Lata ran back across the Singhadwar and street through the small gate leading up to the Chattuje house. Thamma had ordered her to stay the night with Bibha. She could barely find words as she nodded, murmuring almost to herself that she would be back after helping Kakima with dinner and eyed the lit-up room of Bibhavati’s once before leaving the place. She ran into the small courtyard of their house now and eyed her cousins, busy studying on the jute mat they had laid down on the floor. Kaku seemed to be on the living room sofa, and Kakima was upstairs making the beds. Lata quickly folded the end of her saree, tucked it into her waist and ran upstairs to help Kakima. Hearing her footsteps, Kakima looked up at the door as she made a gesture that she would do the rest. Kakima let go of the bed sheet that lay wrinkled in the bed as Lata picked it up by the end.
“How is Bibha?” She asked as Lata shook her head.
“Thamma was asking me to stay the night with her.” Lata spoke worriedly, “I think she is afraid of being alone or facing Thamma’s questions.”
“Tch Tch!” Kakima sat down on the edge of the bed and shook her head. “See what happens when you don't listen to elders!” She almost warned Lata. “I hope she has learnt her lesson.” Lata quietly straightened the bed sheet and began to tuck in the edges on the sides of the four-poster bed. Kakima eyed her in silence.
“You can help there some more in this time of need. Mashima will appreciate it.” Lata’s hand stopped straightening the pillow as she nodded in silence at Kakima’s suggestion.
“Oh, and before you leave, now that she is back, take the books you borrowed from her along too, you kept them too long.” Kakima left, reminding her as she nodded. Lata sighed. She had kept the books Bibha Didi had given her personally, as she was unsure of the future prospect of meeting her again. She had read those novels again and again and cried in worry and missed Bibha through them. It was time to take them back and be there for her in person.
Lata had walked into her room and scanned it briefly to find the stack of novels on the study table. As she walked up to it, she went through each one to double-check if she had left any bookmarks inside, and her hand stopped at the third book in the stack. That one didn’t belong to Bibha; she had taken it from the downstairs library a few weeks ago. She shook her head at her carelessness and picked it up. She turned the hardbound brown cover to find a name on the very first page.
“Debojyoti”
Her fingers stopped before she ran it through the ink, curved into his handwriting as she suddenly looked at her wrist, and her cheek grew warm. Lata sat down on the chair, flushed, as she remembered his touch and his words. He had touched her several times before while teaching, scolding, explaining and even praising him ever since she was a child. She had never even learnt to distinguish or remember his touch apart from all the others. Yet she had never flushed like she did today. Her stomach felt funny, and her ears were warm. Lata inhaled at her own thoughts. Was it because she knew what he meant? Today was different. Or that she now knew that Thakuma was right about his approval? She was silly enough to even doubt it. Lata’s blushing smile gave way to a frown as her brows narrowed slightly. Lost in thoughts. Why did he even ask a question the answer to which he was supposed to know? Did he not know that they were all she had, her family, her people and her home? Did he not know she had always been with him, supported him and respected him through thick and thin and that she didn’t need him to ask for her to be on his side to just be there? Perhaps he did, or he was as doubtful as she was about his intentions. Lata smiled again. She had never needed words with him before. She didn’t know how to interpret this change. Lata remembered everything in retrospect now as if it all made sense; the pieces of the puzzle that were missing were finally fitted to make a clear picture.
She was sixteen when Bibha Didi and Ananta had this unsaid ritual of measuring their heights every year on Saraswati Pujo, to check who had grown the tallest. Although Ananta inevitably lost, Thamma would always reassure him that one day he would outgrow his sisters, and Bibha, being the eldest, mostly won. However, Lata was growing too, and she was very sure that year she would grow taller than Bibha. With that hope in her heart, she had stood beside Ananta, who was dismissed from the competition by Bibha, who now stood tall beside her.
“Look, Didi!” Lata had gushed, “My shoulders are the same as yours, we are of the same height.”
“No, you foolish girl!” Bibha laughed. “Measure the heads, your neck can be shorter than mine!”
“It is not.” Lata shook her head. “I am taller!”
“You can’t possibly be.” Bibha shook her head, “I am older than you; I have to be taller.”
“What does age have to do with height?” Lata frowned. Ananta jumped at the opportunity to take Didi's side. “By that logic, Didibhai, Thamma would be as tall as a coconut tree by now.” His tone was serious as both Bibha and Lata looked at him, and the three of them burst into laughter. Debojyoti walked in, right at that moment, as they shared a laugh and Bibha, stubborn as she was to prove her point, jumped to his side and measured her height with his.
“See, I reach up to Dada’s shoulders. Check with him, Lata.” She urged. A taken aback Debojyoti looked flushed as she stood beside him, and Bibha moved away. Lata was quick to realise Bibha was right, but she had gone out of her way to be right on this one. She eyed Deb da’s face and then Ananta’s.
“Didi seems to reach to his heart.” Ananta inferred.
“Huh?” Debojyoti seemed a little taken aback, and Lata took the opportunity to discreetly stand on tiptoe to reach his shoulders.
“Moteo Na!” She protested, “I am as tall as Didi.” Bibha and Ananta looked convinced by her words now.
Lata eyed Debojyoti, glaring at her, seemingly amused now as he eyed her feet and her face flushed. She was about to plead with him to be quiet when he just shook his head with a faintly amused smile and left in silence. She had wondered what the mystery was behind his flushed face, smile and silence many times; she now knew it. She was aware of the sudden awkwardness she felt when he had cycled to the forest with her in the back seat, clinging rather shyly to his Panjabi. She had suddenly felt flushed as she sewed his button, aware of how his eyes wandered, unsure of her own feelings of emptiness in the pit of her stomach, the warmth on her cheeks that reached her ears and even perhaps the sudden, fast beating of her own heart. It all made sense now as finally, Lata was ready to accept what she felt was rightfully hers to feel and that she shouldn’t be guilty of her feelings towards him. She was, after all, a good daughter too, for she was keeping her father’s wishes and words. She was suddenly confused. Should she let him know what her father had said? She shook her head. Sharing it made her lose people. She had lost enough people already. Maybe sometime in the future, she could casually talk about it rather than being emotional about it, and perhaps Thamma would mention his letter to him as well. Lata decided to redirect her thoughts to something more important at hand.
Their relationship was to change forever. What if she missed the old them? Lata wondered if his demeanour towards her would change because of their feelings. Perhaps not, for now, she was sure the feelings were there, even when they didn’t know what those feelings were. She perhaps saw things more clearly now. She blushed, remembering the day he had held her hand over the keys in her palm and had even taken the pain to reach out to her in words. Lata didn’t know how to reply to the question asked. It wasn’t even a question to her. Of course, he knew her answer before he asked it. Didn’t he? Yet, when a question was asked, she must, for the sake of his satisfaction, answer him; such was Debojyoti’s nature. She was aware of it. How could she let go of her inhibitions, shyness and self-awareness to step up and face him with the right words for her feelings? She flipped through the yellow pages of the book and suddenly smiled as she stopped in the middle.
