HomelessBird

GloriaWhelan

ForJacquelineandPatrick

Contents

One“Koly,youarethirteenandgrowingeveryday,”Maasaid…

TwoIwasupearly,dressingquietlywhileChandrastillslept.

ThreeInthemorningtherewasagreatrushtoget…

FourWhenIreturnedhomewithHari’sparents,everythingwasdifferent.

FiveSoonSassandSassurconsultedanastrologer,andChandrawas…

SixSasswasassorryasIwastoseeChandra…

SevenChandrawascalledhome.Ithadbeenoverayear…

EightIsupposepartofmehadknownallalong.The…

NineThatnight,forthefirsttimesincecomingtoVrindavan…

TenThenextdayasIwaitednervously,IaskedMaa…

ElevenHewaswaitingformewhenIlefttheworkshop.

Author’sNote

AbouttheAuthorPraiseOtherBooksbyGloriaWhelanCreditsCopyrightAboutthePublisher

one

“Koly,youarethirteenandgrowingeveryday,”Maasaidtome.“It’stimeforyoutohaveahusband.”Iknewwhy.Thereweredayswhenmymaatookonlyabitofriceforherselfsothattherestofus—mybaap,mybrothers,andI—mighthavemore. “It’s one ofmy days to fast,” shewould say, as if itwere a holything,butIknewitwasbecause therewasnotenoughfoodtogoaround.ThedayIlefthome,therewouldbealittlemoreforeveryoneelse.Ihadknownthedaywascoming,buttheregretIsawinMaa’seyesmademetremble.

Mybaap,likeallfatherswithadaughtertomarryoff,hadtofindadowryforme.“Itwillbenoeasytask,”hesaidwithasigh.Baapwasascribe.Hesatalldayinhismarketplacestallhopingtomakeafewrupeesbywritinglettersforthosewhodidnotknowhowtowritetheirown.Hiscustomershadlittlemoney.OftenfromthegoodnessofhisheartBaapwouldwritetheletterforonlyarupeeortwo.WhenIwasasmallgirl,hewouldsometimesletmestandbesidehim.Iwatched as the spokenwordswerewritten down to become like caged birds,caughtforeverbymycleverbaap.

When they learnedMaaandBaapwere looking forahusband forme,mytwobrothersbegantoteaseme.Myolderbrother,Gopal,said,“Koly,whenyouhaveahusband,youwillhavetodoashetellsyou.Youwon’tsitanddaydreamasyoudonow.”

Myyoungerbrother,Ram,whomIalwaysbeatatcardgames,said,“Whenyouplaycardswithyourhusband,you’llhavetoloseeverytime.”

My brothers went to the boys’ school in our village. Though therewas aschoolforgirls,Ididnotgothere.Ihadbeggedtogo,promisingIwouldgetupearlyandstayuplatetodomywork,butMaasaidschoolwasawasteforgirls.“Itwill be of no use to you after you aremarried. Themoney for books andschoolfeesisbetterputtowardyourdowry,sothatwemayfindyouasuitablehusband.”

WhenIstolelooksintomybrothers’books,IsawsecretsinthecharactersI

couldnotpuzzleout.WhenIbeggedthemtoteachmethesecrets,theylaughedatme.Gopalcomplained,“IhavetositinahotschoolroomalldayandhavemyknucklesrappedifIlookoutthewindow.Youaretheluckyone.”

Ramsaid,“Whenagirllearnstoread,herhairfallsout,hereyescross,andnomanwilllookather.”

Still,Iturnedoverthepagesofmybrothers’books.WhenMaasentmeintothevillageforsomeerrand,Ilingeredunderthewindowsoftheschooltolistentothestudentssayingtheirlessonsaloud.Butthelessonswerenotlikemeasles.Ididnotcatchthem.

Mymaahadnouseforbooks.Whenshewasnottakingcareofthehouse,shespenthertimeembroidering.Likehermaabeforeher,andhermaa,andasfarbackasanyonecouldremember,thewomeninourfamilyembroidered.Alltheirthoughtsanddreamswentintotheirwork.Maaembroideredthebordersforsaris sold in our market-place. One sari might take many weeks, for a saristretchedallthewayacrosstheroom.Becauseittooksolong,eachsaribecameapartofourlives.AssoonasIcouldworkwithaneedle,Iwasallowedtostitchsimpledesigns.AsIgrewolder,Maagavemepeacocksandduckstoembroider.Whentheborderwasfinished,Maatookthesaritothemarketplace.Thentherewouldberupeestospareinthehouse.

NowMaasatwitha lengthof redmuslin formyweddingsarionher lap.Becausehevaluedherwork,theshopkeeperhadsoldthesaritoMaaforagoodprice. She was embroidering a border of lotus flowers, a proper border for awedding sari, because the lotus pod’s many seeds are scattered to the wind,suggestingwealthandplenty.

Relativesandfriendsbegantosearchforabridegroom.Apartofmehopedtheywouldbesuccessfulandthatsomeonewantedme.Apartofmehopedthatnooneintheworldwouldwantmeenoughtotakemeawayfrommyhomeandmymaaandbaapandbrothers.Iknewthataftermymarriage,Iwouldhavetomake my home with the family of my husband. For my dowry I began toembroideraquilt,makingallmyworriesstitches,andallthethingsIwouldhavetoleavebehindpicturestotakewithme.

Iembroideredmymaainhergreensariandmybaaponthebicyclethattookhimtothemarket-placeeverymorning.Mybrothersplayedatsoccerwithaballthey had fashioned fromold rags. I added the feathery leaves of the tamarindtreethatstoodinthemiddleofourcourtyardandourcowunderitsshade.Iputin thesun thatbeatdownon thecourtyardand theclouds thatgatheredbeforetherains.Iputmyselfatthecourtyardwell,whereIwassentmanytimeseachday to get water. I stitched the marketplace stalls heaped with turmeric andcinnamon and cumin andmustard. I embroidered vegetable stalls with purple

eggplantsandgreenmelons. Imade thebarbercuttinghair, thedentistpullingteeth,themanwhocleanedears,andthemanwiththebasketofcobras.BecauseIwaskeptbusyatallmyothertasks,thestitchingtookmanyweeks.

WhileIstitched,Iwonderedwhatmyhusbandwouldbelike.Storiesweretoldofgirlshavingtomarryoldmen,butIdidnotthinkMaaandBaapwouldletthathappentome.InmydaydreamsIhopedforsomeonewhowashandsomeandwhowouldbekindtome.

Myolderbrothersaid,“We’retoopoortobuyyouadecenthusband.”Myyoungerbrothersaid,“Thereissuretobesomethingwrongwithanyone

whoagreestomarryyou.”When I heard that at last a husband had been found forme, I almost ran

away.HowcouldIspend therestofmydayswithsomeoneIhadneverseen?YetMaahadfinishedembroideringtheweddingsari,Baaphadwrittenaletterofacceptancetothebridegroom’sfamily,andmybrothersbegantotreatmewithrespect,soIdidn’trunaway.

Agiftofmoneyhadtobepaidtomybridegroom’sfamilyfortakingme.Togetmoneyforthedowry,Maasoldthreebrassvasesandabrassweddinglampthathadbeenapartofherowndowry.Hardestofall,ourcowhadtogo.Thefamilywouldno longer have fresh, richmilk to churn for butter tomake intoghee. Instead they would have to buy ghee in the marketplace, where it wasexpensive and not fresh. Money was not enough, though. The family of mybridegroomasked,“Whatjewelrywillshebring?”

Ihad twobanglesmadeofglassbeadsandsomeplastic toerings,nothingmore.IheardMaaandBaaptalkingtogethersolateinthenightthatthemoonslid up and down in the sky. The next morning Maa brought out the silverearringsshehadwornasabride.Theyweresolidsilver,andsoheavythatwhenItriedthemon,Iwasafraidmyearswouldstretchtothesizeofanelephant’s.Thebridegroom’sfamilywassatisfied.

To pleaseme,my baap asked formy bridegroom’s picture, but nonewassent. Iknewlittleabouthimexcept thathisnamewasHariMehtaand thathewassixteen.“Hehasayoungersister,”Maasaid,“soyouwillhavehelpwiththehouseholdtasks.”

The marriage was considered a good one. Hari’s baap, like mine, was aBrahman, the highest Hindu caste, and he was a schoolteacher. Hari wouldsurelyhavebeentoschool.“WillhemindthatIhavenolearning?”Iwonderedaloud.

“What do youmean no learning?”Maa asked in a cross voice. “You cancookandkeepahouse,andyouembroideraswellasIdo.Shouldawifesitwithabookandlettheworkgo?”

Even though itmeant leavingmyhome for thehomeofmybridegroom’sfamily, I was becoming very nearly happy about my wedding. There wassomeonewhowantedme. Best of all, instead of scraps frommymaa’swornsaris,Iwastohaveasariofmyowntowear.

BecausetheMehtaswereanxioustohavetheceremonyassoonaspossible,theastrologerwastoldtobequickinfixinganauspiciousdateforthewedding.TheceremonywastotakeplaceatHari’shomeinsteadofourhome.Thiswasnot usual, but it pleased my parents, for it meant they would not have theexpenseoffeedingweddingguests.

Mybrotherswerenottocomewithus.IdaredtohugthemasIsaidgood-bye.Myolderbrotherlookedembarrassed,andmyyoungeroneshy,asIclungto them.Though theysometimes teasedand trickedme, theycouldbekindaswell.Ifnoonewasaroundtoseehim,myolderbrotherwouldhelpmecarrytheheavypailsofmudfromthepondtoplasterourwalls.Myyoungerbrotherhadoncecaughtfourfirefliesinajarforme.

As Iwalkedout of the courtyardwithMaa andBaap, I lookedback.Thecourtyardwaswherewehadourmeals andwherewe sleptonwarmnights. Iwouldawaken to the soundof thecuckoo in the tamarind tree that shaded thecourtyard.MaaandIwouldwashourhairbythecourtyardwellanddryitinthesun. Thenwewould braid each other’s hair. Oncewhen the small wild lilieswereblooming,IwovethemintoMaa’shair,andshelaughedlikeagirl.AllthisIwasleavingbehind.

Icarriedwithmemyquilt,asandalwoodboxthatheld thesilverearrings,andaphotographofmyparents,mytwobrothers,andmyself.Ithadbeentakentheyearbeforebyatravelingphotographer.MybrothersandIaregrinning,butmymaalooksangryandmybaapguilty.Iremembermaasayingthefiverupeesthepicturecostwouldhaveboughthalfakiloofrice.Atfirstthecolorsofthepicturehadbeentooshowyandnotastheywereinreallife,butafterayeartheyfadedintosofter,life-likecolors.

Ifelttearsstingingmyeyesasthebuspulledoutofthestation.ItwouldtakemetotheMehtas’village,butitwouldnotbringmeback.Maamusthavehadthesamethought;shereachedformyhandandheldittightly.

Mr.Mehtawastherewhenthebusstopped.Hewasashortmanwithasmallroundfaceandapairoflarge,dark-rimmedglasses.Itwashardtoseehisfacebehindtheglasses.Imademybestceremonialnamaskar,salutinghimandeventouchinghisfeet,buthegavemeonlyaquicklook.InsteadheturnedtoBaapand,afteracourteousbutquickgreeting,asked,“Youhavebroughtthedowry,sir?”UntilthatmomentIhadbelieveditwasmetheMehtafamilywanted;nowitseemedthatwhattheycaredformostwasthedowry.Wasmymarriagetobe

likethebuyingofasackofyamsinthemarketplace?Awagondrawnbytwobullockstookusdownadustyroad.Thehotwinds

sent the bamboo groves rustling. Even the crows seemed restless, lighting onfirstonetreeandthenanotherasifthebrancheswerehottothetouch.IheardMaawhisperthatweshouldhavebeenmetwithsomethingbetterthanawagon,butwesoonsawthatthedistancetotheMehtas’homewasnotfar.

TheMehtas’housewas larger thanours, but someof themud-brickwallsweretumbled,andapartofthehousehadnoroof.Ascrawnycow,lookinglikea pile of bones, was slumped down in themiddle of the courtyard.Weweregreetedbyevil-temperedgeesehissingatus.Mr.Mehtashooedthemawayandledustothedoorway,whereMrs.Mehtametus.Shewastallandshadowthin,with small bright bird eyes and a sharp nose. I bowed and touched her feet.Unlikeherhusband,shelookedcloselyatme.Iwasconsciousofmyunrulyhairthat would not be trapped in a neat braid and my enormous eyes, which myyoungerbrothercalledowleyes.AsalwayswhenImetsomeonenew,Ididn’tknowwhattodowithmyhandsandfeet.

“Yourgirlisbigforherage,”Mrs.MehtasaidtoMaa.“That’sgood.Thereisplentyforhertodohere.”

“Koly isagoodworker,”Maareplied.Therewaspride inhervoice,but Isaw that something was bothering her. I was beginning to wish I were backhome. I had not expected to be made much of, but so far there was littlewelcomeintheMehtas’greeting.

Agirlwho looked ayearor soyounger thanmewas staring at us fromacornerof the room.“Chandra,”Mrs.Mehtacalled, “comehereandmeetyournewsister-in-law.”

Chandrawasverybeautiful,withgolden-brownskinandsad,pleadingeyes.She was plump, with a soft round face and body. Her thick black hair hunglooselyoverhershoulders,partlycoveringherface.Shebowedshylytomeandthenlookedquicklyaway,asifsheknewsecretsaboutmethatIdidnot.

Mrs. Mehta prodded her husband, giving him a sharp glance. Lookingembarrassed,Mr.MehtabeckonedtoBaapsaying,“Thereareoneortwothingstosettlebeforethewedding.”

Mrs.MehtashowedMaaandmetoaroominsidethehouse.Assoonassheleftus,Iwhispered,“WhenwillIseeHari?”

Maa said, “Tomorrow at the wedding ceremony. Before would not beproper.”

“WhatifIdon’tlikehim?”“Ofcourseyouwilllikehim.”“ButwhatifIdon’t?”

Maaimpatientlyslappedatafly.“Thenyoumustlearntolikehim.”Sheputherarmsaroundme,andIfeltthewetnessofhertearsagainstmycheek.Ibegantocryaswell.

There was only a curtain between my rope cot and the charpoy of myparents.WhenBaapreturned,IheardhimsaytoMaa,“Hehasthemoneynow,andsoonhewillhaveourdaughter.”

“Didyouseetheson?”Maaasked.“No.Mehta said theboyhas abitof flu and is resting for the ceremonies

tomorrow.”“Thatisnotauspicious,”Maasaid.“Nothinghereisauspicious,”Baapreplied.InafrightenedvoiceMaaasked,“Shouldwepostponethewedding?”Baap’svoicewashard.“Don’tevenspeakof sucha thing!Youknow ifa

weddingdoesnottakeplaceattheappointedtime,someevilissuretocometothebride.”

Toofrightenedbytheirwordstosleep,Ilayawakethatnightlisteningtotheunfamiliar sounds. Voices rose and fell in a nearby room, and from anotherdirection someone coughed. I longed to beg my parents to take me home. Iwouldpromisetoeatverylittleandworkveryhard.ButIcouldnotasksuchathing.To refuse togo throughwith themarriagewouldbringdishonoronmyfamily.Itoldmyselfthatifmyeyeswerenotsobigormynosesmaller,ifIwerenotsolargeormyhairstraighter,theMehtaswouldbekinder.StillIknewthatdespitemyflaws,myparentscaredforme.Perhaps,Icomfortedmyself,intimetheMehtaswouldtoo.Oriftheydidn’tgrowtolikeme,theywouldatleastgetusedtome.

Maagotmeupsoearly,thepigeonshadnotyetbeguntheircooing.Wewenttothecourtyardwellanddrewwatertowashmyhair.Maaoiledandbraidedit.She dusted my face with golden turmeric powder, and with a paste ofsandalwoodandvermilionpaintedtheredtikkamarkonmyforehead.Myeyeswereoutlinedwithkohl.Mylipsandcheekswererouged.Thekautuka,ayellowwoolenbridalthread,wasfastenedaroundmywrist.Iputonmycholiandmypetticoat.FinallyIfastenedthesilverearringsinmyearsandwrappedthenewchili-pepper-redsariasmymotherinstructed.Ihadneverhadsomuchclothtomanage.When I tucked it inproperlyatmywaist, itwashard towalk, and itkeptslippingoffmyhead.

At last I was ready, andBaap came in to seeme. I thought hewould bepleased. I turned one way and the other to show off my splendor, but tomydisappointmenthebegantocry.

“Sheisdressedlikeawoman,butsheisonlyachild,”hesaid.

AtthatItoobegantocry,anditwasonlyMaa’sangrywordsthatmadeusstop.Afterher scolding Igavehera frightened lookandsaw that she toohadtearsinhereyes.

At thatmoment therewasapoundingon thedoor.“Wearewaiting,”Mrs.Mehtacalled.

Weheardthesoundofasitarandtabla.Ilookedatmyparentsandsmiled.ImusthavesomeworthiftheMehtaswerespendingmoneyformusic.ItdidnotoccurtomethatthemusicwasnotformebuttoimpresstheMehtas’friends.

A handful of people had gathered in the courtyard, where a priest waswaiting.Agarlandofyellowandorangemarigoldswasplacedaroundmyneck,andIsatdownacrossfrommybridegroom.Ikeptmyeyesdown,aswasproper,butIstoleaquickglanceatHari.Icouldnotholdbackasmallgaspofsurprise,forIwassuretheremusthavebeenamistake.Theboysittingacrossfrommeseemednoolder than Iwas, perhaps evenyounger.Hewas thin andpale andvery frightened-looking.His eyeswere fringedwith long lashes, andhehad asulkymouthturneddownatthecorners.

Still,hewassurelythebridegroom;Isawthathisforeheadhadbeenpainted,andheworeamarigoldgarland.Uponhisheadwasthebridegroom’sheaddress,with its tasselsof tinsel.Thepriest reachedout forourhandsand joined themunderasmallclothofsilk.Hari’shandwashotandsweaty.Inearlypulledmyownhandaway,buthewashangingontoithard,asifitwerekeepinghimfromfallingover.

Iheardhisvoiceforthefirsttimeasherepeatedthemarriagewords.Itwasveryfaint,andeveryfewminuteshehadtostoptocoughandclearhis throat.Eveninsuchavoice,theversestouchedme:“Iamthewords,thouthemelody;Itheseed,thouthebearer;theheavenI,theearththou.”Ashesaidthewords,thepriesttiedtogetheracornerofmysariandabitofHari’sshirt.Finally,ourheadsweresprinkledwithwater.

After the ceremony was over, and the celebration began, there was nochancetoseeHari.Thewomenwereononesideofthecourtyardandthemenontheother.Theguestsseemedinterestedonlyinthefood.Therewerepotatoeswith cumin, chickpeas cookedwithonionandginger, severalkindsof curries,andplattersofmelons andmangoes.Bestof all, therewasmy favorite sweet,coconutcakes.Themenatefirst,andwhenitwasthewomen’sturn,thecoconutcakes were all gone. I thought it very unfair that a bride should not have acoconutcakeonthedayofherownwedding.

I sawBaap talkingangrilywithMr.Mehta.Maawouldnot speak toMrs.Mehtaat all.TheMehtashadgivenno invitation tomyparents to stayon, soafter the feast they came to say goodbye to me. While we were alone for a

minute,Maasaid,“Theboyismuchyoungerthantheytoldus,andheissickly.”Baapquietedher. “Don’tworryourdaughter.There is nothing tobedone

now.Youheardthemsayheisillwithflu.Hewillsoonbeoverhissickness.Asforhisage,thereisplentyoftimeforhimtogrowintoaman.”

Beforetheyleft,Baapbrushedmyhandwithhisandslippedmeacoconutcake.

Itwasnightwhenthelastguestleft.Mrs.Mehta,whoasHari’smotherwasnowmysass,tookmyarm,holdingitasIhaveseenwomeninthemarketplaceholdingachicken’sneckbeforetheykilledit.

“You can sleep inChandra’s room,” she said. “Hari is sick.Hemust staywithussothatIcantakepropercareofhim.Takeoffyoursilverearringsandgivethemtomeforsafekeeping.”

Fromwhat I had overheardmymaa and baap say, I had guessed that theMehtas had not been honest with us. How could I trust Mrs. Mehta now?StubbornlyIshookmyhead.IknewifIdefiedhernow,wewouldbeenemies,butIdidn’tcare.

“WhathaveIdonetodeservesodisobedientandwillfuladaughter-in-law?”Sasssnappedatme,andlefttheroominahuff.

Later,whenChandrawasoutoftheroom,IhunteduntilIfoundaloosemudbrickinthewall.Iprieditout,hidtheearrings,andreplacedthebrick,carefullybrushingawayanydirtthatmightgivethehidingplaceaway.Inahousewherethereweresecrets,Iwouldhaveasecretofmyown.

WhenChandrareturned,shesmiledatmeandtookmyhandinhers.“Youwillbemysisternow,”shesaid.

For the first time that day I felt a little happiness. Truth be told, Iwouldratherhavehadasisterthanahusband,especiallyahusbandliketheoneIhad.Chandralaydownonhercharpoy,andIlaydownonmine.InnotimeChandrawasasleep.

Isleptverylittlethatnight,keptawakebymylongingformyhomeandbyHari’scoughinginthenextroom.AsIlaythereinthestrangehouse,Ifeltlikeanewlycagedanimalthatrushesaboutlookingfortheopendoorthatisn’tthere.IthoughtImightbeabletoendureonedayinmynewhomeandperhapstwo,butIdidnotseehowIcouldlivetherefortherestofmylife.

two

I was up early, dressing quietly while Chandra still slept. All traces of theweddinghaddisappeared,andthehouseandcourtyardwerebareandunfamiliar.WhenIlookedaboutforeventhesmallcomfortsofmyownhome,awornrugoralumpycushion,therewerenonetobeseen.

Mysasswasscoopingricefromapanintoabowl.“StirthericewhileItakethistoHari,”shesaid.

“I could take it to…” I paused. Husband was too serious a word, and itwouldhavebeenunseemlyofmetocallhimbyhisname.

Shegavemeasharplook.“IwillseetoHari.Don’tletthericeburn.”Mr.Mehta,mysassur, leftearlyinthedayfor theschoolwherehetaught.

Chandratookthewashingtothenearbyriver.Haristayedinhisroom.IwasleftalonewithSass,whofoundonetaskafteranotherforme.Itookthebowlstothewellinthecourtyardandscouredthemwithashesandsand.Ireturnedtoscourthem a second timewhen Sass found a bit of stickiness on one of the bowls.“Howwereyoubroughtup,girl?”shescolded,notevencallingmebymyname.I led the cow out to the field in the morning and brought her back in theafternoonformysasstomilk,butthecowwassothin,Icouldnotseehowtherewouldbemuchmilk.Late in the afternoonSasswentoff to thevillage togetmedicine for Hari, saying she could not trust a girl my age to get what wasneeded.

“You’renottobotherHari,”shesaidassheleft.“Heneedshisrest.I’llbegoneonlyashorttime.”

WhenIheardHaricough,Iknewhemustbeawake.Itdidnotseemfairtokeepawifefromherhusband.Chandrawasbusyinthecourtyardcarryingwaterfrom thewell to the smallvegetablegarden,where squashesandmelonswerecreepingabout,lookingforroomtogrow.Therewasamangotreewithfragrantflowers in the courtyard. Though Chandra warned me not to, I gathered ahandfuloftheblossomsandtookthemtoHari’sroom.

Hariwassittingupinbed.Sprinkledallaroundthebedwereleavesfromthehealingneemtree.Hewaslookingverypale,butheseemedpleasedtoseeme.“Ibroughtyouthese,”Isaid,layingtheblossomsonhisbed.Asmyeyesgrewaccustomed to the dim room, I noticed with amazement that pinned onto themud-brickwallswasanendlessarrayofbutterfliesandbugs.Theremusthavebeenahundredofthem,alldifferent.Iwalkedaboutlookingatthebutterflies’brightcolorsand thebugs’strangeshapes.“Wheredid theyallcomefrom?”Iasked.

Proudlyhesaid,“Theyaremycollection.WhenIwaswell,Igatheredthem.SinceIhavebeensick,peoplebringthemtome.Iknowthenameofeveryone.Ifyouseeabugorabutterfly,youmustbringittome.”

“Icouldbringyoubugs,thoughIdon’tliketopickthemup.ButIwouldn’twanttostickbutterfliestothewall.”

“YouhavetodowhatI tellyoubecauseyouaremywife,andbesidesI’mnotwell.”

“Areyouverysick?”Hewasholdingoneoftheblossoms,touchingthepetals.“Yes,”hesaid.His

voice was hoarse from coughing. He gave me a sulky look. “They shouldn’tleavemealonewithnooneheretofetchmesomethingifIneedit.”Hepeeredatme fromunderhis longeyelashes.When Ididnot reply,he said, “Iheard thedoctorsayIwilldie.”

“Idon’tbelieveyou!”Myheartwaspounding,though,forIdidbelievehim.Lyingthereinhisbedwithouthisweddinggarments,helookedthinasawillowtwigandveryweak.Iwassurehehadafever,forthoughthedaywascool,hishair lay indampcurlsonhis forehead, and therewasa red spothighoneachcheek.

“They’regoing to takeme toVaranasi,”Hari said. “They thinkbathing intheGangeswillmakemewell.Idon’tthinkanythingwillmakemewell.”

“How can you say that?” I asked. I felt myself trembling. How could hespeaksocalmlyabouthisdeath?

Hariwenton,“IfIamverylucky,IwilldieinVaranasisothatmyasheswillbescatteredovertheholyGangesRiver;thenmyspiritwillbefree.”Hiswholebodyshookwithcoughing.

“I’llberightback,”Isaid,andfledtheroom.PartofmewantedtoescapeHari’s shocking words, and part of me wanted to find a way to help him. Iremembered howmymaa had givenme honey and gingerwhen I had a badcold. I found a ginger root to grate. I had to stickmy fingers in several jarsbeforeIdiscoveredthehoney.Itwashiddenawayinthebackofthecupboard.

Hari took three spoonfuls of the honey and ginger. After a few minutes,

whenthecoughsgrewfewer,hesmiledatme.“Tellmeaboutyourhome,”heordered.Itseemedthatallhisrequestswere

commands.Ibroughtmyquilt,climbingonHari’sbedthebettertoshowittohim.“This

ismymaa and baap andmybrothers andour cow,whichwehad to sell so Icouldmarry you.This is ourmarketplace,wheremybaap has a stall towriteletters.”Ishowedhimthespicemerchantsandthevegetablestallsandthemanwiththebasketofcobras.IwassolostinamusingHariwiththepicturesonmyquilt,Ididn’thearhismaacomeintotheroom.

“Whatareyoudoinghere,girl!GetoffHari’sbed!Whyhaveyoustolenthehoney?”Sheflungthequiltatmeandsnatchedtheblossomsfromthebed.“Youhavetornthemangoflowersfromthetree.”WhileIstoodtheretrembling,shecounted theblossoms.“Therearesixof them.Sixblossoms thatwillneverbefruit.Youhaverobbedusofsixmangoes.Iwillrememberthatwhenweshareoutthefruit.”

Harigavehismaaasullenlook.“Kolybroughtmetheflowerstocheerme.Nooneelsehasbroughtflowers.Shewastellingmestoriesofherhome,andshegavethehoneytomeformycough.Itmadeitbetter.”

Hari’smaalookedcloselyathim.“Idoubtitisthehoney,butIcangiveittoyouaswellasshecan.”Sheturnedtome.“Leavetheboy,now.Heneedsrest.Youcanmakethefireforourdinner.”Hervoicewasnotsoangry.ShecouldseeforherselfthatHariwascoughingless.

IfoundHari’ssister,Chandra,soakingthelentilsfordinner.“Chandra,”Iwhispered,hardlydaringtospeaktheterriblewordsaloud.“Is

ittrueHariisgoingtodie?”Sheansweredinanevenquieterwhisper.“It’swhatthedoctorwarnsusof.

Thereisnomedicinethatcancurehim.”Thereweretearsinhersadeyes.“It’swhyMaaandBaaparetakinghimtoVaranasi.TheyhopetheGangeswillmakehimbetter.”

“WillyouandIgotoVaranasitoo?”Ihadheardoftheholycityallofmylife.Itwouldbeagreatthingtosee.ButafterIasked,IwasashamedtothinkIwantedpleasurefromsounhappyatrip.

“No.OnlyMaaandBaapwill go.Theyhave friends to staywith, but therailwayfareisexpensive.”

“Chandra,Idon’tunderstandwhytheyletHarigetmarriedtomewhenhewas so sick. Why did they lie to my parents about his age? Hari can’t besixteen.”

Chandra lookedoverher shoulder tobesurewewerealone. InavoicesoquietIhadtoleanclosetohertohear,shesaid,“Myparentsneededmoneyfor

thedoctorandmoneyto takeHari toVaranasi.Theybelieve theGanges ishislasthope.Adowrywastheonlywaytheycouldgetthemoney.”

It was not I whowaswanted at all. It was themoney. I felt as if I weretangledlikeasmallflyinthewebofacunningspider.IfHaridied,whatwouldbecomeofme?Iwouldbeawidowwhomnoonewouldwant.Ihadbeentoldstories of terrible days long ago when widows were thrown on the burningfuneral pyres of their husbands. I couldn’t imagine that Sasswould do such athing,butthethoughtmademeshiver.

IwasveryangryattheMehtas,butafterlisteningalldaytoHari’sterriblecoughing, I began to think that if the Ganges could cure Hari, our weddingwouldnotbesuchabadthing.

Thatevening,whenHari’sbaapreturnedhome,therewasaterriblequarrelinHari’sroom.IheardHari’svoiceandthenhismaa’sandhisbaap’s.Everyonewasshouting.WhenHaribegancoughing,hismaabegantocry.Suddenlytherewasaloudcrash.

Ijumped.“Whatwasthat?”IaskedChandra.“It’sonlyHarithrowingsomething.Healwaysdoesthatwhenhedoesn’tget

hisway.”“Doyourparentsallowsuchbehavior?”“Theyneverscoldhim.Theylethimhavehiswaybecauseheistheironly

sonandheissosick.”We could hear the angry voices through the thin walls. “Hari, listen to

reason,”hismaasaid.“Shewouldonlybeintheway,andwecannotaffordit.”“Iwon’t gowithout her,”Hari shouted in a hoarse voice. “She’smywife

now.It’shermoneythatistakingus.”Hari’sbaaptriedtoquiethiswife.“AllthisarguingisverybadforHari.It

muststop.Wecantakeachild’spassontherailwayforthegirl,andshewon’teatmuch.”

“Tellhertocomeandseeme,”Harisaid.Hari’smaasoundedtired.“You’vehadyourway.That’senough.Nowyou

mustrest.”“Iwanttoseeher.”Therewasanothercrash.AmomentlaterHari’smaastoodbesideme.“Gotoyourhusband,”shesaid

inacrossvoice.Hewassittingupinhisbed,thetwospotsonhischeeksredderthanever.He

hadaslylookonhisface.“Ifixeditsoyoucancomewithus,”hesaid.“Youmusttellmemorestoriesaboutyourvillageandthepeoplewholivethere.Youmustobeyme.”

Iwantedtotellhimthathewasonlymyageandinbedbesides.Ididnotsee

howhecouldmakemedosomethingunlessIwantedto.ButIwasgrateful tohimformakinghisparents takeme toVaranasi.Besides, Iwasafraid that if Iansweredhimback,Hariwouldstartcoughingorthrowsomething.

Isettledcross-leggedonthefloorbesidehischarpoyandbeganthestoryofthe man who came to ask my baap to write to the government because thegovernment’s train killed his cow. As everyone knows, cows are sacred toHindus, so itwas a serious thing. Themanwas upset. Letterswent back andforth. After many weeks the government sent a letter saying they must haveproofthatthecowhadbeenkilled.Themansaidhewouldsendthecow’sbones.The government said how could they tell whose bones the cow’s were? Thebones of someone else’s cowmight be sent. Themanwas so angry with thegovernment for doubting his honesty that he wouldn’t send them any moreletters.Twoyearslateramanfromthegovernmentcametothevillagebringingafinecowfortheman,butthemansaidthegovernmenthadinsultedhim,andherefusedtotakethecow.

Hari laughedsoat the story thathiscoughingbecameworse, andhismaasentmeangrilyfromtheroom.

Later in the day a doctor came. After he examined Hari, he stood in thecourtyardwithHari’smaaandbaap.Icreptclosetolisten.“Doasyoulike,”thedoctorsaid,“butifitweremyson,Iwouldnotsubjecthimtosuchajourney.”Thedoctor’svoicewasverysolemn.“Icannotholdoutmuchhopeforhim.Histuberculosis is of a new kind that does not respond tomedication. Still, withcompleteresthemayhaveweeks,perhapsmonthstolive.”

After the doctor left, Hari’smaa asked in an impatient voice, “Arewe tolistentosuchamanwhenthewatersoftheGangesRiverarewaiting?”

Hari’sbaapsaid,“Thedoctor isa learnedman.Hemustknowofwhathespeaks.”

“He may be learned about his medicine, but what does he know of thehealingpoweroftheGanges?”

As in everything,Hari’sbaapallowedhiswife tomake thedecision.Thatnight the bhagat, the local healer, came and chanted overHariwhile brushinghimwiththeleavesofaneemtreetogivehimstrengthforourtriptoVaranasithefollowingmorning.

three

Inthemorningtherewasagreatrushtogetreadyforthetrip.Whenthewagoncametotakeustotherailroadstation,Hariwascarriedoutunderalittletentofcloth to protect him from the dust along the road.Awoman from the villagecame to staywithChandra.The two of them stood in the courtyard to see usleave.“Iwishyouwerecoming,”IwhisperedtoChandra.

Sheonlyshookherhead.Hersadeyesseemedtosayitwasfoolishnesstoexpectsuchathing.“Whenyoureturn,”shesaid,“IhaveonlytotouchyouandIwillshareinyourdarshan,yoursightoftheholyGanges.ThatisallIask.”

I kissedChandra and said good-bye. For amoment Iwished Imight staybehind.Iimaginedthetwoofussittinginthecourtyard,chatteringawayunderthemangotree,withoutSasstheretoscold,andwithnoworriesaboutHari.

AsIwasabouttoleave,Chandrasaid,“Ifsomethinghappens,seethatHarihas a garland of marigolds from me.” She turned and fled into the house. IshudderedasIrealizedwhatshemeant.

Wehadnot even reached the railway stationwhen I began to see that thejourneywasgoingtobeveryhardonHari.Thesunbeatdownonthetent,andthe dust found its way through the floorboards of the wagon. The road wasrough,andHari’sheadwobbledonhisnecklikeaflowertoolargeforitsstem.Hecomplainedaboutbeinghotandthirsty.TwiceSassgavehimwater,andstillhecouldnotstopcoughing.

The railwaywas evenworse.Allmy pleasure inmy first railway journeywas lost over my worry about Hari. Along with a rush of other people, wesqueezedontothethird-classcoach.Ifeltthesharppokesofelbowsinmysideand the crush of other people’s feet treading on my feet. Everyone carriedbundles. There were many people like Hari who were ill and going to theGangestobecured,buttheywereallolder.WhenthepassengersintherailwaycarsawhowsickandhowyoungHariwas,theymaderoomforhimsothatatleasthehadaseat.Thecrowdsandtheheatmadeithardtobreathe.Sassurtried

invaintoprotectHarifromthecrowds,whileSassbentover,fanninghimwithapalmleaf.

Just before the train pulled out, I saw several urns being loaded onto thebaggage compartment of the train. I knew they contained the ashes of deadpeople.Theywerebeing taken toVaranasi so theycouldbescatteredover theGanges. I thought it inauspicious thatHari shouldbeon a trainwith somanydeadpeople. Iwanted tobelieve that theGangeswouldmakeHari better, butwhenIlookedatHari,myhopeslippedawaylikeafrightenedmouseintoadarkhole.

The journey took four hours.Wehadbrought cooked rice and amelon toslice.SassurgedHaritohavesome,buthewouldnoteat.Muchofthetimeheslept,whichwasamercy,forhecoughedlessinhissleep.Once,whenIlookedatSass,Isawthattearswererunningdownhercheeks.

FromthetrainwindowIwatchedasmilesofflatlandwentspeedingby.Aswe neared a village, the train slowed, came to a stop, and gave us all a goodshake.The jerkof the trainwokeHari,who lookedabout inadazedwayandthendriftedofftosleepagain.Ateverystopnewcrowdspushedintothecartosqueezeintowhatlittlespaceremained.Once,whenIlookedoutthewindow,Isawwasherwomenstretchingoutlengthsofsaristodryinthesun,longstripsofyellowandblueandpinkagainstthegreenfields.AtonestopIheardthenameofavillagecalled.Iknewtheplacewell;itwaswalkingdistancefrommyownvillage. Itwasall Icoulddo tokeepfromjumpingfromthe trainandrunningdown the dusty, familiar road to my home and my maa and baap and mybrothers.TheywouldhavenoideaIwassoclose.AsmuchasI longedtoseethem,though,Iknewthatafterallthesacrificestheyhadmadeformydowry,Iwouldshamethembyreturninghome.

We reached Varanasi late in the afternoon. The city in all its confusionseemed too large forus. Itwasseveralminutesbeforeweknewwhichway toturn.Wepushedpastcrowdsofbeggars.Sassurpausedtodropcoinsintotheircups,forthegivingofalmsbringsonemuchcreditwiththegods.HeclutchedtheaddressofhisoldfriendMr.Lal,aBrahmanscholar,whohadinvitedustostaywith him. Sassur found two bicycle rickshaws.After bargainingwith therickshawwallahs,SasssettledHariandSassurinonerickshawanddirectedmetojoinherinthesecondone.

The streets were crowded with motorcycles, automobiles, bicycles, andhorse-drawn tongas. People clung to buses like swarms of bees on a branch.Cowsanddogsandgoatswanderedinandoutofthetraffic.Ievensawacamel.

Hari’s facewas flushed, and likemehewas lookingabout in amazement.“Look there!” he whispered hoarsely. In this city of fifteen thousand shrines,

each shrinewasmore splendid than thenext, but hewaspointing to thegreatmosque of Aurangzeb, where the city’s Muslims worshiped. Its eight towerswerelikelanternssuspendedfromthesky.

Justbeforewe turnedoffontoanarrowstreet,wecaughtaglimpseof theGoldenTempleofVishvanathandthegreatriveritself,MaaGanges.“Howsoonwillwego?”Hariaskedinaweakvoice.

“Whenyouarerested,Hari,”Sassursaid.Hariclosedhiseyesandmadenoreply.Hissilencebrokemyheart.Allof

Hari’s sullenness and temperwere gone, andwithout themHari seemed to bedisappearing.

Mr.Lalandhiswifegreeteduswarmly.Theywereelderlyandverystately.Iwas not introduced as Hari’s wife. I believe they took me for his sister. IwonderedifHari’sparentswereashamedtoadmitbeforethisdignifiedmanthattheyhadmarriedsoyoungandsosickasontogetmoney.Mrs.Lalbroughtusameal of dal and chapatis. Mr. Lal brought a small jar of water. With greatceremonyhehelditouttoHari.Inasolemnvoicehesaid,“FromtheGanges.”

Weallwatched,holdingourbreathandhopingforsomemiracle,whileHaridrankthewater.Buttherewasnomiraclethatwecouldsee,onlyHarisufferinganewattackofcoughing.

ThougheveryonewaseagertotakeHaritotheriver,hewastooweakenedfrom the long journey togo. Just beforewe laydown to sleep,Mrs.LalgaveSasssomemustardoilandcamphortorubonHari’schest.Thenextmorningheseemedalittlebetter.

Afteraquickmealofteaandlentilswesetoff.TwomenwerehiredtocarryHari’s cot.WithMr.Lal andSass andSassur,webeganourpilgrimage to theGoldenTemple.Wecouldhardlymove,forlikeus,halfthecitywasmakingitswaytotheriver.Therewerewomenwearingsaristhecolorofjewels,manyofthemwovenwith gold. Therewere holymenwhose faceswere coveredwithashes andwhowore nothing at all. Therewere Jains withmasks tied aroundtheirfacessotheywouldn’taccidentallybreatheinaninsectandsokillalivingthing,whichwasagainsttheirreligion.TherewereSikhsfromthePunjabwhonevercuttheirhairbuttuckeditallupundertheirturbans.Intheirsaffronrobes,sadhus, holymen, were everywhere. They carried begging bowls, and the airwasheavywiththeirchants.

WhenIlookedintothetemples,Icouldseetheholysadhussittinginlongrows,barechested,theirheadsshaven,holdingsacredlampsandaccompanyingtheir chanting with bells. Pigeons fluttered in and out of the temple’s opendoorways. I looked atHari to see if hewas as astonished as I at such sights.WhenIcaughthiseye,afaintsmilecameoverhisface.Ithoughthemighthave

beentellingmethatIhadhimtothankforsowondrousatrip.AtlastwecametotheGoldenTempleofVishvanath.Aghat,along,wide

flight of steps, led down to the river. With the two men holding Hari’s cotbetween them,wemadeourwaydown theghat, pushing through the crowds.Harihadtohangontothecottokeepfromslippingoff.

Along the river’s edge women were scrubbing clothes and even washingtheir pots and pans. Barbers were cutting hair. There were dogs and a cowwanderingabout.Twoboyswereflyingkites.Wesawpeoplewitheverykindofillness.Somecouldnotwalk;otherswereasthinandwastedasHariwas;somehadterriblesoresanddeformities.Icouldhardlybeartolookatallthemisery.Yettheexpressionsonthefacesofthesickwerenotsad.Theywerenothopeful,buttheywerepeaceful.EvenHarilookedmorecomfortableandcontent.

Thecrowdsoneithersideofusandbehindussweptusforward.AheadofuswasMaaGanges.Asthepilgrimsreachedthegreenish-brownriver,theywalkedrightintothewater.Theyfacedthemorningsunandbegantheirpujas,recitingtheir prayers andmaking their offerings of flowers or grain. The saris of thewadingwomenfloatedonthesurfaceofthewaterlikethepetalsofpondlilies.Beyondthepilgrimshundredsofsmallboatsskimmedovertheriver.

SassurandMr.LalhelpedHarifromhiscotandeasedhimintothewater.Asthewaterslidoverhisbody,Hariappearedsurprised,asifhecouldnotbelievethatatlonglastMaaGangeswaswrappingherselfabouthim.

I did not knowwhether Imight be allowed to step into thewatermyself.WhenI lookedatSass, shenoddedherhead. Itwasstillearly in themorning,andthewaterfeltcoolonmylegs.Iwaited,notknowingwhattoexpect.Harihadbeentooweaktowalktotheriveronhisownlegs,butnowtheriverseemedto strengthen him.Hehad taken his shirt off to bathe, and I could see drapedoverhisleftshoulderthesacredthreadgiventoBrahmanboyswhentheycomeofage.Hecalledouttome,“Koly,lookhere.Icanmakemyselffloat.Tryitforyourself.”Hariplayedaboutinthewater,evensplashingme.ForthefirsttimeIcouldseewhatHarimusthavebeenlikebeforehebecamesosick.Ithoughthewasverylikemybrothers.

Sassur was shocked. “This is not a game, son. It is a sacred river to betreatedwith respect.”Though he scolded, I saw that hewas pleased atHari’sliveliness.

Hari’s liveliness did not last.He had to be helped from the river.Hewasshiveringandthenfeverish.WhenwereturnedtoMr.Lal’shouse,Hariwasputtobedatonce.HiscoughingbecamesobadthataVaranasidoctorwascalled.The doctorwore a proper black suit and carried a black bag.When at last hecame out ofHari’s room, he looked very solemn. Speaking in a low voice so

Haricouldnothear,thedoctorsaid,“Iamsorrytohavetotellyouthis,buttheboyisgravelyill.Thereisnothingtobedone.”

Ittookmeamomenttounderstandwhatthedoctormeant.IturnedtoSass,andweheldontoeachother.Wewerebothcrying.Ifshewishedmegone,orIbelievedherunkind,neitherofusthoughtofsuchthingsnow.Allthatwasinourminds was our worry over Hari. I had not known Hari for very long, but Irememberedtheversessaidatourweddingbythepriest:“Iamthewords,thouthemelody;Itheseed,thouthebearer;theheavenI,theearththou.”Howcouldallthatbewithjustoneofus?Icouldn’tunderstandwhatwashappeningtoHariandme.

Afterthedoctorleft,Mr.Lalsaidinhisquietvoice,“AtleastyoursonwilldieinVaranasi.”Thoughhemeanthiswordskindly,theydidlittletocomfortus.

Noonesleptthatnight.Hari’scoughinggrewlouder.Iheardthevoicesandfootstepsofpeoplehurryingbackandforth.Inthemiddleofthenightthedoctorcameagain.AfterhewentintoHari’sroom,therewassilence.AmomentlaterIheard a terriblewailing. I knew itwas Sass and that there could be only onereasonforsuchacry.IfoldedmyselfintoassmallaballasIcouldandpulledthequiltovermyheadtodrownoutthefrighteningsound.

WhenSassurcamein to tellmeofHari’sdeath, Iwouldnot listen.Hesatdownbesidemeandputahandonmyshoulder.“Weshouldneverhaveletyoumarryourson,”hesaid.“Itwasnotfairtoyou.Weonlywantedhimtogetwell.Wethoughtifwecouldbringhimtotheholyriver,therewouldbeachance.Youmustbelikeadaughtertousnow.”AtlastIheardhisheavystepsgoingaway.

Whatevermy sassur had said, I knew Sasswould never think ofme as adaughter. I was nothing now. I could not go back to my parents and be adaughter again. I was no longer a wife or a bahus, a daughter-in-law. Yes, Ithought,Iamsomething.Iamawidow.AndIbegantosob.

In the morning Hari’s body was wrapped in a cloth and covered withgarlandsofmarigolds. Iputoneof thegarlandsonhimforChandra.HariwascarriedonabambooplatformthroughthestreetstotheGanges.WalkingbehindtheplatformwereMr.Lalandhiswife,Hari’sparentsandI,andapriestwhowas a friend of Mr. Lal’s. As we walked along, we chanted over and over,“Ramanamasatyahai,”“ThenameofRamaistruth.”

Thistimethecrowdsdidnotpushpastusbutstoodalittleasidetoletusby.Afewmenjoinedinourchantsandfollowedusforashortdistance.Thereweremanyprocessionslikeoursthatmorning,allmovingtowardtheGanges.Some

oftheprocessionswereaccompaniedbymusicanddancing,forinthemidstofthesorrowtherewashappinessthatthedeathhadtakenplaceinVaranasi.

Only the men accompanied Hari’s body to theManikarnika Ghat for thecremation.After the cremation the scattering ofHari’s ashes over theGangeswould set his soul free by returning his body to fire,water, and earth.Aswethreewomenwaitedatarespectabledistance,weclungtooneanother.Icouldhearthemenrecitethechantsforthedead;Hari’svoicewastogotothesky,hiseyestothesun,hiseartotheheavens,hisbodytotheearth,andhisthoughtstothemoon.Finallyweheardthewords“Amarrahain,”“Liveeternally,”andtheceremonywasover.

When themen returned,wemade ourway quietly back toward the Lals’house.Aswewalked through theGoldenTemple, a dovewove a pattern justaboveourheads.Iknewthatthespiritofthedeadhoversaboutforatime,andtheswoopingdoveseemedverylikeHari.

BeforeweleftVaranasi,Sasspurchasedacheapwhitecottonsariforme.“Itiswhatwidowswear,”shesaid.

four

When I returned home with Hari’s parents, everything was different. We alltiptoedbytheroomwhereHarihadsleptas ifanynoisewouldawakenhim.IfelthisnotbeingtheremorethanIhadfelthisbeingthere.Therewaslittletalkinthehouse.Weallmovedsilentlyaboutourtasks.Asthedayspassed,Sasshadlittle to say tome,addressingmeonly togiveanorderor to scoldme fornotcarryingtheorderoutasshewished.

I was glad to have Chandra with me. When Chandra mourned for herbrother,weputourarmsaroundeachother.WhenIwokeinthemiddleof thenighttofindtheroomfullofghosts,thereassuringsoundofhersoftbreathingsentthemaway.ShetoldmewhatHariwaslikewhenhewasgrowingup.Itoldher of my own brothers. Chandra had movie magazines that we looked attogether.Onenighta fruitbat flewthroughourwindow,andwehid,giggling,underthecoversuntilitwasgone.

A fewweeks afterHari’s deathSass toldme to put onmywidow’swhitesari.“Wearegoing into thevillage,”shesaid,but shewouldnot tellmewhy.She hurried us past the outskirts of the village, where the untouchables hadhomesmadeofbitsofmetalandoldcrates.“Youmustnotlettheirshadowfalluponyou,”shewarned,“oritwillpolluteyou.”

Sass seemed to take pleasure in finding someonewhowasworse off thanshewas,whileIcouldnotbelievetherewasanyonemoremiserablethanIwas.

Sassledmetothegovernmentoffice,wheretherewasanofficialwearingasuit, shirt, tie, and jacket.Asweapproached theofficial,Sasswarnedme inalowwhisper,“Therewillbenoneedforyoutotalk.Iwillexplain.”

“Whatistheretoexplain?”Iwhispered.Sassonlygavemyarmayankandpropelledmeintotheoffice.

“Sir,”Sasssaidtotheman,“mysonhasdied.Thisishiswidow.Doesthegovernmentnothavesomethingforher?”

Themangavemeaquickglance,andaftersayinghewasverysorrytohear

ofHari’sdeath,hepushedsomepapersatSassandmetosign.Sinceneitherofus could read the papers, Sass said she would take them home so that herhusband,whowasascholar,couldreadthem.Thenshewouldreturnthemwithourmarks.

Whenwewereoutsidetheoffice,Iasked,“Whatdoesthegovernmenthaveforme?”

Sass brushed asidemy question. “It is away of speaking. The papers areonlytorecordHari’sdeath.”Iwassuretherewasmoretoit,butthementionofHari’sdeathhadsethertoweeping,andIcoulddonothingbuttrailalongbehindherasshehurriedhomewithhermisery.

Afterthat,eachmonthanenvelopewithagovernmentstampcameforme.“It is official business,” Sass would say, taking it from the postman, “andnothingforyoutobotherabout.”

InhersadnessoverHari’sdeathSassgrewbitter.Herangrywordsbuzzedaroundme,stinginglikewasps.“YourdowrydidnotsaveHari,andnowweareburdenedwithonemoremouthtofeed,”shescolded.Shemademyownnamehateful tome.Alldaylongshesent itscreamingthroughthehouseandacrossthe courtyard: “Koly,we needwater!”“Koly, sweep the courtyard! The geesehavesoiledit.”“Koly,theclothesyouwashedarestilldirty!”“Koly,thespicesyougroundforthemasalasaretoocoarse!”

IdidthebestIcould,thankfulforabedtosleeponandfoodtoputinmymouth.EachmorningIgotupbeforethesunswallowedthedarkness.ItwassoearlythatIfeltasifIweretheonlyoneawakeintheworld.Imadearespectfulpuja,bowingtothehouseholdshrine.Iwashedatthecourtyardwellandbrushedmyteethwithatwigfromtheneemtree.Igathereddriedleavestolightthedungin the stove so the water for tea would be boiling when the family awoke. Islappedthecowdungintonicelyshapedcakesandplasteredthemtothewalls,aneathandprintoneachone.Afterthesundriedthem,theywouldfeedthefire.Ihurried to thewell for a pail ofwater.When you holdwater in your hand, itweighsnothing,butputitinapailanditisasheavyasastone!Ithrewsticksatthebandicoot,thenastyratthatlivedunderthehouse,tokeepitfromgettingourfood.

IfSasshadletmecreepquietlyaboutmytasks,Iwouldhavebeencontent.Istillwouldhavehadalittleplaceinsidemetogo,aplaceIcouldwrapmyselfinlike thecocoonacaterpillarmakes.Youcan touch thecocoon,butyoucannottouch the little thing insideunless you tear it apart.That iswhatmy sasswasdoing to me, worrying and badgering me with her never-ending orders andscoldings.

She screamed at me, “You are no better than the bandicoot that burrows

underourhouseandeatsourfood.Gohometoyourmiserableparents!”ButsheknewaswellasIthatIcouldnotgobacktomyvillage.Itwouldhavebeenaterribledisgracetoreturnlikeahungrydogtomyparents’home.

Tocomfortmyself,Ibeganaquilt.WhenIexplainedtoSassthatthequiltwouldbeawaytorememberHari,foronceshewasnotangrywithmebutonlycautionedmetofinishmytasksbeforetakingupthequilt.Shegavemeragsforthequiltandafewrupeestobuythread.Thoughshepretendedtotakenonoticeof my work, even complaining that I was neglecting my tasks, I wouldsometimescomeuponherlookingtoseewhatIhadstitched.IembroideredHariinhisbridegroom’sheaddressasthetwoofussatbeforethepriest.Istitchedthetrain that took us toVaranasi, andHari splashing about in the river.At last ImadetheprocessiontotheGangeswithHari’sbodycoveredwithgarlands.AllaroundtheedgeofthequiltIputaborderofbugsandbutterflies.

InFebruaryonthenightofthefullmoonwecouldhearthesoundofdrumsinthedistance.ItwasHoli, thefeastthatcelebratesthegodKrishna’sloveforthe fair Radha. At first Sass would not allowChandra andme to go into thevillage.AtHoliaspecialredpowdermixedwithcow’sdungandurineisthrownateveryone.ButChandrakeptpleading,andfinally,afterwepromisedtowearouroldest clothes,wewere allowed togo.Toour surpriseSassdecided togowithus.Shesaiditwastoseethatwebehaved,butIbelieveshewasgladofanexcusetoleavethesadnessofthehouse.

In no time everyonewas coveredwith the red dye. Small boys ran aboutsquirtingeveryonewiththeirwaterguns.Lateintheevening,whenthedancingbecamewild,Sasshurriedushome.But fora fewhourswehad forgottenourtroubles.

Whenthehotweathercame,Iworkedonthequiltinthecourtyard,hopingforalittlebreeze.Dayafterdaytheheatpresseddownonus.Ilongedtobelikethe turtles in thedried-outstreams,hidden in themud,waiting for the rains togivethemlifeagain.

Chandra loved to watch me embroider. “Your needle makes the picturescomealive,”shesaid.

“Icanteachyou,”Ioffered,butChandraonlyshookherhead.“I’dratherwatchyou,”shesaid.Chandrawasnotlazy,butonlyalittlespoiled.Shewasallowedtosleeplater

thanIwasinthemorning,wasgivenmorefoodtoeat,andhadfewertasksthanIdid,alwaystheeasieroneslikeairingthequiltsandpillows.Still,IcouldnotbeangrywithherforthewaySasstreatedme.Chandrawaswillingenoughtohelp me, but she gave little thought to a task. She was always dreaming ofsomethingelse—theshapeofthecloudsorthecolorofthesarishehadseenin

themarketplaceor,mostoften,thehusbandshewouldhaveoneday.Isometimesteasedherforherdaydreams,butIwashappytohaveherfora

sister.IfSassscoldedme,Chandrawouldfindanexcuseforme.Whenshewasgivensometreattoeatthatwasnotgiventome,shewouldsecretlysavesomeandgive it tomewhenwewerealone.Chandrahad tieda rope to themangotree,knottingtheend.WhenSasswasbusyelsewhere,wehungontotheropeandswungourselvesintothetreetops.

Thebestpartsofthedaysweretheafternoons,whenChandraandIhadthecourtyardtoourselvesforourbaths.Wetookturnspouringpailsofwaterovereach other.Wewould unwind our saris. Only then, as the coolwaterwashedoverme,couldIforgetSass’sscaldingwordsandthefierysun.Wewouldputonfresh,dryclothes,makingsureallthewhilethatnopartsofourbodiesshowed,soastopreserveourmodesty.

IsometimeslookedintoHari’sroom.Thebugshaddriedupandfallentothefloor.Thebutterflieshadlosttheircolor.Hisroomwasnowusedtostoreflourandlentils.Astraycatoftensleptthere.ItwouldgazeatmewithitsslybrowneyesjustasHarihaddone.OneofHari’sschoolbooksstilllayonthetrunk.Noonetouchedthebook,anddaybydaythedustgrewonit.ThoughIcouldnotread, Isometimesopened thebookand lookedat thewords.TheywerewordsthatHarihadknown.

Ithoughtitwouldbeafinethingtohaveabookofmyown.Nooneseemedtowant it, and I began to think of asking for it, wondering if such a requestwould be met with a new round of scoldings. One evening I gathered mycourageandwenttoSassur.Iblurtedout,“MayIhaveHari’sschoolbook?”

SassuralwaysseemedsurprisedtofindIwasstillthere.Afterstaringatmeforamoment,hesaid,“Itwouldfetchonlyarupeeor twointhemarketplace.Takeit.Butwhatwillyoudowithit?Canyouread?”

I shookmy head. “I thought if I turned the pages over and over, Imightlearn.”

I expected Sassur to laugh at my foolishness. Instead he gaveme a longlook.ForthefirsttimesinceHari’sdeathIsawhissmile.“Saynothingtoyoursass,butcometomeeacheveningwhensheistalkinginthecourtyardwiththeneighborwomen.I’llhelpyoutolearntoreadandwrite.”

That night I could not keep the happy news to myself. “Chandra,” Iwhispered,“yourbaapisgoingtoteachmetoread.Youcanlearnaswell.”

Chandrashookherhead.“Icouldneverlearnsuchthings.”“Yes,youcould.”“Ihavenoneed.Myparentsarelookingforahusbandforme.”AfterthatIwenteacheveningtomysassur.Heshowedmehoweachword

isalittlepackageofletters.Hewascleverwithapencil.Foreachletterhedrewapictureofsomecreature,ahawkorapig,andprinteditsnamebelowtheletter.WhenIhadalltheletters,hedrewarailway.Theenginepulledseveralwords,so that now I had a sentence. Page by page I learned the secrets in the book.Whatwasevenmoreexciting,Sassurtoldmethereweremanybooks,eachonewithastoryinit.Asthemonthswenton,hegavemesomeofthoseotherbookstoread.ChandraandIwerenotallowedoiltolightourroomatnight.Inordertoreadthebooks,Ihadtotakethemwithme,hiddeninmysari,whenIwenttowashtheclothesintheriver.IhurriedtofinishthewashingsoIwouldhavealittletimewithmybook.

I lookedforward to thosewalks to the river, for IwaswalkingawayfromSassandherscolding.ItwasJuneandhotsummernow.Thedrybambooleavesrattledinthewind.Puffsofdustexplodedwithmyeverystep.AlongtheroadIsawwomenwinnowingbasketsofthreshedgraininthewind,thecloudsofchaffflying off in the breeze. The mustard fields were golden with blossoms andsmelled fragrant when I walked by them. In this dry season only a trickle ofmuddywaterremainedintheriver.ThoughIrubbedtheclothesonthestonestogetthemclean,theclothessometimeslookedevendirtierwhenIwasfinished.

Still, I loved the river. Sometimes a tiny silver fish would leap from thewaterafterafly.Hawkscircledoverhead.Bright-greendragonflieswoveinandout of the reeds. A kingfisher perched on a peepul tree, its red breast like atongueoffire.Iwashedthedustoffmybarefeetandsplashedthewaterovermefor the coolness. I thought of how Hari had splashed me in the Ganges. Iwonderedwhatmy lifewouldhavebeen like asHari’swife. I knew thatHarihad been spoiled andwould not have been easy to livewith, yet Iwas sure IwouldhavebeenhappierthanIwasnow.

There were days at the river when I did not pick up my book but onlydaydreamedlikeChandra.Iimaginedmyselfreturningtomyvillage,tomymaaandbaapandmybrothers. Iwanted topicturewelcoming lookson their faceswhentheysawmecomebacktotheminmywidow’ssari.AshardasItried,Icould not put such looks on their faces, nor could I feel their welcomingembraces.InsteadIsawthemalllinedupinthecourtyard,frowningandcross.Iheardthemordermebacktothehomeofmyhusband’sparents.“Itiswhereyoubelongnow,”theywouldsurelysay.

SometimesIwouldpicturemyselfrunningaway,sellingmyearringstogetarailway ticket to Varanasi. I thought of the excitement of the city. But whatwouldIdofora living,andwherecouldIstay?I rememberedall thefamilieslivingonthestreets.ThoughI turnedthesethingsoverandoverinmyhead,IdidnotseehowIcouldescape.

As thesummerdaysgrewhotterandhotter,ChandraandIwouldstand inthecourtyardeveryafternoon,lookingupatthesky,waitingfortherainstocoolus.Onedayjustaswehadgivenuphope,hugegrayclouds,largeandclumsyaselephants,camerollingin.Amoment lateramillionpailsofwateremptiedonus.Holdinghands,wedancedanddanced,tippingourheadsupandopeningourmouths.Ourclothesclungtous,andunderourfeetthedrydustofthecourtyardsoftenedintomudandsqueezedupbetweenourtoes.

EvenSassforgotherscoldingandstoodalittleapartinthecourtyardlettingtherainfallonherasifitwerewashingawaysomeofhersorrow.

Nowthat themonsoonhadcome,everythingwasdamp.Thequiltsonourbedsand theclothes inourchestwere limpandsmelledofmildew.Overnightoursandalsturnedgreenwithmold.Ineveryroomwaterdrippeddownfromtheceiling, so when we had a hard rain outside, it was like a small rain showerinside.Themud-brickwallsofthehousebecameeventhinner.Apartoftheroofcavedin.

Overnightthewiltingwheatandmilletfieldsturnedgreen.Mosquitoesbredinthelittlepoolsalongtheroadside.Wecouldnotwalkveryfarwithoutsnakesforcompany.Theywereeverywhere,hangingfromthemangotreeandcrawlingunderourcharpoysso thatwewereafraid tosleep.Sassurhad tocome toourroomwithabigbranchandbeattheinvadingsnakestodeath.

Thoughwewererefreshedbytherain,therewerestillscoldingsfromSass.EitherIdidnotrubtheclotheshardenoughtogetthemcleanorIrubbedthemsohardtheywerewornthin.Onedaysheaccusedmeofputtingtoomuchwaterintherice,sothatitwaslikegruel.ThenextdayshesaidIdidnotputinenoughwater,andthericewasdryasdust.IfIansweredback,Iwasimpudent.IfIkeptsilent,Iwassullen.IsawthatnomatterhowhardIworked,Icouldneverpleaseher.

At theendofsummerKrishna’sbirthdaywascelebrated. Itwasanationalholiday,andSassur tookChandraandme into thevillage tosee thefireworks.The colors exploded like handfuls of petals tossed into the sky. There weretrainedmonkeysandclever starlings thathadbeen taught to talk.Therewasamanwhorodeabicycleonatightropeandasnakecharmerwhosecobrawassooldandlazy,itcouldnotbecoaxedfromitsbasketandhadtobetumbledout.Sassurgaveusa fewcoins tobuyaconeofspunsugar.Weeachatehalfandlaughedathowourfaceswerestickyalloverwithpinksugar.

ThoughSassurwaskindtomeandhadtaughtmetoread,Icouldnotturntohimforhelp.Heleftearlyinthemorningforschoolandcamehomewithpaperstocorrect.Hewaspaidverylittleforhisteachingandoftenappearedtroubled.

“Istheteachingveryhard?”Ionceaskedhim.

“Theteachingwouldbenothing,butmystudentsarerudeanddisrespectful.They hide my glasses so that I cannot see the lesson. Last week they put ascorpiononmydesk.”

“Howcanthatbe?Theyshouldbegratefultoyou.”He smiled atme. “Ah,Koly, I onlywishmy studentswere as anxious to

learnasyouare.”Sassur suffered frommore than the students’ tricks.When he was home,

Sasswasalwayscomplainingabouthowpoor theywereandhowotherswerebetteroff.IthinkSassurwasasmiserableasIwas.

Theonlytimemysassurseemedtocomealivewaswhenhehadabookinhishand.NowthatIcouldread,heoftentookoutabookofpoemsbythegreatIndianpoetRabindranathTagore.Thebookhadafineleathercoverwithitstitlein gold letters. The inside covers had fancy colored paper on them.ThemostimpressivethingwasTagore’sownsignatureinthebook.

“Hesignedthebookformybaap,”Sassursaid.“Mybaapwenttohearhimgiveareadingofhispoems.Thebookhasbeenhandeddownfromsontoson,butnow…”Hesighed,andIknewhewasthinkingofHari,soIbegantoreadaloudtoSassurfrommyfavoritepoem.Itwasaboutaflockofbirdsflyingdayandnightthroughtheskies.Amongthemwasonehomelessbird,alwaysflyingontosomewhereelse.

OnedaySasscaughtusatourreading.Shewasveryangry.“Whatareyouteachingthatgirl?”shecried.“Itisnowondersheforgetsto

doherwork.”Sasswas suspiciousofbooks, treating themas if theywere scorpionsand

mightstingher.Fromthenonifshecaughtmereading,shewouldcallmelazyandsetme toa taskorsendmeoff to thevillageonanerrand.ButnomatterwhatSassthought,thesecretsinthebookswerenowmine,andtryasshemight,shecouldnotsnatchthemaway.

I still bowed to the household shrine each morning, but now I beggedKrishnatofindawaytoletmeescape.InmybooksIhadreadthatasachild,Krishnawasverymischievous.NowIbecamemischievousaswell.ThemilkIchurnedwouldnot turn intobutter.ThegrainIgroundforchapatishadbitsofchaffthatgotbetweenourteeth.InthegardenIpulledupthepotatoplantsandleft theweeds.Thedungcakes Imade fell apart, so the firewentout. I put adead frog in thewaterbottle.Thebottlewasbrass, sonoonenoticed the froguntilallthewaterhadbeendrunk.Ileftthegeese’smesswhereSasswouldstepintoit.Ilookedawaywhenthebandicootatethemangoes.

InonethingIwascareful.Ineverspilledthesalt,formymaahadtoldmeinthenextworldyouhadtosweepupeverygrainofsaltyouspilled,andIdidn’t

wanttowastemytimedoingthat.“Whydoyouangermymaa?”Chandraasked.“She is like those little red

antsthatswarmalloveryouandbiteandbite.”IknewwhatChandrasaidwastrue,butIalsoknewthatIcouldnotcrawl

about like a beaten dog. I had heard about families that had murdered thewidowsof their sons to get rid of them.Though I knewSasswouldnever dosuchathing,IbelievedshewouldsurelykillmyspiritwithherspitefulnessifIdidn’tfightback.

I would not let Sass’s scoldings touch me as they used to. She becamesmallerinmymind.IhadthecomfortofChandra,forwewereassistersnow,andeacheveningaftermyworkwasfinished,mybooksweretheretowelcomeme.Inthiswaytwoyearspassed,andthenwhisperingbeganinthehouse.SassandSassurspokeinlowvoices.Chandrabegantowearasecretsmile.Onenightsheconfidedtome,“Thegatakahasfoundmeahusband.”

five

Soon Sass and Sassur consulted an astrologer, andChandrawas dancingwithexcitement. “The astrologer brought out his charts, and after much study henamed January second as the most auspicious day.” She told me with greatimportance, “The gataka has done well for me. The bridegroom, Raman, isnineteenandhasbeentomissionschool.Alreadyhehaswrittentoanunclewhohaspromisedhimajobworkingwithcomputers.”

“Computers!”Ihadheardofsuchathingfrommyownbaap.“Onedaytheywillhavenoneedforscribeslikemyself,”hehadcomplained.“Theywillputamachine in the marketplace instead. The machine will write the letters wellenough,butthewordsthemachinewriteswillhavenoeleganceandnoheart.”

I told Chandra, “Your bridegroom must be very learned.” Though I wasimpressed,somethingwasbotheringme.“Chandra,howcanyoutellifyouwilllovehim?”Iasked.“Youhaveneverseenhim.”ThoughhewasdeadandIknewIshouldnotthinkbadlyofhim,IrememberedhowdisappointedIhadbeeninHari.

“Iwill learntolovehim,”Chandrasaid.“Ihadneverseenyoubeforeyoucametoourhouse,andIlearnedtoloveyou.”

“Whatifheisn’tgoodtoyou?”“IfIamagoodwife,hewillbegoodtome.”IhopedChandrawasright,butIcouldnothelprememberingastall inthe

bazaarwhereChandraandIhadsortedthroughaheapofmismatchedearrings.Wehadlookedthroughthemhopingtofindtwothatmatched.Whatifitwasasdifficulttofindtwomatchingpeople?

IwantedtobehappyforChandra,butIfeltasadnessdeepinsideme.Thewedding brought back all the memories of my own short marriage—all myexcitement and pleasure andmy hopes coming to nothing.Also, I knew howmuchIwouldmissChandra.Now,whenSassscoldedmealldaylong,Icouldbear it, for I knew I could whisper my complaints into Chandra’s ear in the

evening.Soontherewouldbenoonetocomfortme.AsChandra’sweddingapproached,Sasscametomeoneday.“Wehaveno

moneyforanewsariforChandra,”shesaid.“Shemusthaveyourweddingsari.Youneednothingbutyourwidow’ssari.”

IlongedtosaythatIdidnotwanttospendtherestofmylifedressedasawidow, but I knew Sass would be scandalized by such words. So I watchedChandratryonmysariandsaidnothing.Withherwomanlyfigure,hersmiles,andherbrighteyes,shelookedverylovely.

“Chandramusthaveyoursilverearringsaswell,”Sasssaid.StubbornlyIshookmyhead.Iwouldnotgiveuptheearrings.AslongasI

had them, I could keep my dream of running away. I knew that if I simplyrefused,Sasswouldfindawaytomakemegivethemup.SoIlied.“Ihavelostthem,”Isaid.

“Idon’tbelieveyou!”Sassscreamed.“Youareanevilgirl!All thesedayswehaveputaroofoveryourheadandfedyou.Thisishowyourepayus,withselfishness.”

I shouldhavekept quiet, but I could not. “I haveworked formy food,” Isaid,“harderthananyone.”

Sasssquintedhereyesasshealwaysdidwhenshewasvery,veryangry.Inaharshvoice she said, “Youdonot know themeaningofwork.You idle aboutwithyourdaydreamsandyourfoolishbooksandyourstitching.Iwillseetoitthatfromnowonyoudoindeedearnyourkeep.”

Thatevening,whenIshouldhavebeenasleep,Icreptouttothecourtyard.IdidnotwanttospoilChandra’shappinesswithmymisery.AsIsatthinkingofwhetherIoughttogiveinandhandovertheearrings,IheardSasscomplainofmetoSassur.“SheisawickedgirlnottogiveChandraherearrings.Iamsureshe still has them. Ihave searched their roombut I can’t find them. Itwasaninauspiciousdaywhenthatgirlcameintoourhouse.”

“Sheisnotabadgirl,”Sassursaidinawearyvoice.“Thinkofwhatherlifeis like with Hari gone. She has nothing to look forward to. Remember thatwithoutherdowrywewouldneverhavehadthemoneytogotoVaranasi,andherwidow’spensionthesetwoyearshasaddedtoChandra’sdowry.”

Hislastwordswerelikeaslap.Widow’spension?Ididn’twaittohearmorebuthurriedintoChandra,whowasalreadyasleep.Ishookherawake.“Chandra,isittrue?Didtheytakemywidow’spensionforyourdowry?”

Chandra satup inbedandgavemea surprised look. “Didn’tyouknow?”Shelookedfrightened.“Youwouldn’ttakethepensionback,wouldyou?Ifyoudo,I’llhavenohusband.”

Iwasveryangry,butnotsoangrythatIwouldruinChandra’shappiness.I

shookmyhead.IdidnotblameChandrafortakingwhatwasrightfullymine,butIknewIwouldnothavedonethesametoher.Iwasmoredeterminedthaneverto keep the silver earrings. Theywould buyme a railway ticket. The pensionmightgowithmetokeepmefromstarving.

It tookmeall night toworkupmycourage,but in themorning Iwent toSass.Clenchingmyhandsbehindme,Itookadeepbreathandsaidinaweakervoice than Iwouldhavewished, “Thenext time theenvelopecomes from thegovernment,itistobehandedovertome.”

ForjustamomentSasslookedfrightened,butthenshequicklysaid,“Ifyouarespeakingof the fewrupeesyouaresenteachmonth,donot think theyaredueyou.Theyhardlypayforyourkeep.”Shegavemeatriumphantlook.“Ifitwerenotforourson,youwouldnotbeawidow.Sotherewouldbenorupeesatallforyou.”Shemarchedoutoftheroom.

Defeated,Istoodlookingafterher.Shewaslikeagreatbouldershuttingmeintoacave.Icouldnotmoveher,andIcouldnotgetaroundher.

Despite my anger at Sass I longed to give Chandra something for herwedding.“IwishIhadmoneytobuyyouagift,”Itoldher.

Chandrathoughtforamoment.“Wouldyoumakemeaquilt?”sheasked.“Icouldtakeitwithme,andifIbecamehomesick,Icouldbringitouttoremindmeofyou.Putinallthethingswehavedonetogether.”

“Yourmaaisangrywithmeovertheearringsandwouldnevergivemeclothforthequiltormoneytobuythread.”

Iwaswrong.WhenChandrawenttoher,Sasssaid,“Itwouldnotbesuchabadthingifyourdowrywere to includeaquilt.Lethermakeoneif itdoesn’tkeepherfromhertasks.”

Istitchedapictureofour littleroom,the twoofussittingcross-leggedonourcharpoyswithlargesmilesonourfaces.Thereweweredancingintherain.Therewas theriverwherewewent towash theclothesand thekingfisher thatwatched us from a tree. Therewewere sitting together in front of the villagetelevision set. I stitched the colors of the fireworks exploding into the sky onLord Krishna’s birthday and the two of us covered with red powder at thecelebrationofHoli.Iembroideredushavingourbathsatthewell.IputinSasschattingwithherfriendsinthecourtyardandSassurreadingfromTagore’sbookofpoems. Ievenput in thecowand thebandicoot. Inamomentofmischief Imadetheborderofblossomsfromthemangotree.Sasscouldnotscoldmeforstealingthoseblossoms,fortheywereallmine.

Ihadtosqueezeinthetimeforthequilt,fortherewasmuchtodotoprepareforthewedding.Thecourtyardwheretheweddingwastotakeplacehadtobecarefullysweptandaceremonial firereadied.Thewallshad tobeornamented

withamixtureof rice flour andwater,which Idribbled throughmy fingers. Iwent to the village to buy firewood and food for the wedding feast. I peeledmangoes and chopped cucumbers and onions and mixed the turmeric andcorianderforthecurry.

Ihadtodothestitchingofthequiltearlyinthemorningorintheeveningwhenthelightwaspoor,soIwentaboutwithafrownfromsquinting.Whenatlast the quilt was completed, Chandra exclaimed, “Koly, it’s beautiful!” andhuggedittoher.Thoughshetried,evenSasscouldfindnofaultwithit.

I had looked forward tohelpingprepareChandraonherweddingday,butSasssentmeaway.“Itisnotproper,”shesaid.“Onlythosewomenwhoarenotwidowedandhaveborneamalechildareprivilegedtohelp.”

Iknewthiswasthecustom;still,IhadhopedImightatleastbeallowedinthe room toenjoy theceremonies. Ihad tobecontentwithapeekatChandrawhenthewomenwerefinishedwithher.Seeingherinmyweddingsari,hereyesdarkened with kohl, her cheeks and lips rouged, and designs painted on herforehead,waslikeseeingmyselfagainasIhadbeenalmostthreeyearsbefore.ForChandra’ssakeIsmiledandtoldherhowbeautifulshelooked,asindeedshedid.InsideIwasmiserableanddidnotknowhowIwouldeverbehappyagain.My life seemed to be over.Whatwas there to look forward to but years andyearsofslavingaway?

Whenthedayfor theweddingcame,ChandraandIhidbythewindowsothatwecouldgetaglimpseofthebridegroom.Ledbyhismalerelatives,Ramanarrivedonahorsecoveredwithaclothembroideredwithsmall,roundmirrors.Themirrorsglitteredashe rodealong, sohe looked likehewasarrivingonashaftofsunlight.Hewastall,withagreatdealofwavyblackhairandasmallmustache.

“Themustacheislikeamouse’stail,”Isaid,giggling.“Itisnot!”Chandrasaid.“It’safinemustache.”We stretchedour headsout thewindow toget a better view. Just then the

bridegroomlookedourway.Isawaslightsmilehurryacrosshisfaceashesawus,andIbegantobelieveChandra’smarriagemightbeagoodone.

Sassurgreetedthebridegroomwiththerequiredperfumedwaterandmixtureofhoneyandcurds.Theguestsarrived:alltherelativeswholivedwithinaday’sdrive, Sassur’s fellow teachers, the women who gossiped with Sass in thecourtyard and their husbands and children, the relatives and friends of thebridegroom who came to see how well or how poorly the parents of thebridegroomhaddoneintheirchoice.

Howdifferent thisweddingwas frommine. Insteadofa frightenedgawkygirl and ayounganddoomedbridegroom, therewere ahandsomeyoungman

andahappyandbeautifulbride.Theceremonywassoonover,andthefeastingbegan.Ataliwasbroughtoutpiledwithboiledducks’eggs,crisplyfriedpooris,dal,rice,curries,chapatis,mangochutney,andmanykindsofsweets.Thefoodwasservedfirsttothemenandthentothewomenguests,andlastIatewiththewomenwhohadbeenhiredtohelpwiththecookingandserving.Ididnotmindbeinglast,forIhadpreparedmuchofthefoodandsampleditwheneverSass’sbackwasturned.

At last itwas time forChandra togo to thehomeofherbridegroom.Sheembraced her maa and baap. She threw her arms around me. “Koly,” shewhispered,“Iwillmissyoumostofall.”Withherfacepressedagainstmine,IcouldnottellwhetherthetearsIfeltonmycheekswerehersormine.

AsIwatchedChandraandherbridegroomleaveforhishome,Ifeltmylastbitofhappinessdisappearing.

six

SasswasassorryasIwastoseeChandrago.Shewept,moaning,“Ihavelostmydaughterforever.”SassurdisappearedintohisroomandtookdownthebookofTagore’spoems,buteachtimeIlookedintotheroom,Isawthatnopagehadbeenturned.Ihadnoonetotalkwithnowbutthelittlegreenlizardsthatcreptupmywall.

Mypensionwaslosttome,andIdidnotknowhowfarmyearringsmighttakeme.ItseemedthatImuststaywhereIwasforever.IhopedthatifIworkedveryhard,anddidexactlyasIwastold,Sassmightbegintolookkindlyuponme.IhopedthatsomedayshemightlovemeasshelovedChandra,orifnotsomuchas that, at least a little. Iwas sorry for the times in thepastwhen Ihadbeenmischievous.Ibegantoriseearlierinthemorning,soearlythestarswerestillintheskyandthesnakesattheedgeofthecourtyardwerestilltwinedintosleepycoilswaitingforthesuntowarmthem.EachmorningImademypujaatthekitchenshrine,carefultopresentanofferingoffruitorafewscatteredflowerpetals. I plastered the chula, the small stove onwhichwe cooked, with freshmud.Isetthefire,waitinguntileveryonewasuptolightitsothatnofuelwouldbewasted.Isoakedthericebeforeboilingitandstirreditsothat itwasfluffyandthegrainsdidnotsticktogether.Igroundthespicestoafinepowderwiththe stone roller andchurned themilkcarefully. I swept thecourtyardmorningandafternoon.

WhenIsawSasssittingbyherself,asadlookonherface,Isaid,“Letmecombyourhairandbraiditforyou.”ItwassomethingthatChandrausedtodoforhermaa.

“No.Youaretooclumsy.Ifyouhavetimeonyourhands,therearepotstoscrub.”

ItwasthatwaywitheverythingIaskedtodoforher.ItwasnobetterwithSassur. He had troubles of his own. The school where he taught now hadelectricity.Computershadbeeninstalled,andmoreandmoreresponsibilitywas

takenaway fromSassur,whoknewnothingabout such things.Whenhecamehomeintheevenings,hewenttohisroomandclosedthedoor.Wecouldhearhimchantinghisprayershourafterhour.Hewouldnotcomeoutformealsbuttook only a handful of cold rice and a chapati or two. He grew thinner, hischeeksmorehollow,hisneckscrawnier.

IsawthattherewasabowlofricereadyforSassurwhenhischantingwasfinished. Ievenoffered toreadsomeofTagore’spoemstohim,buthemerelyshookhishead.“Mysonisdead,mydaughterisfaraway,andIamlaughedatbymystudents.Whatis leftforme?OnedayIwillwalkoffacrossthefields,andyouwillseenomoreofme.”

IfSasstriedtotellhimofproblemsinthehouse,hewouldsilentlyclimbuponto the roof of the house, pull the ladder up after himself, and resume hischants.

WhenIfoundIcouldnolongertalktoSassur,Ilookedaboutforsomethingtocarefor.Ifnoonewouldloveme,Icouldat least lovesomething.Apariahdogwould slink into thecourtyard from time to time in searchof amorseloffood.NowIbegantosaveabitofourdinnerforthedog.Itsdirtyyellowfurwasmangy.Itseyeswereredandwatery.Thereweresoresonitsback,andonefootwaslame.Still,itwascleverenoughnevertoappearwhenSasswasabout.Soonitwas followingme to the riverwhere Iwashed theclothes. Iwouldbathe itssoresandpetituntilitlostitswarylook.Whenitcurledupnexttome,Icouldfeel its warmth. Instead of slinking about and hiding in corners, it began toappearopenlyinthecourtyard.

OneafternoonSasscaughtmegivingthedogabitofchapatismearedwithdal. “What are you doing, girl?” she scolded. “We hardly have enough forourselves,andyouthrowourfoodto thedogs.Whatcanyoubethinkingof?”Shestartedtochasethedogaway.

Atthatmomentagoslingwaddledclosetothedog,whohadbeencringingin a corner of the courtyard. The dog closed its teeth over the unfortunategosling’sneck.Sass ranafter thedogwitha stick, landingseveralblows.Stillthedogwouldnotletgo.Asitdisappearedaroundabend,wecouldstillhearthesquawkingofthegosling.Afterthatthedogknewbetterthantoreturn.

SoI tamedthebandicoot. Itwasanuglyanimalwithapointedsnout, tinyeyes,andlargepointedears.Fromitsheadtoitslongrattytailitwasnearlytwofeet long.Unlike the foolishdog, itnever showed itself in thecourtyardwhenotherswere there, butwould come only tome. It crawled out fromunder theverandaon itsbellyandcrept carefullyup tome to take thebitof food Ihadsavedfrommymeal.Itsathunchednexttome,munchingslowlyasifitwantedtomakethemorsellast.Whenthefoodwasgone,itwouldlickitswhiskersand

crawlbackundertheveranda.Iwasgladenoughforthebandicoot’scompany,butIdidnotthinkIwantedtospendmylifesweepinggoosedroppingsfromthecourtyardandtalkingtoarat.

ItwasonthewaytothevillagewhereSasssentmetobuysomechilisandapaperofcuminthattheideacametome.Irantherestofthewaytothevillageso that I shouldhavea fewextraminutes there.When I reached thevillage, Imademywaytotheofficewherewehadbeengiventhepapersthatbroughtmypension.ThroughtheopendoorIcouldseethemanwhohadgivenusthepapersto sign,buthisverydark suit andverywhite shirt frightenedmeaway.TwicemorewhenIwasinthevillage,Iwenttolookintotheoffice,andtwicemoreIhurriedaway,tootimidtospeaktoamandressedsoformally.ThenoneeveningIsawthesamemanwalkingpastourhouse.Hehadtakenoffhissuitandshirtandwaswearingasimplekurtapajama.Underhisarmhecarriedhissuitandshirt,carefullyfoldedsothattheywouldstayfresh.

ThenextdayI stoodbravelybyhisdoorwhileotherswent intohisofficeandleft.Finallyhe lookedup.“Whyareyoustaringatme,girl?Whatdoyouwant?”

I crept into his office and stood respectfully at his desk. “Sir, my sassbroughtmeheretosignsomepaperstosayIwasawidowandtogetapension.”

“Yes,” he said impatiently, “what of that? Are you not getting yourpension?”

“Mysassisgettingit.Shetakestheenvelope.”Hefrowned.“Howthatisarrangedinyourfamilyisnotformetosay.The

pensioncomes.Thatisallthatconcernsthisoffice.”“WhatifIcamehereeachmonthtoyourofficeandthepensionweretobe

handedtome?”“Certainlynot.Thatisnothowitisdone.Thepensionismailed.”Itookadeepbreath.“WhatifImovedtoanotherplace?”“Haveyoucomeheretotellmeyouaremoving?”“No,sir.IonlywanttoknowwhatwouldhappenifIdid.”“Youarewastingmytimewith‘if,if,if.’”“Please,justtellme.WhatwouldhappenifImovedaway?”“Then youmust go to the office in that new place and tell them you are

there.”“Andthepensionwouldcometomethere?”“Yes,yes,yes.Nowleavemeinpeace.”I hurried back through the marketplace, past the man with the trained

monkeyonachainandthestallwherebirdswere imprisonedin tinycages.Inone of the cages was a mynah bird that had been blinded to make it sing. I

shuddered, feeling no better off than the chained monkey and the miserablebirds.IknewIhadtofindawaytoescape.Icouldwritetomymaaandbaap,butwhatcouldIsaythatwouldnotbringshameandsorrowtothem?

Ibegantomakeplans.IdoubtedthatIcouldliveonthepensionalone,butmy silver earringswould help until I could find a job of some sort. Butwhowould hire me? In the city I would be seen as the poor country girl I was,shrouded in awidow’s sari andwithnoproper schooling.Andwherewould Ilive?Howlongwouldthemoneyfrommyearringslast?WithallthesequestionsIdidnotthinktorunawaytodayortomorrow,butaslongasIhadthethoughtofsomeday,IcouldstandSass’sscolding.Toleavewouldtakecourage,andofthatIdidnothavemuch.

AslongasIstayedwithmysassandsassur,Iat leasthadaplacetosleepand food to eat, though food seemed to begetting scarcer.AsSassur ate less,Sassbecamemorestingy.Shekeptthekeystothecupboardknottedinhersari,allbutcountingthegrainsofrice.SomedaysIwassohungry,Ifeltdizzy.Worsethan my hunger was the lack of happiness in the house. Even the bandicootsensed it.Afterawhilehewouldno longercomeout fromunder theveranda,evenforthebitoffoodIcouldsparehim.

Thensuddenlymyworldchangedoncemore.Lateintheafternoonofadaywhenthesunwaslikeacircleoffireinthesky,Sassurcamehomeearlyfromschool.Thishadneverhappenedbefore.Hewentintohisroomandlaydownonhischarpoy.MinuteslaterIheardSassscreaming.Sassurhadquietlydied.

seven

Chandrawas calledhome. It hadbeenover a year sinceherwedding.Shenolongerlookedlikeayounggirl.Sheworeahandsomesari.Itwaswhite,outofrespectforherfather’sdeath,butunlikemywhitesari,Chandra’swasmadeoffinemuslin.Herhairwascaughtupinacomplicatedtwist,andthereweregoldbanglesonherarms.Andthetoenailsstickingoutofhersandalswerepainted!Afterembracinghermotherandsheddingmanytears,sheputherarmsaroundme.“Koly,howIhavemissedyou.Thereisnotimenow,buttonightafterthefuneralwe’lltalkthesunup.”

This time therewas nomoney for a funeral inVaranasi. Sassur’s thumbsweretiedtogethertoshowthathecouldnolongerwork,andhisbigtoeswerealso tied together so that his ghost could not return. He was carried on hischarpoytoanemptyplaceinoneof thefields tobecremated.AsIwatched,Ithoughtofhowhehadsaid,“OnedayIwillwalkoffacrossthefields,andyouwillseenomoreofme.”

Three fires were lit nearby, and the men of the town chanted during thecremationuntilhisspirithadlefthisbodyandaholymanannouncedthatSassurwasdead.

After the funeral, as wewalked back to the house, each of us was givensevenpebbles.Wehadtodropthesmallstones,onebyone.Itisknownthataspirit is poor at counting but loves to count anyhow. Sassur’s spirit wouldoccupy itself with counting the pebbles and would not follow us home. Iwhispered toChandraaswedroppedour tinystones that Ididnotbelieveherbaapwouldwishtoreturn.

Chandrahadbeenlucky.Thatnightaswesatupandtalked,shetoldmeofhernewlife.“Mysassisnotwellandspendsherdaylyingonhercharpoyinthecourtyardtalkingwithherfriendsaboutherpoorhealth.Eachdayshehasanewsymptom.Therunningofthehouseislefttomewithnointerference,andthereisaservanttohelpwiththehardwork.Wehadelectricityputintothehouseso

that my husband could bring home a computer from his workplace. He sitsbefore itand touches thekeys,andhecanmakecoloredpictures.”She lookedshyly atme. “Koly, if only I had listened to you and learned to read, I couldknowsomeofwhatcomesuponthescreen.Therearewordsineverylanguageandfromeverywhere.Mybaapwaswrongtodislikethosemachines.Theyaremagic.

“Andbecauseoftheelectricitywehaveatelevision.Yourememberhowwewent to the village to see the television? But there my baap was right. SuchthingsyouseeontheAmericanprograms!Veryimproper!”Shewhisperedwhatsomeofthethingswere,andwegiggleduntilSasspokedherheadintoourroomtoshameus,remindingusthatafuneralhadtakenplacethatday.

Inthethreedayswehadtogether,Chandrawastreatedasaguest.WhileIwentaboutmyusualtasks,shespentmostofthedayinthecourtyardwithSass,soSasscouldbragaboutChandra’sgoodfortunetotheneighborwomen.Itwasonly in theevenings thatwecouldwhisper toeachother. I toldherhowIhadtalkedwiththemaninthevillageaboutmypension.“OnedayIwillrunaway,”Isaid.

“No.Youmustneverdothat.Wherewouldyougo,andwhowouldtakecareofyou?”

Iknew thatChandrawasneverone to thinkof takingcareofherself, so Isaidnomore.Still, seeinghowhappyshewas, Ibegan to thinkmoreoftenofwhetheronedayImightbehappyaswell.

AttheendoftheweekChandrareturnedtoherhusband’shomeandourlifewenton,butwithoutSassurnothingwas thesame.Sassdidnotevenhave theenergytoscoldmewhenIletthegheeboiloverintothefireorforgottosweepthe courtyard.As themonthswentby,her sadmoodsdroveawayher friends,andthecourtyardwasnowemptyintheafternoons.Shesatalldaylongstaringatnothing.Herhairwasuntidyandhersarisoiled.OftenIcaughtherlookingatmeinastrangeway.

Iwassorryforher.Wemighthavebeenacomforttoeachother,andonceIevensaid,“Nowwearebothwidows.”

Sassdrewherselfup.“Whatdoyousay?Doyouhaveadaughterwhohasmarriedwell?Ora sonwhodied in theholycityofVaranasi?Wearenot thesame.”

AfterSassur’sdeaththerewasnomoremoneycomingfromtheschool.Herwidow’spensionhardlyboughtourfood.Thebrassbowls,Sass’sbestsari,andhersilverbangleswereallcarriedtothemoneylenderinthevillage.OnthedaysSassreturnedfromthemoneylender,shewouldstareandstareatme.Itriedtokeepoutofhersightandtoeataslittleaspossible,butIthinkifshecouldhave

snappedherfingersandmademedisappear,Iwouldsurelyhavebeengone.Oftensheaskedaboutmysilverearrings,stillsureIhadhiddenthem.Ionly

shookmyhead.Itriedtobeassilentandinvisibleasthelittlechameleonsinthecourtyard,butwhenIsawhertakedownSassur’sbookofTagore’spoemswithhissignature,Ibeggedhernottosellit.

“Wecannoteatthebook,andthemoneylenderwillgivemeagoodsum.Myhusbandalwayssaiditwasvaluable.”Shewrappedthebookcarelesslyinabitofclothandsetoffforthevillage.IstoodintheroadandwatcheduntilIcouldbearitnolonger.Iranafterher,myfeetsendinguplittlecloudsofdust.

“If I findmy silver earrings and give them to you, will you giveme thebook?”Iasked.

Sass’seyesflashed.“Soyouhaveliedtomeallalong!”shescreeched.Thenshethrustthebookatme.“Takeitandgivemetheearringsatonce.”

AssoonasIpriedoutthebrickandheldtheearringsinmyhand,IsawwhatafoolishthingIhaddone,butitwastoolate.IknewIcouldnotbeartoseethebookthatmeantsomuchtoSassursold.SoitwasmyearringsthatSasscarriedtothevillagetosell,andwiththemmylasthope.

Onedayalettercame.Sasswouldnotshowittomebuttookittothevillageforthescribetoreadtoher.Whenshereturned,Sasswassmiling.“Itisfrommyyounger brother.He lives inDelhi, and hewill takeme in.He says he needssomeonetolookafterhischildrenandhelpwiththehousework.”

InasmallvoiceIasked,“Whatwillhappentome?”Sassgavemeaslylook.“Oh,youwillcomeaswell.Nodoubthewillfind

somethingforyoutodo.NowImustsellthecowandthehousetogetmoneyforourtrip.”

The housewith itsmeltingmudwalls and skimpy square of land broughtlittle.Sassdidbetterwiththecow,butIwassorrytoseehergo,formanytimeswhenIhadmilkedher,Ihadwhisperedmyworriestoher.Ihelpedtodrivethecowtothevillage,butwhenitcametimeforSasstobuytherailwaytickets,shesentmehome.“Thereisnoneedforyoutocomealong,”shesaid.

When Sass returned, the tickets were quickly put away. Sass appearedalmosthappy,pullingoutthefewremainingpotstomakepooris,whichwehadnothadsinceChandra’smarriage.“Ihaveanappetite,”shesaid.Andthensheadded,withthesameslysmileIhadseensomuchlately,“Ihaveatreatforyou.Wewill stop atVrindavan on ourway toDelhi. It is a holy citywith a greatmany temples. Itwouldbewell forus tomakeapilgrimagebeforebeginning

ournewlives.”Iwasexcitedat the thoughtofseeingsuchaholycity,butpuzzled.Never

beforehadmysassspokenoftemples.Sheseldomstartedherdaywithapujatothehouseholdshrine.Perhaps,Ithought,Sassur’sdeathhasmadeherthinkmoreaboutsuchthings.Still,Iwasuncertain.

AsunhappyasIhadbeeninmysass’shouse,athornofsadnessprickedatmewhen it came time to leave. I had swept the courtyard so often that everyinchwasfamiliartome.TherewasthemangotreewiththeropeChandraandIhadswungon.TherewasthelittlegardenwhereIbroughtwatertotheneatrowsof eggplant and okra. The river where I washed the clothes and studied mybookswasafriend.IcouldnotguesshowitwouldbetoliveinalargecitylikeDelhi.IdidnotknowhowthefamilyofSass’sbrotherwouldtreatme.BecauseIwas leaving it,mysass’shouse,where for so long Ihad feltunwelcome,nowseemedlikehome.Ievensaidgoodbyetothebandicoot,whichswitcheditstailandtwitcheditswhiskersatmeinafriendlyway.

Sasssaidgood-byetonothingandcountedthehoursuntilourdeparture.Shehummedasshepackedherthings.IwaspleasedtoseeshetookthequiltIhadmadeinHari’smemory.

Themorningweweretoleave,shewasupbeforedawn,agreedysmileonher face as if shewere about to take a big bite of something tasty. Imade abedrollofthequiltIhadmadeformydowry.MyfewclothesandmybookofTagore’spoemswentintoabasket.Wesetoutinawagonfortherailwaystation.Ikeptlookingbackovermyshoulderatwhathadbeenourhome,butSassstaredstraightahead.

At the station we pushed our way through the crowds and past waterwallahs,teawallahs,andicecreamwallahs.Sasspausedonlytobuytwopalmleaf fans,givingmeone. I took itgratefully. Itwas theonlygift shehadevergiventome.

By the timewe struggled into the ladies’ compartmentof the train, all theseatsweretaken.Wehadtopushourwayontoalittlespaceoffloor.Itwashotand smelly, and I couldn’tmovewithout getting in theway of someone else.Still, my unhappiness and worry soon melted into wonder as miles of greenfieldsrushedby,andsmallvillages,andoncealargecity.

Morepeoplecrowdedontothetrain,soIwaspushedintoacornerwhereIcouldnolongerlookoutorfeeltheslightbreezefromtheopenwindow.Mostofthepassengers,likeourselves,hadbroughtsomethingtoeatforthejourney.Thesmellsofthefood,alongwiththeswayingandjerksofthetrain,werebeginningtomakemesick.

Sassstudiedme.“You’repale,girl;youhadbettergetoutat thenextstop

andtakesomeair.”Atthenextstop,withmuchcomplaining,Sassledmeoffthetrain. She opened her umbrella to shield us from the hot sun andwalkedmeabout.Whenwegotbackonthetrain,Ifinallyfellasleep.

WhenIawoke,wehadreachedtheholycityofVrindavan.AswegotoffthetrainandIsawthecrowdsofpeople,Iasked,“Wherewillwestay,Sass?”

“I’ll find a place,” she said. “For nowwe’ll leaveour things at theparcelofficesowewon’thavetocarrythemabout.”

Afterwecheckedourbasketsandbedrolls,Sasshandedmemyclaimcheckandhurriedmeintothestreet,whereshehailedabicyclerickshaw.Therickshawwasdecoratedwithsmallflagsinbrightcolors.Theseatsweresweptcleanandthebicyclepolished.“Takeustoatemple,”Sassorderedtherickshawboy.

The boy laughed. “There are four thousand temples. Which one do youwant?”TheboywasonlyafewyearsolderthanIwas.Hewastallandlean,butin the leanness therewasstrength.Hishairwasbadlycutandstoodup inoddtufts. There was an insolent look on his face. I admired him for not beingintimidatedbymysass.“Makeupyourminds,”hetoldus.“I’mlosingmoneybystandinghere.”

Sassgavehimapush.“Don’tberudewithme,boy.Justtakeustoatemple.Anytemple.”Shegavetheboyashrewdlook.“Onecloseby.I’mnotgoingtopayabigfare.”Sheclimbedintotherickshawandpulledmeinafterher.

Theboyshruggedand,standingonthepedalstogivehimselfastart,hetookoff.Aswerodethroughthestreetsofthecity,everywhereIlookedIsawwomeninwhitewidows’sarislikemine.“Whyaretheresomanywidowshere,Sass?”Iasked.

Sheshrugged.“Itisthecitytheycometo.Theyaretakencareofhere.”Manyof thewidowswereold,butmanywereyoung, someevenyounger

than Iwas.Suddenly Iwas anxious to leave the city. “How longwillwe stayhere,Sass?”Iasked.

“Onlyaday.”I breathed a sighof relief.However difficultmy lifewouldbe inDelhi, I

wouldnotbesurroundedbythousandsofwidowstoremindmethatmylife,liketheirs,wasover.

The boy stopped his rickshaw and held out his hand. “Four rupees,” hedemanded.

Sassglaredathim.“Youtakeusforcountryfolkwhoknownobetter?Tworupees is enough.” The boy ran after us complaining so loudly that Sassgrudginglygavehim theother two rupees.Ashe turnedaway,hegavemeanimpudentwink.

The temple was filledwith chantingwidows in white saris. Some looked

peaceful, almost joyful. Others looked thin, hungry, andmiserable, as if theywishedtheyweresomewhereelse.Theirhungerremindedmeofmyown.Ourfoodonthetrainhadlastedonlyuntilbreakfast.Asifshecouldreadmymind,Sasssaid,“Hereisafifty-rupeenote.Goandfindussomefood,anddon’tsettlefor the first vendor you see. I’llwait in the templewhere it’s cool.Mind youdon’tlosethechange.”

Iclaspedthemoneytightlyinmyhand,afraidsomeonewouldtakeitfromme.Sasshadneverbeforetrustedmewithsomuchmoney.KeepingmyeyeonthetempletobesureIwouldnotbelost,IwentbytwovendorsbeforeIfoundonewithsamosasthatlookedbothcleanandtasty.Iaskedthepriceandcountedmy change twice. Holding two samosas in one hand and the rupees I hadreceivedinchangeintheother,IhurriedbacktothecornerofthetemplewhereIhadleftSass.Shewasn’tthere.WhileIwaitedforhertoreturn,Iatemysamosa.Icouldnotimaginewhereshehadgone.FinallyIdecidedshewaslookingforaplaceforustostay.Still,Ifeltlittleshiversoffear.

I tried not to worry. The temple was cool and the sound of the chantingpeaceful.Nowthatmystomachwassatisfied,Ifeltalittlebetter.Iwaitedforanhour and then another hour.The chantingnever stopped.Somehow I believedthataslongasthechantingwenton,Ihadnothingtoworryabout.ItwouldonlybeamatteroftimebeforeSasswouldreturnformeandallwouldbewell.Itwasnearlyduskwhenthechantingstopped.Thesecondsamosahadbeeneatenlongago.Thewidows in theirwhite saris stole silently from the temple.A terriblepaniccameoverme.Irushedfromthetemple.

Ididn’tknowwheretostartlookingforSass.Iwasusedtooursmallvillage.ThestreetsofVrindavanwerelikeanoverturnedants’nest.IwonderedifIhadmisheardSass.Perhapsshehadchangedhermindaboutstaying inVrindavan.Maybeshehadtoldmetomeetherbackattherailwaystation.Istoppedoneofthe widows and asked for directions to the station. She looked at my whitewidow’ssari.IthoughtIsawinherlookpity,andsomethingmorefrightening—alookofkinship.

Though the sunwas setting, itwas still hot, as if some invisible sunwerebeating down on me. Beads of perspiration formed on my forehead and myupper lip and ran downmy face.My sari clung tome. Shops and businesseswere closing, and the streets becamemoving rivers of people pushing againstoneanother.

TwicemoreIhadtostopsomeonetoaskdirections.EachtimetherewasapityinglookonthefaceofthewidowIasked.ItwasnearlydarkwhenIfinallyarrived at the station, where passengers waiting for the morning trains werecookingtheirsuppersonsmallstoves.Somewerealreadystretchedoutonmats.

Iquicklymadetheroundsofthestation,butSasswasnotthere.Iwent to theparcelcounterwherewehadcheckedour thingsandgotmy

basketandbedroll.“Didthewomanwhowaswithmecomeforher things?”Iasked,buttheattendanthadjustcomeondutyandknewnothingofSass.

At the entrance to the station stood a line of rickshaws. I had forty-sevenrupeestiedupinmysari,butIcouldnotwastethemonarickshaw,andanyhowIwouldnotknowwheretogo.InthelineIsawarickshawwithsmallflags,andnext to it stood the boywith the wayward hair. I felt a great relief in seeingsomeoneinthecityIhadseenbefore,someoneIalmostknew.Ihurriedtowardhim.“Haveyouseenmysass?”Iasked.

Hestaredatmeforalongwhileasifheweretryingtorememberme.“Oh,yes,”hesaidwithabittersmile.“Iwasbackherewhenshereturned.Shetriedtocheathernewdriverjustasshecheatedme.”

“Ifshecameback,whereisshenow?”“Onthetrain.IsawhergetonthetraintoDelhi.Itwasn’tanhourafterIhad

takenyoutothetemple.”

eight

Isupposepartofmehadknownallalong.Thethoughthadbeenwaitinglikeascorpionattheedgeofmymind.Nowitstungme,andInearlycriedoutwiththepain.TherehadbeenthelettersfromherbrotherinDelhithatshehadneverletmesee.Therehadbeen the secretbuyingof the railway tickets.Therehadbeenthemysterioussmile.ShehadtakencarethatIdidnotknowheraddressinDelhi.IknewIcouldneverfindherinthatcityofmillions.AllIhadweretheforty-sevenrupeestiedintomysari.Iunderstoodnowwhyshehadentrustedmewithsomuchmoney.Itwastoeaseherconscience.MuchasIhatedtolet theboyseemeweep,Icouldnotkeeptearsfromstreamingdownmycheeks.

Theboylookedatme.“Ithappenseverydayhere,”hesaid.“Youcangoandchantinthetempleliketheotherwidowsdo.Themonkswillgiveyoufood.”

He continued to look at me. The insolent look was gone, and there waskindnessinhisface.Hewasabouttosaysomethingwhenamanwithabriefcasejumpedintohisrickshawandordered,“Getalong.”Theboygavemeonemorelookandpedaledaway.

Itwasevening.Theshadowsclimbedupthewallsofthejumbledbuildingsand fell across the narrow alleys. I walked aimlessly. One street looked likeanother,andIcouldnottellifIhadbeendownthembefore.Ididn’tknowwhatIwaslookingfor,onlythatIhadn’tfounditanddidn’tthinkIeverwould.Mybedroll andbasketwereheavy. Iwas tired andhungry andonlywanted to liedown.Iknewothersmusthavefeltthesame,forcharpoysandmattressesbegantoappearon the sidewalks.Sometimesoneperson, sometimesawhole familysettled down to sleep. I would have welcomed dropping down on a bit ofsidewalk, but I didn’t know what was allowed or what bit of sidewalk wasspokenfor.

Anelderlywomanwaswatchingmefromadoorstepwhereshehuddled,herdirtywhitewidow’ssaridrawnabouther.Shebeckonedtomewithalong,bonyfinger.WhenIwentover toher,shemovedevenfurther into thecornerof the

doorway.Shepointedto theemptyspaceshehadmade.“Youcansleephere,”shesaid.“Thepeopleinthehousewillnotchaseyouaway.Theyeventhrewouta little food forme.” She handedme a small portion of rice. Itwas cold andsticky.GratefullyIswallowedit.“Haveyoujustcome?”sheasked.

“Yes,mysassleftmethismorning.Idon’tknowwheresheis.Maybeshewillcomebackforme.”

Theoldwomanshookherhead.“Youwon’tseeheragain.Itwasthesamewith me. I came two months ago. When my husband died, I was no longerneeded.Hispropertywasdividedbetweenhisbrothers.Thebrothersbroughtmehere.”

“Whywouldtheybringyouhereandleaveyou?”Iasked.“Whydidn’ttheytakecareofyou?”

“Oncetheyhadmyhusband’sproperty,theyhadnomoreuseforme.Theysaidwidowswereunluckytohaveabout.ThetruthisthatIamtoooldforhardwork.”

If thereweresuchcruelness in theworld, thenitmight indeedbetruethatSasshadtakenmetothisplaceofwidowsjusttogetridofme.Iwasaloneinastrange city with only a few rupees and no friends. “How do you get by?” Imanagedtoask.

“IamaservantoftheLordKrishna.LiketheotherwidowsIgoeachdaytoatempleandchantforfourhours.Themonksinthetemplefeedus,andthereisthepittanceofmywidow’spension.IhadaroomIsharedwithotherwidows,butthelandlordwanteditbackforhisfamily,sowewereallturnedout.NowImustfindanewroom.”

Allarounduspeopleweresettlingdownonthesidewalks.Babiesandsmallchildrensnuggledagainsttheirmothersorsisters.Someofthepeoplefellasleepimmediately, as if their square of sidewalkwere asmuch a shelter as a housewouldbe.Otherschattedwiththeirneighborsorpreparedabitoffood,feedingthe cooking fires with leaves and twigs. Across from us small children werepushingdogsasidetohuntforbitsoffoodinapileofrubbish.

Evenwithmybedrolltosoftenthestoneofthedoorway,Icouldnotsleep.OftenIreacheddowntoassuremyselfthattherupeeswerestilltiedcarefullyinacornerofmysariandthentuckedsecurelyintomywaistknot.ItoldmyselfIshouldseeiftherupeeswouldbuyarailwayorbusticketbacktomymaaandbaap.ButhowcouldIdothat?Whatthewomanhadtoldmewastrue.Becausethey had lost their husbands, widows were considered unlucky. If my familylearnedwhat had happened tome, itwould bring themunhappiness and evenshame.Bynowmyolderbrothermightbemarried,andhiswifewouldbelivinginthehomeofmyparents.Therewouldbenoroomforme.SomehowIwould

havetomakemylifehere.The next morning I was awakened by the chanting of morning hymns

comingoverloudspeakers.ThewidowIhadsharedthedoorstepwithwasgone.Themattressesandcharpoysweredisappearingfromthesidewalks.Atastreetcorner I joined a line at a faucet for a little water to wash in and to drink. IboughtthecheapestbowlofdalIcouldfind.

Icouldnotkeepmyselffromreturningtotherailwaystation.IdidnotreallybelieveIwouldeverseeSassagain;still,Icouldnothelphopingthatshewouldcomeback.Iwaitedallday.OnceIsawawomaninthedistancewhoIthoughtwasSass.Icalledoutandrantowardher,onlytofindastranger,annoyedbymycries.Eventherickshawboydidnotappear.

ThatnightIhadthedoorsteptomyself,forthewidowdidnotreturn.Justasshe said, thedoor to thehouseopened and a bit of foodwashandedout, thistimeachapati,whichIquicklyatethoughasmallchildstoodnearbywatchinghungrily.AfterwardIwasashamed,forIstillhadsomerupees,andthechildhadnothing.

IknewthatIcouldnotaffordaroom,butwanderingthroughthecityIsawsignstackedtosomehouses,advertisingbeds.WhenIinquired,IlearnedthatifIwere to pay for both food and a bed,my rupeeswould soon be gone.Afterasking severalwidows, I found the government buildingwhere pensionsweregivenout.Therewasaformtobefilledout.BecauseofSassur’steachingIwasablequicklytocompletetheform,allbutanaddress.IcouldnotsayIlivedonadoorstepoffthePuranaBazaar.

“Youhavenotputyouraddressdown,”theofficialsaid.“UntilIgetmypension,”Iexplained,“Ican’taffordaplacetolive.Can’tI

pickupmypensionhere?”He shook his head as if the thought were beyond considering. “No, no.

Pensionsaremailed.Returnwhenyouhaveanaddress.”I tried everywhere to find work, but for every job there were a hundred

seekers.Foraweekthedoorstepwasmyhome.Whenotherstriedtosleepthere,Iwasnotasgenerousastheelderlywidowhadbeenbutselfishlychasedthemaway.Myrupeeswerenearlygone,andallIhadwasthedoorstepandthebitoffoodtossedouttomebythehandofsomeoneIhadneverseen.Iwouldfightforthedoorstepratherthangiveitup,butIknewthatmyhungerandmyfearweremakingme into another person altogether, a greedy and coldhearted person Idespised.IthoughtitwouldbeSass’sfinalcrueltytome,tomakemebelikeher.

Ivisitedthetemples:theGovindji,withitsgreathallanditsrowofcolumnslike tree trunks and its high ceilingswhere neat rows of bats hung like smallfurrypennants.IwenttotheBankeBihari,wheretherewasadarshaneachday

—thecurtainswereopenedforamomenttogiveaglimpseofthedeity,whichisagreatblessing.Inallthetemples,Isawthewidowschantinghourafterhour.Iadmiredtheirpietyandenviedthefoodthemonksgavetheminreturnfortheirdevotions, but try as I might, after only a half hour of chanting, my mindwandered. I could hardly breathe for the smell of incense and themustard oilburning in thehundredsof little lamps. I foundmyself stealingaway from thetemple,relievedtobeoutintheopenair.

I made my way through the bazaars and along the ghats of the YamunaRiver, lost amongall thepilgrims to the city.Eachafternoon I returned to therailwaystation,not fromanyhopebutoutofhabitandbecause ithadbecomefamiliar. On the day I had spent my last rupee and thought that I must sellTagore’sbook,Isawtheboywiththerickshawagain.Itriedtogethisattention.Thousandsofpeoplehadhurriedbymewithoutsomuchasaglance.Ilongedtoexchangeawordwithsomeonewhorecognizedme.

Atfirsthehadeyesonlyforthepassengerswhohadjustgottenoffatrain.Whennooneclimbedintohisrickshaw,hesquatteddown,waitingforhisnextchance.HesitantlyIwentover tohim.Hegavemeaquizzical look. Iguessedhowuntidy and dirty Imust appear after aweek of sleeping on the doorstop.“You still here?”he asked,butnotunkindly. “I’ve seenyoubefore.Whenareyougoingtogiveupcomingtothestation?”

“Ihavenootherplacetogo.”“Well,youshouldn’tstayhere.Therearebadpeopleaboutthisstationwho

lookforyounggirlsfromthecountry.”Icouldnotkeepfromtellinghimmyworries.“Iamtiredofsleepinginthe

street,andmyrupeesareallgone.”Ibitmyliptokeepfromcrying.Helookedatme.“Don’tblubber.I’llshowyouaplacetogo.Youhaveto

waituntilIhavefinishedwork.Sitoverthere,andI’llcomebackforyou.”Hecalledtoafamilywhohadjustleftanincomingtrain.Afterbarteringwithhim,theyclimbedontohisrickshaw,andhepedaledaway.

Asitgrewdark,peoplebegantolookforplacestoliedownforthenight.Isawamaninbluejeansandaredshirtstaringatme.Ihuddledintoacornerofthe station, trying tomakemyself as inconspicuous aspossible.After a bit hecameovertome.Bristlyhairstuckoutofhischeeksandchin.Whenhesmiledatme,Isawthatmostofhisteethweremissing.Whenhespoketome,hisvoicewaspleasantenough,buthehadabouthimthesmellofahungrydog.“Arefinedgirllikeyou,”hesaid,“shouldnothavetosleepinthestreets.Ifyoucomewithme,Iwillfindaproperplaceforyouwherethereisplentyoffood.”Ithoughtofwhattherickshawboyhadsaidaboutbadpeople.Idrewmyselffurtherintomycorner,tryingtoescapetheman.

Stillhehoveredoverme likeabat. “It is awaste for suchaprettygirl todressinawidow’ssari.Ihaveasariwithrealgoldthreads.Itwouldmakemeveryhappytoseeyouwearit.”Hereacheddownandtookmyarmandjerkedmetomyfeet.Terrified,Ipulledaway,buthewastoostrongforme.Ilookedabout,hopingtofindsomeonetohelpme,butthecrowdsweresogreat,noonewaspayingattention.Ithoughtofthedog’sgriponthegosling’sneckandknewImustnotlethimtakeme.Isankmyteethintotheman’sarm,makinghimhowlinsurpriseandpain.Heslappedmeandranoff.

ForsafetyIsettlednearafamilyofamaaandbaapandtheirthreechildren.Theywerewaitingforaseatontheearly-morningtrain,theysaid,andwouldbethere all night. It hurt to see theway they laughed andplayedwith their littleones.ItwassolongagowhenIwassmallandapartofahappyfamily.

Ididnothavemuchfaiththattherickshawboywouldreturn.LikeSass,hewasprobablytryingtogetridofmewithhispromise.Itwasgrowinglate,andby now someone else would have claimed my doorstep. In the morning, Idecided,Iwouldgotothetemple.IwouldchantalldaytoshowhowholyIwas,andthemonkswouldkeepmefromstarving.AtleastinthetempleIwouldbesafe from evil men. I would become one of the thousands of widows ofVrindavan.ThatwouldbemylifeforaslongasIlived.

Whenatlasttheboyreturned,hesaid“Youcangetintotherickshawnow.”“Ihavenomoneylefttopayyou.”“That’sallright.ThemanIworkforwon’tknow.Ipedaledfastallevening

soIcouldreportenoughridestocoverthistime,buthurry.InafewminutesIhavetoturntherickshawin.”

“Youdon’townit?”“HowcouldIownsuchathing?Amanhiresmeandpaysmeapercentage

ofmy earnings. It buysme food and the corner of a room I sharewith someotherboys.”

“Whydon’tyouaskformoremoney?”“Theowneroftherickshawwouldfiremeandgivemyjobtoanotherboy.

There are boys coming in from the countryside every day in search of work.Still,aslittleasthemoneyis,Ispendonlyhalfofit.”

“Youspendonlyhalf?Whatdoyoudowiththeotherhalf?”“Iown land,”hesaid.Asmilegrewonhis face.“Itwas left tomebymy

father. My uncle cares for it. When I have enough money for seeds andirrigation,I’mgoingbacktomyvillage.Ihatethiscity.”Perhapsitwasbecauseitwastheendoftheday,butheseemednottohavemuchstrengthleftforthepedaling.InthedarkIcouldjustmakeoutwhiteshapeslikeghostshuddledindoorways and curled against buildings. “There are so many widows,” I

whispered.“Yes,”theboysaid,alittleoutofbreath.“Familiesbringthemherefromall

overIndia.Theyareleft justasyoursass leftyou.Onlyifyouaskme,you’reluckytoberidofher.”

ItwastruethatSasshadoftenscoldedme.Shehadleftmealoneinthiscityasifsheweredroppingakittendownawell.Still,Iwouldhavegivenanythingto be back in the village, safe behind the walls of a house, even if it meantspendingtherestofmylifebeingscoldedbySass.

Weroundedacornerandturnedintoasmallcourtyardwhereseveralwomenweregathered,someasyoungasIwas.Anolderwomancametowardus.Shewas very plump, as though she had been put togetherwith pillows. Even themanymetersofhersaribarelystretchedaroundher.“Raji,”shecalledtotheboy,“haveyoubroughtmeanother?Thereisnoroom!Nevermind,wewillmanage.Whatisyourname,girl?”

“Koly,”Iwhispered.Iputmyhandstogetherandbowed.“IamKamala,buthereeveryonecallsmeMaaKamala.Goawaynow,Raji

—youhavenobusinessinthecourtyardwiththegirls.Butwait,firsttakesomeof this curd and cucumber to fill your stomach.You are looking thinner thanever.Itwilldoyounogoodtosavemoneybygoingwithoutfood.Youwillbetooweaktopedalyourrickshaw.”

She turned to me. “Come along, Koly,” she said in a brisk voice. “I’llintroduceyoutotheothers.Thenwemustputasidethatwidow’ssari.Hereyouarenotawidowbutayoungwomanwithalifeaheadofyou.”

Theotherslookedatmewithcuriosity.“Wheredoyoucomefrom?”oneofthemasked.Inamedourvillage.“Ineverheardofit,”shesaid.“Youmustbeacountrygirl.You’llhavemuchtolearnifyoustayinthiscity.”

“Tanu,”MaaKamalascolded,“whatkindofwelcomeisthat?Wereyousorudelygreetedwhenyoucame?I thinknot.Showa littlekindness.TakeKolyinsideandfindhersomethingtowearfromtheclothesinthechest.”

Tanuledmeintoasmallroomoff thecourtyard.Shewaseighteen,ayearolderthan.Iwas,andmuchmoresophisticated.Sheworedarklipstick,andhereyelasheswere heavywithmascara. Shewas tall, with long, narrow feet andhands.Herhandshad a strangeorange color and shehad adistinct smell, notunpleasantbutverystrong.Shethrewopenachestandpulledoutsomeclothes,flinging a pair of trousers and a tunic atme. “These lookyour size.Put themon.”

I slipped the trousers on undermy sari, and then, asmy sari came off, Ihastilypulledonthetunic.Takingoffmywidow’ssariwasagreatrelief.Ioncesawasmallgreensnakerubitselfagainstastoneuntilitsoldskinpeeledaway,

transparentandthinaspaper.IfeltnowasIimaginedthesnakefeltafteritriditselfofitsold,confiningskin.

“Muchbetter,”Tanusaid.Shesmiledinapproval.“Whatkindofplaceisthis?”Iasked,loweringmyvoice.“Awidows’house,”Tanusaid.“MaaKamalatakesinwidowsoffthestreet

and finds us jobs.Shehelps us get ourwidow’s pension and lets us stayhereuntilwecansupportourselves.SomedayIhopetobeearningenoughtosharearoomwithsomeothergirlsandliveonmyown.MaaKamalaisnice,butsheisverystrict.”

“Where doesMaaKamala get themoney to take in somanygirls?Theremustbetwentyoutthereinthecourtyard.”

“Arich ladyfromthe townsupports thehouse,andwepaya little forourroomandboardfromourwages.”

“Howdidyoucomehere?”Iasked.“IranawaywhenIheardmysassandsassurplottingtogetridofmesomy

husbandcouldmarryagainandgetanotherdowry.”“Howcouldpeoplebesocruel!”Iwashorrified.“Whataboutyou?”sheasked.“Myhusbanddied.Iwasbroughtherebymysassaftershebecameawidow

andwasgoingtoherbrother’shouse,whereIwasnotwanted.”ThatnightinthecourtyardIheardmanystorieslikemineandmanystories

like Tanu’s. Hearing so many frightening stories made me feel less sorry formyself.

AtlastMaaKamalathrewupherarmsandorderedustostop.“Enoughofyourmiserabletales,”shesaid.“Youwallowlikepigsinmud.Thatisallinthepast.Now,Koly,wemust findyou a job.Nearby in thebazaar is amanwhofurnishesallthatisneededforceremonies.Tanuworkstherestringingmarigoldgarlands.Themanislookingforanothergirl.Iwarnyou,thehoursarelongandyouhavetobefast.Whatdoyousay?”

I could not stopmyself. For an answer I putmy arms around asmuchofMaaKamalaasIcouldreachandhuggedher.

nine

Thatnight,forthefirsttimesincecomingtoVrindavan,Ifeltsafe.Lyingnearbywereotherwidows, their soft sighsand turnings like somanydoves flutteringaroundme. I tried not to thinkwhatwould have happened tome if I had notfoundRaji.NoonewasmorefortunatethanI.

Early in themorningMaaKamala stirredusup like apotof rice. “Hurry,hurry,” she called. “Youmust not be late for yourwork.”We quicklywashedbeside thecourtyard faucetandswallowedsomedal.Chapatisweregivenout,andwewereshooedlikechickensfromthecourtyardoutintothecity.

“YouwillworkwithTanu, in thesamestall,”MaaKamalasaid.“Shewillshowyoutheway.Andhereismoneyforyourlunch.”

TogetherTanuandIhurrieddownthestreets.Wehadtopickourwayoversleeping bodies.Whole households of baaps, maas, and children lay on theircharpoysoronthesidewalk.OnthewaytothebazaarwepassedthedoorwaywhereIhadspentmynights.Anotherwidowwascurledupthere,stillasleep.Ishiveredatthesightandgavethanksforaroofovermyhead.AsIhurriedby,Ilooked for the half-starved childwho had stood therewatchingme eat. I stillheldmy breakfast chapati andwould gladly have given it to her. Therewerechildrenthere,butshewasnotamongthem.Icouldnotputherhungrystareoutofmyhead,andmyhappinessdwindledalittle.

The early-morning streets were crowded with cars and bicycles andrickshawsandoxcarts.Hereand thereacowwandered inandoutof the road,bringing the traffic to a halt. In the bazaar the boothswere already open.Wepassedleatherworkersandpillowshopsandboothswherebrassvasesandpotswere for sale. There was a booth that sold bangles and another with bolts ofbrightlycoloredclothforsaris.Therewerestallswithrugsandstallswithheapsofspices:goldturmericandpreciousorangesaffron.

Tanupulledmeafterher.“Ifweare late,Mr.Govindwillbecrossalldayandwillgiveusnotimeforourlunch.”

Asweenteredthebooth,Mr.Govind,asmallmanwithflowingmustaches,wasshoutingattwowomenseatedonthefloorsurroundedbyapileofmarigoldblossoms. “No gossiping,” he ordered. “We have three funerals and twomarriages.”Hegavemeaquick look. “Youare thenewgirl?Tanuwill showyouwhattodo.Ihopeyouwilllearnfast.Ican’tpaysomeonewhoisslowandclumsy.Quicknow,girls.”

We were surrounded with heaps of orange flowers. The smell of themarigoldswassostrong,Icouldhardlybreathe.NowIknewwhatTanusmelledlike.Itwasthespicy,sharpodorofthemarigolds.“You’llgetusedtoit,”Tanusaidwhenshesawmesniffing.“Hereishowitisdone.”Theflowerheadshadalready been snapped from the stems. She showed me how long fibers frombananastemsweresoakedinwatertosoftenthem.“Thefloweristhreadedontothefiberandcaughtinaknotlikethis.Thenthenextflowerisslippedon.Youarenottoputtheflowerstooclosetogether.Thatusestoomanyofthem.”

Iwatchedforaminuteortwoandthenbegantothreadtheflowers.TanuandtheothertwowomenworkedtwiceasfastasIdid.IfItriedtohurry,theflowersdropped off the fiber, but the work was simple, and I soon caught on. BylunchtimeIwasknottingthegarlandsintoneatcirclesandtossingthemontotheheapofgarlandsasquicklyasTanuandtheothers.Onceor twiceMr.Govindcameby to see how Iwas doing.Hemust have been satisfied; he allowedustwentyminutestoeatourlunch.

TanuandIwanderedthroughthemarketplaceadmiringthecinemaposterswithpicturesofglamorouswomenandhandsomemen.Inthemirrorboothwestoppedtolookatourselves.Keepinganeyeontheclock,weboughtalittlepotofvegetablesandrice.Weatequicklyandthenwanderedbyaperfumestallthatsmelleddeliciouslyofsandalwood.Westoppedatthebanglebooth.Wetriedonsomanyofthebrightlycoloredglassbanglesthattheownercomplained,“Youarekeepingmycustomersaway.Comebackwhenyouhavesomemoney.”Hesmiledatus.“Youmakethemarigoldgarlands?”Hewaslookingatourorangehands.“Couldyoustringbeads?”

Eagerlywesaidwecould.“Stopbytomorrow.I’lltalkwithGovind.Ifhetellsmeyouaregoodgirls,

maybe Iwill give you somebeads to take home tomake into bangles. If youmakethemwell,I’llgiveyouone.Nowoffwithyou.”

Giggling,wehurriedback to thestall,planningall thewhilewhatcoloredbeadswewanted forourownbangles.We foundMr.Govindbeatinghis fistsagainst the wall and moaning, “They have sent jasmine blossoms instead ofmarigolds!Wewillbeshortforthewedding!”

Tanuwhispered,“Itisalwaysacrisiswithhim.Paynoattention.”

But I felt sorry for him. “Couldn’t we make some garlands from thejasmine?”IaskedMr.Govind.

“Nottraditional.Wemusthavemarigolds.”“Whatifwemixedtheflowers?Itwouldstretchthemout,andtherewould

stillbemarigoldsoneachone.”Helookedworried.Finallyhesaid,“Itisallwecando.”When the family came for the garlands, they complimentedMr. Govind.

“Something new, something different,” they said. “Our guests will beimpressed.”

AfterthatMr.Govindmusthavespokenwellofustothebanglemaker.Thenextday, at lunchtime, thebanglemangaveus abagofbeads anda spoolofwire.Heshowedushowtofastenthebangleafteritwasfinishedandwarnedus,“I have counted every bead. There had better be the right amount on thebracelets,oryouwillpayforeachonethatismissing.”

ThegirlsatMaaKamala’swereenviousofourwork.Topacifythem,weletthem try on the finished bangles. Each evening we sat cross-legged in thecourtyardthreadingbeadsinthelastlightoftheday.Whenitwasdark,wewentinsideandkeptthreading,stoppingonlytohuntforanybeadsthatslippedaway.BytheendoftheweekTanuandIeachhadourownbangle.Tanuwouldhavegoneonuntilshehadanarmfulofbangles,butIsoongrewboredwiththework.Unlikemyembroidery,which came frommyhead andheart, the threadingoftinyglassbeadsgrewtiresome.

TanuandIbecamegoodfriends.Wesharedaroomwiththreeotherwidows,twoofthemmucholderthanwewere.Theysaidbanglesonthearmofawidowwereunseemlyandgrewimpatientwithourstayinguplateandgiggling,whichkeptthemawake.Ourroomwasveryplain,soIhungmydowryquiltononeofthewallstomaketheroommorecheerful.Therewasmymaainhergreensariandmybaaponhisbicycle.Thereweremybrothersplayingatsoccerandourcourtyard with its tamarind tree and me at the well. After a while I stoppedlookingatthequilt,foritmademeveryhomesick.

Halfofourwageswenttopayourexpensesat thewidows’house,andtherestwasputasideforus.EachweekMaaKamalamadeanoteinalittlebookofwhatwassavedfromthewages.Mysavingswerenotmuch,buteachweektheygrew.Earlyonemorning Iwent to apply formypension.This time I proudlyfilled in the form myself, giving an address and signing my name. Soon theenvelopewithmy pension came, and the pensionwas added tomy savings. Isaw that though itwouldbe awhile, the daymight comewhen I couldmovefrom the widows’ house to make room for another widow. Tanu and I eventalkedofatimewhenwemightsharearoom.

Nowthatwewerenolongerstringingbeads,IentertainedTanuaftersupperbyreadingTagore’spoemsaloud,althoughtheolderwidowssaidIwouldhavedonebettertoreadthesacredverses.Tanulovedtohearthepoems,andafterabiteventhewidowswhohaddisapprovedofthembegantolisten.Everyonehadherfavorite;theolderwidowsaskedforthepoemsaboutthesadnessoflifeandtheyoungeronesforthepoemsaboutlove.

OneeveningRajicametothecourtyardwhileIwasreadingthepoemaboutthe homeless bird. He sat in the far corner of the courtyard munching someleftoversMaahadgivenhimandlisteningtothepoem,adreamyexpressiononhisface.HeseemedtogetsuchpleasurefromitthatIhandedRajithebookandaskedhimifhewouldliketoreadsomeofthepoems.

He shookhishead.From theembarrassed lookonhis face Iguessedwhyandblurtedout,“Can’tyouread?”

Angrilyhe snappedatme,“Howcould I readwhen Iwasworkingon thelandfromthetimeIwasfiveyearsold?Besides, thereisnooneinmyfamilywhoreads.Whowouldteachme?”

I tookadeepbreathandasked, “Wouldyou likeme to teachyou?” Iwasgrateful toRajiforallhehaddoneformeandwasanxiousforachancetodosomethingforhiminexchange.

Rajikickedatthedustandgloweredatme.Atlastheshruggedandagreed.EacheveningIwouldreturntoMaaKamala’shouseexhausted,thescentof

marigolds hanging overme like a cloud. Iwould join the otherwidows for adinnerofcurriedlentilsorrice,sometimeswithabitoffishorsomemorselsofchicken.AtduskRajiwouldappear,tiredandcrossandhalfstarved,forhewascounting every rupee until he had enough to return to his farm.MaaKamalawouldgivehimsomethingtoeat,andafterabit,ashisstomachfilled,hewouldstopsnappingatme.Atfirsthewasimpatient,butasthelettersbecamewords,andthewordsthoughts,hebecamebotheagerandsuspicious,asthoughIwereholdingsomethingbackfromhim.Soonhetookthebookinhisownhandsand,movinghisfingerslowly,readthewordsbyhimself.

Hedidnotliketohavetheotherwidowsseehimstrugglingwithhisreading,sowesatinacornerofthecourtyardwithonlyMaaKamalatokeepaneyeonus.IbegantolookforwardtoRaji’svisits.Iwouldstealaglanceathimasheread out thewords of the poems.His tousled hair fell over his forehead, andsometimes,whenthelessonwastoolongandRajiwastootired,hislonglasheswouldflutterashetriedtokeepfromfallingasleep.Hishandsonthebookwerethestronghandsofamanwhohasworkedallhislife,buthisholdonthebookwasagentleone.

When his day had been successful and he had received generous tips, he

wouldbringmesomelittlething,apaperofsugaredalmondsspicedwithpepperandcumin,andonceahandfuloflilies,whichhewoundinmyhairwhileIputonebehindhisear.IwouldtellRajiaboutthegirlsIworkedwith,andhewouldtellmeaboutthepeoplehehadcarriedthatday.RajiwastheonlyonetowhomIcouldcomplain,confidinginhimthatIwasafraidIwouldhavetospendtherestofmylifeinaseaoforangemarigolds.Afteradaywhenhehadfewcustomersandno tips,Rajiwouldhavenoheart for books, butmost of the timehewaseagertolearn.

Hisfavoritepoemswerethosethatdescribedthecountryside,poemsaboutbeingoutearlywhen themorning light is thinandpale,andabouthearing thebirds’songs.“Yourpoetmusthavespenttimeinavillagelikemine,”hesaid.“IcountthedaysuntilIcanreturnthere.”

“Don’tyoulikethecity,Raji?”Iasked.“Ihateitscrowdsandmisery.Inthecountrysidearoundourvillageitiseasy

tofindaplacewhere there isnotanotherhumanbeing. Icango to thatplace,andmythoughtswillnotbealltangled,withthethoughtsofotherpeople.”

“I know what you mean,” I said. I told him about the river where I hadwashed theclothesamong thekingfishersand thedragonflies,and thecallsofthedovesandthewindrustlingthroughtheleavesofthepeepultrees.

“Iknowof aplaceon the river I could showyou,”he said.Therewasaneagernessinhisvoice.“TomorrowI’llcomeforyourightafteryoueat.Inonlyahalfhour’swalkthecitydisappears.”

Iagreedatonce.Iwashappyatthethoughtofwalkingalongtheriver,andIguessedRajiwasanxioustogivemesometreatinreturnformyteaching.

ThenexteveningIslippedawaytomeetRaji.MaaKamalawasveryproperanddidn’tapproveofboysandgirlsmixingexceptunderherwatchfuleye.Rajiwaswaitingdowntheroadforme.Workwasover,andpeoplehadreturnedtotheirhomes.Eventhemonksandwidowsinthetemplesweresilent.Thewholecityseemedelsewhere.Wehurriedthroughthedesertedstreetsandheadednorthalongtheriver,RajialwaysabitaheadofmeandlookingbacktobesureIwasfollowing.

Thebreezesoff theriverwerepleasant.Wewereoutsidethetown’scenternow. Only a few people passed by, no one paying attention to us. A fewfishermenwereoutintheirboats.Twowomenattheriver’sedgewerebeatingclothesagainst rockswhile theirchildrenplacedtwigsandleaveson thewaterandwatchedasthecurrentcaughtthemup.IthoughtofthetimesSasshadsentmetodothelaundryattheriver,andhowmuchhappierIwasnow.

Rajipointedtoatempleonadistanthill.“That’swherewe’reheaded,”hesaid.Hebegantorun.Iracedafterhim.Wearrivedatthetemplelaughingand

breathless.Thetemplewasdeserted.ThroughthearchedentranceIcouldseeanimage

ofKrishna.“Whatisheholdingup?”Iasked.“The hill ofGovardhan,”Raji said. “It’s a hill not far fromhere.Krishna

saved the sixteen thousandmilkmaids he hadmarried and all their cows fromdrowning in a terrible thunderstorm.He lifted theGovardhan hill on his littlefingertoshelterthem.Butit’snotjustthetempleIwanttoshowyou.Comethisway.”

Hescrambleddowntheriverbank.“Here,”hesaid.“Hereisaplaceontheriverliketheoneyoutoldmeabout.Listen—insteadofthenoiseofthecity,youcan hear thewind through the trees. And there.”He pointed to a branch thatstuckoutovertheriver.“Akingfisher.”Hisvoicewasproud,asifhehadcausedthebirdtoappear.

Wetookoffoursandalsandpaddledourdustyfeetinthecoolwater.Asitedged down, the sun seemed to rest on the river. A frog poked its head up,blinked a few times, and disappeared. “It’s so quiet,” I said. “It’s the firstpeacefulminuteI’vehadsinceIcametothecity.”

Rajismiled.“Yes, in thecity it isallpushandshove.”Hegavemea longlook.“Koly,IhavenearlyenoughnowtorebuildthehouseandbuywhatIneedforcrops.SoonI’llbebackinmyvillage.”

IwantedtotellhimthatIwouldmisshim,butIdidn’tthinksayingsuchathingwouldbeseemly.InsteadIsaid,“You’reluckytobeleavingthecitywhereonedayislikeanotherandyouhardlynoticetheweather.It’slikelivinginsideaglassbottle.You’llbehappieronyourfarm.”

“I’llworkthefarm,butI’llhavetolivewithmyuncleuntilIfixthehouse.It’sfallenapartsincemymaaandbaapdied.”Hereacheddownand,pickingupa handful of pebbles, began to pitch them into the river. “When the house isfinished,”hesaidinalowvoice,“I’llwantawife.”

I foundnothing to say to that. Itwasonlynatural thatRaji shouldwant awife,buthiswordssilencedme.IcouldonlythinkhowluckyawomanwouldbetobemarriedtoRaji;hewassokindandclever.Iimaginedhimtogetherwithhiswife on their farm, and for amoment I felt as lonely as I hadonmy firstnightinVrindavan.

I saw him steal a glance atme and look away. He kept flinging pebbles,sending up little explosions ofwater.The commotion startled a heron huntingfrogsalongtheedgeoftheriver.Theheronflewup,hisgreatwingsbeatingasfast as my heart, and melted into the dusky sky. We watched until the birddisappeared.

Itwasgrowing late.Thesettingsunhad turned the riveramuddygray.“I

havetogetback,”Isaid.“Itwillbedarksoon.”We returned to the thecity talkingofnothingmore thana famouscinema

actresswhohadjustmarried,andthemosquitobiteswegotbytheriver.After that severalweekswentby, and though Iwas there in the courtyard

eacheveningwaitingtogreethim,Rajididnotreturn.IwonderedifIhadsaidsomethingtoangerhim.IworriedthathehadalreadyleftforthecountryandIwould never see him again. I tried not to think about him, tellingmyself thatnowthatIhadtaughthimtoread,ourmeetingswereover.Still,Icouldnothelpbutwonderwhyhehadnotcometosaygood-bye.ItriedtoputRajioutofmymind,butmymindwouldnotobeyme.

One eveningMaaKamala announced that the rich ladywho paid for ourwidows’housewascomingtoseeus.Everything,includingthecourtyard,wasgivenathoroughcleaning.Weputaboutvasesofflowersanddressedinourbestclothes.MaaKamala fried pumpkin pooris andmade shikanjiwith sweetenedlimejuiceandgingerjuiceandsentusouttothebazaaratthelastminutetogeticecubes ina littleplasticsack,admonishingus tohurryso the icewouldnotmelt.

Just before the rich ladyarrived,MaaKamala linedus all up to see ifwewere presentable. Tanu was sent back to wipe off some of her lipstick andmascara.Anelderlywidowwastoldnottocoverherfacewithhersaribecausetherichladydidnotapproveofthatcustom.

We all stared as Maa Kamala greeted the rich lady with a respectfulnamaskar.Mostofthewidowsthoughtheragreatdisappointment.“Afaceplainasaclaysaucerandnogoldthreadswoveninhersari,”Tanuwhispered.“Andwhereisherjewelry?”

Our visitor was an older woman with a shapeless figure and unadornedclothes,butasshestoppedtogreeteachofus,shehadsomesmallpleasantthingto say.Shespoke tous inadirect andopenway, sowedidnot feel likepoorwidows.Shesmiledknowingly,andIbelievesheunderstoodjustwhatwewerethinking—perhaps she was amused at how we puzzled over her simpleappearance. As she moved closer to me, I saw what Tanu had not noticed.Thoughtherewerenogoldorsilverthreadswovenintohersari,sheworeasariof great rarity and beauty. It appeared simple, but I knew it was made of ahandwovenclothcalledking’smuslin,theverybestyoucouldbuy.Mymaahadpointedouttomejustsuchasariwhenwevisitedtheshopwhereshetookherwork. Along the borders of the rich lady’s sari were embroidered flurries of

blossoms inpaleyellowsandpinks twinedwithgreen leaves. Icouldnot takemyeyesfromthecleverwork.Shemusthavenoticedmywide-eyedstare, forwhenitwasmyturntogreether,shepausedtoask,“Whatisityoudo?”

“Istringmarigoldgarlandsinthebazaar,madam,”Isaid.“Iamsureyoumakeaverygoodjobofit.”Sheseemedtowanttosaymore,

butafterasecondortwoshemovedontothenextwidow.We all stood stiffly with our cups of shikanji whileMaaKamalamade a

politespeechabouthowwellweweredoingandhowgratefulwewerefortherichlady’shelp.

TomydismayMaaKamalacalledout,“Koly,Tanu,showMadamthroughthe rooms.” She turned to the rich lady. “I hope you will find everything inorder.”

The lady smiled and said, “If there is toomuch order, Iwill think I havecausedalotoftroubleforeveryone.”

Thatmademefeelbetter.InudgedTanu,whoseemedunabletomove,andwe began to lead the rich lady from room to room. Some of the roomswerebrightenedwith artificial flowers, andgaudy scarveshungon thewalls.SomeroomshadpiouspicturesofLordKrishna.InoneroomIhadtokickapairofdirtysandalsunderacharpoy.Asshefollowedalong,theladyaskedwherewehadcomefromandwhetherwewerecontentatMaaKamala’shouseandwhatourplanswere.Tanuwastongue-tied,butIcouldstillremembermynightsonthestreetand themanwhohad tried to takemeaway,andI told therich ladyaboutthosethings.

When she had heard my story, she put her hand softly on my arm. Shelookedasifsomemournfultunehadfounditswayintoherheadandshecouldnotloseit.“ThoseofyouhereatMaaKamala’shousearesofew,andinthecitytherearesomany.”Shesighed.“IwishImightdomore.IndeedIwilltry.”Shegaveherselfalittleshakeand,smilingagain,said,“HaveIseenalltherooms?”

“Notours,”Tanubravelyanswered.“Thenyoumustshowittome.”Aswewalked into the room,Tanu and I looked frantically about for any

disorder.TherichladynoticedthecopyofTagore’spoemsbesidemybed.“Ah,”shesaidtouchingthebook,“heismyfavorite,too.”Shestoppedtolookatmyquilt.Foralongmomentshewassilent.“Whoseisthis?”sheasked.

Iwastooshytoclaimit.Tanusaid,“Kolymadeitforherdowry.”Theladyturnedtome.“Tellmeaboutthisquiltyouhaveembroidered.The

cloudsthere—whyhaveyouputthosein?”“Theyaretheshapeofthecloudsthatgatherinourvillagebeforetherains

come.That’sourmarket-placewiththeherbstallsandthebarberanddentistand

themanwiththebasketofcobras.”WhenInoticedTanustandingtherestaringatme,IsuddenlyrealizedIwastalkingtoomuch,andIclosedmymouth.

Therich ladysaid,“I remember thatyoumentionedworking in thebazaarmakinggarlands.”

Inodded,wonderingiftherewassomethinginthequiltshedidnotlike,andIwouldlosemyjobandbethrownoutofMaaKamala’shouse.

“Iknowamakeroffinesaris,”shesaid,“whoisanxioustofindwomenwhoareskilledinembroidery.Buthedoesnotwantwomenwhomerelycopywhatothers have done. He wants women who have original ideas and who cantranslatethoseideasintotheirwork.Heislookingforartists.”

Ididnotknowwhatthathadtodowithme,butthewomanwaslookingatmeasifshewerewaitingformetosaysomething,soImumbled,“Suchartistsmustbedifficulttofind.”

Therichladylaughed.“Evidentlynotsodifficult,forjustnowIhavefoundone!TomorrowIwillcomeandtakeyoutoseehim.”

ten

The next day as Iwaited nervously, I askedMaaKamala about the rich lady.Maaonlyshookherheadandsaid,“Youmustnotcallherthat.Shehasanamelike everyone else, and it isMrs. Devi. Now, go quickly and wash your feetproperly.Youcannotgowithdirtytoenails.Anddon’tforgettotakeyourquiltwithyou.”

Itwasmyfirstrideinanautomobile.Themanwhodrovethecarsatinfront,andMrs.DeviandIintheback.Thereseemedtobeacoolbreezetrappedinsidethecar.

Amazed,Icouldnothelpasking,“Wheredoesthecoolnesscomefrom?”“That’stheair-conditioninginthecar,”Mrs.Devireplied.OfcourseIhadheardofsuchathing.IcouldfeelthecoolairasIwalkedby

theentrancesofthemoreexpensivecinemas,buthereIwasinthemiddleofit.Mrs.DevitalkedpleasantlywhileIsatstraightup,afraidtoopenmymouth.Wedrove though the streets, sitting upon soft cushions with our windows shutagainst theheatanddust.Thepeopleon thestreetseemedveryfarawayfromus. I thought of Raji and how hard he had to work to carry someone in hisbicycle rickshaw and how easily the thing inside the automobile pulled us orpushedus;Ididnotknowwhich.

Mrs.Devisaid,“WhenIfirstsawyourquilt,Koly,Ithoughtofmybaap.Hecamefromavillageverylikeyours.”

Imusthaveshownmysurprise,forshewentontosay,“Whenmybaapwastenyearsold,hismother,whowasawidow,wastakenillandcouldnolongerwork.Baapwassenttostaywithhisuncleforafewdays.Whenhereturned,hefoundthathismaawasgone.Hewastoldshehaddied,buthesoonfoundoutshehadbeentakentoVrindavanandabandonedhere.”

IstaredatMrs.Devi,amazedatthetellingofthisstory,whichwassomuchlikemystory.“Whathappened?”Iwhispered.

“TheunhappyboyranawaytoVrindavantofindhismaa.Hegotajobasa

helpertoaniron-monger.Attheendofeachdayhelookedforhismaa,buthenever found her.One day amanwhomade his living drillingwells forwatercame tohavehisdrill repaired.Mybaap,whowasnowayoungman,hadanideathatifthedrillweremadeinacertainway,itwouldbemoreeffective.Andsoitwas.Hebegantomakesuchdrills,andsoontheyweresoldalloverIndia,andhebecamerich.”Shesmiledatme.“Whenhedied,heleftmoneyinhiswillforawidows’house.”

IhadamillionquestionsIwantedtoask,butthecarhadpulledupinfrontof a small shop.Draped in thewindowof the shopwas a rainbowof saris.Asmallsignwiththeproprietor’sname,Mr.Das,wasinacornerofthewindow.

Whenweentered,Mr.DasfoldedhishandsandbowedtoMrs.Devi.Ilikedthemanatonce,forheremindedmeofthebandicootundertheveranda.Hewassleek,withsharpblackeyesandlittleears.Hewasasquickasthebandicootaswell,forassoonaswehadsteppedin,helatchedthedoorbehindus,asifhehadcaughtusandhadnomindtoletusgo.Iwouldnothavebeensurprisedtoseealong tail snapping back and forth behind him. He greeted Mrs. Devi with ahappy,expectantsmile.

“No,no,Mr.Das,Ididn’tcometobuytoday.Icametobringyouagift.”Helookedevenmorepleased.“Here she is.”Mr.Das stared atme. I am sure he knewat once frommy

appearancethatIwasnottheretobuyasariofking’smuslin.Still,hebowedtomeandwaited.

Mrs.Devispreadopenmyquilt.Iwantedtodisappear;Ihadlookedaroundtheshop,andtheembroideryonthesariswasveryfine.IwassureitwasbeyondanythingIcoulddo.

Mr.Dasbent over thequilt, taking a corner up inhis hand andholding itclose tohis eyes.He turned theworkover, and I silently thankedmymaa forteachingmethatonesidemustlookaswelldoneastheother.Henoddedasifthequiltweresomethingofvaluethathadbeendroppeduponhispath.

“ThatisKoly’sdoing,”Mrs.Devisaid.“Sheislookingforwork,andwhyshouldshenotworkhereforyou?Couldshefindamoresuitableplace?”

Mr.Das’squickblackeyesdartedfromthequilttomeandback.Hedidnotseemanxioustohaveme,butIcouldseehedidnotwanttodispleasehisgoodcustomer.“Therewouldbemuchtoteachher.”

“Couldshefindabetterteacherthanyou?”Helookedatmeagain.“Wemighttry,”hesaid.“Excellent!Thereisnotimelikethepresent.I’lljustleaveherhere.”With

thatshebowedbrieflytoMr.Das,whohastenedtoreturnherbow.Inamomentshewasgone,andMr.DasandIwereleftfacingoneanother.

Icouldn’thelpsayinginasmallvoice,“Youdon’thavetotakeme.”Iedgedtowardthedoor.

Mr.Das seemedpleasedwithmy remark. “At least you do not push yourwayinbecauseofMrs.Devi.Comewithme.”

Ihurriedalongbehindhim.Heledmethroughalong,darkpassagethatwasmoretunnelthanhallway.Atlastwecameintoalarge,brightroomwithfiveorsixwomen sittingcross-legged, someon the floor, someoncharpoys, all bentover lengths of cloth that were spread out over the floor like bright carpets.Aroundthemwereskeinsofthread,scissors,andlittlefabricsquarespokedfullofneedles.

Thewomenpausedintheirworkandglancedatmecuriously.Theywereallolder thanI,andIwassure that theydidnot thinkIcouldevendrawa threadthroughaneedle.Mr.Dashuntedaboutuntilhecameuponascrapofcloth.Hetossedittome.“Showmewhatyoucandowiththis,”hesaid.

Ilookedquicklyattheborderstheotherwomenwereembroidering.Oneofthewomenwasworkingapatternoftwiningivy.Ididthesame.

WhenMr.Dascametolookatmywork,heshookhishead.“No,”hesaid.“Why should you copywhat another does? That already exists. Iwant to seewhatisinyourownmind.”Iexpectedhimtosendmeaway.Insteadhegavemeanotherscrapofcloth.

Rajiwasneverfarfrommythoughts.OverandoveragainIhadlookedbackatour eveningat the river andwonderedwhy Ihadnotheard fromhim.As Ithoughtoftheriver,Irememberedtheheron.Ibegantostitchitslongneckanditsheadwithitssharpbeak.Istitchedthelongdanglinglegsandthegreatwings.I forgotwhereIwas.Fromtimeto timeMr.Das lookedovermyshoulderbutsaid nothing. When at last I finished the heron, I looked up to see Mr. Dasstanding there smiling. “That iswhat Iwant. It is not just a heron; it is yourheron.Ithasflownrightoutofyourheadand,moreimportant,outofyourheart.Comebacktomorrow,andIwillhaveasariforyoutoworkon.Imustthinkalittlewhatweaveandwhatcolorwillbebest.NowIsupposeyouwanttoknowwhatIwillpayyou.”

HenamedasumthreetimeswhatIwaspaidforthestringingofmarigolds.Surprised,Ialmosttoldhimthesumwastoomuch,butoneoftheotherwomencameuptohimjustthentoaskforthreadthecolorofthefruitofamango.Bythetimehehadturnedbacktome,Ihadresolvedtoholdmytongue.Ismiledpolitely and said the sumseemedvery fair and Iwould return thenextday atwhateverhourhewished.

Mr.Das’sworkroombecamethemostimportantplaceinmylife.Icouldn’tbelieve that someonewas payingme for doingwhat I loved best.Therewere

dayswhenMr.Daslookedatmyworkandshookhishead.“Koly,whatcanyoubethinkingof?Whatwomanwouldwishtowearasarionwhichadogchasesagoose?Youhavelostyoursenses.”SoIputasidethememoryofthelittlepariahdog and thegosling. Iwas able to embroidermanyothermemories, though. Iworkedadesignofsilverhoops,andinthatwayIgotmyearringsbackagain.Imadeapatternofmarigoldgarlands inhonorofHariand toremindmeof thehoursIhadspentinstringingtheorangeflowers.Onethingafteranotherinmylifewascapturedandstitchedtobesaved.Alltheworkwasdoneonthefinestmuslin, eachweave ofmuslinwith its own name:woven air, dragonflywing,summercloud,eveningdew.

MyonlysadnesswasRaji’sabsence.EacheveningIwaitedinthecourtyardhopinghewouldappear,hungryandeagertoopenabook.EacheveningIwasdisappointed.At last Ihad toadmit tomyself thathehadprobablyreturned tohisvillageandwas looking for a suitablebride.Still, I couldnotkeepmyselffromhopingIwouldseehimagain.

Sitting beside them each day in the workroom, I got to know the otherwomen,whosoonbecamemyfriends.Thesurprisewasthattheydidnotjudgeme by my age, but by my work. The older women laughed at some of mydesigns,buttheirlaughterwaskind.“Yourdesignsaresooriginal,theysurpriseus,”oneofthemexplained.

Intheworkshopscarfsandcushionsaswellassariswereembroidered.Onewomankeptacriticaleyeonmyworkandtheworkof theothers.Shealwaysnoticedwhenourthreadsbecametangledorworkhadtoberippedoutanddoneover.Ifweusedtoomuchthread,shereportedittoMr.Das.Becauseofherlongsharpnose,whichshewasalwaysstickingintothebusinessoftheotherwomen,shewascalledtheShrew.

The Shrew shook her head over my work. “Who will buy such a sari?Womenwantwhattheyareusedto,notsomeoutlandishthing.”

“No, no,”Mr.Das said. “My ladies are always asking for something newanddifferent.”Hewasagood-temperedmanandtreatedusallkindly.Hetookaninterestinourlivesandwouldgivetimeoffifawomanwaswantedathomeforachildorahusband’ssickness.Somewomenwereevenallowed todoalltheirworkathome.

OnlyoncehadIseenhimangry.Aphul-khana,aweddingveiloffinesilkand embroidered in gold thread, disappeared overnight. The phul-khana wasmeant for thedaughterofawealthycustomer,andMr.Dascouldhardlystandstillwithfrustration.TheembroideryhadbeendonebytheShrew.Thoughherwords were harsh, her stitches were deftly done. The scarf with its gold andsilvermoonandstarshadbeenadmiredbyallofus.ShewasasfuriousasMr.

Dasatitsdisappearance.Mr.Dasputnewlocksonourdoorsandwindowsandbegantopayanoldmantowatchtheworkroomatnight.

Ibegan toconfide inoneof theyoungerwomen.Malawasnineteen,onlytwoyearsolderthanIwas,butshelookedolder.Shewastallandasslimasabamboo shoot. Her eyes were heavily outlined with kohl. Her long, taperedfingerswiththeirbright-rednailspulledthethreadsinandout,stitchingdesignsso intricateandclever, they tookmybreathaway.Youngas shewas,Mr.Dasentrustedherwithembroideringthreadsofrealgold.TheShrewwasjealousofMalaandcomplainedtoMr.DasthatMalaoftenarrivedlateinthemorning.

WhenMr.Das scoldedMala for her tardiness,Malaonly laughed. “Don’tlectureme,Mr.Das,”shewouldsayinatauntingvoice.“Yourcompetitor,Mr.Gupta,downthestreet,stopsmeeverydaytobegmetoworkforhim.”Mr.Daswouldgrowsilent, forhecouldn’tbear the thoughtofMala’sclever fingersatworkonMr.Gupta’ssaris.

Often a young man would be waiting to walk home with Mala, butsometimesMalawould letmewalk homewith her, for her roomwas not farfromthewidows’house.

WhenMalaheardIwaslivingatMaaKamala’sshesaid,“Iknowtheplace.How can you stand that old woman? She won’t let you out of her sight. It’sworse than a prison.Come and spend a nightwithme and see how deliciousfreedomis.”IshouldhaveobjectedtothewayshespokeofMaaKamala,butIwasanxioustobeMala’sfriend.Ilongedtoacceptherinvitation,forIhadheardfrom the other women in the workshop thatMala’s roomwas often crowdedwithartistsandmusicians.

When I asked permission ofMaaKamala, shewas indignant. “I knowallaboutMala.Herroomisnoplaceforayounggirl.Certainlyyoucannotspendthenightthere.”

“Justforafewhoursthen?Iwon’tspendthenight.”“No!Notwhileyouareundermyroof.”Forthefirsttime,IwasangrywithMaaKamala.AfteroureveningmealI

whisperedmyplantoTanu.“I’llsaywe’regoingtothecinematogether.I’llgiveyouthemoneyforyourticket,”Itoldher,“andenoughfortwolemonades.”

TanuwasaseagerasIwastohearaboutMala’splace.“Allright,butdon’tbelate.Ican’tsitinthecinemaforever.”

IborrowedTanu’slipstickandkohl,waitinguntilIwasoutofthehousetoapplythemwhileTanuheldasmallmirrorforme.IleftherbuyingherticketforthemovieandhurriedquicklytowardMala’splace.

ItwasonlywhenIreachedthenarrowdarkstairwaythatledtoMala’sroomthatIdraggedmyfeet.Whatwouldagirllikemefromasmallvillagehaveto

say to such clever city people? I wished I were safelywith Tanu in the darkcinemasippinglemonade.

Itwas themusic thatdrewme.The sounddrifteddown theback stairwayandpulledmeupthestairstowardit.

Thedoortotheroomwasopen.AfteraminuteortwoIgatheredmycourageandsteppedinside.Therewereadozenpeoplethere,asmanymenaswomen.Itwas the first time I had ever been with such a mixed group. I thought howhorrified my maa would have been to see me in this room where men andwomenmingled. In themiddleof the roomwere twomen,oneplayinga sitarand theothera tabla.The fingersof the sitarplayer traveledupanddown thestrings likeclevermice.The tablaplayer followed thenotesof the sitar likeashadow.

Mala came towelcomeme, leadingme into the room.One or two of theguestsgavemeacuriousglance.Malapulledmedownbesideheronacushionandturnedherattentiontotheplayers.Iglancedhastilyabouttheroom.Mostofthewomenwereolder thanMala; at leastwith their sophisticatedhairdos andmakeuptheylookedolder.AfewofthemworejeansandT-shirtsinsteadofsarisorsalwarsandkameezes.Exceptforthemusicians,whoworekurtapajamas,therestofthemenwerealsoinjeansandT-shirts.Theyweretalkingandlaughingtogether,payinglittleattentiontothemusic.

Therewere realpaintingson thewall anda rugon the floor.Therewas afaint odor of incense and something else that smelled sweet. I could see thatMala had electricity; therewere two lamps in the room.To soften their glare,veilshadbeenthrownovertheshades.Oneveilwasapaleblue,anditspuddleoflightwasturnedintoblueshadow.Theveilontheotherlampcastapatternofmoonsandstarsontotheceiling.Ilookedagain.ItwasMr.Das’smissingphul-khana.Therecouldnothavebeenanotherlikeit.

“Mala,”Iwhispered,“it’stheweddingveil.”“Ofcourse.ItookittogetbackattheShrew.Don’tlooksoshocked.You’re

suchababy.Besides,Mr.Dasdoesn’tpayushalfofwhatwe’reworth.”WhatwouldMr.Dashavesaidifhehadseenmesittingintheroomofthe

person who had stolen his phul-khana? Before I could get up to leave,Malasummonedamantojoinus.“Hereisarealartistforyoutotalkwith,”shesaid.“Kajal,hereisKoly,freshfromavillage.”Malaleftustogreetagirlwhohadjustcomeintotheroom.

IdidnotseehowIcouldrunawaywithoutlookingfoolish.Theartist,Kajal,was studyingme.Hehad a catlike facewith slanted eyes and ahalf smile. “Imustpaintyou,”hesaid,lookingasthoughhewishednotsomuchtopaintmeastodevourme.

I tried tomove away from him, but he tookmy arm and held on tome.“Thosearemypaintingsonthewalls,”hesaid.“Whatdoyouthinkofthem?”

Therewasasceneofadarkforestwithatigerpeeringoutfromsometrees.The tiger had the same half smile as Kajal, which made the man morefrighteningtome.Isawthathewasnohousecat tobetamed,butamaliciouscat,evenadangerousone.TheotherpaintingwasofMala.Kajalhadmadeherverybeautiful.At thesame time theexpressiononher facesuggested that sheand the artist shared an unpleasant secret. “I’llmake you look as beautiful asMala,”hesaid.“Youmustcometomyroomonyourdayoff.”

“Oh,no,”Isaid.“Icouldn’t.”Gototheroomofaman!MaaKamalawouldbehorrified.

Heheldonmoretightlytomyarm.“Youarenolongerinavillagenow,”hesaid.“Youarelivinginacity.Youarewithadultshere.Youmustactlikeone.Havesomebhang.Itwillrelaxyou.”

I shookmyhead. Ihadpassedbhangshops in thecity. Iknewbhangwasmadefrommarijuanaleaves.“Ihavetogo,”Isaid.“I’malreadylate.”

“You haven’t had anything to drink. Letme just get you something cool.Thenyoucanleave.Icanseeyouaren’thappyhere.”

Themusichadstopped,andacrosstheroomIsawthesitarplayerwatchingus.Hestartedacrosstheroomtowardme,butMalareachedoutanddrewhimaway.

Kajal returnedwithaglassof lassi.Theglass feltcool inmyhands,andIsmiledgratefullyatKajal.Idrankthelassidown,anxioustogetaway.Afteramomenttheroombegantowhirl,andIfeltsicktomystomach.Isawthesitarplayer, anangryexpressiononhis face,pullingaway fromMalaandhurryingtowardme.

Iwasoutside.Itwasdark.Thesitarplayerwassupportingme,andpassersbyweregivinguscuriouslooks.“Wheredoyoulive?”

“I live in Maa Kamala’s widows’ house, but I have to meet Tanu at thecinemaaroundthecorner.Whoareyou?”

“MynameisBinu,andyouareaveryfoolishgirl.Howdidyougetmixedupwiththatcrowd?”

“IworkwithMala.Sheaskedmetocome.WhyamIsosick?”“That animal,Kajal,wasplayinga trickonyou.The lassiwas lacedwith

bhang.You’reluckyIwasthere.ThesoonerIhandyouovertoyourfriend,thebetter.I’mnotanursemaidtotakecareofeverynaïvevillagegirl.”

As he propelledme toward the cinema, he grumbled, “You are no end oftrouble.”

IsawhowfoolishIhadbeen.IhaddisobeyedMaaKamalabecauseIwas

excitedaboutgoing toMala’s room.NowIhatedMala. Igrittedmyteethandmadefistsofmyhandstryingtofightthetears.LittlebylittleIbegantocalmdown.“Whywereyouthere?”Iaskedthesitarplayer.

“Theboyplayingthetablainvitedmetocomewithhim.It’smyfirst timewith that crowd, and the last.Here is the cinema. Thatmust be your friend.”Witha sighof reliefhepushedme towardTanu,whostood staringatuswithwideeyesandanopenmouth.

Iturnedtothankhim,buthewashurryingacrossthestreetanddidn’tlookback.

“Whathappenedtoyou?”Tanuasked.“Youlookupset.”WhenIfinallygotallthestoryout,shesaid,“Howcansuchwickedpeople

be?”Wewerenearlyatthewidows’house.Istopped,afraidtofaceMaaKamala.

Tanubroughtoutherbitofmirror.“Combyourhairandwipeoff themakeup.Thekohlhasrundownonyourcheeks.I’llsaysomethingweateinthecinemamadeyousick.”

IwassureMaaKamalawouldseeatonceallthathadhappenedandwouldmakemeleavethehouse.

“Letmedothetalking,”Tanusaid.ToaworriedMaaKamalasheexplained,“It’sherstomach.Itwasthemonkeynuts.Weboughtawholepaperfull,andthegreedygirlatemostofthem.”

MaaKamalaputherarmaroundme,andthekindnessbroughtoutmytears.“Poorgirl,I’llfixsomegingerwaterforyoutosip.Thenyoumustgotobedatonce.Ifyou’renotbetterinthemorning,I’llsendanotetoMr.Das.”

Inoddedgratefully,surethatnothingintheworldwouldevermakemefaceMalaagain.

Yet in twodays’ time Iwasbackat theworkroom. Ihada living to earn.Besides, even the thought of seeingMala again could not keep me frommyembroidery.OnmyfirstdaybackIwouldnotlookatMala,butassoonasMr.Daswasoutoftheroom,Malawhisperedinmyear,“Ifyousayanythingaboutthe veil, I’ll tell your preciousMaaKamala you came tomy house and tookbhang.”Shegavemeaslysmile. Imovedhastilyawayfromher,bendingmyheadovermyworksotheShrew,whowasstaringatus,wouldnotseethelookof angeronmy face andbecome suspicious. I thought Iwouldneverbedonewithscoldingmyselfformyfoolishness,butthenextdayRajireturned.

eleven

HewaswaitingformewhenIlefttheworkshop.IwassopleasedtoseehimthatwithnothoughtformodestyIreachedforhishand.“Whendidyougetback?”

“Lastnight.IwenttoMr.Govind’sandTanusentmehere.ButImustreturntomyvillageverysoon.Ihavetogetthelentilsplantedintimefortherainsnextmonth.”

NosoonerhadhereturnedthanIwastolosehimagain.“Whataboutyourrickshawjob?”Iasked,hopingthatmightkeephimhereforabit.

“I’m all finished with rickshaws. Koly, let’s go back to our place on theriver.Iwanttotalktoyou.”

Iwassurprisedathisrequest,butpleasedatanychancetobewithRaji.Andhehadcalledit“ourplace.”

Aswewalkedalong,Ithoughthowthecityhadchangedforme.WhenIhadfirst come, the city had been unwelcoming, even treacherous, but now I hadfoundmyplaceinit.Ihadmyworkandfriends.Still,IwasneversohappyasIhadbeenwithRaji,andIcouldnothelpbutbesadathowsoonhewouldleaveme.

Itwasthedryseason.Wecouldseethemuddycradleofthebanksthroughwhichtheriverran.Wesettledonapatchofgrass,andtakingoffoursandals,weswungourfeetintothebrownwater.Behindusthedesertedtemplelookedshabby.In thegloominessIcouldnothelprememberingmyeveningatMala’sapartmentandwonderingwhatRajiwouldthinkofmeifheknewofit.

Rajilistenedtomysilenceforawhileandthensaid,“Somethingistroublingyou.”

Inodded,unable togetoutmywords. Just thenaheron flewoverus anddrifteddowntotheriver’sedge.Westayedquiettokeepitthere.IwonderedifRaji,likeme,wasrememberingthefirsttimewehadseenit.Afteritflewaway,Rajisaid,“Whyshouldwehavesecrets?”

ThewholestoryofmyeveningatMala’scameoutinafloodofwords.

Rajididnotsayatonce that itwasall rightor that Iwasvery foolish.HeonlylookedoutattheYamunaRiver,whichmindeditsownbusiness.Afterabithesaid,“Iwouldlike tomeet thatKajal. Iwouldstamphimtopieces like thescorpionheis.I’mgladyoutoldme,butthatisinthepast.Icamebacktothecity to talk toyouaboutwhat is ahead.Myunclehasdecided to renthalfmyland.With hismoney I can fix upmy house.Aman from the government isshowingmehowtomakemylandmorefertile.AlreadythewheatIplantedhaspushedup. Iwantyou tocomebackwithme tomyvillage.Youwould like itthere.Wehaveallthethingsthatpleaseyou.”

Puzzled,Iasked,“ButwhatcouldIdoinyourvillage?”Gazingdown,Rajimumbled,“Youwouldbemywife,ofcourse.”I stared at him. I had never imagined such a thing would be possible. I

thought I must be dreaming. “But what of your family?” I managed to ask.“Theywouldn’twant you tomarry awidow; such amarriage is inauspicious.Andyouownland.Youwouldhavenotroublefindingawifewhowouldbringyouadowry.”

Raji tore up some reeds and tossed them into the river. “I don’t want tomarryahandfulof rupees.CanIcome tomyhouseat theendofaday in thefieldsandtalkwithrupees?CanIbringupmychildrenwithrupeesforamothertowatch over them?Mymaa and baap lived in the same house, but nowordpassedbetween themexceptwhenmymaaofferedasecondhelpingof rice toBaapormybaapsaidtheeggplantswerewormy.Iwanttotalktomywife.Icantalktoyou.

“I have no family butmy uncle and aunt. Surely I canmake upmy ownmind.Anyhow,Ihavetoldthemaboutyou.”Hegrinnedatme.“Besides,Ihaveneedtoimprovemyreading,andnooneinmyfamilycanread.”

Ismiledback,butnowordscame.Icouldonlysittherelookingoutacrossthe river.The setting sunwas turning thewater frombrown togold.The firststreaksofeveninglayagainsttheskylikeapurpleborderonabluesari.Ihadnever thought of marrying again. I had known that Raji would make a finehusbandforsomeluckygirl,butIcouldhardlybelievethathehadchosenmeorthathisfamilywouldacceptme.

“Atfirst,”Rajisaid,“we’dbepoor,butIhavefixedthehouseupsotherainscan’tgetin,andwewouldgrowall thefoodweneedonourland.Mycropofokraandlentilswillbringinmoney.There’sawellinthecourtyard.Ifwehavewaterandfoodandaroofoverourheads,thatisallweneed.”

Istillhadnotfoundwords,andRajistudiedme.“MaybeIshouldnothavespoken.Maybeyoudonotcareforme.”

IlookedlovinglyatRaji’sstrongshouldersandbrownskinandhisfoolish

waywardhair,whichhehadtriedtoslickdownwithcoconutoil.“Idocareforyou. Imissedyouwhenyouwereaway. Iwas in thecourtyardeveryeveninglookingforyou.”Hetookmyhand,andIdidnotpullitaway.HadInotalwaysbeen happy with Raji? I wanted to tell Raji yes, yes. But his asking hadhappened soquickly.AndwhatofmyembroideryatMr.Das’splace, andmyfriendsatMaaKamala’shouse?Icouldseemyselfintwoplaces,withRajiandinMr.Das’sworkroom,butIcouldnotseemyselfinjustoneplace.“HowcouldIgiveupmywork?”IaskedRaji.“WhatwouldIdo?”

“You’ll have the house to care for and the marketing and cooking.” In avoicesoquietIcouldhardlyhearhim,headded,“AndIsupposetherewillbechildren.”Heranhishandoverhishair,rufflingwhatwasalreadyruffled.

Icouldnot forgetmydayswithSass. Isawmyselfonceagainsweepingacourtyardandcarryingheavyjugsofwater.EvenwithoutSasstheworkwouldbehard,yetRajiandIwouldbetheretogether.“Idon’tknow,Raji,”Imanagedtogetout.“Perhapsweshouldwaitabit.”

In a disappointed voice he said, “You want to stay here and go to morepartiesatyourfriendMala’s.”

“Idon’t!IwishIhadn’ttoldyou.”“I’msorry.”Helookedmiserable.“Howlongdoyouwanttowait?”Ithoughtforabit, tryingtomakeoutwhatthisnewlifewouldbelike.At

last I said, “Not long.”When I saw the hurt look on his face, I couldn’t helpasking,“IfIdon’tcomerightaway,wouldyoufindanotherwife?”

“IhavefoundthewifeIwant.”HepulledmorereedsupuntilIthoughtthatifwedidnotleavesoon,therewouldbenoreedsleftalongtheYamunaRiver.

“It’slate,”Isaid.“MaaKamalawillwonderwhereIam.”“Butyoudon’tsayno.”Ishookmyhead.“Idon’tsayno.Givemea little time,Raji,andyeswill

come.”ThepullingupofthereedsstoppedandRajitookmyhandagain.Hehadamournfullookonhisface.Ireachedupandsmoothedhishair.“Itisonlyforashorttime,andI’llwritetoyou,”Ipromised.“Willyouwritetome?”

Witha slowsmilehe said, “Ifyoudon’t treatmy letters likea lessonandsendthembackwithredmarks.”

Eachweeka lettercamefromRaji.Someletterswerenomore thana fewsentences,but somewenton formanypages to tellmehow theblossomshadcomeout on the lentils andhow thewater fromhiswellwas sweet andgoodtasting.

InoneletterRajiwrotethathehadplantedatamarindtreeinthecourtyard.“ItsaysintheVedas,‘Hewhoplantsatreewillhavehisreward.’Howsoonwillmyrewardcome?”

Oftenhetoldmeofthebirdshehadseen,thehawksandfalconsandonceaneagle.Intheeveningstherewerefirefliesinthecourtyard,andhecouldhearthecriesofthenightjarsastheycircledoverhead.BecauseRajiwasafarmer,everylettertoldoftheweather.

Inmy replies toRaji I toldhimhowoften I thoughtofhim. Ihardlyevermentionedtheweather,fortheredidn’tseemtobemuchofitinthecity.Itwasvery hot or itwasn’t. The seasonswere hidden behind all the houses and thetrafficonthestreets.TanuandIhadmovedoutofthewidows’houseandnowhadaroomofourownwithonlyonesmallwindowandnocourtyard.Forustheweatherhaddisappearedaltogether.

Wehadleftthewidows’housesheddingtearsandclingingtoMaaKamala.“Youarewomennowandmustmakeroomforotherwidowshere,”shegentlychidedus.“Onlydon’tforgetus.”Thereweretearsinhereyesaswell.

As I saw the fearful looks of the widows who were to take our place, Irealizedhowmuch thingshadchanged forme. Ihad friendsandasecure job,andnowIhadRaji.ButifImarriedRaji,wouldIhavetogiveupmyfriends?Mywork?Ilayawakeatnighttryingtosortitallout.

TanuandIwereproudofhavingourownplace.Weputpicturesfromoldmagazinesonthewallandboughttwocharpoysandasmallhotplatetocookon.Theentrancetoourbuildingwasoffanarrowalley.Fourfamilieslivedinourbuilding,andweallsharedatoiletandafaucetwherewegotourwateranddidourwashing.

Atfirstitwasexcitingtohavearoomofourown,butIsoontiredofit.ItwasthebeginningofMay,anditseemedthemonsoonwouldnevercome.Therewasnobreathofair.Dustfromthestreetcoveredeverything.IfItookmyeyesfromthem,thewallsofourroomcreptcloserandclosertomeuntilIthoughtIwouldsuffocate.Icouldgoupontotheroof,but thecorrugatedtinburnedmyfeet.InthestreettherewereahundredotherpeoplebreathingintheairIneeded.Therewerenonightjarsorfirefliesorhawkstobeseen.IbegantolongforRajiandhisvillage.

Ieagerlyawaitedhisletters.Thetamarindtreewasdoingwellandonedaywouldshadethecourtyard.Hehadmadeshutterstokeepouttherainswhentheycame,andhewasworkingonasurpriseforme.Tanuteasedme.“Youwillwearthelettersoutwithallthefoldingandunfolding.”

At the workroom tempers were short because of the heat. There wereargumentsoverthesharingofscissorsorwhowastohavetheplacewiththebest

light.Eventhesheerestmuslinlayhotandheavyonourlaps.Mr.Dassaidwewere behind schedule, and his customers were complaining. He was alwaysscoldingMala,whowascominginlaterandlater.SheonlytossedherheadandspokeofhowMr.Guptawasafterhertoworkforhim.

Itwasonadaysohot thatwehadtowipeoursweatyhandsonaclothtokeepthemfromsoilingourworkthatMalawasfired.

One of the women was embroidering a wedding sari, coiling gold threadalongitsbordersandfasteningitwiththetinieststitchesimaginable.

“You haven’t given me enough gold thread to finish the sari,” shecomplainedtoMr.Das.Allthegoldthreadwaskeptlockedinacupboard.OnlyMr.Dashadthekey.

Mr. Das looked puzzled. “Yes, yes. You are mistaken. I put a new skeinbesideyouonlyanhourago.Youhavemislaidthethread,”heinsisted.“Thatisnowaytotreatsomethingsovaluable.Itmustbesomewhere.Lookcarefully.”

Thewomanstoodupandshookoutherclothesandthesarishewasworkingon.Inapuzzledvoiceshesaid,“Thereisnothreadhere.”

TheShrewwaswatching. She said, “Look inMala’s purse.”Therewas asatisfiedsmirkonherface.

WealllookedatMala.Shesnatchedatherpurse,butbeforeshecouldreachit,Mr.Dashaditinhishandandwasopeningit.Malasprangathim,shriekingthathehadnobusinesswithherproperty.Asshegrabbedthepurse,theskeinofgoldthreadfellout.Noonemadeasound.

“Youarefinishedhere,”Mr.Dassaid,breaking thesilence.“GoandworkforGupta.Itwillbringhimnothingbuttrouble.”

IwasangrywithMalaanddisgustedwithherstealing.Yetapartofmewassorryforher.Allherbeautyandclevernesswerewasted.Whathadhappenedtoherwaslikethebreakingofafinevase.

Thatevening,toforgetthescenewithMala,IconvincedTanutowalkdownto the riverwhereRajiandIhadgone. IwasmissingRajimoreeachdayandthoughtseeingtheriverwouldbringhimcloser.

AsIhadhoped,thethoughtsofMalabegantofade.ButTanuwasacitygirl,andalltheopenspacearoundtherivermadehernervous,sowesoonreturnedtoourlittleroom.Apartofmereturned,butmuchofmestayedwiththeriverandthekingfisherandtheheronandthememoriesofmytimestherewithRaji.

In June a letter came from Raji with wonderful news. “My surprise isfinished,”hewrote.“Ihavebuiltalittleroominthehouseyoucankeepjustforyourembroidering. Ithas twobigwindowssoyouhave thesunupanddown.Fromonewindowyouwill see the courtyard and the tamarind tree.From theotherwindowyouwillseethefieldswhereIwork.”

ItwasnotonlytheroomthatbroughttearstomyeyesbuttheideaofaroomformetakingshapeinRaji’smind,andthenbeingbuiltwithhishands.Mylastdoubtsaboutthemarriageflewfrommelikeaflockofbirdsstartingupfromafieldtobelostinthedistance.

IthoughtoftenoftheroomRajihadbuiltforme.Therewouldbenosoundofautomobilesormotorcyclesorbuses. Instead, Iwouldhear therustleof theleavesofthetamarindtreeandthesoundofthebirdsthatnestedthere.Iwouldputupwhitemuslincurtainsthatwouldflutterwhenthebreezesblewacrossthefields.MysonwouldbeinthefieldshelpingRaji.Mydaughterwouldsitbesidemeintheroom,asmallscrapofclothandaneedleandthreadinherhand.

Once again I began a quilt formydowry.My first quiltwas stitched as Iworried about my marriage to Hari, the second in sorrow at Hari’s death.Chandra’s quilt was stitched to celebrate her happiness. This time as Iembroidered,Ithoughtonlyofmyownjoy.“Whenit’sfinished,”IwroteRaji,“we’ll be married.” In the middle of the quilt, spreading its branches in alldirections,Iputatamarindtreetoremindmeofthetreeinmymaaandbaap’scourtyardandthetreeinthehomeIwasgoingto.IstitchedMr.Das,Mrs.Devi,MaaKamala,andTanu.TherewasevenaplaceonthequiltforMala,thoughIhadheardshewasnolongeratMr.Gupta’s.IstitchedarickshawandRajiinthefieldsandmeembroideringintheroomRajihadmadeforme.AroundthequiltforaborderIputtheYamunaRiver,withreedsandheronsbesideit.

OnedayIconfidedmyplanstoMr.Das.Iknewtherewerewomenwhosenttheir work in to him and hoped I might do the same. At first Mr. Das wasdistressedatmynews,butsoonhisblackeyesflashedwithexcitement.

“Whyshouldyounotbehappywithyourhusbandandhome?”hesaid.“Iremember the boy waiting for you outside the store. Very polite boy. Full ofenergy. I could tell that from the way he paced back and forth.With such ahusbandyouwillnevergohungry.ButKoly,youmustnotstopyourwork.Doesheunderstandthat?”

ItoldMr.DasabouttheroomRajihadbuiltforme.“Ah, that is good.Every fewmonthsyouwill come to seeme, and Iwill

giveyouworktotakebacktoyourroom.Butwillyounothaveahousetocarefor?Mealstocook?Childrenwhiningforthisorthat?Willyouhavetimeforthework?”

“I’llmake time,” I promised. “Thehousewill not alwaysbe so clean, thecookingmaybealittlehasty,andthewhiningchildrenwillsitonmylapandI’llsingtothemwhileIwork.”

Mr.Daslaughed.“Ifyoumakethatapromise,I’llgiveyouasariforyourdowry.”

Tanuwasn’t taking the news ofmy leaving sowell. “You are lucky,” shesaid, and her voice was bitter. “Where will I find a man who will marry awidow?Andwhowill takeyourplacehereandpaysomuchrent?”BecauseImademoremoneythanTanudid,Ipaidagreatershare.AtMaaKamala’splacewe learnedof twogirlswhowere lookingfora room,and theywerehappy tojoinTanu.

“Still,itwon’tbethesame,”Tanusaid.As much as I was looking forward to mymarriage, I knew howmuch I

wouldmissTanu.“I’llseeyouwhenIbringmyworktoMr.Das,”Ipromised,“andyoucancomeandvisitusinthecountry.”

Tanu shook her head. “I’ll see you here, but you won’t get me near thecountry.It’sfullofsnakes.”

Therainshadcome. Inhis lettersRaji toldhowgreeneverythingwas.Hewrote proudly of how the government agent had brought other farmers to seehowwellhiscropsweredoing.Sometimes,hesaid,helookedintotheroomhehadbuiltforme,hopingtoseemethere.Howsoonwouldthequiltbefinished?

InmyanswerIwrotethatthequiltwasalmostdone.“Nomorethanaweekorso,”Ipromised.MoreandmoremythoughtsflewtoRaji,andIstayeduplateintheevenings,finishingthequilt.

AtMr.Das’sworkshopwelistenedtotherainbeatsteadilyonthetinroof.Weweresnugandcomfortableinourworkroom,teachingoneanotherstitches,tradinggossip,tellingoneanotherourplans.Theworkroomandthewomeninithadbecomeapartofme.AllthewhileIstitched,IthoughtofhowluckyIhadbeentofindRaji,andhowwithouthimmylifewouldhavebeenverydifferent.EveninmyhappinessmythoughtssometimeswanderedtoSass.Ithoughtthatbecauseofhersharptongueandunlovingways,shewouldnotfindawelcomeinherbrother’shome.PoorSass.

Mr.DasmusthavetoldMrs.Devi thatIwas tobemarried.Thenext timeshe came to the store, she said to Mr. Das, “I must have the first sari Kolyembroidersinhernewhome.Youwillgiveheralengthofking’smuslintotakewithher.”Shesmiledatme.“Koly,willyoufindsomethingfortheborderinoneofTagore’spoems?”

ImmediatelyIknewthat itwouldbethehomelessbird,flyingat last toitshome.

author’snote

KolyspeaksHindi,which isoneofmany languagesspoken in India.Herearedefinitionsofsomeofthewordsyouwillfindinthisbook.

baap:father.bahus:daughter-in-law.bhagat:apractitioneroffolkmedicine.bhang:leavesandflowersofthehempplant.Brahman:thehighestHinducaste.caste:asocialrankordivisionintowhichHindusocietyisdivided.chapati:unleavenedbreadbakedonagriddle.charpoy:awoodenbedframelacedwithrope.choli:ashort-sleevedblousewornunderasari.chula:astoveofbakedclaysometimeswithatinoven.dal(ordhal):aspicedsauceofpureedlentils.darshan:experiencingareligiousfeelingbybeingexposedtoasacred

objectorplacesuchastheGangesRiver.gataka:apersonwhoarrangesmarriages.ghat:widestepsusuallyleadingdowntoariver.ghee:butterthathasbeenheatedandhadthemilkysubstancepoured

off.kameez:along,looseshirt.kautuka:ayellowwoolenthreadwornbyabridearoundherwrist.kohl:apowderusedasaneyelinerandtodarkentheeyebrows.Krishna:aHindugod.kurtapajama:alongshirtandloosepants.lassi:adrinkmadewithyogurtandfruitsandspices.Iceisoften

added.maa:mother.mantra:awordorphraserepeatedorsungoverandover,oftenasa

religiousdevotion.masala:ablendofspicessuchascinnamon,saffron,cloves,

peppercorns,andcumingroundtogethertoflavorfood.namaskar:agreetingaccompaniedbyholdingthepalmstogetherat

chestleveltogreetequalsandattheforeheadforsomeonewhoisgreatlyhonored.

phul-khana:atraditionalweddingveil.poori:breadthathasbeenfriedinhotoiluntilitpuffs.It’soften

stuffedwithvegetablesandspices.puja:aHinduceremonyofreligiousworship.Rama:aHindugod.rupee:aunitofmoney;about43rupeesareequaltotoday’sAmerican

dollar.sadhu:aholyman.salwar:looseslacks.samosa:alittleturnover;samosasaremadewithavarietyoffillings.sari:alengthofcloth,traditionally6meters,wrappedtomakeaskirt

andthendrapedovertheshoulderandthehead.sass:mother-in-law.sassur:father-in-law.shikanji:adrinkoflimeandgingerjuice.sitar:astringedinstrument.tabla:asetoftwodrums.tali:atray.tikkamark:aroundvermilionmarkpaintedontheforehead,symbolof

thethirdeyeofwisdom;alsoakindofbeautymark.TheVedas:theHindusacredwritings.wallah:apersonwhoisincharge;oftensomeonewhohassomething

forsale.

Rabindranath Tagore (1861–1941) was one of India’s greatestpoets. Tagore also wrote plays and stories, composed music, andworked for India’s independence from Great Britain. In 1913 hereceivedtheNobelPrizeforliterature.

AbouttheAuthor

GloriaWhelan is a poet and an award-winning authorwho haswrittenmanybooks for young readers, including THE INDIAN SCHOOL; ONCE ON THIS ISLAND,whichwonthe1996GreatLakesBookAward;FAREWELLTOTHEISLAND;RETURNTOTHEISLAND;andMIRANDA’SLASTSTAND.Sheliveswithherhusband,Joseph,inthewoodsofnorthernMichigan.

Visitwww.AuthorTracker.comforexclusiveinformationonyourfavoriteHarperCollinsauthor.

PRAISEFORHomelessBird

“Gracefulandevocative.”—TheNewYorkTimesBookReview

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“Kidswilllikelyenjoy[the]dramaticviewofanendangeredadolescenceand

cheerKoly’shard-wonvictories.”—PublishersWeekly

“Aninsightful,beautifullywritten,culturallyilluminatingtale.”

—ALABooklist(starredreview)“Whelan’swritingislyricalandfilledwithevocativeimages.Thisdiminutive

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—RiverbankReview“Whelanembroidersdetailsandtraditionsintoanartfulcontemporarynovelthat

isastexturedandseamlessasherheroine’sneedlework.”—SchoolLibraryJournal

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love.”—TheBookReport(starredreview)

“HomelessBirdisdazzlingfromcovertocover.”

—TheFiveOwls

“Vividlyrealized.”—KirkusReviews(pointerreview)

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AnALABestBookforYoungAdultsASchoolLibraryJournalBestBook

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AlsobyGloriaWhelan

ANGELONTHESQUARETHEINDIANSCHOOL

MIRANDA’SLASTSTAND

TheIslandTrilogy: ONCEONTHISISLAND

FAREWELLTOTHEISLANDRETURNTOTHEISLAND

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Copyright

HOMELESSBIRD.Copyright©2000byGloriaWhelan.AllrightsreservedunderInternational and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of therequiredfees,youhavebeengrantedthenon-exclusive,non-transferablerighttoaccess and read the text of this e-bookon-screen.Nopart of this textmaybereproduced,transmitted,down-loaded,decompiled,reverseengineered,orstoredinorintroducedintoanyinformationstorageandretrievalsystem,inanyformorbyanymeans,whetherelectronicormechanical,nowknownorhereinafterinvented,withouttheexpresswrittenpermissionofHarperCollinse-books.

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