Chef. Part 20

'I want to help you. But I will only do so if you agree.'

'No,' she said.

'Would you like saffron?'

'Saffron?'

'Saffron, I have been told, causes miscarriage, and it works quickly, not causing much pain.'

'Please go away.'

'Think about it,' I said. 'Please.'

'Why are you humiliating me?'

'Humiliating you?'

'By asking again and again the same-to-same question.'

'You do not know what is good for you,' I said.

'Thank you for the biryani,' she said.

'Tomorrow. I will come again. Same time. I will knock on the door, and I will ask the same question. If you say yes, the nurse will help you.'

Then I picked up the empty plates and gla.s.ses from the table and stepped out. I felt very disturbed. I remember focusing on her back as I was stepping out. She was looking out of the so-called window. I almost turned, but restrained myself. I stood outside her door for a long time as if I wanted to listen to the sound of the 1.5 hearts beating inside her. I did not know what to do. To tell someone? To tell someone and put her at more risk, and to put myself at risk?

Next day at the same time I knocked on the door and asked her the same-to-same question. But. She said no. I urged her to change her mind. The nurse would do it without telling anyone. The nurse will make you normal again. But she said no. She wanted to keep the child. She told me something women normally tell only their husbands. She told me the baby was kicking inside her belly. The baby was crying and asking her to give her a name. Don't be so emotional, I said. I have already given her a name, she said. What name? I asked.

Two days later I returned to the room again and begged her to allow me to take her home across the border. She said she did not want to return home. Her family was not going to accept her now. I am damaged, she said. Khuda is punishing me, she said, for my sins. Why did I not die? I should have died. It would have solved all troubles. I am not going to commit any more sins. I am going to keep the child.

There was a long silence. I walked to her and seized her hand. She was sitting on the edge of the bed. Again I urged her to allow me to take her to Pakistan. But the moment I uttered the word 'Pakistan' she fell back on the bed. Her whole body convulsed, and her two hands started opening the drawstring of her salwar, and there she was partially unconscious and partially unclothed on the bed, with the naked bulb above us. It was at that point the ayah entered the room. I do not know from where she came and why, but she saw. She saw us together. Then walked in the guard, and then marched in the colonel in his trussed jacket.

Four.

26.

From the bus I saw the General's private car. The driver was holding my name written in huge letters. I am am cancer, and I have arrived in Kashmir. I sat in the front seat and the driver checked with me if I was comfortable there, and I nodded, and asked him to drive slowly. His face looked vaguely familiar. The sun was setting. There were plane trees on both sides of the road. The car sped up as it looped around the army camp on the slopes of the mountain. I turned in my seat and tried to locate the spot where the army had put up the tents to court-martial me. cancer, and I have arrived in Kashmir. I sat in the front seat and the driver checked with me if I was comfortable there, and I nodded, and asked him to drive slowly. His face looked vaguely familiar. The sun was setting. There were plane trees on both sides of the road. The car sped up as it looped around the army camp on the slopes of the mountain. I turned in my seat and tried to locate the spot where the army had put up the tents to court-martial me.

Schoolchildren were playing there, at the exact same spot. They did not know a thing. Neither about me, nor about the court martial. Troops were marching outside the camp. One-two-three. One-two-three One-two-three. One-two-three. I must have been lost in deep thought because I didn't notice when the car started winding up the hill to the Raj Bhavan. There was a deep mist in the mountains, not much was visible. I must have looked towards the Mughal garden with longing, and perhaps that is why the driver turned to me and said, 'Stop first at the garden, sir?'

'Yes, yes,' I said, surveying the ruins.

But then I changed my mind, and asked him to hurry to the Governor's residence. On the way I noticed lots of checkposts and military bunkers and (to my surprise) beauty parlors. Dal Lake had more weeds now, and the signs by the road said that the weeds were being removed by a Swiss company. The golf course, on my right, was deserted. The chenar trees looked ancient, bare, ready to receive snow.

The car pa.s.sed between the two gateposts and guards, and stopped in front of the Raj Bhavan. The flag of our country was fluttering on the post. The servant who was standing by the entrance saluted me and rushed to the car to pick up my trunk and bag. I told him not to, but he picked up the two items anyway, and dashed indoors. A hospital jeep was parked by the fence. I hit a stone on the way to the house, and stumbled for a while.

'Where are you going, sir?' asked a voice. I was heading towards the rear entrance, but the voice made me yield to it. He was the General's new ADC. Suddenly it occurred to me how much time had pa.s.sed, and for no reason I touched the stone pillar at the front.

The ADC asked me to wait in the living room. The room looked both strange and familiar with its carpets, fireplace, rashtrapati furniture, and gla.s.s cabinets. I occupied the walnut chair in the corner, and looked out the window.

'Who is that lady with a little dog and a cell phone?' I asked.

She was standing on the terrace of the Guest House.

'Her name is Mrs Ramani, sir. She is the previous Governor's daughter.'

'Yes, yes, I know.'

Her peace paisley silk was fluttering in the wind. She had climbed up the stairs of the Guest House for a clear cell phone reception, and was yakking away. So this is Bina after fourteen years, I said to myself. Still beautiful but no longer the same one whose wedding banquet I took care of.

'What is she doing here?' I asked.

'Bedding guest, sir.'

'Bedding guest?'

'No, sir. Bedding guest.'

'Wedding guest?'

'Yessir.' Sitting in the walnut chair I felt very tired. I felt like my journey had come to an end and yet had come to nothing. I felt like returning to Delhi.

'Ready-made tea, sir?'

'Sorry?' I asked.

His fingers were grubby. He was the new Chef's a.s.sistant.

'Ready-made chai, sir?'

'No milk and sugar in my tea.'

'Sir.'

'Wait,' I said.

'Sir.'

'What is that white slab in the lawn?'

'The dog, sir.'

'When did it happen?'

'Don't know, sir.'

He left tea and Marie biscuits on the table in front of my chair. The tea was horrible, no cardamom and excess ginger.

Sipping tea I asked myself if my need to cling to life was so enormous that I had forgotten my morals. I thought of all the people who will attend the wedding banquet dressed in peace silk and paisley, and they will talk as if all was well and all will be well. They will eat tandoori chicken and mint chutney and mango pudding and drink Bailey's chai. And the things they will say about Rubiya's choice of a husband. They would have said things anyway, they always do, but this time they will say more as if they were ent.i.tled, and the few who will fly in from Pakistan will display their suave French-cuff shirts, and they will wine and dine and dance and repeat the same worn-out phrases 'Give us your Bombay actress Madhuri' and 'Take our Kashmir!' and no one will pay any attention to people like Irem. People like her do not matter. Damaged people like her do not matter at all. Even when they leave the hospitals they remain sick. Even when they leave prisons they remain trapped. Their sickness is being alive. Their crime is that they continue to exist.

The wedding guests will say, The curry did not have right enough masala. While others after a few bottles will say, Curry karari thee, bahout khoob sahib, bahut khoob. Gazab ka korma. Subhan Allah, the Hindus will say. Some will speak English with English accents and some will display polished American accents and say, The curry was not done yet, or some other infantile thing, like the curry was fun-tastic, very good hanh. Someone else in broken English will say, Ever since my wife die-vorced me I have not had this kind of curry, and then someone will correct the man, It is 'divorce' not 'die-vorce'. Yes, yes, that is what I meant, the other would say. Why am I here? What am I doing here? I asked myself in the walnut chair.

Soon the ADC led me to the General's room. The corridor was unusually cold. He walked fast, and I walked slow, but finally both of us stood in front of the door. The curtains were swaying.

It must have been a slight hesitation on my side that made the ADC literally push me inside. General Sahib was standing in front of the window, hands crossed behind his back, one hand trembling.

On the little circular table not far from his bed a cigarette half-consumed and hurriedly extinguished released a few threads of smoke.

Not knowing what to do, I clicked my heels. The General turned and said, 'Jai Hind' and walked towards me and shook hands and then he almost hugged me, but something made him change his mind. His hand started trembling violently.

'Kirpal, how is your mother?'

'Not well, sir.'

He sat at the edge of his bed and pointed towards the armchair.

'Please sit down.'

This was the first time I had received such an honor, and perhaps that is why I hesitated again.

'Sit down,' he said, 'Sorry there is smoke in the room. I have just seen the doctor. After the doctor leaves I always have to smoke.'

'No problem, sir.'

'We knew.'

'Sir.'

'You would come. You would not fail us.'

'Sir.'

'Rubiya will be pleased,' he said. 'You came because of her?'

I sensed that the General wanted to have a long conversation, but his breath was coming out with a wheeze.

'Take your bath. Drink water. Rest. Don't forget you are in the mountains now. We will have dinner together.'

He rang the bell.

The servant appeared.

'Keep the bags in the Guest House.'

'Sir,' I said, 'if you don't mind I am staying in a hotel.'

'Your room is ready.'

'Please, sir. If you do not mind.'

'In that case, Kirpal, my car will take you there.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'We must have a quick word.'

'Sir.'

'Rum?' asked the General.

'No, thank you, sir.'

On the way to the Raj Bhavan I had thought of the possibility of facing him alone, and I knew he was waiting for it and I tried to predict his questions. I, too, had questions. So much time had pa.s.sed and the questions had acquired a huge weight. Looking at the frail form of General Sahib now I felt like delaying them. Things had to sort out between us, but not right away. Looking at the plane trees outside the window, bare tops swaying in the wind, I felt like experiencing one last bright moment of Kashmir, it was enough for that day of my arrival. 'After you left did your cooking change?' he asked.

'Very right, sir. I have discovered that simplicity is the main principle of cooking. My dishes are growing simpler and simpler.'

'So I will begin with a simple question,' he said. 'Why did you leave, Kirpal?'

He looked through me and I was unable to say a word.

'For all official purposes it was the health of your mother, Kirpal. The court martial cleared your name. The army sent an official apology and compensation afterwards. The circ.u.mstantial evidence said that you were guilty. But that enemy woman said you were not guilty.'

'Her name is Irem, sir.'

'Yes, yes I know. She had not even filed charges against you. So why did you leave?'

I was not able to say a word.

'I think I know why you left,' he said. 'All these years I have tried to answer this question, but I want to ask you if there is an iota of truth in this. You were like my son, Kirpal, and your father was well-liked. He was my finest officer. I know why you left. I know it. You fell in love with her. You were in love with that woman. That is why you left.'

He looked at me again in the eye.

'You loved her the way Rubiya loves this man from Pakistan. I had told Rubiya no matter what happens the boy will not step inside this house. What right does Rubiya have to act on her desires the way she did? Tell me. When you were completely in love with that enemy woman, when you could control your desires, then why not Rubiya?'

Because I was at a loss for words the General continued.

'Sometimes I think the desire for the enemy is more than the desire for our own. No one knows this better than you. And that is why you left. That was the real reason. You did not want to act on your desire. You did not want to. You saw a villain or two. And that was the easy way out. You saw the villain and left. And you did not even have the courage to tell me the truth. But how could you have told me? I was the one more powerful. I was like your father, Kirpal. But you used your ailing ailing mother to deal with something you could not deal with. Your mother's sickness became the veil to hide behind. And because you did not talk about the problem you thought the problem did not exist. Now say something.' mother to deal with something you could not deal with. Your mother's sickness became the veil to hide behind. And because you did not talk about the problem you thought the problem did not exist. Now say something.'