The first time I ever closed the door on Lata’s face was the day the letter was found. And that was also probably the last time. She had walked to my threshold, trying to make excuses for whatever had happened. My disapproving glances made her stop. She looked hurt, teary and restless. I was too angry and disappointed to care. I walked up to the door and shut it right in her face before she could walk in.
“Deb Da.” She knocked at the door as I sat down on the edge of my bed, my back to the door, as she kept pushing and knocking. “Please, hear me out once.”
It went from begging to accusations really quick.
“Don’t you trust me? Don’t you know me?” I closed my eyes, trying to control my anger. She dared to accuse after what she did. I didn’t want to lash out at her. It was her choice if she wanted to do what she did. Who was I to…
Thamma was very particular about her room. She didn’t let the maids clean her things. It was either Lata or Bibha who did that. With Bibha having her 10th examinations and the thirteen-year-old Lata yet to have her final examinations, I was home for the extended weekend in the last year of college to help them out in any way possible. Thamma wanted her room cleaned, so I offered to help. She reluctantly agreed, specifically telling me what I could touch and what was beyond my reach before she headed out to inspect farmlands with the Munshi. I looked around her room and started with the idols in the corner. After a while, I had turned the radio on, and Rabindrasangeet filled the room while I worked, humming my way through. I had forgotten all about Thamma’s rules of what was beyond my reach. Her old shelf of diaries was particularly dirty. Seemed like it hadn’t been touched or dusted for ages. I started removing the leather-bound brown diaries one by one from the shelf. One of them carelessly fell from my hand, and a paper peeped out from within its pages. I cursed myself under my breath and knelt down to pick it up. The paper, which looked like a letter, was yellow. My eyes automatically travelled to the name it was signed with.
Kedar.
Lata’s father wrote to Thamma? Why? When? Curiously, I picked up the page. It had no date. I started reading.
Pishima,
Pronam neben. Forgive me, for I can’t tell you where I am going or where I will be when you get this. I have tried very hard to stay. I tried to remind myself that Sneha needed me. But I couldn’t forget that every time I walked over the threshold of that house, or saw her face, it reminded me of her mother and Prabhash. I am perhaps cowardly to leave like this. But I needed to make sure she would be taken care of after I leave. You and Boudi have always taken her under your wing and showered her with love, especially through our most difficult times. This poor father has no riches to offer his daughter, but all I can say is that my child is precious. She has always been good luck to me. She is the most valuable thing I have in life right now. But I am unsure of my way ahead. I want to renounce the strings of attachment and home, and I can’t take her along on this journey. Her future is safer here. This father has a humble request, perhaps choto mukhe boro kotha. But if ever I had to choose a home for Lata, it would be with you. I know that you have seen my daughter grow up and perhaps know her better than me. Please take her under your wing, bless my child, and hopefully, in the future, if she grows up to be worthy of your home, you could consider my request of keeping her, for Debojyoti.
My hand shook a little as I quickly tucked the letter back into the diary, unable to finish reading it as Bibha ran in, calling out to me. She wanted me to solve a problem. I had walked into her room to find Lata on the bed, leaning over her copy, confused about something. The pencil was between her lips as her eyes narrowed, and she didn’t look up to acknowledge me. I suddenly felt aware of her presence that day. The twenty-one-year-old Debojyoti had never ever liked someone, been interested in romantic novels, nor dreamt of marriage. I mean, I saw Dada and Boudi. They weren’t the inspiration I needed. Bibha occupied me with the problem. My mind was too foggy to solve it, so I told her I would do it later. I looked up at Lata again. This time, as though she knew I was looking, she looked up at me with questioning eyes.
“Ki?” She asked almost in a gesture as I shook my head, turned around and left the room.
I paced my room, restless and agitated as Lata kept persuading me to open the door. She sat down on the floor quite adamantly.
“I am not leaving till you talk to me, Deb Da.” She said from the other side of the closed door. I shook my head. It had never occurred to me in the three years that I had kept a secret close to my heart that she was perhaps unaware of it, naive enough to believe in romances, or old enough to choose someone. Could I blame her? I was irked as she knocked again.
“Go away, Lata. I never want to see your face again.” I retorted. I could hear her cry. Sob and say in muffled words.
“I will do as you say. You will never see me again.” My heart skipped a beat at her words. I walked up to the door, placed my hand on the lock and stopped. Closing my eyes, I turned and leaned back against the closed door. And I heard her anklets run away, further and further away from me and faded into the night.
The night grew quiet as I opened my window for fresh air. The first thing I saw was Lata’s silhouette on the balcony. She wasn’t clearly visible, yet I knew she was there, pacing the balcony, running her hand through her open locks every now and then. I froze in my place. Suddenly, it felt like she was looking right at me. Judging me for the cigarette I just lit between my fingers. That was impossible, given the darkness and the way my window was positioned, yet she did look right at me, or perhaps my window, and I sensed she was somehow disappointed just as I was.
I don’t know when I slept that night, but I had a dream. The dream was so vivid that I remember it even today. In my dream, Lata was older; she had the Shakha Pola on her hands and sindoor on her hairline. She looked different, oddly beautiful. The way I have never seen her before. I approached her in my dream, calling out her name, as she stared back at me like I was a stranger. She wasn’t mine. She walked away from me, the shy smile lingering on her face, the red circle on her forehead suddenly disappearing into the morning sun. I woke up like I couldn’t breathe. I had forgotten to draw the curtains at night. The morning sunshine was falling on my face, and I found myself half lying on my bed.
