THE PHONE FLASHED a third time. It distracted Pankaj momentarily from his presentation. He disconnected it discreetly and carried on. This presentation was the culmination of an intense and much-debated business proposal of his. The bank had finally approved the digital business platform. This was his moment of triumph, his winning lap – presenting the business plan and projections for the coming years to the senior management and the Board. After the presentation and question–answer session, which went smoothly, he chatted with the senior management team over sandwiches and coffee. He knew the importance of this kind of networking. This was his opportunity to ensure that he personally connected with the board members and they identified him with the business, as its leader. While making conversation with the board members, some of them in India for the first time, and advising them on places to see and eat at, Pankaj wondered why Jyoti di was calling him.
Jyoti di was more Ujla’s mother than her elder sister. Ten years older than her, Jyoti di had practically raised Ujla after they lost both their parents in an accident. Jyoti di was in college at that time. There was no one to turn to, and she had left her degree in commerce mid-way to work in a stockbroker’s office. Later, of course, the insurance money had come through. Jyoti di had finished her degree while continuing to work at the stockbroker’s office.
‘Jyoti di always said to me, you are the one with the blessing of learning. I don’t want to waste money on my mediocrity…’ Ujla had told Pankaj once. ‘She even told Animey jiju that I would always come first, and he should marry her only if he was okay with that.’
Pankaj was surprised. ‘The relationship of a husband and a wife is the primary relationship. Everyone else, however important, must be secondary. I can’t understand why Mr Dey agreed to that.’
‘Perhaps because she came first for him?’ Ujla had said. Those were early days of their marriage, and despite being academically brilliant, Ujla was still impractical.
Pankaj and Ujla had connected through a matrimonial site. They were an almost perfect match. Pankaj wanted an intelligent woman with Indian values, and Ujla, despite her Master’s degree in Biomedical Sciences from the US, was just the right person. The first time they had met at a bar near his office. Ujla had come dressed in a salwar-kameez, her wavy hair tied back. She had sipped at iced water all evening. Later, she had confessed to Pankaj that she had been impressed by his knowledge of business and economy, and the ease with which he reeled off figures that seemed esoteric to her – annual electricity production, value of rice-exports, number of free-range cattle.
Jyoti di never made a secret of her reservations about Pankaj. ‘Marriages are difficult and complex. Don’t be in a hurry, Ujla. I don’t believe in the made-in-heaven stuff. I am the last person to say you should not have practical considerations, but don’t marry just for practical considerations,’ she said to Ujla when Pankaj had come to be introduced.
Pankaj had looked around at the small flat, a typical two-bedroom-hall-kitchen in the suburbs. He understood Jyoti di’s discomfort. As Pankaj’s wife, Ujla would move far above Jyoti di in terms of social strata. He was the youngest vice president in his bank and had bought his own flat in the town. He was going places, he knew that.
Jyoti di continued to hold him at a distance even after their marriage. Things came to a bit of a head when a couple of years after they were married, Pankaj was offered a two-year stint in Singapore. Jyoti di was bitterly opposed to Ujla leaving her doctoral work mid-way to accompany him. ‘Why did you put in so much effort to win gold medals and research grants if you just wanted to trail behind a man? You could have done that without all those years of hard work.’
Pankaj had rationalized the outburst to Ujla. ‘It is just Jyoti di’s own frustration for not being able to study further. She wants to live through you, which is not fair. We have our own life now. We have to plan a family.’
It is true that Ujla had initially objected to moving to Singapore and had suggested that she join Pankaj after a year during which she expected to complete the laboratory tests she was conducting or at least arrive at an advanced enough stage to work on the findings at one of the laboratories in Singapore. But Pankaj had been firm. ‘This is a non-negotiable for me. Long-distance marriages don’t work. I have needs. I want you with me. Your work is not time-bound, you can resume it in two years’ time. This move is crucial for my career.’
Ujla had eventually agreed as Pankaj knew she would. She was always sensible, and also, Pankaj secretly thought, unimaginative, particularly in bed. She was compliant but not enthusiastic. Pankaj had realized this early in their marriage, in fact, the very first time they were intimate on their wedding night. Ujla was running a slight temperature as a result of the late-night wedding ceremony that had been held in an open-air venue. Pankaj had opted for the venue because the marriage hall suggested by Jyoti di was too small to hold his guests. The night had been cold, and the ceremonial fire before which Ujla and he were seated, holding hands decorously, her left palm in his right, wasn’t enough to keep them warm. Later, Pankaj had held her feverish body in his arms and had found her remarkably ignorant even for a virgin. That she was a virgin, he knew before their marriage. He had asked her as much, and had been pleased by the blush that coloured her face and ears. But he had thought that being a science post-graduate, she would at least know the physical mechanics. She didn’t, and Pankaj had had to guide her.
The Singapore stint proved to be very successful. The assignment stretched out to five years, and Pankaj was promoted twice. They eventually returned when Pankaj’s father became too frail to live by himself. In the initial days in Singapore, Ujla had retained her connection with academic research and even managed to do a project or two, but with Advait’s arrival, they had agreed she should focus on him. During the last two years in Singapore, she gave up her research work altogether. Instead, she did a course in early childhood development and devoted herself to Advait. Pankaj joked that she needed a degree even for motherhood.
Upon their return, Ujla found it difficult to resume her research work. The field had advanced in the five years she had been away, and she eventually settled on a new topic. It was good in a way, Pankaj felt. It helped her develop a broader view of the subject. But the research work and temporary teaching assignment at the university, and caring for Advait and Pankaj’s father left Ujla exhausted. At night when Pankaj reached for her, she would be too tired and sleepy to respond.
‘You must slow down, Ujla,’ Pankaj told her one night as he caressed her reluctant body. ‘We can’t let your work come between us. Advait is our priority. Besides, he is going on four. We need to think of another child before it is late.’
His own busy, travel-intensive schedule at work left Pankaj little time to be as hands-on with Advait as he would have liked to. He tried his best to at least spend Sundays with his family, but with each promotion, the pressures at work had increased. Jyoti di had turned out to be a big support. She now worked part-time at the stockbroker’s office where she had remained all these years. She brought Advait home from his playschool and looked after him until evening when Animey picked her up on his way back from work. This arrangement worked well. Spending time with Advait must give Jyoti di emotional fulfilment, Pankaj thought, since she had no children of her own. When he mentioned this to Ujla, she had looked at him in the strange way she had and said, ‘Jyoti di chose not to have children. She wanted to ensure I remained first.’
Jyoti di herself made out as if she was doing this just so Ujla could complete her thesis. ‘You’ve lost time already,’ she said to Ujla. ‘Your work is important. I don’t want you to give it up again.’
Pankaj brushed off the hidden accusation in her words. He didn’t have time to deal with Jyoti di’s frustrations and negativity. The important thing was that Advait looked healthy and settled, and Ujla happier than she had been in Singapore. It had taken a couple of years and effort by her influential research guide for her to get back the permanent position she had resigned to go to Singapore, and her research was progressing well. She had written a couple of papers that had been appreciated in the small scientist-community. She had been invited to present her papers in international conferences. They had discussed her participation.
‘I don’t think this is the right time for you to travel, Ujla.’ He had been candid with her. ‘Advait and my father need you. If both of us travel, things won’t work out. And anyway, you need to focus on your thesis too.’
Lately her research was eating into their evenings. Pankaj had not said anything yet. He had been tied up with the work on the new business proposal, but soon he would need to talk to Ujla about it. It was, of course, Jyoti di’s influence. She often regretted Ujla’s loss of seniority and missed opportunities.
‘You gained an international perspective in Singapore. Why bother about seniority? You know you do this because you like to; we don’t need your salary,’ Pankaj reassured her. ‘You are in a different league from your colleagues.’ He meant it. He had met some of Ujla’s colleagues and had found them boring. They seemed like an insecure bunch, incessantly talking about research, new books, class schedules, their conversation peppered with ‘in’ jokes. They had all seemed uncomfortable around him. He suspected they were conscious of his success and achievements. ‘You can amuse yourself with your weird colleagues when I am travelling. I can’t stand their pretence of intellectual superiority,’ he had said to Ujla.
Pankaj considered his life a success. His career was on a trajectory that would lead him to even bigger roles, perhaps even the biggest. Ujla was everything he wanted in a wife. He appreciated her dedication to the family, the way she was bringing up Advait, her cooking skills, the efficiency with which she managed lab-schedules and open days at school. He was also proud of her achievements. The only point of complain he had was Ujla’s reticence at social events. She would stand around, silent, stiff and awkward. He had spoken to her about it several times. ‘You must at least make an effort, Ujla. You can’t be such an intellectual snob. My position at the bank means we have a certain amount of socializing to do. It goes with the territory.’
‘It’s not a question of intellectual snobbery. They talk about things I know nothing about,’ she answered mildly.
‘Oh, come on. You are a bright girl. If you try, you can find common points.’
‘They talk about the money they’ve made or will make, and things they’ve bought or want to buy. I really don’t know what to say.’ Ujla stepped out of their room to check on Advait. This was another thing Pankaj had to insist upon – that Advait sleep in a separate room so Ujla and he could have privacy. It wasn’t healthy to have a little child in their bedroom all the time. Ujla had to get up several times during the night to go and check on Advait who was an uneasy sleeper. In Pankaj’s view, that was her own fault, for when he was travelling, she allowed Advait to sleep in their bed. ‘He’ll never learn to sleep by himself this way,’ he had warned.
Pankaj accompanied the directors to the limousine hired to take them to the airport and shook hands all round. He returned to his office and asked his secretary to order lunch from the famous Parsi restaurant in Fort for the entire team to celebrate their first success. Then he dialled Jyoti di’s number. ‘Hello, Jyoti di, sorry I was in a very important meeting and could not answer. What’s up?’ he asked in the breezy tone which he always adopted when he wanted to put people at ease.
‘Pankaj, come to Breach Candy hospital. Ujla is hurt.’ Jyoti di’s voice was nasal.
‘Hurt?’
‘There was an accident. You better hurry, she may not be here for long.’ Her voice became thick, and Pankaj realized she was crying.
‘I am leaving now.’ He hung up and stood frozen for a moment. He confessed to himself that he was shaken. Surely it can’t be that bad. Jyoti di exaggerated everything: if the food was on the table for a few minutes, it was stone-cold; if Ujla looked a bit tired, she was not looking after herself – those kinds of things. Ujla must have tripped and fallen. She was a tad clumsy, which he used to find cute early in their marriage. He put on his jacket and asked his secretary to call for the car.
On the way to the hospital, he tried to recall Ujla from this morning. Did they have breakfast together or was she busy getting Advait ready for school? Had he hugged her and brushed her forehead with his mouth as he left for the day? Then he recalled that he had left home very early for a dry run of the board presentation. He had left her sleeping on her left side as usual, in a pair of orange pyjamas – her taste for bright colours in nightwear was something he had not been able to wean her away from. With a rare stubbornness, she continued to buy the most unsuitably coloured night clothes – fuchsia, turquoise, orange. She had brought Advait into their room at some point in the night. He was fast asleep clutching the comforter, also on his left side, just like Ujla, his head resting in the slight depression between her shoulders.
He called Jyoti di. Her phone rang a few times and was not answered. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and thought about the years he had spent with Ujla, a number which could be called almost a decade. He knew her simple, calm ways, her careful attention to detail when it came to her research work or Advait’s schedule or cooking an elaborate meal, and her complete blindness to certain other things like cobwebs in corners, dust on the doors, old dry snacks at the back of the cabinet. Usually very cautious, she could at times be strangely reckless. He remembered her leaning out of the window almost to her waist to catch a glimpse of the moon or allowing Advait to pat and caress a huge dog which was without a leash while they were taking a walk on Marine Drive. But overall, Ujla was a simple woman, predictable and stable, and he could not believe that something as unpredictable as an accident had happened to her.
Pankaj entered the crowded reception area at Breach Candy Hospital and headed to the information desk. Disregarding the people milling around, he gave Ujla’s name and asked where she was. The receptionist tapped into her computer. ‘Do you know the name of the doctor who is treating her?’
‘She … she has been in an accident … this morning…’ Pankaj was surprised at how difficult it was to say these few, simple words.
‘Go to Emergency please. Ground floor, straight ahead, first left.’
He walked down the corridor and called Jyoti di again. She answered, ‘Pankaj, come up to the fifth floor. They have just brought her back from the operation theatre.’ She hung up without giving him time to respond.
There was a nurses’ station in front of the elevators on the fifth floor. The nurse on duty, a young woman with a pronounced south Indian accent, directed Pankaj to the Emergency Medical Services ward in the ICU area. He came up to the wooden doors marked EMS in large red letters and looked around. Jyoti di was crumpled in a plastic chair farther down the corridor, her head in her hands, her plump shoulders heaving.
‘Jyoti di,’ he said, ‘where is Ujla?’
Jyoti di raised her head. ‘Your important meeting is over? Ujla’s life is almost over too. She is in there.’ She pointed to the wooden doors.
Pankaj felt blood throb in his temples. ‘I want to know what happened. Where is Advait? Was he with Ujla?’
‘No, Advait is still at the playschool. I have sent Krishna ji to pick him up.’
Pankaj was confused. ‘Krishna was not driving Ujla?’
‘No, Ujla never takes the car when she goes to Colaba for her music class in the morning. She sends Krishna ji to drop Advait.’
‘Music class? Ujla was taking music lessons?’
‘Every Wednesday and Thursday. Surely you know.’ Jyoti di blew her nose on a bit of soggy tissue. ‘She was always good at singing. Around this time of the year, she tries to practise her vocals more for her performance at the musical evening of her department.’
Ujla learned music and performed before her peers and students? Pankaj did not believe he had ever heard her sing except in the very early days of their marriage. She would sing ghazals about two lovers in a jasmine grove or the incurable malady of love early in the morning. He found it a strange choice of song at daybreak. He considered it appropriate that mornings should begin with the name of God, not unsuitable songs about lovemaking. He remembered mentioning this to Ujla once or twice. He never suspected she was fond of music; she never seemed to enjoy the Western classical, folk and seventies’ music which he played on the excellent stereo system he had bought, or the Hindi-film music that Advait had lately acquired a taste for perhaps from his playgroup.
‘I didn’t know Ujla sang…’ he said.
Jyoti di looked at him. ‘She was always mad about music. She’d sing all the time. Her colleagues joke that kajri and thumri are the undocumented ingredients in her experiments.’ Jyoti di’s eyes brimmed with tears. The door to the ICU swung open. Two doctors in surgical scrubs, with a nurse in tow, stepped out. Jyoti di stood up. ‘Doctor…’ her voice quivered, her throat filled up.
The elder of the two doctors, a man in his late fifties, Pankaj guessed, placed his hand on her shoulder. ‘The operation went better than we thought it would, Mrs Dey. The biggest risk now is infection and septicaemia. You should pray to Him.’ He pointed to the ceiling. ‘We have done everything we can. It is now up to Him. The blood that bunch of youngsters gave this morning should help. It is young and vigorous blood.’
‘Doctor,’ Pankaj said, ‘Ujla’s my wife. What happened? How is she?’
‘She met with a nasty accident. I think it was a speeding truck. Anyway, you can see the details in the report filed with the police. This is a medico-legal case. Her lungs, liver and intestines are all ruptured due to the impact; her spine, ribs, right arm and leg have fractures. She’s lost a lot of blood too. On the plus side, she miraculously escaped any serious head injury which, together with her other injuries, would likely have been fatal. There was a concern that she may not survive the operation. I think Mrs Dey tried to call you. Anyway, she has made it this far, but you need to know that your wife is very ill, dangerously ill, and nothing can be said with any certainty. You need to be prepared for everything.’
Jyoti di stuffed the free end of her saree in her mouth and yet her sobs escaped.
The doctor patted Jyoti di’s shoulder again. ‘Have faith in Him. He can work wonders.’ He walked away briskly.
Pankaj was annoyed. He had more questions to ask. ‘How could they operate on Ujla without my consent? How could they take such a risk?’
‘I gave consent when you didn’t answer the phone. Without the operation we would have lost her…’ Jyoti di’s voice dissolved into tears.
Pankaj wanted to ask who would have been responsible if Ujla hadn’t survived the operation, but he bit back his words. ‘How did she reach here?’
‘Some passers-by saw her lying bleeding on the road. They found her phone and called me, my number is on speed dial on her phone.’ Jyoti di was breathing through her mouth, her nose congested by excessive crying. ‘It was just as well, you wouldn’t have answered your phone. I called some of her students who attend the music class too. They were closer to where the accident happened and brought her here…’
‘Have you seen her?’
‘Yes. She was bleeding all over. I … I was afraid to touch her … but she was conscious. She looked at me. She tried to speak but her teeth were chattering, I couldn’t understand what she was trying … Oh Ujla…’ Jyoti di gasped, crying noisily, small wails escaping her every now and then. Pankaj stood by awkwardly.
The nurse who had accompanied the doctors came up to Jyoti di and put an arm around her holding her steady. ‘Mrs Dey, you must control yourself. You will be of no use if you go to pieces like this. The doctor won’t let you see your sister when she regains consciousness. He has prescribed an injection for you to make you fall asleep. If you cry like this, I will have to give it to you, but if you drink a cup of tea and calm yourself, I will quietly put it away. Do you understand?’ Jyoti di nodded. The nurse turned to Pankaj. ‘Please get her some tea and something to eat from the canteen. It is on the ground floor. She has been crying for hours.’ Pankaj nodded. He felt uncomfortable confronted with Jyoti di’s grief, noisy and jarring, and to him, indecorous. After all, the doctor did not sound despondent. Ujla could heal, recover, come home and tell him why she had Jyoti di’s number on speed dial and not his. He passed the nurses’ station on his way to the elevators. From the tail of his eyes, he saw the nurse who was consoling Jyoti di enter, look at her colleague seated behind the wooden counter, raise her eyebrows, purse her mouth and shake her head in the universal gesture of pity.
The elevator opened with a jerk, and five or six young people in jeans and T-shirts swept past him and made straight to where Jyoti di sat. Pankaj glanced at them. They must be Ujla’s students, perhaps even the ones who had brought her to the hospital and, afterwards, given her their blood. Later, he must thank them and make sure they were not out of pocket. Images of Ujla lying on the roadside, her body broken, bleeding, flitted before his eyes. Had she cried for help, called out his name? Why did she not tell him about the music lessons? It dawned on him that the reason why Ujla had to spend her evenings at the lab was perhaps because she was missing the morning lab for music, that she was not putting extra hours, but making up for missed time. The elevator hummed and he could feel its movement in his body, through the soles of his feet, reaching the tightness in his belly. He took out his mobile and called his office. ‘Vasu, cancel all my engagements for today. And connect me to Graham.’ The elevator stopped and he stepped out. ‘Hello, Graham. Sorry to call up during your lunch. I have a family emergency, my wife has met with an accident.’ He paused to let Graham express his sympathy. ‘Doctors say she is critical…’ He had to clear his throat. ‘I am at the hospital. I don’t think I will be able to lead the project meeting tomorrow, but Rajeev and team are up to speed. In any case this is a preliminary one to brief the second level on plans which you and I have agreed on and the Board’s approved today.’
He listened as Graham said he should focus on his wife and family and not worry about work, that he would babysit the project until Pankaj returned to lead it. Pankaj knew the criticality of time and presence in his industry, he had used it to his advantage on plenty of occasions. ‘Thanks, Graham. I will keep you posted on the situation. I am hoping that she will regain consciousness and there will be answers … I mean, answers to our prayers.’ He was chagrined by his private thoughts seeping into what he said and wound up the conversation quickly.
The canteen was a large space dotted with tables and plastic chairs similar to the ones in the waiting area outside the ICU. There was a family group in one corner; they had dragged a few tables and claimed the corner for themselves. Closer to the counter, there was a lone boy bent over the table, his head buried in his arms. Pankaj walked up to the counter and asked for two cups of tea and some sandwiches. One of the youngsters he had seen on the fifth floor entered the canteen and hurried across to the boy. ‘Bamboo, bro, come up. Suppose you are here and there is some news? What if we are allowed to see Ujla Ma’am or something? Besides you are worrying the fuck out of us.’
The boy addressed as Bamboo raised his head. His eyes were red and his nose was dripping. ‘Man, I can’t bear it. She is so badly hurt, and the doctors say they don’t know. I swear I will do something if she…’ He broke down and sobbed.
‘Mate, we are all praying for her. You pull yourself together. I know how you feel about her, but this is not the time. Let’s go up and help her sister, she is all alone.’
‘I can’t, man, I…’
‘Come on, she might need more blood or something.’ The boy took Bamboo’s arm. He got up slowly, slung his bag across his body and followed his friend to the elevator. The server had to touch Pankaj on the shoulder. ‘Your order is ready, sir.’ Pankaj took the two paper cups filled with tea, finely balanced in a cardboard holder with holes to hold the cups and a convenient handle, and the box of sandwiches. As he waited for the elevator, he thought about Bamboo. He was no more than eighteen or nineteen, clearly one of Ujla’s younger students, and as clearly, with an almighty crush on her. Pankaj was surprised that Ujla, quiet and decorous and distant, could evoke such sentiments in someone.
On the fifth floor, Jyoti di still sat slumped in the chair he had left her in. The gaggle of youngsters stood around her. They were quiet, most of them tapping into their smartphones. Bamboo sat on the floor near Jyoti di’s feet and stared at the ICU door. Pankaj handed a cup to Jyoti di and asked the nearest student, a girl with some of her hair dyed blue and thick kohl all around her eyes, whether she and her friends would like to have tea. The girl looked around at her friends, undecided. Pankaj took a few notes out of his wallet. ‘You guys go on and have tea and something to eat at the canteen. We can’t thank you enough for what you did this morning. You must keep up your strength in case Ujla needs help.’
The group shuffled away, but Bamboo stayed put. He wouldn’t look at Pankaj. He wasn’t hungry, he said, he had had breakfast and was fasting now, besides, his stomach was upset. He remained seated on the floor staring in the direction of the ICU. Pankaj felt a bit sorry for him and also annoyed at his laying a claim over Ujla in this way. He pulled a chair next to Jyoti di.
‘Jyoti di, when did this happen? Who operated on Ujla?’
‘This morning, around eight. I called you as soon as I got the call. Dr Desai did the operation. He is the senior surgeon.’
‘Is he the best here?’
‘Pankaj, do you realize that Ujla was bleeding to death? It was no time to check the doctor’s testimonials.’ Jyoti di’s voice trembled.
Pankaj got up. He handed the plate of sandwiches to Bamboo. ‘Make sure Jyoti di eats something. It is important. We can’t have her falling ill at this time.’
The nurse who had spoken to Jyoti di was at the nurses’ station. ‘I want to see the doctor who is treating my wife,’ Pankaj told her.
‘That would be Dr Desai, but he is on his round.’
‘I need to see my wife, sister. I am sure you can check with the doctor. I need to see her.’ Pankaj controlled his rising voice with an effort.
The nurse picked up the internal phone and paged for Dr Desai. Pankaj walked up and down the brief corridor as he waited. Bamboo sat motionless, still intensely focused on the ICU door, as if trying to see beyond it. The plate of sandwiches lay on the floor beside him.
The nurse came up to Pankaj. ‘You can see your wife if you are sure you’d be calm,’ she said quietly. Pankaj nodded and followed her, avoiding Jyoti di’s swollen eyes.
Behind the double doors marked EMS, there was another pair of doors with glass portholes in the upper panels. The nurse handed Pankaj surgical scrubs and opened the door softly. The large ward was divided into four bays with blue plastic curtains drawn around each of the four beds.
Ujla was in the far corner on a high metal bed, tethered to the machines surrounding her. Pankaj was shocked to see her – her face colourless, eyes half-open and unseeing, body covered in a cast, red and white IVs carrying blood and liquids into her body. The nurse turned to Pankaj and held his arm. ‘Can she hear me?’ Pankaj said, his throat dry and his voice sounding strange in his own ears.
‘She is sedated,’ she said, ‘and it is best she is not disturbed. But if you wish to speak to her, speak softly.’ The nurse moved away a bit.
Pankaj stood at the foot of Ujla’s bed. He found it painful to look at her face and focused on one of her bare, thin wrists lying on her side. ‘Ujla, hold on. My project went live today. Advait’s fifth birthday is next month, we will go to Singapore as planned and you will submit your thesis this summer. We will all…’ His throat closed, his eyes teared up. He stood quietly until the nurse indicated that he should leave. At the door, he turned to look at Ujla, but the nurse had drawn the curtains around her bed.
In the corridor, Jyoti di was nowhere to be seen, but the youngsters were back. The girl with the blue hair came towards Pankaj and offered him the remaining money. ‘Keep it for now. We don’t know how long…’ The girl looked away.
‘Where is Jyoti di?’ Pankaj asked.
‘She has gone home to your son, sir. He is back, and she said she will feed him and return in one hour.’
Pankaj walked to the other end of the corridor, away from the nurses’ station, Ujla’s students and the EMS door. There was a small window that opened on to a yard filled with parked cars and beyond it, the sea edged with black, sharp-looking rocks. Seagulls and kites swooped above the water, making wavering white and brown arcs in the sky. Looking out at the bright day, Pankaj admitted to himself that Ujla was in danger of her life, that Advait and he might lose her. ‘We might lose her,’ he said aloud and was surprised to hear his own voice. He was to lose her just as he was learning new things about her, her talent for music, the loyalty and infatuation of her students. What would he do if Ujla was gone? What about Advait? Ujla ran Advait’s life with precision and care, was always around giving him hugs, reading him stories, and stringing together silly ditties to make him laugh, the only time she displayed any sense of humour. He didn’t want Jyoti di to take Advait, but what was the alternative? How would he manage? With nannies and house-help? He could send him to his brother, but he lived in Dehradun, and if Advait went to them, he would perhaps see his son only during holidays or brief visits. With Jyoti di, he might be able to see him every weekend. He felt angry that Ujla had plunged their shared life into this sudden chaos and, at the same time, guilty about his anger. He would have to carry on, without the placid presence of Ujla, never having known the unknown parts of her, hidden from him all these years of their marriage. He turned around and walked down the length of the corridor.
As he neared the nurses’ station, the elevator came up and a police officer stepped out followed by a constable. The nurse in charge spoke quietly to them. He felt the officer’s appraising look taking in the dark suit, the branded silk tie, the expensive watch.
‘We are sorry to bother you at this time,’ the officer began in a careful voice, ‘but some formalities need to be completed. We have taken everyone else’s statement and need to take yours in order to file the FIR. You need not come to the police station, we can do it here.’
The nurse opened the wooden half-door of the nurses’ station allowing them to enter.
Behind the Formica-topped counter of the nurses’ station was a small, curtained area with chairs and a narrow bed. They sat on the chairs while the nurse switched on the electric kettle and took out cups, tea and sugar from a small overhead cabinet. Pankaj answered formulaic questions about his date of birth, age, address, relationship with Ujla, and then more substantive ones about his whereabouts that morning, whether Ujla and him had had any arguments recently, whether Ujla had any enemies, rivalries, relationships. At the last question, Pankaj’s mouth curved into a faint smile. He couldn’t think of Ujla, mild and somewhat distant, having enemies or rivalries. ‘None, officer. Do you suspect someone deliberately caused the collision with Ujla’s taxi?’
‘At present we have no reason to believe that, sir,’ the officer said cautiously. ‘Your wife seems to be very popular with her students, they are devoted to her. She is a good teacher and well-liked by the faculty. Mrs Dey mentioned that all senior faculty supported her becoming a permanent lecturer from a research fellow earlier this year. You say the two of you never had arguments and she is even-tempered. To me it seems that a truck driver, drunk or sleepy or both, misjudged the curve or did not see the taxi in time as he took the corner and hit it on the side. We will know more as and when the taxi driver recovers consciousness; he has severe head injuries, though, and is in a medically induced coma.’
In the confusion, it had not occurred to Pankaj to ask about the taxi driver. ‘Could we help him in any way, officer?’
‘Mrs Dey paid his initial deposit, and the other expenses should be covered by the government schemes. The students gave him blood as well,’ the nurse said as she handed out teacups.
‘These are your wife’s belongings. I think her jewellery, etc., have been handed over to her sister,’ the officer said handing over Ujla’s handbag, notebook and diary to Pankaj after he had written and signed his statement. Ujla was not fond of jewellery and hardly ever wore anything other than the diamond studs she had bought herself the first year of their marriage or the simple gold band with three diamonds that Jyoti di had given her on Advait’s birth. She had recently acquired an intricate silver bracelet, with a finely-worked pattern, and wore it everywhere. Pankaj thought the bracelet was beautiful but not appropriate for someone in Ujla’s position. He had told her that it was more suitable for his students than for her. Ujla had not said anything but continued to wear the bracelet to the university, removing it once home. He knew that because he would often find it in their bathroom in the little basket that contained Ujla’s manicure set.
The police officer got up. ‘We will let you know if there is any development.’ Pankaj nodded. A young doctor walked in.
‘The accident case is not showing much improvement in parameters. Please page the senior surgeon.’
The teacup shook in Pankaj’s hand, and he rose hurriedly. A sudden dizziness made his head spin. The nurse caught his arm and gently pushed him back into the chair. The young doctor blushed and stammered. ‘Sorry … I did not realize … Anyway, the patient is not worse. I am in the EMS if sir asks for me, sister.’
The police officer cast a look at Pankaj and cleared his throat. ‘We will be in touch. At present this is a negligent and rash driving case.’ Turning to the nurse, he added, ‘Let us know if there is any change in the patient’s condition. We might need to add other sections from the penal code to the chargesheet.’
They were all giving up on Ujla. Pankaj’s eyes pricked; his forehead and temples throbbed. None of them believed she would recover and come home to Advait and him. The telephone in the nurses’ station rang. He got up holding Ujla’s things. ‘If you want you can rest here for some time,’ the nurse offered. Pankaj nodded, his eyes averted, and walked out.
Jyoti di was back in her chair, with Bamboo, now slumped sideways, by her side, his head resting against the wall. Pankaj veered in the opposite direction and found a solitary chair round the corner. He sat down and tried to ease the constriction in his chest that was making his breath catch. He placed Ujla’s handbag on the floor and opened the notebook. It was filled with music – ragas, compositions and unintelligible markings titled taal, matras. He closed it and picked up the diary. Ujla always had that diary on hand. He had seen her make notes in it, lists, important reminders. It was filled with cryptic memoranda: ‘11.30 dentst, Ad’, ‘Rs 5000 to Krishna ji’. Reminders of birthdays, changes in class schedules and, surprisingly, food: ‘Yum chaat at 3rd stall in frt of the uni’, ‘Del daal by Dr Bahari, follow-up for recipe’. He did not know she cared much for any particular kind of food.
As he turned the pages, Pankaj came across other observations jotted among the mundane ‘Turnd awy to avd looking at fat man on motorcycle scratching his fat belly, utterly gross...’ ‘Sunset in all shades of pink, coral to salmon to shell-pink! Fab!’ ‘A little child clinging to his mother riding a scooter, no helmet, no safety-belt, some folk shd not be allwd to procreate.’ ‘Dr Kunjum askd what I thght of her new curtains, told her they rminded me of my childhood. They did, the drty brwn ones in the first flat Di rented!’
And to his deep astonishment, there were poems, rather explicit ones.
I will cover your body with my kisses
As the earth is covered with blades of grass
Like blades of grass will my lips quiver over you
And gladden your body with dewy touch
We will be like two blades of grass
Insignificant but blissful
My breath will be in your ears
In your mouth, my mouth
Your arms in mine
Your loins crossed with my loins
My soul within yours
Pankaj closed the diary, rested his elbows on it and stared at the wall. He picked up Ujla’s handbag and opened it mechanically. Unlike her lab, which was carefully organized, everything neatly labelled and arranged on the long laboratory bench, her bag was a jumble. He dipped his hand in and came up with a fistful of coins, old bills, a lipstick, and Advait’s baby-picture in a plastic case. He placed the assortment on the diary on his lap, arranging the coins in a small, neat tower, laying the lipstick in a horizontal line at the base of the tower, Advait’s photo next to it. One by one, he smoothed out the bills – an old toll slip, a Post-it with a mobile number and no name, a receipt from Starbucks, a doctor’s prescription. Pankaj looked at the prescription. It was from a month ago and had Ujla’s name and age on it. He did not recognize the name of the gynaecologist on the letterhead. Ujla hadn’t mentioned seeing a doctor recently. He knew she occasionally consulted Dr Patel and invariably disregarded the medicines he prescribed. The prescription had ‘MTP’ written in a bold hand on the top followed by something indecipherable. He could only make out the words ‘sonography’ and ‘medically terminating pregnancy’. There was a list of medicines. Pankaj stared at the piece of paper in his hand, confused. Drugs for inducing abortion? Ujla was pregnant only a month ago and had not told him? This was the right time to have another child, with Advait now almost five, and he had stopped practising the withdrawal method since a few months now. He was prepared for Ujla to tell him any day that she had fallen pregnant. The pregnancy would be different this time – Ujla had more help and Jyoti di too; she won’t lie silent in the bed for days, unwilling to get up and shower, prepare a meal; they’d go to Koh Samui for a babymoon … He looked at the paper again. Who was this Ujla who had an abortion and attended music classes and wrote poetry? He did not recognize her.
Soft footsteps approached. It was the nurse.
‘Some good news for you,’ she said, smiling. ‘Your wife just responded to her name and has asked for you, Mr Advait.’
Pankaj got up slowly. The diary, coins, lipstick, all the things hiding in the recesses of Ujla’s bag, pitched forward and fell on the floor with a clatter.
‘Advait is our son’s name,’ he said dryly.