It was the first day of summer holidays. Sujoy was in his second year at kindergarten and would be taking the entrance examination for the first grade in a few months. Ronojoy was in the fifth.
They were all home on a hot May evening. Mala was in the garden, reading essays by her students. Subir sat at the dining table poring over a crossword puzzle.
The boys had been playing Ludo, when Ronojoy looked up to Mala and asked, ‘Ma, why don’t we go on holidays any longer?’
Mala sat quietly, without answering.
‘Everyone in school is going for a vacation. Shantanu is going to Shimla. Viraj is going to London to visit his aunt and cousins. We never go anywhere.’
Subir could overhear the conversation. He had put the puzzle down and removed his glasses.
Now Ronojoy approached him: ‘Baba, can we go visit Apu Kaka in America?’
‘I want to go to America, let’s go to America, can we please go to America?’ Sujoy chimed in loudly, pronouncing the word America as if it were some mythical world.
Subir looked up, ‘No. That’s not possible.’
‘Why, why?’ Sujoy asked insistently.
What would have struck a casual onlooker as perfectly ordinary family banter changed course suddenly.
Subir had flared up, ‘You want to visit your Apu Kaka? You do? You want to go? Go ask your mother why we cannot go. Go!’
Sujoy and Ronojoy were stunned. Baba had never spoken to them in that tone. Ever.
Mala walked quietly into the room and stroked Sujoy’s head. His eyes had welled up.
‘They are children, what have they done?’ she said, without looking at Baba.
Subir sat there, his head hung.
Mala took the boys upstairs to the terrace.
After dinner that day, when Ronojoy and Sujoy were lying down, Subir came to their room and sat down on the bed.
He stroked Sujoy’s hand and said, ‘Come, we will go on a holiday, okay? Not to America, but to Mukteshwar. The mountains will be nice and cool now.’
Ronojoy sat up, ‘Really, Baba? Promise?’
‘Promise.’
‘Baba, Dada says there are tigers in Mukteshwar; he has seen them. Is that true?’ Sujoy asked, his face shining with excitement.
Subir had a hint of a smile on his face: ‘Your dada is a very naughty boy. Yes, there are leopards there but he has never seen one. Neither have I.’
‘Will we leave tomorrow, Baba? Is Ma coming with us?’ Ronojoy asked.
Subir stood up and switched off the lights.
In the darkness, they heard his soft voice, ‘Ma won’t come. She has work. I will take you. Now go to sleep.’
The house in Mukteshwar had been built by Subir’s father. It was not uncommon, in those days, for affluent Delhi families to have a summer getaway. Theirs was a stone house with a faded red tin roof, built on a flat parcel of land with a lawn in front and a terraced garden at the back. Where the lawn ended, the land fell off in a slope with flat tracts of farm land. This had been planted with fruit trees: plum, apricot, pear and peach. On their lawn stood a gorgeous mulberry tree.
On clear days, one could sit under the tree and see the entire Himalayan range, extending from the snow peak of Trishul on the left to the Panchachuli on the right. On a previous visit, many years back, when Ronojoy was around Sujoy’s age now, Subir had pointed out each of the peaks and made him memorize the names. Ronojoy had been mesmerized by the sight. The towering white peaks sweeping across the blue Himalayan sky had stirred something even in the child’s heart.
As Ronojoy and Sujoy climbed up the stone steps of the house, out of breath, and stood on the lawn, Ronojoy felt a bit disoriented. Partly because they had fallen asleep in the car and had been woken up by Subir but mainly on account of the fact that he couldn’t see any of the mountain peaks –
the most abiding visual memory Ronojoy had from his previous visit.
As Subir turned from the door, having unlocked it to let Mohan Da carry their suitcases inside, Ronojoy called out, ‘Baba, where are the mountains?’
Subir smiled, ‘The last time we came here, during the Durga Puja holidays, it was October. That is when the clouds clear up and you can see the peaks. In summer, they are hidden away behind clouds and haze. You will be lucky to see the peaks at all during your stay this time.’
Sujoy was listening intently. He now said, ‘It is like Dada’s school play, no Baba? First there was a curtain and behind that Dada and his friends were waiting and then suddenly you could see them.’
‘Yes. Sometimes you know things are there, but just cannot see them,’ Subir said distractedly.
Ronojoy chided Sujoy, ‘Keep quiet, silly.’
But Sujoy wouldn’t be discouraged: ‘And where do the tigers live, Baba? In that jungle?’ he asked, pointing to a dense cluster of oak trees in the distance.
‘Maybe’, Subir replied, ‘Maybe.’
Mohan walked out carrying glasses of water for them. Subir turned to Sujoy and said, ‘Chhotku, this is Mohan Chacha. Say hello. He looks after this house when we are not here. And he has seen many leopards.’
Sujoy’s eyes turned wide, ‘Really? You have seen leopards? Where? Can you show me?’ he asked in Bengali. Mohan followed the language, having been with the family for many years now, but he didn’t speak it. With a big grin, he said ‘Yes, Baba’ in Hindi.
It was Ronojoy’s turn now, though he tried to hide his excitement behind a cool grown-up detachment, ‘Can you take me to the jungle where you last spotted them?’
Mohan Da smiled and turned to Subir, who said, ‘You go inside now, else these boys will chew your brains over this. I need some tea.’
Ronojoy was pointing out the location of the invisible peaks to his brother: ‘There’s one there, there, there and there.’
‘How many mountains?’
‘I don’t know. Many. But very huge, very tall,’ Ronojoy gestured with outstretched arms to convey their size.
Subir looked on. He felt glad for having brought them. Mohan Da had returned with the tea, ‘Saab, Madam didn’t come?’
‘No, Mohan Da.’
Mohan Da looked at Subir’s face just for a second and dropped his gaze. He was a man of the world and sensed something was amiss. But it was not his station to press any further.
Through the afternoon, Ronojoy and Sujoy stomped around the house. Up and down the wooden staircase which creaked under their little feet. Ronojoy led with a proprietorial air, having been there before. They decided they would sleep in the attic bedroom and informed Subir of their decision.
‘Very well,’ Subir said.
‘But Baba, will you come up to our room if we feel scared at night?’ Sujoy asked.
‘There’s nothing to be scared of here, Chhotku. There are no ghosts in the hills.’
‘Why, Baba?’
‘It’s too cold for ghosts.’
This seemed to reassure Sujoy. Ronojoy giggled in a corner.
When night fell, Subir took them up to the attic and tucked them in under their quilts. The first evening was always a bit tricky, with the sudden change in temperature.
He said, ‘Tonight, I will keep the staircase light on, so that your room is not fully dark, okay? I am right downstairs and will come and check on you later. Now, go to sleep. It’s been a long day.’
‘Can we phone Ma tomorrow?’ Sujoy asked as Subir turned to leave.
‘Yes, we will call her in the morning, all right?’
‘Good night, Baba. What fun to be here.’
‘It is even better than America!’ Sujoy declared.
Later that night, maybe much later, Ronojoy’s eyes drifted open for a while. He saw with some surprise his father seated at the foot of their bed. The light from the stairs fell on Baba; he looked a bit dishevelled. He was staring intently at Sujoy’s face. Ronojoy watched him through half open eyes, Subir hadn’t noticed that he was being watched. He sat for some time, then reached out and swept Chhotku’s hair away from his face. Ronojoy felt something in his chest; perhaps a flash of jealousy at his younger brother being singled out for a gesture of affection. There was something else, Baba seemed very sad.
He turned slowly and fell asleep again.
In the morning, he had a vague recollection of having a conversation with Baba but couldn’t be sure. Perhaps it had all been a dream.
The boys were up early. Sujoy got out of bed first and peered through the square glass panes of the attic window. Through the mist he could see the fruit trees below and the green hills ahead but still no snow peaks.
‘Dada, I dreamt of Mohan Chacha, he was walking with a tiger in the forest.’
‘You and your tigers,’ Ronojoy said dismissively, ‘go see if Baba is up, then we can all go for a walk.’
Sujoy ran out of the door shouting, ‘Baba, Baba.’
Subir was in the kitchen making himself a cup of tea.
‘You are up early, Chhotku. Good, go brush your teeth. We’ll go for a morning walk in the forest.’
Subir, Ronojoy and Sujoy walked out of the house, onto the main road, turning after a while onto a narrower mud path that led to a patch of forest.
‘Listen, now I will tell you the names of the trees in this forest. You must try to recognize these trees and remember them, okay?’
‘Okay Baba,’ both boys chirped.
‘So, this is the tree that you will see most often here. It is an oak tree – a good tree.’
‘Why is it a good tree, Baba?’
‘Because it helps retain water in the soil, which is very important in the hills.’
‘And which is a bad tree, Baba?’
‘No tree is really bad but that tree over there is not as good as the oak. That is a pine tree, or chir, as they call it here. It dries the soil and doesn’t let too many other trees grow around it. Wherever you see lots of pine trees, there is the danger of a forest fire in summer.’
‘Have you seen a forest fire, Baba?’ Ronojoy asked.
‘Hmm, I have. It is very frightening. Once it picks up, it is very difficult to control.’
They had entered a fairly dense thicket when the whole air erupted with a cackling sound – almost as if a lot of people were laughing aloud together. Sujoy looked alarmed.
‘What is that?’ he cried.
‘Those are very beautiful birds. This is their call. You will see them soon, they must be around… there, do you see?’ he pointed to three birds sitting on a branch. They were indeed beautiful – brown with a regal tuft of white running over the crest of their heads.
‘They look like Alexander the Great, from our history book picture, Baba!’ Ronojoy exclaimed.
Subir smiled, having identified the imagery, ‘Quite so, quite so. Alexander’s helmet, I see what you mean. Anyway, this is the white crested laughing thrush. Just remember the laughing thrush, that’s enough.’
The boys looked this way and that, up and down. It was a different world altogether. Subir saw the look of wonderment in their eyes and smiled. He hoped this was a courtship that would instil a lifelong romance with the mountains in them.
The Himalayas had always held a great fascination for Subir. Growing up, they would come every year, for a full month, sometimes longer. The entire family, with cooks, maids and drivers, often with other aunts, uncles and cousins. It was such fun, he and Apu cried every time they had to return to Delhi once the holidays were over. Later, as a young man, Subir would often come up alone. He found it therapeutic.
The long hill walks helped clarify many things in his head. In a way he couldn’t explain, it settled him; though he also remembered how, on one of his visits, he was sitting on a grass verge staring at the peaks when an old man whom he often met on his walks, sauntered by. ‘Beautiful, aren’t they? But don’t stare too long, they will make you sad,’ the villager had warned, with a smile.
Mohan Chacha had prepared hot paranthas and omelettes for breakfast. On the way back, Sujoy plucked fresh plums from the house trees. He couldn’t contain his excitement at the idea of eating fruit straight from the tree. Subir told him it was the only way mountain people knew how to do it. Once they had eaten, Subir dialled Mala’s number and handed Ronojoy the phone.
‘Hi Ma, where are you? It is awesome here. We went for a walk today and we saw oak trees and pine trees and …’ he paused to recollect the bird’s name, ‘and the bird which laughs. Oh, you know it, Ma? Listen Ma, you come here as well, no. Please, please, please?’
Mala’s reply evidently did not please Ronojoy; he made a face and passed the phone to Sujoy.
‘Ma, Ma, Mohan Chacha says he will take us to the forest where the leopard lives. What fun, no? Yes, I am wearing a sweater. I also wore my blue cap in the morning. And now I am having a red plum. Okay bye.’ He handed the phone back to Subir, who stared at it and then disconnected the call.
After breakfast, Subir was sitting with a cup of coffee under the mulberry tree, when he heard a loud voice, ‘Hello, Subir, so it really is you! I saw your car parked up there and was wondering.’
He turned to see the beaming face of Doctor Negi. Doctor Negi, their closest neighbour, was a retired army doctor who now resided in a quaint old cottage called The Magnolia on the plot of land adjacent to their estate.
‘Are Mala and little Ronojoy here as well?’
‘Oh, hello Doctor Saab,’ Subir called out. ‘It’s good to see you again. Won’t you join me for a cup of coffee?’
‘Not now, Subir, thanks. Just one cup in the morning – creature of habit, you see, heh heh. Oh, there he is, is that really Ronojoy? My word, how they shoot up, these little ones! How long back was it that I last saw the fellow?’
‘Well, nearly seven years now, Doctor Negi. Ronojoy would have been around five then, he is twelve now.’
‘Twelve, do you say?’ Doctor Negi exclaimed, ‘Gosh, time is moving too fast, at this rate we’ll be dead very soon, heh heh,’ and then he looked up and spotted Sujoy who had walked out of the house.
‘And who is this young man here?’ He peered at Sujoy in mock surprise, ‘this must be the younger prince whom I have never even met! Hello beta, what’s your name?’
‘Sujoy.’
‘Ah, Sujoy. From Subir + Ronojoy. Heh heh heh. Nice, nice.’
Then he turned to Subir, ‘You know, Subir, whom he resembles though, right? Apu! Isn’t he just the spitting image of your brother! Talk about genetics, right, heh hehheh, and where is he now, that young dasher? Haven’t seen him here in a while.’
Subir froze, as if he had seen a ghost. Doctor Negi continued speaking to the boys, but the words now seemed to drift across to him from a great distance. There was a kind of buzzing in Subir’s ears, everything swam around him. He reached out to feel the low stone wall bordering the lawn and sat down with a thud.
Doctor Negi turned, ‘What happened, Subir? All okay? You look very pale suddenly.’
‘What happened, Baba?’ Ronojoy ran up to him.
‘Nothing,’ Subir said absentmindedly, ‘Just had a bit of a turn, it will pass.’
‘Maybe the sun. Don’t sit out too much in the sun, Subir. It’s too sharp here, goes to your head,’ Doctor Negi said. ‘Okay, I will be off then. Good to see you all again. Come by for a drink sometime, Subir, okay? Bye boys. Bye.’
He walked away. But the damage was done.
The mood of the trip changed after that. Subir’s fleeting sense of enjoyment with the boys dissipated as quickly as it had drifted in. He tried to keep up an appearance for a couple of days, making a pretence of reading and leaving Mohan Da with the task of keeping the boys engaged; but Subir couldn’t focus, he would just sit by the window and gaze into the distance. The book remained stuck on the same page.
Yes, didn’t Subir see the resemblance every day – his brother’s face in his younger son – who could miss it? It was a constant reminder of the truth he battled every waking hour. Subir told himself, repeatedly, that Sujoy was not to blame and the boys needed his love; he tried his best to shield them from the storms that raged in his head but it wore him down, bit by bit every day. He knew it was a battle he would lose in the end.
When had things started to go so wrong between Mala and him? Their first few years had been so beautiful and Ronojoy’s birth seemed to have drawn them even closer. Subir prided himself on being a modern husband, staying home to look after the child when Mala resumed her teaching job. It suited him fine – anyway he had little interest in chasing new projects. He had overheard Mala telling her mother how lucky she felt to have a partner like him; such an arrangement would have been unthinkable in her mother’s generation.
Subir started to spend more and more of his days at home, virtually giving up his architectural practice. He spent a lot of time with his growing son but it was his mother that Ronojoy pined for. As the day wore on, his eyes kept darting towards the door through which she would eventually walk in, his face breaking out into the most radiant of smiles at the sight of her.
When Ronojoy became older and started spending his mornings at a play school nearby, Subir’s days turned empty. He tried to write but fell short of the high standards he set for himself. The more he read of the authors he admired, the less confident he felt. A nagging suspicion began to take hold in his head, that the best he could produce was a magazine article of a few hundred words; serious creative writing required a talent he didn’t possess. He would just sit in his chair with a book, sometimes immersed, often lost in his thoughts, and the hours would drift away. When his friends asked how he filled his days, his replies were evasive.
This was around the time Subir started experiencing a dip. Nothing alarming, just a nagging sense of feeling low through the day. There was hardly any physical activity, yet he felt tired. He slept more; waking up well after Mala and Ronojoy had left for the day and then drifting off again after lunch. Almost unconsciously, he started avoiding company. Mala would often want to ask people over but on some pretext or another, Subir stalled these plans. This went on for some time. Once Mala had to attend a college function in the evening and asked Subir if it was okay if he gave Ronojoy dinner and put him to bed. ‘Is there anyone else to do it?’ had been his terse reply.
The next morning Mala had, over breakfast, suggested that Subir start going out of the house again.
She proposed that she would rearrange the roster in college to be able to bring Ronojoy back home from play school. It had been over three years since Subir had worked on his practice, maybe it was time for him to get back.
Subir was disinclined. But it was his choice of words that had stung Mala: ‘You may think that the world revolves around your own convenience, but it’s not that simple to switch off and on again.’
An entirely unprovoked and unwarranted barb.
Mala hadn’t responded; her nature was not confrontational.
A certain reserve crept in between them. It wasn’t all bad – in the evening they still sat and discussed books they were reading. Mala had her glass of beer or a Campari and Subir his gin and things were amicable enough. They stopped being physically intimate though. The dip that Subir experienced had robbed him of desire. He responded to Mala’s occasional caress or hug with an almost avuncular gesture. It lay between them like a cold silence.
A light had gone out, they could both feel it. Without any discussion, sleeping arrangements changed at home. Mala now slept with her son in the bedroom downstairs; Subir in the room on the terrace. Looking back, Subir felt that was the point of no return; their marriage, as they had once known it, had changed irrevocably. It was there but as something else.
Days passed. Sometimes they made an effort – a birthday party for Ronojoy, a gathering for their own birthdays or after Durga Puja, a visit to her mother’s place together, even a weekend trip to their hill home, the three of them and Apu – but under the roof of the house they co-habited, their lives were increasingly solitary.
His brother came often, breathing some life into the dull evenings. Ronojoy loved his uncle – Apu brought with him an infectious energy. He bounded around the house, ordering their cook Reba to rustle up chops and fries, berating his brother for forever burying his head in boring books and chiding Mala, artlessly, with, ‘Boudi, how do you live with this old man? Come, we will go out for a film, let Dada rot at home.’ All in jest, but Mala’s laughter in response seemed nervous.
Yet nothing, nothing, had prepared Subir for that evening when Mala said to him, ‘Subir, I am pregnant.’
And then, to the utter bafflement on his face: ‘It is Apu’s.’
These memories came back in a flood, as Subir sat and stared out into the hills. He asked himself whose betrayal it was that hurt him the most. It was a pointless question, he knew that.
The nights were sleepless and after two days, he gave up. Over dinner on the third day, he announced: ‘We’re going back tomorrow.’
‘But we just arrived, Baba. You said we will be here for ten days!’ Ronojoy exclaimed unhappily.
‘Yes, but something has come up, I need to return. Sorry.’
Sujoy began to sniffle, he whined in a teary voice, ‘I don’t want to go back. I want to stay here.’
‘We’ll come back another time, Chhotku,’ Subir said.
He didn’t look at Sujoy as he said this.
Subir knew there was never going to be another time.