Mish' Fiction

Supporting her against his body, he clumsily took off his shawl and wrapped it around her. Then he picked her in his arms. She was small and slim. But the deadweight had him panting by the time he laid her down in one of ground floor bedrooms of the main house. To avoid general panic, he did not call anyone for help and himself got water from the kitchen. He had meant to sprinkle water on her face, but was spared the need.  She was stirring by the time he came back. Gently calling her name and rubbing her hands roused her.

“Water,” she mumbled.

He helped her sit up and pressed the bottle directly to her lips. She took a couple of sips and then pushed the bottle away.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded.

“You want to come upstairs and lie down in ou… the bedroom?”

“Where is Sumi? I thought you would be with her…”

“Sumi and Adi are with Ma. Champa has also come.”

Her legs gave way when she tried to stand up. He supported her and helped her sit back. He sat beside her, leaning forward, his elbows on his thighs, head bowed, his eyes glued to the floor, looking the exhausted, dejected man he truly was. He stayed silent for a long minute. When he finally looked up, his eyes were brimming with tears.

“A panic attack? Has it come to this that my presence brings a panic attack on you? We used to be good friends, Piyali? What went so wrong that you could not talk to me? Were you pressurized by Ma or Banerjee Babu? Did they know?”

She shook her head.

“Why then?”

“I didn’t think that a previous relationship would make it impossible for you to accept me.”

“What I am asking is why did you agree to this marriage?”

“It was a decision I took, considering all things…” she explained miserably.

“A decision that can be reversed. Unconsummated marriage shouldn’t be difficult to dissolve… It was difficult; so difficult to get my head around this, Piyali. You are so young and hardly ready for this life…”

She broke into sobs, “I tried… I can’t manage the house like Didi did. Kaki has to do it. But I thought that at least children… I was good enough with them at least…”

“Who said anything about you not being good enough?”

“I know that you agreed to this wedding for their sake. And you never wanted me for yourself. But still… I had hoped… with time, you might be able to accept me.”

He grew quiet. When he spoke, his voice had lost its edge. It was calm and collected. “Are you even listening to me, Piyali? Why do you want to make this marriage work, when you love someone else and I am giving you a way out?”

“Because I have loved my family, my sister and you from before I ever committed anything to Pronab. After Ma died, Didi was the one who made sure that I was fed and that my school dress was ironed and that I did homework in time. If I could not be the mother to my own sister’s children, how could I expect another stranger woman to do that?”

“For the children? And you were accusing me of doing it only for the sake of children huh? What have you done?”

“Are you even listening to me? I said I loved my family, my sister, you and these children from before…”

“Me. It wasn’t the same thing.”

“No. It wasn’t. How could it have been? And yet when it came to choosing, it was deeper and more a part of me than what I left behind. Pronab is a great guy. I regret what I put him through. But he will recover. And I couldn’t have lived knowing that I didn’t do all I could by you and by these children. It wasn’t the same thing – yes – but did you also not have some affection for me?”

“Why are we talking in past tense?”

“Present tense then. Do you not like me at all?”

“I like you. I like you and care for you too well to make a sacrificial lamb out of you.”

“And do you trust me? Can you trust me when I say that I have left him behind? And I have enough love and respect for you to… Provided you can be patient with my deficiencies…”

“There are no deficiencies, Piyali.”

“But there are…”

“You don’t know how often I had wished that Baishali was a little more like you,” he paused awkwardly, “That was… probably… a boorish thing to say. But I have said it. I don’t want you to be burning your hands with hot vessels or poking your fingers with needles to become like your sister. Yes, don’t look startled. I have seen you struggling to embroider table clothes. God is my witness; I cherished her for what she was and have been faithful to her. But Piyali. You must be your own self. You cannot change to be somebody else. I want to be able to discuss politics with you, even if you make unsound arguments. I was to play chess with you and to practice music with you…”

“But I don’t make unsound arguments,” she raised her eyebrows.

Laughter and tears came to him together.

“No then. You don’t. And I want you to start working like you have always wanted to.”

She frowned at that. “But the children…”

“They need a mother. It doesn’t have to a stay-at-home mother, Piyali. Champa is there. And Ma is there to supervise.”

She stayed silent for a long moment. Then she spoke softly, words barely escaping her throat, “Hold me, Mukundo Babu. Assure me that it is not all a dream.”

He stood up and gave her his hand, “Can you try and stand up?”

She could! He drew her in an embrace. A protective, innocent embrace, but she was satisfied with it. For the time being.

His hands stayed on her arms even after he broke the hug. “Now that you are back on your two feet,” his smile was mischievous although the moisture in his eyes had still not dried, “Can we start this over? The right way?”

“What is the right way?”

“We will have breakfast and then go to the market.”

“Market?”

“To buy a crib or baby cot for Sumi. Adi’s older one was not usable and I never got around to buying one for her all these days.”

It took her a moment to understand the significance. When she did her cheeks flushed hot and she looked away.

“Can we?” he insisted on an answer.

“Yes,” she whispered and raised her eyes to meet his, feigning a boldness she didn’t really feel.  His hands moved up her arms, caressed her neck and then cupped her face. He bent down and pressed his lips to hers.

– The End –

And he fretted. She was making a martyr of herself. She had put everything that mattered to her on the back burner and was trying to become Baishali. She had left behind her lover, her job and her ambitions.

“You are never ever to do THAT again,” his mind wandered to a day soon after his wedding. Piyali was visiting and they had just finished a game of chess.

“Do what?”

“Let me win.”

“Arr… That’s a tall order, Piyali. How can I win every game? I am no Vishwanathan Anand!”

“Don’t pretend ignorance. You let me win deliberately.”

He had mounted a feeble protest, but had to accept his doing, when she questioned him move by move.

“Guilty as charged,” he had thrown his hands up dramatically.

“The whole point of playing against you is that I can improve.”

He had discovered a respect for the fifteen-year old then that had only increased with time. Even if she was childish at times.

“Yes, yes. People shouldn’t have to die in an ideal world. But what is the solution to Pakistan? What is the identity of that country except a hatred for India? If they become good, they lose their identity. There is no option, but to crush them, to wipe them out.”

“When has crushing anyone ever led to peace, my little lady? First they tried to crush Jews, now Jews are trying to crush Palestinians, and it just goes on and on.”

“Not if one side is really wiped out.”

“How will you wipe out entire Pakistan? Even if you dropped an atom bomb on their territory, will you go to Turkey, to every European country, to US, to middle east to find and kill every Pakistani living there?”

“You are taking me literally. What needs to be done is to give them a crushing defeat, and annex the country. They had their rebellious years; now it is the time to come back to their parents’ fold.”

“If only things were that simple.”

“What is complicated about it?”

“Give yourself a few more years, Kiddo. You would know what complications are all about. Not only with Pakistan, but entire world, even our little lives.”

“Thus waxed eloquent Prof. Mukundo Thakur, forgetting that he teaches Psychology, not Philosophy. Anyway, you want some tea? I could use a cup.”

“Sure!”

“I’ll make it,” Baishali had gotten up, “I am more in need of tea to rouse myself after listening to you two defending you political science Ph. D. thesis for hours now. You can continue.”

“She hates me,” Piyali had whispered conspiratorially, “But she doesn’t realize what favour I am doing her. If I weren’t there to discuss Pakistan with you, wouldn’t you eat her head up back home?”

“Undeniably!”

Baishali had tried to play the mother at times. “Great that you can make tea, but that really isn’t enough to feed yourself. Even if you aren’t going to go into a huge joint family, you should at least be able to cook for two people.”

“I will earn enough to employ a cook, Didi, even if my husband is a miser. And don’t worry, I will find a husband who isn’t fussy about food.”

“A nice matrimonial ad it will make – husband wanted, shouldn’t be a miser and shouldn’t want to eat anything decent at home.”

“Let her be, Baishali,” Mukundo would intervene.

“You spoil her most of all. Baba is no help either, but at least he doesn’t stop me from drilling some sense into her.”

“You’d do better to accept that she is different from you and she’d live her life differently.”

“Everybody has to eat!” Baishali had whined and Mukundo and Piyali had grinned.

And now, she was trying to become Baishali. He needed to grow some guts and put an end to this. They were his children. He had to figure out how to bring them up. It wasn’t Piyali’s fault that her sister was dead, nor was his home her responsibility.

—

She fed Sumedha and wondered what to do until dawn. Sleep had eluded her that night. There was no point going back to bed and tossing and turning some more. She sat staring at his face for a long time. It was one thing to admire him as a mentor, a friend, family member and not even think of being romantically involved with him. It was another to be his wife, to be so near and still not being able to love him. Durga Ma was failing her. She was unable to do anything to win his heart and she was unable to bear his indifference. And she was this close to falling into depression.

She needed to hold on to something, else she would lose her bearings soon. Looking at him she knew what it could be. She climbed out of the bed, washed her face and tip-toed out of the room.

The music room was separate from the main house; so she was assured she wouldn’t disturb others with her early morning practice.

She didn’t realize when the darkness faded and sun came up blazing in the sky. After hours of vilambit, she took up drut with

“More piya, ajahun na aaye
Kaise bitaun kaari ratiyaan.”

(My beloved didn’t show up even today. How am I to spend these dark nights?)

That’s when Mukundo couldn’t remain standing at the door listening; he stormed in.

“Who was he, Piyali? What’s his name?”

She went so limp that tanpura would have fallen from her grip if he hadn’t caught it. With her sitting on the floor and him standing, he towered over her fearfully. Her throat turned dry as desert sand. She could not force a single syllable out of it. Not even a startled cry.

He kneeled, but his height still overwhelmed her.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why this misery?”

She felt a sudden chill penetrating her bones and started shaking involuntarily.

“You are… You are shaking. You are scared of me? Piyali! Piyali!”

“You are not well. You have been practising for hours. Let’s put you to bed…” His fury had disappeared. His voice was soft and assuring, like speaking to a scared child. He pulled her up, but felt her entire weight in his arms. She had passed out.

“What have I done?”

—

To be continued

The wedding ceremony was the very next day.  The earlier the better, their parents had declared. Even though the plan was to keep it simple, both families had too many relatives in the city, who could not have been avoided. Doing anything then would have meant a huge scandal. He went through the ceremony, his heart sinking with every passing moment. He hadn’t expected her to be immediately comfortable as his wife. But he had hoped that with time he would be able to ease her into it. That seemed impossible now. Impossible and cruel. But he needed some time to figure a way out. Probably dissolve the marriage – an unconsummated one should not be difficult to…

“Let her be here,” he heard Piyali telling someone as he dragged himself to his room at night, “She is used to sleeping in this bed.”

“But Boudi, Kaki asked me. To bring the baby to her for tonight,” The newly appointed aayah, Champa, presented her case in a flat, bored voice.

“Let her be,” Mukundo added his voice, “Piyali is right. She is used to sleeping here.”

“As you say, Dada.” She retreated. He bolted the door after her.

She had worn a maroon lehanga for the ceremony. But right now she was wearing a baby pink saree. He had never seen her in a saree before and could not help noticing how feminine and mature she looked wearing one. And how vulnerable.  He also noticed her stiffen once they were left alone. He willed himself to not feel offended.

“I am extremely tired. You must also be. Change and go to bed. Sumi would wake us up several times at night.”

Emotions of relief and fear hit her simultaneously. Did it mean that he cared for her too much, or did it mean that he intended to remain indifferent to her? All things considered, she decided, it was better for that night, avoiding having to figure out their relationship. She rummaged through her suitcase, found a simple cotton night dress, changed in the bathroom and lied down on the empty side of the bed, baby Sumedha safely separating them. She wondered if she should switch the light off. She didn’t have to, because Mukundo reached out to the switch on his side and the darkness descended to mark the closure of her wedding night.

As Mukundo had warned, they were woken up thrice by Sumedha. Both of them had practiced sufficient nappy changing and feeding to do it fine even while struggling to stay awake.

—

The outward rhythm was easy to set into. Not much had changed really. She was already staying with them on weekdays. She still did that. She still visited her father over the weekends. Sometimes she took the kids along. Sometimes Mukundo himself drove them there. At night, she put Aditya to sleep in the nursery and set up the child monitor. Sumedha slept on their bed, between them, keeping them safely apart. They had started taking turns at changing the nappies and feeding her at night.

But the heart ached.

Piyali had left her past with Pronab behind. But it looked like her past with Mukundo had also been left behind. The camaraderie was gone. They didn’t play chess, or discuss politics, or practice music together. And the future didn’t seem to hold anything either. She could not resign herself to the fact the Mukundo would not love her as a woman as she had hoped to do. That the children were fine was her one solace, but she was lonely. She had to do something!

“Ouch!” she had underestimated how hot steel utensils can get on the stove.

“What the hell, Piyali!” Mukundo rushed to her and dragged her hand under the tap, switching off the stove with his other hand, “What are you doing in kitchen?”

She was startled to find him there too. “What are you doing in the kitchen?”

“Didn’t see you at the breakfast table; so I came looking for you. What were you up to?”

“Making breakfast.”

“Why? What happened to Sonelal.”

“I told him I will cook today.”

“Is it still burning?” he asked turning the tap off.

She shook her head.

“What has come upon you? What’s wrong in Sonelal’s cooking?”

“But Didi used to cook…”

Mukundo fell silent for moment. Baishali did indeed cook herself quite often, and supervised cooking at other times. She was good at that too. As she was at managing the house, keeping the décor consistent, knitting sweaters and embroidering table clothes. Most of the table clothes and wall hangings in the house were her doing. She had never shared his intellectual pursuits, that was more to her little sister’s taste, but she had never failed to provide him with all the homely comfort. He felt guilty that he wasn’t particularly missing her cooking though. Probably it was her training, but he thought Sonelal cooked just fine.

“Don’t be silly, Piyali. You are not Baishali and you are not expected to be. Come out right away. Let Sonelal make breakfast.”

Her attempts at embroidery and craft had to be abandoned even before someone could catch her in the act. It wasn’t possible to develop either aptitude or skills overnight. She was frustrated and morose. Mohima hadn’t failed to notice and had asked repeatedly if something was the matter. That Piyali vehemently denied even as she hoped for Mukundo to notice and ask. After rescuing her from her cooking attempt, however, he seemed content to skirt around her presence. He had two long months at home before the university reopened. But he divided his time between kids and his library.

—

To be continued

This house had been a second home to her for six years now. She never had to think twice about dropping there unannounced. Encouraged not so much by her own sister’s affection as by Mukundo’s and his mother’s. But this morning she was dreading going in. Everyone was aware of the question that hung heavily in the air, making it dense, suffocating. And everyone would be looking at her to answer it. It. Just. Wasn’t. Fair. She loved them all. She loved the kids. And yet – this shouldn’t have been her question to answer. She hated her sister at that moment. Why had she wanted another baby? Why was one not enough? Why did she have to die? She hated Mukundo. Why had he not stopped her, even though he didn’t particularly want it? She hated the doctor. How could she not see any complications through nine long months and keep assuring everyone that delivery would be a breezy affair. She hated Mohima and her own father for coming up with this scheme, so perfect in their world, but which had put her between a rock and a hard place. If she went with the scheme, she would be betraying her love, making Pronab miserable. If she chose Pronab, she would spend her life with the guilt of abandoning those children to an uncertain fate with a stepmother.  She would be miserable either way. And at least one another person dear to her would be too.

“Piyali. Steady.” Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t seen Mukundo and bumped into him.

“Oh! I… I am sorry… Mukundo Babu.”

She looked up at him and saw a mere shadow of his former self there. Those bright eyes were sad, there wasn’t even a hint of the smile that perpetually lined those lips, there were black circles around his eyes and he had aged more in these two months than in last five years.

“You okay?”

She should be the one asking that question.

“Yes. You are leaving already. I got late. Sorry.”

“That’s all right. Ma is with them.”

“Take care, Mukundo Babu,” she blurted. It was odd for her to say something like that to him. But if he was startled, he didn’t show it.

“You too,” he said and trudged towards his car. She looked after him. He used to have such long, confident strides. He walked with a hunch now. Before she could notice more that had changed for worse in him, she turned away and ran into the house.

—

Adi was taking his afternoon nap and Sumedha was busy gurgling and thrashing about in her baby gym when Mukundo came to the spare bedroom they had designated as a nursery. Piyali lay reclining in an armchair reading a book. Mukundo stood still at the door for a few moments. The sight inside was at once reassuring and uncomfortable. The children were happy and cared for, but Piyali didn’t belong there. She had been on an unpaid leave for last two month, which hadn’t been easy to arrange in the very first year of her job. She hadn’t been practicing music, hadn’t been going out with friends, nor did she have any distractions inside the house. A free bird was cooped up in his house.

He shifted uneasily and that made her look up.

“Mukundo Babu!” she sprang up. That didn’t fit either. She never used to be uncomfortable in his presence. “You came back early.”

“Yes,” he walked in and sat down on another chair next to her.

“Is there something you want to say?” she asked after she saw him wringing his hands in silence for a while.

“I worry about them, of course,” he said looking at the children, “I have to. I am their father. If I didn’t, I would have killed the idea before it ever took root. But that doesn’t mean I have stopped worrying about you, Piyali. You are still my little friend and you always will be, irrespective of what comes out of all of this. ”

“Mukundo Babu!”

“I know I am too broken a man right now to be of much help or support to you. But remember this. Say no, if you are uncomfortable and nobody would ever talk about it again. That much, I promise you, I can still ensure.”

“I…” her throat ached as she willed her tears to stay back, “I need time, Mukundo Babu.”

“Yes. You have it. I just had to let you know.” He stood up realizing that she needed to be left alone. “I will freshen up in a half an hour and then I want you to take a break. Go home, meet your friends, or do whatever will relax you.”

—

‘He doesn’t like the situation any better than I do,’ she rued as she drove away. At the main road, she turned left, instead of right. She had to meet Pronab right away.

“I know what I am risking,” she wrote in her diary that night, “Or I hope that I know. Not only am I throwing away my love, I am going to marry a man, who might never love me like a man loves a woman. He is marrying me for the sake of his children and I am doing the same. I myself might be a child in his eyes. Just old enough to take care of the younger ones. He will never hurt me, and always respect me. I know him too well to doubt that. And yet – he might never love me like…

“Ma Durga! Give me the strength to go through with this. Let it not become too much to bear in future. Let nobody have a reason to question the upbringing of the children. Let the sacrifice I have forced on Pronab not go waste. Bestow peace on him, Ma, and on Mukundo Babu.”

—

It was the last day of college before university closed for summers. Mukundo was gathering the books and papers he wanted at home, when the young man stumbled in, drunk and unsteady on his feet.

“Prof. Thakur!”

“Who are you?”

“Nobody. For you. But I was somebody for her. For Piyali. How could you!”

“Who are you? She never mentioned…”

“I checked your CV online. It has your date of birth. You are… what… thirty-six years old. She is twenty-one. She thought she was too young to introduce her boyfriend to her family, the boyfriend she intended to marry one day. But she wasn’t too young for you, was she?”

Mukundo stood stunned and tongue-tied.

“So, what’s the deal, Prof. Thakur? Have you lusted after her all these years? Your wife’s little sister? And grabbed this perfect emotional blackmail opportunity to…”

“Leave,” there was nothing else Mukundo could think of saying.

“She never mentioned, but did you ask her before emotionally blackmailing her?”

“You should leave immediately; else I will have to call the security.”

“You won’t answer me. What was I even expecting…”

He stumbled out and Mukundo slumped into a chair.

Could he be just some drunken admirer? Or was he indeed… Why wouldn’t Piyali tell him? Surely she trusted him enough.

‘She thought she was too young…’

Was he a university student? How could he not have noticed if Piyali was going around with someone?

‘She never mentioned, but did you ask her before emotionally blackmailing her?’

He didn’t. Even when he talked to her he talked about the children first!

—

To be continued

“Good morning, Didi.” Some of Mr. Banerjee’s students were leaving as she climbed out of her car. They greeted her as they passed. She smiled and nodded at them and waited until the gate was clear.

“Baba! You should really stop giving tuitions now. You are retired. Take rest, enjoy life. Why are you slaving away like this?”

“Shona, sitting idle does no good to an old mind and body. Keeping it occupied is the best exercise. Besides, a little money is always helpful.”

“Your pension is more than enough Baba. And it is a matter of one more month. In summer holidays, Mukundo Babu would be at home with the kids and I can go back to my job.”

“What after summers, Shona?”

She sighed. It had been two months since Sumedha’s birth and Baishali’s death in childbirth. They had almost come to terms with their loss, but there were still the children to be considered.

“Adi will start proper school this year. Kaki is looking for an aayah and she thinks Mukundo Babu should remarry. I think she is right.”

It was Mr. Banerjee’s turn to take a deep breath.

“Yes. Come, sit here, Pihu. There was something I needed to discuss with you.”

“What Baba?” she wondered if the idea of seeing another woman take his elder daughter’s place in Thakur household was too unpalatable for her old father. But he surely knew that it was a selfish concern. She slid into a chair kept across him and braced herself for an uncomfortable conversation.

“Mukundo should marry again, of course. He has a long life ahead of him. But this marriage is not just about him. It will also have to be about the children.”

“Of course, Baba.”

“And how do we trust a woman to take care of another woman’s children as her own?”

“There is no easy answer.”

“May be there is.”

“What?”

“These children are like your own.”

“Of course, Baba. And I have put everything on hold to take care of them. I will do so as long as possible. But it can’t be forever, Baba. We have to be practical.”

“It can be forever, if… if you married Mukundo.”

She bolted out of the chair.

“That’s absurd, Baba. How can…”

“Sit down, child. Don’t react impulsively.”

He let the silence hang between them until she felt compelled to obey him and sat back.

“Don’t decide now. Think it over.”

“Does Mukundo Babu know?”

“Mohima ji had called a while back. He is fine with it if you are.”

“This… this is so sudden, Baba. I need time.”

“Take your time. And remember that I won’t force you. I had never imagined I’d put you in such quandary ever. But life makes us do things…”

“It’s okay, Baba. I am going to make a cup of tea for myself. You want some?”

“No. Sarala had made some for me earlier.”

“I will get your breakfast then.”

—

“God! I missed you so much, Piyali,” Pronab gave her a tight hug when they met that evening.

“It is difficult to…”

“I know. I know. I am proud of you for how you are supporting your sister’s family. But I still miss you. Hey, what happened?”

She hadn’t blinked back her tears in time and he had seen it. “Nothing. It’s just overwhelming sometimes,” she lied as well as she could.

“Oh God! You poor thing. I wish your family knew about us. I would have liked to stand by your side and help you. But come here now. For next two hours that you are with me, just forget all that awaits elsewhere. Let a couple of more months pass, then take me to your Baba, let our parents talk and everything will fall in place. Relax now.”

But relax she couldn’t. Not then, not later – at night in her bed. Mukundo was her best friend, her mentor, her guide. Even her crush. Which girl in the class didn’t have a crush on the hot and gentle Prof. Thakur? But she knew him too well to treat him frivolously.

He was her sister’s husband. He was like an older brother, a guardian to her. Marrying him? She might still have wrapped her head around it, if she hadn’t been in love with Pronab. They had been together since their second year in college. They always had to be on their watch to hide it from Mukundo at the university.  He would eventually have been the first one to know, he was the one she would have felt most comfortable talking to, and he would have spoken to Baba on her behalf, but she hadn’t wanted to hurry the news.

And now all of a sudden it was too late. What should she do now? Whom should she talk to? Mukundo had been so miserable in last two months that all she had wanted was to bring a little smile to his face. She didn’t have the heart to bring her wretched dilemmas to him.

And then, as Baba had pointed out, it wasn’t just about her, Pronab or Mukundo. It was about the children too. Foremost about the children.

—

“Maashima. I just defeated Thakuma in Chinese Checkers,” Young Aditya was jubilant on phone on Sunday morning.

“Oh wow! Did you?”

“Yes. And when you are back, I’d defeat you too.”

“I am already scared. Be kind to me, little warrior. Okay?”

“We’ll see.”

“Okay darling. I need to finish some chores now. Nanu doesn’t keep the house in great shape. I will see you tomorrow. Take care of your baby sister, okay?”

“Okay. Bye Maashima. Love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

When she disconnected the call, she saw a bunch of messages waiting for her. All from Pronab.

“I woke up today, and wanted so desperately to find you next to me that it hurt. Can’t think of anything else since then,” one of them read. It would have brought goosebumps and smile to her two days ago. But today she shivered and ran to her room to make sure her father did not see her tears welling.

—

To be continued

“Mukundo! Is Sumi with you?”

“Ma! Why did you climb up? You could have sent for me,” Mukundo Thakur hurried to the door to lend his arms to her mother for support. Mohima suffered from arthritis and climbing the stairs to come to his room would have been quite an exertion for her.

“I thought you would be tired. You work hard, as usual.”

“Come on, Ma.”

“Is she asleep?” she asked about her granddaughter Sumedha.

“Yes. Piyali had already put her to sleep by the time I came back. Adi is asleep too, in the nursery. With all these papers to grade, I got late.”

“Bless the girl. I don’t know what would we have done but for her.”

“She has surprised me, to be honest, Ma. I didn’t think she had it in her.”

“She is devoted to Sumi and Adi like even Baishali could never have been.”

“Yes,” he concurred as he seated her on the bed.

“I… I wanted to talk to you… about something,” she toyed with the edge of the bedsheet.

“Then talk, Ma. What is the preparation and prelude for?”

“It might come as a surprise to you, but think it over, before you reply. Banerjee Babu and I discussed it at length and it sounds like the best option.”

“What?” Mukundo was wary now, but still not prepared for the bomb she dropped.

“Piyali. She is a sweet girl. And as good as a mother to the kids. You… you should marry her.”

“Ma!”

“Like I said, don’t be hasty. Think it over.”

“She is a…” he swallowed ‘baby’. Yes – that’s how he had thought of his dead wife’s much younger sister till now. But since Baishali had died in childbirth, Piyali had acted like anything, but a baby. She was suddenly a woman grown. But still…

“She is a fine girl. You are fond of each other, and know each other well. It’d be a good match, not just for children’s sake, but also…”

“Ma! I am… I don’t think I am ready for another marriage now.”

“It doesn’t have to be tomorrow. Just think it over. And don’t be so sure about not marrying. My arthritic body is hardly up for bringing up an infant and running after a four-year old. I wouldn’t even survive long enough. And aayahs are not a substitute for parents. It would be cruel to not give them a mother.”

“Does she know?”

“Not yet. We wanted you consent first. I am sure she would understand.”

“She is different, Ma. Very different from her sister. She wants a career, a life…”

“There are working mothers in the world, Mukundo. I am not saying we can’t have an aayah. Just that this two-month old daughter of yours needs a mother. And Adi too. And no other woman would be as good as their mother’s sister.”

“I don’t know, Ma.”

“Let’s talk tomorrow.”

—

“Jinke aage jee
Jinke peechhe jee”

A vivacious teenager dancing to that bollywood song was the first vivid memory Mukundo had of Piyali. Through that song’s rather pedestrian lyrics, she had threatened him with a caning should he ever hurt her sister.

“You can’t regret not having a brother, can you?” he had grinned at his bride.

“I guess not,” Baishali’s response had been lukewarm and over time he had realized that her baby sister was not to his wife’s taste. Piyali was too tomboyish and spirited for Baishali, who had domesticity written all over her.

Mukundo, however, soon developed an easy camaraderie with Piyali. Her cheeriness was by no means a sign of frivolousness. She was always up for a game of chess, or a discussion on latest political upheaval. She was rigorous about her music practice, and when Mukundo visited his in-laws or Piyali visited them, they practiced together. When she had joined university, she had decided to major in Psychology, and hence for three years she had also been his student, in the classroom as well as outside. She fought and argued with him often, and he indulged her arguments even when they were unsound. Because they weren’t so for want to intelligence, only for want to experience and wisdom that could come only with age. But she also heeded him where it really mattered, like when he pointed out her flaws and weaknesses during their music practice, or when he guided her in her studies. Mohima was right that he was fond of her. If Piyali had been closer in age to her sister and himself, their relationship might have even seemed inappropriate. But she was a baby, his little protégée. She was a student he took pride in.

For all the fondness, and for all her qualities that he had often wished to see in Baishali, he had never imagined her as his lover or his wife.

His daughter stirred in her sleep. Mukundo patted her to put her back to sleep again and then closed his eyes too. He needed some sleep.

—

He was changing Sumedha’s nappies in the morning, when Piyali walked in with the formula milk that the motherless baby survived on.

“Thanks Piyali,” he hoped he did not sound any different to her.

“You look horrible, Mukundo Babu. Like you have not slept at all. Are you sure you would be able to manage if I leave?”

It was a Saturday morning and Mukundo would be there at home with the kids over the weekend. So, she was going home. That had been their routine for last two months.

Oh the blessed ignorance, Mukundo rued. She was talking to him like nothing had changed between them.  She didn’t know of the plan his mother and her father were hatching. He wondered what her reaction would be? Disbelief? Disgust? Acquiescence?

“Don’t worry,” he had to pause to swallow the customary endearments he would have used –  ‘darling’, ‘sweetheart’, ‘kiddo’ or ‘little lady’. Some of them suddenly seemed presumptuous, and others patronizing. He settled for using her name instead. “Don’t worry, Piyali. I will handle it. You deserve the break.”

She frowned, “You sound odd.”

“Don’t be silly!” he had finished putting on fresh nappy on his daughter and took the soiled on to the bathroom.

When he came back, the baby was sucking on the bottle happily.

“Alright then. I will see you on Monday?” she motioned him to hold the bottle.

“Yes. You take care. Of yourself as well as your Baba.”

She smiled and made to leave.

“Piyali!” he called when she was at the door.

“Yes, Mukundo Babu? You need something?”

“No. Just… Thanks! Thanks a lot for everything. I could never have imagined that you would come through for all of us like this. You are the youngest, but you are the only one who seems to have a sane, working head on your shoulders.”

Her cheeks flushed crimson. “You are odd today,” she mumbled before stepping out.

She would make a man very happy, he thought as he watched the milk disappear from the bottle. But it should be a man ten years younger to him.

He heard Aditya, his four-year old son, begging his maashima not to go.

“I will be back on Monday, Shona,” she assured him, “Nanu is alone, right? I must be with him sometimes.”

After a while, he went downstairs with Sumedha and found Mohima and Aditya puzzling over a new board game. Mohima looked up at him. He knew what she was asking silently.

“I don’t know Ma. Ask her. Let it be her choice.”

—

To be continued