Authors: Sangeeta Bhargava
Mili groaned. That was all she needed. Dream about books. Whatever next? She was pleased when the bell rang and class was over. As she left the classroom, Bahadur came running up to her.
‘Raven saabji calling you to his office, Mili baba.’
As she knocked on the door, Mili wondered what she had done wrong now.
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ she said.
‘Afternoon,’ Raven replied and nodded to her to take a seat.
She sat down carefully and looked around.
‘I’ve been thinking about what you told me the other day. About that English lad who was harassing you. Now, don’t get me wrong, but I won’t always be there to drop you home. So how do we solve this problem?’
‘I don’t know, sir,’ Mili replied, shrugging her shoulders. ‘Maybe I should leave early for home, before it gets dark?’
Raven shook his head. ‘No, that’s not a solution. During the last semester you might have some extra classes that may run late …’
‘Sir, please don’t ask me to come back to the hostel,’ Mili begged, chewing her thumbnail.
‘No, of course not … Although hitting that lad was the right thing to do.’
Mili shifted uncomfortably.
‘And I’m proud of you, that you didn’t get intimidated by him,’ Raven continued.
Mili looked down at her hands and didn’t say anything.
‘Why don’t you arrange for a palanquin to take you home everyday? Or perhaps a pony? I’ve heard the syce in Kishangarh are simple and loyal and they’ll take good care of you.’
‘Oh no, sir, not a pony, never.’
Raven raised a brow. ‘Why? What happened?’
‘Sir, the only time I rode one was on Vicky’s insistence in Mohanagar. I sat on the horse, straight and tense, too scared of falling off. That night, when I lay in bed, my entire body was stiff and aching all over. It was then that I swore never to go riding again. Even the horse had not taken to me for some reason. It galloped off at top speed, as soon as I got off, with the horseman running and swearing after it.’
Raven laughed aloud. Mili smiled. She marvelled at how his eyes changed colour with his emotions. When he used to scold her and Vicky, they used to flash angrily and turn dark; they looked almost black then. But right now, as he laughed, they looked light brown. He had the softest, warmest eyes she had ever seen.
‘Your horse must have seen a terror called Vicky approaching,’ he was now saying.
She smiled sadly and said, ‘No, sir; Vicky was brilliant with horses. And they in turn used to love her.’ She again looked down at her hands and whispered, ‘It was Vicky’s dream to rid me of my fears and make me adept at horse riding one day.’
Leaning forward, Raven put his forefinger under her chin.
He had long, tapering fingers, Mili noticed. Slowly, she lifted up her eyes to his.
‘Let go of old dreams, Malvika,’ he said softly, ‘and new ones will follow.’
Mili nodded, a lump in her throat and tears pricking her eyes.
‘And I’ll teach you to ride … but no …’ he said as he remembered something.
Mili looked at him, puzzled.
‘Not any more. I can’t ride a horse any more, not after the accident.’
‘What exactly happened, sir?’
‘It happened a few months back, during one of the demonstrations against the English. Although it was a peaceful protest at the start, some of the revolutionaries got carried away and began pelting the English with hand grenades.’ Raven stopped speaking, pulled out a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped his brow.
‘Someone threw a bomb at a building right next to where I sat on horseback. Prancer, my horse, panicked and reared up. I was thrown off his back. My knee hit a sharp rock as I fell. Prancer began to gallop. My left foot was still in the stirrups and I was dragged along for half a mile. My knee got totally smashed. When I came around, my foot was touching my knee as the bones and cartilages had got crushed. It’s a miracle I can walk still …’
‘It must have been so painful …’ Mili said.
‘Ah, yes.’ He frowned. ‘But why am I telling you all this? Go now,’ he said with a wave of his hand. ‘And remember to get a palanquin from tomorrow.’
‘Yes, sir. I will.’
‘Good, now off with you,’ he said, and without waiting to see if she had left the room or not, he opened a file and began leafing through its contents.
Shaking her head Mili quietly left the room.
That night, Mili lay in bed, a book in one hand and absent-mindedly plucking the bobbles on the blanket with the other. She smiled to herself as she saw a face: Raven – his hazel eyes, his smile. She saw him throw back his head and laugh. He looked so handsome whenever he laughed – so young, boyish even. And he was laughing at her. He wasn’t scolding her, he was laughing. And then she heard him say, in a voice so tender … ‘Let go of your old dreams, Malvika, let go of your old dreams … and new ones will follow.’ Mili smiled again. She hugged her pillow, rolled over and tried to sleep.
A couple of days later, Mili and Mausi were walking down the cobbled streets of the inner Mall. They passed Vikram Bhandar, the local grocery store; then the tiny candle shop which sold candles of every shape and form. Candles in the shape of Christmas trees; candles shaped as ducks – yellow ducks, black ducks, red ducks, ducks with golden beaks and wings. She had bought a candle shaped like a beautiful Kathak dancer once. Vicky had lit it after the warden had turned off the lights, when she had managed to smuggle a copy of
Lady Chatterley’s Lover
to the hostel. They had giggled through the night, until the entire candle had burnt away. What a mess that candle had left behind and what a lot of trouble they were in the next day.
They had reached Mehta School Uniforms. Stepping inside the shop, Mausi and Mili sat down on the chairs provided, while the shopkeeper attended to another
customer. Mili tapped the counter top with her fingers and looked around. She wrapped her coat tightly about her. It was extremely cold today and a fierce wind was blowing.
Hearing footsteps, Mili turned around, and who should be coming up the steps leading to the shop? George. He looked stouter and more slothful than the last time she had seen him. Her first impulse was to hide. But it was too late. He had seen her.
‘Now, isn’t that our dear Malvika?’ he piped.
Mili squirmed inwardly and looked at him with disgust. He had never addressed her so lovingly before. What was he playing at now, the bastard?
‘You seem to have forgotten the way to our house,’ he was saying. ‘Come over sometime. Ethel will be pleased to see you. She misses the two of you.’
The gall of that man. Mili glared at him, speechless. ‘You murderer!’ she shrieked. ‘Have you no shame? Speaking to me as though nothing has happened?’
Uncle George looked around surreptitiously, nodded politely at Mausi who looked totally baffled, then said, ‘Now now, child, calm down. I have no idea what nonsense you’re talking about.’
Oh, how she hated that man. Clenching her hands into fists, Mili opened her mouth and spat on his face.
‘Mili!’ exclaimed Mausi, shocked.
Uncle George wiped his face with the ends of his muffler. ‘You forget who I am. You shall pay for this. Uncivilised heathens!’ he said, before turning on his heel and walking away.
On the way back to Mausi’s house, sitting huddled
in a palanquin, Mili felt her anger rise again as she remembered her encounter with George. The injustice of it all. Her innocent friend had paid with her life for a crime that he had committed, while he himself roamed free, totally unaffected by what had happened. The more Mili thought about it, the angrier she became.
She did not sleep at all that night. By the time dawn was breaking, her mind was made up. Once she had completed her studies, she would do something to help other girls like Vicky and make sure people like George got what they deserved. She did not know how she was going to do it, but do it she would. ‘I’ll do it, Vicky,’ she whispered hoarsely to Vicky’s photograph, kept on her bedside table. Yes, she would make things happen. She’d show everyone how the British Raj was hollow and rotting from the inside. She’d make everyone sit up and listen. She would challenge the court. She would change the world in which innocents suffer and the criminals go scot-free. She would not let another Vicky commit suicide. You wait and see, George, you wait and see.
Mili was still fuming over her encounter with George the previous day when Raven called her into his office during the lunch break. There was a small bouquet of flowers on his desk.
‘What type of flowers are these, sir?’
‘Blue poppies.’
‘They’re beautiful. I’ve never seen them before.’
‘That’s because they only grow up here in the mountains where it’s cooler. Vidushi sent them. She has
been helping the nuns in the gardens. She is such an asset …’
Mili felt a twinge of jealousy. Always praising Vidushi. As though she was an angel or something. If he liked her so much, why didn’t he marry her?
‘You are aware that Jatin and Vidushi are getting married?’ Raven asked.
‘No,’ replied Mili with a start. It was as though he had read her mind. ‘Jatin never mentioned it.’ She smiled. For some strange reason, she felt relieved that Vidushi was marrying Jatin and not Raven.
‘The date has been set for May, I’m told. I’m not sure whether you are aware – Vidushi’s family has disowned her ever since she left the ashram and started living at the orphanage. And the only other people she knows are the nuns and the little children who live there. So is it possible for you to be with her that day, help her get dressed and just be there for her?’
‘I guess I could do that,’ replied Mili with a shrug.
‘I had thought you’d be ecstatic. Anything the matter?’
‘No, sir, I’m fine.’
‘I’m waiting.’
‘I bumped into George yesterday.’
‘I see. Forget him, Mili. Petty p—.’
‘Yes, you’d think like that. After all, you too are English. It’s a petty matter for you. Your life has always been so easy and rosy for you, Raven, sir.’
Raven stared at her open-mouthed. He got up slowly and strode towards her. Mili bit her lip, then chewed her thumbnail. Now why did she say that? Why was she turning the anger she felt towards George on Raven
Sir? But it was too late. The words had been uttered. She could not take them back.
‘How dare you,’ he said catching hold of her by her shoulders and shaking her. ‘You have no right to speak to me in that fashion, especially when you don’t know anything about me.’ He let go of her and putting his hand on his forehead turned towards the window. ‘Besides, I did not say it was a petty matter. I was going to say that petty people like him are best ignored.’ He turned around to face her again. ‘And what d’you mean by “rosy”? Do you know what it’s like for someone to be taunted and call—’ He stopped speaking abruptly.
‘To be called the son of a murderer?’
Raven stared at her for a long moment.
Mili spoke softly. ‘Sir, tell me what happened.’
‘I think you already know.’
‘I want to hear it from you.’
‘You want to hear an Englishman’s words as opposed to all that you’ve heard from the Indians?’
‘Sir, I don’t care what the others say. I believe you and that’s all that matters to me.’
She lowered her eyes as she felt Raven’s eyes on her.
He cleared his throat. ‘We used to live in Amritsar then. I was six years old. I remember clearly because it happened just two days after my birthday. Kartar was my Ayah’s son. She often brought him to our house. We played together while she worked. That morning she greeted me with a cheery “Happy Baisakhi, baba” and gave me a box of sweets. A little later that day, Mother wanted to go to the shops. She asked Ayah to come along as chaperone.’
Raven paused, loosened his tie and began rolling up his sleeves. ‘On the way, as we passed the Jalianwalla Bagh, we heard some bullets being fired. I looked at Mother, not sure what those sounds meant. She looked shocked. The driver stopped the car and stared out of the window. Our car was at an elevated part of the road and we were able to look over the high walls of the bagh. There were a lot of people there, on account of Baisakhi. “Papa,” I cried out as I noticed my father right in front – among the soldiers who had opened fire.’
Raven stopped speaking, picked up his glass of water and had a long drink. ‘Mother covered my eyes. But it was too late. I had already seen what a six-year-old boy should never have to see. People running wildly, screaming, jumping into the well in a state of panic and the agonised shrieks as bullets pelted down on them. I can forget the dead bodies, the smell of blood, but the shrieks haunt me even today.’ He paused and covered his ears with his hands. ‘Parents, children, grandparents – all shot down within minutes.
‘The next morning Ayah came to inform Mother that she wouldn’t be working for us any more. Her husband had said to her that it was better to starve than work for murderers. I clung to her and wept. I was rather fond of her …’ Raven’s voice broke and he did not speak for a couple of minutes. ‘Two days later I saw a huge bonfire in the park in front of our house. Ayah was there. She and her husband were throwing all the clothes that Mother had given her into the fire. And then I saw Kartar throw a toy I had gifted him into the flames.’ Raven’s Adam’s apple moved. ‘That broke my heart, it did. Lots
of fires burnt in the city for days. The smell of burning flesh … Mother shut all the doors and windows, and yet that smell permeated the house.’
Raven wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘From that day on, wherever I went, whispers followed me – “son of a murderer”.’ He looked right into Mili’s eyes. ‘Was it my fault that my father obeyed an order and fired? I did not give that order …’
Mili did not know what to say and merely nodded.
‘Mother is a very gentle woman and a stickler for what is right and wrong. She knew what the English had done that day in the Jalianwala Bagh was wrong. And the fact that one of the wrongdoers was her husband disturbed her immensely. She was not happy in her marriage anyway …
‘He was fond of drinking, my father. And frequenting Lol biwi’s kotha. But this incident was the last straw. That summer Mother and I came to Kishangarh like we did every year. But this time we never went back when the rains came. I never saw Father again.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, I had no idea.’
Raven looked at his watch. ‘Oh no, I hope I haven’t kept you from your lunch. Run along, little one, before you get into trouble.’
‘Yes, sir, I’ll go and meet Vidushi on Sunday and work out all the details.’
‘Thank you, Malvika,’ he said in a voice that was barely audible, and smiled softly.
Mili smiled back and left the room. For the rest of the day, she kept thinking about Raven Sir’s revelation about his childhood. What a terrible ordeal for a boy
that age. What impression must those killings have made on his mind? And then to have to lose not only his friend and Ayah, but eventually his father as well. No wonder he was so reserved and often kept to himself.
She tried to remember what her life was like when she was six. At that age she must have romped around the palace all day, with a train of servants picking up after her and attending to her every tantrum. And she had accused him of having a rosy life. Mili winced. How her words must have hurt him. If only she could take them back. The way his voice had broken when he was speaking about his Ayah and Kartar, a lump had risen in her throat as well. He had looked so sad, so vulnerable.
Mili used to admire Raven as a teacher, but now she found herself in awe of the man himself.
It was Holi and school was closed for two days. It used to be a day of great excitement for her and Uday. Bhoomi would wake her early and massage oil all over her, including her hair. Donning a white salwar kameez she would wait impatiently for Vicky. And then they would spend the whole morning running after Uday and all her friends with water pistols, squirting each other with colour and gorging on gujjias. The afternoon would be spent scrubbing the colour off. And in the evening there’d be a sea of visitors – friends and relatives with whom they would exchange sweetmeats, hugs and the latest gossip.
But now, ever since Vicky’s death, she preferred spending her holidays either alone or studying. It helped her cope and kept disturbing thoughts at bay. She had
come to Raven’s house to borrow a book. Through the open window of his study she could see groups of children and grown-ups going up and down the hill, singing phaags and shouting ‘Holi hai’. They were covered in pink, red, green and yellow gulal. Pink seemed to be the dominant colour and their faces were smeared with that colour as well.
Unlike in Mohanagar, Holi in Kishangarh was dry. Perhaps it was owing to the cold winds that still blew in from the Himalayas and kept the temperatures very low.
‘So what this basically means is …’ she heard Raven explain and hastily looked back at the open book in front of her.
There was a knock on the door. The college domestic staff had come to play Holi. Raven nodded at them and stepped out onto the veranda.
Mili watched as some of the staff squatted on the ground on the veranda and commenced singing folk songs. A couple of men stood in a corner playing bagpipes. She was fascinated. She had never seen such a dignified and musical Holi before.
The rest of the group now encircled Raven and started dancing. The dance movements were quite intricate, involving a lot of whirls, jumps, twists and turns. Raven danced with them for some time, accompanied by loud cheering and clapping and laughing.
Mili smiled as she watched him from the door. She had never seen him dancing and letting down his hair before. She had always seen him serious and buried in books. But seeing him like this – dancing, swaying his hips, laughing and drinking some of the local brandy – was
like looking at a different person altogether. He gestured to her to join in the dance. She shook her head. He came towards her and pulled her to the centre of the veranda.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I know you can dance.’
Biting her thumbnail shyly, Mili joined in.
She blushed as he let out a wolf whistle and said, ‘You dance well.’
The music and dancing stopped after a while. The college chef broke a large block of gur into smaller pieces, which was welcomed with a loud ‘Whoopee!’, and began distributing it to everyone.
Raven took a piece of the jaggery from him and popped it into Mili’s mouth even before she could protest. ‘Happy Holi, Malvika,’ he said with a smile.
‘Happy Holi, sir.’ Mili gave a muffled reply as the sweet brown gur melted in her mouth.
The Holi revellers finally left after Raven had given them money to buy some more jaggery.
As the last one left, Raven turned to Mili. ‘There goes all the money I’d saved to buy a dress for Mother’s birthday.’
‘You didn’t have to give them
all
your money.’
‘They need it more than I do.’
‘What will you say to your mother?’