Song of the Cuckoo Bird: A Novel (7 page)

“But you know, because you are the
guru
of Tella Meda.”

Charvi laughed softly then. “You have always said that I was a fraud.”

“Don’t you think you are a fraud?”

Charvi shook her head. “By whose definition? I only have to worry about the woman I see in the mirror every morning and that woman is clear of blame, deceit, or any fraud. Do you look at yourself and see the woman others make you out to be or do you see yourself as you truly are?”

Vineetha smiled, pleasantly surprised by the woman Charvi had become. “If I cared about what people think I wouldn’t be working alongside Homi Bhabha at the atomic power center; I would be married and a mother.”

“And if I worried about what people thought I would have to wear orange clothes all the time and chant as if I were possessed,” Charvi said with some amusement. “The other day a couple came to me because they are childless. I told them I will pray for them but there was nothing else I could do. They asked me if I could chant a few words and sway my head and give them some holy ash. Holy ash from a goddess, the husband had been told, would cure his wife of her barrenness.”

Vineetha drank some water and wondered if she had misjudged Charvi all these years.

“What did you tell them?”

Charvi shrugged. “I gave them some holy ash and told them that I was not a goddess and that they would be better off seeing a doctor.”

“But they still come flocking to you, despite your being so candid,” Vineetha pointed out.

“I can’t control the movements of others. I can’t define their motives,” Charvi said as she rose from the table. “You will have to excuse me now; it is time for my meditation.”

Vineetha continued to sit at the table and watched Chetana braid Kokila’s hair. They were so young, so bright and radiant, their eyes full of excitement and yearning to learn about the world.

When she was that young she also had had the light of hunger burning brightly inside her. She had wanted so much and now she had it all, yet there was a stunning loneliness because of the knowledge that after her nothing about her would remain. She believed in the soul not as a spirit but as a memory that resided in others. Children and grandchildren carried their parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents forward in their minds, and so a part of those who had died stayed behind in the world.

She didn’t believe in the reincarnation nonsense, as she knew that humans were carbon-based life-forms and once they died they disintegrated like all other carbon-based life—there was no difference. A tree died and nothing living was left behind; similarly when a human died, life went away. It was as simple as that.

“Do you wear pants all the time?” Chetana asked. She was the daring one, Vineetha thought, the beautiful one. The one whose mother was a prostitute. The other girl, the one who didn’t want to go to her husband’s home, she was shy, quiet. Ramanandam had told her about all the residents of Tella Meda, given her the reasons for their living in the
ashram.

“Most of the time I wear pants,” Vineetha replied.

“Do you pee like a man, then?” Chetana asked, and was shushed by Kokila.

“No,” Vineetha said, amused.

“Then why do you wear pants? Isn’t it easier to lift a skirt and squat rather than have the pants hanging around your ankles?” Chetana wanted to know. Kokila was getting very agitated and tried to drag Chetana away before she asked any more embarrassing questions.

“Just because it’s easy for you doesn’t mean it’s easy for me,” Vineetha said patiently. “And I like pants. I can sit how I like and not worry about anyone seeing my underwear.”

“But you don’t look pretty in them,” Chetana said. “Don’t you want to look pretty?”

Vineetha pondered the question for a long moment. “I don’t know,” she said honestly, because she really didn’t know if she would give up comfort for pretty clothes.

“Come on, Chetana, Subhadra wants us in the kitchen,” Kokila insisted, and dragged her friend away.

“Why did you ask her those questions? They were rude,” Kokila admonished Chetana after they were in the kitchen.

“Do you think Ramanandam Sastri and she are doing it?” Chetana asked, and Kokila groaned.

“Is your mind always in the gutter?”

“He has to do it with someone. My mother told me once that men just have to do it all the time, at least once a day, or their
lingam
shrivels.” Chetana spoke with an air of confidence.

“Your mother is a lying whore. I wouldn’t believe everything she says,” Kokila said wearily.

“But she knows a lot about a man’s
lingam.
” Chetana giggled. “Have you seen one?” she asked, and Kokila shrugged.

“You have, you dirty girl. Tell me!” Chetana demanded with glee in her eyes.

Kokila made a sound and looked around to make sure Subhadra was occupied in the other end of the kitchen, then brought her voice down to a whisper. “I saw Narayan Garu’s once.”

“Really? How?”

“He was wearing that thin
lungi
of his, the blue one with red peacocks on it, and it fell open when he was sitting down. It was . . . I can’t talk about this,” Kokila said, her ears burning with embarrassment.

“How was it?” Chetana asked, undeterred by her friend’s embarrassment.

“What?” Kokila asked, confused.

“His
lingam.
”

“It was small and . . . dark,” Kokila said, and called out to Subhadra before Chetana could ask any more questions.

That evening Charvi insisted that Kokila come for the evening walk with her. Kokila didn’t have the heart to refuse. Charvi had been depressed since Vidura ran away but with the arrival of Dr. Vineetha Raghavan, Charvi seemed to be even more withdrawn. Lavanya’s visit had not helped either.

Kokila didn’t like the eldest sister, Manikyam, much and she definitely didn’t like her two sons, Ravi and Prasad, who always spent the summer at Tella Meda. When they were younger they used to constantly whine and fight, but as they grew, the whines grew into angry outbursts, tantrums, and hysterics. Chetana spent more time with Ravi than Kokila liked but no one could ever stop Chetana from doing what she wanted. Prasad was almost always out of Tella Meda, whiling away the day and whistling at young girls as he sat with some rowdy friends of his by the cinema. If anyone bothered to tell Manikyam about her sons’ behavior she would accuse the person who told her of being jealous of her sons.

Ravi always came up with ways of looking underneath girls’ skirts and into women’s blouses. Manikyam fondly called it child’s play and naughtiness. Kokila couldn’t understand how Manikyam could condone their foul behavior. It was always a relief when summer ended and they left to go back to Visakhapatnam.

Kokila didn’t mind Lavanya much. She rarely came to Tella Meda, so Kokila didn’t have to spend much time with her. Lavanya seemed to be angry all the time, which was so different from Charvi, who was never angry. Even when she was insulted by someone, Charvi would answer with dignity in a very calm tone. Kokila respected Charvi for her ability to control her emotions and hoped she could be as sedate and controlled someday.

“Vidura spent a lot of time with you,” Charvi said to Kokila as soon as they reached the beach. “Did he say anything to you?”

Kokila bit her lip, not sure if she should hurt Charvi’s feelings by telling her what Vidura had said the night he kissed her.

“Say anything to me? About what?” Kokila said evasively.

“About wanting to run away,” Charvi replied patiently. She could see that Kokila was nervous talking about Vidura. “You can tell me anything. I won’t take offense.”

Kokila sighed. “He once told me that he hated . . . I don’t think it’s important. He just ran away, maybe he’ll come back—”

“It’s important to me,” Charvi interrupted softly. “Tell me what he said. If someone should know, it’s you.”

“Maybe Chetana . . .”

“Chetana isn’t silent enough to listen to what others say. So even if Vidura tried to tell her, I’m sure she didn’t hear anything. You would. You are sensitive, you were close to him, and if anyone should know . . .”

Appeased by the compliment and by the disparaging words for Chetana, Kokila decided to tell Charvi the truth. She quickly realized, though, that she shouldn’t have. Charvi might be a
guru,
a calm goddess, but she was still very human.

“Vidura said he hated Tella Meda because it was not a real home. And . . . and that he hated you for believing you were a
guru
and he was upset that Sastri Garu also believed you. He felt that because of you he was not close to his father anymore. He was angry that you thought you had the power to heal because he didn’t think you did,” Kokila said hurriedly. As the words came out and she heard them, she sensed how empty they were. They had achieved nothing. They were vague emotions, the ramblings of an angry boy, and Kokila had presented them as fact, as Vidura’s true feelings, as the reason for his running away.

“Do you believe in me?” Charvi asked Kokila, surprising her.

When Kokila gave her a blank look, unable to understand her question, Charvi sighed.

“Do you believe that I am a goddess? That I have the power to heal?” she asked, and when Kokila merely looked at her feet, not answering, Charvi’s much-touted control snapped. “Maybe you should run away too. You obviously hate my house and me as much as Vidura did.”

Charvi spun around and left Kokila standing alone on the beach. By the time Kokila caught up with Charvi and tried to apologize it was too late. Charvi was wearing her serene
guru
face and wasn’t listening to Kokila or her apologies.

Vineetha was upset after reading the newspapers. Prime Minister Lal Bahadur Sastri was publicly talking about scrapping the Indian nuclear program by saying that it was adversarial and would raise fear of war among India’s neighbors.

She had sacrificed home and family for the atomic center. She had worked so hard to make India stronger and now Lal Bahadur Sastri was talking nonsense.

Vineetha was worried not just about losing her job but also about wasting a lifetime’s work.

Unsettled and just a little tired of being in Tella Meda, she decided to take a walk on the beach and then go visit Lavanya, who was staying at a friend’s place a few roads away. As a policy, Lavanya never stayed overnight at Tella Meda. A big part of it was pride. She didn’t acknowledge it to be a home and refused to be part of the wayward and hopeless bunch that gathered there.

When Vineetha reached Lavanya’s friend’s house she was told that Lavanya had already left town. There had been an emergency at work and she had been called away. Vineetha was not convinced. What kind of an emergency could an air hostess be called away for?
We don’t have enough smiling woman sashaying down the aisle, could you
come and help us a little?

When Vineetha came back to Tella Meda, Subhadra offered her tea, which she sat in the kitchen to drink while Subhadra started to grind water-soaked
urad dal
and rice for
idli
batter in the large stone mortar and pestle.

“Her brother is gone missing and she’s gallivanting around. She doesn’t even come home for three months because she’s abroad. Doing what?” Vineetha muttered, suddenly resentful of the woman who had been her friend. “She and her ridiculous job.”

“Lavanya feels her job is important,” Subhadra said. “Just like you think your work is important.”

“My work
is
important,” Vineetha said sharply. “My work is of great importance to India, unlike Lavanya’s. Her work isn’t going to make a difference, a real difference, in anyone’s life.”

“And how is your work going to change the life of the beggar on the street or my life or anyone else’s life?” Subhadra asked.

“My work is going to change India’s standing in the world,” Vineetha said.

“And I will still have to wait in the ration line to buy sugar,” Subhadra said. “Look, what is important to you is not important to us. We live in the real world and in the real world no one cares if India has a big bomb or not.”

“I’m not helping India make bombs, I’m helping her make energy so that every village in India will have electricity,” Vineetha snapped at Subhadra, and set her half-filled glass of tea on the floor with force. It tipped and the tea spilled onto the floor. Vineetha didn’t bother to pick it up.

“My life has meaning,” Vineetha said.

“I am glad that you feel it does,” Subhadra said gently. “We all should feel our life has meaning, otherwise there would be no need to live another day. I didn’t mean to insult you, anyway. I am just upset . . . you know . . .”

Vineetha all but stomped out of the kitchen, not sure why she was so defensive about her work.

What did these people know? Vineetha thought angrily. They were so embroiled in their tawdry little lives, what did they care about India and her problems? These were lowly people, interested only in their own lives, not caring about the society, the country, the larger issues. As long as they got three square meals a day they didn’t care who lived or who died.

The people and the place were suffocating her. Not having felt quite so out of her element ever before, Vineetha decided to leave Tella Meda.

Ramanandam heard about her decision and came to ask why she was leaving in such a rush.

“I don’t know why, but I feel unsettled,” Vineetha confided. “I can’t read the newspapers without losing my temper and this house of yours is morose, Raman.”

That surprised Ramanandam. “Why do you say that?”

“Everyone is stuck with their small problems,” Vineetha said. “Your lives are . . . your lives are entangled in the ordinary and everyone seems so sad and lost.”

“Small problems?” Ramanandam asked carefully, his voice quivering a little.

“Well, yes,” Vineetha said. “I’m not saying your son running away is a small problem, but—”

“My son, my only son, my child is gone. I can’t find him, I don’t know why he ran away, and you think that is maybe a small problem?” Ramanandam asked, looking even more aged than he had just a few days ago when Vineetha first came to Tella Meda.