Sister of My Heart (19 page)

I stare at his lips, the way they twist as he speaks. Terror opens inside me like a chasm into which, at any moment, my soul could disappear. I turn to Anju, but Sunil is whispering something to her. There’s a small, blissful smile on her lips as she begins to whisper back. I can tell she has not heard a single word Sunil’s father has said.

Oh, Anju, if only you hadn’t fallen so much in love. What will happen to you now if I run away with Ashok?

“Actually,” continues Sunil’s father, “our talks with the Bhaduris had progressed quite a bit. But as I told my wife, even the best match, I’ll break it. Even at the last moment. It’s a matter of family ijjat, after all. Even after the wedding, I’m prepared to send the girl back to her parents if I find something ugly, like—”

“Please, Majumdar Babu,” Gouri Ma interrupts. “Not in front of the children! Anju and Sudha, why don’t you show Sunil the garden? Anju? Are you listening, Anju?”

We walk out. I want to hold on to the walls, but they are undulating like waves. When we reach the garden, the sun is a parched emptiness in the sky because Sunil’s father will never let him marry a girl whose cousin eloped with a man she met in a movie house.

“I’ll be back in a minute, Sunil. I want to show you my father’s copy of Woolf,” says Anju. She rests her hand on his arm. Already it is an intimate gesture. “Sudha, I’ll meet the two of you in the jasmine arbor.”

Her footsteps fly over the gravel. Her voice is happy as bird-song. I’d been afraid she would ask me why my face is so flushed, but she’s far too much in love.

Sunil has noticed, though. “Are you okay?” he asks as we walk toward the bower. “Maybe it’s the heat.” He has a kind voice. “Here, lean on me.” He guides me to the bench inside the arched bower of jasmines, a place I’ve always loved. But today the scent of the flowers is too sweet, dizzying. The ground is full of black pocked mouths, opening to swallow me. No matter what I do, I will be the cause of pain. If I run away, I will break Anju’s heart. If not, I will break Ashok’s. I shut my eyes, stumble. “Careful,” says Sunil, and grabs my arm.

What ill karma have I performed that I should be plagued with having to make such a choice?

Then it comes to me. It’s not my karma I’m expiating, it’s my father’s. My charming, thoughtless father who brought heartbreak to the Chatterjee household once already.

It is only right that this time it will be his daughter’s heart which breaks.

We’re sitting on the bench now. I take deep breaths and try opening my eyes. My head has cleared a little. I am deeply embarrassed. Then I notice that Sunil’s hand is still on my arm. His face is too close to mine, and he is staring at me with an intent, dazed look.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says in an altered, sleepy tone. “I’ve never seen anyone like you, either in India or America. If only I’d met you before I met your cousin—”

And suddenly, in a whole new way, I am very afraid. “Please let go of me,” I say. The words come out scratchy and hoarse, almost inaudible.

In slow motion, as though he is underwater, he drops his hand and moves to the other end of the bench. There is a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. His chest heaves like a runner’s. “That was unforgivable,” he says, pressing his fingertips into his eyes. “I don’t know what came over me.”

I see that he means it, that he is as startled by his act as I am. Somehow this makes me feel worse, as though I were to blame.

My lungs hurt when I try to breathe. My throat is too dry for speech. What could I say, anyway? And then I hear Anju’s footsteps, light and rapid. “Sorry it took me so long,” she calls breathlessly. “I’d misplaced the book. Hey, Sudha, don’t tell me you’ve been sitting here all this time without speaking a word!” To Sunil she says, “She can be shy at first, but once she gets to know you, you won’t be able to shut her up!”

I hear Sunil say, formally, “I look forward to that.” Is it only I who hear the catch in his voice? I’m afraid to meet his eyes, to see if they still have that drowning look in them. I feel absurdly guilty as I tell Anju I have a bad headache, I want to go and lie down.

“Will you be all right?” she asks. “D’you want me to go with you?” But already she’s sitting down next to Sunil, her shoulder touching his, and opening her book. I do not blame her. I know how it is when your blood keeps exact pace with a man’s blood-beat, when you cannot think of anything except the fact that he is there next to you. All you want is to be alone with him, forever. Your only memories are of the satin heat of his lips, the flight of his hands over you like blackbirds, the wild, thorny smell of his body, which is like no one else’s. Did you have a life before him? You don’t know. All you know is that if you did not see him again, you would die.

I am happy for Anju, truly I am.

“I’ll be fine,” I say. “Don’t worry about me.”

I walk back to my room, my chest filled with splintered glass.

With each step,
AshokAshokAshok
, I am learning the landscape of loss.

That night I write the letter, explaining to Ashok why I cannot elope with him, not even after Anju is married. The next morning I give it to Singhji along with Ashok’s ring, which I have taken from Anju’s drawer without her knowledge.

“Are you sure?” asks Singhji. He looks unhappy.

I nod and feel the burn of tears start again down my cheeks. I am thankful that in front of Singhji, at least, I need not hide them.

“But, beti, why? You needn’t be afraid—Ashok Babu has planned every detail perfectly. He’s the kind of young man who can be trusted—a true pearl, as we say in the Punjab—”

I trust him with my whole heart
, I want to cry. But it’s best that Singhji believes I am doing this out of fear for myself. There must be no hint, no whisper, that could get back to Anju and make her suspect the real cause.

“Please go now,” I tell him. “And don’t bring back a reply. I’ve made up my mind.”

When I enter her bedroom that evening, Anju is sitting by the window, gazing out into the darkness. All day I’ve been teetering on the cliff-edge of that thin laughter whose other name is tears, and seeing her there almost sends me over.

I have to call her name twice. She turns to me with a vague smile. I do not need to ask who she’s thinking of. She reaches for my hands, her movements slow, dreamlike. I make myself smile as I grip her fingers.

“How brightly the stars shine tonight, Sudha,” she says. “I feel like I’ve been asleep all my life, underwater, like the princess in the palace of snakes. I might have stayed that way forever—about as alive as a mollusk!—if fate hadn’t sent Sunil into my
life. And to think he loves me!
Me!
Isn’t that the greatest magic of all?”

“Yes,” I say. What other answer is possible? Then I add, “I’ve decided not to elope with Ashok. I’m going to marry Ramesh instead.”

“What are you saying?” Anju’s whole body goes rigid with consternation. Her eyebrows draw together like the fuzzy caterpillars we used to find in the garden when we were little. “You
love
Ashok! How can you even think of living without him?”

Sweet Anju of the caterpillar brows, you who have just learned what passion is, your words scald me like lava. Now comes the hardest part—for you must not know the truth. You who are going to have a difficult life already, I fear, with your father-in-law whose bloodhound nose can sniff out every indiscretion, and your husband who thinks I am the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. You who would never let me give up Ashok if you knew it was for your sake.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” I tell her. “You’re right. The risk is too great. What if things don’t turn out the way Ashok says they will? My life will be ruined. It’s better I marry the man the mothers have chosen for me.”

“To marry someone else when you love Ashok—to think of him touching you”—a shudder goes through Anju’s entire frame—”if I were in your place, I could never, never, do it!”

Her words are like bullets exploding in my chest. It takes all my willpower to form a smile. “Maybe I’m learning to be more practical, like you told me to be!” What I am learning is deception, how to joke while I dig a hole deep enough to bury my heart. “Didn’t you always complain because I was too much of a dreamer?”

Anju looks into my face questioningly, and my insides tremble. Will she see my lie, as she has so often in the past? But slowly the lines on her forehead fade. Blurred by new love, today her mind cannot fix itself on anything except Sunil—the surprising
warmth that wells up from under his skin when she touches his arm, the way the hollows under his cheekbones hold an entire chiaroscuro of light and dark. She runs a hand distractedly through her hair and says, “I don’t know, Sudha. When I told you not to elope, I wasn’t in love myself. Now that I am, I see things differently. It’ll be safer for you this way, but will you be happy?”

I nod.
I’ll be happy in seeing you happy, dear Anju
.

“Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?” Anju asks one last time.

“I am,” I say.
I am righting my father’s wrongs
.

Earlier today Singhji brought me back a note from Ashok.

I was angry, but Singhji said, with unusual vehemence, “I couldn’t just hand him your letter and turn tail like a dog, not when I knew the boy needed someone to talk to.”

I knew I shouldn’t ask, but I couldn’t stop myself. “What did he say?”

“He said, ‘She can’t mean it. She can’t play like this with my life, with her own life.’ Then he threw the letter at me and yelled, ‘Tell her this is carrying generosity for her cousin too far.’ He paced up and down for a while, then he added, ‘How does she expect me to live without her? Does she think love’s a tap to be turned on and off at will?”‘

I could see his face, the way he must have ground his fists into his eyes as he spoke. No, Ashok. Love is not a tap. It flows and flows like blood from a wound, and you can die of it.

“Finally he said, with a rough laugh, ‘I never thought Sudha’s cousin would become my rival for her love. I never thought that if that happened, she’d win.’ Then he wrote you that note. Beti, if you could have seen how he was hurting, you’d change your mind. And you still can. It’s not too late. Things will work out for Anju Missybaba, I’m sure.”

“No, Singhji, you didn’t hear what Sunil’s father said. He’ll break off the marriage if there’s any scandal now. He’s already done it once, with another girl. Even after the marriage, he’d send Anju back—he’s capable of it. And Sunil—who knows if he’s strong enough to stand up against his father? No, Anju loves Sunil too much for me to take that risk. What I’m doing—maybe it’ll make up for—”

“Make up for
what
?”

“For things that were done to her before she was born,” I said, then sighed, suddenly tired. It was too much to explain, even to a sympathetic listener like Singhji. So although I could see from his distraught face that he wanted to talk further, I told him I was unwell and needed to lie down.