The boarding school at Nainital did not have a long break for summer. It was only a couple of weeks in early June; the longer break was reserved for the bitter winter months of January and February. Ronojoy and Sujoy had expected to be back in Delhi for the break, so they were a bit surprised when Mala informed them that they would instead be going up to their hill home in Mukteshwar. She had come to pick them up from the school. Before meeting them, she went across to her friend Tara who was the vice principal there.
Tara hugged her warmly and asked, ‘How are you holding up, Mala? You look so thin. I was hoping you would come and spend a few days at my cottage here. Every time I tried you, though, your phone was switched off. Anyway.’
Mala smiled, ‘Yes, I keep it off most of the time. Too many calls from former colleagues to offer condolences. I got tired of them. How are the boys doing, Tara?’
Tara hesitated.
‘They are okay, Mala. I remember you asking me to keep an eye on Ronojoy. I did instruct his class teacher and the hostel warden to give me regular updates and so far, he seems fine. Yes, he broods but that is hardly unexpected. I don’t know how he was earlier, but he comes across as a very shy, reticent kind of boy. Not one for team activities. But he is so caring and protective about young Sujoy; he won’t let his brother out of his sight outside of class hours. It is so sweet to see them always hanging out together.’
Tara paused. Clearly there was something else.
‘I don’t mean to alarm you, Mala, but it is Sujoy who may have a bit of a problem. He is too young now for us to form an opinion but there are signs that he may be somewhat more difficult. He has gotten into a couple of fights, walked out of class a few times. Just generally restless, I would say. Maybe some time with you will do him good.’
Mala took this in.
‘I am terribly sorry, Tara. What else can I say? I will talk to him, of course. Please bear with him for a while, won’t you?’
‘Mala. Don’t be ridiculous. I wasn’t complaining about him. I just thought it is my duty to give you my honest impression. It is such a difficult time for them, everyone here recognizes that.’
The boys had arrived. Mala thanked Tara profusely and drove off with the two of them.
It was an awkward welcome for them to the Mukteshwar house. Mohan Chacha had still not come to terms with Subir’s suicide and couldn’t even look the boys in the eye. Often, while answering Sujoy’s questions, he would look away and wipe his face with the piece of cloth that hung around his neck.
‘Madam, I just cannot bear to think Saheb is gone. And that these two little boys will have to grow up without him. It is unimaginable,’ he confided to Mala.
Ronojoy barely uttered a word the day he arrived. He moved around the house silently. At places, he would pause and stare, as if he remembered things from their previous visit. Mala’s eyes followed him everywhere. He walked up to the attic and when he returned after a few moments, Mala asked:
‘Would you like to sleep there at night?’
Ronojoy shook his head.
Later in the day, Sujoy walked up to her.
‘Ma, why didn’t we go home?’
‘This is your home too, Chhotku, is it not?’
‘No. Our home in Delhi. Who is there now, Reba Di?’
Mala had to tell them the truth. ‘That house is no longer ours. It’s gone. This is our home now.’
Sujoy looked confused. ‘Gone? Where?’
‘I sold it to someone else, Chhotku. I didn’t want to live there anymore. Of course, Dadu Dida’s house is always there when we want to go to Delhi.’
Ronojoy stood nearby and heard this out. He didn’t say a word, just stared at Mala with large, accusing eyes.
The first night, Mala got both boys to sleep in her bedroom. She slept in the middle of the bed, with the two of them on either side. When Sujoy had drifted off to sleep, Mala turned and put an arm around Ronojoy.
‘Bochka, you still feel very sad, don’t you?’
Ronojoy lay stiffly on one side, his face turned away from his mother. He didn’t respond. She hugged him for a while, burying her face in his hair. Then she rose, pulled the quilts over their legs and walked away. Ronojoy heard the bedroom door close.
In moments, the sound of piano wafted in. Ma was playing. He lay on the bed listening to the music for a long time, till sleep overcame him.
It was a strange time. Nearly three months had passed since Subir’s death, but the atmosphere in the hill house was very much like it had been in Maharani Bagh, in the days following the incident. Mala didn’t appear as stricken with grief but the days were filled with the same uneasy silences. Ronojoy and Sujoy played board games listlessly, as if their heart was not in it. Mala would sometimes make an effort to discuss how things were at their new school but their responses were perfunctory. She remembered Tara’s words and tried to draw Sujoy out about what was bothering him, but with limited success.
Only once, he said, ‘I hate hostel. Why can’t we go back home?’
To which she had no answer. Sujoy obviously missed her and equated their Delhi home to being close to Mala. There were no outbursts though except the incident with the cedar trees.
One day, Mohan had come running to her and reported that there was a big quarrel between the boys. This was most unusual; the brothers hardly ever fought over anything. Mala had rushed up to the garden to find Sujoy sitting red-faced, holding back tears.
Ronojoy stood glaring at him. Seeing Mala, he said, ‘Look at what Chhotku did. We had planted these two cedar saplings together, on our last visit. Baba had said that they grow very slowly and would only become tall trees when we were much older working in offices and when Baba’s hair was all white. And Sujoy just uprooted them and tore them to bits.’ He pointed to the shredded saplings that lay on the ground.
‘Why did you do that, Chhotku?’
Sujoy remained silent.
It was Ronojoy who answered for him, ‘He said he did it because Baba’s hair will never become white now.’
It sent a shiver down Mala’s spine.
Sometimes, the two boys would sit on the lawn outside, talking about something but would go quiet the moment she walked up. This hurt her enormously but she didn’t say anything to them.
The two weeks passed by. The evening before their departure, the boys sat packing their bags. Mala was in the kitchen baking a cake for them to carry back to school. Ronojoy asked Sujoy to continue packing and joined Mala there.
He asked in a low voice, ‘Ma, did Baba kill himself because he was upset with you?’
This wasn’t the first time Ronojoy had broached the subject, but never before had he put it quite this way.
‘Why do you say that, Bochku?’
‘You and Baba had stopped speaking to each other, like before. Earlier, you would laugh and talk and go out. But later, all that stopped. Why?’
‘Sometimes, these things happen. People are happy together, then they are not. I am not sure if it was the reason for what happened to Baba. Bochka, you have to stop thinking about it. Nothing will bring him back, you know that. But you and I and Sujoy have to go on living, no?’
With that, Mala had hurried out of the kitchen, covering her mouth with her hand.
Ronojoy and Sujoy returned to their boarding school a few days later. They were to return to Mukteshwar only one more time, around Christmas that year. Shortly after their arrival, it snowed and they descended to Delhi to spend the rest of their winter vacation at Dida’s place.
By the following summer, Mala had moved to the Ashram in Rishikesh. That summer vacation was about the last stretch of time that Mala spent alone with her sons. It only deepened her conviction that they would never be a unit again. Their bond had been ruptured.
What hurt most was her older son’s accusing silence.