Teatime for the Firefly Page 12

  “I like brown,” piped up Anik defiantly.

  Moon glared at him. “That is talking like a VERY SILLY boy,” she said sternly. “Brown is not a flattering color for you. I have told you that a HUNDRED times, but you don’t listen. Your complexion is brown and if you wear brown, you look like...like...MUD. If you fell down on the road, a rickshaw would drive right over your head because nobody can see you.” She turned to me. “Brown, brown, brown. I can’t make him wear any other color. He fights me like a wildcat. I have given up.”

  “I think he looks very delicious, like chocolate,” I said, winking at Anik. He gave me a dimpled smile. He was warming up, I could tell.

  Then looking past me, he caught sight of Mima on the veranda. “Dida! Dida!” he shrieked excitedly, and took off like a fruit bat toward the house, his arms flailing wildly.

  “God, Layla, what a nightmare journey I had,” Moon said wearily. “The tension of carrying all that jewelry. I hardly dared to sleep a wink.”

  “So needless. I don’t know why Mima made you do this.”

  “Then that silly Anik opens my purse when I am not looking and gets chili powder all over his eyes. His stupid train falls down the toilet and he howls nonstop all the way to Silchar. God!” Moon threw up her hand. “I have two clingy men in my life. I tell you, Layla, you should have seen his dad at the station. In tears! Oh-hoh, I am only gone for four days.”

  Moon’s husband, Jojo, adored her. He had seen Moon at the local Durga Puja function and fallen so desperately in love that he had gone on a hunger strike—“Just like Gandhi, imagine?” Moon said—until his parents came running to Mima to propose on his behalf. Moon had agreed to marry Jojo simply because she could not believe that someone would go on a hunger strike for her. The guy seemed like a decent bloke anyway.

  “My God! Who are all those people on the veranda?” Moon cried. “And here I thought nobody was going to show up for your wedding.”

  “I wish nobody had,” I said. “I had no idea we had so many relatives—did you? All I wanted was a quiet wedding, and look what happened.”

  “I can’t imagine Dadamoshai putting up with this madness.”

  “He doesn’t. He keeps running off to the courthouse on some pretext or the other.” I slipped my arm around Moon’s waist as we walked toward the house. “I am so happy to see you, Moon. There is so much I want to talk to you about.”

  “And I want to hear all about this mysterious Manik Deb. My, you are a dark horse, Layla, secret romance and all.” She punched my arm. “You should have seen Ma, jumping up and down when she heard about your engagement. ‘That Layla has some sense after all!’ she said.”

  * * *

  It was just after lunch. Siesta time. Moon and I were lying on my bed with Anik sprawled out between us, fast asleep. Moon grinned, staring at Manik’s photograph. It was the only one I had of him. Manik and Alasdair Carruthers standing in a forest with their guns.

  “Why are his shorts so flappy?” she asked.

  “They call them Bombay bloomers.” I laughed, propping up on my elbow to take a peek. Manik’s shorts were like two open parachutes, his legs two skinny sticks below them. Alasdair was dressed just as oddly. “The garden tailor stitches them. One size fits all. Seems to be the dress code for tea planters on kamjari duty. Bombay bloomers, bush shirt, canvas shoes.”

  “What’s kamjari duty?”

  “Field inspection. Tramping around the tea plantation. It’s full of snakes and whatnot.”

  “Anyone who looks good in bloomers has got to be seriously handsome,” said Moon, squinting a little.

  I sat up in bed. “Moon, do you want to go for a walk down to the river, or are you too tired?”

  “No, no, let’s go,” said Moon. She swung her feet to the floor and twisted her hair into a bun. “I’d like that. It will be like old times when we were kids, remember? If Anik wakes up, his dida can take care of him.”

  We changed out of our rubber slippers into open-toed sandals and crept out of the house. It was a warm afternoon, and the whole household was in deep slumber. Even the cook was snoring on a mat under the mango tree, his round belly rising and falling like a small mountain. His helper sat on his haunches cleaning his ears with a matchstick and smoking a bidi.

  We took our usual shortcut, crisscrossing over the rice fields, past the sun-freckled bamboo grove, the holy banyan tree and an empty tea shack. Our footsteps woke up a small pariah dog from its nap. It gave a little yip and followed us, sniffing at our heels.

  “Jah! Shoo!” Moon stamped her feet and tried to wave him off. She picked up a pebble and pretended to throw it. The dog shied away but continued to follow us, keeping a wary distance. We came to the tall mud embankment of the river, where we ran up the side and then slithered and slid over the crushed shells and debris down to the water’s edge.

  Everything smelled pungent and seaweedy. Fishing nets lay drying on bamboo poles and upturned boats lined the bank, their wood cracked and bleached a pale ash-gray in the sun. We sat on a log and gazed at the vast stretch of water before us. A small crab ran out from under us and scuttled sideways to the shore. The water level was low, great clumps of vegetation floating lazily past. A long-legged heron with a tufted head eyed us suspiciously as it stepped with finicky feet in the shallows.

  “So peaceful,” Moon sighed. “I miss this. You have no idea what a big, dirty city Guahati is. It’s full of trucks and diesel smoke.”

  “Are you happy, Moon? Married with children and all?” I asked, examining my palm. I had a small splinter lodged in my thumb from the log we were sitting on.

  A small goat wandered on the opposite bank, bleating sadly. In the distance, I could see the thatched rooftops of the fishing village amidst clumps of trees and straight areca palms pointing up like arrows to the sky.

  “Oh yes.” Moon sighed with contentment. “Ma was very upset when you could not come for my wedding because of your exams. We could not push back the date—the next auspicious date was six months down the road and Jojo’s parents feared he would go on another hunger strike if we waited too long. That man worships me! It’s embarrassing. My in-laws live with us, as you know. They are the sweetest people in the world.”

  Moon hugged her knees and rocked, staring dreamily at the water. “Tell me, sister, do you plan to have children right away? Please don’t. That’s my one regret. Anik arrived on the dot, nine months to the day. Thank God, we planned it the second time around and Aesha came four years later.”

  “Moon...”

  “What?”

  “There is something I want to talk to you about.” I faltered and stopped. Then I blurted it out. “I am so scared of...my wedding night.”

  She jerked her head and looked at me squarely. “What’s there to be afraid about? You love him, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know what to expect. And living with Dadamoshai, you have no idea how little I know about...about these things.”

  “You’ve kissed him, haven’t you?”

  “The first time I fainted...”

  “You what?”

  “Well, I fainted when he tried to kiss me. It was ridiculous. So no, we did not kiss.”

  “But didn’t he visit again?”

  “He came twice. Both times it was very formal. Dadamoshai was there. Well, one evening he touched my cheek.”

  “Touched your cheek!” Moon squealed with laughter and drummed her feet on the broken shells. “My God, Layla, I don’t even know what to say to you!”

  “Did you kiss before you were married?”

  “Yes, yes. We were engaged for a whole year, remember? Most of the time we could only meet formally and all—” she rolled her eyes “—but we sneaked out a lot together. And before Jojo, there was another fellow...”

  I looked at her, shocked. “Who?”
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  “Our neighbor’s son,” Moon said with a wink. “My God, Layla, you’ve known Manik Deb for two and a half years. What have you been doing all this time?”

  “Writing letters, exchanging news. Next thing I know he wants to marry me, and I say yes.”

  “I bet he can’t wait to do it.”

  “I am really scared.”

  “What’s there to be scared about? He has a bat, you have a ball. You both play. Simple.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “What—that?”

  I nodded, looking down. I pushed a coconut frond around with my toe in the dirt.

  “It’s not like giving birth or anything. It’s more awkward than painful the first time.” She gave me a little prod and giggled. “Relax, will you? Try not to faint. Don’t yell and scream, for God’s sake.”

  “I don’t think I can even bear to take my clothes off,” I said miserably.

  “Don’t worry—he’ll do it for you, and everything will happen so fast, you won’t even know it. After a few practice rounds you will get the hang of the bat-ball thing and then you both will have a whole lot of fun, believe me.”

  I sighed deeply. I hoped she was right.

  CHAPTER 16

  I awoke at 4:45 a.m. on my wedding day. A thin gray light filtered through the curtain in my bedroom. The house was stirring awake. There were soft voices on the veranda; somebody coughed. I lay in bed, my hand tucked under the pillow, thinking. From this day onward, everything would change. I would be unmoored from my familiar surroundings, set afloat in the world, my fate forever entwined with the life of another.

  I thought of Manik Deb. How well did I really know the man I was about to marry? He had held out his hand, and I was ready to forsake the familiar and follow him into the unknown. But had he not done the same? Walked blindly into the unknown world of British tea plantations? There was something heady about taking chances, and I had signed up for the ride.

  We would be getting married in Dadamoshai’s school. The wedding ceremony was scheduled for two in the afternoon. As per the plan, Manik would be arriving at eleven. After the wedding he would stay for one night before heading back to Aynakhal. He would come to get me a week later, bag, baggage and all.

  Many thought it was strange that he would be arriving alone. There would be no Borjatri, the traditional groom’s entourage: a band of laughing men, friends and relatives who buoyed the groom along to his wedding, teasing, cajoling and making silly demands on the bride’s family. This was the custom. Manik’s family had disowned him and refused to come. Alasdair was in Scotland, and Manik’s Calcutta friends had not been able to get away at such short notice. Manik would arrive, not in a flower-bedecked car accompanied by the beating of drums, as was the tradition, but rather in his mud-splattered company jeep. Moon had been put in charge of him. She would take him to Dadamoshai’s school, where Manik’s wedding attire would be kept ready for him. He would freshen up and get changed in one of the classrooms, before meeting the rest of the wedding party in front of the school for the ceremony.

  These paltry arrangements were not befitting the status of any groom, rich or poor. The bride’s family treated the bridegroom like royalty. But ours was not a traditional wedding, and Manik was no traditional groom. Everything was a little off-kilter and nothing was according to the norm.

  I had another argument with Mima. This time it was over the bridal makeup. Mima insisted I look like a traditional bride, which meant putting on a pancake foundation, doing up my eyes with kohl and having curlicues painted on my forehead with sandalwood paste.

  “Please, Mima, I don’t want to look like a clown,” I wailed.

  Moon came to my support. “Leave her alone, Ma,” she said. “Layla does not need makeup. She is pretty enough.”

  “Clown! Clown!” Mima’s voice rose to a crescendo. “Is marriage a laughing matter? You two STOP your foolish talk now. How will people know Layla is the bride if she does not have that finished look?”

  To “finish” my look I was turned over to Spinster Aunt, a birdlike woman, with fluttering hands and a thin, reedy voice. She was the bridal-makeup expert in the family and a familiar face at all weddings. Spinster Aunt arrived armed with an arsenal of powder puffs, paint jars, pencils and brushes, and took great pride in transforming every bride into a clown.

  “Don’t worry,” Moon whispered in my ear. “She made me look absolutely ghastly at my wedding.”

  There was no escape. I sat in my blouse and petticoat, a towel wrapped around my shoulders, and tried not to look at the mirror while Spinster Aunt wreaked her havoc. The foundation made my skin itch.

  Spinster Aunt got so carried away with her own artistry that she extended the sandalwood curlicues down my cheeks and even painted a little floral bouquet on my chin.

  “Bah. Bah,” said Spinster Aunt, tilting my chin to admire her handiwork. She clucked appreciatively. “You look deeeevine. Realllly deeevine.”

  “Hopefully Manik Deb will recognize you,” Moon said, looking slightly concerned.

  Moon was ready and dressed in a beautiful peach Tanchoi sari with a heavy gold border embroidered with peacocks. She hardly wore any makeup, just a little kohl in her eyes and a simple bindi. A fresh garland of jasmine was twisted casually around her bun. I envied how fresh and lovely she looked.

  “I better go see if everything is ready at the school,” she said. “Your Manik Deb will be here in an hour.”

  Then she turned and smacked Anik’s hand, snatching away the powder puff he was applying to his face. “SILLY BOY! What are you doing? You have gone and got powder all over your clothes.” Anik’s face was ghostly. He stared back at her balefully through white lashes. He was wearing his customary brown, now liberally dusted with powder. Earlier that morning the whole house had been entertained by the mother-son tirade over Anik’s attire. He had refused to wear the blue kurta-pajama suit Moon had got him for the wedding. Trying to force even one leg into the pajamas had been too much. She had given up in disgust. “Go away from here!” Moon had yelled, flinging his clothes on the floor, while Anik stood stoutly in his underwear, a small but immovable mountain. Soon he was back in his customary brown shirt and pants and buzzing happily around the house. Moon had given him the cold shoulder all morning.

  “Come here, babu-shuna,” said Spinster Aunt in a sickly endearing voice, “let me at least smooth the powder on your face. Eh maa, chee-chee—look what you have done. Powder all over your clothes. No wonder your ma is angry.”

  Moon sighed. “Somebody please give this child to the garbage man. I don’t want him.”

  “Can I come with you, Ma?” Anik tugged the tail of Moon’s sari.

  “You are NOT coming with me. You are NOT going anywhere dressed like a SILLY BOY! Besides, I am NOT talking to you. So BE QUIET!”

  She stormed off, with Anik mewing behind her like a dusty kitten. I turned back to the mirror to study my fearful appearance. The face that stared back was not one I remotely recognized. I looked white and painted like a geisha. My hair had been stuffed into a bun of mammoth proportions and held together by a hundred pins that poked into my scalp. My grandmother’s heavy red-and-gold tissue sari had been laid out on the bed with a hideous pile of jewelry I was supposed to wear. It was all quite intolerable.

  “My, my,” said Mima, bustling into my room. “Layla-ma, you are looking GOR-GEEE-OUS! Now she looks like a proper bride, don’t you think?” she said, turning to Spinster Aunt. “Shudha, you have not lost your magic touch. You are indeed the true artist in the family.”

  Spinster Aunt gave a toothy smile and batted her eyes demurely. “I am rather pleased, if I may say so myself. The sandalwood designs have come out rather fine.”

  Mima turned to me. “Layla, you must eat something. I have asked Chaya to make you some banana milk. You can drink it without spoi
ling your makeup. Remember, it will be a long time before you eat.”

  “Thanks, Mima,” I said, giving her hand a little squeeze. Better to be sensible, I thought. We don’t want Fainting Fatima passing out on her wedding day.

  * * *

  I sat on my bed weighted down by my two-ton sari and jewelry, feeling like a lonely chandelier in an empty mansion. I had only Spinster Aunt for company. Everybody had already gone to the school. Spinster Aunt regaled me with tedious accounts of all the weddings she had attended, what the brides had worn and all the nice things people had said about her artistry. Many relatives had urged her to become a professional beautician. She could charge a hefty fee and do the makeup of theater actresses, they said. Of course she had demurred, claiming she was nothing but an amateur. Her thin voice was beginning to grate on my nerves.

  Meanwhile, time was ticking on. Something was wrong. I felt a knot in my stomach; my hives were beginning to act up. The whole house was deathly quiet. I looked at the alarm clock by my bed. It was already one o’clock. I was supposed to be at the school at twelve-thirty. Half an hour late. Why had not someone come to fetch me? The guests must have arrived. I was filled with panic. Did Manik get cold feet? Maybe he had had a terrible accident?

  I told Spinster Aunt I needed some quiet time to pray. Being the holy sort, she nodded understandingly and left the room. I closed the door and sat on the edge of my bed, now engulfed by full-blown panic. It was nudging one-fifteen. The school was only a short distance away. I could have easily walked or taken a rickshaw. But I could do nothing dressed the way I was except wait for the car. Besides, the bride was supposed to make a grand entrance. I had been asked to stay put.

  The car arrived at one-fifty. I saw Moon sprinting up the path, her sari hitched high, the garland in her hair coming undone.

  “Layla! Layla!” she yelled. “Quick!”

  “What happened—did he have an accident?”

  “Who? Manik? Don’t be an idiot. Quick, hurry up. We are running horribly late.”