The night before Priya left, she was extremely restless. She was taking an enormous leap into unfamiliar territory that both excited and scared her. But there was also a severe gloom, a heavy rock on her chest that had pursued her all day – a feeling of dread. She feared she might be making a big mistake, something amiss. She silently worried she would horribly regret this decision. But she had set her mind to it, and once Priya did that, she rarely thought of the many consequences her decision might trigger.

She had dinner alone with Medha. Ashish had long since stopped communicating with her. He blatantly avoided her, preferring to stay out of the house since the day Priya had put her foot down and obdurately stood her ground. He had tried his best to convince her otherwise – argued, pleaded, even wept, his massive shoulders rocking with helpless sobs. Then, knowing she was determined, he stopped talking to her. In their few encounters on the staircase or in the hallway, he gave her a look of such bitter disdain that it made explicit his newfound contempt. That last night in that house, Priya slept with her eight-year-old daughter. She wrapped Medha’s tiny body in hers and kissed her soft head throughout the night. Medha was happy. For this moment, her mother belonged only to her. She wasn’t in the other room, raising her voice at her father, or downstairs, laughing loudly and getting drunk with her constantly changing friends, or going out all dolled up only to return tipsy but merry, her tall stilettoes tap-tapping in the corridor and then up the staircase in the eerie silence of the night. After this, Medha slept soundly, assured that her mother was back home, safe and within reach.

“Do you know why I named you Medha?”

“Why, Mamma?”

“Because I knew you would grow up to be a wise and intelligent girl, just like Goddess Saraswathi. Yes, that’s who I named you after…Medha is one of her names.”

“A goddess?” Medha was enthralled. “A real goddess, Mamma?”

“Yes, my darling, a real goddess, because that’s who you are to me. My goddess, my little bundle of joy.”

“What does she look like, this goddess?” Medha asked, eyes alight.

“She is beautiful, just like you, and she sits on a giant white lotus playing a lovely melody. And you know what, my little Medha, you will do the same someday – spread music, beauty, and wisdom everywhere you go.”

“Really, Mamma? How?”

“You have too many questions in that tiny brain of yours. Now close your eyes and try to sleep,” Priya whispered into Medha’s ear. “Whenever you can’t sleep, shut your eyes and let your mind wander to happy thoughts. Think of good times; before you know it, you will be surrounded by happy dreams.”

In the darkness, with her eyes now closed, Medha did not see the tiny drops of tears trailing down her mother’s cheeks. In her contentment, she remained oblivious to the heaviness choking Priya. Right now, with her daughter sleeping in her arms, Priya was consumed by an aching sadness, and more than that, the stony guilt of abandoning her child. She could still change her mind and resign herself to this mundane, purposeless life – a life that felt hollow without any dreams to chase. To her, life seemed like a flat line on an electrocardiogram. She acutely wanted peaks and valleys. Without that thrill, she might as well be pronounced dead.

“Medha!” Priya knew she needed to explain to her daughter, prepare her, fortify her – something she had been putting off for days.

“Hmmm?” Medha responded from somewhere inside her hazy dreams.

“My baby, I’m going to be leaving you for some time. I have to go away for a little while.”

“No! Why? Where are you going?” Medha cried aloud, alarmed. Instantly, her eyes were wide open. She clung to her mother tightly.

“It’s just for a short time, my baby. I would have taken you along, but you have school to attend, and you have friends here; you have Chaya – you don’t want to leave her, do you? She’s your best friend, isn’t she?” Priya softly planted a kiss on Medha’s forehead. “But I promise I will bring you to me if my work takes longer.” Even as she said this, Priya knew it was a lie. She knew she could not take an eight-year-old all the way to Bombay, find her a decent school and accommodation close by, attend to her needs, and still pursue her ambition of becoming a Hindi film actress. Having Medha tag along to photoshoots, acting classes, dance classes, and auditions did not seem right. Besides, when establishing herself for a lead in a mainstream film, having a daughter in tow would work completely against her image. Priya knew she had to leave her baggage behind. Start fresh. Be an uncontaminated slate for Bollywood to write on.

“No, Mamma. I want to come with you. I don’t mind leaving my friends. I can make new ones there. Mamma, please don’t leave me.” Medha started sobbing, holding on tighter.

“My darling, my Medha, you are a good and big girl now. You can visit me during your holidays. Your summer holidays are just two months away, right? I’ll make sure you come then. Now I have to find a place to stay first, make sure it’s comfortable for you, and then I can show you Bombay and the sea when you visit. We’ll walk on the beach without our shoes and swim in the waves. We’ll have so much fun – just you and me. We’ll go shopping for some nice clothes and books. You love reading, right? We’ll get you Charlotte’s Web and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which we were looking for at Pilgrims and didn’t get, remember? You were so disappointed. There are many big bookstores, unlike here, and you can pick whatever you like from the children’s racks there. But, Medha, you have to be patient. Be a good girl. Study well. Don’t bother your Daddy too much. Now you take my place and run the house, give orders to the staff, and take care of your Daddy, won’t you? You are a big girl. Besides, you’ll be in Bombay with me before you know it. But for now, I have to go alone, my baby. You are my Saraswathi. You are the goddess of wisdom, remember? Of course you understand why you cannot come with me right now, right?”

In response, Medha buried her little head into her mother’s brutally thudding chest and sobbed. Her little brain refused to understand anything but the fact that her mother was going someplace far away, and she had to be a good girl, a strong girl, and take care of her father, who would be as lonely as she was once her mother left.

The next day, Priya flew to Bombay. She was met at the airport by Rohit, the film director she had met only a few months ago at an event in the Soaltee Hotel. He was then accompanied by popular stars like Vivek Berry, Ashu Ray, and many other less-celebrated Bollywood actors who had flown down to Kathmandu for an event. That night, Priya had made an extra effort to get her hair done, fussed over her makeup, and tried on and thrown away many outfits before choosing a black leather mini-skirt, pairing it with a deep red satin crop top that favourably exposed her long, slender neck, dipping down to the swell of her cleavage. She slipped on knee-high leather boots, and since it was in the midst of a severe winter and was freezing outside, she threw on a long faux-fur coat.

Ashish, for a change, had come along with her to that event. He had always been extremely reserved and low-key. He liked socialising less, especially in big crowds of primarily strangers and mere acquaintances, preferring his small circle of good friends. He would rather just hang out for a drink or invite his few friends home for a quiet dinner and banter. But that night, he willingly escorted Priya to the Mega Bollywood Ball at Soaltee, where the organisers had invited the crème de la crème of the Kathmandu elite.

Many heads turned when Ashish and Priya walked into the grandly lit banquet hall that exuded elegance and class. Priya knew she was endowed with outstanding beauty, which made her the object of longing for every man and the bitter envy of every woman – leading to snide remarks on her outfits, her mannerisms, her hand gestures, the tilt of her head when she talked, the way she sipped her drink, the way she threw her head back at a joke and laughed. In essence, she was the hated pariah.

Excerpted with permission from Mother Mine, Sheeba Shah, Speaking Tiger Books.

• We welcome your comments at letters@scroll.in. *

• fiction
• novel

Get the app