Zakhm, Marham
"Heer."
She closed her eyes and bit her tongue. So close.
Retracing her steps to the living room, she waited while he leaned back in his armchair. With glasses in one hand and a book in the other, he stared imperiously at her.
For anyone else, this would have been the death knell - enough to come clean or at the very least ditch whatever mischievous plan had been set in motion - but Heer Perera was a pro at this game.
She clasped her hands in front of her and smiled beatifically. "Ji, Papa?"
"Where are you going?"
Heer's eyes widened innocently as she replied. "To my room, Papa." She stifled a well-timed yawn. "I'm sleepy."
"So early?" Dr Perera squinted at his daughter.
Heer laughed - an airy, practised sound. "What is this, Papa? If I stay up late, it's a problem. If I sleep early, it's a problem. You're becoming very suspicious, you know, and I blame those books of yours."
Momentarily distracted, Dr Perera frowned. "Are they not your books too?"
Heer smiled, watching as her father attempted to mask his hurt. He touched the leather-bound spine of 'Sonar Kella', a mystery novel she had watched him thumb through many times in her life.
He really was everything to her. Everything she loved about her life - stories, dance, her mischievous nature - came from him. For many years, he had thrilled her with tales of warrior princesses and their weak, flawed, powerful and wonderful choices. All throughout her childhood, she dreamt of these women - women who disappointed, women who healed, women whose love could move mountains. Women who wounded the ones they loved. Men who bled and raged and forgave and betrayed and loved anyway.
From a very small corner of her very small world, Heer Perera had had the freedom to explore the breadth of the universe and it was her father - her loving, stern, intellectual father - who had given her that.
She crossed the room and gently put her arms around the man, resting her chin on his balding head. "They're our books."
She stifled a yawn - a real one, this time - and felt him smile. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you, Heeru?"
Heer started at the question and drew back but she could not meet her father's eyes. She reached for a pair of slippers near the coffee table and placed them on her father's feet.
"It's getting cold," she explained.
When she was halfway up the stairs, she heard his voice.
"Don't stay out late and do not get caught by your mother. Enjoy the recital. I heard they dance wonderfully."
* * *
The old house, as magnificent and oppressive as ever, loomed ahead on top of a hill. When she was young, Heer imagined that her mother had chosen to live there so she could cast her reign of terror over everyone across the land.
Looking back now, it occurred to her that people tend to choose the best that they can have and it just so happened that her family had been blessed enough to be able to choose the best that anyone in the town could have.
A fleeting, accusatory thought surfaced: how many times had she vilified her mother so? How many times had she warped her mother's intentions to justify her own? How many -
No.
It was too late for that now.
The rain beat against the windscreen, rhythmically laughing as the wipers wore themselves out. It was a constant battle and all Heer could do was watch.
As it so happened, she did get caught that night. Anupama - her mother's student cum informant - caught her sneaking back into her bedroom, her right leg still dangling out of the window. One look at Heer's guilty face had sent good old Anu running to the living room with news that she "knew may not be her place to share, but felt everyone should know".
Heer scoffed. There had been a time when Anupama had been her only friend.
When the Pereras had first moved to Darjeeling, Heer had been a grumpy, unfriendly child. Tired of moving all over the country due to her parents' work, she had finally decided to abandon the 'sweet new kid' act. What was the point of being friendly, young Heer had reasoned, when she was destined to leave those friends behind?
It was an irony that amused her to this day that Darjeeling was the place in which her parents decided to settle.
Anupama lived nearby and due to the neighbourhood's indefatigable desire to be one big, happy family, she and Heer had spent many festive afternoons in each other's company. A friendship was forged - both between daughters and mothers - and the rest was a history Heer had worked hard to leave behind.
In their competitive, academic environment, wherever Heer was good, Anupama was perfect. Finally, on the day Heer's mother - a chemistry professor at the university - chose to take Anupama on as an apprentice, Heer admitted defeat. She allowed jealousy and misplaced humiliation to isolate her and from then on, in her heart, she went a separate way.
A tremor ran through Heer. She looked at the house, a lump forming in her throat.
It should not be like this...
Beside her, Nayantara stirred. "Heer?"
Heer watched as Nayantara rubbed her eyes. They were not friends, not yet, and last night - or what little of it she remembered - was not something she was interested in revisiting. Yet, the woman beside her provided a comfort Heer had not felt in years.
She looked at Nayantara, currently a shivering, sleepy mess, and an image of hazy, summer afternoons with Anupama surfaced.
"Friends forever, okay Heer? Like this: lock your pinkie with mine."
Heer put the key into the ignition and started the car.
"Why not? You've seen Anu do it already. You're just being lazy, Heer."
She smiled off Nayantara's concerns about driving in the storm.
"Sneaking out, wasting money on dance, failing exams - no, I don't care if it doesn't count for the final grade! Your father and I work hard so that you can have a future and instead, you throw it back in our faces. I'm done with this. I'm done, Heer."
Deftly manoeuvring through a familiar hairpin curve, Heer shook her head as Nayantara voiced her fears once again.
"Yes. You're right. I am ashamed to call you my daughter."
The car climbed the hill, higher and higher, faster and faster, rain dancing against the windscreen. Heer laughed, exhilarated. She felt as if they were flying.
She was free, she was finally free.
Her laugh continued, ringing joyously, until she suddenly felt Nayantara's fingers curl tightly around her arm.
Everything, all at once, came into focus. Heer's eyes widened in shock.
They... were flying.
Edited by kaamchorni - 10 years ago
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