Oleander Girl Read Online Free

school, my birthday parties were muted affairs executed in the refectory: balloons, a lumpy cake made by the cook, a few minutes of birthday song and scattered applause. The thought of tonight’s festivities is a bit alarming, but mostly it’s exhilarating. I draw in a deep breath and square my shoulders, ready to take my place in the world as Rajat Bose’s fiancée.
    “Why are you all puffed up like a bullfrog?” Grandmother says. “How do you expect me to hook the komarbandh around your waist if you do that?”
    Since the party is expected to continue late into the night, Papa Bose has booked three suites at the hotel—one for him and Maman, one for Rajat, and the third for me and Pia, Rajat’s eleven-year-old sister, whom he calls Sweet P. Grandfather didn’t care for the idea one bit. He scrunched up his face and started on how girls of the Roy family don’t spend nights away from home. But Papa, bless his heart, said in his soft-spoken way, “Bimal-babu, isn’t Korobi also my daughter now?” Papa’s words sent a surge of joy through me. I wanted to tell him, Yes, I am. And you and Maman are parents to me .
    Grandfather had finally barked his acquiescence at Papa, but he would never have given in if he knew what Rajat has planned for tonight, which is to smuggle me into his suite once his parents are asleep. He has sworn Sweet P to secrecy. That wasn’t hard; she adores her brother. Thinking of Rajat and me, just the two of us together, privacy like we’ve rarely been allowed, intertwined on a blue velvet couch—that’s as far as I letmy guilty imagination go—makes my stomach feel wobbly. Yes, I’m scared, but in a delicious kind of way. My breasts tingle, and I breathe carefully so that Grandmother will not ask me, What’s the matter now? Are you feeling light-headed from fasting?
    But even my fantasies of Rajat can’t keep me from worrying over my mother’s visitation. I’ve got to bring it up soon. We’re almost done.
    Grandmother adjusts the armband one last time and tilts her head to give me an appraising look.
    “Beautiful!” she proclaims. She rises on tiptoe to give me a kiss, and then, after a small hesitation, another one, as though on behalf of someone else.
    I guess this is as good a time as any.
    “Grandma, can I ask you something?”
    Right then Cook calls from below to inform us that Bimal-babu is dressed and waiting in the foyer, pacing up and down and none too happy that we’re still dawdling upstairs.
    “Let’s go,” Grandmother says.
    I grab hold of her arm. “I need to talk to you.”
    “Not now, my dear. You know your grandfather, how he can get if people are late.”
    “It’s really important!”
    There must be something in my voice, because Grandmother peers into my face, her eyes clouding with apprehension.
    But Cook’s raspy yells assail us from downstairs. “O Ma, O Korobi-baby, babu has already walked off toward the mandir in a huff. You’d better hurry, else you know what’s going to happen.”
    Grandmother sends me ahead to pacify Grandfather. She will join us as fast as her bad knee will allow. She promises to talk to me right after the ceremony. For now, I have to be satisfied with that.
    I run down the gravel path and catch up with Grandfather. I slip my hand into his as I’ve done ever since I was old enough to walk. I don’t expect a response; he’s never been demonstrative. But he surprises me today by squeezing my fingers. The frown on his face dissolves into a smile, and I feel a moment’s pride knowing only I am capable of working this magic on him. He looks me up and down and gives a small, approvingnod, and that means more to me than the most fulsome of compliments from someone else.
    In the temple, I sit on the cool floor next to Grandfather, beneath the stern benevolence of the goddess’s glance. Grandfather is clad in only a traditional silk dhoti—no fancy modern clothes for him, not even for a special occasion such as this. That’s