Ronojoy and Sujoy lived with their parents, Subir and Mala, in a house with a large lawn, in a leafy colony called Maharani Bagh in the south-eastern corner of New Delhi. Ronojoy’s grandfather, Ronobir Chatterjee, had been a prominent Delhi lawyer. He owned two houses – a small bungalow in Greater Kailash, Part 1, and the one in Maharani Bagh. After his untimely demise, his two sons Subir and Apurva inherited one each. In accordance with their preferences, the Greater Kailash bungalow went to Apu and the Maharani Bagh house to Subir. The unspoken arrangement was that Shakuntala, their mother, would share her time between the two houses but rapidly advancing dementia had forced them to shift her to a managed care facility in Vasant Kunj. On most days, she couldn’t even recognize her sons.
Mala taught Modern Indian History at Delhi University. Growing up, she had shown considerable talent in painting and music. Her mother had been a bit disappointed when she chose to study History at St Stephen’s college, passing up an opportunity to attend the country’s best art school in Baroda. She continued to play the piano though, which was some consolation.
Subir was an architect, albeit not a very ambitious one. He was good at what he did and projects came by without his having to seek them out. What he liked most was the idea of not having to report to an office every day. In any case, they were very well off; Ronobir Chatterjee had left a substantial estate behind for both his sons. Subir’s real love was of literature, a passion he shared with his wife. In fact, he nursed a dream of becoming a novelist but hadn’t made much headway with it. Occasionally, he would review a book for a magazine whose editor was an old acquaintance, but his first tentative shot at a collection of short stories hadn’t been received with enthusiasm by publishers.
Ronojoy and Sujoy attended the Modern Public School on Barakhamba Road. Ronojoy was in sixth grade and Sujoy had just joined the first. Both brothers would leave for school at 8:15 every morning on weekdays. Reba Di, their housekeeper, would get them ready before the yellow school bus arrived at their gate. The same bus would get them back home after school, around four in the afternoon. Mala would usually spend a few hours in the University Library preparing for the next day’s lectures and be back home only around five, but Subir’s routine was erratic. He slept at odd hours and would sometimes be out in the afternoons visiting a museum or library. Reba Di would always be home though when the boys returned, more often than not dozing in her small room at the back of the house. She would then have to be woken up by Ronojoy for their afternoon snack – usually cheese toasties or Maggi noodles and a glass of Horlicks each.
That day, the 20th of February, was Subir’s fortieth birthday. Ronen Uncle had come by the previous evening to have a drink with him. Ronojoy remembered the birthday parties at home when he was much younger. The most visual memory was of flowers – the whole house would be filled with them. Mala loved flowers and a variety of oriental lilies, carnations, chrysanthemums and tuberoses adorned every room on these special days. Friends and relatives would drop in all through the day; there was cake and wine and music and even dancing, late at night after he had been packed off to sleep.
It had all stopped around the time Sujoy was born. The parties stopped, the holidays stopped and the sound of laughter vanished from their house. Ma and Baba never dressed up to go out together, as they used to. They hardly spoke to each other any longer.
Ronojoy and Sujoy had both prepared birthday cards for Baba, though. He hugged and kissed both the boys before putting them on the school bus. They waved at him from the bus window and when the bus turned the corner of their lane, Ronojoy looked back and saw him still there at the gate, staring at the bus. He wore a green khadi kurta and white pajamas. It was his birthday but he looked sad. That image would always be frozen in Ronojoy’s mind.
On the bus on his way back from school, Ronojoy felt restless. He wanted to get home and run to where Baba would be sitting, with a book in hand. When they got off the bus and entered the house, they saw Hulo – the fat house cat, crossing the lawn with a bird in his mouth. It was a pigeon. Sujoy ran up to him and gave him a whack. Hulo dropped the bird and slunk away but sat watching it from a distance. Sujoy picked the bird up to see if it was dead.
Ronojoy called out, ‘Baba, come and see what Hulo did,’ and walked into the house.
Subir wasn’t where he usually sat – the cream-coloured divan by the book cabinet – when he was home in the afternoons. Ronojoy ran upstairs to his bedroom on the terrace to fetch him. The door was shut; he could see that from the stairs. He called Baba again and pushed the door open. Ronojoy didn’t see his father on the bed but noticed an upturned chair in the middle of the room. His first sense was a strange smell – the one that wafted out when he walked past the servants’ toilet downstairs – of stale urine. He was confused. Then his head tilted up a bit to take in the rest of the room. That is when Ronojoy saw the feet – his father’s naked feet dangling mid-air. Baba was hanging from the ceiling, his head at an odd angle. Despite the shock, fear and horror that ran through his little frame, Ronojoy knew instantly that Baba was dead. Almost in a trance – a moment he would revisit in his head a million times over the years – he walked slowly across the room and reached out to feel Baba’s toes. They were cold to the touch.
Ronojoy tried to call out for Reba Di but no sound came out of his mouth. He ran down the stairs, noticing from the corner of his eye that Sujoy was still sitting with the dead bird and turned towards Reba Di’s room. The door was ajar, he pushed it open. Reba Di sat up with a start: ‘Who is it? Oh, you...’ but then she saw his face and knew something was terribly wrong. Ronojoy’s eyes were wide with terror, he was heaving like an asthmatic. He didn’t utter a word, just pointed a shaky finger towards the room upstairs. Reba Di held him with both hands and yelled, ‘What’s happened, tell me?’ Ronojoy turned and ran back into the house, dragging Reba Di with him. They ran up the stairs. On entering the room, she uttered a loud shriek, ‘Dada Babu, oh my god! Dada Babu!’ and collapsed on the floor, clutching Ronojoy. Sujoy had heard the commotion and was coming up the stairs now. Reba Di sat wailing on the floor; she put a hand out when she saw Sujoy, as if to stop his advance. Sujoy had almost reached the landing when Ronojoy stood up, disentangling himself from Reba Di’s arms. He stood in front of Sujoy and shook his head.
‘What happened, Dada? Where is Baba?’ Sujoy asked.
Ronojoy didn’t say anything, just took Sujoy’s hand and guided him down the stairs.
Reba Di’s loud cries had reached the neighbours. From the porch, Ronojoy could see Bose Dadu running towards their gate. He paused to ask Ronojoy what had happened but failing to elicit any response, climbed the stairs in the direction of the wails. The two brothers, huddled at the bottom of the stairs, heard Bose Dadu’s loud exclamations. Sujoy stared at Ronojoy, who was now shaking uncontrollably. A muffled, low moan kept coming out of him, like a wounded animal. Sujoy was perplexed; he kept repeating, ‘What happened, Dada?’ and sobbed loudly.
Meanwhile, Bose Dadu had gathered his wits enough to be able to put through a phone call to Mala’s college. It took her several minutes to come to the line: ‘Mala? Come immediately, wherever you are. A terrible thing has happened… Subir…you come.’ He couldn’t say any more. The neighbourhood security guard had also arrived at the scene. Bose Dadu walked up to him and said, ‘There’s been an accident, someone has died. We need to call the police immediately.’ The guard ran off. The nearest police chowki was less than a kilometre away.
Bose Dadu tried to get Ronojoy to come away with him, but he wouldn’t budge from where he sat. In a few minutes Mala stormed into the house, wild-eyed and distraught. She must have had an inkling of what had happened; Subir’s name had been mentioned on the phone. Sujoy ran to her and clung to her legs. Mala mumbled, ‘Baba, wait a bit,’ and extricated herself from his clasp. Bose Dadu looked at Mala and turned his gaze upward – towards the terrace. He held Sujoy back as their mother ran up the stairs.
At the door, she saw the lifeless, dangling body of her husband and turned to stone. With her back to the wooden door, she slid – almost in slow motion – to the floor. One hand covered her mouth as she whispered, ‘What have I done...what have I done?’
The evening was a blur. First an ambulance arrived, then the police. More neighbours. Ronen Uncle. Ronojoy’s Dida – Mala’s mother – came and took charge of the boys. Sujoy had been told that Baba had had an accident, he had to be taken away.
He kept bombarding Dida with questions, ‘What accident? Where is he? Can I see him? Why aren’t you letting me go upstairs? Why is Ma crying?’
Mala returned after speaking briefly to the police and the medical staff. In a rasping, broken voice she said, ‘Ma, they will move him now. You will have to take Bochka and Chhotku with you. I will come later, once everything is done here. Ronen Da is here, he will drop me.’
Dida reached out and stroked Mala’s arm. She lifted her hand to Mala’s face but she turned away. ‘Ma, please go now.’
‘Okay, I will leave with the boys. Has Apurva been informed?’
‘I will ask Ronen Da to call him.’
Then, suddenly, almost as if having remembered something, she turned towards Ronojoy. With a swift movement, she drew him close and buried his face in her neck. They broke down, mother and son. Clinging to each other like drowning swimmers, they wept. Their bodies jerked and heaved. Mala was whispering something but it was inaudible.
A cold February night gathered outside. The night of Ronojoy’s father’s fortieth birthday.