This was far too important to leave to chance.
Chapter 29
The day before her mehndi ceremony, Nina arrived in a rickshaw, glowing in her dressy fuchsia and orange silk salwar suit. She came to the point as soon as she had kicked off her six-inch stilettoes and settled on the sofa. “Come to the wedding,” she said, heavily mascaraed eyes dramatically earnest.
“You are sweet, Nina.” Tara cupped her cousin’s chin. “But you know I cannot. They don’t want me there.”
“I do. My fiancé, Rajeev, does.”
“You told your fiancé?”
“Yes. He admires you. We both do. You had the courage to follow your heart.”
“Elders think differently, Nina.”
Nina flapped her hands in exasperation, the orange and fuchsia bangles jingling furiously on her wrists. Tara reached out to grasp Nina’s hands, to calm their agitation. “Tell me about Rajeev. Is he strong enough to withstand pressure from his family, if it comes to that?”
Nina nodded vigorously. “Of course. He is open-minded and forward. He will stand up for what is right.”
“Let me think about it, Nina.”
“At least come to the mehndi. Rajeev’s family won’t be there.”
“But the rest of the community will congregate. Word gets around quickly.”
“We’ll show them we don’t give a shit.”
Tara laughed. “I wish I’d had your spirit at your age, Nina.”
She’d go, she decided. She’d face a hostile community for Nina, but mostly, she’d do it for herself. It was as if the universe was conspiring to lay out an agnipariksha, a trial by fire, for her to walk through. If she didn’t do it now, she probably never would.
Nina threw her arms around Tara, kissing her on both cheeks, leaving dark lipstick stains on her moist skin. “Oh, and there is another reason why you must be there tomorrow.” Her eyes danced with excitement. “Cyrus said he would call.”
Tara’s chest expanded at the mention of his name, a burst of adrenalin that forced her mouth open to breathe. “Cyrus said he’d call? Has he called before?”
“Several times. I happened to answer his call today. I told him you had holed up at Shanti Nilaya because everyone was mean to you.”
“What did he say to that?”
“Cyrus seemed to be in a hurry, and frustrated. He was at a play, and the curtains were going up in a minute. I told him I’d make sure you’d be home on mehndi night, and to be sure to call on my mobile.”
The play. Tara had woken up that morning feeling drained, the guilt racking her insides for abandoning Cyrus on his important day. Now, her heart swung wildly—lifting one minute because he had wanted to speak to her just before his performance, and sinking because she had made no effort to offer him her good wishes.
After Nina left, as the sun turned the deep blue of dusk, she felt a desperate need to be connected to Cyrus, to be in his space. Her feet bounded eastward, to the road that began at the Hanuman shrine, and ended at Second Bridge, where the Saldanha homes lay. She came to the tall iron gates of Saldanha Villa. The driveway was lit up, and the house looked freshly painted, but thankfully, not much had changed in a quarter century by way of renovation. The lawns and flowering shrubs were in darkness, but she could tell that the house’s ochre façade remained the same. She tamed her hair, pressing it back with her fingers, an old habit. She looked through the white bars, almost expecting to see them all, like old times—James, Annette, Angela, Michelle, and Cyrus. The open verandah was faintly lit but empty. She slipped down to her haunches, her curled fingers sliding down the bars. She rested her forehead against the cool iron of the gate and closed her eyes.
She smiled when his sixteen-year-old version dramatically cleared his throat, threw his head back, closed his eyes, and sang, his arms stretched like in prayer, swaying from side to side:
Star light, star bright,
The first stargoddess I see tonight;
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight.
She laughed. It was as if she were standing at the gates of her own heart, peering inside. A mild evening breeze cooled her face, but a stronger thought washed over her. How magical it was that they had met again half the world away as adults, their pull for each other undiminished after a quarter of a century—as if by a metaphysical hand that had led them to each other, bound them for eternity. How ungrateful she was being to the forces that had conspired for them, succumbing to little worldly insecurities and hurts.
She felt ready for the heavy lifting—to bare her soul to Cyrus, to work through her fears, their issues. She stayed on her haunches until Saldanha Villa was only a gray silhouette in the early darkness. She felt love; it threatened to spill over as if it were an overflowing well in the monsoon season. She would return after the mehndi to visit James and his family. She would visit Dadda in the next villa and ask him to take her to see the children who called her Amma. She would embrace the world she had married into, envelop her little foster children in a river of love. She was conscious of the shift in her mood, the spiraling energy that stemmed from an impulsive act which was making its way through the editorial pipeline at the Morning Herald.
There was a wedding at Raj Bungalow; even the neighbor furthest down the road could tell. A bright red, yellow, and green shamiana, a gigantic awning, draped with valances of marigold garlands, sheltered the front yard. At the far end of the lawns, by the compound wall, was a raised platform covered in red carpet with an intricate floral backdrop. The front door had been left open, a warm invitation for guests to walk in on the auspicious days of the wedding. A string of fresh mango leaves was stretched across the top frame of the front door to stop negative energy from entering the house.
Raj Bungalow would start filling with people in the evening. Relatives and their relatives and their relatives. They had enough extended family in and around Mangalore to fill Mangala Stadium. Tara thought she had beaten the crowd by arriving mid-morning, but she was wrong. A quick, sweeping glance revealed women in silk saris and thick gold jewelry chitchatting in the living and dining space. She held her head up as she walked in, her bare feet firm on the cool marble floor; a steady, prepared walk. A sturdy hand stopped her in the hallway, taking her by surprise. She turned around to face her brother from California.
“So good to see you, Sis.”
“When did you arrive, Vijay?”
“Last night, via Dubai.”
She allowed Vijay to lead her by the arm to his empty room upstairs. Her brother appeared older; a tiny bit of flab around his girth showed through his Adidas T-shirt and Levi’s jeans. He rested his backside delicately on the edge of the desk. She occupied the desk chair.
“How are you, Tara?”
Even though she had to look up at him, her gaze was steady. “I am fine. I know the elders don’t want me here, but I am attending the mehndi. I have Nina’s invitation.”
“That was one bomb of an article in the Morning Herald.”
She was unprepared for this bit of information; she had built no defenses against it. She gasped involuntarily, a sharp intake of air. “Is it published?”