The Hungry Tide - Amitav Ghosh [179]
She recalled the promises she had made to him in the silence of her heart, and how, in those last moments, with the wind and the rain still raging around them, she had been unable to do anything for him other than to hold a bottle of water to his lips. She remembered how she had tried to find the words to remind him of how richly he was loved — and once again, as so often before, he had seemed to understand her, even without words.
HOME: AN EPILOGUE
NILIMA WAS SITTING at her desk, a month after the cyclone, when a nurse came running over from the hospital to tell her that she’d seen “Piya-didi” stepping off the Basonti ferry: she was now heading toward the Trust’s compound.
Nilima was unable to disguise her astonishment. “Piya? The scientist?” she said. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes, Mashima, it’s her. No doubt about it.”
Nilima sank back in her chair as she tried to absorb this.
A fortnight had passed since she’d said goodbye to Piya, and the truth was that she had not expected ever to see her again. The girl had stayed in Lusibari for a while after the cyclone, and during that time she’d become a strangely unnerving presence in the Guest House, a kind of human wraith, inward, uncommunicative, leadenfaced. On her own, Nilima would not have known how to deal with her, but fortunately Piya had formed a friendship with Moyna during that time. Nilima had encountered them several times in and around the Guest House, sitting silently next to each other. On occasion, Nilima had even mistaken the one for the other. Having lost her own clothes, Piya had perforce taken to wearing saris — colorful reds, yellows and greens — for Moyna had given her those of her own clothes that she herself would no longer wear. What was more, Moyna had also cut off her hair, in keeping with the custom, so it was now as short as Piya’s. But this was where the resemblance ended: as far as demeanor and expression were concerned, the contrast between the two women could not have been greater. Moyna’s grief was all too plainly visible in the redness of her eyes, while Piya’s face was stonily expressionless, as if to suggest that she had retreated deep within herself.
“Piya’s in shock,” Kanai had said to Nilima one day shortly before his own departure. “It’s hardly surprising. Can you imagine what it was like for her to sit through the last hours of the storm, sheltered by Fokir’s lifeless body? Leave aside the horror of the memory — imagine the guilt, the responsibility.”
“I understand all that, Kanai,” Nilima had said. “But that’s why I think it would be easier for her to recover if she was in some familiar place. Don’t you think it’s time for her to go back to America now? Or else couldn’t she go to her relatives in Kolkata?”
“I suggested that to her,” Kanai had replied. “I even offered to arrange for a ticket to the U.S. But I don’t think she heard me, really. What’s uppermost in her mind right now, I suspect, is the question of her obligation to Moyna and Tutul. She needs to be left alone for a bit, to think things through.”
Nilima’s response had been tinged with apprehension. “So you’re just going to go off and leave her here? For me to deal with?”
“I don’t think she’ll be any trouble to you,” Kanai had said. “In fact, I’m sure she won’t be. She just needs some time to pull herself together. To have me here will be no help — exactly the opposite, I suspect.”
Nilima had not raised any further objections to his departure. “Of course, Kanai, I know how busy you are...”
Kanai had put his arm around her shoulder and given her a hug. “Don’t worry,” he’d said. “It’ll be all right. I’ll be back soon. You’ll see.”
She’d received this with a noncommittal shrug. “You know you’re always welcome here.”
Kanai had left the next day — a week after the cyclone — and some days later Piya had come down to tell Nilima that she was leaving too.
“Yes, my dear, of course. I understand.” Nilima had made an effort to keep her voice level so as not to betray her relief. She’d been wondering for the past couple of days whether Piya’s presence