The Henna Artist(73)

I shall be grateful to you, Dr. Kumar, for treating Radha as if she were your own sister. I place myself in your debt.

Until we meet again, please feel free to ask me any questions via post or through Mr. Singh by telephone.

Respectfully yours,

Lakshmi Shastri





      SIXTEEN


    July 23, 1956


I sifted through the mail. Another letter from Kanta. One from Dr. Kumar, whose letters were getting longer and arriving more frequently. Still nothing from Radha—although I never gave up hope. To my surprise, I missed her. Missed seeing her, sitting on the cot, cross-legged, frowning in concentration, absorbed in Jane Eyre. Or cooking laddus at the hearth, chatting happily with Malik. I wanted to tell her things. Mrs. Patel has a new Alsatian puppy. Mrs. Pandey found a job selling sewing machines.

The irony was that Radha penned Kanta’s weekly letters; words on a page still made Kanta’s head spin. So when I read Kanta’s letters, I could imagine my friend dictating rapid-fire from a divan, chuckling, while Radha’s pen raced to keep up. Then I could almost make myself believe the letter was from Radha.

July 18, 1956

Dear Lakshmi,

I would take Radha down to the Shimla Mall more often but she would just spend my money! I want her to appreciate the beautiful Tudor architecture around us, but she’s drawn to baby trinkets like a rabbit to grass. Yesterday she brought home Himachali topas—the size is so big the cap will be wearing the baby instead of the other way around. (She’s laughing!)

Thank Bhagwan my dust allergy has calmed down, as it always does when I come to Shimla. If I’d stayed in Jaipur for the summer, I wouldn’t have been able to breathe. The doctor at Lady Bradley Hospital, Dr. Kumar (splendid fellow—just as you’d promised), says I must take it easy because I’m still spotting. So while Radha is climbing hills like a mountain goat, I must stay put on the sofa like a Himalayan bear. (I’m beginning to look like one, too, with all the rose milk I’ve had to consume!)

You’d be happy to see the pink in your sister’s cheeks (she’s blushing as I dictate this). Even her complexion is lighter. Last week, Dr. Kumar said her baby is an all-rounder—he’ll be good at batting and bowling on the cricket field. Radha thought that explained what he’s doing in her tummy all night, not letting her sleep. (I hope I did right by bringing Gray’s Anatomy with me so she could see how the babies are developing inside us. If you disagree, I’ll put it away.) Every few days, Radha brings back an armload of books from the Shimla library—most are books the British left behind. By now her English is quite good, and I think your prediction that Radha may become a writer or a teacher someday seems more likely than ever (she’s shaking her head).

Well, Uma has just brought us our rose milk (don’t tell my saas that I’ve actually grown fond of the stuff) so it’s off to bed for me. Radha says goodbye, too.

Affectionately,

Kanta

P.S. Baju went to a letter writer and dictated a note, begging me to send him a passage to Shimla. He’s threatening to quit because Saasuji is making him raving mad. See? I’m not the only one who wants to escape her clutches!

I passed the letter to Malik and opened the other envelope.

July 17, 1956

My Dear Mrs. Shastri,

In your letters you’ve mentioned how much Radha likes to read. You did not exaggerate! Last Tuesday, I ran into her as she was leaving the Shimla library—lugging half its contents in her carrier, which she was eager to share with me. If I remember correctly, there was a book of poems by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, The Canterbury Tales, Shelley’s Frankenstein and Thurber’s Fables. I marvel at her eclectic tastes! I realize that I’m merely a doctor-for-hire, a temporary caretaker for your sister, not qualified to offer recommendations outside the medical realm, but I hope you will permit me one suggestion: private tutoring. Radha shows an unusual ability to grasp literary concepts and she can discuss Elizabethan poets with the best of them. It would be a travesty to let her fall behind in her studies because of her unfortunate situation.

As I’ve repeatedly stated in my letters, I’m most interested in learning about the herbal therapies with which you’ve had so much experience. (Perhaps a belated apology is not entirely out of order—I refer to the cotton root bark.) It’s worrisome that the hill people of the Himalayas rely solely on folk remedies when they could come to Lady Bradley for medical treatment. Yesterday, I saw a little Gaddi boy along the Mall with severe dermatitis, which his mother told me she’d been treating with tulsi powder. Obviously, it wasn’t helping. She refused to try the antiseptic ointment I suggested, even after I volunteered to bring it for her the next day. Perhaps you have an herbal recommendation that might prove useful? Your thoughts on the matter would be most welcome.

Rest assured that your sister’s pregnancy is progressing nicely. She’s extremely healthy, enjoys robust exercise and eats well. It’s a pleasure looking after her. I look forward to your next letter and your suggestions for bridging the gap between old world and new world medicine.

Your friend,

Jay Kumar, M.D.

P.S. Thank you for sending the mustard poultice. My cough is greatly reduced. However, my chest looked as if it had been dipped in batter and was ready for the fryer!

I made a note to tell him in my next letter to mix neem powder with rose water, resulting in a sweet-smelling antiseptic, a cure the Himalayan women would prefer to an ointment with a medicinal odor.