The drive back to Delhi was uneventful. Ronojoy had to be careful, he was distracted. He wasn’t feeling too well either, having not eaten at night and hardly slept. For much of the night he had sat propped up in bed staring outside into the dark. The wind had picked up late in the evening and there were flashes of lightning in the distance.
When dawn broke, Ronojoy lay in bed still staring out of the window. Normally, he would be up with the first song of the whistling thrush but today, as he waited for the faint morning glow to light the tips of the silver oak leaves, he felt a sense of foreboding. It was an effort to haul himself up, re-pack his small case and get going.
Mohan Da had come up with his morning tea. He looked worried. ‘Saab, you didn’t eat anything at night. Please have something, it is such a long drive.’
‘No, I don’t feel like it.’
‘A glass of milk, at least?’
‘No, Mohan Da.’
Two hours on a winding hill road snaking down. Mohan Da was right; he shouldn’t have driven out on an empty stomach. A mild nausea kept creeping up in waves, on the turns.
Ronen Uncle lived on the top floor of a two-storeyed house in Friends Colony. He had had a successful career as a lawyer, one that had brought their families together. He had joined Ronojoy’s grandfather’s law firm as an intern and risen to become a junior partner. Though quite a bit older than Ronojoy’s parents, he had always been a close friend of the family, almost an adopted older brother to Ronojoy’s father, Subir. In fact, it was Ronen Uncle who would often step in to mediate in the altercations between Ronojoy’s grandfather and his two sons. Mostly, the disagreements stemmed from the refusal of both boys to follow in their father’s footsteps into the family’s thriving law practice. Apurva wanted to study software engineering, which he saw as a passport to settling in America. Subir had set his heart on becoming a writer, which infuriated his father. Finally, as a compromise, Subir had studied architecture in college, which at least qualified as a professional skill. Their father nursed this grudge in his heart till the day it abruptly failed on him, at the young age of fifty-eight.
Ronen Uncle was seventy-six now, but a very fit old man. He lived alone, Ira Auntie had passed away a few years ago.
Ronojoy didn’t have to ring the bell; Ronen Uncle was pacing up and down the balcony that faced the road. He walked down as soon as he saw Ronojoy’s car approach the gate of the house.
‘Come, come Rono. Is anything the matter? Tell me...’
Ronojoy managed a wan smile, ‘No, Ronen Uncle. Could I please ask for a cup of tea first?’
‘Of course, of course. Jamuna, where are you? Quickly get Dada a cup of tea and some toast – you will have something to eat?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Ronojoy sat down.
‘Please don’t get alarmed, Ronen Uncle. I just wish to piece together Ma’s last few years. That’s it,’ Ronojoy said as Jamuna placed a tea-tray before him.
‘If you say so, Rono. It’s just that I have known you since you were born. I can sense something is wrong, but I won’t press you.’
‘When exactly did you find out about the cancer, Ronen Uncle?’
There was a pause, Ronen Uncle seemed to be remembering. ‘Mala called me one day, about a year back, or maybe it was less. She said, “Ronen Da, I am not well. I need to get my affairs settled and I cannot imagine whom else to ask.” She was very apologetic. I knew immediately something serious had happened; it was very unlike Mala to cause even the slightest inconvenience to anyone, let alone an old man like me. I asked her if she wanted me to come up to her Ashram in Rishikesh. She said that wouldn’t be necessary, as she had an appointment with Doctor Tanmoy Lahiri in Delhi the following week. I asked if it was the well-known oncologist that she referred to. She said yes. I knew then.’
‘So, you met her here. How did she seem?’
Ronen Uncle removed his glasses and sighed heavily. He looked weary.
‘It was difficult to see Mala like that. You see, while I did call her occasionally at the Ashram to check on her, I hadn’t met her in years. Her frailness shocked me. She had become almost skeletal. I think I may even have gasped at her physical appearance. I asked what the doctors were saying. I was struck by her reply. She said, “This body has been the cause of all my torment but its days are now numbered. About time too.” I didn’t know what to say.’
Ronen Uncle’s eyes were moist. He shook his head. Ronojoy took a glass of water across to him, laid a hand on his shoulder. Ronen Uncle patted his hand.
‘Mala had come to say that she wanted me to get someone to draw up a will for her. She wanted me to be the executor of the will. When I pointed out that she should be appointing someone younger, she had smiled and said, “It’s a matter of just a few months, Ronen Da.” I knew then that nothing could be done. The disease had spread.’
‘This must be distressing you, Ronen Uncle, we can continue another day.’
‘No, Rono. There will never be a good time to talk about these things. I am okay.
‘One of the first things I remember telling Mala was that she should inform you and Sujoy. That was the only time I saw her agitated. She said it was out of the question; in fact, she had come to me precisely because she knew she could trust me to be discreet. I knew her relations with Sujoy had been strained for some time but I thought you were closer to her. Anyway, her mind was made up. I know, Rono, how hard it is for you to accept this – to not know till the very end. It was unfair on Mala’s part to keep you in the dark, but who was I to judge? You can hardly disrespect the last wishes of a dying person, can you? I hope you won’t hold it against me, Rono.’
Ronojoy sat silently. Ronen Uncle had turned quiet as well. After a while he said, ‘She gave me the letter on my last visit. When the call from the Ashram came a week later, I called you and Sujoy. I sent an email to your Uncle Apu too; I thought it was my duty to let him know.’
Ronojoy raised his eyebrows, ‘Did Apu Kaka respond to your mail?’
‘Yes, a brief message thanking me for letting him know. Why, haven’t you both spoken since?’
Ronojoy shook his head.
He stood up finally.
‘I think I should go now, Ronen Uncle. Please don’t come down. I don’t know how to thank you, for everything; for all that you did for Ma, over the years. I don’t…’ his voice choked.
Ronen Uncle walked up to Ronojoy and hugged him. He was a slight man, much shorter than Rono, yet in his embrace Ronojoy felt the sensation of a benevolent shawl enveloping him for a brief second. He had always been vulnerable to warmth.
Ronojoy walked out the door and had almost descended the stairs when he heard Ronen Uncle’s voice from inside the room: ‘Rono, wait a second. I forgot completely. I had meant to give you this. An old picture of the three of you in that house. Keep it with you.’
It was an old black and white photograph of Baba and Ma sitting on wicker chairs on the lawn of their house in Maharani Bagh. A small table was set with tea and confectionaries. Ronojoy, around four years old in the picture, sat on a coir mat on the grass near his father’s feet, looking up at the camera. The sliding glass doors of the verandah were open behind them revealing a long dining table inside the house.
That house, as Ronen Uncle had said.