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Of late, and much to Koyal’s initial chagrin, Mansha had begun to join them. In the beginning, she tagged along with Surya after being picked up from an after-school activity, with Surya apologizing profusely for the additional guest. However, soon, she began to come more often because she wanted to spend time with Hema who doted on the little girl.
Koyal, on the other hand, kept a safe distance from her.
She didn’t quite know what to do with Mansha. Did she like her because she was Atharv’s daughter? Did she dislike her because she was Atharv’s daughter? Did she dislike her because she was Nili’s daughter? Did she like her because she’d promised herself that she no longer bore any grudge towards Nili? Did she dislike her because she was indirectly associated with Nili’s death – an event that must have brought immense grief to Atharv? Or, did she dislike her because Atharv had made it very clear that he wanted Mansha to have nothing to do with her?
Just the day before, when the group was taking a long, leisurely and very cold walk in Richmond Park, Mansha had rushed towards Koyal.
‘Koyal Aunty!,’ Mansha had squealed happily, her hair flapping in the wind.
‘Oh, hi, yes,’ Koyal said, staring at the deer in the distance. Richmond Park with its peace and quiet, its green trees, verdant grass and noble deer was one of Koyal’s favourites. It made her think. It made her go back into her past. It made her wonder.
‘What are you thinking?’ Mansha asked.
I am wondering why all those years ago your father led me to believe in things that were not true. I am wondering why your father never valued our friendship when I thought it was the most important thing to him. I am wondering why the universe has brought us in front of each other again.
‘Nothing,’ she said dryly.
‘Come on, Daddy says we are always thinking of something, – just sometimes we don’t want to say what it is.’
Koyal smiled and hoped that Mansha would go back to chattering with Hema Aunty. But Mansha stayed and soon Koyal felt a tiny gloved hand curl its fingers around hers.
For a few moments, Koyal let it be and then gradually, slowly, she pulled her hand away.
Stay away from anything that belongs to Atharv, her brain warned her.
Koyal soon realized that the more she tried to stay away from Mansha, the more determinedly the little girl set about becoming friends with her and she wondered why.
Mansha was a beautiful girl with impeccable manners and a sensitive heart. I will hurt her, Koyal thought to herself fearfully, wishing Mansha would stop bothering her. For your sake, stay away from me, little one.
Surya and Mansha entered and the little girl ran straight to Koyal, clambered into her lap and put a gentle albeit cold hand on her cheek.
‘Your cheeks are so soft,’ she said, looking at Koyal with eyes full of wonder. Something about Mansha’s expression struck Koyal painfully in her heart. She knew that look only too well. It was the look she knew she had on her face from time to time. The look of longing. A longing that never quite goes way. A longing for the missing piece. A longing for Mum.
Please like me, her big, beautiful eyes said to Koyal.
Koyal smiled. And then suddenly stopped smiling.
‘I need to go to the ladies, please,’ she said and immediately put Mansha down. She didn’t look back because she knew Mansha’s eyes would have filled up with tears and she was not heartless enough yet to be able to watch that.
Koyal gritted her teeth and persisted with her unfriendly behaviour with Mansha.
And Mansha, for reasons only known to her, persisted harder with friendly overtures to Koyal. She inundated Koyal with innocent little gifts, handmade cards, a piece of cake, a little note … and Koyal, politely but firmly, refused all. And each time she said no, she found her heart breaking a little bit more.
‘Koyal Aunty,’ Mansha said one day, ‘will you share my ice cream?’
Koyal looked at the little girl desperate to be friends with her.
‘No thanks, Mansha, I’m good.’
And then, just like that, when the big, fat, silent tears appeared, Koyal took a deep breath. Enough was enough. There was no point in this madness – the hell with Atharv and what he wanted.
And she walked up to the girl and wrapped her arms around her.
‘I am sorry, Mansha,’ she whispered, and when Mansha looked up she had on her face what was easily the widest smile Koyal had ever seen in her life.
It was only four in the afterno
on, but dusk was already falling. As were wisps of snowflakes. South Bank was still crowded. Tourists, Londoners, street artists, all wrapped up and huddled into woollens, laughing, eating, drinking, cheering. The background – orange-grey skies framing the Westminister Abbey across the Thames – added to the beauty of the scene.
