After Madhu returned home, she made a beeline for her mother's old bedroom, the one she slept in.
It had a concrete platform in the right-hand corner, a corner Madhu was always careful to avoid looking at, for it housed an ancient-looking chest. The same chest her mother used to stuff with sweaters and other winter clothes after spring.
It had a deceivingly thick lock on its flap, but Madhu knew it could be picked easily, she used to do that as a kid all the time. It only took a few minutes of looking around to find the key placed behind the chest, in between the cramped space against the wall. Turning the copper coloured key in the lock, she heaved the lid open.
A handful of dried Neem stems and leaves fell out as Madhu carelessly tossed the first layer of neatly folded old sweaters on her bed, already knowing that she'll take those back with her to Delhi. All the jewellery had been taken away by her mother when Madhu's family had moved to the city, jewellery that was now lying stashed away in the vaults of a bank, for there was no one left to wear it. But Madhulika stopped short when her eyes landed on something far more precious than gold.
They were saris. Not very expensive ones, just plain cotton, but those that her mother used to wear on regular days. They were those saris which, even after all these years, were the only clothing Madhu could picture her mother wearing in her mind's eye.
Though pretty old, they were surprisingly well maintained. Madhu wondered if Nakoo had them washed and ironed, for they carried the faint smell of soap.
Picking up a simple lemon-yellow sari with white and red borders, Madhu shut the lid and slipped out of her jeans and t-shirt, replacing them with a yellow petticoat and ill-fitting blouse. Her practised fingers made quick work of wrapping the sari around her body, and before she knew it, she was gazing at her reflection in the full-length mirror behind her bedroom door.
The only time Madhu wore saris was during parties and formal events, and all those times it had been elegant silk or stylish chiffon. Never had she worn a cotton one that was meant for everyday use.
Utilitarian saris were looked down upon by her peers.
As she continued to gaze at herself, her chest tightened. If it wasn't for Madhu's height, she would've looked exactly like her mother. They had the same shapely cheekbones, thin, long nose, oval jaw and the same shade of dark hair and eyes. Soft, full lips took the edge away from their otherwise sharp features, lips that her mother used to always stretch wide in a smile, but which Madhu preferred to keep sealed.
Maybe it was her imagination, but beneath all the soap, she could actually get whiffs of her mother's comforting scent, a mix of wet mud and something citrus, a scent she had craved after for almost a decade now.
Mahima Thakur would've hated what her daughter had become.
Taking deep breaths to keep her tears at bay, Madhulika stepped out in the hallway and made her way across the end of the corridor, to the storeroom right next to the bathroom.
The storeroom was dark and dusty. Piles of junk littered every corner--broken wardrobes, wobbly old cots, stacks of old newspapers, magazines, old pans and whatnot.
Right in the middle of the room were Mahima Thakur's well-used art supplies--brushes, sculpting knives, sculpting stands and high stools to sit on. A shadow fell upon her when Madhu began dragging the stools and stand, blocking the only source of light coming from outside the door.
Nakul was looking at her with wide eyes that immediately softened when she turned to face him. "All the paints have dried," he said, leaning against the door frame. He didn't even question what Madhu was doing.
His white shirt was drenched in sweat, clinging to every ridge of muscle he sported. Madhu could tell that he didn't have an ounce of fat on him. She snapped her eyes at him when he cleared his throat, and blood flushed to Madhu's face when the corners of his mouth twitched at her obvious ogling.
"Were you in your workshop all morning?"
He tilted his head slightly, taking a minute to answer her. "Yes I need to...finish a project before Diwali."
His cryptic response only led to the rise of more questions in Madhu's mind, but she simply handed the sculpting stand and tray to Nakul. Together, they moved everything they needed out of the storeroom, dumping all the stuff into a bare room with bare walls on the other side of the courtyard.
"If you want, I can get new paints and a canvas from town tomorrow," Nakul offered, dusting his hands once they were done.
"I don't need a canvas, but do you know where I could get some clay?"
"Yeah I'll get it don't worry." He left just after that, leaving Madhu alone in the empty room.
She set to work immediately, sweeping the floor, scrubbing the windows, dusting out cobwebs from the rarely used fan. There weren't many tools around, so she had to make do with a broken spatula to scratch out the dried mud from the sculpting stand.
The clock struck noon when Nakoo returned half an hour later, rolling in a gardening trolley inside her makeshift art studio. It had a mini hill of soft clay, more than enough for making two, tree-feet tall idols.
"Got it from the potter's," he said in response to her questioning look.
"Thank you."
"You don't need to thank me." He was again looking at her strangely, like he had at the hospital. It lasted only for a few seconds, yet Madhu wanted to shrink away from its intensity. She had never really registered how smooth the surface of his right cheek was, the burnt skin devoid of any stubble, the scar almost masking his expression. But his caramel eyes gave it away, gazing straight at her as if trying to figure something out.
"I umm...was just looking through Ma's stuff," Madhu said, wanting to puncture the silence he couldn't feel. The back of her neck burned when his stare fell on her mouth.
Nakul met her eyes again, smiling sadly. "I miss her too you know?"
"I do," she lied. "She loved every child like her own."
Nakul mumbled something about returning to the workshop, not meeting her eyes.
Madhulika spent the next couple of hours kneading and testing the clay. She broke off large pieces and rolled them into long, thick cylinders-like mini snakes-which she later joined at the end, making mud doughnuts and bringing them at her eye-level to check for cracks. The last time she had sculpted something was a decade ago. She used to spend entire afternoons in her little art room in her father's house, giving shape to clay, with her mother painting life to a canvas beside her. After she died, Madhu couldn't even process the idea of touching clay.
Until today. Something about that pundit's request, who was officially Kaka to her now, had an urgency behind it. An urgency that consumed Madhu too, made her play with clay after so many years. And she was glad. She had missed sculpting.
Everything weighing down on her mind vaporised into thin air. She forgot all about Roshan, Shikha, Suman, Champa, Kamal; she forgot about Jasm Inn, forgot about selling her grandfather's home. All things escaped her except the cold feeling of mud on her hands and the calm it filled her with. If she tried hard enough, she could almost imagine her Ma next to her.
A light tap on the door broke her concentration. She looked up to see Nakoo beside the open door. He was still wearing his grease stained jeans but had changed out of his white tee, replaced it with a navy blue one. Pity, white suited him.
Glancing at her wristwatch she had kept on the empty stool, Madhu realised it was three already.
"Champa just left," he said, walking up to her sitting form and examining the two rough bases for the murtis. Madhu had to tilt her head up to look at him. "Do you want to eat lunch here or do you wanna go out?"
She considered for a moment. "Out. I'm sick of being indoors all week."
"I was hoping you'd say that." He absently traced the uplifted mound that would later be shaped into Lord Ganesha's trunk. "I'll pack the food while you wash."
Twenty minutes later, Madhu walked in the kitchen to see Nakoo putting two steel tiffin containers into a jute bag. She had changed into a pair of comfortable slacks and a long, semi-formal dress shirt. Her long hair was released from the bun she had tied it in and fell into soft waves, reaching her midback. For some inexplicable reason, she wanted to apply makeup too, but quickly talked herself out of it. This wasn't a date; they were barely friends.
Then why was her stomach doing flips at his lingering gaze?
Nakul was wearing a black device in his left ear, it looked like a Bluetooth, but Madhu figured it was probably a hearing aid.
Wordlessly, they left the house together and locked the door behind them. Chikki, who had taken to spend a lot of time in the cow shed, came running towards her at the prospect of going out, trotting on ahead of them as they walked through the village towards the forest.
Throughout the way, Nakoo pointed at different houses and structures, telling her about the people he knew and the people he had heard about. Many villagers waved at him and he cheerfully waved back. He seemed to be in a great mood.
"That is where Panchayat meetings are held, where the elected village council meets every month." He pointed to an old Banyan tree. It was huge, with its aerial roots almost as thick as her waist. Madhu estimated it to be more than a hundred years old. "Until last year, there was not a single woman in the Panchayat, now there are three."
There was still hope then, Madhu thought to herself.
He pointed to a large house, larger than Madhu's, its gates standing tall just across the tree. "That is Brijesh Babu's house. His estate is smaller than yours, but the degenerate scumbag likes to live big."
One of the goons who had burned Rani was standing guard at the gold-painted gate. He leered at Madhu, a lone toothpick sticking out of his red, paan-stained teeth. Even from a distance, she could spot a large bruise on his neck, one that he touched and looked away when Nakul glared at him.
They walked past quickly, and soon reached the edge of the forest. Though the forest began on the outskirts of Bhabra it was spread way into the low foothills of Nepal, for nature couldn't be confined to man-made boundaries. Chikki slowed down to walk between them as Nakul started leading the way into the mass of trees. He walked with complete ease, familiar with the topography.
Imposing and wise trees of every variety surrounded Madhu--Peepal, Sal, Gulmohar, Neem, Banyan--she tripped several times over protruding roots and fallen twigs, but she was enjoying this trek.
Finally, they reached a clearing with a small lake, or a large pond in the middle. During summertime, it would've been covered with blooming lotuses, right now though, it was bare, its water pure and sparkling. A large, dried branch was lying almost strategically at the edge of the water. They settled on it, dipping their legs in the cold water and taking out their lunch on two pattals, traditional plates made from dried leaves. Chikki had busied himself by running around the clearing, growling at skirmish squirrels. Madhu was too hungry to talk much, and Nakoo didn't break the silence either. Once they were finished, they threw the plates beneath a Sal tree and Madhu folded her legs in a pretzel, facing Nakul.
"What exactly is your equation with Brigesh Babu's men?"
"You noticed that huh?" Nakul lifted a pebble and threw it sideways in the water, making it skip twice. "His son and five other men jumped me last year, accusing me of having an affair with his wife, Babu sahib's daughter-in-law. It was a bullshit reason and they knew it."
"Why did they attack you then?"
"They thought I was inciting the women of Bhabra, when I was only advising the ladies to vote for the candidates they liked, not the candidates their husbands liked. Turned out the said husbands weren't exactly fond of that idea, especially when the village council ended up having three women at its helm, including the wife of Brigesh's son, Sunanda."
The furrowed lines on his forehead smoothed at Madhu's worried expression. "Cheer up, it turned out for the best. Sunanda is campaigning for the availability of subsidised, eco-friendly pads in Bhabra. That's a good thing, right? Men wouldn't have even thought about that need. And I did collect my due last week, thanks to you."
"I thought I was being reckless," Madhu dryly remarked.
"You were, but regardless, I'm not going to pass over the opportunity to beat the shit out of them."
It was morbidly funny, so of course Madhu laughed. Picking up a flat pebble, she threw it in the pond, smiling triumphantly when it skipped thrice. "This place looks like it's straight out of Raghu Kaka's stories."
Nakul picked on the bark of the branch they were sitting on. That wasn't a surprise, even after all these years talking about it must be difficult. "He was the one who showed me this place. The last story he ever told me was here. It wasn't even a story, I mean, he was trying to string together a fairy-tale but his mind won't keep still, and he would just say incoherent things about magic and demons and kings and queens. He passed away in his sleep that night, a year after you guys moved to Delhi. Old Thakur sahib died a week later in the same way. When your father came down to cremate them, he asked me to go to Delhi with him. That or a Sainik School in Uttarakhand. I chose the latter."
"Why?" Madhu remembered feeling abandoned by him when her father had told her eight-year old self that Nakoo wouldn't come to live with them. After that, she dedicated a large chunk of her childhood hating his memory, feeling angry at the mere mention of his name. Both the anger and her memory of her childhood best-friend faded away when she grew up. The man in front of her now was a complete enigma.
"I didn't want to be a burden on your family, you guys had already done so much for me." His searching fingers found a very thin, coin-like stone. It did a kind of loop after the first skip then skipped two more times before drowning. "Beat that."
"Does the aid help?" Madhu asked, gesturing to the device in his left ear. She had noticed that he didn't have to look at her too intently, even though he did occasionally glance at her mouth to make out her words.
"In a way yes. I can hear you squeaking like a mosquito if that makes sense, but the sound of those damn squirrels is much louder. This doesn't exactly cancel out unnecessary noise. That's why I don't use it often, gives me a headache." He clapped lightly, accepting defeat when Madhu made her pebble skip four times.
Pleased with herself, she leaned back, resting her weight on her palms and soaking in the sounds of nature that were currently irritating Nakul. Her eyes closed, at ease due to the comforting smell of fresh earth. A smile crept on her face when Chikki came to nuzzle her lap.
Madhu caught Nakul hastily looking away when she opened her eyes. Her stomach flipped again.
"What sort of contraption are you making in the granary?"
Nakul shook his head. "Goodness you're still such a little pest." He was smiling though.
"And you still love acting like a grown-up all the time."
"We are grown-ups," he said, sounding annoyed, but Madhu knew that was an act. This was an old routine and she realised she had missed it.
"And that contraption," he continued, "is a generator that would use biogas for electricity. It's almost ninety percent complete."
Madhu opened then closed her mouth, before opening it again. "That...well I wasn't expecting you to say that." She straightened up. "Why not go with solar? Is it because it's expensive?"
"Yes, that and...you see, for centuries people like Brigesh Babu have spat on people who have handled waste, who have cleaned their streets and sewers. We've been labelled impure and unholy. Bhabra is home to two hundred families, out of which more than half live in complete darkness. I want to see the shock on their faces when this unholy waste is what ends up lighting their homes on Diwali."
Madhu leaned forward, gently taking his hand that was searching for another pebble. Even with her long nails, his calloused hand swallowed hers when she aligned their palms together. He was staring at her mutely and she could faintly feel his pulse. Her own heart was hammering inside her chest. "You know, if anyone else had proposed this ludicrous idea, I would've laughed."
"But not me?" There was a hint of apprehension in his usually self-assured voice.
"No, not you Nakoo. You're just the right amount of crazy to pull this off."
Even as a child, his large, toothy smiles had been a rare sight. So, when his face split into a wide, almost childish grin, her hammering heart stopped. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and he looked so much younger, almost boyish.
But he wasn't a boy. He was a man. A capable, hard-working and intelligent man, whose compassion drove him to push the limits of his genius. His inherent kindness and thirst to help the people around him was what woke him up every morning and kept him going all day.
He was good.
And Madhu was anything but.
The thought made her pull her hand away. If Nakul noticed the change in her demeanour, he didn't comment on it.
Soon, it started to get dark. Courtesy of the approaching winters, the days had started diminishing. They packed everything up and made their way back towards Bhabra.
When they were walking back through the forest, she tripped over the roots, resulting in Nakul taking her hand again to guide her. He didn't let go even when they reached the village and Madhu didn't mind. After all, this needn't be romantic. They used to hold hands all the time as kids.
A sleek black BMW greeted them when they reached the house, parked right next to her unwashed blue Honda. Waiting for them on the porch steps, right next to the Tulsi plant, was a man.
Madhu let go of Nakul's hand for the second time, staring ahead of her in shock. "What're you doing here?"
For it was none other than Roshan Mitra at her doorstep.
Because someone asked for longer chapters. I hope it wasn't tooooooo long.
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Panchayat- since ancient times, Indian villages have exercised a degree of autonomy in the form of a council of elders/learned people that meets and discusses issues. This council is called a Panchayat and in 1993, the Indian Parliament officially passed the 73rd Amendment Act to recognise the working of Panchayats in an effort to promote localized democracy.
Babu- so, it's kind of a colloquial term that appears in several dialects of Eastern Uttar Pradesh and Bihar. In many Bihari tongues, especially Bhojpuri, it is a term of endearment for kids. In Brigesh Babu's context, however, it is used more like a respectful title.