Oleander Girl by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni Page B

he expected her to be respectful and silent. If she expressed her views—and like your grandfather, she had strong views—he subjected her to a chill silence. His approval was important to Anu, so she learned to live a double life, assertive and competitive at school and college, compliant and voiceless everywhere else.
    “When she was about to complete college, your grandfather found a match for her. It was not difficult. She was beautiful and accomplished and sweet-natured, and many people were keen to form a relationship with our family because of your great-grandfather Tarak Roy. Your grandfather was partial to the son of one of his colleagues. Anu didn’t say no, but she asked for time. She told him she had applied for an American scholarship. If she was lucky enough to receive it, could she please go? It would be only for two years.
    “Your grandfather was angry that she had taken such a big step without consulting him, but I could understand her longing to see the world before wifehood bound her with its responsibilities. Finally he agreed to wait until the results were announced. It was a very competitive scholarship; we didn’t expect her to receive it.
    “But your mother must have been even smarter than we realized—or perhaps a bird of ill luck had flown over her head on the day when she mailed the application. She received the scholarship, all expenses paid, to study international relations at the University of California in Berkeley. The delighted principal of Anu’s college announced her success to the newspapers. The phone wouldn’t stop ringing as friends and relatives called to congratulate your grandfather. How could he refuse to let her go after that? Still, he hesistated until she agreed to go to our temple with him and swear, in front of the goddess, never to marry without his approval. That put him at ease. He knew she wouldn’t make such a promise lightly.
    “Anu settled into the university quickly, doing well in her classes. In Kolkata she had been reclusive, preferring to read or listen to music in her room. In America she grew adventurous. She would tell us in her letters about folk-dance lessons and plays she had seen in San Francisco.She visited the giant redwoods and saw migrating whales. People in California, she said, were kind and friendly and very interesting.
    “ ‘When does the child study?’ your grandfather grumbled. But Anu must have found time for that, too, because at the end of her first semester, she received As in all her subjects.
    “ ‘One and a half years more,’ your grandfather said, sighing. He missed her even more than I did. ‘Then she’ll be back, and all this foolishness will be over with.’
    “ ‘Don’t forget,’ I said, ‘she’ll be married soon after that, and no longer ours.’
    “Your grandfather waved away my words. ‘She’s always ours, no matter whose house she lives in.’
    “A week after that, we had just sat down for dinner when the phone, which was kept in his study, rang. I went and picked it up. You know how your Grandfather didn’t like to be disturbed at dinner. It was Anu.
    “ ‘Are you all right?’ I asked, worried, because she only phoned us on special occasions—calls were too expensive. She said she was better than all right. She was in love. My mouth grew dry. I knew Grandfather wouldn’t like this.
    “ ‘He’s a wonderful man,’ she said, ‘sweet and intelligent. You couldn’t have found a better person for me in all of India. His name is Rob.’
    “ ‘He’s American?’ I said in horror. But before I could ask anything else, your grandfather took the phone from me, telling her how nice it was to hear her voice, and asking what was the occasion. Then his face changed. He gestured to me to leave the study and shut the door.
    “I stood in the passage, petrified. After a few minutes he hung up the phone, but he didn’t come out. When I knocked, he told me to go to bed. The next morning, he sent Anu a