As they dispersed an hour later, gathering their respective books, I called Lata in a very strict voice to stay back and have a word. She did, gathering her pile of books close to her chest as she looked up at me. In retrospect, the thirteen-year-old had started braiding her hair, parting her hair sideways and into a single braid instead of two, like Bibha did. She didn’t look much like a child anymore. But you don’t notice such things when you see someone around you every day. She knew what I was going to say, yet she waited.
“You shouldn’t side with him, especially when I am scolding him. He is extremely pampered, and that can hamper his studies.” I tried my best to reason. Her brows narrowed.
“Do you think I am trying to spoil his education, Deb Da?” Her accusing tone made me look up. Now, when did I even say that? I knew she had his best interests in mind, but… Lata shook her head and sighed. “I promise you, his grades will improve. I will help him.” I nodded in silence as she walked away, shaking her head and murmuring something about me losing my mind and being particularly unnecessarily harsh to my brother of mine. She had indeed kept her word.
Lata and Ananta had always been a unit. Ananta was Prabhash’s age and his playmate since they were infants. Lata had always been supervising her brother and mine, while our mothers often met at our courtyard to exchange recipes, make achar or naru, and gossip. Her Kakima would join too, chatting through the quiet afternoon as the children played. That made Lata friends with Bibha and Ananta with Prabhash. Perhaps she saw a bit of the brother she missed dearly in Ananta, and hence was overprotective of him.
Bhai Phota in our house used to be a grand affair, as Bibha basked in attention from all three of us. Ma would usually choose the gifts for her, and all we did was sit in a row, eyeing the plates of sweets to savour after she put the Kajol-Chandan tika on our forehead and sought our blessings. I never cared to ask Ma what she bought, even when I handed them over to an excited Bibha. The first year after Ma was gone, I pondered over what Bibha would like. She shouldn’t feel that we had been so ignorant of her likings all this while. Dada had brought an expensive saree from Calcutta. She would love that. I ran my hands through the bit of savings I had managed from my college allowance and wondered, scratching my head. Ananta came running into my room right then and showed me a box.
“Lata didi got this for me. To give to Didibhai.” He gushed. I glanced at the fountain pen in his hand.
“Where did you get the money?” I asked, hoping he didn’t take up all of Lata’s small allowance from her Kaka in it.
“Thamma gave it to me,” he gushed. He was as quick to leave as Lata watched him go and walked into my room to keep a book. I stared back at the coins and notes on my table again. She proceeded to straighten the wrinkles on the bed cover and brushed the pillow with her hand. Then she glanced back at me with a frown. I didn’t look up.
She walked back to the threshold, where she stopped and turned.
“Glass bangles.” She said as I looked up, confused, “Didi will like some matching ones with the new saree.” She left me relieved.
The first Bhaifota she had without her mother was not as easy as this. She was younger, freshly bruised from the sudden way her father left, and she had run into our house that morning, almost like a daily ritual, to help Ma. She stopped at the sight before her eyes, as she saw Bibha put the tika on Dada and seek his blessings while Ma blew the conch shell. She slowly tiptoed away into the house. I had seen her eyes teary. Later that day, I found her in the garden beside our house, staring emptily at the Togor plants swaying in the breeze as she sniffed. I was about to approach her, unsure of whether or not to talk of Prabhash or his absence, when I saw Ananta run to her. I had stopped seeing Ananta’s small hands hug her from behind. I didn’t know what they talked about, but I gathered that it pleased her. He wiped away her tears as she hugged him. I was proud of how sensitive my little brother was that day. From the next year, Lata would wait for Bibha to finish and drag Ananta away to her place, for her very own Bhaifota. Ananta, too, never missed buying identical gifts for both his sisters. It wasn’t a surprise how protective Lata was of him. She continued tying his shoelaces well into his teens until one day Dada strictly scolded her not to and continued to feed him with her own hands, for as long as Ananta was in college.
Ananta confided in Lata, his musical experiments, endeavours and dreams. Many times, I would walk into the house after a day’s work to find them at the grand old piano, as he tried the music of some new song, and she hummed along. Her voice was melodious, but she was too conscious of Thamma’s disapproval, my presence and her position, perhaps. She never mouthed a word of any lyrics, no matter how much Ananta insisted. He even tried to convince her to take lessons.
One day, while I was studying for my college examinations, he dragged a reluctant Lata inside as she kept saying no. He insisted that she sang better than many and that his music teacher could easily teach her. I looked up, a little irked by this sudden invasion of my study time, first at him, then at Lata, who looked away. I hurriedly assured him that I would talk to Thamma, and that made him leave immediately, quite visibly pleased.
“Please don’t, Deb Da.” Her voice was low, pleading. I frowned as I was about to resume my reading.
I inquired if she didn’t like music. I was a little unsure of her choices.
“I do but… Thamma is already paying for my tuition.” She looked awkward, as I nodded understandingly. Although her Kaka never said it out in the open, his financial condition wasn’t good enough to teach three children and get their dowries ready for marriage. He decided the second was more important than the first. Especially for Lata, whose father was absent. She was aware that she lived in people’s mercy. She, in turn, showed her gratitude by helping out in both households, especially with her Kakima managing the family and her two young daughters without a maid.
“I will pay for it,” I spoke without a second thought as she looked a little taken aback. I could afford it if I saved a little each month from my college allowance. Living away from home through the week meant Thamma gave me more allowance than before. It wouldn’t take much to pay for her lessons. She refused. She made all kinds of excuses she could possibly find in her little head. Later, she pleaded. I was stubborn. She knew that. She left the room with my last words. I was paying for her music lessons.
She had begun the next week, with Ananta sitting and observing her progress and reporting it to me every other weekend. I had never heard her sing, even when I paid for the lessons. It was probably on the Janmashtami of her seventeenth birthday that Thamma insisted she sing the bhajan, and she did, mesmerising everyone present in the hall with her melodious voice. Among them was a rather proud Ananta who took all the credit for Didi's talent. I had just smiled as she looked for my approval in the crowd of faces praising her singing. Thamma never let anyone else sing the bhajan thereafter.
