A Suitable Boy(310)

‘He was very old.’ Again she heard her uncle’s voice saying: ‘You were very young.’ Lata put off her light once more, and lay in the darkness.

She could not speak to anyone about what had happened. Mrs Sahgal doted on her husband; could she even be aware of what he was like? They had separate rooms: Mr Sahgal often worked late. Mrs Rupa Mehra would hardly have believed Lata. If she had, she would have imagined – or wanted to imagine – that Lata had placed a dramatic construction on innocent events. And even if she had believed Lata entirely, what could she have done? Denounced Maya’s husband and destroyed her stupid happiness?

Lata recalled that neither her mother nor Savita had told her even about menstruation before it had suddenly happened to her with no warning while they were on a train. Lata had been twelve. Her father was dead. They were no longer travelling in saloons, but in the intermediate class between second and third. It was the heat of late summer – as now, the monsoons had not yet broken. For some reason she and her mother were travelling alone. She had gone to the toilet when she felt the onset of something uncomfortable – and there, when she saw what it was, she had thought she was bleeding to death. Terrified, she had rushed back to her compartment. Her mother had given her a handkerchief to absorb the flow, but had been very embarrassed. She had told Lata that she must not talk to anybody about it, especially men. Sita and Savita didn’t talk about such things. Lata wondered what she had done to deserve it. Finally, Mrs Rupa Mehra had told her not to get alarmed – that it happened to all women – that it was what made women very special and precious – and that it would happen every month.

‘Do you have it?’ Lata had asked.

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra. ‘Previously I used to use soft cloth, but now I use padded napkins, and you must keep a few with you. I have some at the bottom of the suitcase.’

It had been sticky and uncomfortable in the strong heat, but it had to be borne. Nor did it improve over the years. The mess, the backaches, its irregular arrival before exams – Lata felt there was nothing very special or precious about it. When she asked Savita why she hadn’t told her about it, Savita said: ‘But I thought you knew. I did, before it happened to me.’

The clock down the corridor struck three, and Lata was still awake. Then, once again, she caught her breath with fear. The padded footsteps were coming down the carpeted corridor. She knew they were going to pause at her door. Oh, Ma, Ma – thought Lata.

But the footsteps padded on, softly down the corridor towards the far end, towards Pushkar’s and Kiran’s rooms. Perhaps Mr Sahgal was going to see that his son was all right. Lata waited for his footsteps to return any minute. She could not sleep. But it was two hours later, a little before five in the morning, that they passed by her room gently, after a momentary pause by her door.





9.17


AT BREAKFAST the next morning, Mr Sahgal was absent.

‘Sahgal Sahib is not feeling very well. He is tired from working so hard,’ said Mrs Sahgal.

Mrs Rupa Mehra shook her head: ‘Maya, you must tell him to take it easy. It was overwork that killed my husband. And for what final aim? One must work hard, but enough is really enough. Lata, why aren’t you eating your toast? It will get cold. And see, Maya Masi has made that lovely white butter you like so much.’

Mrs Sahgal smiled sweetly at Lata. ‘She looks so tired and worried, poor girl. I think she is already in love with H. Now she is spending sleepless nights.’ She sighed happily.

Lata buttered her toast in silence.

Without his father to help him, Pushkar was having a hard time with his toast. Kiran, who was looking as sleepy as Lata, went over to give him a hand.

‘What does he do when he needs to shave?’ asked Mrs Rupa Mehra in a low voice. ‘Oh, Sahgal Sahib helps him,’ said Mrs Sahgal. ‘Or one of the servants does – but Pushkar prefers us to help him. Oh Rupa, I wish you could stay for a few more days. We have so much to talk about. And the girls can get to know each other also.’

‘No!’ The word was out before Lata could think of what she was saying. She looked frightened and disgusted.

Kiran dropped the knife on Pushkar’s plate. Then she rushed out of the room.

‘Lata, you must say sorry at once,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra. ‘What do you mean by this? Have you no decency?’

Lata was about to tell her mother that all she had meant was that she did not want to stay in the house any longer, and had not meant to hurt Kiran. That, however, would merely exchange one offence for another. So she kept her mouth shut and her head bowed.