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“You sort of let yourself sink into the depths of the feeling so that you’re right there in the pain, and then you breathe throughit,” explained her aunt. “Relaxing into it rather than resisting it. Easier said than done, of course. But when you do manage it, everything becomes a lot more bearable.” She came over to the table and put down the two cups of tea. Reeva felt vindicated to see that she’d just added a dash of chai masala to normal English breakfasts—with no saucepan or grated nutmeg in sight. “Shall we sit?”
Reeva nodded and pulled up a chair next to her. “Thank you. And for this chat. I’m sorry to pull you away from the prayers. I mean, I know I also saved you from mild boredom. It’s just... I felt really out of place.” She flushed with instant shame at her honesty. It normally took her months to open up to people—in the case of her family, they were thirty-four years in, and she still hadn’t gotten there—but something about Satya Auntie inspired confidence. Maybe it was her total lack of judgment. Or maybe it was her nose piercing.
“That makes sense,” said her aunt. “You don’t know any of these people, and you’re going through a lot with your dad. Not just the normal grief, but the confusion. It must be so hard to suddenly hear of his existence along with his sudden lack of existence.”
Reeva nodded emphatically. “Yes, exactly. And it’s too late because he’s gone.” She paused, then gasped. “Wait! You know that we didn’t know Dad existed?”
“Yes,” admitted her aunt. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry,” cried Reeva. “This is perfect! You can tell us everything. I have so many questions. We’ve all been so confused. Everyone here seems to think we had a normal—albeit very distant—relationship with Dad. His friends have no idea we thought he was dead! It’s so strange. We just want to know whathappened. Why our parents lied to us.” She looked at her aunt expectantly, but the hope slowly slipped off her face as the silence grew.
“I really am sorry, Reeva,” said Satya Auntie finally, looking straight at her. “I hate to disappoint you when you were clearly counting on me for answers, but the truth is that I don’tknowwhat happened. Your father never told me. He refused to speak about any of it with me, and I wasn’t allowed to ask. It was one of the conditions of us being back in each other’s lives.”
The remaining sliver of hope fully left Reeva’s face, and she slumped into her chair. “He didn’t tell you anything? At all?”
Her aunt shook her head. “No, and I wasn’t there when it all happened. Because, well, I wasn’t part of the family.” She looked down at the table sadly. “You know your parents married a year after I’d left home? They met in Mumbai before Hemant went off to London to study—I actually met Saraswati then too, though I didn’t know how serious they were about each other—and then kept up their relationship in secret while he was away. When he went back to India after his studies, they got married—without either of their parents’ permission. They asked for forgiveness afterward but didn’t get it, so they decided to move to England to make a life here.”
Reeva nodded politely; she knew all this. What she didn’t know was why they had then split up and told their daughters Hemant was dead. But it looked like Satya Auntie needed to tell this story more for herself than for Reeva. “Then what happened?”
“Well, they came over to India a couple of times after that. Our parents—Hemant’s and mine—ended up forgiving them when your mum fell pregnant. You all met your grandparents when youwere babies; it’s just such a shame they passed away when you were young.” Her voice softened. “But it’s even more of a shame I didn’t meet you all until now. It’s my biggest regret, you know. That I was estranged from my family. I did try to get in touch with my parents, but they weren’t open to it. It’s easier to forgive a son than it is a daughter—especially one who does something so unusual for the times. I wish I’d reached out to Hemant and Saraswati though. I just... I thought they were as angry with me as my parents were. But maybe they would have understood, considering they’d also had to break expectations.”
Reeva frowned. She’d never really thought of her parents as rebellious teenagers with a love story before. This version of Saraswati—a romantic who put everything on the line for love—did not match up to the superficial mother she knew who’d once refused to sit in economy with her young daughters when there hadn’t been enough space for them all in first class. An eleven-year-old Reeva had been forced to stop Sita and Jaya from squabbling for an entire eight hours while their mum slept in luxury. All she’d wanted was to read her Harry Potter book in peace, but she’d barely managed a chapter.
There were so many parts to her parents’ story she didn’t fully understand. And the one person she’d thought could explain it to her couldn’t because she’d been estranged from them for decades. Reeva spent most of her life dealing with messy families, but hers was proving to be the messiest. “What about since you came back?” she asked, not even trying to hide her desperation anymore. “You said that my dad told you this topic was off-limits. What was that conversation like? How did he talk about it all?”
“Well, it came up soon after we reunited, because obviously I asked about you all. And your dad said that he wasn’t in yourlives anymore. I remember thinking that was an interesting way of phrasing it—that he wasn’t in your lives, rather than you weren’t in his life. I asked him what had happened, and he said he couldn’t talk about it. He’d promised your mother to never speak about it to anyone, and it was the least he owed her.”
Reeva crinkled her brow. “The least he owed her?”
Satya Auntie nodded. “He always said it wasn’t her fault. That was the one thing I understood very clearly about all of it—it wasn’t her fault. He was very protective of her. Never let me say a bad word against her.”
“I like that you tried.” Reeva gave her aunt a sad smile. “But—is that it? He didn’t say anything else? Didn’t you ask why he never saw us?”
“Oh, all the time!” cried Satya Auntie. “Don’t forget, I was desperate to meet you all too. But Hemant said it wasn’t an option. In the end, he had to admit that you all thought he was dead. I was completely shocked. I couldn’t think why they’d told you such an extreme lie.”
“Tell me about it,” sighed Reeva.
“But the more I demanded answers, the more Hemant closed up. He could be quite obstinate at times. He just refused to tell me, and after a while, he made it a condition of our new relationship. I had to accept that we couldn’t talk about this. And if I didn’t, then it was best if I went back to Nepal.”
“Wow, Dad was harsh,” observed Reeva. “Did you have any theories about what happened?”
Satya Auntie smiled gently. “I try not to believe any thoughts that aren’t rooted in reality. Otherwise they’re just fantasy. So, yes, I’d have theories from time to time. But I let them all go, and, Reeva, I don’t think I should share them with you. There’s no point. They’re not real.”
Reeva sighed. “Okay. So that’s the only clue—that Dad always said it wasn’t Mum’s fault. Great.”
Satya Auntie placed her hand on top of Reeva’s bare forearm. The silver metal of her (many) rings cooled Reeva’s hot skin. “I know it hurts to not have the answers. But maybe it’ll be easier for you to accept that rather than desperately hunt for them.”
Reeva looked up, puzzled. “But... don’t they say it’s the truth that sets you free? That’s all I’m looking for: the truth.”
“Yes. But the truth right now is that you don’t know. That’s the reality. Accepting that is what sets you free.”
“I can change that!” insisted Reeva. “By finding out the answers.”
Her aunt exhaled. “Yes. And you should do whatever feels right. I suppose I’m just trying to protect you. And what I’ve always found is that acceptance is better than resistance. If the answers are going to come to you, they’ll come in the right time. It’s just about surrendering.”
“I feel like that only ever happens in books. Where Dad would have written us a secret letter that arrives in chapter twenty-four and everything finally makes sense. But real life isn’t like that. There aren’t any secret letters because he died so suddenly, and if we want to know what happened, we have to find out ourselves.”
Her aunt smiled sadly. “If he’d known he was dying, he probably would have written you a letter.”
