The Sari Cupboard

‘I would like to talk to Mira on her own,’ says Anjali solemnly.

Priya doesn’t argue; she just stands up and walks out of the bedroom.

Anjali places her hand on my good wrist as she sits down next to me on the bed.

‘Poor Uma,’ she sighs. ‘What a shock it must have been to see your pretty face like this. It was supposed to be such a relaxing holiday for you two girls. She notices the brown paper package on my bed. ‘What’s this?’ she asks.

‘Will you open it for me?’ I ask.

She carefully peels off the tape and unravels Nili’s beautiful quilt. I get up so that she can lay it out on Priya’s bed and we both admire it. The colours are soft and subtle and the stitching is so detailed. The combination reminds me a bit of Nili!

‘A present from Nili?’ asks Anjali.

‘No, I bought it.’ I tell her, walking over to my bag and taking out the money.

‘I can’t take this,’ she says, pushing it back towards me.

‘It’s for Nili’s workshop,’ I say firmly.

Anjali pauses for a moment and smooths her hands over the beautiful sewing. Then she turns over the end of my new quilt and compares it to Priya’s.

‘Priya’s was the first one Nili ever made. She was only ten years old!’ Anjali smiles as she traces her fingers over the stitches. ‘Look how her work has advanced since then! Such talent! It makes me really happy that you appreciate the work that’s gone into it. Come and rest,’ she says, patting the place on Nili’s sari quilt beside her. ‘You want to know why the letters stopped?’ She almost whispers it.

I nod. Despite nearly killing myself I still want to know the truth; otherwise it will just keep eating away at me.

Anjali stands back and walks over to the wardrobe – she gently lifts my sari out and comes back to the bed. Then she does the strangest thing. She sits next to me and throws it over us so that the long piece of silk unravels.

‘It seems like ever since you arrived you’ve been drawn to all the pieces of the past that have lain hidden for so long. Maybe, like Janu says, all this was fate – you coming back here and blowing away the cobwebs. Out of all the saris you could have chosen . . . you had to pick an old one, like the ones that used to live in that cabinet over there.’ Anjali points to Priya’s trophy cupboard. Then she takes the little piece of carving Janu found for me out of her pocket and hands it back. I should have realized that this is the sari cupboard that I have been searching the rooms of the old house for. And it was here in front of me all the time.

‘My Uncle Shudi, your Grandad’s brother, made it, and it was once the most beautiful piece of furniture I have ever seen.’ Anjali is quiet again for a moment, remembering. ‘Your mum said something lovely just now, and maybe it’s true – you and Janu finding that missing piece could be a message from Boro-Dida – Old Grandmother – to all of us . . .’

‘I don’t understand,’ I say, but my spine tingles with the memory of the frail old woman handing me the key.

‘I know, and I’m sorry.’ She strokes my hair, just like she did Priya’s when she was ill.