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Cremation Ghats, Gauhati, Assam
Saturday 19th July, 1997

‘Before God we are all equally wise – equally foolish.’
Albert Einstein.

The twelve year old stared at the sheeted corpse of his father who had died in the accident four days earlier. His arm was in a sling and a brace around his neck. The sun was setting over the farther bank of the broad and brown Brahmaputra, as a warm evening breeze began to blow off the river, tugging and fluttering the drooping saffron pennants on the bamboo poles.

His uncle Raul placed an encouraging hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. ‘You’re doing fine, my boy.’ Sanjay winced, the pressure touching a nerve. He turned and looked up at the open and pockmarked face of his uncle. He had not seen him in years and he had just flown in from Mumbai, from where he ran a number of businesses. Mr. Chattergee, his father’s director, came over, pulling a disconsolate face and placing both palms together, gave the traditional Hindi greeting namaste to Raul Dutt. He then turned to Sanjay and spoke in Indian-English.

‘I am very sorry about your father. Such a fine fellow. My best man. No doubt and doubtless we’re going to miss him.’ Sanjay nodded politely. Being patronised by adults and strangers who stared at him, was something he resented. ‘Such a terrible business, such a needless accident. The lorry I hear had a flat tyre and its worthless driver then goes off and abandons it, with not a consideration about leaving a warning, a red rag or lantern or something. They must be nabbing the culprit.’ Raul nodded his head solicitously. ‘And what,’ asked Mr. Chattergee in a hushed tone, pronouncing what as vhat, ‘will be happening to the boy, since the – er – unhappy passing of his poor mother?’ He was concerned that the company might inherit the problem. ‘I don’t think he has any…’

Raul snorted, pushing out his bottom lip. ‘Well, as things are standing, I am supposing he must be having to live in my house.’

Sanjay overheard everything, only too aware of his family’s tragedy and shame, which dogged him like an unwelcome shadow. Four years ago his sister, his beloved sister, had died of leukaemia. Even at his young age, he was aware that this event had unhinged his mother and she sometimes had to go away for her own good. But there was something else. After his baby brother had been born, his father had, in another particularly viscous fit of rage, left the house for on two week business trip. Humiliated again, his mother locked herself with the infant in her bedroom. Listening at her door, the young Sanjay would often hear her sobbing or whispering to herself. Their servant took fright and left, calling her puggla – mad. As he had wanted to protect her, he did not go to school and was left to fend for himself, often hiding under the dining room table, waiting for her to come out.