Rani Maa, it seemed, had entirely forgotten the incident in the orchard with Mehtaab, in her interaction with Rajjo there was no recollection, no subtext, no reference, no averting of gaze as Mehtaab was mentioned in the conversation, so much so that Rajjo began to think she had conjured up the whole thing. She had to remind herself that she was here because that incident had happened. The crickets had been loud, the moon shone like a ball of fire in the charcoal sky and she had seen Mehtaab and Rani Maa naked.

But Rani Maa behaved like Rajjo had not witnessed her deepest darkest moment.

Rajjo travelled with her to various ashrams, kept up with her hectic schedules, learnt and suffered innumerable sermons and knew she could give one in her sleep now. However, in this marathon she missed the friends she’d left behind, Raahat and Arjan.

Raahat had been travelling with Gurbaksha’s team to take care of chores that Mehtaab needed done.

When Rajjo was feeling a crust of algae and dust settle on her mind and heart, she realized it was time for movement. And it came along one wet morning, as Rani Maa sat smoking in her private garden.

As was the practice in the ashram, a part of the compound or the orchard was dedicated to Rani Maa where she could invite only the people she wanted to share her privacy with. And that day she called for Rajjo to sit next to her. A newspaper was cast aside like she had read through every single daily for the day. A cold teacup sat untouched on the elaborate tray. A cassette player whirred along in the background. Rajjo noticed some English audiotapes lying around the garden. Rajjo was hoping Rani Maa would call for the hugely successful audio tape of Saajan. She had heard the songs on every tea stall. She liked Sanjay Dutt. That reminded her, she was going to try Harsh Vardhan’s number again.

The last two times she had tried his number, someone had said he was busy and then he was not available, only to bang the phone down abruptly. On some occasions, they’d asked for a name, twice she had said a hesitant Rajjo, expecting a sneer from the other end, and got the same dismissive response, till the third time she’d confidently screamed her name as ‘Madhuri Dixit!’

Raahat’s ice-cream cone had spilled from his hand as he heard Rajjo say that into the telephone, not to mention the amused glances she’d drawn from the patrons and the shopkeeper. Raahat had laughed all the way back to the ashram.

Rajjo was sure he would never know it was her who was calling for him. How would he know it was Rajjo or Madhuri, he did not even know her real name? Angry tears of frustration welled up inside as she dabbed at them resolutely sitting in the bus on her way back to the ashram.