‘True,’ said the other two.
Old Mrs Tandon continued: ‘At least in our neighbourhood we will have our own Ramlila in six months’ time. Bhaskar is too young to be one of the main characters, but he can certainly be a monkey-warrior.’
‘Lata used to be very fond of monkeys,’ reflected Mrs Rupa Mehra vaguely.
Old Mrs Tandon and Mrs Mahesh Kapoor exchanged glances.
Mrs Rupa Mehra snapped out of her vagueness and looked at the others. ‘Why – is something the matter?’ she asked.
‘Before you came we were just talking – you know, just like that,’ said old Mrs Tandon soothingly.
‘Is it about Lata?’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra, reading her tone as accurately as she had read her glance.
The two ladies looked at each other and nodded seriously.
‘Tell me, tell me quick,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra, thoroughly alarmed.
‘You see, it is like this,’ said Mrs Mahesh Kapoor gently, ‘please look after your daughter, because someone saw her walking with a boy on the bank of the Ganga near the dhobi-ghat yesterday morning.’
‘What boy?’
‘That I don’t know. But they were walking hand in hand.’
‘Who saw them?’
‘What should I hide from you?’ said Mrs Mahesh Kapoor sympathetically. ‘It was Avtar Bhai’s brother-in-law. He recognized Lata but he didn’t recognize the boy. I told him it must have been one of your sons, but I know from Savita that they are in Calcutta.’
Mrs Rupa Mehra’s nose started to redden with unhappiness and shame. Two tears rolled down her cheeks, and she reached into her capacious handbag for an embroidered handkerchief.
‘Yesterday morning?’ she said in a trembling voice.
She tried to remember where Lata had said she’d gone. This was what happened when you trusted your children, when you let them roam around, taking walks everywhere. Nowhere was safe.
‘That’s what he said,’ said Mrs Mahesh Kapoor gently. ‘Have some tea. Don’t get too alarmed. All these girls see these modern love films and it has an effect on them, but Lata is a good girl. Only talk to her.’
But Mrs Rupa Mehra was very alarmed, gulped down her tea, even sweetening it with sugar by mistake, and went home as soon as she politely could.
3.18
MRS RUPA MEHRA came breathlessly through the door.
She had been crying in the tonga. The tonga-wallah, concerned that such a decently dressed lady should be weeping so openly, had tried to keep up a monologue in order to pretend that he hadn’t noticed, but she had now gone through not only her embroidered handkerchief but her reserve handkerchief as well.
‘Oh my daughter!’ she said, ‘oh, my daughter.’
Savita said, ‘Yes, Ma?’ She was shocked to see her mother’s tear-streaked face.
‘Not you,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra. ‘Where is that shameless Lata?’
Savita sensed that their mother had discovered something. But what? And how much? She moved instinctively towards her mother to calm her down.
‘Ma, sit down, calm down, have some tea,’ said Savita, guiding Mrs Rupa Mehra, who seemed quite distracted, to her favourite armchair.
‘Tea! Tea! More and more tea!’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra in resistant misery.
Savita went and told Mateen to get some tea for the two of them.
‘Where is she? What will become of us all? Who will marry her now?’
‘Ma, don’t over-dramatize things,’ said Savita soothingly. ‘It will blow over.’
Mrs Rupa Mehra sat up abruptly. ‘So you knew! You knew! And you didn’t tell me. And I had to learn this from strangers!’ This new betrayal engendered a new bout of sobbing. Savita squeezed her mother’s shoulders, and offered her another handkerchief. After a few minutes of this, Savita said: ‘Don’t cry, Ma, don’t cry. What did you hear?’
‘Oh, my poor Lata – is he from a good family? I had a sense something was going on. Oh God! What would her father have said if he had been alive? Oh, my daughter.’
‘Ma, his father teaches mathematics at the university. He’s a decent boy. And Lata’s a sensible girl.’
Mateen brought the tea in, registered the scene with deferential interest, and went back towards the kitchen.
Lata walked in a few seconds later. She had taken a book to the banyan grove, where she had sat down undisturbed for a while, lost in Wodehouse and her own enchanted thoughts. Two more days, one more day, and she would see Kabir again.
She was unprepared for the scene before her, and stopped in the doorway.
‘Where have you been, young lady?’ demanded Mrs Rupa Mehra, her voice quivering with anger.
‘For a walk,’ faltered Lata.