Maa chose not to answer and pulled her farther away from the bus stop.
Their office bus ground to a halt. Everyone’s eyes were stuck to the pregnant woman being dragged away by her dishevelled mother-in-law. The conductor called out and slapped the side of the bus impatiently. Their colleagues boarded the bus and waited for Dada and Boudi. Dada motioned for them to leave, told them everything was fine, and then went running after Boudi and Maa.
‘Maa, what’s wrong!’
Maa spoke without slowing down, or releasing her iron grip on Boudi’s hand, ‘I know she went to Bangalore! All of you lied to me. Again!’
‘Maa—’
‘Shut up, Anirban. I don’t mind both of you lying to me any more. What I do mind is you harming your child.’
Dada and Boudi had nothing to say.
Maa dragged Boudi and Dada to a Bengali Hindu doctor to get all the scans done again. Boudi’s protests were squashed by Maa’s harsh words and a constant stream of tears. She held Boudi’s hand firmly all through as if Boudi would escape. The tightness on Maa’s face only faded when all the scans came out normal. The doctor asked Boudi to take adequate rest and to not travel without her permission, which I suspect Maa would have asked her to say. Back home, Maa made Dada and Boudi sit in front of her for thirty minutes before she spoke.
‘Both of you are old enough to understand what the loss of a child means.’
She stared at them, waiting for her words to register, got up and we left.
On the way back home, Maa told me, holding my hand as firmly as she had held Boudi’s, ‘I see what’s happening with you. The girl has left you, hasn’t she?’
‘No.’
‘Raghu, you’re an innocent boy. You don’t know the ways of the world. You think women are innocent but they are not. After all that she did with you, she left you. At the end of the day it’s only family that sticks around with you, is it not?’
‘Brahmi’s not like that,’ I said.
‘I don’t know her, you do. But remember, we are your parents. We will always be by your side. Who can say if your Boudi didn’t go and meet her parents and her brothers? Family’s always there for you. Didn’t we take back Dada?’
Another day passed by without her call.
21 December 1999
It’s been a month and a half since she ran away from her old life.
Her name has been struck off the school register for non-payment of fees and insufficient attendance. Shrikant Gupta sits where she used to sit, right next to me, smelling of sweat and kadipatta (curry leaves). Her doodles on the table have been drawn over by Shrikant, her roll number taken over by Chetna Jha. Kritika wears her lab coat and her place in the basketball team is now Mansi’s.
Like slowly the markers of her existence are being wiped off.
Today was different.
When I came back home from the temple—which is a great place to sit quietly and visualize a different life—I found Brahmi’s Tauji–Taiji sitting in the living room, sipping tea. Unlike the last time, the demeanour was calm, civilized even; neither of them was with a bat or an iron rod. I was asked to come and join them.
‘They want to know where Brahmi is,’ said Baba. ‘Tell them.’
They waited for an answer, earnestness dripping from their eyes.
In a voice as dispassionate as I could muster, I told them, ‘You beat her, you made her bleed, you locked her up in her room, and you drove her away. Even if I knew where she is why would I tell you?’
‘Is that how you talk to elders?’ grumbled Baba. ‘Just tell them. They are worried.’
‘She’s with Vedant. That’s all I know and thank god for that.’
Brahmi’s Tauji looked at Baba for help.
‘Look, Raghu, you are friends with Brahmi and we understand that. But imagine their plight. What must everyone in their colony be thinking about them? She has to come home,’ said Baba.
All four adults in the room nodded in sympathetic affirmation. This was society. Four fully grown adults believing in and agreeing to something absolutely stupid.
