Kanta breaks my reverie. “Shall we go home and get you settled in, Lakshmi? Baju has been making lots of treats for you. He’s hoping he can best the ones you used to make for me, the jealous sod!”
I let Kanta sit in the front with Malik so I can sit in the back with Niki and get to know my nephew.
* * *
Kanta’s husband, Manu, greets us at the door to their trim, government-issued bungalow. I’m shocked at the change in him. Always a mild-mannered, pleasant fellow, he now looks beleaguered, harried. He has dark pouches under his eyes, which makes me think he hasn’t slept in days. He settles his thick black-framed eyeglasses on the bridge of his nose before he asks after my health.
I drop my chin and assume a serious expression. “I hope Malik hasn’t caused you too much trouble. I know that he can be a handful.”
That, at least, elicits something resembling a smile.
“He’s a joy to have around. He learns quickly. My staff have taken to him, as have I.”
Catching sight of Niki behind us, Manu lights up. He calls his son to him and cups the back of his head. “How was your bowling today, Niki? Did you pitch some zingers to your competition?”
Niki laughs. “Yar. I did what Malik Uncle showed me. Sonny couldn’t bat one of my burners today!”
Kanta tells Niki to take a shower and suggests her husband make Malik comfortable while she shows me to my room. We’ll be having dinner in an hour.
* * *
In the guest bedroom, as I’m unpacking, Kanta drops the cheerfulness as quickly as if she were casting off a veil. “Oh, Lakshmi,” she says, “I’m so glad you’ve come. Manu’s worried, and I don’t know how to help him.” She suddenly looks ten years older. “He’s never had a black mark on his work. Now he does, and it’s a big one. I know he’s innocent, but even I’ve wondered how he could have overlooked a detail so important.”
“What exactly are they telling Manu? At the palace?”
She tugs at the fringe on the rajai covering the bed. “The maharani’s lawyers questioned him for hours this afternoon about documents that bear his signature. They told him those documents confirm that he bears full responsibility. That his errors caused the accident, the loss of life. They seem to be insinuating he was cheating the palace by replacing quality materials with lesser ones and pocketing the difference in cost. The maharani has asked him not to return to work until the inquiry is complete.” The rajai is coming undone as Kanta pulls on a thread. “Manu is devastated. Where are they getting all this information? It’s as if someone is sabotaging him.” She smiles sadly. “Saasuji is praying triple-time at her puja for him to be released from all this bad karma.”
I sit on the bed next to her as she describes how quickly the news about Manu’s alleged wrongdoing is spreading. “This evening, at cricket, the mothers I usually talk to didn’t show. They probably thought that was kinder than ignoring me in person.”
She wipes a tear with the end of her sari. “I worry about Niki. Some of the boys on the field tonight were saying things to him. I couldn’t hear them, but I knew by the expression on his face that Niki was angry. I’m afraid it’s only going to get worse. Soon they might start being openly hostile.
“I can’t imagine what’s going to happen at his convent school. He’s been with those same classmates since he was this high.” She holds a hand, palm down, three feet off the ground. “That’s why I’m keeping him home from school. This is a small city with a lot of powerful people. And reputations can be ruined just like that.” She snaps her fingers together.
I reach for her hand to comfort her. On the train, I had hours to think of possible ways to clear Manu’s name, and an idea had occurred to me. “Kanta, do you think the maharani would still remember me?”
She raises her eyebrows. “How could she not remember you? You helped her through the worst depression of her life. She was so grateful she gave Radha that full scholarship to the Maharani School for Girls.”
I make a face. “But we let that opportunity slip through our fingers. My sister only lasted one term. Once she got pregnant, she left. I’ve always felt bad about that.”
“But don’t forget! We got Niki as a result.” She gives my hand a squeeze.
I smile. “And he’s so lovely. You’ve raised him well. Shabash.”
Kanta looks down at our hands, entwined now. “I don’t know what we’d do without him. He’s the light of our lives. Even Baju’s. Remember how Baju and my saas used to make me drink rose milk before I lost my baby? Well, now he has Niki to feed rose milk to! Saasuji swears that’s what gives Niki those rosy cheeks of his!” She laughs softly.
Now she flips my hands over so she can inspect my palms. I applied the henna to my palms a few days ago; the cinnamon color is still vibrant. I show her the monkey frolicking in his apple tree on one palm and the crocodile swimming in the water on the other.
“I’ve been teaching old folk tales to the daughter of a friend of Malik’s. Recognize this one?”
“The monkey and the crocodile!”
“Hahn. I’m also teaching the little girl to write in Hindi. She can almost write bundar but so far she’s helpless with magaramaccha.” I’m picturing her small fingers holding the chalk, trying her hardest to spell crocodile.
“Big word for a little girl!” Kanta grins. “Oh, Lakshmi, I do miss you and your henna! The hours we spent together talking and laughing. The babies you drew on my stomach when I wanted to get pregnant.”
It had finally worked. Perhaps it was the sweet yam laddus I fed her to encourage the production of her eggs. Or maybe it was her belief that the paintings of babies on her belly would encourage a real baby to grow inside her. Sadly, in the end, she lost that baby and was never able to conceive another.
Kanta traces the pattern on my palms. “You will find Maharani Latika changed. You left for Shimla right after the maharaja sent their son to boarding school in England. Well, the boy never forgave his father for taking the title of crown prince away from him. Whenever they fought, Her Highness took her son’s side and relations between the maharani and maharaja were never the same. They grew further and further apart until they were barely talking to each other. When the maharaja died, their son refused to come home for the funeral.”
Kanta releases my hands. “Remember how Her Highness used to drive her Bentley round the city, wearing those fabulous sunglasses, tooting at people? No driver for her, no, thank you.” She smiles at the memory as she pulls at the thread on the quilt again. “She’s nowhere near as carefree as she used to be, Lakshmi. So serious now. No more joie de vivre.” She shakes her head.