The Trail to Spring

Chapter 19

I woke up the next morning feeling weak and unable to even stand properly.

Mrs. Majumdar stuck a thermometer into my mouth as soon as Rakesh informed her about me and it turned out that I had a high temperature. I punched my pillow in anger when I heard Mrs Majumdar. After all I had undergone, I had to now fall behind because I was sick?!

I knew that there were much greater things at stake than my health and I was getting ready to go out despite my fever, but Rakesh refused to let me even leave the room and pushed me back on my bed.

"My, my, you do seem to have an unlimited supply of bad luck, " Rakesh said, shaking his head.

I lay down on my bed again. I was feeling light- headed again.

"I am going out on my own," he continued.

"But I want to be there too," I complained, "It's my responsibility to be there with you."

Rakesh rolled his eyes on hearing my words.

"You do have a knack for drama, Ms. Ganguly, I have to give you that," he said, putting his hands inside his pockets. He was wearing just a single full sleeved sweater and he seemed to be completely comfortable. I, on the other hand, was wearing two layers of sweaters under my thick blanket and still shivered due to the cold. I felt chilly simply by watching him and so pulled up my blankets tightly over me.

"You must understand that you are not fighting a war, because that's not in your hands," he said, opening the door of my room, "You are just trying to stay alive during the war as we all are."

"But it's my responsibility," I repeated in a faint voice.

"Your responsibility is to get well as fast as you can," he said and closed the door as he walked out.

I had nothing else to do so I tried to look out of the window from my bed. The sky seemed to be cloudy. I wondered why the weather was being so horrible now that I was in Darjeeling. I mustered as much strength as I could and walked up to the window to get a clearer view of outside.

I hadn't noticed that there was a garden surrounding the house the night before. A butterfly fluttered among the flowers in the garden. It was too early for the butterfly. The flowers had not bloomed properly yet. There was a bench in a corner that looked out to the dense canopy of trees that surrounded the house. I could see the faint visage of the mountains in the background but there were slight traces of fog so it was hard to distinguish any details.

"Too bad it's so cloudy out there."

I turned behind to realise that Mrs. Majumdar was standing behind me.

"You can even see the Kanchenjunga from here on a better day," she said. She had a thick shawl in her hands. She approached me and put it over my shoulders.

"I am making my special chicken soup for you. It will be good for your health," she said.

"No, you don't have to," I tried to be polite.

"It wasn't a request," she said and led me to the living room.

I sat down on the same sofa that I had sat on the previous night.

"You can watch the TV," she said, keeping the remote in the small glass table before the sofa, "Or you can read." She pointed towards the bookcase. "Think this as your own home, dear. No need to be shy," she said as she walked to the kitchen.

I picked up the remote and switched on the television. I turned to the news channels to see whether there was any new information about the Guind murder. Rakesh was helping me so I thought it only appropriate if I helped him too. But unfortunately, there wasn't anything interesting in the news and I ended up watching Frozen. The movie made me feel even colder than I was already feeling, but I liked it, so I continued watching it.

After a while, Mrs. Majumdar brought me piping hot soup in a bowl with large pieces of chicken floating on top and kept it on the table in front of me. Then she sat down on the sofa beside me. I sipped a little of the soup and found it to be extremely delicious. It had a kind of warmth in it that spread throughout my body and made me feel just a bit more comfortable in that freezing cold.

It was quite after a while when there was a commercial break in between the movie when I turned towards Mrs. Majumdar and saw her watching me with a sad look on her face. Somehow that look seemed familiar to me.

"You are so alike," she said slowly.

I recognised her look now. Mother always had that sad look on her face.

"You are so like my daughter," she said, "I remember that I used to make this soup for her and she would sit here on this sofa, with that shawl wrapped around her. I would sit here and watch her as she watched TV and drank her soup. It was a long time ago."

"You must really miss her," I said.

"It's been six months since I last saw her in person," she said, her eyes brimming with nostalgic sorrow, "She is a very busy woman."

She took my empty bowl, walked back to the kitchen and handed me back a filled bowl again.

"You must gain your strength. I won't let anyone be ill in my house," she said with a smile.

I finished my soup the second time around. This time I noticed that a number of pieces of chicken were still left at the bottom of the bowl, even though the soup was finished. Somehow it reminded me of Mom. She also used to make me chicken soup occasionally and it would be the same case with hers too. That's the difference between this soup and the one from a restaurant. There are no extra chicken for you in the latter one.

I spent the rest of the morning telling Mrs. Majumdar about dada and Grandpa and she told me about her husband, who was a hotel manager here. Somehow I didn't feel all that bad anymore and the hours passed by in flash.