Read Mistress for Free Online Page A
Authors: Anita Nair
have played him. It requires an understanding that is beyond the comprehension of a novice. The carpenter is both fool and master craftsman. It is he who brings warning of impending death, whispering in the ears of the Pandavas that the wax palace will turn into a funeral pyre that night. It is he who digs their escape route and camouflages it. He devises their escape with a flourish of gestures and exaggerated movements. He makes a mess of the steps, skids, falls, rolls his eyes, looks this way and that, and does it all with perfect timing. Only an actor with an impeccable sense of rhythm and versatility of expression can handle the aashaari. And Shyam is that aashaari, wearing the guise of a fool and never missing a step.
‘Uncle?’ Radha is concerned.
‘Is he all right?’ Chris asks.
‘He hasn’t been feeling very well,’ Radha tries to explain this habit of mine of slipping away; she calls it my trance.
Shyam snaps a finger. ‘Bring a chair’
I sink into the chair. Shyam fans me with the sheaf of papers in his
hand. The breeze cools my brow. I feel the tension in my muscles loosen. Just like a child’s, Shyam’s features are taut with the effort he’s putting into the fanning. I like him for now. I close my eyes. ‘Water …’
Someone brings me a glass of water. Radha holds it to my lips. I sip slowly.
Radha murmurs, ‘We should let him rest.’
Shyam looks down at me and says, ‘I think he’s done too much this morning. I told you we shouldn’t have brought him with us.’
I feel my liking turn inside out. I dislike this way he has of talking about me as if I am not there. I stand up. Blackness threatens to swamp, then settles.
‘Don’t talk about me as if I am not present,’ I say. ‘I forgot to take my betel-nut box. If I have a chew, I will be all right.’
‘It’s just the heat that is making me ill,’ I try and explain to Chris, who looks concerned.
I wish they would stop fussing. I am not a doddering old fool. Strangely enough, it is Shyam who bails me out.
‘Have you seen my elephant?’ Shyam asks. I look to where he is pointing. An elephant is parked there.
‘Whose …’ I begin, but Shyam cuts me off.
‘Would you like to go closer and see him?’ he asks Chris.
Chris smiles. ‘He is enormous,’ he says and there is something akin to wonder in his voice.
I see Shyam glance at Radha. There is triumph in his eyes.
‘He is enormous all right. An enormous baby,’ Shyam says. ‘A very nice elephant to know, in fact!’
I shake my head. What new scheme is this? Only Shyam would think of something like this.
‘Shall we go to your cottage?’ I say to Chris, getting up from the chair.
Radha and Chris look at each other. Then they move to either side of me. Chris turns to Shyam. ‘Would you ask someone to carry my cello? Carefully, please.’
So we walk, Radha and Chris flanking me on either side. Shyam follows with the cello and its bearer.
I tell myself that I did not see the vile look Shyam threw Chris. It is the heat, I think. Or perhaps my imagination.
When we reach the cottage, Shyam flings open the doors with a flourish. ‘Your home away from home,’ he says.
Inside, the cottage smells faintly of many things: furniture polish, room freshener, mosquito coil and Flit. The smells tussle with each other for supremacy, but the breeze from the river enters and subdues everything. The curtains at the windows billow as Shyam opens them one by one. ‘The cottage has an air conditioner but I suggest that you don’t bother with it.’
I catch Radha’s eye. She is embarrassed. I know what she’s thinking. That having offered the cottage for so little, Shyam is trying to economize. Then Shyam says, ‘If you are worried about mosquitoes, I could have a mosquito net pegged around your bed. But you should leave the windows open. The night breeze is cool and brings with it the fragrance of all the flowers in the garden and the neighbourhood. You can hear the
‘Uncle?’ Radha is concerned.
‘Is he all right?’ Chris asks.
‘He hasn’t been feeling very well,’ Radha tries to explain this habit of mine of slipping away; she calls it my trance.
Shyam snaps a finger. ‘Bring a chair’
I sink into the chair. Shyam fans me with the sheaf of papers in his
hand. The breeze cools my brow. I feel the tension in my muscles loosen. Just like a child’s, Shyam’s features are taut with the effort he’s putting into the fanning. I like him for now. I close my eyes. ‘Water …’
Someone brings me a glass of water. Radha holds it to my lips. I sip slowly.
Radha murmurs, ‘We should let him rest.’
Shyam looks down at me and says, ‘I think he’s done too much this morning. I told you we shouldn’t have brought him with us.’
I feel my liking turn inside out. I dislike this way he has of talking about me as if I am not there. I stand up. Blackness threatens to swamp, then settles.
‘Don’t talk about me as if I am not present,’ I say. ‘I forgot to take my betel-nut box. If I have a chew, I will be all right.’
‘It’s just the heat that is making me ill,’ I try and explain to Chris, who looks concerned.
I wish they would stop fussing. I am not a doddering old fool. Strangely enough, it is Shyam who bails me out.
‘Have you seen my elephant?’ Shyam asks. I look to where he is pointing. An elephant is parked there.
‘Whose …’ I begin, but Shyam cuts me off.
‘Would you like to go closer and see him?’ he asks Chris.
Chris smiles. ‘He is enormous,’ he says and there is something akin to wonder in his voice.
I see Shyam glance at Radha. There is triumph in his eyes.
‘He is enormous all right. An enormous baby,’ Shyam says. ‘A very nice elephant to know, in fact!’
I shake my head. What new scheme is this? Only Shyam would think of something like this.
‘Shall we go to your cottage?’ I say to Chris, getting up from the chair.
Radha and Chris look at each other. Then they move to either side of me. Chris turns to Shyam. ‘Would you ask someone to carry my cello? Carefully, please.’
So we walk, Radha and Chris flanking me on either side. Shyam follows with the cello and its bearer.
I tell myself that I did not see the vile look Shyam threw Chris. It is the heat, I think. Or perhaps my imagination.
When we reach the cottage, Shyam flings open the doors with a flourish. ‘Your home away from home,’ he says.
Inside, the cottage smells faintly of many things: furniture polish, room freshener, mosquito coil and Flit. The smells tussle with each other for supremacy, but the breeze from the river enters and subdues everything. The curtains at the windows billow as Shyam opens them one by one. ‘The cottage has an air conditioner but I suggest that you don’t bother with it.’
I catch Radha’s eye. She is embarrassed. I know what she’s thinking. That having offered the cottage for so little, Shyam is trying to economize. Then Shyam says, ‘If you are worried about mosquitoes, I could have a mosquito net pegged around your bed. But you should leave the windows open. The night breeze is cool and brings with it the fragrance of all the flowers in the garden and the neighbourhood. You can hear the