THE MAGICAL PALACE by Kunal Mukjerjee Page A

flanked by the state secretariat building on one side and the India Government Mint on the other. I heard the clock on the secretariat building chime the hour. It was already five o’clock.
    ‘Rahul, we will be leaving at six o’clock for the Puja Committee meeting.’ Ma’s voice wafted in from her dressing room. She was already putting on her make-up—I could hear the drawers of the antique dressing table open and shut as she took out her cosmetics. There was a Bengali Association meeting at the Banerjee home. All the local Bengalis were meeting to discuss the upcoming Durga puja celebrations.
    I did not really like going to these meetings. But I wouldget to see Mallika this time, so I was looking forward to an evening of fun, games and food.
    I decided to go to the lakeside for a little while and lay down on a big rock. I wondered if Mallika had ever been tormented by her classmates. No, I reasoned, because Mallika was a good Bengali girl. I could not imagine her doing anything wrong like I had done, and drawing such contempt from her friends. I wanted to confide in her about what had happened in school, but I dared not. I shuddered to think what Binesh Kaku would do to me if he were my father—he was stricter than mine and meted out punishment mercilessly to his daughters.
    Rani came running up to me, rudely interrupting my musings. A family of ducks rose up from the reeds, flapping their wings and quacking in alarm as they moved to the far side of the lake.
    ‘Look what you did,’ I said crossly. ‘You scared them away.’
    ‘Oh, please,’ Rani said, sounding annoyed. ‘What are you doing, Rahul? Don’t you know we are going to see Mallika Didi and Shyamala? It’s almost six o’clock. You better get dressed right away. Baba will be ready to drive soon—and you know how he hates to be kept waiting.’
    ‘All right,’ I mumbled. ‘Stop pushing me.’ We walked hurriedly back to the palace. ‘Look,’ I said, pointing to a cluster of snowy white egrets sitting on one of the branches of the giant banyan tree. As I gestured towards them, they rose like a flurry of snowflakes, a luminous white against the emerald green leaves of the banyan tree and glided effortlessly towards the lake, sparkling against the silhouette of the mosque that rose behind the palace walls. ‘They are lovely, aren’t they?’ Rani murmured as caught up in thebeauty of the moment as I was. ‘Anyway, hurry up, you slowpoke,’ she said, soon back to her usual form. I followed her to the palace—she easily outpaced me with her longer legs and brisk stride.
    I washed up and searched the almirah for a stylish shirt to wear. I found one designed like the shirts Rajesh Khanna wore in Anand . It had a high collar and was made of cotton, light and cool. In that shirt, I felt as if I could be in a movie scene with him right there. For a moment I saw us together, lost to the world, yearning to be in each other’s arms. Then I heard the impatient sound of a car horn coming from the portico.
    ‘Rahul, Rani, are you ready?’ My father sounded irritated. He had already got the Baby Ford out from the garage.
    ‘Go join your father, Rani. Rahul, please come and help me with the sari.’ My mother was running late as well.
    I ran to her bedroom, where she stood in front of the mirror. I always thought that my mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. She had high cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes and long, lustrous hair down to her waist. For me, she held the secrets of the universe.
    ‘Your great-grandmother was from the state of Assam, Rahul. That is why we both have such high cheekbones and you have that special hue to your skin,’ she had told me many times.
    ‘That makes me part Assamese too,’ I always replied, feeling a great deal of affection for all things Assamese— Assam tea, rhinoceri and tea plantations.
    At the moment, Ma was busy putting on her jewellery. ‘Please pull the hem of my sari down and make sure all the