“Dada!”

“What on earth gave you the idea? Why would you tell her something like that?”

“But was I wrong, Dada?”

“Yes. You were. You were absurd,” he had unknowingly used the same word as Piyali, “Never again should you speak like that to anyone…”

“I wasn’t wrong. Why is no one allowed in your little chamber?”

“Excuse me?”

“I went in there. I saw all the paintings. There is no other reason why all of Piyali’s portraits should be locked up there…”

“Shikha!” he had been furious, “Never ever should you step in that room again. And never ever should you talk like this again. I don’t like shouting at you. Don’t make me do it. Don’t spoil your vacation.”

—

Was she alive? Or was she floating in that place between life and death, where all her deeds were being weighed for their justness.

When Shikha had abruptly excused herself and ran off, Piyali had immediately realized that Mukundo was present there and had overheard them. Her heart had sunk. She didn’t know whether Shikha’s question to her was purely an act of leg-puling, some kind of speculation, or whether she knew something… But a sense of dread had filled her. It was Mukundo’s father that Debangi had turned to after her husband’s death for help in managing her affairs. But for Piyali, Mukundo had been his friend, philosopher and guide since she could remember anything. What she had told Shikha would have made him look inadequate. But what she hadn’t been able to express before she ran off was how inadequate she found herself to be for him. His ideal life-partner would be a philosopher like him – enjoying the higher things in life. Not someone as frivolous as she was; who enjoyed a little flattery, a nice dress, a trek up the hills and camping in jungles.

Despite the incompatibility as life-partners, the relationship that they had was her anchor in life. Anything breaking that relationship would be the death of her. What was she to do after this? There was already the issue of introducing Ahwaan to them. She was afraid that Mukundo would not approve of Ahwaan. Without his support, getting Debangi to agree would be impossible. And now this complication has come up. What was she to do? Oh, Mukundo Babu! You can’t abandon me.

He hadn’t abandoned her. She was the one who had abandoned him instead.

“I am sorry, Mukundo Babu,” she muttered again.

“Piyali!” she could feel his hands on her forehead, as if it was now, and not twelve years ago… She had caught typhoid after coming back from a school trip and was down with high fever. He had sat at her bedside the entire night, even sending Debangi to her room to take rest. She would often be restless at nights, barely conscious and rambling. He would stroke her forehead and soothe her and she would fall back to sleep again. Her mother had come in the morning with her food and medicines.

“Piyali!” how easy it was to float back in time at the door of death. Or after death.  Mukundo Babu’s warm hands, her mother’s kindly eyes…. She opened her eyes. What she felt was not the body-ache of high fever, but an acute pain in her arms. Mukundo Babu did not look like he looked twelve-years ago, when she had fallen sick. Her mother also looked older…

Piyali was not dead. She was on the hospital bed after slitting her wrists. Mukundo Babu was by her bedside, stroking her forehead. It was his smooth voice that she had heard, not an echo of some past memory. Her mother was there too. An acute sense of shame washed over her. Why was she alive to face these people? People who loved her so much, but whom she had let down by making wrong choices and by trying to commit suicide. How would she ever explain herself to them? She shouldn’t have been alive. But just because she was in the hospital and still alive, it didn’t mean she would stay alive. She felt stupid immediately afterwards, but she asked, “Am I dying?”

“No,” replied Mukundo, “Just stay strong, like you are.”

She closed her eyes, feeling ashamed. He credited her with too many qualities that she didn’t have. He said that she was strong; she wasn’t. He thought that she was wise enough to choose her life partner; she wasn’t. He probably thought that she was good enough to be his life partner; she wasn’t.

She opened her eyes and said miserably, “Let me die, Mukundo Babu.”

“Pihu!” her mother spoke now, alarmed, anxious and slightly angry, “Stop talking like that. What were you thinking? Were you thinking of me at all?” It took her some effort to not break into sobs. Mukundo and the doctor had warned he against doing something like that before Piyali

Piyali closed her eyes again, obviously close to tears herself.

“Kaki. I messed up her life. By letting her marry that crook. I know you are anxious right now. But would you let me talk to her alone? Please.”

The request was unusual. But Debangi acceded. “I will inform the doctor that she is awake. And Pihu, Shona, please don’t lose heart. Everything will be all right,” she patted her head and went out with tearful eyes.

“Why did you… Why do you want to die, Piyali?” Mukundo asked. His eyes were soft and comforting, as Piyali looked into them.

“I had hurt you… so much… You didn’t say a word… But all that… for that bastard…”

“You had hurt me? All right. And you think this sight… you in bed like that… your wrist slit… this is pleasant for me? Is that why you did it? To please me?”

His expressions had changed in a split second. His dagger eyes stung right at her heart and she felt almost a physical pain. But she did not try to shirk it off. She deserved it.

And yet she pleaded with him. “Mukundo Babu, please!”

He softened again, “Piyali. I need to know everything about what has happened. But right now, here is the most important thing. You cannot die. You have to live. For Kaki’s sake. For… my sake. Do you understand? You have to live. And you have to exercise all your willpower. Say yes, Piyali. If you ever do such a thing again, you will regret it, I am telling you. Say yes. Now!”

The doctor entered with Debangi just then and their conversation was interrupted. He looked at her miserably and she looked likewise. The doctor examined her and instructed the nurse to get her food and medicine. Mukundo walked out with him to consult him.

“I’m afraid there is damage to tandems, which means her left hand is paralyzed,” the doctor informed him.

“Forever?” Mukundo was composed outwardly, but felt a knot in the pit of his stomach.

“I will recommend physiotherapy. Over time it may help. But…”

“Hmm…” It was obvious from doctor’s tone that the hopes were slim.

“And there is that issue of FIR about suicide…”

“Yeah. I will take care of it.” He had already spoken to some people he knew in Mumbai and no case was going to be filed.

—

To be continued