The Henna Artist(51)

I sipped my tea. “How about your other teachers?”

“For History we have Mrs. Channa. She’s mean. A girl in my class was talking to her friend. Mrs. Channa didn’t like it, so Sonia had to squat with her arms under her knees and pull at her ears. Like a rooster.”

Some school punishments never changed. My lips twitched. “Looks like Mrs. Channa was trying to set an example.”

Radha lifted her shoulders, as if she didn’t care either way. I thought of how happy my sister always seemed around Malik and Kanta. Why couldn’t she be the same way with me?

I pulled a slim kidskin case from my handbag. “Since you like to read so much, I thought you might want to try your hand at writing. This should come in handy.”

She looked at the case for a moment, then at me. It occurred to me that she might never have received a gift before. She pulled out her school handkerchief and wiped the grease from her hands. Slowly, she opened the case and lifted the marbled orange fountain pen carefully from its blue velvet bed, as if she were afraid to break it. She slid her fingers over the smooth barrel and unscrewed the cap. She examined the engraving on the gold nib: Wilson 1st Quality Fine.

Radha’s lips were halfway to a smile. Then, suddenly, she blinked. She slipped the pen back in its case, snapping it shut. “You shouldn’t have.”

Stunned, I said, “Don’t you like it?”

“If I lose it, you’ll be angry.” Another rebuke.

She took another large mouthful of puri and potatoes, defying me to correct her table manners.

I pressed my lips together. I pushed the case closer to her. “It’s yours, choti behen.” The words little sister just slipped out. I hadn’t planned them. I was used to Malik calling her choti behen because he felt protective of her, as if he were the older sibling. This was the first time I’d called her that.

She stopped chewing. With difficulty, she swallowed. “Thank you, Jiji.”

She quickly finished the remainder of her puri and said she had to get back to catch up on her reading before her next class. “I could have finished it this morning but I had to grind the henna for you.”

“Radha, if your schoolwork is suffering, you don’t have to make the henna paste anymore. I can manage.”

“Can we go now?” She sounded impatient and got off her stool.

When we arrived at the school gates, she checked in with the guard and walked across the courtyard and up the steps, disappearing into the main building. She hadn’t even said goodbye.

I crossed the street, lost in thought. She hadn’t wanted to go the Maharani School in the first place, but now she was anxious to return early from lunch so she could do well in her studies. What an unpredictable girl she was.

“I wish I could send my daughter to a school like that.”

I jumped. My builder, Naraya, had come up behind me. He was standing a little too close, cleaning his teeth with a toothpick. He was a hefty man, with a bulging belly, and the kurta he wore was voluminous, making him appear even larger.

I took a step away from him. “You scared me, Mr. Naraya.”

“Did I? Apologies, Mrs. Shastri.” Although he was gazing at me calmly, there was a hint of menace in his voice. “Did you notice that we put in that fancy Western plumbing you like? Unfortunately, we ran out of money for a privy. And the shutters for the windows.” He took a piece of paper from his kurta and moved closer to me to again. “You haven’t paid the invoice.” I smelled the cheap beedis and the curry he’d had for lunch.

I was about to take the sheet from him, but he pulled it back. “Of course, I had to double it.”

What? Samir had secured a two-month extension for me. I snatched the invoice out of his hands and scanned it. “Ten thousand rupees? What about—”

“Your extension? Two months was up—” he scratched his neck “—two days ago. The amount doubles if you miss a payment. It’s in the contract.”

I’d been so preoccupied with the palace and our new bookings, getting Radha ready for school and, of course, working, working, working that I’d forgotten to mark it in my notebook.

“I already gave you two extra months.” He picked his teeth. “If I don’t get the money today, I can take possession. That’s also in the contract. And my daughter and her new husband need a house.”

Hai Ram! I still didn’t have his money. Most of my palace earnings had gone toward a combination of the Maharani Latika’s supplies (Parvati had yet to pay me for the marriage commission), to Radha’s uniform and books, the increased rent Mrs. Iyengar was charging for my sister and, of course, to Hari. Naraya had deliberately held back the installation of the toilet. Without a proper privy, I couldn’t move in.

I attempted a smile, but it came out as a grimace. “I need a little more time.”

His face with its Buddha-cheeks looked pleasant enough, but his voice was grim. “My daughter’s dowry can’t wait. Else she will deliver before the wedding.”

I raised my eyebrows. “She’s pregnant?”

He bared his stained teeth, as if we had just shared a joke. “I kicked her out once. But my sister begged me to take her back. Finally, I found an old fool to take her off my hands. But she’ll start showing soon.”

“The groom doesn’t know?”