When I had my henna business in Jaipur, Kanta was a client—and among the few who offered me their friendship from the first day we met. She knew I was a fallen Brahmin in the eyes of other matrons because I handled women’s feet when I painted their henna. That task, considered to be unclean, was reserved for lower castes; it wasn’t respectable for Brahmins to do it.
Then when Radha became pregnant with Ravi’s child, Kanta, who was also pregnant at the time, took her to Shimla, where they could have their babies together, far from prying eyes and wagging tongues. Sadly, Kanta lost her baby because of septic shock and almost lost her own life.
But fate, aided by a bit of nudging on my part, led to the adoption of Radha’s son by Kanta and Manu. It was Jay, of course, I had to nudge.
I can hear Kanta wailing at the other end of the phone. I make my voice as creamy as rasmalai. “But Singh-Sharma is responsible for the construction—not Manu. I’m sure there’ll be an inquiry. They’ll find out what caused it, Kanta. Brand-new buildings don’t just fall to pieces every day.” I pause. “In your most recent letter, you said they were hurrying the project to complete it on time. Could somebody have cut corners?”
She makes a small choking sound. “But Manu signed off on everything! His name is everywhere, on all the palace paperwork!” Now she’s worked herself into a frenzy, and that can’t be good for Niki or her saas, both of whom are probably listening.
“Listen to me, Kanta. It will all work out. The maharanis are fair. They’re smart. They won’t accuse Manu. It will be handled.” As I’m saying this, I’m thinking that I need to talk to Malik to get a fuller picture of the cinema’s collapse. I say, “Where is Malik now?”
“At the cinema house with Manu and Samir. They’re helping with the rescue effort. Will be for hours. I wanted to come home, to see that Niki’s safe. He is. Was that bad of me? There were other mothers there whose children had been hurt, and I couldn’t think of anything but Niki. I kept thinking, what if it was my child who was injured?” Now she’s speaking in a whisper. “I’m going to keep Niki home from school for a few days. I don’t know how his classmates will react, or what they’ll say to him. Many of his friends were at the cinema with their parents. If some of them were injured... Oh, Lakshmi! I’m not thinking clearly... I don’t know what I ought to do!”
If Kanta’s right, and the accident isn’t Manu’s fault, everything will, eventually, be okay. But for the moment, fingers will be pointing at him; he will be blamed. If he’s forced to leave his job, it will be difficult for him to get another—anywhere. Palace scandals spread, and quickly, and if the scandal’s big—as this one is—no one can contain it. A scandal in which lives are lost will never be forgotten. Or forgiven.
Kanta is falling apart. My friend needs me the way I needed her all those years ago. I realize I must go to Jaipur; I can catch the first train in the morning. I tell Kanta. Immediately, she begins to calm down. After a few more words of reassurance, I hang up.
I hear Nimmi ask, “What’s happening? Is Malik okay?”
I turn around; she’s standing behind me. While I’ve been on the phone, I realize Moni, our housekeeper, must have left, and Nimmi has come back downstairs after looking in on the children. She must have heard some of my conversation. Her wild-eyed look reminds me of how the sheep greeted us tonight when we came to shear them. She is nervously rubbing her palms along the sides of her skirt.
“He’s fine.” My legs are shaking, and I take a seat on the couch.
Jay comes into the drawing room, bringing Nimmi a glass of scotch, but she doesn’t acknowledge it, or him. He sets it down on the credenza next to her. Next, he hands me my glass. I sip my drink, feeling the golden liquid snake its way to my belly. Jay sits opposite me.
After a breath, I tell them what Kanta told me.
I turn to Jay. “Tomorrow I’ll take the early train to Jaipur. Kanta needs me right now—”
Nimmi steps between us. Her face is a knot of anxiety. “I knew Malik shouldn’t have gone to Jaipur. I knew something awful would happen. Just like with Dev.”
I reach for Nimmi’s arm to calm her. “Malik is not hurt, Nimmi.”
She pulls her arm away. “He didn’t want to go. You know he didn’t want to go! You made him go...you did that. You put him in danger. He wouldn’t have gone if you hadn’t asked him. Don’t you see? He does everything you tell him.”
Nimmi towers above me, gesturing wildly. “I know you want to decide who he should be with, too. And I don’t fit, do I? You want him to be with someone padha-likha. Someone who wears silk saris and speaks angrezi.” Her body is vibrating with energy. “Why is it so important for anyone to read-write when all you need to survive is air and mountains and apples off the trees and pine nuts and the sweet milk of goats? I’ve survived on that all my life!” She throws her arms up in the air. “Malik isn’t even yours, is he? He’s someone else’s child. If you wanted children so badly, why didn’t you have them yourself?”
She’s blaming me for wanting the best for Malik? She thinks I smother him? I sit there, numb, my glass of scotch like a prop in my hand. How am I supposed to comfort her? The woman who was kissing my husband an hour ago? Do I defend myself? After I’ve risked my own life to keep her and her children safe from the danger her brother put them in?
Nimmi plops herself down on the sofa next to me, surprising me and upsetting my drink. She seizes my free hand with her strong, hot fingers. Her face is just inches from mine and her dark eyes are blazing. “He—he does things you want him to because he’s good. Malik is good. And he owes you so much. He’s told me. He doesn’t know where he would be without you. But he needs to live his own life now. He deserves to make his own way in the world. It’s time for you to let him go. He needs to hear it from you. Please. He’ll let go if you let go. Mrs. Kumar, you have to let him go. You have to.”
She opens her mouth to say more, but nothing comes. She merely stares into my eyes, as if she wants to reach the part of me that I don’t allow anyone to see.
Her gaze is so penetrating that I have to look away.
Is she right? Do I use my hold on Malik in a way that doesn’t serve him? Am I using my influence to lead him toward a life that will make him unhappy? I’ve never thought of Malik as a son, more as a younger brother. But he’s more than that, isn’t he? He’s a part of my past, a part of me. He has known me at my best and my worst. At my happiest. And my most despondent. He’s known me longer than anyone in my life—longer than Jay—or Radha, who came into my life when she was already thirteen years old. If I ceased to look after Malik, would I feel the loss, like a limb I’d mislaid? Or would it be a relief to know I no longer had to be responsible for his well-being? Is Malik even expecting me to look after him that way? Or does he just humor me, allow me to direct him, because he knows it makes me feel useful?
I feel hollow—like a reed before the henna paste fills its core. I don’t know what to say, or what to think. I can neither speak, nor move.
Jay sets his glass on the table. He takes Nimmi by the shoulders, eases her off the sofa, and leads her out of the room and up the stairs.
My hand, where her fingers had just been, feels like it’s burning.
I finish my drink in my bath, then set the glass on the soap basket. Even now, after washing off the memory of the day—the pungent sweat smell of the men at Canara, the rough wool of the sheep on my palms, the humiliation of seeing my husband kiss another woman, the unsettling questions Nimmi has planted in my mind—I don’t know what to feel.