The Plunge Page 8

  The train would halt for ten minutes, the conductor’s assistant had announced. Many passengers got down to stretch their limbs and to click pictures with the beautiful station or the train as the background.

  Anjali was the only one to end her journey at Barog. The rest of the passengers were headed for Shimla. She noticed the curious gaze of some fellow passengers when she picked up her luggage. She ignored them and walked towards the station. She had to struggle with the two bags, which she suddenly felt were too heavy.

  Then she saw Siddharth swaggering towards her from the other end. Her anxious gaze was quick to spot his sombre approach. Why had she not noticed his peculiar walk when they had met in Mumbai? He dragged his left leg slightly after the right.

  Anjali tried to stay calm as he came up to her. Their meeting at the Marine Drive months back barrelled into her consciousness. But before it could come fully alive, there he was, in front of her, her Siddh.

  Siddharth smiled, his expression changing from grave to tender. She noticed his slimmer figure while returning a shy smile. He grinned. Anjali bit her lower lip, hoping to disguise her nervousness, her head cocked to one side.

  “Hi!” He grasped her trembling hand. His confident grip eased her nerves.

  “Let’s go,” he said. He let go of her hand and plodded ahead with her luggage.

  Already breathless, she struggled to keep up with him.

  Shivalik Cottage, the only luxury chalet near the station, was apparently unoccupied most of the time. Siddharth had chosen it for its location; the seclusion minimised the risk of being spotted by his acquaintances. It was tucked into the lap of a hillock, away from the crowd. He had booked them as husband and wife. She was thrilled when he had told her that a few days back. Mr. and Mrs. Siddharth, cool, some progress.

  A paved path led to the chalet, making the climb less strenuous. Siddharth’s bag was on the side table near the bed and some clothes were hung on the wall hooks.

  She looked around. The cottage stood on a higher ground than the station. Its fence and wicket gate gave it an old-world charm. There was a small veranda at the back as well. Shrubs, pruned to perfection, marked the edge of the hillock on which the chalet was perched.

  Anjali walked to the lone pine near the gate and scanned the valley. She could see the winding railway line until the sharp turn it took towards Shimla. She could also see the tunnel on the other end that led the trains from the hills to the plains.

  The winding road she had seen from the train lay behind the station, stretched uphill in the direction of Shimla. The vehicles that moved along every now and then were the only evidence that other lives existed nearby, other than in the station building.

  “You like the place?” he asked, standing an arm’s length from her, looking in the same direction as she was. She turned to him and smiled.

  A friend had suggested the place to Siddharth as the ideal family retreat. She was glad to be there. It was a cosy place. They could spend a day and night in Barog in privacy. He would drop her off at her cottage in Shimla the following day.

  It was a tastefully designed chalet, and well-lit. The porch opened into a spacious bedroom. There was a small sofa, a comfortable bed, clean sheets, and a dressing table, among other things. The bathroom was spotlessly clean. Large mirrors covered its walls.

  The space was undoubtedly designed for honeymooners, to explore love.

  He looked more relaxed inside the house, with no fear of being seen in the company of a woman. There were many tourists from Delhi on the train to Kalka, but not many to Shimla. He was needlessly worrying.

  “Here we are, thanks to your desperation,” he said, turning towards her for a reaction. It sounded like an accusation.

  “You never wanted this to happen?” she asked, her large eyes wide open and chin quivering.

  “Come on, you must agree that your desperation made us think up this crazy move.”

  “Maybe, but…” she fell silent, and sank into an armchair placed near the window.

  “What? Don’t you know how much I am risking?”

  He began to pace the room.

  “It would be a scandal. I can’t be seen moving around with a mystery woman in a place like Shimla, where neither my family nor work calls me.”

  He continued a monologue she did not want to hear.

  “Shall we talk about something pleasant?”

  He looked at her and stopped pacing. He walked to her. She was still stuck in thoughts, and the chair.

  “I am sorry, dear.” He tipped her chin to face him. Her stress melted away when his warm hand caressed her face and neck.

  Anjali smiled at him and briefly held his hands together before getting up to move away. She stood gazing through the window. Did he mean what he said? Or did he regret it now?

  He turned on the television and sat on the bed switching channels.

  After a while, she walked to the bed and stretched out, hoping the pain in her lower back would subside. It had been a long journey. She closed her eyes.

  She felt his hand on her shoulder. With her eyes still shut, she turned towards him.

  He kissed her. She kissed him back. They clung together, forgetting everything but the present. The future, all their fears, and caution faded into obscurity.

  She felt a loving kindness towards her man. How starved he was, how greedy and uncouth.

  Afterwards, while they bathed together, she noticed that he had broad shoulders. Sexy, she made a mental note.

  “Let’s order food in the room,” he said.

  She agreed. She wanted to enjoy every minute of privacy. She was with him after months of infinite longing. Anjali had worried that she would weep when she finally saw him again. Instead she was calm near him. It was as if they had been living together for years, so close and familiar.

  They spent the evening loitering on the shady walks near the cottage.

  Their next destination was Chail, his favourite town, a two-hour drive away. He had rented a taxi for the journey.

  He drifted off to sleep, with her still in his arms. Anjali went into a reverie, resting her head against his bare chest. Ammamma came to her mind as if by special invitation. It had been more than a year since she had passed away. Was it true that the souls of the dead wandered on earth? If so, wouldn’t they be able to watch the living bathing, urinating, and making love?

  Hah, what a thought! That tunnel ghost must be influencing her.

  Anjali remembered her final meeting with ammamma.

  Why was she thinking this now? Perhaps Siddharth’s arms around her gave her the quiet strength to revisit that painful time.

  It was at the end of her short visit to ammamma.

  Ammamma had sobbed uncontrollably when Anjali was getting ready to leave. It was as if she knew they would never meet again.

  Her own eyes had blurred with tears. She felt overwhelmed with sadness. It was the first time in years that she had hugged ammamma that day.

  Anjali scolded her for behaving like a child. She arranged ammamma’s dishevelled hair as she held her close.

  “Come, come, you will miss your train,” her father had called out, in his habitual rush. She looked back, one last time, while closing the gate. Ammamma was still weeping. The image of the feeble old woman who stood sobbing for her had haunted Anjali ever since. Why did she weep like that? It was the first time ammamma had done so, and it turned out to be the last.

  Ammamma died three months later. She was bedridden for a month, but did not wait until Anjali could visit her.

  “She often asked if you would come to see her,” amma told her when she had visited a month later.

  Amma wrote to Anjali a week after ammamma’s death that her grandmother had left money for her.

  “She wanted you to buy a house, anywhere you wanted,” she had written.

  Anywhere you wanted, Anjali mused.

  Shimla? Why not? Siddharth was also open to the idea of spending his retired life in Shimla. When she
had once asked him about it, all he said was, “Not a bad idea.” She did not probe further. But what fun it would be if he did that, living so close to him, yet apart! She smiled at the thought.

  Anjali clung to Siddharth, and closed her eyes, enjoying his warmth filter into her body.

  She felt whole again.

  .

  13

  CHAPTER

  Love

  Anjali was getting ready by the time Siddharth woke up the next morning.

  She smiled at her image in the mirror. She looked beautiful in the light pink sari. She felt perked up when the soft silk briefly sparked static electricity as it brushed against her arm.

  She smiled at Siddharth, pretending not to notice his intent gaze.

  Anjali applied a grape-coloured lipstick, kajal to her eyes, and a dash of red sindoor on her forehead. She felt like a married woman. This time, she was mentally prepared for their union. It had made a difference.

  The room-service boy looked at them with a friendly smile.

  She felt a little nervous. Did he suspect they were not really a married couple?

  Swapna had warned her, “People will think poorly of you. Even he wouldn’t have any respect for you. Don’t be such an easy catch. Think, think, think…don’t act in haste.”

  Anjali shook her head of dismal thoughts.

  “You OK?” Siddharth asked during breakfast.

  She nodded to mean she was fine.

  He pinched her cheek and grinned before he sipped his coffee. Anjali smiled shyly.

  Siddharth unexpectedly drew her towards him, lowering his cup on the table. She closed her eyes and enjoyed his tight embrace. But she stopped his wandering hands with a mild protest. Not again, not so soon, she warned her body. She didn’t want to give in so easily, each time, every time.

  “Not in a mood for love?” he asked with a wink.

  “Not for lovemaking,” she corrected him.

  “No worries. Let’s wait for the right time,” he said and winked again.

  She felt a little irritated. Why was he winking? Was he just interested in sex?

  Siddharth kissed her forehead as he walked to the bathroom.

  On their way to Chail, steering the car up the access road, he said, “I discovered Chail while trekking with friends.”

  Siddharth preferred the quiet Chail to the popular Shimla. Chail relaxed him, he had said when she asked him for the reason for his fondness for the place.

  Anjali sat biting her nails as the car moved along the many blind curves. She shut her eyes tightly each time the car turned around a corner, her body swaying sideways.

  The road followed a scenic route. The woods looked cool and tranquil even at noon. There was barely any traffic.

  “This road is less travelled, even during weekdays,” Siddharth said.

  There were long, deserted stretches. Later, a few women came along with firewood on their shoulders. Some men followed. They led tired horses or yaks down the steep hills.

  Was their life boring or peaceful? She assumed it was more peaceful than boring, and maybe difficult.

  Siddharth stopped the car at Naldehra to show her the famed nine-hole golf course.

  “This course was laid by the viceroy, Lord Curzon, in the early nineties,” Siddharth said. “It’s said that he was fascinated by the spectacular view and named his daughter Alexandra Naldehra.”

  They trekked to the picnic spot along a narrow path lined with deodars. The crisp air of the hills made the walk a heavenly experience. Huddled on one side of the path were the log huts rented out to tourists. These were maintained by the Himachal Pradesh Tourism Development Corporation, according to a signboard.

  “It is nice and cosy here. We’ll come sometime for a night stay. He turned to her for a reaction as they sat on a solitary bench.

  She smiled, though not very excited about the idea at that moment.

  The surroundings were green and darker at a distance. It was straight out of a Thomas Hardy novel. The Woodlanders, perhaps? She tried to recall, then gave up and looked around, soaking up the serenity.

  Her mobile flashed Swapna’s number. Anjali’s heart skipped a beat. She cut off the call. “Shall call you later,” she keyed in with cold fingers.

  Surely Swapna would advise her to go back. Would she never give up? Every few weeks, she called up with pleas for her to abandon the “dangerous” track. While Swapna made emotional appeals, Priya was forthright in her reproaches.

  A sigh escaped her heavy heart. Siddharth’s arm was on her shoulder. Anjali leaned on him.

  But why did he appear emotionally misplaced? Anjali waited for him to say something about their immediate future. But Siddharth seemed to be interested in the surroundings and the few tourists walking towards the clearing. She lost patience, but did not want open the topic herself.

  “Let’s walk,” she said. He agreed.

  By the time they returned to the spot, the scene had changed. A group of picnickers who had arrived in the meanwhile and the vendors at the scene were creating an annoying ruckus. Locals set up makeshift eateries and played loud music that drowned out the silence of nature. What an abuse! How could anyone think of setting up businesses in paradise? But maybe when you are short of means to feed your family, it did not seem like such an outrageous idea.

  Bulky urban men and women with bulging bums and potbellies plonked on aged horses that carried them up the hillock. The piteous creatures were barely allowed to rest for a few minutes before the tour guides hustled them down to cart more loads through the picturesque woods, along the winding river. The poor animals huffed and puffed, and trudged along, shuttling tourists up the rough path. Anjali feared some of them would collapse much before they reached the top.

  Tour guides led visitors to the snaking Sutlej river and pointed to the distant snow-capped peaks, where the annual tribal festival was held. They were paid a measly sum for an entire day of hard labour.

  “You want a ride?” he asked.

  “Oh no.” She gasped almost instantly, her face turning pale. She stared at him with lips drawn apart, startled. He remained straight-faced hardly for a few minutes before breaking into a guffaw.

  They sat down on one of the benches. Tourists were laughing and chatting among themselves. Photographers rented out costumes to tourists that were similar to the clothes worn by the hill tribes. The pictures they took would be slipped under thin plastic in family albums and fade into pale yellow memories over the years, she imagined.

  “Let’s go,” he said, touching her shoulder. Anjali nodded, though she wanted to sit with him among the deodars forever. It was an ideal moment, the heavenly landscape and Siddharth by her side. She clung to him, head on his shoulder, an arm firmly around his, as if she feared he would leave her in the wilderness if she eased her grip.

  “Hey, let’s move,” he said. She reluctantly followed him to the car.

  They reached Chail by noon. She was tired.

  The cottage was beautiful. The lovely log huts were much in demand during the tourist season, Siddharth had said.

  Siddharth had told her some of the many tales associated with the architect of Chail, Maharaja Bhupinder Singh, who was eventually banished from Shimla in the late-nineteenth century. She had also read about many unbelievable, but mostly real, incidents during her research.

  The prince’s father, Maharaja Rajinder Singh, had built a palace in Chail as a personal retreat. It was later converted into a hotel by the state government and opened to public.

  There were plenty of anecdotes in circulation about Maharaja Bhupinder Singh. When the controversial maharaja ascended the throne in the 1920s, he charmed his subjects and British officers with ease. He impressed women and gained the confidence of top officials, including the British viceroy. His alleged exploits had inspired several authors.

  Among the many legends was one that claimed that the maharaja had a motorcade of twenty Rolls Royce cars. According to a published story, the maharaja felt sligh
ted by the British Rolls Royce Company when it rejected his order for a new Rolls Royce. Furious, he gave away some of his old Rolls Royce cars to be used for garbage clearing in Patiala.

  Oddly, the maharaja was a good administrator, considering his contribution to his subjects. He had built a monorail system in Patiala. A well-known cricketer, he had constructed the Chail cricket ground, the highest in the world, to promote the game in those days, impressive.

  He also fought in the First World War as an honorary lieutenant-colonel, and was later promoted to honorary lieutenant-general.

  His personal life was equally colourful, if one was to believe the gossip. He married ten times and had eighty-eight children from his wives and concubines, according to one author.

  The maharaja was seven feet tall and well-built. He had a handsome face, intense eyes, a prominent nose, and clearly defined features, not to mention a grand moustache to match his attitude. The images she had seen on some websites endorsed claims of his charismatic personality.

  It was also said that the maharaja got so close to the viceroy that the commander-in-chief and other British officers became jealous. His rendezvous in Shimla were also turning into scandalous affairs involving British women.

  Among the many stories, one said he charmed the viceroy’s wife with precious jewels and Benares silk. According to one author, the maharaja seduced the viceroy’s daughter, who then eloped with him. Some others disagree. They assert that he had actually seduced the wife of a commander-in-chief who was annoyed with his proximity to the viceroy.

  One thing all authors agreed upon was his elopement plan with a British woman from a spot near Mall Road, which thereafter came to be known as Scandal Point. The plan was leaked to the viceroy by a confidant of the maharaja, which led to his banishment from Shimla. The announcement hurt his ego, and he transformed Chail, a beautiful village in his kingdom, into his summer capital.