Page 57 of The Henna Artist

It had never occurred to me that his mother hadhopedI’d use the money. We never spoke about the beatings Hari gave me for being barren. Rarely had Hari hit me in the face, and my sari covered the bruises on my body. Only now was I remembering that when she treated women with a swollen face, she’d insist I prepare the poultice. Had she been showing me how to heal myself?

“You left me huddled on the floor with bruises every time you learned that my menses had come.” I could still remember how frightened I’d felt. “One day, I figured you’d go too far.”

He winced. “I’ve—I’ve tried to make amends.”

Well, this was a surprise. “How? By following me around town and taking my money?”

He started to speak, then stopped. Gingerly, he touched his forehead, feeling the bump there. “I help women who need help.”

“The pleasure girls?”

He heard the skepticism in my voice and shook his head. “You don’t believe me. That’s fine. I wouldn’t have believed me either ten years ago. Except...Maa taught me what she taught you, after you left. And I understood, at last, why those women sought her out. She was their last hope.”

He must have seen the shock on my face. He sighed.

“See, I knew about her sachets. It made me angry that men were being deprived of their children. Then you started helping her. And one night—you didn’t know—but I saw you drinking her tea. I was so...angry...and ashamed thatyoudidn’t wantmychildren. Then you...left, and Maa got ill.”

He stopped, passed a hand over his eyes. “A woman came to her for help. She was...bleeding from her womb.” He looked away. “Her husband had thrust a—a broom handle there because she had laughed at another man’s joke. She had lost so much blood...she was half-dead. Maa told me what to do, where to harvest the herbs we needed, how to relieve the woman’s pain.”

My breathing had become shallow. I could see the scene that Hari described so clearly before me. I’d seen similar ones while working with his mother. The urgency. The plaintive cries of the women. Their brutal wounds.

Hari rubbed his hands together. “She revived. But then came the infection. I did everything as Maa instructed. But the woman died, anyway.” He swallowed. “She was only sixteen, Lakshmi. I thought of you then. I didn’t want to, but I thought of how I had hurt you. How many times... And I was...ashamed. Little by little, I began helping Maa. The women. The children. I saw so much—pain, misery, hunger.” He ran his hand through his hair.

I leaned my head against the wall. I didn’t want to believe him. I closed my eyes so I could hear the truth in his words.

“When I first came here, I did go to the Pleasure District. I was lonely. Especially after I realized Radha had lied to me about what was in your letter.”

I opened my eyes, puzzled.

“When I refused to help Radha get to Jaipur, she showed me your letter, saying you had written that you wanted to see me again. It made me so happy.”

My eyebrows shot up, both at the absurdity of the claim and at Radha’s impudence. She must have tricked Hari into a scheme to find me. She gambled on the odds that Hari was illiterate.

“She finally found an angle that got me to do her bidding.” He shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe he’d been duped by a young girl. “In any event, once I got to know the Pleasure District here, I found women who needed help—Maa’s kind of help.Mykind of help now. I’ve used your money to do what I can. But I need more—real medicine. For injuries that herbs can no longer heal.” He sounded earnest now. “Some have been hurt by the men they...service. Broken bones. Some have recurring infections in their...private regions.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I tried. But you wouldn’t believe me, and...” He looked down at the floor. “I didn’t blame you. I—” He rubbed his hands together. “I understand many things now I didn’t before.”

My chest felt tight. Hari was trying. He was righting his wrongs. He was carrying on his mother’s work in a way I had failed to. She would have approved. I could not forgive the younger Hari, the one who had felt he owned me, who left me with lasting scars. I had changed, grown stronger. Was it so hard to believe Hari had changed, too, and grown softer? Couldn’t I could begin to make peace with this Hari, the one his mother would have blessed? I thought of the little girl with the gash in her leg and how I’d wanted Hari to make her go away. Saasuji would have been far less proud of me for that.

“The little girl—how is her leg?” I asked him now.

“Good. They stitched her at the hospital.”

I nodded.

I put my palms against the wall to brace myself and stood. My bones felt tender, as if I’d been walking for days or even weeks.

Hari watched as I tucked my hair behind my ears. He smiled.

“I had my eye on you long before we were married.”

I stared at him.

“I’d walk miles to the river from my village to watch the women washing clothes, listening to their gossip. My father was long dead and my Maa was busy tending to her women. I’d see you sometimes, on the opposite bank, headed to the village oven to roast peas. You always looked as if you’d been entrusted with an important mission. So young. So serious.” He smiled. “I told my mother, when it was time, I would have only you. She went with me to the river once. We watched you from a distance. Eventually, she took my hand and patted it. ‘Yes,bheta, yes,’ she said.”

Too little, I thought, shaking my head. Too late.

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