Noon Read Free Page B

spectacles, the glare exposing fingerprints on their lenses, as Parvati’s anger built. She clutched an optician’s
artificial leather case in her hands, and muttered, ‘OK then, why not! Arre, suno!’ she yelled for a servant. ‘Koi hai?’
    Bihari arrived a moment later, a stained napkin draped over his shoulder.
    ‘Bihari, go and get baba’s food.’ Then, she added, ‘And listen, don’t say anything to Udaya madam.’
    ‘Nani, yes!’ Rehan squealed.
    ‘Your mother will kill us.’
    ‘No, no, she’ll be fine. She’s going out to dinner at the house of a rich industrist.’
    ‘Industrialist, baba.’
    Parvati, burning with rage, was moments away from committing the first sati ever when dinner arrived on a steel and tinted glass trolley.
    ‘Baba, come on now, eat your food.’
    ‘Nani, please, just see where we are. Please feed me.’
    ‘Your mother will throw a fit. She has told me time and time again not to feed you.’
    ‘Come on, Nani, what difference does it make? Look, look, Shiva’s being told about Parvati having jumped in the fire.’
    Drum rolls had begun in Kailash, demons tittered and studio lightning flashed as Shiva was informed of Parvati’s fate.
    ‘He’s going to dance the tandav,’ Rehan’s grandmother gasped, ‘he is the Natraj after all.’ And this simple comment on the drama, said in a voice fearful and
resigned, as if his grandmother, too, was part of the world Shiva was to destroy, spread gooseflesh over Rehan’s arms and back.
    ‘Nani!’ he breathed. She put a little packet of food, mutton and lentils in his mouth. He chewed tensely, as Shiva now bent over Parvati’s ashes, fingered them gently as though
searching for some small trinket. Rehan found this scene, of the most powerful god in the universe grieving, very affecting. Shiva’s loneliness was so acute; it made Rehan wish that they were
friends so that he could help lessen it in some way. At the same time the display of male emotion intrigued him.
    ‘Nani, look how he’s almost crying.’
    ‘He’s sad, no?’ Rehan’s grandmother said, putting another bite of food in his mouth. She tried another but Rehan turned his face away.
    ‘But still strong, Nani?’
    ‘Yes, baba. Eat. One for Nani . . .’
    He accepted.
    ‘One for Mama . . .’
    ‘No, Nani, enough.’
    ‘One for Shiva ji.’
    ‘Nani!’
    Then it occurred to Rehan to ask why Parvati had jumped into the fire in the first place. His grandmother smiled knowingly. ‘Baba Re,’ she said in a hushed voice, ‘the supreme
sacrifice.’ And perhaps thinking the words too complicated for a child, she added, ‘When a girl enters her husband’s house, his honour becomes hers. Then everything else becomes
secondary, even her own parents’ house, which once she leaves it for her husband’s, is no longer hers.’
    Distracted by their conversation and the noise from the television, neither of them heard the clatter of Udaya’s heels. His grandmother was still trying to shove in a last mouthful when
Rehan saw her standing in the doorway in her mustard chiffon sari. Her long black hair was washed and dried, the evening bag hung from her arm and her dark skin was touched with rouge and brownish
red lipstick. Taking in the scene before her, Udaya’s smile fled.
    ‘Mama!’ she moaned. ‘What are you doing?’
    Rehan’s grandmother pursed her lips; a martyred expression formed on her face; she looked directly ahead at the television, where Vishnu had now persuaded Shakti to stand between Shiva and
the destruction of the world. ‘The next step you take,’ Shakti said, looking up with simpering resolve at the dancing Shiva, ‘will be on my head.’ Rehan stared at his mother
as though she had jumped out of the screen.
    ‘Mama, how many times am I to tell you he is too old to be fed! If at this age he can’t feed himself, we may as well institutionalize him.’
    His grandmother glanced sideways at Rehan. He spluttered, ‘Ma, it was me. I