Song of the Cuckoo Bird: A Novel (51 page)

Rajan’s father watched his son sternly when they arrived at Tella Meda. Rajan’s mother, however, seemed only happy that Rajan had come back home, not unlike Kokila.

“There is the matter of the stolen money,” Rajan’s father said. “Kokila Amma, Rajan here says that it was Karthik’s idea to take the money. Now, five hundred
rupees
is a lot of money. You do understand, I can’t let the amount just slide by.”

Chetana, who had been sitting in the temple room, where Rajan and his parents had seated themselves by the musical instruments, cleared her throat.

“I don’t mean to interfere, but didn’t your son spend that money along with Karthik?” Chetana asked, and looked away sheepishly when Kokila glared at her. “Come on, Kokila, they
both
spent that money or rather lost the money to a swindler.”

“Karthik, who stole the money?” Kokila asked, ignoring Chetana.

Karthik shook his head.

“What does that mean?”

“We both stole it.”

“No, you stole it alone,” Rajan’s father said. “Right, Rajan? Karthik stole the money, didn’t he?”

Rajan nodded, unable to look Karthik in the eye.

“Well, speak up,” Rajan’s father said, and Rajan’s face crumpled into tears as his mother pulled him into her embrace.

“We both stole it,” Karthik repeated, and looked at Kokila. “I’m sorry. You can have all the money in my piggy bank.”

“Well, I’ll need all five hundred back,” Rajan’s father said. “Now stop crying, Rajan. You did what you wanted to do and now you cry? Stupid bastard. And this running away was also Karthik’s idea. But what else can we expect from a boy growing up in
this
house? He’s always in our home, eating and watching TV. He knows where we keep the money and . . .”

Kokila’s face flushed with embarrassment. This man made it sound as though Karthik had no home, no food, and no TV.

“I’ll make sure he never goes to your house again,” Kokila said. “About the money, I don’t believe Karthik stole it. He has no reason to steal from your house when he can easily steal from Tella Meda if he wants to.” Kokila pointed to the safe keys hanging at her waist. “Since your son spent half the money, I think it’s fair that only half the money is returned to you. Chetana, if you could keep an eye on our guests, I will be right back.”

Kokila went into Charvi’s room, where the safe was, where she kept her money as well as Tella Meda’s, and brought back two hundred and fifty
rupees
to the temple room.

She handed the money to Rajan’s father, who took it hastily. “I still think your boy stole the money and you’re encouraging him to become a thief by not paying me the entire amount,” he said.

“See, Karthik, this is the kind of friend you have,” Kokila said, speaking to her son but wanting Rajan and his family to hear her. “He implicates only you in a theft while you maintain that both of you are guilty. His father says that you eat their food and watch their TV and they don’t want you there, while you keep saying that their house is so much nicer and Rajan is so much happier because he has satellite TV. Now what do you think?”

Karthik was close to tears and his voice was shaky when he spoke. “I think Rajan is not my friend,” he said, and then ran into the courtyard away from Rajan.

“Now, you may leave,” Kokila said to Rajan and his parents. “By encouraging your son to lie, you have taught him not to take responsibility for his actions because he can always blame someone else. He ran away too and he spent the money too. Maybe you should worry about that and not who stole the money and whose idea this was.”

Kokila didn’t wait for an answer and marched into the courtyard to find her son and mete out the punishment he deserved.

Karthik thought he got off easily. Kokila put him on garden duty, where he was to help Karuna with the weeds and the watering of plants for the next three months. In addition, he was not allowed to watch any television or visit any of his friends for a month. He was never to be friends with Rajan again and his piggy bank, which held almost a hundred
rupees,
was emptied.

“Is she still angry with you?” Padma asked Karthik as the woman from the Cinderella Beauty Salon put henna on Padma’s hands. She was making intricate designs of flowers and leaves. Padma’s feet had already been decorated with a similar design. The
muhurat
for the marriage was at 11:22 in the morning, which meant that the wedding ceremony would begin early. At the time of the
muhurat,
Manoj would put a mixture of cumin and jaggery on Padma’s head and she would do the same to him. The
shenai
would be played loudly and everyone would throw uncooked turmeric rice at them. And right after that, Manoj would tie the
mangalsutra
around Padma’s neck and they would be husband and wife.

“Amma is very angry,” Karthik said, and then changed the subject. “Are you excited about getting married?”

Padma nodded and smiled.

“Your henna is the best work I have done in years,” Saroja, the owner of the beauty salon, said. “What do you think, Karthik?”

Karthik had no idea what was good work and what wasn’t, so he just nodded. “I bet you can’t wait to go to America.”

Padma laughed, her voice tinged with excitement. “He has a very nice car and it has air-conditioning inside it. Even our flat will have air-conditioning so when it gets hot, we can just turn it on and it will be nice and cool.”

“Like in that big supermarket in Visakhapatnam,” Karthik said, now eager to share his adventure.

“Is that where you went?” Padma asked. “He ran away to Visakhapatnam for two days,” she informed Saroja, who grinned and called Karthik a naughty boy.

“We had pizza and we ate lots of ice cream. We went to this music store and they had so many CDs there, and cool CD players. Hey, Padma, you’ll send me a CD player from America, won’t you?” Karthik asked.

Padma nodded. He might have run away at the wrong time but still, he was like a younger brother to her. “As soon as I know how much it costs and how much money I can spend. First thing I’ll buy is a hair dryer for myself, and
then
a CD player for you. I hate having to dry my hair with a towel. In all those TV shows, everyone has a hair dryer. And Manoj said that there are so many Indian hotels and shops where he lives that we can have
dosas
every morning at a hotel if we like. He makes a lot of money. Eighty-five thousand dollars every year. That is—”

“Almost thirty-eight
lakhs
of
rupees,
” Karthik said, calculating the exchange rate quickly. Everyone knew that one dollar was equal to forty-five
rupees.

“So, you’re getting a rich husband,” Saroja said as she set her henna tube aside and blew gently on Padma’s hands. “And you are going to America. Girl, your beauty has brought you great luck. Look at that Meena, studying and studying and studying, while you, ah, you’re getting married and going away.”

“Have you seen the boy she’s come with?” Padma’s voice dropped to a conspiratory whisper.

“Asif is cool,” Karthik said with a grin. “He told me that even he ran away once when he was my age. He came back the same night because he was too scared.”

“Asif is a Muslim,” Padma said, not wanting Karthik to like anything about Meena, not even her friends. If she was the one who would send him a CD player, then he should be on her side.

“So what?” Karthik said. “I’m a Hindu, big deal. Didn’t they teach you in school, ‘All Indians are my brothers and sisters’? I don’t think he’s any different from us because he’s a Muslim.”

“They eat meat,” Padma said.

Karthik nodded. “And so have I. I love chicken. Does that make me a bad person?”

“Does anyone here know?” Padma demanded, shocked.

Karthik sighed. “Don’t tell Amma. She’ll feel bad and get angry. I don’t need her to get any angrier with me right now.”

Padma sighed and watched Saroja pack her things. “If Meena marries this Muslim, she’ll have to become Muslim too. Would that be no big deal too?”

“If she wants to change her religion, it’s up to her,” Karthik said.

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning to do your makeup and hair,” Saroja said. “Now you sleep nicely. We don’t want bags under your eyes in all your wedding photos. And keep sprinkling lime water on your hands to make the henna color dark.”

Saroja left behind a small spray bottle filled with lime water. Karthik sprayed a little and made the drying henna wet again after Saroja was gone.

“Are you and Meena still fighting?” Karthik asked. Everyone knew that they used to be good friends and then they had stopped being friends.

“No, we don’t even fight anymore,” Padma said.

“You used to be so close, you must miss her,” Karthik said. “I miss Rajan. He was my best friend.”

“I have other friends now,” Padma said. “Why would I miss her?”

“I’m going to miss Rajan for a while. I mean, I know he’s not a nice guy, what with putting all the blame on me and accusing me of stealing money, but still, he was my best friend. Now I don’t have one,” Karthik said.

“I missed her in the beginning. Now we’re almost strangers,” Padma said, suddenly sad. She realized she had no friend with whom to share the joys and fears of marriage. Her college friends were okay, but she had never told them how she really felt, the way she used to with Meena.

“Meena is cool,” Karthik said. “You’re cool too,” he added with a smile. “I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”

“But I’ll write and send you a CD player,” Padma said.

“As long as you send the CD player,” Karthik said.

Meena sat alone on the balustrade up in the terrace watching the sun go down. The red ball of fire mingled with the waters of the bay, making the water pink and red before slowly dipping below the surface and disappearing. Black glossy water was left behind and a gentle warm summer breeze ruffled the surface.

It was hot. It was so hot that even in the evening the cool air from the bay was warm and only marginally helped to assuage the heat. Padma would have to wear loads of jewelry and thick silk
saris
the next day, Meena thought, and then she and her husband would have to sit in front of a fire and make promises they would have to keep as husband and wife. Padma would fry in her clothes in this heat.

In the past four years, Meena had cut her ties with Tella Meda. Now when she came back she felt and was treated like a guest.

Asif had gone for a walk and for the first time since she came to Tella Meda two days ago, Meena stood all alone, aware that this was not her home anymore. And she could hardly call her dormitory room home. So for now, until Asif and she married and rented a house, she was homeless, while Padma was going from a home in Tella Meda straight to her husband’s home in America. There would be no struggles for Padma. Her husband was already established financially and he would take care of her, while Meena and Asif would have to struggle as new doctors.

A spark of jealousy blossomed within Meena at her ex-friend’s good fortune. Even though Manoj was not nice to look at, he was going to make life so easy for Padma. Meena loved Asif but the fact was that they both were students right now and they would be students for a while longer.

Maybe Padma was better off having gotten a bad EAMCET rank. Maybe this was the easy and better route. What had Meena achieved in the past four years? She had studied and studied and studied. She had studied while Padma had three easy college years and was now going to have an easy married life. Everyone was happy about Padma’s match. Meena’s marriage to Asif would only cause trouble.

A sound alerted Meena and she turned. Padma had come up to the terrace to find some solace as well.

Each looked at the other uncomfortably. They hadn’t spoken alone since Meena left Tella Meda four years ago.

“Nice night,” Meena said, her eyes darting around the road, looking for Asif.

“Yes,” Padma said, and came to stand by Meena, looking out at the dark bay in front. She was holding her palms up and her
sari
was hiked up as well to prevent smudging the henna before it stained her skin properly.

“Well, I’ll go down and—”

“I’m leaving India,” Padma said quietly. “I don’t know when we’ll see each other again.”

Meena sighed. “Are you happy?”

Padma nodded with a small smile. “And you?”

Meena watched as Asif finally appeared, opening the gate, entering Tella Meda, and she nodded as well.

“He’s very good-looking,” Padma said. “Very handsome and fair. And very tall.”

“He’s also a Muslim,” Meena said.

“So what?” Padma said, and laughed. “I know it’s too late to say I’m sorry and I don’t know what I’d be saying I’m sorry for. But I wanted you to know that I’m glad you came for my wedding.”

“I didn’t get a good EAMCET rank on purpose,” Meena said, tears filling her eyes suddenly. It was so terribly sad that two good friends had been driven apart by competition.

“I hated you for it because it made me feel like a complete failure,” Padma confessed. “Now I’m getting married and I feel like I’m not too much of a failure.”

“And now I’m a little jealous,” Meena admitted.

“Why?”

“Well, you’re going to America and you don’t have any struggles ahead of you. Asif and I have to finish medical school and then do our postgraduate studies and then find work. That is at least three, four years away,” Meena said.

“But you’ll be a doctor and I will be just a wife,” Padma said. “I’m so scared of what will happen. What if . . . what if Manoj is not really a nice boy? What then?”

“What do you mean? Amma said you’ve been talking to him for months now. You’d know if he wasn’t nice,” Meena said.

Padma looked around to make sure no one was coming upstairs and would hear them. “I read this article in some magazine about how girls get married to boys in America and there the boys beat them and ill-treat them. And because they’re in a foreign country they are unable to do anything. I got so scared, but Amma found this match with great difficulty and she always wanted me to go to America. I know Manoj . . . at least I think I do, but I’m still scared.”