Chapter 6: A Farewell and a Warning

6

Breakfast was plain poha and baked aloo parathas, with some homemade pickle and fried sabzi.

The sizzle of onions, the sharpness of green chilli, the smell of ghee—simple, but so comforting. The women ate in silence, save for the occasional appreciative "Mmm" or "Wah!"

When I was little, we only had this at Diwali.

Ma would fry up extra parathas for the neighbours, and everyone would sit together in the courtyard, eating until the plates shone clean.

Yesterday morning, they ate so much they felt embarrassed afterwards.

People from the city are all so good at pretending.

They praised the food, but kept glancing at their phones, as if waiting for some urgent message from another world.

While they ate, I went to buy some villagers’ home-cured mutton and chutney, wrapped in newspaper in my basket, and picked up all kinds of Maggi packets and steamed buns from the only kirana shop in the village.

The shopkeeper looked at me strangely. “Kya, shaadi karwa rahe ho kya? Itna khana!” I just grinned and kept loading my basket.

If I didn’t bring Ritu and Meera back today, Uncle Nilesh would have four women with him—his rations definitely wouldn’t last.

Even in the jungle, a man has to feed his guests. Otherwise, they’ll never come back, no matter how beautiful the view.

I’d heard that in olden times, as long as a man could provide food and drink, he could have three or four wives.

Baba used to say, “Himmat aur roti—bas do cheezein chahiye.” But now, it was all about money.

That’s impossible now, but whether they’re wives or not hardly matters anymore.

The rich have their invisible privileges in any era.

I kicked at a stone as I walked, thinking about how the powerful always get what they want, and people like me just carry baskets.

Feeling bitter about fate, I carried the basket home. The sun was getting hotter, the verandah was stifling, and Didi Anya was reading in a chair in the main room.

She looked up from her glossy magazine—something with a foreign actress on the cover—and raised an eyebrow as I entered.

“Didi Anya, I’ve packed some food and drink for Uncle Nilesh. I’ll take it over today.”

She glanced over. “You’re thoughtful. He likes this kind of junk food.”

That sounded odd.

Her voice was teasing, as if she knew a joke I’d never heard. I wondered if she meant the food or something else.

“Didi, is there anything you want to eat today? I just checked, the village has fresh fish and country chicken, or I could get some paneer.”

“No need. Just make lunch for them. Someone’s coming to pick me up soon—I’ll be leaving.”

Her tone was final, as if she’d already packed her bags in her mind.

“Leaving? Where to?”

My dumb look made her laugh. “Where? What, you want me to stay in this dump forever?”

She threw her head back and laughed, the sound echoing off the walls. I blushed, wishing I could disappear into the kitchen.

I stammered, “No, no, I just meant… Uncle Nilesh hasn’t come back yet, and aren’t those madams here with you?”

“Yeah, so what? I’m not their nanny. Go mind your own business, don’t poke your nose in.”

Her words were sharp, but she smiled as she said them. I got the message—best not to interfere.

I left, feeling awkward, and went to the backyard. Asha and Yuvika were packing up.

Yuvika had brought a lot—her backpack was huge, even with a small tent inside.

“That’s way too heavy. You can’t carry all that, it’s a two-hour walk,” I said.

She pouted, looking at the bag like it had betrayed her. “I know, but what to do? I can’t leave anything behind.”

Yuvika looked at me, then at her bag, a bit reluctant.

“If you don’t mind me carrying your basket, I can help with your pack.”

She rummaged through the basket, mumbling, “I used to love eating these as a kid.”

“Aren’t you a foreigner?”

She smiled. “No, I just went abroad for school in junior high.”

Her accent softened as she said it, nostalgia flickering across her face for a moment.

“When do we leave?” Asha asked.

Her voice was brisk, practical, like a woman who’d run a house full of noisy children.

I thought for a moment. “Best to wait till evening, when it’s cooler. It’s too hot at noon—you won’t make it.”

The sun by midday was merciless, and the path to Mushroom Point had no shade. I didn’t want them fainting halfway.

“Great. One more good meal, one less hardship—best with some Old Monk,” Asha called. “Only rum and mutton can ease all worries.”

She winked at me, a conspirator’s grin on her lips. I had to laugh—only in India would you find women discussing rum at breakfast.

“Just afraid Didi Anya will rush us,” Yuvika said.

I froze. “You didn’t know? Didi Anya said she’ll be leaving soon—leaving here.”

The two of them stared at me, wide-eyed.

For a moment, their faces fell, like schoolgirls hearing bad news from the teacher. Yuvika bit her lip; Asha looked away, pretending to adjust her dupatta.

After a long while, Asha said, “So the couple don’t even see each other?”

Her voice was soft, tinged with something I couldn’t quite name—regret, maybe, or relief. The sun outside was climbing higher, but the room suddenly felt much colder.

As the sun rose higher, I realised—whatever happened on Mushroom Point tonight, nothing in the village would ever be the same.