Kololo Hill Page 28

*

  Jaya clutched the coins in her palm, ready to pay for her ticket as she climbed on the bus with Pran. The woman in front wore a transparent plastic hat and Jaya could see her silver hair wrapped around lilac rollers. What was the point? At least with a sari chundri covering your head you couldn’t see beneath it.

  The bus was busy so they wobbled up the stairs and took a seat on the upper deck. Luckily, no one was smoking. The light reflected across the shiny ceiling and along the metal window frames. Outside, the criss-crossing telephone lines always seemed close to the top of the bus, as though they’d get caught up somehow. They rumbled along, past the rounded walls of Bounds Green station, past the bakeries and haberdasheries and fish and chip shops and onwards through the sun-dappled streets.

  ‘We need to talk Vijay out of this crazy plan of his,’ said Pran.

  ‘I think it might be too late.’ She mopped her forehead with a handkerchief; the air was uncomfortably warm.

  ‘He’s not thinking straight. Thinks he’s invincible, he’s acting like a child.’

  Jaya gave a weary smile. ‘He’s older than I was when I went to Uganda.’

  ‘That was different. You had Papa.’

  ‘But I made the journey on my own.’ For a moment, Jaya considered telling him how alone she’d been when she arrived in Kampala, but it wasn’t their custom. They loved each other, yes, had lived in the same house for many years, yet their lives were unknown to each other in so many ways.

  The bell sounded and the bus came to a stop outside Turnpike Lane station. She watched more people get on below. ‘Still, I don’t think he should go, not when we have all been apart for so long,’ she said. ‘And he says he doesn’t need anything, doesn’t even want money from us to help him.’

  ‘That’s the only good thing about all this, that he’s not thinking about wasting the money we’ve been saving,’ said Pran. ‘We need it for when we go back.’

  ‘Back?’ Jaya clutched the seat in front.

  ‘You heard Rakesh, he’s going back. I could join him.’

  Why was Pran clinging to Rakesh’s stories like this? ‘They won’t let you in. And even if they did, aren’t you scared about what could happen?’

  ‘You sound like Asha now,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders.

  ‘She agrees with me?’ Jaya huffed. ‘At least someone sees sense.’

  ‘If I have to struggle, I’d rather do it in Uganda than here.’

  ‘We need to get on with our lives here now.’ Jaya tried to keep her voice down, glad that the bus was busy, the people wrapped up in their own conversations. Of course she longed to go back too, but the things she missed most were no longer there. ‘After all the things Amin did to us, how can you even consider it?’

  ‘What he did, Ba, was to take everything from us. I was born a Ugandan Asian, I’m going to die a Ugandan Asian. Not here, in a country that doesn’t want me.’

  Jaya looked at him. She knew what it meant to be forced out of the country you called home; she’d always be Indian, even if she never set foot there again. Yet unlike Pran, she’d learnt to let other places into her heart, make them a part of her too. She reminded herself to whisper. Even if people couldn’t understand what they were saying, it would be clear from the tones of their voices that something was wrong. ‘Don’t fill your heart with anger, Pran.’

  ‘Aren’t you angry too?’

  ‘Of course I am!’ Jaya took a long breath to calm herself. ‘But why fight fate? We need to make the best of what we have and build something new.’

  ‘No, Ba.’ His voice curled with anger. ‘I’m sick of people telling us what to do and where to go.’

  ‘Chup!’ Her grip on the seat in front of her turned her knuckles pale. ‘Stop. I don’t want to talk about this, not here. Leave it alone, Pran.’

  They sat in silence for the rest of the journey. But after they got off the bus and began walking down the street, Jaya stopped abruptly.

  She glared at Pran, still trying to settle her restless breath. ‘That money is for our future. Here, in this country, in our new home. I’m not letting you go back there, Pran.’

  ‘It’s not the same now—’

  ‘After everything we’ve been through, how can you put me through this? After all we suffered.’

  ‘But Ba—’

  ‘Your Papa’s death.’

  ‘Listen to me, Ba.’

  ‘And December!’

  Pran stopped speaking. He stepped back as though she’d slapped him with her own hand. Her chundri fell from her head but she carried on.

  *

  The primary school was a three-storey building with red bricks and a slate roof and glossy black gates. They walked inside, through hallways filled with paintings of line-drawn houses and families with too-large heads and purple hair, past the little hooks at waist height with a long, low bench underneath. The front of the parquet-floored main hall was now covered in old multi-coloured saris. The stage, framed by navy curtains, now housed murti statues of Ganesh and Vishnu, guarding various offerings of food. Rather than travel for hours to the nearest temple each week, the community had decided to create their own.

  ‘Jayaben, kemche? How is everyone?’ said Kamlaben. They’d kept in touch after they’d grown close in the barracks, and she’d put her cooking skills to good use, now catering for weddings and other occasions throughout North London. Jaya and her friend talked about working together on bigger events. As usual, Kamlaben had made various sweet treats, slabs of creamy barfi and bright orange swirls of jelebi. Her talcum-powdered skin puckered as she insisted, ‘Take some home later, I made too much.’ She gestured in the direction of the food. On her right hand there were three dots that formed a triangle; the traditional symbols that showed the village and caste to which Kamlaben belonged still remained years later. They pointed upwards towards her fingers, the colour of the tattoos more grey-blue than the green-blue they must have been when first applied decades before in India. And yet here she was, in a country where most people would have no idea what the symbols even meant.

  While Pran joined the other men, Jaya followed her friend, who now wore her sari so high it rippled at the tops of her ankles: her defence against English puddles, whether it was raining or not. More people arrived and they settled down for the bhajan, sung beautifully by Kamlaben’s niece.

  Though Jaya sang along too, she found her thoughts wandered. She tried to think back to what it was like to be young, to have the kind of dreams that Vijay now had, but her youth had been so different from his. Every journey in her own life had been forced on her: to Uganda, to England.

  How lucky Vijay was to be able to make his own decisions. She sang along with the temple hymns, the scent of incense and the sugary sweetmeats filling the hall. She didn’t understand the Sanskrit words, but she’d been told the meaning by others. The girl on the stage sang about compassion for others, patience and kindness. Jaya glanced at Pran, singing serenely. Such a contrast with how he’d been earlier, so angry as he told her how they couldn’t let Idi Amin get away with it, how he couldn’t forget the past. It must take so much energy to cling onto anger like that, to grasp it so tightly that it made you blind to everything else around you.

  Asha had told her to be grateful that Vijay didn’t carry fear in his heart, despite everything that had happened. After all, he had so much to be angry about. She thought about how they’d found Vijay in a crumpled heap in the kitchen the night December was taken, the look of anger when he’d been unable to stop the soldier attacking Asha, the disappointment on his face when he’d come home, night after night, still desperate to be given a job by someone who would look past his arm and the things he couldn’t do and focus on the many things he could. Yes, as the sun shone through the windows and the songs of forgiveness echoed around the room, Jaya knew what she had to do.

  34

  Asha

  Outside, the day had cheered up; the grubby sky had mellowed to pale blue and the shade had retreated to t
he far corners of the garden.

  Through the glazed back door, Asha could make out Vijay’s silhouette, sitting on the doorstep. They’d managed to avoid being alone together since Pran had come back. Things weren’t exactly the same between them, but now that Vijay was leaving for his trip, there was no point making things awkward. That time had passed; they’d both been under so much stress. It was a moment of madness that felt like a lifetime ago. And besides, Asha needed Vijay’s help now.

  She stepped outside. ‘Nice day,’ she said, wandering out towards the fading flowers in the far corner of the yard.

  Vijay looked up at her in surprise. ‘Yeah,’ he said slowly.

  ‘Best to make the most of good weather whenever we can.’

  He nodded, a cautious look on his face. ‘You finished your job applications? Pran said you were trying to get them done as quickly as possible.’

  Asha was glad that he was making an effort with her too. ‘Almost. I’ll do some more later.’

  ‘Don’t you like the place you’re working at the moment?’

  ‘It’s fine, but it’s mainly dealing with wills and things like that. Those people aren’t the ones who really need help.’ Asha shrugged. She’d found a couple of new roles, one at Haringey Council helping in the housing office, a couple working with local charities. Sinead from the office said she’d have a look at them over a quick drink when they were finished. ‘I should be grateful, I know. At least I have a decent job to go to each day.’

  ‘No, I know what you mean. Doing something that you want, not just something thrown at you, right?’ He held a bowl of Jaya’s fruit salad in his hand. She’d chopped the strawberries and peaches so small the fruit looked like tiny gemstones floating in the condensed milk.

  ‘And to do things differently, I suppose,’ said Asha. ‘I could have done more when I was back in Uganda.’ Like others, she’d been so wrapped up in her own life back there, never thought about helping the people around her.

  ‘Yeah, I think we could all have been better. Maybe things would’ve been different then,’ Vijay said. ‘Anyway, it looks like I’ve managed to upset both Pran and Ba. Two for the price of one!’

  ‘It’s just a bit of a shock for them, this whole trip idea,’ Asha said. ‘They’ll come round.’

  ‘Soon, I hope. Trying to get a decent price on the plane ticket, they’re not cheap.’

  ‘Never knew you were capable of doing something quite so interesting.’ Asha smiled, but she immediately wished she hadn’t said it. She wasn’t ready to go back to bantering with him as though the moment in the park had never happened.

  He put down his empty bowl and squinted up at her in the sunlight. ‘My friend has an old Pentax he’s going to let me have. I fixed it up, I can send you all photos. The temples, the places Ba and Papa grew up.’

  ‘Do you think your Papa would have liked it here in England?’ Asha tried to imagine Motichand here with them now, walking around the house. Too small, too neat, for his boisterous ways.

  ‘I doubt it. Too much hard work and weak tea!’ Although Vijay joked, his deep voice was infused with sadness. ‘You’ll look after her, won’t you? Ba, I mean.’

  ‘Of course, Pran will too. Don’t worry about us.’

  Vijay looked down at a crack in the paving stones. ‘I don’t know about Pran. His head’s all over the place. All this talk about going back.’

  Asha hesitated. ‘I didn’t think he was serious before.’ The renewed bond between her and Pran was as fragile as a silk thread but he insisted on looking backwards when they should have been moving on. ‘But he keeps telling me how we’ll all change our minds about it too.’

  ‘That’s the thing with Pran,’ Vijay sighed, ‘he loves to take control.’

  They fell silent, the cloying scent of next door’s roses drifting in the breeze. She stared at a snail determinedly making its way along the garden fence, leaving a silver trail behind it. She turned back towards him.

  ‘Does that still hurt?’ she said, pointing at the light scar on his forehead where the soldiers had hit him.

  ‘No. It’s fine.’ Vijay smiled. ‘I forget it’s there most of the time.’

  Asha paused, wondering if she should say something. ‘I’ve been thinking about that night.’

  ‘With the soldiers?’

  She nodded. ‘I don’t know. All of Pran’s talk about going back, I suppose it’s made me think about it again.’

  Vijay sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

  ‘There’s this thing that keeps coming back to me.’ Asha brushed away a strand of her hair. ‘Do you remember much about it?’ Her chance to find out the truth. She had to know, once and for all.

  He paused for a moment. ‘Well, I remember everything until they hit me. Then it gets a bit fuzzy.’

  ‘Well, yes. But things could have been a lot worse, couldn’t they?’

  Vijay looked at her in surprise. ‘You don’t think December disappearing was bad?’

  ‘No, oh sorry, that’s not what I meant. It’s just the soldiers didn’t seem that angry with you and Pran, when they found out about December. I mean they didn’t even touch Pran?’

  ‘There was more booze running through their veins than blood by that point,’ said Vijay. ‘They weren’t thinking straight.’

  Asha shielded her eyes with her hand. ‘It just seemed like a miracle that neither of you . . .’ That night, the terror, that endless wait in the darkness with Jaya, all of it came back to her. Vijay was right, the soldiers were drunk, there was no point dragging up bad memories or trying to make sense of it. ‘Anyway, enough about Uganda, I have plenty of that with Pran and his plans.’ She started heading towards the kitchen door.

  ‘It was strange, though.’ Vijay’s voice was low.

  Asha stepped back and looked at him, his eyes sparkling in the light. ‘What was?’

  ‘I mean, I was pretty dazed when they hit me, but I heard the soldiers leave. I heard footsteps.’

  ‘What’s strange about that?’

  Vijay looked down. ‘The thing is, it was all so quiet. And the whole time, I don’t remember hearing December, or Pran. I don’t think so, anyway.’

  Asha stared at him.

  ‘I didn’t really think about it at the time, no noise from either of them.’ Vijay shrugged. ‘There was so much going on.’

  ‘How sure are you?’

  ‘Well, I’d just been hit over the head by a man who’d drunk more alcohol than the rest of Uganda put together so . . .’

  ‘So you might have blacked out?’

  ‘Maybe. But I remember lying there for a long time. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.’

  She’d known, deep down. Vijay didn’t need to explain any of it.

  35

  Vijay

  Vijay had stayed out in the garden long after Asha had gone back inside, watching the sky turn dark blue as next door’s children shrieked and weaved their way through the alleys behind the houses. He was glad he and Asha had had a chance to speak before he went; things had been so odd, particularly after Pran arrived. The uneasy feeling every time Pran mentioned how well they’d all stuck together in his absence, the awkward glances. That’s why travelling would be the best thing for him. It would be good to get away from the family, create some memories of his own that weren’t tainted. He wanted to make sure that Ba’s early life and Papa’s weren’t forgotten. Yet even now, his excitement for his trip was dampened by guilt. Ba shouldn’t have to worry about him, or about Pran and his talk of Uganda. How could Pran think about leaving his wife, his family, just when he’d got them back? Why couldn’t he see how lucky he was? Just then, Vijay heard the scuttle of a chair in the kitchen. He got up and went back inside.

  Jaya was sitting at the table, while Pran poured them both glasses of water.

  ‘How is everyone? Is Kamlamasi well?’ said Vijay, leaning against the door.

  ‘Yes, beta, they are all well, you should have joined us.’ Jaya looked up a
t him, her tone mellow. ‘Although, of course, there will be lots of temples in India too.’

  ‘In India?’ Vijay looked up at her.

  Pran turned around. ‘Who cares? He’s not going.’

  ‘It’s up to Vijay whether he goes.’ Jaya spoke to him in the same tone she’d used when they were children, after they’d grazed their knees or caught a fever.

  Pran loomed over the table. ‘He belongs here with us.’

  ‘Why are you talking about me as though I’m not even here, Pran? I can make my own decisions.’

  ‘This is ridiculous. You don’t even have a plan. You’re going to waste your money.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. My money, that I saved, even when you weren’t working.’ Vijay stopped himself.

  ‘Go on, say it.’ Pran stepped towards him, his voice getting louder. Jaya stood up and put her hand on his chest in an effort to calm him.

  ‘I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry,’ said Vijay, shaking his head. He lowered his voice. ‘But that money’s mine. What’s the problem?’

  ‘The problem is, we’re a family. We should stick together after everything we’ve been through.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Asha, coming down the stairs. They must have woken her from her nap.

  ‘The money isn’t just yours, Vij, we need to plan for our future,’ said Pran, ignoring her.

  Vijay stood up straight, his back stiffening. ‘Your future in Uganda? You’re going to run away, leave the people you care about here, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s rich, coming from you.’ Pran’s mouth twisted into a sneer.

  Jaya turned, her body mirroring Pran’s. ‘It’s Vijay’s decision.’

  ‘But you said you didn’t want him to go?’ Pran looked down at her. ‘Why’ve you changed your mind so suddenly?’

  ‘Vijay is right, it’s his life.’

  ‘No, I’m the head of the family. You’re not going.’ Pran slammed his hand on the table.

  ‘Head of the family?’ Vijay stepped towards Pran. ‘I’m so sorry, I must have missed that. And where were you all those months when we were alone, who was the head of the family then?’