The Henna Artist(64)

“No, no, no. I won’t listen!” She was crying now, her mouth a grimace. “First you tell me I can’t go to the palace. Then you put me in a school where they make fun of my hair, my accent, what I wear. What did I ever do to you? Why do you get to do everything you want in your life, but I have to do everything you tell me to?”

I knew she was angry about being kept from the palace, but I thought we’d moved beyond that. She had Bombay-style dresses now. A sleek haircut. She was learning Western dances and how to prepare an English tea party for eight—things I wouldn’t even have known to teach her.

Perhaps it was the bewilderment on my face that made Radha jump out of her armchair and plop down next to me. She grasped my hands. Hers were wet from wiping her tears.

“Jiji, isn’t Ravi everything you want in a husband for me? He’s as handsome as a film star. He’s educated. He’s talented.” It sounded like the list I’d made when I first proposed a girl for Ravi.

Oh, you foolish girl, I wanted to scream. Instead, I kept my voice low. “Radha, Parvati Singh will never let her son marry you. She won’t let him be married at all until he graduates from university.”

She tightened her grip on my hands. “Auntie says love blossoms in the most unexpected places.” She appealed to Kanta. “Didn’t Mr. Rochester love Jane Eyre, Auntie, even though she had no money? And Lady Chatterley! Despite all her wealth, she loved a poor gamesman. And you, Auntie, you married Manu for love, not money. Why is it impossible for you to believe that Ravi and I can make a love match?”

Kanta cringed, closing her eyes. “Hai Ram!”

I sighed. “Because Parvati Singh will not allow a love match.”

Radha flung my hands aside. Her voice bubbled with fury. “You don’t care about my feelings. Or Ravi’s.”

I’d heard enough. “Kanta, tell her.”

“If I’d known—”

“Tell her!”

Kanta’s mouth twisted with sadness. She looked at Radha.

“Bheti,” she said, “I would do anything to spare you. But when Sheela Sharma turns eighteen, she will be married to Ravi Singh. The Sharmas announced it at a celebration dinner two nights ago.”

My sister looked stunned. She reached behind her, found the armchair and sat down.

Kanta said, “Manu and I were there. So was Ravi.”

“But...he told me his parents would never arrange his marriage without his consent!”

“They did ask,” Kanta said, “and he agreed.”

Radha’s eyes filled with tears.

“Bheti, did he actually say he would marry you?” Kanta asked, her voice kind.

My sister had retreated into herself. She looked so lost that I wanted to comfort her, but I knew she wouldn’t let me.

“Ravi isn’t who you think he is.” I said it as gently as I could.

“You’re just saying things to hurt me. You always do. Just like you never wanted me to find you. Never wanted me to live with you.” She turned her red-rimmed eyes toward Kanta. “That’s why I want a family, Auntie! She’s not my family. Not really. Not in the way that counts! You and Uncle are more of a family to me than she is!”

Her words felt like a hammer blow. Kanta looked at me sympathetically.

No one said anything for a while. Finally, Kanta released a long sigh and stood. She went to sit on the arm of Radha’s chair and lifted her chin with two fingers. “Listen to Lakshmi. She is your jiji. She has done everything she can to make sure you have a good future—the best. You cannot talk to her like that. Not in my house.”

I looked at Kanta with gratitude. She had spoken up for me the way no one ever had. I turned to my sister. “Radha, I arranged this marriage. I did it so—”

“You did this to me?”

“I didn’t do anything to you. I didn’t even know you were—”

Radha blinked. “Wait! Ravi’s marriage is years away! So much can change! And the way your ladies listen to you—perhaps if you talked to Ravi’s mother, Jiji...” She was desperate to change her future, as I’d been at fifteen.

I shook my head. “Parvati had her son’s future mapped out before he cut his first tooth. It was the same with her and Samir and with all generations of Singhs.”

Kanta gasped. “What if—if he doesn’t claim the baby—”

“Radha doesn’t have to have it.”

“No! I will not do anything to harm this baby! You may do that to other women, but you won’t do it to me!”

The shock on Kanta’s face told me another secret was out.

I turned to face her. “Kanta, don’t tell me you haven’t known women who had abortions. Who fell in love and didn’t take heed of the consequences. What about at university? In England?”

Kanta covered her mouth with her hand, staring first at me, then at the floor.

Radha waited, her eyes imploring my friend to side with her. In the silence, the whirring of the ceiling fan grew louder. After a pause, Kanta squeezed my sister’s shoulder gently and nodded. “They went on to marry later, often someone else. And have other children.”

Radha just shook her head. “No!”

“Lakshmi is doing the right thing.”

But that wasn’t what Radha wanted to hear. She squeezed her eyes shut. I could guess what she was thinking: What has Jiji ever done but scold me and keep me from having what I want?