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certain notions her life would be easier. Having Vicky was not such a bad thing, all the boy needed was a little love, he was still a child, and from the same family.
    ‘Do you want me to keep him sometimes?’ observed Rupa to her sister’s back. ‘He can come when he doesn’t have school, he can also help him with his studies.’
    Sona shuddered and shook her head. ‘Can you see what they would say?’ she demanded. ‘No, I have thought and thought. I am going to tell your Jijaji that if he doesn’t move to a separate house, I am going to fall ill – you can see how thin I am.’ She held out her arm – the sleeve of the blouse hung from it.
    Didi has gone mad, thought Rupa, that is why she is so out of touch with reality. How else can she even suppose that an old-established joint family with a growing business would deflect its time, money, and resources to cater to the whims of a daughter-in-law? ‘Try this mango chutney,’ she said nervously. ‘It is a new recipe, sweet, sharp and salty, you can have it with Chinese also. It will bring back your appetite.’
    ‘Nothing will bring back my appetite,’ declared Sona firmly, ‘and I know what I am doing. That woman upstairs keeps talking of how the children are growing and need more space, and how we should all move.’
    ‘ All move,’ pointed out her sister.
    ‘I am sure your Jijaji can be made to see reason,’ said Sona, setting her mouth in a pretty red-lipped pout. Rupa wondered how far her beauty would take her. Would it take her out of the house?
    Rupa waited in vain for any change in the Banwari Lal household. Sona continued as Vicky’s reluctant mother in her marital home. Obviously she had thought better of a plan that would result in suspicion, resentment, opposition, and further opprobrium.
    A few months later a supplier came to the shop with a box of the finest almond sweets Karol Bagh had to offer. The occasion? A baby son, after years. The man was fervent in seeking the blessings of everyone in his life. He talked, and in what he said Lala Banwari Lal found much to ponder.
    A few days later he revealed an unprecedented plan for the summer. They were going on a holiday. For one week Pyare Lal would look after the shop, Sushila would look after him, while Yashpal, Sona, the three boys, and the grandparents went to the hills. Among the places they were going to visit was a shrine at Chitai, near Almora. Though the shrine was small it was famous, the Devi of those hills was said to have miraculous powers.
    Yashpal added to his wife’s joy by telling her they could include Rupa and her brother-in-law on the trip. A childless couple, they might benefit too.
    Sona looked at him, put her hand on his knee and smiled. Yashpal was a man of few words, but she understood everything without his having to open his mouth. In his silent way he was doing what he could for her: he had seen her pain, he had registered her trauma, he too wanted a child of his own. He had found out where to go – the very fact that he was taking Rupa too was a sign of the faith he placed on their journey. And best of all, he was making sure Sushila was left behind. There would be no evil eye to negate the blessings bestowed by the Devi.
    ‘I am sure Rupa will be very happy to join us,’ she murmured. ‘She is always talking about how good you are, helping so much with her pickles and chutneys.’
    ‘Poor woman, she is your sister after all,’ said Yashpal.
    ‘There is no man like you,’ said Sona, gazing at him, love in her eyes, the desire Vicky had driven away palpably swelling back.
    Yashpal drew her soft and yielding mass to himself. His arms around her, he tugged at her lower lip, sucking it. In the morning he knew it would look even redder, and only he would know the reason. This secret made him increase the pressure. Sona’s hand crept to his pyjama tape, the darkness allowed her to do things she never would have if they could see each other. She opened the