthatshewouldbeunabletodriveforafewweeks,unabletonegotiatethesimpletown,withitsshortgrassyblocks,whereshehadlivedforsomanyyears.
The colleague, Edwin, drove her to the pharmacy to pick up her prescriptions. Heinvitedher to staywithhimandhiswife for a fewdays,offeringher theirguest room,sayingitwouldbenotrouble.ButGauritoldhimtherewasnoneed.Shereturnedtoherownhome,satatthedeskinheroffice,pulledoutapairofscissors,andmanagedtoclipawaythetypedbraceletaroundherwrist.
She switched on the computer, then lit the burner on the stove to make tea. Shestruggledtoremovetheteabagfromitswrapper,toraisetheboilingkettleoverthecup.Everythingdoneslowly,everythingfeelingclumsyinthehandshewasnotaccustomedtousing.
The refrigerator was empty, the carton of milk nearly finished. Only then did sherememberthatshe’dintendedtobuygroceriesasshewaswalkingtohercar,whenshe’dfallen.Shewouldhave to callEdwin later, and askhim if hemindedpickingup a fewthings.
Itwaseleveno’clockonaFridaymorning.Shehadnoclassestoteach,noplansfortheevening.Shepouredherselfaglassofwater,spillingsomeofitonthecounter.Somehowshemanagedtoopenthebottleofpills.Sheleftthecapoff,sothatshewouldnothavetodoitagain.
Not wanting to burden anyone, but unable to manage alone, she went away, aweekend’sjourneythathadnothingtodowithwork.Withonehandshepackedasmallsuitcase.Sheleftherlaptopathome.Shecalledacarserviceandcheckedintoahotelthatsome of her colleagues liked, in a desert town. A place where she could walk in themountains and soakher body in a spring,where shewouldnot have to cook for a fewdays.
Ontheroofofthehotel,atthepoolsurroundedbysteephills,sheobservedanelderly,wealthy-looking Indiancouple takingcareof a littleboy.Theywere trying to teach theboynot tofear thewater,showinghimhowlittleplasticfiguresfloated, thegrandfatherswimmingafewstrokestodemonstrate.Thehusbandandwifelightlyquarreled,inHindi,abouthowmuchsunscreentoputonthechild,whetherornothisheadshouldbeprotectedbyahat.
Thehusbandwasnearlybaldbutstillvigorous.Whathairwasleftwreathedthelowerportion of his head. Thewife seemed younger, her hair tintedwith henna, her toenailspolished, pretty sandals on her feet. At breakfast Gauri watched them feeding the boyyogurtandcerealfromaspoon.
TheyaskedGauri,inEnglish,whereshewasfrom,sayingtheycametoAmericaeverysummer, that thiswaswhereboththeirsonslivedandthat theylikeditverymuch.OnesonlivedinSacramento,theotherinAtlanta.
Since becoming grandparents, they took each of their grandchildren on a separatevacation,togettoknowthemontheirownterms,andtogivetheirsonsanddaughters-in-lawsometimetothemselves.
Atourage,whatelseistheretolivefor?themanaskedGauri,thechildtuckedintohiselbow.AndyettheypreferredIndia,notwantingtoretirehere.
Doyougobackoften?thewifeasked.
It’sbeenawhile.
Areyouagrandmother?
Gaurishookherhead, thenadded,wantingsuddenlytoalignherselfwith thiscouple,I’mstillwaiting.
Howmanychildrendoyouhave?
One.Adaughter.
Normally she told people she did not have any children. And people backed awaypolitelyfromthisrevelation,notwantingtopress.
But todayGauri couldnotdenyBelaher existence.And thewomanmerely laughed,nodding,sayingthatchildrenthesedayshadmindsoftheirown.
Intimeherwristgrewstronger.Inhertherapysessionstheywrappeditinwarmedwax.Againshewasabletograsphertoothbrushandcleanherteeth,tosignacheck,orturntheknobofadoor.Thenshewasabletodriveagain,toseizethegearshiftandmakeaturn,toeditdraftsandcorrectstudentpaperswithherdominanthand.
Thesemesterwenton,shetaughtherlastclasses,turnedinhergrades.Shewouldbeon
leavethecomingfall.Oneafternoon,afterfinishingupatherdesk,shewalkedacrosstheparking lot of her apartment complex and opened her mailbox. With some effort shetwistedthekey.
Shereturnedtoherapartmentandpushedbacktheslidingglassdoorthatwasoff theliving room, leading toherpatio.Sheset themailon the teak tableandsatdown togothroughit.
Among the bills, the catalogues that had come to her that day, therewas a personalletter. Subhash’s handwriting was on the envelope, the return address of the house inRhodeIsland,close to thebay.Hehadboileddownto theproofofhispenmanship, thedriedsalivaonthebackofastamp.
He’dsentitcareofherdepartment.Thesecretaryhaddonethecourtesyofforwardingittoherhome.
InsidewasashortletterwritteninBengali,ontwosidesofasheetofofficestationery.ShehadnotreadBengalipenmanshipindecades;hercommunicationwithManashwasbye-mail,inEnglish.
Gauri,The Internet tells me this is your address, but please
confirm that this has reached you.As you see, I am in thesameplace.Iamindecenthealth.Ihopeyouare,too.ButIwillbeseventybeforetoolong,andweareenteringaphaseof lifewhenanythingmighthappen.Whatever liesahead, Iwouldliketobegintosimplifythings,giventhat,legally,weremaintied.Ifyouhavenoobjection,Iamgoingtosellthehouse inTollygunge, towhichyoustillhaveaclaim.Ialsothink it’s time to remove your name as joint owner of thehouseinRhodeIsland.IwillleaveittoBela,ofcourse.
Shepaused,warmingherhandagainst thesurfaceof the tablebeforecontinuing.Thehandhadturnedvulnerablewhileitwasboundup.Nowherveinsprotruded,sothattheyresembledapieceofcoralrootedtoherwrist.
He told her he didn’t want to drag her back to Rhode Island in the event of anemergency,notwantingtoburdenherincaseheweretogofirst.
Idon’tmeantorushyou,butI’dliketoresolvethingsbytheendof theyear. Idon’tknowif there’sanythingelsewehave to say to one another. Though I cannot pardon whatyou did to Bela, it was I who benefited, and continue to
benefit, from your actions, however wrong they were. Sheremains a part of my life, but I know she is not a part ofyours.IfitwereeasierI’dbeopentoourmeetinginperson,and concluding things face-to-face. I bear you no ill will.Then again it’s just a matter of some signatures, and ofcoursethemailwilldo.
Shehadtoreadtheletterasecondtimetorealizethepointofit.Thatafterallthistime,hewasaskingherforadivorce.
Chapter2Telling no one in their families, not evenManash, they’dmarried each other. Itwas
January 1970. A registrar came to a house in Chetla. It belonged to one of Udayan’scomrades, a seniorpartymemberwhowas also aprofessorof literature.Agentleman,mildofmanner,apoet.TheycalledhimTarun-da.
Afewothercomradeshadbeen there.Theyaskedherquestions,and toldherhowtoconductherselffromnowon.UdayanplacedhishandoveracopyoftheRedBookbeforetheysignedthepapers.Hissleevesrolledbackastheyalwayswere,hisforearmsexposed.Abeardandmoustachebythen.Whenthey’dfinished,andbothofthemwereperchedontheedgeofasofa,leaningtogetheroverthelowtablewherethepapershadbeenspread,he turned to look at her, grinning, taking amoment to convey to her, only to her, howhappyhewas.
Shedidnotcarewhatherauntsanduncles,her sisters,would thinkofwhat shewasdoing. Thiswould serve to put them behind her. The only one in her family she caredaboutwasManash.
Somecutletsandfishfrieswerebroughtinanddistributed,afewboxesofsweets.Thiswastheextentofthecelebration.TheyspenttheirfirstweekashusbandandwifetogetherinthehouseinChetla,inaroomtheprofessorhadtospare.
It was there, at night, after their many shared conversations, that they began tocommunicateinadifferentway.Therethatshefirstfelthishandexploringthesurfaceofherbody.There,ashesleptnexttoher,thatshefeltthecoolofhisbareshouldernestledinherarmpit.Thewarmthofhiskneesagainstthebacksofherlegs.
Theentrancetothehousewasattheside,offalongalley,hiddenfromthestreet.Thestaircase turnedsharply,onceand thenagain, leading to roomsorganized tightlyaroundthebalcony.Thefloorswerecrackedhereandthere,brownishred.
TheroomswerefilledwithTarun-da’sbooks,piledinstacksastallaschildren.Housedin cabinets andon shelves.The sitting room, at the front of the building, had a narrowbalconyoverlookingthestreet.Theyweretoldnottostandthere,nottodrawattentiontothemselves.
Afewdays latershewrote toManash,sayingshehadnot,afterall,goneona trip toSantiniketanwith her friends. She told him that she hadmarriedUdayan, and that shewouldnotbereturninghome.
ThenUdayanwent toTollygunge, to tellhisparentswhat theyhaddone.He toldhisparentsthattheywerepreparedtoliveelsewhere.Theywerestunned.ButhisbrotherwasinAmerica,andtheywantedtheirremainingsonhome.SecretlyGaurihadhopedthathisparentswouldnottakethemin.InthatclutteredbutcheerfulhouseinChetla,hidingwithUdayan,she’dfeltatoncebrazenandprotected.Free.
Udayan talked about their living on their own one day. He didn’t believe in a jointfamily.Andyet,forthetimebeing,becausetheycouldnotgoonstayingattheprofessor’shome,becausethehomewasasafehouseandtheroomthey’dbeengivenwasneededtoharborsomeone,becausehedidnotmakeenoughmoneyforthemtorentaflatelsewhere,
hetookhertoTollygunge.
It was only a few miles away. Still, traveling toward it, after Hazra Road, Gauriperceivedadifference.Thecitysheknewatherback.Thelightbrighterinhereyes,thetreesmoreplentiful,castingadappledshade.
Hisparentsstoodinthecourtyard,waitingtoreceiveher.Thehousewasspaciousbututilitarian,plain.SheunderstoodimmediatelythecircumstancesfromwhichUdayanhadcome,theconventionshe’drejected.
Theendofher sariwasdrapedoverherhead inagestureofpropriety.Hismother’sheadwasdrapedalso.Thiswomanwasnowhermother-in-law.Shewaswearingasariofcrispcream-coloredcotton, checkedwithgolden threads.Her father-in-lawwas tall andlean,likeUdayan,withamoustache,aplacidexpression,swept-backgrayinghair.
Her mother-in-law asked Udayan if he objected to a few abbreviated rituals. Heobjected, but she ignored him, blowing her conch shell, then putting tuberose garlandsaroundtheirnecks.AwoventraywasraisedtowardGauri’shead,herchest,herbelly.Atrayheapedwithauspiciousitems,withfruit.
Shewaspresentedwithabox,openedtoshowthenecklaceinside.Onthetraywasapotofvermillionpowder.Hermother-in-lawinstructedUdayantoapplyittothepartingof her hair. TakingGauri’s left hand, she pressed her fingers together and slid an ironbangleoverherwrist.
Afewstrangers,nowherneighbors,hadgatheredtowatch,lookingoverthecourtyardwall.
Youareourdaughternow,herin-lawssaid,acceptingherthoughtheyhadnotwantedher,placingtheirhandsinagestureofblessingoverherhead.Whatisoursisyours.Gauriboweddown,totakethedustfromtheirfeet.
Thecourtyardhadbeendecoratedwithpatterns inherhonor,paintedbyhand.At thethresholdofthehouseapanofmilkwassimmeringonacoalstove,comingtoaboilasshe approached. There were two stunted banana trees, one on either side of the door.Insidetherewasanotherpanofmilk,tintedwithred.Shewastoldtodipherfeetintotheredliquid,thenwalkupthestaircase.Thestaircasewasstillunderconstruction,therewasnotabanistertohold.
The stepshadbeen covered looselywith awhite sari, like a thin slippery carpet laidover the treads. Every few steps there was an overturned clay cup she had to crush,bearing downwith all her strength. This was the first thing asked of her, to mark herpassageintoUdayan’shome.
Because the lanewas so narrow therewas rarely the sound of a car or even a cyclerickshawgoingpast.Udayantoldheritwaseasier,whenreturningtotheenclave,togetoutatthecornerbythemosqueandwalktherestoftheway.Thoughmanyofthehouseswerewalledoff,shecouldhearthelivesofotherscarryingon.Mealsbeingpreparedandserved,water being poured for baths. Children being scolded and crying, reciting theirlessons.Platesbeingscouredandrinsed.Theclawsofcrowsstrikingtherooftop,flappingtheirwings,scavengingforpeels.
Everymorningshewasupat five,climbingstairs toanewportionof thehouse,andaccepting thecupof teahermother-in-lawpoured,abiscuitstored in thecreamcrackertin.Thelineforthegashadn’tbeenhookedupyet,so thedaybeganwith theelaborateprocessoflightingtheclaystovewithcoals,dungpatties,kerosene,amatch.
Thicksmokestunghereyes,blurringhervisionasshefannedtheflame.Hermother-in-lawhadtoldher, thefirstmorning, toputawaythebookshe’dbroughtwithher,andtoconcentrateonthetaskathand.
The workers arrived soon afterward. Barefoot, with soiled rags twisted around theirheads.Theyholleredandhammeredthroughouttheday,sothatstudyinginthehousewasimpossible. Dust coated everything, bricks and mortar brought in by the barrowful,additionalroomscompletedonebyone.
Afterher father-in-lawbroughtbacka fish from themarket, itwasher job tocut thepieces,coatthemwithsaltandturmeric,andfrytheminoil.Shesatinfrontofthestoveon the flatsofher feet.She reduced thesauce theywouldput the fish into forevening,seasoning it according to her mother-in-law’s instructions. She helped cut up cabbage,shellpeas.Ridspinachofsand.
Iftheservantwaslateorhadadayoffshehadtogrindtheturmericrootandchiliesonastoneslab,topoundmustardorpoppyseedsifhermother-in-lawwantedtocookwiththemthatday.Whenshegroundthechiliesherpalmsfeltasiftheskinhadbeenscrapedoff. Tipping the rice pot onto a plate, she let the water drain,making sure the cookedgrainsdidn’tslipout.Theweightof theinvertedpanstrainedherwrists,steamscaldingherfaceifsheforgottoturnitaway.
Twice a week she accomplished all this before bathing and packing her books andtakingthetrambacktoNorthCalcutta,tovisitthelibrary,toattendlectures.Shehadn’tcomplainedtoUdayan.Buthehadknown,tellinghertobepatient.
He toldher that oneday,whenhis brother,Subhash, returned fromAmerica andgotmarried, therewouldbeanotherdaughter-in-lawtodohershare.AndfromtimetotimeGaurihadwonderedwhothatwomanwouldbe.
In theeveningsshewaitedforUdayan toreturnfromhis tutoring job,watchingfromtheterraceofherin-laws’home.Andwhenhepushedthroughtheswingingwoodendoorshealwayspausedtolookupather,asheusedtolookupfromtheintersectionbelowhergrandparents’ flat,shehopinghewouldstopby,hehoping tofindher there.Butnowitwasdifferent:hisarrivalwasexpected,andthefactthatshestoodwaitingforhimwasnotasurprise,becausetheyweremarried,andthiswasthehousewheretheybothlived.
Hewouldwashupandhavesomethingtoeat,andthenshewouldputonafreshsariandtheywouldgooutforawalk.Behavingatfirstlikeanyotherrecentlymarriedcouple.She enjoyed being out of the house with him, but she was unsettled by the quiet ofTollygunge,therawsimplicitysheperceived.
Theneighborhoodwassetinitsways.MoreuniformlyBengalithaninNorthCalcutta,wherePunjabis andMarwaris occupiedmanyof the flats in her grandparents’ building,where the radio shop across fromChacha’sHotel playedHindi film songs that floatedoverthetraffic,wheretheenergyofstudentsandprofessorswasthickintheair.
Here therewas little todistracther, theway theviewfromhergrandparents’balconycouldoccupyherdayandnight.Fromherin-laws’housetherewaslittletosee.Onlyotherhomes, laundry on rooftops, palms and coconut trees. Lanes curving thisway and thatway.Thehyacinththatteemed,greenerthangrass,inthelowlandandtheponds.
Hebegantoaskhertodocertainthings.Andso,inordertohelphim,inordertofeelapartofit,sheagreed.Atfirstthetasksweresimple.Hedrewhermaps,tellinghertowalkhereorthereinthecourseofanerrand,toobservewhetherascooterorcyclewasparkedoutside.
Hegavehernotestodeliver,atfirst toaletterboxsomewhereinTollygunge, theninperson.Hetoldhertoplacethesheetofpaperundertherupeessheusedtopaythemanatthe stationer’s, if she needed to buy some ink. The note usually contained a piece ofinformation.Alocationoratimeofday.Somecommunicationthatmadenosensetoherbutwasessentialtosomeoneelse.
Oneseriesofnoteswenttoawomanwhoworkedatatailor’sshop.Gauriwastoaskspecifically for awoman namedChandra, to takemeasurements for a blouse. The firsttime,Chandragreetedher as if theywereold friends, askinghowshe’dbeen.Apudgywomanwithabitofkinktoherhair.
ShetookGauribehindacurtain,callingoutdifferentnumberswithouteverplacingthetape against Gauri’s body, yet writing them in her pad. It was Chandra who undrapedherself,takingadvantageofthedrawncurtain,takingthenotefromGauri’shand,readingand refolding it. She tucked it inside her own blouse, underneath her brassiere, beforeopeningthecurtainagain.
Thesemissionsweresmalljointsinalargerstructure.Nodetailoverlooked.She’dbeenlinkedintoachainshecouldnotsee.Itwaslikeperforminginabriefplay,withfellowactors who never identified themselves, simple lines and actions that were scripted,controlled.Shewonderedexactlyhowshewascontributing,whomightbewatchingher.She askedUdayan but hewould not tell her, saying thiswas how shewas beingmostuseful.Sayingitwasbetterforhernottoknow.
ThefollowingFebruary,justaftertheirfirstmarriageanniversary,hearrangedforhertohave a tutoring job. Effigies of Saraswati stood on the street corners, students offeredtextbooksatherfeet.Thekokilswerebeginningtosing,theircallsplaintive,yearning.AbrotherandsisterinJadavpurneededhelppassingtheirSanskritexams.
Every day shewent to their home, taking a cycle rickshaw to get there, introducingherselfbyafictitiousname.Beforeshewentthefirsttime,Udayandescribedthehousetoher, as if he’d already been there. He told her about the room where she’d sit, thearrangementof thefurniture, thecolorof thewalls, thestudytable thatwasbeneath thewindow.
Hetoldherwhichofthechairsatthetableshewastotake.Topullthecurtainslightlytooneside,sayingshewantedtoletinabitoflight,ifithappenedtobedrawn.
Atacertainpointduringthehour,hetoldher,apolicemanwouldwalkpastthehouse,crossing thewindowfromleft to right.Shewas to jotdown the timehepassedby,andobservewhetherornothewasinuniform.
Why?
Thistimehetoldher.Thepoliceman’sroutepassedasafehouse,hesaid.Theyneededto knowhis schedule, his days off. Therewere comrades needing shelter. They neededhimoutoftheway.
Sittingwithher students,helping themwith theirgrammar,herwristwatch restingonthe table,herdiaryopen, shesawhim.Aman inhis thirties,clean-shaven, inhiskhakiuniform,headingoffforduty.Fromawindowonthesecondfloorshesawtheblackofhismoustache,thetopofhishead.ShedescribedhimtoUdayan.
With the brother and sister she read lines from the Upanishads, the Rig Veda. Theancientteachings,thesacredtextsshe’dfirststudiedwithhergrandfather.Atmadevanam,bhuvanasyagarbho.Spiritofthegods,seedofalltheworlds.Aspiderreachesthelibertyofspacebymeansofitsownthread.
Oneday,aThursday,thepolicemanwasnotinuniform.Insteadofwalkingfromlefttorighthecame from theoppositedirection, in civilianclothing.Hewasaccompanyingalittleboyhomefromschool.Itwastwentypastthehour.Hewaswalkinginamorecasualway.
WhenshereportedthistoUdayan,hesaid,Keepobservinghim.Nextweek,whenhe’soffdutyagain,tellmewhichday.Remembertojotdownthetime.
Again the followingThursday, at twentypast, she saw thepoliceman inhis alternateguise,holdingthehandoftheyoungboy,comingfromtheoppositedirection.Itwastheboywhowouldbeinuniformthosedays.Whiteshortsandashirt,awatercanteenoveroneshoulder,asatchelinhishand.Damphairneatlycombed.Shesawtheboyskipping,twoorthreelivelypacestoeachofhisfather’sslowerstrides.
Sheheardtheboy’svoice,tellinghisfatheraboutwhathe’dlearnedinschoolthatday,andheardhisfather,laughingatthethingshesaid.Shesawtheirjoinedhands,theirarmsslightlyswinging.
Fourweekspassed. ItwasalwaysaThursday, she toldUdayan.Thatwas thedayhewalkedhissonhomefromschool.
Youarepositive,Thursday?Neveranotherday?
No,never.
Heseemedsatisfied.Butthenheasked,You’recertainit’shisson?
Yes.
Howoldishe?
Idon’tknow.Sixorseven.
Heturnedhisfacefromher.Heaskedhernothingmore.
TheweekbeforegoingtoAmericatobewithSubhash,shewentbacktoJadavpur,totheneighborhoodofthebrotherandsistershe’dtutored.Shehiredarickshaw.Sheworeaprintedsarinowthatshewasmarriedagain,lookingasshehadwhenshe’dbeenUdayan’swife.
She was fivemonths pregnant, carrying a child whowould not know him. She hadleather slippersonher feet,banglesonherwrists,acolorfulpurse inher lap.Sheworesunglasses,notwantingtobenoticed.Soontheheatwouldbeunbearable,butshewouldbefarawaybythen.
She approached the street of the brother and sister, then told the rickshaw to stop.Continuingonfoot,shelookedattheletterboxesmountedtoeachhome.
The last one bore the name she’d been looking for. The name the investigator hadmentioned thedaysheandSubhashhadbeenquestioned. Itwasa single-storyhouse,asimplegrilleenclosing theverandah.Thenameofadeadmanwaspaintedcarefullyonthe wood of the letter box, in white block letters. Nirmal Dey. The policeman they’dneededoutoftheway.
Theoccupants of thehousewerevisible, standingon theverandah, facing the street,staringoutthoughtherewasnothingtosee.Itwasasifthey’dbeenwaitingforher.Therewas the little boyGauri used to see skipping down the roadwhile holding his father’shand.Allthistimeshe’dseentheboyonlyfromtheback,forhe’dalwaysbeenwalkingawayfromher.Butsheknew,justfromlookingathisbody,thatitwashim.
Forthefirsttimeshesawhisface.Shesawthelossthatwouldneverbereplaced,alossthatthechildforminginsidehershared.
Hewashomefromschool,nolongerinhisbrightwhiteuniform,butinapairoffadedshorts and a shirt instead. He stood still, his fingers hooked over the grille. Briefly helookedather,thenavertedhisgaze.
Sheimaginedtheafternoonatschoolhe’dwaitedtobepickedupbyhisfather.Beingtold,finally,bysomeone,thathisfatherwouldnotbecomingforhim.
Nexttohimwasawoman,theboy’smother.AwomanperhapsonlyafewyearsolderthanGauri.Itwasthemotherwhoworewhitenow,asGaurihadwornuntilafewweeksago. The colorless fabric was wrapped around the woman’s waist, draped over hershoulder,overthetopofherhead.Herlifeturnedupsidedown,hercomplexionlookinglikeithadbeenscrubbedclean.
SeeingGauri,themotherdidnotlookaway.Whoareyoulookingfor?sheasked.
Gaurisaidtheonlyreasonablethingshecouldthinkof,thesurnameofthebrotherandsistershe’dtutored.
Theylivebackthatway,thewomantoldher,pointingintheoppositedirection.You’vecometoofar.
Shewalkedaway, aware that thewomanandboyhadalready forgottenher.Shewaslikeamoththathadstrayedintoaroom,onlytoflutteroutofitagain.UnlikeGauri,theywould never think back to this moment. Though she’d had a hand in something theywouldmournalltheirlives,shehadalreadyslippedfromtheirminds.
Chapter3Meghnawas four.Oldenough tobeapart fromBela for a time.Shewasattendinga
summerprogramrunbytheschoolwhereshewouldbeginkindergarteninthefall.Itwasoutpastthetrainstation,onacampsitebyapond.
Afewtimesaweekshespenthermorningsinthecompanyofotherchildren,learningtoplaywith theminagroveof trees,andsitwith thematapicnic table, toshare food.Theybakedbrownrollsthatshebroughthomeinsmallpaperpackets.Whenitrainedshesatinateepee,restingonsheepskin.Moldingbeeswax,watchingfelteddollsenactstoriesthatwerereadaloud.
BecauseBelahadtoleavethehousesoearly,itwasSubhashwhodroppedMeghnaoffthosemornings.Belapickedherupwhenhershiftwasdone.Itwasgoodtobeworkingagain.Towakeupbeforethesunrose,tosweatonceitwasinthesky,tofeeltightnessinherarmsandlegsattheendoftheday.
She’dcometothisfarmasachildonfieldtripswithherclass,towatchtheshearingofsheep. She’d comewith her father to pick out pumpkins inOctober, bedding plants inspring.Nowshesowedseeds in the rocky,acidicsoil, scraping itwithahoe to removeweeds.
She’dduglongtrenchesforpotatoes.She’dcreatednarrowfootpathsbetweentherowsformicroorganismstothrive.She’dstartedtheearlycropsinahoophouse,andincut-uppiecesofsod,beforemovingseedlingstoopenground.
Oneafternoon,takingadvantageofthesunshineafteracloudystarttotheday,needingtocooloffherbody,shedrovewithMeghnatothecoveinJamestownwhereherfatherusedtobringher,whereshehadfirstlearnedtoswim.Onthewaybackfromthebeachshenoticedcornforsale,andstoppedthecar.
Onthetabletherewasacoffeecanwithaslitintheplasticlid,askingadollarforthreeears.Therewasapricelistforafewotheritems.Bundlesofradishesandbasil.Apicniccoolercontainingoak-leaf.Butterheads,freefromtipburn.
Shepickedupthecan,heardafewcoinsrattlinginside.Sheboughtsomecorn,someradishes,pushingthebillsthroughtheslot.Thefollowingweekshewentback,makingtheshortdriveoverthebridgefromherfather’shouse.Stilltherewasnoone.Shebegantowonderwhohadgrownthesethings,whowassotrusting.Wholeftthem,untended,foraseagulltocarryaway,forstrangerstobuyorsteal.
Then, on a Saturday, someone was there. He had more vegetables in the back of apickup truck,onionsandcarrots inbaskets, tatsoiwith spoon-shaped leaves.Twosmallblacklambssatinacage,onabedofstraw,wearingmatchingredcollars.WhenMeghnaapproachedheshowedherhowtofeedthemfromherhand,andletherpettheirwool.
Yougrowthisstuffontheisland?Belaasked.
No.Icomeheretofish.Afriendletsmekeepastandonhisproperty,givenhowmanytouristspassthroughthistimeofyear.
Shepickedupalemoncucumber.Shesmelleditsskin.
Wetriedgrowingthesethisseason.
Where’sthat?
Keenans’,off138.
IknowtheKeenans.AreyounewtoRhodeIsland?
She shook her head. They’d both been born here. They’d attended different highschools,notsofarapart.
He had green eyes, a few creases in the skin, salt-and-pepper hair that stirred in thebreeze.Hewascourteous,buthewasnotafraidtolookather.
NexttimeI’llbringtherabbits.I’mDrew.
Hekneeleddownandputouthishand,nottoBelabuttoMeghna.What’syourname?
ButMeghnawouldn’tanswer,andBelahadtosayitforher.
Pretty.What’sitmean?
Itwas one of the rivers that flowed into theBay of Bengal, Bela told him.A nameSubhashhadchosen,hadgiven.
AnyonecallyouMegforshort?
No.
CanI?Nexttimeyourmommystopsby?
He began bringing other animals, chicks and puppies and kittens, so that MeghnastartedtalkingaboutDrewduringtheweek,askingBelawhentheywouldvisithimagain.HegaveBela things shewasn’t paying for, tucking them into her bag and refusinghermoney.Purplebushbeansthatturnedgreenwhenshecookedthem.Pinkheadsofgarlic,peasintheirpods.
The farmbelonged tohis family.He’d livedon it all his life. Itwas just a fewacresnow,somethingonecouldtakeinataglance.Thereusedtobemoreofit,landlivedoffforseveralgenerations.Buthisparentshadhadtosella largeportiontodevelopers.Hehadthesupportofsomecommunityshareholderstorunitnow.
Onedayheofferedtoshowthemthefarm.Itwasontheothersideofthebay,closetotheMassachusettsborder.Itwaswheretherestof theanimals lived—apeacock,guineahens,sheepgrazingbyasaltmarshthatborderedtheproperty.
Shouldwefollowyou?
Saveyourgas.Comewithme.
You’llhavetodriveusbackhere,then.
Needtoheadthiswaylateranyway.
And so Bela got into the roomy sun-warmed cab of Drew’s pickup truck, placingMeghnabetweenthem,shuttingthedoor.
Shebeganseeinghimonweekends.She’dneverallowedherselftobecourted.Hewasattentive,neveraggressive.Hestartedshowingupwhenshewasworkinga row,asking
whenherbreakwas,suggestingtheygoforaswim.
She started to keep him company on certain Saturdays, standing beside him under awhitetentatanoutdoormarketinBristol,slicingtomatoesforcustomerstosample.Shedrovewithhim tomakedeliveries to restaurants,droppingoffboxesofproduce forhissubscribers.Shewalkedonthebeachwithhim,helpingtocollecttheseaweedheusedformulch.Whenhesatstillhekeptbusy,workingwithwood.HestartedmakingthingsforMeghna.Furnitureforherdollhouse,amarblerun.
She’dbeen tosomanyplaces;he’dbeenhereallhis life.Heemployeda fewpeoplewho left at the endof theday.He livedonhis own.His parentswerebothdead.He’dmarried a girl he’d gone to high schoolwith. They’d never had children, and divorcedlongago.
AfteramonthBelaintroducedhimtoherfatherandtoElise.Hecamebythehouseonthemorningofherbirthday so they could allmeet.He removedhis boots in the truck,walkingbarefootacross the lawn, into thehouse.Hebroughtawatermelon theyshared,andadmiredthezucchiniherfathergrewinthebackyard,promisingtocomebackanothertimetotastethewayherfatherpreparedtheblossoms,batteredandfried.Herfatherhadlikedhim,wellenoughtoencourageBelatospendtimewithhim,lookingafterMeghnawhenshedid.
Bela toldDrew that hermotherwas dead. Itwaswhat she always saidwhen peopleasked.InherimaginationshereturnedGauritoIndia,sayinghermotherhadgonebackforavisitandcontractedanillness.OvertheyearsBelahadcometobelievethisherself.Sheimaginedthebodybeingburnedunderapileofsticks,ashesfloatingaway.
Drewbegantowanthertospendthenightswithhim.TowakeuptogetheronaSundaymorning,and toeatbreakfast in thebarnhe’drestored.Where,onasoftbed,shemadelovewithhimsomeafternoons.Fromthetoprungofaladder,thatledtothecupola,onecouldseeasmallwedgeofthesea.
Shesaiditwastoosoon.AtfirstshesaidthatitwasforMeghna—notwantingtotakethatstepcasually,wantingtobesure.
Drew said therewas abedroom forMeghna; that hewantedher tobe there, too.Hecouldbuildheraloftbed,anareatoplayunderneath,atreehouseoutside.TowardtheendofsummerhetoldBelahewasinlovewithher.Hesaidhedidn’tneedmoretime,thathewasoldenoughtoknowwhathefelt.HewantedtohelpherraiseMeghna.Tobeafathertoher,ifthiswassomethingBelawouldallow.
Thatwas thedayshe toldDrewthe truthabouthermother.Thatshe’d leftandneverreturned.
Shesaiditwasthereasonshe’davoidedeverbeingwithoneperson,orstayinginoneplace.Thereasonshe’dwantedtohaveMeghnaonherown.Thereason,thoughshelikedDrew, thoughshewasalmostforty,shedidn’tknowifshecouldgivehimthe thingshewasseeking.
Shetoldhimhowsheusedtositinsidetheclosetwherehermotherhadkeptherthings.Behindthecoatsshehadn’ttakenwithher,thebeltsandpursesonhooksthatherfatherhadn’tyetgivenaway.Shewouldstuffapillowintohermouth, incaseherfathercame
homeearly,andheardhercrying.She rememberedcryingsohard that theskinbeneathhereyeswouldswell,markingherforatimewithtwoinflatedsmilesthatwerepalerthantherestofher.
Finally she told him about Udayan. That though she’d been created by two peoplewho’dlovedoneanother,she’dbeenraisedbytwowhoneverdid.
Drewheldherashelistened.I’mnotgoinganywhere,hesaid.
Chapter4Itwasanhour’sdrivetoProvidence,alittlelessafterthat.Sheenteredthezipcodein
thecar’sGPS,but soon found thatdirectionsweren’tnecessary.Thenamesof theexitsleading to the different suburbs and towns came back to her: Foxborough, Attleboro,Pawtucket.Woodenhouses,shinglesandsiding,aglimpseoftheStateHousedome.Sheremembered, after passing throughProvidence, thenCranston, that the exit to the townwastotheleft—thatotherwisetheinterstateledtoNewYork.
She’dflowntoBoston,rentingacarat theairport todrivetherestof theway.ItwashowSubhashhadfirstbroughther,alongthesamesectionofhighway.Howsheusedtotravel twice a week to go to graduate school. It was autumn in New England, the airbracing,leavesjuststartingtoturn.
Soonaftertheexit,anotherleftatthesetoftrafficlightswouldhavetakenhertohim.Therewasthewoodentoweramongthetallpinesthatlookedoutoverthebay.ApictureinGauri’sdrawerinCaliforniashowedBelastandingatthetopofthistower,squintinginthebrightcold,wearingayellowquiltedjacketwithafur-trimmedhood.Gaurihadliftedithastilyoutofanalbum,beforeleaving.
Shehadtried,atfirst,towritetoSubhash.Tograntwhathe’drequested,andtosendaletterinreply.Forafewdaysshe’dworkedontheletter,dissatisfiedwithherattempts.
Sheknewadivorcemadenodifference;theirmarriagehadrunitscourselongago.Andyethisrequest,reasonable,rational,hadupendedher.Shefelttheneedtoseehim.
Evenapart,evennow,shefeltyokedtohim,inunspokencollusionwithhim.HehadtakenherawayfromTollygunge.HeremainedtheonlylinktoUdayan.HisenduringloveforBela,thestabilityofhisheart,hadcompensatedforthedevianceofherown.
Thetimingoftheletterhadfeltlikeasign.Forshesupposedhecouldhavewantedadivorce ten years ago, or two years fromnow. Shewas already committed to travelingover the East Coast, to London, to attend a conference. She arranged for a connectingflight, aone-night stay inRhode Island.Shewouldgivehimwhathewas seeking.Sheonlyhopedtostandbeforehim,andsevertheirconnectionface-to-face.Inhisletterhe’dsaidhewasopentothis.
Butithadnotbeenaninvitation.Andwithoutaskinghim,withoutwarninghim,unableevennowtoconductherselfdecently,she’dcome.
The leaves had not yet fallen, she could not see the bay. She turned down the longundulatingtwo-laneroadthathadbeencutintothewoods,leadingtothemaincampusoftheuniversity.Homessetbackontheirproperties,giantazaleas,flatstonewalls.
Shepulledintoagraveldrive.Groundscoveredwithivy.Apaintedwoodensignhungfromhooks,swinginginthebreeze,withthenameoftheinn,theyearitwasbuilt.Thiswasthebed-and-breakfastwhereshe’dbookedaroom.
Shecarriedhersuitcase to thefrontdoorandtappedtheknocker.Whennoonecameshe tried theknoband found thedoorunlocked.Afteradjusting to thedark interior shesaw a living room past the entrance, a desk with a little bell on it, and a sign asking
visitorstotapit.
Awomanaboutheragecametogreether.Silverhair,side-parted,wornloose.Ruddyskin.Shewasdressedinjeansandafleecejacket,apaint-stainedcanvasapron.Apairofclogsonherfeet.
You’reMrs.Mitra?
Yes.
Iwasinmystudio,thewomansaid,wipingherhandonaragbeforeextendingit.HernamewasNan.
Thelivingroomwasfullofthings,enamelpitchersrestinginmatchingplatters,glass-fronted cabinets filled with porcelain and books. On a separate table were works ofpottery,plattersandmugs,deepbowlsglazedinmuddyshades.
Those are all for sale, Nan said. Studio’s out back. More stuff in there, if you’reinterested.Happytoshipit.
Gauri handed over her credit card, her university ID. She watched as Nan enteredinformationintoaledger.
Mightgetsomeraintonight.Thenagain,mightnot.Firsttimeouthere?
IusedtoliveinRhodeIsland.
Whatpart?
Afewmilesdownthisroad.
Oh,youknowit,then.
Nandidn’taskwhyshe’dreturned.Sheledherupthestaircase,toahallwaylinedwithdoors.Gauriwasgivenakeytoherroom,anotherkeytothefrontentrancewereshetocomeinafterelevenatnight.
Thebedwashigh,theheadboardthin,thedoublemattresscoveredwithawhitecottonspread.A small televisionon thedressing table, lace curtains in thewindow, filteringaquietlight.Shelookedatthebookcasebythebed.ShepulledoutavolumeofMontaigneandputitonthenightstand.
Thoseweremyfather’sbooks.Hetaughtattheuniversity.Livedinthishouseuntilhediedatninety-five.Refusedtoleaveit.Hadtogethimachild-sizedwheelchairintheend,becausethedoorwaysaresotight.
Theprofessor’sname,whenGauriasked,soundedfamiliar,butonlyvaguely.Perhapsshe’doncetakenaclasswithhim,shecouldn’trecall.
She freshened up, putting on the sweater she’d packed. The room was drafty, thefireplace just for show. Downstairs there was a real fire burning, and a young couplestandingwith theirbacks toher.On thecoffee tablewasa traywitha teapot andcups,cookiesandgrapes.ThecouplewerelookingatNan’spotterydisplay,wonderingwhichofthelargeplatterstheywantedtobuy.Gaurilistenedtotheirdiscussion,howcarefullytheyconsideredthechoice.
The couple turned around, introduced themselves. They came from Montreal. Sheleanedovertoshaketheirhands,theirnamesslidinginstantlyoffGauri’sbrain.Theywerenotherstudents,itdidnotmatter.Neitherofthemwasthepersonshe’dcometosee.
Theysettledtogetheronachampagne-coloredsofa.Thehusbandrefilledtheirteacups.
Willyoujoinus?
No,thankyou.Enjoyyourevening.
Youaswell.
Shewent out to the car. The daywas ending, already the skywas turning pale. Shepulledouthercellphone,scrolleddowntoSubhash’snumber.Somethinghadcatapultedherbackhere,amotivationasunstoppable,alsoasegregious,astheonethathadcausedhertoleave.
Shewastrespassing,breakingtherulethey’dlongcometoobey.Hemightbebusythisweekend.Hemighthavegonesomewhere.Thoughhisletterhadbeenfriendly,ofcoursehemightnotwanttoseeheratall.
Now the absurdity, the great indiscretion, of what she’d done permeated her. She’dalwaysfeltlikeanimpositioninhislife,anintrusion.
Shetoldherselfshedidnothavetodoitrightaway,thattherewastime.HerflighttoLondonwasnotuntilthefollowingevening.Shewouldgotohimtomorrow,inthelightofday,thengostraightbacktotheairport.Tonightshewouldsimplyconfirmthathewasthere.
Shedrovetothecampus,pastbuildingswhereshehadtakenclasses,pathswhereshehadwalkedwithBelainherstroller.Shedrovepastthemixofstonebuildingsandsixtiesarchitecture,thebuildingsthathadgoneupsince.Pasttheapartmentcomplexwheretheyhadfirstlived,wherethey’dbroughtBelahomefromthehospital.Sheturnedaroundbythe little outbuildingwhere she had learned to do the laundry. Then she drove into thetown.
ThesupermarketwhereSubhashhadlikedtobuygrocerieswasnowalargepostoffice.Thereweremore places to buymore things,more often: a pharmacy that stayed opentwenty-fourhours,agreatervarietyofplacestoeat.
Shechosea restaurant she remembered, an icecreamshopwhereBela liked toget aconeatthewindow.Aflavorcalledpeppermintstick,studdedwithredandgreencandies,hadbeenherfavorite.Therewasacounterwithstoolsinside,afewboothsattheback.ItwasaSaturday,andshesatamonggroupsofhighschoolstudentswhowereoutwithouttheir parents, drinkingmilk shakes, joking with one another. A few older people weresittingalone,eatingplatesoffriedchickenandmashedpotatoes.
Againthediscomfortshe’dalwaysfeltinRhodeIsland,whenevershesetfootoutsidetheuniversity.Whereshe’dfeltatonceignoredandconspicuous,summedup,intheway.Sheatequickly,burninghertongueonabowlofchowder,gulpingdownasmalldishofice cream. She imagined running into Subhash. Had he become the type to go out torestaurants?
Afterdinnershedrovetothebay,alongapromenadewherepeoplewerejoggingandwalkinginthetwilight.Throughastonearchway,flankedbytwotowers,likethegatewayofacastlebythesea.Shecontinuedontowardthehouse.
Thelightswereon.Shesloweddown,toonervoustocometoastop.Thereweretwocars in thedriveway; shewasunprepared for this.Was there a thirdone in thegarage?Whowasvisitinghim?Whowerehisfriendsnow?Hislovers?Itwastheweekend,washeentertainingguests?
She drove back to the inn, exhausted though it was still early for her, evening justbeginningon theWestCoast.Thecouple fromMontrealwereout,Nan tuckedaway inwhateverunseenpartofthehousesheoccupied.
Shewentupstairstoherroomandsawthattwogingersnapshadbeenleftonaplatebyherbed,andamugwithanherbalteabagonthesaucer,nexttotheelectrickettle.
Nan’shospitalitywasmeasured,andyetGauriwasgratefulfortheovertures,howeverimpersonal. A stranger had received her, accommodated her. ButGauri had noway ofknowing,tomorrow,ifSubhashwoulddothesame.
Inthemorning,afterbreakfast,sherepackedhersuitcaseandsettledthebill.Alreadyitwasover,shewasdeparting,andyettheobjectiveofthejourneyremained.Sheerasedthetemporary traces of herself from the room, smoothing the pillowcase she had creased,readjustingthepieceoflaceonthenightstand.
Handing over the key, she felt eager to go but also reluctant, aware that there wasnowhere but the rented car to call her own. Nothing left to do, other than fulfill thepurposeforwhichshe’dcome.
Shedrovebacktothehighway.ThetrafficlightwasherlastchancetoturnbacktowardBoston.Briefly shepanicked,puttingonherblinker.She irritated thedriverbehindherwhenshechangedhermindagain,continuingstraight.
Todaytherewasonlyonecarinthedriveway.Asmallhatchbackthatmusthavebeenhis, though it surprisedher to seehowbeaten-up itwas, that at this stageofhis lifehewouldstilldrivethekindofcarhedrovewhenhewasagraduatestudent.ARhodeIslandlicenseplate,anObamabumpersticker.AlsoonethatsaidBeaLocalHero,BuyLocallyGrown.
ShesawtheJapanesemaple,atwigsotenderonecouldsnapitapartwhenSubhashhadplantedit;itwasthreetimesherheightnow,thebranchesspreadingclosetotheground,thegraybarkassmoothasglazedceramic.Thereweremoreflowers,black-eyedSusansand daylilies, defying the coming of winter, thickly growing at the front of the house.Chrysanthemumsinpotsdecoratedthesteps.
Shouldshehavebroughtsomething?SomeofferingfromCalifornia,abagofpistachiosorlemons,tospeakforherexistencethere?
Shehadalreadysigned thedivorcepapers,grantedherconsent.Shewouldhandhimthedocumentsinperson.Shewouldtellhimshehappenedtobepassingthrough.
Shewouldagree that theirmarriageshouldbe terminated formally, thatofcourse thehouse in Tollygunge, and the one in Rhode Island, were his to sell. She imagined a
strainedconversationinthelivingroom,acursoryexchangeofinformation,asinglecupofteahemightoffertoprepare.
Thiswas the scenario she’dmappedouton theplane, that she’d reviewed inbed thenightbefore,andagainduringherdrivethatmorning.
Shesatinthecar,lookingatthehouse,knowinghewasinside,knowinghowmuchitwouldsurelyupsethimtoseeher,unbidden.Knowingshewas innoposition toexpecthimtoopenhisdoortoher.
Sherememberedlookingforthepoliceman’smailboxinJadavpur.Terrifiedofwhatshewasseeking,partofheralreadyknowingwhatshe’dfind.
Shewastemptednottobotherhim.Toleavethepapersinthemailboxandturnback.Andyetsheunfastenedherseatbelt,andremovedthekeyfromtheignition.Thoughshedidnotexpecthimtoforgiveher,shewantedtothankhimforbeingafathertoBela.ForbringingGauritoAmerica,forlettinghergo.
The shame thathad floodedherveinswaspermanent.Shewouldneverbe free fromthat.
Ultimately, she had come seeking Bela. She’d come to ask about Bela’s life, to askSubhashifshemightcontacthernow.Toaskiftherewasaphonenumber,anaddresstowhichshemightwrite.ToaskifBelamightbeopentothis,beforeitwastoolate.
Coldairstungherfaceasshesteppedoutof thecar, thewindoff theseawilderherethaninland.Shereachedintoherpurse,coveringherhandswithapairofgloves.
It was not too early, ten-thirty. Subhashwould be sitting reading the newspaper, theProvidenceJournalthathadalreadybeenremoved,shesaw,fromthemailboxatthefootofthedrive.
AlongsideSubhash,shewouldbeseeingaversionofUdayanasanoldman.Hearinghisvoiceagain.Subhashhadremainedhisproxy,atoncealienandkindred.Shewalkedupthepathandrangthebell.
Chapter5ItwasaSundaymorning,theskiescalmafterlatesummer’sstorms.Soonthekale,the
Brussels sprouts,would be ready for harvesting.A few frostswould improve the taste.Lastnight,becausethetemperaturehadsuddenlydropped,they’dputcomfortersbackonthebeds.Soonthetimewouldchange.
Meghna was drawing at the coffee table. Subhash and Elise had gone out for theirbreakfast,theirwalk.
Belawaswashing disheswhenMeghna came up to her, tugging on the edge of hersweater.
Someone’satthedoor.
ShethoughtmaybeitwasDrewstoppingbywithoutcallingfirst,ashesometimesdid.She turned off thewater and dried her hands. She stepped away from the counter andlookedthroughthewindowofthelivingroom.
ButDrew’spickupwasn’tinthedriveway.Therewasasmallwhitecarlookingbrand-new,parkedbehindBela’s.Shelookedthroughthepeephole,butthevisitorwasstandingtotheside.
Sheopenedthedoor,wonderingwhatwouldbeaskedofher,asignatureorcontributionforwhat cause.The glass of the stormdoor had been recently replaced for the comingcold.
Awomanstoodbehindit,puttingaglovedhandtohermouth.
Theywere the same height now. Hair fleckedwith gray, cropped close to her head.Diminished in build.The skinwas softer around the eyes, subduing their intensity.Sheseemedslightenoughtopushaway.
Shehaddevotedsomeattentiontoherappearance.Alayeroflipstick,earrings,ascarftuckedintohercoat.
Belawasbarefoot.Wearing the sweatpants she’d slept in, anoldpulloverofDrew’s.Shereachedfor thehandleof thestormdoor.She felt for thecatch, locking it fromtheinside.
Bela, sheheardhermother say.Shesaw tearsonhermother’s face.Relief,disbelief.Thevoicesheremembered,mutedthroughtheglass.
Meghnaapproached.Mama,sheasked.Whoisthatlady?
Shedidn’tanswer.
Whydon’tyouopenthedoor?
She unlocked the door, opened it. She watched her mother enter the house, hermovements measured, but instinctively knowing the arrangement of things. Down theshortsetofsteps,tothelivingroom.
Here,whereguestswerereceived, theysat.BelaandMeghnaonthesofa,hermotheracrossfromtheminachair.HermotherwastakinginthedirtunderBela’sfingernails,the
roughenedskinofherhands.
Someofthefurniture,Belaknew,wasthesame.Thepairofstandinglampsoneitherside of the sofa, with cream-colored shades and little tables wrapped around theirmidsections,onwhichtoputacuporaglass.Acane-backedrockingchair.ThebatikwallhangingofanIndianfishingboat,stretchedoveraframe.
ButproofofBela’slifewasherealso.Herbasketofknitting.Herplantcuttingsonthewindowsill.Herjarsofbeansandgrains,hercookbooksontheshelves.
NowhermotherwaslookingatMeghna,thenbackatBela.
Sheisyours?
Yes,Icanseethat,shecontinued,answeringherownquestionaftersomemomentshadpassed.Belasaidnothing.Belawasunabletospeak.
Whenwassheborn?Whendidyougetmarried?
Theywere simple questions, ones that Bela did notmind answeringwhen posed bystrangers.Butcomingfromhermothereachfeltoutrageous.Eachwasanaffront.Shewasunwilling to share with her mother, so casually, the facts and choices of her life. Sherefusedtoutterthewords.
HermotherturnedtoMeghna.Howoldareyou?
Sheraisedherhand,showingfourfingers,saying,Almostfive.
Whenisyourbirthday?
November.
Belawas shivering. She could not control it.How had this happened?Why had sheyielded?Whyhadsheopenedthedoor?
You look just like your mother when she was a girl, her mother said. What’s yourname?
Meghnapointedtoadrawingshe’dmade,onwhichhernamewaswritten.Sheturneditaround,sothatitwouldbeeasiertoread.
Meghna,doyoulivehere?Orareyouvisiting?
Meghnawasamused.Ofcoursewelivehere.
Withyourfather?
Idon’thaveafather,Meghnasaid.Whoareyou?
Iamyour—
Aunt,Belasaid,speakingforthefirsttime.
Now Bela was looking at Gauri, glaring at her. With a single shake of her head,silencingGauri,theadmonishmentslicingthroughher,remindingherofherplace.
Gaurifeltthesamesuspensionofcertainty,thesameunannouncedbutimminentthreat,aswhenthewallsinCaliforniawouldtrembleduringaminorquake.Neverknowinguntilitwasover,asacuprattledonthetable,astheearthroiledandresettleditself,whetheror
notshewouldbespared.
This ladywas a friendof your grandmother’s,Bela said toMeghna.Thatmakes heryourgreat-aunt.Ihaven’tseenhersinceyourgrandmotherdied.
Oh,Meghnasaid.Shewentbacktoherdrawing.Shewaskneelingatthecoffeetable,her head tilted to one side.A stack ofwhite paper, awooden box containing a row ofcrayons.Shewasfocusedonherwork,regardingitfromanangleofconcentration,alsoofrepose.
Gaurisat,perchedonanarmchair,inaroomwhoseviewshadremainedconstant.Buteverythinghadchanged,thedecadescollapsingbutalsoassertingthemselves.Theresultwasanabyssthatcouldnotbecrossed.
She’dcomeseekingBela,andhereshewas.Threefeetaway,unattainable.Shewasagrownwoman,nearlyfortyyearsold.OlderthanGaurihadbeenwhenshe’dlefther.Theproportions of her face had altered. Wider at the temples, longer, more sculptural.Inattentivetoherappearance,herbrowsunshaped,herhairtwistedmessilyatthenapeofherneck.
Willyouplaytic-tac-toewithme?MeghnaaskedBela.
Notnow,Meglet.
Meghna looked up at Gauri. Her facewas brown like Bela’s, her hazel eyes just aswatchful.Willyou?
GaurithoughtBelawouldobject,butshesaidnothing.
Sheleanedover,takingthecrayonfromthechild’shand,markingthepaper.
Youandyourmotherliveherewithyourgrandfather?Gauriasked.
Meghnanodded.AndElisecomeseveryday.
Shecouldnotpreventthequestionfromforming,escapinghermouth.
Elise?
When Dadumarries her I’ll have a grandmother,Meghna said. I’m going to be theflowergirl.
Bloodwasdrainingfromherhead.Shegrippedthearmrest,waitingforthefeelingtopass.
ShewatchedMeghnadrawalineonthesheetofpaper.Look,Iwon,Gauriheardhersay.
Shepulledtheenvelopeofsigneddocumentsoutofherbag.ShesettheenvelopeonthecoffeetableandslidittowardBela.
Theseareforyourfather,shesaid.
Belawaswatchingherasonewatchedaninfantjustlearningtowalk,asifshemightsuddenly topple over and cause some form of damage, even though Gauri was sittingperfectlystill.
Heiswell?Hishealthisgood?
Stillshewouldnotanswerher,notspeaktoherdirectly.Therewasnoindulgenceinherface.Nochange,fromthemomentGaurihadarrived.
Allright,then.
She was burning with the failure of it. The effort of the journey, the presumptuouschance she’d taken, the foolish anticipation of coming back. The divorce was not tosimplifybuttoenrichhislife.Thoughshetookupnospaceinit,hewasstillinapositiontoeradicateher.
Shethoughtoftheroomthathadoncebeenherstudy.ShewonderedifitwasMeghna’sroomnow.Backthenshehadonlywantedtoshutthedoortoit,tobeapartfromSubhashandBela.She’dbeenincapableofcherishingwhatshe’dhad.
Shestoodup,adjustedherbagoverhershoulder.I’llbeonmyway.
Wait,Belasaid.
ShewalkedovertoaclosetandputajacketonMeghna,apairofshoes.Sheopenedtheslidingglassdooroffthekitchen.Willyoupicksomenewflowersforthetable?shesaidtoher.Pickabigbunch,okay?Andthengocheckthebirdfeeders.Seeifweneedtogivethemmorefood.
Theslidingdoorwasshut.NowsheandBelawerealone.
BelawalkedovertowhereGauriwasstanding.Shecameupclose,soclosethatGauritookasmallstepbackward.Belaraisedherhands,asiftopushGauriawayfurtherstill,butdidnottouchher.
Howdareyou,Belasaid.Hervoicewasjustaboveawhisper.Howdareyousetfootinthishouse.
Noonehadeverlookedatherwithsuchhatred.
Whyhaveyoucomehere?
Gaurifeltthewallbehindher.Sheleanedagainstitforsupport.
Icametogiveyourfatherthepapers.Also—
Alsowhat?
Iwantedtoaskhimaboutyou.Tofindyou.Hesaidhewasopentoourmeeting.
And you’ve taken advantage of it. The way you took advantage of him from thebeginning.
Itwaswrongofme,Bela.Icametosay—
Get out. Go back to whatever it was that was more important. Bela shut her eyes,puttingherhandsoverherears.
Ican’tstandthesightofyou,shecontinued.Ican’tbearlisteningtoanythingyouhavetosay.
Gauriwalkedtowardthefrontdoor.Herthroatwasrawwithpain.Sheneededwaterbut
shedidn’tdareaskforit.Sheputherhandontheknob.
I’msorry,Bela.Iwon’tbotheryouagain.
Iknowwhyyouleftus,Belasaid,directingthewordsatGauri’sback.
I’veknownforyearsaboutUdayan,shewenton.IknowwhoIam.
Now it was Gauri unable to move, unable to speak. Unable to reconcile hearingUdayan’sname,comingfromBela.
Anditdoesn’tmatter.Nothingexcuseswhatyoudid,Belasaid.
Bela’swordswerelikebullets.PuttinganendtoUdayan,silencingGaurinow.
Nothingwilleverexcuseit.You’renotmymother.You’renothing.Canyouhearme?Iwantyoutonodifyoucanhearme.
Therewasnothinginsideher.WasthiswhatUdayanfelt,inthelowlandwhenhestoodtofacethem,asthewholeneighborhoodwatched?Therewasnoonetowitnesswhatwashappeningnow.Somehow,shenoddedherhead.
You’reasdeadtomeasheis.Theonlydifferenceisthatyouleftmebychoice.
Shewasright;therewasnothingtoclarify,nothingmoretoconvey.
Therewasaknockontheslidingglassdoor,andBelawenttoopenit.Meghnawantedtocomein.
She saw Meghna standing at the dining table with Bela, seeking approval for theflowersshe’dchosen.Belawascomposed,attentivetoherdaughter,behavingasifGauriwerealreadygone.Togethertheyweretakingoldflowersoutofamasonjarandreplacingthemwithnewones.
Gauricouldnothelpherself;beforeleaving,shecrossedtheroom,walkedovertothetable,andplacedherhandonthegirl’shead,thenonthecoolofhercheek.
Good-bye,Meghna.Ienjoyedmeetingyou.
Politely,thechildlookedupather.Takingherinandthenforgettingher.
Nothingmorewassaid.Gauriwalkedtowardthefrontdoor,brisklythistime.Bela,notlookingupfromwhatshewasdoing,didnothingtodetainher.
Sheopenedtheenvelopeassoonashermotherwasoutofthehouse,beforeshe’devenstartedtheignitionofthecar.Shemadesureshe’dsignedandagreedtowhatherfatherhadasked.Whathe’dtoldBela,afewmonthsago,hewasreadytodo.
There were the signatures, all of them in place. She was thankful for this. Asbewilderingasithadbeen,shewasthankfulthatitwasshe,notherfather,who’dhadtoconfrontGauri.Shewasthankfulthatshe’dshieldedhimfromthat.
Hermother’sbriefpresencehadshockedBelaasadeadbodymight.Butalreadyshehadvanished again. She listened to the soundof the car fading, then disappearing, andthen it was as if hermother had never come back, and those fewmoments had neverhappened.And yet she’d returned, stood before her, spoken to her, spoken toMeghna.Belahaddreameditsomanytimes.
Thismorning,seeinghermother, theforceofherangerhadcrushedher.She’dneverfeltsuchviolentemotionbefore.
Ittwistedthroughtheloveshefeltforherfather,herdaughter,herguardedfondnessforDrew. Its destructive current uprooted those things, splintering them and flinging themaside,shearingtheleavesfromthetrees.
Foramoment shewas flungback to theday they’d returned fromCalcutta.The ripeheat of August, the door to the study left open, the desktop nearly bare. The grasssproutingtohershoulders,spreadingbeforeherlikeasea.
EvennowBelafelttheurgetostrikeher.Toberidofher,tokillheralloveragain.
Chapter6VIPRoad, the oldway to and from the airport inDumDum, had once been remote
enoughforbandits,avoidedafterdark.Butnowshepassedhigh-riseapartmentbuildings,glass-fronted offices, a stadium.Lit-upmalls and amusement parks. Foreign companiesandfive-starhotels.
The citywas calledKolkata now, thewayBengalis pronounced it. The taxi traveledalong a peripheral artery that bypassed the northern portion of the city, the congestedcenter. It was evening, the traffic dense but moving quickly. Flowers and trees wereplantedalongthesidesoftheroad.Newflyovers,newsectorsreplacingwhatusedtobefarmland and swamp. The taxi was an Ambassador. But most of the other cars wereimported,smallersedans.
Afterthebypass,turningafterafancyhospital,afewfamiliarthings.ThetraintracksatBallygunge,thetangledintersectionatGariahat.Lifepouringoutofcrookedlanes,seatedonbrokensteps.Hawkers,sellingclothes,sellingslippersandpurses,liningthestreets.
It wasDurga Pujo, the city’smost anticipated days. The stores, the sidewalks, wereoverflowing. At the ends of certain alleys, or in gaps among buildings, she saw thepandals. Durga armed with her weapons, flanked by her four children, depicted andworshiped in so many versions. Made of plaster, made of clay. She was resplendent,formidable.Alionhelpedtoconquer thedemonatherfeet.Shewasadaughtervisitingherfamily,visitingthecity,transformingitforatime.
The guesthouse was on Southern Avenue. The flat was on the seventh floor.Overlooking the lake.Awomen’s fitness clubbelow.The elevator seemedhardlymorespacious than a telephone booth. Yet somehow she and the caretaker and her suitcasemanagedtofit.
You’vecomeforPujo?thecaretakerasked.
She’d been on her way to London, not here. Somewhere over the Atlantic, thedestinationhadbecomeclear.
In London she hadn’t left the airport. The lecture she was supposed to deliver, theprintedpagesinafolderinhersuitcase,wouldgounheard.
Shehadn’tbotherede-mailingtheorganizersoftheconferencetoexplainherabsence.Itdidn’tmattertoher.Nothingdid,afterthethingsBelahadsaid.
She’dgonetothebookingofficeinHeathrow,askingaboutflightstoIndia.TheIndianpassport she continued to carry, the citizenship she’d never renounced, enabled her, thefollowingmorning,toboardanotherplane.
IttookhertoMumbai.Itwasadirectflight,therewasnolongeraneedtorefuelintheMiddleEast.Anothernight at another airport hotel, coldwhite sheets, Indian televisionprograms. Black-and-white films from the sixties, CNN International. Unable to sleep,turningonherlaptop,shelookedupguesthousesinKolkata,bookedaplacetostay.
Thekitchenwouldbestockedinthemorning.Thedurwancouldsendsomeoneouttobringindinnertonight,sheheardthecaretakersay.
Thatwon’tbenecessary.
ShouldIsetupadriver?
Shecouldpayhimaflatratefortheday,thecaretakertoldher.Hewouldshowupasearlyassheliked.Hewouldtakeher,withinthecitylimits,anywhereshewantedtogo.
I’llbereadyateight,shesaid.
Shewokeindarkness,hereyesopenatfive.Atsixsheshoweredwithhotwater.Sheshed her clothes in a corner of the bathroom, brushed her teeth at a pink sink.On thepantryshelvesinthekitchenshefoundaboxofLipton,litaburner,andmadeherselfacupoftea.Shedrankit,andateapacketofcrackersleftoverfromtheplane.
Atseventhedoorbellrang.Amaidcarryingabagoffruit,breadandbutter,biscuits,thenewspaper.Thecaretakerhadmentionedsomethingaboutthis.
Her name was Abha. She was a woman in her thirties, a talkative mother of fourchildren.Theeldest,shetoldGauri,wassixteen.Intheafternoonsshehadajob,atoneofthefancyhospitals,cleaning.Shebrewedmoretea,setoutaplateofbiscuits.
Abha’s teawas better, stronger, servedwith sugar andwarmedmilk.A fewminuteslater,shebroughtoutanotherplate.
What’sthis?
She’dpreparedanomelette,slicedtoastwithbutter.Thebutterwassalty,theomelettespicedwithpiecesofchili.Gauriateeverything.Shedrankmoretea.
Ateighto’clock, lookingdownfromthesmallbalconyoff thebedroom,Gaurisawacar parkedbelow.Thedriverwas a youngmanwith curly hair and a potbelly,wearingtrousers,leatherslippers.Hewasleaningagainstthehood,smokingacigarette.
Shewenttothenorth,upCollegeStreet,pastPresidency,tovisitheroldneighborhood,tofindManash.ButManashwasinShillong,whereoneofhissonslived;hewenteveryyear at this time. His wife received her in her grandparents’ old flat, where the darkstairwellwasstilluneven,where thedooropenedforher,whereManashandhis familycontinuedtolive.
She satwith them in one of the bedrooms. Shemet his other son, the grandchildrenfromthatfamily.Theywereincreduloustoseeher,welcoming,polite.Theyofferedhersandesh,muttonrolls,tea.Behindher,beyondtheshuttereddoor,sheheardaconstable’swhistle,theclangingofthetram.
Shewas temptedtoask ifshecouldstepoutsideforamoment,onto thebalconythatwrappedaroundtheroomsoftheflat,thenchangedhermind.Howmanyhourshadshespentstaringdownatthetraffic,theintersection,herbodybentslightlyforward,elbowson the railing, chin cupped in her hand? She was unable to picture herself, suddenly,standingthere.
Usingacellphone, theyrangManash inShillong.Sheheardhisvoiceon thephone.Manash,whomshe’dfollowed to thiscity,who’dbeen theconduit toUdayan;Manash,thefirstcompanionofherlife.
Gauri,hesaid.Hisvoicehaddeepened,alsoweakened.Anoldman’svoice.Thickwith
theemotionshealsofelt.
It’sreallyyou?
Yes.
Whatfinallybringsyouhere?
Ineededtoseeitagain.
Still he addressed her in the affectionate mode, the diminutive form of exchangereservedforbondsformedinchildhood,neverquestioned,neversubjecttochange.Itwashowparents spoke to their children, howUdayanandSubhashhadonce spoken tooneanother. It conveyed the intimacy of siblings but not of lovers. It was not how eitherUdayanorSubhashhadspokentoher.
CometoShillongforafewdays.Ifnot,waitformetocomebacktoKolkata.
I’lltry.I’mnotsurehowlongIcanstay.
He told her she was the only one of his sisters still living. That their family haddwindledtothetwoofthem.
Howismyniece,myBela?WillImeether?WillIknowheroneday?
Sheassuredhim,knowingitwouldneverhappen.Shesaidgoodbye.Thedriverheadedsouthagain.TowardChowringhee,Esplanade.TheMetroCinema,theGrandHotel.
Shesatinthecar,insnarledtraffic,theatmosphereheavywithsmog.Shesawaversionofherself,standingononeofthecrowdedbusses,hangingontoastrap,wearingoneofthecottonsarisshe’dworntocollege.GoingtomeetUdayansomewherehe’dsuggested,some tucked-away restaurantwhere no onewould recognize them,where hewould bewaitingforher,wheretheycouldsitacrossfromoneanotherforaslongastheyliked.
ShouldItakeyoutoNewMarket?thedriveraskedher.Ortooneofthenewshoppingcenters?
No.
WhenthedriverapproachedSouthernAvenueshetoldhimtocontinue.
ToKalighat?
ToTollygunge.Justafterthetramdepot,nottoofarin.
PastthereplicaofTipuSultan’smosque,pastthecemetery.Therewasametrostationnow,opposite thedepot,cutting through thecityunderground. It traveledall theway toDum Dum, the driver said. She saw people rushing up the shallow steps, people oldenoughtowork,youngenoughtohavegrownupwiththemetroalltheirlives.
Shesawthehighbrickwallsoneithersideoftheroad,shieldingthefilmstudios,theTollyClub.Fortyyearslaterthelittlemosqueatthecornerstillstood,thered-and-whiteminaretsvisible.
Shetoldthedrivertostop,givinghimmoneyfortea,askinghimtowaitforherthere.Itwouldbeabriefvisit,shesaid.
Peoplewereglancingathernowthatshewasoutofthecar.Takinginhersunglasses,herAmericanclothingandshoes.Unawarethatonceshe,too,hadlivedhere.Cellphonesrang,buttherubberhornsofthecyclerickshawsstillsquawkedonthemainroads.
Behind the mosque there was a grouping of huts with walls of woven bamboo,shelteringthosewhostilllivedthere.
She continueddown the lane, steppingpast the straydogs.Someof thehousesweretallernow,blockingoutmoreofthesky.Theyhadwindowsmadeofglass,woodentrimspaintedwhite.Rooftopsthickwithantennas.Patioswithterrazzofloors.Theolderhomesweremorederelict,constructedfromnarrowbricks,sectionsoffiligreemissing.
Allofitwascrammedtightlytogether.Notasingleemptyplot,nospaceforchildrentoplaycricketorfootball.Thelaneremainedsonarrowthatacarcouldbarelyfit.
ShecametothehouseinwhichshewasoncedestinedtogrowoldwithUdayan.ThehomeinwhichshehadconceivedBela,inwhichBelamighthavebeenraised.
She’dexpectedtofinditagedbutstanding,asshewas.Infact it lookedyounger, theedgessmoother, the facadepaintedawarmorangeshade.Theswingingwoodendoubledoorshadbeenreplacedbyacheerfulgreengate,tomatchtheterracegrilles.
Thecourtyardnolongerexisted.Theproportionsofthebuildinghadextendedforward,sothatthefacadenearlyabuttedthestreet.Thatareawasperhapsnowalivingroom,oradiningroom,shecouldnottell.Inoneoftheroomsatelevisionwason.Theopendrainatthethreshold,thatshe’dsteppedovertocomeandgo,hadbeenclosed.
Shewalkedpast thehouse, across the lane, andover toward the twoponds.Shehadforgottennodetail.Thecolor and shapeof thepondsclear inhermind.But thedetailswerenolongerthere.Bothpondsweregone.Newhomesfilledupanareathathadoncebeenwatery,open.
Walkingabitfarther,shesawthatthelowlandwasalsogone.Thatsparselypopulatedtractwasnowindistinguishablefromtherestoftheneighborhood,andonitmorehomeshadbeenbuilt.Scootersparkedinfrontofdoorways,laundryhungouttodry.
Shewonderedifanyofthepeopleshepassedrememberedthingsasshedid.Shewastemptedtostopamanaboutheragewholookedvaguelyfamiliar,whomighthavebeenoneofUdayan’sclassfriends.Hewasonhiswaytothemarket,wearinganundershirt,alungi,carryingashoppingbag.Hepassedby,notrecognizingher.
Somewhereclosetowhereshestood,Udayanhadhiddeninthewater.He’dbeentakentoanemptyfield.Somewheretherewasatabletwithhisnameonit,commemoratingthebrieflifehe’dled.Orperhapsthis,too,hadbeenremoved.
Shewasunpreparedforthelandscapetobesoaltered.Fortheretobenotraceofthatevening,fortyautumnsago.
Scarcely two years of her life, begun as awife, concluded as awidow, an expectantmother.Anaccompliceinacrime.
Ithadseemedreasonable,whatUdayanhadaskedofher.Whathe’dtoldher:thattheywanted a policeman out of theway.Depending on one’s interpretation, it had not even
beenalie.
She’daccepted thebenignversion.Thestrayparticleofdoubt, themutepieceofherthat suspected somethingworse, as she sat by the windowwith the brother and sister,glancingdownatthestreet,she’dsmothered.
Nooneconnectedhertoit.Stillnooneknewwhatshe’ddone.
She was the sole accuser, the sole guardian of her guilt. Protected by Udayan,overlookedbytheinvestigator,takenawaybySubhash.Sentencedintheveryactofbeingforgotten,punishedbymeansofherrelease.
AgainsherememberedwhatBelahadsaidtoher.Thatherreappearancemeantnothing.ThatshewasasdeadasUdayan.
Standingthere,unabletofindhim,shefeltanewsolidaritywithhim.Thebondofnotexisting.
Thenightbeforetheycameforhimhefellasleep,ashehadbeenunabletodofordays.Butinhissleephebegantocryout,wakingher.
Atfirstshecouldnotrousehim,evenwhensheshookhimbytheshoulders.Thenhewokeup,startled,shivering.Hisheadburnedwithfever.Hecomplainedofthecoldintheroom,ofadraft,thoughtheairwashumidandstill.Heaskedhertoturnoffthefanandclosetheshutters.
Shespreadaquiltoverhim,pullingitoutofametaltrunkthatwasundertheirbed.Shetuckeditupbeneathhisshoulders,beneathhischin.
Gobacktosleep,shetoldhim.
JustlikeIndependence,hesaid.
What?
MeandSubhash.Webothhadafever.Myparents tellastory,ofhowbothour teethwere chattering thenightNehrumadehis speech, thenight freedomcame. I never toldyou?
No.
Miserablefoolsinbed,justlikethis.
Shepouredhimwaterherefusedtosip,pushingitawaysothatitspilledoverthequilt.Shedampenedahandkerchiefandwipedhisface.Sheworriedthatthefeverwascausedbyan infection, something todowithhis injuredhand.Buthedidnotcomplainofanyworsepain,andthenthefeverbegantosubside,fatiguereclaiminghim.
Untilmorninghesleptsoundly.Shestayedawake,sittingintheswelteringroom,sealedupwithhim.Staringathim,thoughshecouldnotseehiminthedarkness.
Slowly his profile came into view.His forehead, his nose and lips, edgedwith graylight.Thiswasthefirstlightthatpenetratedtheventsabovethewindows,theplasterthereperforatedinaseriesofwavylines.
Aneglectedbeardcoveredhischeeks, amoustachehiding thedetailofhis face—the
shadedgrooveabovehismouth—thatshemostloved.Theimageofhimsostill,withhiseyesclosed,disconcertedher.Sheputherhandoverhischest,feelingitsriseandfall.
Heopenedhiseyes,seemingsuddenlylucid,himselfagain.
I’vebeenthinking,hesaid.
Aboutwhat?
Abouthavingchildren.Woulditbeenoughforyou,ifweneverdid?
Whyareyouthinkingofthisnow?
Ican’tbecomeafather,Gauri.
Afteramomentheadded,NotafterwhatI’vedone.
Whathaveyoudone?
Hewouldn’tsay.Whateverhappened,hetoldher,heregrettedonlyonething:thathehadnotmethersooner,thathehadnotknownhereverydayofhislife.
Heclosedhis eyesagain, reaching forherhand, their fingers joined.As themorningsteadilybrightened,hedidnotletitgo.
Attheguesthouse,inamicrowaveoven,shewarmedupthemealAbhahadleftforher,eating fish stew and rice at an oval table that sat six. The table was covered with afloweredtablecloth,asheetofplasticoverthat.Shewatchedsometelevision,thenputtheleftoverfoodaway.
Thebedwasmade,thecoversmoothlyspread,thenylonmosquitonettingbunchedupontohooks.She lowered it, tucking in thesides.Therewasonlyanoverhead light.Notpossibletoreadinbed.Shelayindarkness.Eventually,forafewhours,sheslept.
Thecrowswokeher.Shegotoutofbedandsteppedontothebalconythatwasoffthebedroom.Themilkydawnwasopaque,asifshewerehighinthemountainsandnotatthebaseofasprawlingdelta,theworld’slargestdelta,atthelevelofthesea.
Thebalconywas small, just enough room for aplastic stool, a small tub inwhich tosoakdirtyclothes.Notaplacetopassthetime.
Theroadwasempty.Theshopkeepershadnotyetarrived toopen theirpadlocksandraisetheirgrates.
Waterwasbeingpoured frombuckets, thepavementsweptclean.Afewpeoplewereenteringthegroundsofthelakefortheirmorningwalk,stridingpurposefullyalone,orinpairs.Shesawastallacross theavenue, sellingnewspapersand fruit,bottledwaterandtea.
Thestreetsweepermovedontothenextblock.Therewasnoonetherenow.Sheheardthesoundoftraffic,intensifying.Soonitwouldbeconstant.Soonnothingelsewouldbeheard.
She pressed herself against the railing of the balcony. It was high enough. She feltdesperationrisingupinsideher.Alsoaclarity.Anurge.
Thiswastheplace.Thiswasthereasonshe’dcome.Thepurposeofherreturnwasto
takeherleave.
She imagined swinging one leg over, then the other. The sensation of nothingsupportingher,ofnolongerresisting.Itwouldtakeonlyafewseconds.Hertimewouldend,itwasassimpleasthat.
Forty years ago she hadn’t had the courage. Bela had been inside her. It wasn’t theemptiness,thehuskofexistenceshefeltnow.
ShethoughtofKanuSanyal,andofthewomanwho’dfoundhim.AwomanlikeAbhawhosawtohisneeds,whocameandwenteachday.
Who,comingbackfromamorning’swalkaroundthelake,feelinginvigorated,mighthappentoseeherfall?Who,realizingitwastoolate tosaveher,wouldshieldhisface,turningaway?
Sheclosedhereyes.Hermindwasblank.Itheldonlythepresentmoment,nothingelse.Themoment that,untilnow,she’dneverbeenable tosee.She thought itwouldbe likelookingdirectlyatthesun.Butitdidnotdeflecther.
Thenonebyoneshereleased the things that fetteredher.Lighteningherself, thewayshe’dremovedherbanglesafterUdayanwaskilled.Whatshe’dseenfromtheterraceinTollygunge. What she’d done to Bela. The image of a policeman passing beneath awindow,holdinghissonbythehand.
Afinalimage:UdayanstandingbesideheronthebalconyinNorthCalcutta.Lookingdown at the streetwith her, getting to know her. Leaning forward, just inches betweenthem,thefuturespreadbeforethem.Themomentherlifehadbegunasecondtime.
She leaned forward.Shesaw thespotwhereshewould fall.She recalled the thrillofmeetinghim,ofbeingadoredbyhim.Themomentof losinghim.The furyof learninghowhe’dimplicatedher.TheacheofbringingBelaintotheworld,afterhewasgone.
Sheopenedhereyes.Hewasnotthere.
Themorninghadbegun,anotherday.Motherstakinguniformedchildrentoschool,menandwomenhurryingtotheirjobs.Thegroupofmenwhowouldsitplayingcardsalldayhad arranged themselves on a cot at the corner.Themanwho repaired sarods spread abedsheetonthepavement,puttingoutthebrokeninstrumentshewouldrestringandtunethatday.
DirectlybelowGaurialittleproducestandhadsetup,sellingtomatoesandeggplantsfromshallowbaskets.Carrotsmoreredthanorange,foot-longstringbeans.Theownersatcross-leggedundertheshadeofasoiledtarp,tendingtocustomerswho’dalreadybeguntoapproach.
Heplacedtheweightsonthescale.Theywerestrikingtheplates.Oneofthecustomerssteppedaway.
ItwasAbha,comingtocookbreakfast,tobrewthetea.ShelookedupatGauri,holdingupabunchofbananas,asmallpacketofdetergent,aloafofbread.Inherotherhandwasthenewspaper.
Shecalledup.Whatelsefortoday?
That’sall,nothingelse.
AttheendoftheweekshewouldleaveKolkataandreturntoherlife.WhenAbharangthebell,Gaurileftthebalcony,andletherin.
Severalmonthslater,inCalifornia,asecondletterarrivedfromRhodeIsland.
ThistimeitwasinEnglish.Lightblueink,theaddressheedlesslyscrawled—howhadthemailmandeciphered it?No longer the neat penmanshipBela had learned in school.Buthereitwas,legibleenoughtoreachher,theclosestshe’devercometovisiting.
Gauri studied the envelope, the illustration of a sailboat on the stamp. She sat at thetable onher patio, andunfolded thepage.Therewas a second sheet foldedwithin it, adrawingMeghna hadmade and signed: a solid strip of blue sky, another strip of greenground,acolorfulcatfloatinginthewhitespacebetween.
Theletterborenosalutation.
Meghnaasksaboutyou.Maybeshesensessomething,Idon’tknow.It’stoosoontotellherthestorynow.ButonedayI’llexplaintoherwhoyouare,andwhatyoudid.Mydaughterwillknowthetruthaboutyou.Nothingmore,nothingless.If,then,shestillwantstoknowyou,andtohavearelationshipwithyou,I’mwillingtofacilitatethat.Thisisabouther,notaboutme.You’vealready taughtmenot toneedyou,and Idon’t need to knowmore about Udayan. But maybe, whenMeghnaisolder,whensheandIarebothready,wecantrytomeetagain.
PartVIII
Chapter1OnthewesterncoastofIreland,onthepeninsulaofBeara,acouplecomeforaweek’s
stay.TheydrivefromCorkthroughthedrowsycountryside,arrivinglateintheafternoontoaterrainthatismountainous,stark.Theregion’svalleysconcealevidenceofprehistoricagriculture.Fieldpatterns,stone-wallsystems,buriedunderdepositsofpeat.
Theyhaverentedahouseinoneofthefewtowns.Whitestucco,thedoorandshutterspaintedblue.Theentiretownfeelshardlylargerthantheenclaveofhomesinwhich,longago,themanwasraised.
Thestreetisnarrowandsloping,linedwithblossomingfuchsia,parkedcars.Theyaretwodoorsfromapub,anarm’sreachfromayellowchurchthatservestheresidentsofthevillage.Fromthepostoffice,whichisalsoageneralstore,theybuytheirprovisions:milkandeggs,bakedbeansandsardines,ajarofblackberryjam.Itispossibletositoutsidethepost office, at a table for two on the sidewalk, and order a pot of tea, fresh cream andbutter,aplateofscones.
Atnight,afterthelongjourney,apintofbeeratthepub,theman’ssleepisshallow.Hewakesupinthebedwherehelieswithhisnewwife.Shesleepspeacefullybesidehim,herheadturnedaway,handscrossedbelowherchin.
Hegoesdownstairsandopensthedooratthebackofthehouse.Hestepsbarefootontothewooden porch that overlooks the garden, the pastures beyond, running down to theKenmareBay.Hishairisthick,snowywhite.Hiswifelikestorunherfingersthroughit.He sees the wide beam of the moon’s light over the water, pouring down. He isoverwhelmedbythesky’sclarity,thenumberofstars.
Astrongwindcoursesovertheland,mimickingthesoundofthewaves.Helooksup,forgetting thenamesof theconstellationshe’donce taughthisdaughter.Burninggases,perceivedonearthascoolpointsoflight.
Hereturnstobed,stilllookingoutthewindowatthesky,thestars.Heisstartledanewbythefactthattheirbeauty,evenindaytime,isthere.Heisawashwiththegratitudeofhisadvancing years, for the timeless splendors of the earth, for the opportunity to beholdthem.
Thefollowingmorningafterbreakfast theysetout for their firstday’swalk,onpathsthat edge the sea. They cross rough pastures where sheep and cows graze in silenceagainst thehorizon, fieldsof foxglove and ferns.Theday is overcast but luminous, thecloudsholding.Theoceanwashesupintostonyinlets,liescalmbeyondsteepcliffs.
Themanandwomantakein the immensityof theirsurroundings.Thestillnessof theplace.Onthisoutcropofland,afterwalkingforhours,climbingupanddownlittleladdersthatseparateonepropertyfromthenext,theyarelessthanhalfwaytowheretheythoughttheymightenduponthemapoftheregiontheypausetostudy.
The trip is a honeymoon, theman’s first, thoughhewasmarriedoncebefore.A fewdaysago,acrossthesameocean,inAmerica,thecouplestoodtoexchangetheirvowsonthegroundsofasmallred-and-whitechurchinRhodeIslandthatthemanhasadmiredformanyyears,itsspirerisingoverNarragansettBay.
Thecouple’sunionwaswitnessedbyagroupoffriendsandfamily.Themanhasgainedtwosons,aseconddaughterinadditiontohisown.Therearesevengrandchildren.Flungfarapart,occasionallythrusttogether,theywillknoweachotherinalimitedway.Still,itisapointoforigin,alookingforwardlateinlife.
The years the couple have together are a shared conclusion to lives separately built,separatelylived.Thereisnousewonderingwhatmighthavehappenedifthemanhadmetherinhisforties,orinhistwenties.Hewouldnothavemarriedherthen.
The next day when they step out of the house they encounter a group bidding anunknownvillagerfarewell,mourners indarkclothingspreadingdowntheslopingstreet.For a moment it is as if they, too, are part of the funeral. There is no sense of itsboundaries,whereitbeginsorends,whomitgrieves.Thentheypass,respectfully,outofitsshadow.
Iftheirgrandchildrenwerealong,theywouldtakethembycablecartoseethedolphinsandwhalesthatswimoffDurseyIsland.Insteadtheydevotetheirdaystowalking.Handinhand,wearingbulkysweatersthey’veboughttowardofftheslightautumnchill.
Theystopwhentheytire,toadmiretheviews,tositandeatbiscuits,piecesofcheese.Intidepoolswithrocksthatformchambersandgrottoes,theydiscoverheapsofflatgraypebbles, perforated shells that haveworn away to hardwhite rings. Theman gathers ahandful, thinkingtheywillmakeanicenecklaceforhisgranddaughter inRhodeIsland,strungthroughabitofyarn.Heimaginesplacingitonherhead,sothatitadornsherlikeacrown.
Theycomeacrosscertainstonesthatareofinterest,thattheyfollowsignstosee.Crudepillarstuckedawayoffminorroads.AnOghamstone,inscribedwithnames,inafarmer’sfield. A solitary boulder, said to be the incarnation of a woman with powers ofenchantment,aslantonabluff.
Lateonedaytheytrekthroughasoggyfieldtoreachagroupofstonessetintoavalley,appearingrandombutdeliberatelyarrayed,facingoneanotheronwindsweptland.Someareshorterthanthecouple’sheights,otherstaller.Wideratthebottom,appearingwhittledat the top.Lackinggracebutsacred,wornwhite inspotswithage.Onecannot imaginemoving them,but theirpositionshavebeencarefullyconsidered,eachstone laboriouslytransported,groupedbyhumanhands.
Hiswife explains that they date to theBronzeAge, that their purposewas religious,perhaps funerary or commemorative. How some of themmay have been positioned inrelation to the earth’s motion around the sun. For centuries people have traveled longdistances to touch them, to stand before them and receive their blessing. Some leave atraceofthemselvesbehind.
Heseeshairbands,frailchains,lockets,heapedatthebaseofcertainstones.Twigstiedtogether,bitsofthread.Personalofferings,neglectedtrinketsoffaith.Heknowsnothingofthisancientarcheology,theseenduringbeliefs.Somuchoftheworldheisstillignorantof.
He notices clumps of taller growth sprouting throughout the green field, like marshgrassatlowtide.Heseestherockybrownfacesofthesurroundinghills,thebay’scalm
surfacebelow.
Themanthinksofanotherstoneinadistantcountryclearinhismind.Asimpletablet,likearoadmarker,bearinghisbrother’sname.Itssurroundingsslowlysullied,thewateryplace where it once stood now indifferent to the seasons, converted to more practicalmeans.Foryearshismotherhadbeenafaithfulpilgrimtothatshrine,offeringflowerstoherson,untilshewasunabletovisit,untileventhatformoftributewasdenied.
Onancientgroundthatisnewtohim,inasecludedruin’sopenembrace,hisshoesarecakedwithmud.Helooksupandseesthebroodinggrayskystretchingovertheearth.Theceaselessmovementoftheatmosphere,lowcloudsdriftingformiles.
Amidthegray,anincongruousbandofdaytimeblue.Tothewest,apinksunalreadybeginsitsdescent.Theeffectisofthreeisolatedaspects,distinctphasesoftheday.Allofit,strewnacrossthehorizon,iscontainedinhisvision.
Udayan is beside him.They arewalking together inTollygunge, across the lowland,overthehyacinthleaves.Theycarryaputtingiron,somegolfballsintheirhands.
InIreland,too,thegroundisdrenched,uneven.Hetakesitinafinaltime,knowinghewillnevervisitthisplaceagain.Hewalkstowardanotherstoneandstumbles,reachingouttoit,steadyinghimself.Amarker,towardtheendofhisjourney,ofwhatisgiven,whatistakenaway.
Chapter2Hedidn’thearthevanenteringtheenclave.Heonlysawitapproach.Hehappenedto
beontheroof.Thehousewastallenoughnow.Aslongashekepttothebacknooneelsecouldseehim.
Itwasjustaswelltostayawayfromtheparapet.Sincetheexplosiontheexteriorworldwasnolongerstable.Thesolesofhisfeetnolongeranchoredhim.Thegroundbelownowbeckoned,nowmenaced,ifhehappenedtolookdown.
He saw that there were toomany of them; that there were three paramilitary in thecourtyardalone.Heglancedattheneighboringrooftops.InsectionsofNorthCalcuttaitmighthavebeenpossibletoleap,tospanthegapbetweenbuildings.Butthevertigomadeitimpossible;hecouldnolongergaugesimpledistances.Inanycase,inTollygunge,thehomeswerebuilttoofarapart.
Beforehisfatherwenttounlockthegate,toletthemin,heranbackdownthestairwell.Hunchingoverashemadethe turns,carefulnot tobespottedthroughthe terracegrille.Throughthenewpartofthehouseandintotheold.TherewasadooratthebackoftheroomheandSubhashhadonceshared,narrowdoubledoorsleadingtothegarden.
Heclimbedover therearwallof thecourtyardasheused towhenhewasachild, toescapethehousewithouthismothernoticing.Unabletodoitquicklybecauseofhishand,butmanaging,steppingoverthekerosenetin.Theeveningwaswarm,thesmellofsulfurstrong.
Hemovedquickly,cuttingpasttheponds,overtothelowland.Heenteredthesectionwherethewaterhyacinthwasthickest,takingonestep,thenanother,thewaterreceivinghimuntilhisbodywasconcealed.
Hetookadeepbreath,closedhismouth,andwentunder.Hetriednot tomove.Withthefingertipsofhisuninjuredhandhewaspinchinghisnostrilsshut.
After thefirstfewsecondsthepressuremountedandburnedinhis lungs,as ifall theweight of his bodywere centered there. The breath he was holding was turning solid,crowding his chest. This was normal, not from a lack of oxygen, but because carbondioxidewasbuildingupinhisblood.
Ifonecouldfighttheinstinctatthatpointtotakeabreath,thebodycouldsurviveuptosixminutes.Bloodwould begin to ebb fromhis liver and his intestines, flowing to hisheartandhisbrain.Thedoctorwho’dtreatedhishand,whomhe’dasked,hadexplainedthistohim.
Hemonitoredhispulse,ministeringtohimself.Itwouldhavebeenbetterifhehadn’tbeenrunning.Ifhispulsehadbeenslowerashe’denteredthewater.Hebegantocount.He counted ten seconds. Fighting the urge to surface, forcing himself to bear it a fewsecondsmore.
Underwater therewas the freedomofnothaving to struggle to listen toanything.Hewas spared the frustration of misunderstanding, of asking people to repeat things. Thedoctorsaidthehearingmightimprove,thatthedistortionandtheringinginhisearsmight
subsideovertime.Hewouldhavetowaitandsee.
Thesilenceunderwaterwasnotabsolute.Rather,atonelessexhalationthatpenetratedhis skull. It was different from the partial deafness he’d been experiencing since theexplosion.Water,abetterconductorofsoundthanair.
Hewonderedifthisdeafnesswaswhatitwasliketovisitacountrywhereonedidnotunderstand the language. To absorb nothing of what was said. He had never been toanother country.Neverbeen toChinaor toCuba.He remembered somethinghe’d readrecently,thefinalwordsChehadwrittentohischildren:Rememberthattherevolutionistheimportantthingandthateachoneofusaloneisworthnothing.
But in this case it had fixed nothing, helped no one. In this case therewas to be norevolution.Heknewthisnow.
Ifhewasworthnothing, thenwhywashe sodesperate to savehimself?Why, in theend,didthebodynotobeythebrain?
All at oncehisbodyovercamehimandhe surfaced,hisheadandchest exposed,hisnostrilsburning,hislungsgaspingforair.
Twoparamilitarystoodfacinghim,theirgunsraised.Oneofthemwasshoutingintoamegaphone,sothatUdayanhadnotroublehearingwhatwassaid.
They’dsurroundedthelowland.Hesawthatasoldierstoodatadistancebehindhim,twomoretoeitherside.They’dcapturedhisfamily.Theywouldstartshootingthemifhedidnotsurrender,thevoiceannounced.Athreatloudenoughnotonlyforhisownbenefitbutfortheentireneighborhoodtohear.
Carefullyhestoodupinthickweedywaterthatcametohiswaist.Hewasspittingupwhathe’dswallowed,coughingsoviolentlythathisorgansseized.Theyweretellinghimtowalkforward,toraisehishandsabovehishead.
Again the unsteadiness, the dizziness. The surface of the water at an angle, the skylowerthanitshouldbe,thehorizonunfixed.Hewantedashawlforhisshoulders.ThesoftmaroononeGaurialwayskepthangingonarodintheirroom,thatenvelopedhiminhersmellsomemorningswhenhewrappeditaroundhimself tosmokehisfirstcigaretteontheroof.
Hehadhoped that sheandhismotherwere stillout shopping.Butwhenheemergedfromthewater,hesawthattheyhadreturnedintimeforthis.
Ithadbegun incollege, inGauri’sneighborhood,on thecampus justdown the streetfrom the flat where she lived. There was always talk during labs, duringmeals at thecanteen, about the country and all that was wrong with it. The stagnant economy, thedeteriorationoflivingstandards.Thelatestriceshortage,pushingtensofthousandstothevergeofstarvation.ThetravestyofIndependence,halfofIndiastillinchains.OnlyitwasIndianschainingthemselvesnow.
He got to know some members of the Marxist student wing. They’d talked of theexample ofVietnam.He started cutting classes,wanderingwith them throughCalcutta.Visitingfactories,visitingslums.
In1966they’dorganizedastrikeatPresidency,overthemaladministrationofhostels.They’d demanded that the superintendent resign. They’d risked expulsion. They’d shutdownallofCalcuttaUniversity,forsixty-ninedays.
He’d gone to the countryside to further indoctrinate himself.He’d been instructed tomovefromplacetoplace,towalkfifteenmileseachdaybeforesundown.Hemettenantfarmerslivingindesperation.Peoplewhoresortedtoeatingwhattheyfedtheiranimals.Childrenwhoateonemealaday.
Thosewith less sometimeskilled their families,hewas told,beforeending theirownlives.
Theirsubsistencewascontingentonarrangementswithlandowners,moneylenders.Onpeople who took advantage of them. On forces beyond their control. He saw how thesystemcoercedthem,howithumiliatedthem.Howithadstrippedtheirdignityaway.
He ate what he was given. Coarse grains of rice, thinned lentils. Water that neverquenched his thirst. In some villages therewas no tea. He seldom bathed, he’d had todefecateinfields.Noplacetosufferwithprivacytheviolentcrampsthatrippedthroughhis bowels, through the stinging aperture of his skin. For him it was a temporarydeprivation.Buttoomanyknewnothingelse.
Atnightheandhiscompanionswerehiddenonbedsofstring,onsacksofgrain.Theyweretormentedbymosquitoes,slow-movingswarmsthatbit themtothebone.Someoftheboyscamefromwealthyfamilies.Oneortwoleftwithinamatterofdays.Atnight,inthatcollectivesilence,upsetbythethingshe’dseenandheard,Udayanallowedhimselftothink of a single comfort. Gauri. He imagined seeing her again, talking to her. Hewonderedifshe’dbewillingtobehiswife.
Oneday,visitingaclinic,heconfrontedthecorpseofayoungwoman.ShewasaroundGauri’s age, already the mother of numerous children. It was unclear, from herappearance, why she’d died. No one in the group answered correctly when the doctorasked themtoguess.Trying toobtaincheapriceforherfamily, theywere told,shehadbeentrampledinastampede.Herlungscrushed.
Ironically, her face was full, her belly slack. He imagined the other people pushingbehindher,determinedenoughtoknockherdown.Peopleshemighthaveknownfromhervillage,mighthavecalledneighborsandfriends.Herewasmoreproofthatthesystemwasfailing,thatsuchpovertywasacrime.
Theyweretoldthattherewasanalternative.Still,inthebeginningithadmainlybeenamatter of opinion. Of attendingmeetings and rallies, of continuing to educate himself.Putting up posters, painting slogans in themiddle of the night. Reading the leaflets ofCharuMajumdar,trustingKanuSanyal.Believingasolutionwasathand.
InCalcutta, just after thepartywas formed,Subhash left, going toAmerica.Hewascritical of the party’s objectives, disapproving, in fact. His brother’s disapproval hadangeredUdayan,buttheirpartinghadfilledhimwithforeboding,thoughhetriedtoshakeitoff,thattheywouldneverseeoneanotheragain.AfewmonthslaterhemarriedGauri.
With Subhash gone Udayan’s only friends were his comrades. Slowly the missionsturnedmorepurposeful.Gasolinepouredintheregistrar’sofficeofagovernmentcollege.
Bomb-making instructions studied, ingredients stolen from labs. Among the squadmembersoftheneighborhood,adiscussionofpotentialtargets.TheTollyClub,forwhatitrepresented.Apoliceman,fortheauthorityheembodied,andforhisgun.
After the party was declared he began living two lives. Occupying two dimensions,obeyingtwosetsoflaws.InoneworldhewasmarriedtoGauri,livingwithhisparents,coming and going so as not to arouse suspicion, teaching his students, guiding themthroughsimpleexperimentsattheschool.WritingcheerfulletterstoSubhashinAmerica,pretendingthemovementwasbehindhim,pretendinghiscommitmenthadcooled.Lyingto his brother, hoping that it would bring them closer again. Lying to his parents, notwantingtoconcernthem.
Butintheworldofthepartyithadalsobeenexpectedforhimtohelpkillapoliceman.Theyweresymbolsofbrutality, trainedbyforeigners.TheyarenotIndians, theydonotbelong to India, CharuMajumdar said. Each annihilation would spread the revolution.Eachwouldbeaforwardstep.
He’dshownupattheappointedtime,guardingthealleywheretheactionwastotakeplace.Theattackoccurredintheearlyafternoon,whenthepolicemanwasonhiswaytopickuphissonfromschool.Adayhewasoffduty.Aday,thankstoGauri,theyknewhewouldnotbearmed.
In meetings Udayan and his squad members had studied where in the abdomen thedaggershouldbedirected,atwhatpointbelowtheribs.TheyrememberedwhatSinhahadtoldthembeforehewasarrested:thatrevolutionaryviolenceopposedoppression.Thatitwasaforceofliberation,humane.
In the alley he’d felt calm and purposeful. He’d watched the constable’s clothingdarken,thelookofastonishment,thebulgeoftheeyes,thegrimaceofpainthatseizedhisface.Andthentheenemywasnolongerapoliceman.Nolongerahusband,orafather.Nolongeraversionofsomeonewho’doncestrickenSubhashwithabrokenputteroutsidetheTollyClub.Nolongeralive.
Asimpledaggerwasenoughtokillhim.Atoolintendedtocutupfruit.NottheloadedgunbeingaimednowbehindUdayan’shead.
Hehadnotbeentheonetowieldthedagger,onlytostandwatch.Buthispartinithadbeencrucial.Hehadgoneascloseashecould,hehaddippedhishandinthefreshbloodofthatenemy,writingtheparty’sinitialsonthewallasthebloodleakeddownhiswrists,intothecrookofhisarm,beforeheranfromthescene.
Nowhestoodattheedgeofalowland,intheenclavewherehe’dlivedallhislife.ItwasanOctoberevening,Tollygungeatdusk,theweekbeforeDurgaPujo.
Hisparentswerepleadingwith thepolice, insistinghewas innocent.But itwas theywhowereinnocentofthethingshe’ddone.
His hands were bound behind him, the rope chafing his skin. This discomfortpreoccupiedhim.Hewastoldtoturnaround.
It was too late to run or to fight. So he stood and waited, his back to his family,picturingbutnotseeingthem.
Thelasthe’dseenofhisparentswasthegroundattheirfeet,ashe’dbentdowntoaskfortheirpardon.Thesoftenedrubberslippershisfatherworearoundthehouse.Thedarkbrownborderofhismother’ssari,theendofitdrapedoverherfaceandwrappedaroundhershoulders,heldbyherfingersatherthroat.
ItwasonlyGaurihe’dmanagedtolookintheface,atthemomenthishandswerebeingrestrained.Hecouldnothaveturnedawayfromherwithouthavingdonethat.
Heknewthathewasnoherotoher.Hehadliedtoherandusedher.Andyethehadlovedher.Abookish girl heedless of her beauty, unconscious of her effect. She’d beenpreparedtoliveherlifealone,butfromthemomenthe’dknownherhe’dneededher.Andnowhewasabouttoabandonher.
Orwasitsheabandoninghim?Forshelookedathimasshe’dneverlookedbefore.Itwasalookofdisillusion.Arevisionofeverythingthey’donceshared.
Theypushedhimintothebackofthevanandstartedtheengine.Hefeltthevibrationofthe door slamming shut.Theywould take him somewhere, outside the city, to questionhim,thenfinishhimoff.Eitherthatortoprison.Butno,they’dalreadycuttheengine,thevanhadstopped.Thedooropened.Hewaspulledoutagain.
Theywereinthefieldwherehe’dcomesomanytimeswithSubhash.
Theyaskedhimnothing.Theyuntiedhishands,thenpointed,indicatingthathewastowalkinacertaindirectionnow,againwithhishandsraisedoverhishead.
Slowly,heheardthemsay.Makesuretopauseaftereverystep.
Hedidashewastold.Stepbystephewalkedawayfromthem.Gobacktoyourfamily,theysaid.Butheknewthattheywereonlywaitingforhimtofallintotheidealrange.
Onestep,thenanother.Hestartedcounting.Howmanymore?
He’d known from the beginning the risk of what he was doing. But only thepoliceman’s blood had prepared him. That blood had not belonged only to the policeofficer,ithadbecomeapartofUdayanalso.Sothathe’dfelthisownlifebegintoebb,irrevocably,as thepoliceman laydying in thealley.Since thenhe’dwaited forhisownbloodtospill.
Forafractionofasecondheheardtheexplosiontearingthroughhislungs.Asoundlikegushingwateroratorrentofwind.Asoundthatbelongedtothefixedforcesoftheworld,thatthentookhimoutoftheworld.Thesilencewaspurenow.Nothinginterfered.
Hewasnotalone.Gauristoodinfrontofhimwearingapeach-coloredsari.Shewasalittleoutofbreath,sweatpoolinginthematerialofherblouse,fromherarmpits.Itwasthebrightafternoonoutside thecinemahall,during the interval.They’dmissed thefirstpartofthefilm.
She’darrivedtomeethiminthemiddleoftheday,stillmorestrangerthanwife,abouttositwithhiminthedark.
Her hair shimmered. He wanted to lift it off her neck, to feel its unfettered weightagainsthisfingers.Thelightwasbouncingoffit,makingamirrorofit,castingaspectrumthatwasfaintbutcomplete.
Hestrainedtohearwhatshewassaying.Hetookanothersteptowardher,droppingthecigarettefromhisfingers.
He adjusted his body in relation to hers.His head angled down, his hand forming acanopy between them to shield her face from the sun. It was a useless gesture. Onlysilence.Thesunlightonherhair.
AcknowledgmentsI wish to thank the Frederick LewisAllenMemorial Room at theNewYork Public
Library, the FineArtsWorkCenter in Provincetown,Massachusetts, and theAmericanAcademyinRomefortheirgeneroussupport.
Thefollowingsourceswereessential tomyunderstandingof theNaxalitemovement:India’sSimmeringRevolution:TheNaxaliteUprisingbySumantaBanerjee,TheNaxaliteMovementbyBiplabDasgupta,“India’sThirdCommunistParty”(inAsianSurvey,vol.9,no.11)byMarcusF.Franda,TheCrimsonAgenda:MaoistProtestandTerrorbyRanjitGupta,Maoist“SpringThunder”:TheNaxaliteMovement(1967–1972)byArunProsadMukherjee, The Naxalites Through the Eyes of the Police edited by Ashoke KumarMukhopadhyay, The Naxalites and Their Ideology by Rabindra Ray, The NaxaliteMovementinIndiabyPrakashSingh,andthewebsitesanhati.com.
I am also grateful to the following individuals: Gautam Bhadra,Mihir Chakraborty,RobinDesser,AmitavaGanguli,AvijitGangopadhyay,DanKaufman,AniruddhaLahiri,CressidaLeyshon,SubrataMozumder,RudrangshuMukherjee,EricSimonoff,ArunavaSinha,andCharlesWilson.
ANoteAbouttheAuthorJhumpaLahiriistheauthorofthreepreviousworksoffiction:InterpreterofMaladies,
TheNamesakeand,mostrecently,UnaccustomedEarth.ArecipientofthePulitzerPrize,a PEN/HemingwayAward, the FrankO’Connor International Short StoryAward and aGuggenheim Fellowship, she was inducted into the American Academy of Arts andLettersin2012.
AlsobyJhumpaLahiriUnaccustomedEarth
TheNamesake
InterpreterofMaladies
WINNEROFTHEFRANKO’CONNORINTERNATIONALSHORTSTORYAWARD
BeginninginAmerica,andspillingbackovermemoriesandgenerationstoIndia,UnaccustomedEarthexplorestheheartoffamilylifeandtheimmigrantexperience.Eightluminousstories–longerandricherthananyJhumpaLahirihasyetwritten–takeusfromAmericatoEurope,IndiaandThailandastheyfollownewlivesforgedinthewakeof
loss.
‘Lahiri’senormousgiftsasastorytellerareonfulldisplayinthiscollection’KhaledHosseini
‘Ifyouhaveneverreadherbefore,youareinforatreat.Sheisagiftedstoryteller,andonceyouhaveimmersedyourselfinherproseitisdifficulttobreakfreefromherspell’
Tatler
‘It’sdifficulttothinkofacontemporarywriterwhogiveshercharacterssomuchdignity…Fictionofmatchlessrestraint,yetalsoofrich,complexlivesandcredible
characters’TheTimes
Ifyourdevicehasinternetcapabilitiespleaseclickhereformoreinformation,orvisitwww.bloomsbury.com/jhumpalahiri
BloomsburyPublishing,London,NewDelhi,NewYorkandSydney
Copyright©2013byJhumpaLahiri
FirstpublishedinGreatBritain2013
ThiselectroniceditionpublishedinSeptember2013byBloomsburyPublishingPlc
BloomsburyPublishingPlc50BedfordSquare,LondonWC1B3DPwww.bloomsbury.com
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AllrightsreservedYoumaynotcopy,distribute,transmit,reproduceorotherwisemakeavailablethis
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TableofContentsCover
Dedication
Epigraph
Contents
PartI
Chapter1Chapter2Chapter3Chapter4Chapter5Chapter6
PartII
Chapter1Chapter2Chapter3Chapter4
PartIII
Chapter1Chapter2Chapter3
PartIV
Chapter1Chapter2Chapter3Chapter4Chapter5Chapter6Chapter7
PartV
Chapter1Chapter2Chapter3Chapter4
PartVI
Chapter1Chapter2Chapter3
Chapter4
PartVII
Chapter1Chapter2Chapter3Chapter4Chapter5Chapter6
PartVIII
Chapter1Chapter2
Acknowledgments
ANoteAbouttheAuthor
AlsobyJhumpaLahiri
eCopyright
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