After Maa was done with Baba, she turned her attention towards me.
‘You knew about the Musalman girl.’
‘Maa.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lie to me? Of the two I knew you would never lie to me about something like this. Did you not think about your Maa even once?’
Maa beat her fists on my back. I couldn’t answer. I could only cry.
‘Dada will come back. He wouldn’t do anything stupid, Maa,’ I said.
‘He won’t come back. I saw it in his eyes. He won’t come back, I know. My heart says he won’t.’
‘Maa.’
Maa’s voice softened a little as she said, ‘You won’t do anything like this na, shona? Hurt us like your Dada did? But how do I believe you? You will lie to me as well. You will do the same as what your brother did. Leave me to die alone.’
Maa left the room. Later tonight we watched the news silently at the dinner table. The news anchor reported the handing over of the prisoner of war, the pilot Nachiketa, tortured but alive. Unlike earlier, Baba didn’t exhort me to join the armed forces.
In bed, I thought about Nachiketa and his wingman, Ajay Ahuja. From what I have seen in movies, wingmen are thicker than thieves, they are like brothers. When Nachiketa was shot down by Pakistani forces, his wingman, his brother-like friend, was sent out to look for him. He, too, was shot down but unlike Nachiketa he was killed, taking a bullet through the heart, martyred. As I saw Nachiketa’s images on the screen, I felt a deep sadness for him. How would he ever face the family of his wingman, Ajay? Ajay died heroically but it is Nachiketa, his brother, who would have to live with the consequences. What if Dada doesn’t come back? He would marry for love, for the girl Zubeida, he will be a hero, a martyr.But what about me?
I wonder if Nachiketa would ever wish that he hadn’t survived the ordeal. Even Mina’s sweet licks aren’t making things better. I miss Brahmi. I wonder how she is doing.
The phone just rang outside. It was Dada. He asked us not to try and contact him.
6 June 1999
The funereal silence that had been hanging over the Ganguly residence lifted early today morning. Dada returned. His beard grown, hair ruffled, and wearing the same shirt he had on the day he left us. He looked like a man. Mina jumped at his feet. She yelped in delight. I took her away and locked her in my room.
Maa rained blows on him, slapped him and hit him with her fists; the glass bangles on her wrists shattered like a new widow’s. But she also hugged him and cried and kissed him on his arms, while he stood unmoved.
Baba stood there stone-faced, looking at him as if he’d seen him for the first time, with happiness and bewilderment and distilled hatred.
Outside, Arundhati was staring at the tamasha.
Baba asked me to close the door. Maa asked me to go to my room, they needed to talk to Dada in private. Dada interrupted Maa.
‘Let him stay. He needs to hear this too.’
‘Yes, I do.’
Maa–Baba and I sat on one sofa. He sat on the one in front of us as if he were a guest. Baba spoke first, ‘Where had you gone?’
‘I was with a friend.’
‘Zubeida?’ asked Maa.
‘No. But she came yesterday. She’s staying there too now.’
‘What kind of a girl—’
‘I told you her parents won’t take her in. She had no place to go. I came to tell you that I’m getting married next week. We have taken a date from the registrar’s office. You can come if you want to.’
Shock coursed through Maa’s body like lightning. She shrieked and covered her mouth.
‘When you can decide everything on your own why do you need us?’ asked Baba.
‘Because I want you to be there. She will be a part ofourfamily.’
