The Gurkha's Daughter by Prajwal Parajuly Page A

yes, he knows how much you mean to me, and to impress you was his biggest goal. After the DGHC nonsense, of course. It all went downhill when I brought up finance and independence issues.”
    â€œWow,” Prabin remarked. “I don’t know what to say.”
    â€œI know. There’s not a lot for you to say.”
    â€œDo you think you’ll ever see him again?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œHe seemed pretty shaken.”
    â€œMust have been the drink—you know, with four-fifths water.”
    He figured she was trying to make light of the situation. “These Darjeeling people—I love the way they speak.”
    â€œI know. And what they say about St. Paul’s products not being able to mingle is certainly true.”
    â€œHe seemed social enough.”
    â€œHe rehearsed for this meeting a million times. Where do you think the book on how to run a successful business and the bouquet for Mua came from?”
    â€œDid you see her face when he handed her the flowers?” They were back to their chitchat. “I had difficulty controlling my laughter. To be honest, I was a little insulted he brought me a book on how to manage my business. You probably told him I don’t manage the bookstore well enough.”
    â€œYes, he tried. But giving a book like that to the most successful bookstore owner in town is a little silly, I agree.”
    â€œYou know everyone says we are more successful than Good Books,” Prabin boasted. “Now we just have to beat Rachna Books.”
    â€œWeren’t you always?” Supriya teased. “Or were those lies to appease my childish questions about who had more money, who was bigger, and who was more powerful?”
    â€œBe absolutely honest with me, Supriya. You couldn’t have turned down the man simply because you didn’t like the ideaof his being in politics. There’s something about Anwesh that convinces anyone he meets he’s going to do great things. I’ll give it in writing that he will be a great man. There’s more to it than his involvement in politics.”
    â€œYes, there is,” she replied, looking straight ahead.
    â€œIs there someone else?”
    â€œNo, not at all.”
    â€œThen why?”
    â€œHe’s not a Brahmin, Bua. Remember to be a Brahmin, both your parents need to be Brahmins? I want my children to be Brahmin.”
    â€œYes, chulhai nimto —of course, everyone’s invited,” Khusboo said on the phone. “Yes, bring the children, too. How often do they get to feast on arranged marriages these days? They need to know that they should get married to someone of their own caste. This will be an example. What? Aye , no, no, it’s not entirely arranged. Who goes for totally arranged marriages these days? But he’s a Brahmin, the upper berth, and yes, the kundalis match perfectly. Ten out of ten, the pundit says. She’s thirty, and he’s thirty-one. Perfect. Thank you, thank you. All right, we’ll see you at the wedding then. Let’s wear something understated and elegant. We need to show them the girl’s side is educated and classy, you know. Bye.”
    Supriya and Prabin were addressing invitations—he in Nepali, and she in English—and rolled their eyes while nodding their heads in disbelief when Khusboo brought up the issue of the groom’s being a Brahmin and the perfectly harmonious birth charts. Supriya wouldn’t allow her birth chart to be read, and Khusboo had to acquiesce because Supriya had done her the biggest favor of all by getting married to a Brahmin. All these years, Prabin hadn’t disclosed to his wife their daughter’s desire to get married to a man from her caste. He often considered telling her about what transpired in the crow’s nest afterAnwesh’s dismissal six years ago. Something stopped him. He felt petty hiding a matter that would have possibly saved his wife six