Chapter 6: Lanterns and Laughter

Madam is a whirlwind—no one and nothing escapes her attention. The bungalow, which used to echo with silence, now felt like Diwali every day.

Today, I heard a racket outside while reading the morning’s paper. It was so loud, even the crows stopped cawing. I wheeled myself out to see what new tamasha was happening.

A harried servant was holding a string of awkward, lopsided rabbit lanterns. "These are made by Madam. She wanted to hang them, but the ladder is short, so she’s gone looking for a pole."

I had to smile—those lanterns were as odd as her sense of humour. But if she wanted the bungalow to glow, let her.

Suddenly, her voice cut through the heat: "I’m here, I’m here, I found the pole!"

She came running, dupatta flying, feet kicking up fallen gulmohar petals, carrying my old army spear like a trophy. The servants looked ready to faint. She stood proudly: "See, I made all these! Last night it was so dark, I nearly crashed into the pillar coming home."

She chattered as she climbed the ladder, using the spear to nudge the lanterns onto hooks along the beam. My old orderly started to protest, but I raised a hand: "Don’t just stand there—go, help Madam!"

After giving orders, I retreated to the study. Ever since my injury, my zest for life had fizzled, the spark gone. At the border, danger kept me alive; here, the silence nearly killed me.

"Colonel wants to spend more time with Madam—so why run away again?" my orderly whispered behind me, worry lacing his voice.

Through the window, I saw her now knocking fruit from the jamun tree with the spear. It was too heavy, and she nearly toppled over—sending a rain of blossoms down, which made her laugh and clap her hands. For a second, I wished I could walk, just to help her pick fruit, to join her childish mischief.

The smell of agarbatti mixed with the faint tang of paint from her lanterns, as if the house itself was waking up.

The thought made me laugh at myself. The doctor said survival itself is God’s blessing. Yet here I was, craving more.

If I keep my distance, maybe, when she leaves, my heart will hurt less. As I reached for my medicine, chest tight with longing, my orderly tried to stop me: "Doctor ne bola hai, don’t take more—already three today!"

Frustration bubbled up, about to boil over, when suddenly, a furry head popped up outside the window.

"Arjun, this fruit is too good—try it!"

Ananya dropped a pile of green pears onto my desk, her eyes dancing. She tossed a pear into the air, catching it with a flourish, grinning like a street magician. For no reason, the tension in my chest eased. She bit into one and declared, "Best pears ever!"

I tried one—my face twisted instantly from the sourness, and she burst into giggles, covering her mouth: "Hahaha, got you! Even the Colonel saab is so easily fooled!"

I put the pear down, pretending to bury myself in my book. She watched me, tilting her head, looking every bit like a mischievous fox.