The Wedding Drums

by Marilyn Rodwell

  Devinia’s eyes filled with tears as she remembered her mother’s stories, but she worried about where this conversation was leading. She had to protect her daughter. Sankar was much older than she was, already owning his jewellery business when her parents married her to him. It was the custom to send a young bride to her husband’s home before puberty, to stop them bringing dishonour to the family. But Sankar lived in his house all alone. So in the absence of a mother-in-law to take charge of Devinia’s upbringing, she was kept at home and sent to him after puberty, missing out on an education.

  ‘If we make the promise now, the gods will look on us favourably,’ Sankar said.

  ‘But I already promised her! I thought you wanted the best for our child.’

  ‘Which is why I work so hard. We have a responsibility. Reading English stories and singing Mr Worthward’s poetry about daffodils is not who we are. You must teach her to read Sanskrit.’

  ‘Shh! She will hear you. And it is Mr Wordsworth who writes the poems.’

  ‘How do you know about Mr Werdwert?’ He looked at Amina lying on the bed under the brown blanket, asleep, clutching the book to her chest. ‘Let her hear me!’ he yelled. ‘Mark my words, she will be married inside a year. I will take her out of school. She will not get her own way on this.’

  SIX

  Devinia waited some weeks before asking Pundit Lall to conduct another puja, so as not to annoy her husband. Almost every god had already had their turn. The top right-hand corner of the yard looked like Commonwealth Headquarters with the colourful array of jhandi flags flying in the wind – pink, red, white, yellow, blue – each representing a different god.

  Amina spent the whole puja wondering what she was missing or what was wrong, because Pundit Lall winked at her more than once and the girl didn’t know why. Once she winked back at him just to be polite, but he frowned and looked at her sternly.

  ‘Do you think there is a god at all?’ she asked her mother after the puja.

  Devinia raised an eyebrow.

  ‘These pictures on the Almanac, are they real? Has anyone seen one move, or talk?’

  Amina continued.

  ‘You and your father have me confused.’

  ‘I was only thinking,’ Amina said.

  ‘Too much thinking! Your father is already saying . . .’

  ‘I heard him shouting. I wasn’t asleep. You cannot do this to me, Ma. You will be sorry.’ The girl’s voice was passionate. ‘You will make me do something you will regret.’

  Devinia turned away, torn between her daughter and husband. But also between their own Hindu culture and the new confused mix of English, African, Spanish, Muslim, Hindu, Irish, Portuguese-all-in-one-curry-Creole-stew-and-rice around them.

  ‘What am I supposed to do?’ she appealed. ‘If you heard him, you should know it’s not easy for me.’

  ‘And what about Etwar? Are you going to force him to marry too? When, exactly?’

  Devinia picked up a piece of coconut husk and busied herself scrubbing the pots with ash, her head in turmoil, and her heart wracked with guilt. She had burdened the boy with worries and chores before sending him away. He never complained, but she worried it would weaken him and cause illness. She longed to see him and check his face, the lines round his mouth, the dimple on his chin, and the look in his eyes. It would tell her all she needed to know.

  ‘I miss him,’ she murmured, as she stared at the black, greasy ash on her hands.

  The quarrelling downstairs was probably the worst thing for Amina, apart from the typhoid she had suffered. She closed her eyes tight and called on Mr Clifford’s God to make her parents stop. Suddenly it did stop, which shocked her. But then she heard different, unfamiliar voices calling in the yard.

  Amina jumped. She climbed out of bed and pushed the window open. It was Etwar and her aunt. She’d brought him back. Her mother was pulling Etwar to her and hugging him tight. Etwar struggled free and she could hear him running up the wooden steps. He appeared at her door and Amina put her arms out to him.

  ‘I wished it,’ she said, happily.

  ‘I couldn’t stay away any longer,’ he said. His voice was half husky. He was growing up.

  ‘They’ve started quarrelling a lot,’ she said. ‘When you go back to school, will you ask Mr Clifford to send me a new book? I want something different.’

  ‘I missed you,’ he said.

  ‘You got taller. And your voice – sounds froggy.’ She laughed at him. Etwar jumped on the bed and pretended to fight her, but when Devinia came upstairs, her children were side by side, sitting on the bed chatting.

  Amina was in bed reading when Dr Boyle visited.

  ‘Where’s that blue book you couldn’t let go of?’ he asked.

  Amina pulled it out from under her pillow.

  ‘You carry that around like a doll.’ He scrutinised her face. ‘I think you’re well enough to have friends come to visit. I’ll tell your mother.’

  As soon as the doctor left, Amina sent Etwar to tell Sumati, who arrived the same afternoon.

  ‘Looking good, girl,’ her friend said breezily. ‘Last time I saw you, your face was so white it was nearly blue!’

  Amina looked into Sumati’s eyes. ‘Something’s wrong, Sumati. What is it?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just I’m thinking about that lunchtime when you left school and never came back. I didn’t realise you were so ill.’

  ‘Well I’m better now, so tell me what’s really on your mind.’

  Sumati bit her lip. ‘It’s Chandrawatti. She’s expecting.’

  ‘Expecting what?’

  ‘A child of course! She got married a few months ago.’

  ‘I forgot. She should have stayed on at school. But what about you?’

  ‘I always got you in trouble,’ Sumati reminisced. ‘Do you remember that time I pinned a tail on Mr Maggotty’s trousers? And you told him that a jackass was following him. He looked round but never saw the tail. That still makes me giggle.’

  They both burst out laughing.

  ‘Should we be laughing?’ Amina said eventually.

  ‘Maybe not. But if you want to cry, go ahead. Me – I’ve no tears left. The funeral was horrible. The box was shut because she stank. We could smell it from . . .’

  Tears welled up in Amina’s eyes. ‘I woke up this morning feeling angry. I can’t cry when I’m angry. It eats me inside. But I’m so grateful for everything and everyone who helped me. I feel guilty, being angry. I’m back from the dead, and I have to be thankful for that.’

  ‘You look different. Your eyes – they’re like lights.’

  Amina turned serious. ‘We have to do something about our parents marrying us off before we even have a say. It’s not right. Our life is finished before it has even started.’

  ‘You’re all right, Amina. Your parents are not like the rest.’

  ‘Sumati, I remember you saying your Pa was ruining your life. How? Talk to me.’

  The other girl sighed. ‘Did I say that? Well, they’re forcing me to get married to some old man with two children. I put off the last one, who wasn’t that bad-looking. I wasn’t going to let them marry me off without a fight. But now it’s even worse. How can they do this to me? It’s as if they’re desperate to get rid of me.’

  ‘Money is short, that’s why. They think you need someone else to look after you. It’s what they all think. My parents are better off, which is why they promised I could stay on at school. But now, my father has changed his mind.’

  ‘What? You’re joking.’ Sumati began to laugh, but when Amina looked at Sumati, she was actually crying. ‘There’s no hope for me if your parents are forcing you to marry.’

  ‘Listen, Sumati, I’m not doing it. I meant what I said in my letter. Every word.’

  ‘But what can we do? And how?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not God.’

  ‘God?’ Sumati looked at Amina, confused. ‘Which one?’

  ‘School God. Mr Clifford’s God. It’s
the one that got them out of slavery, and it got him to be a teacher and a headmaster. He said there’s a big story about him and God. And I must ask him about that.’

  ‘Mr Clifford doesn’t think we have a god,’ Sumati said. ‘He told us in school assembly. Although he admitted he likes the puja food.’ Sumati looked sad. ‘I don’t know what to do. But I can’t live with this hanging over me. I wish I could run away.’

  ‘That won’t help anyone. We need a plan. And we must support each other for any chance of it working.’

  Both girls sat quietly for a while, thinking. Sumati began to giggle.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m remembering the boy they brought,’ Sumati said. ‘The first one. Every time he looked at me, I looked back at him like this.’ She crossed both eyeballs towards her nose. ‘And I was right! He didn’t care about me or who I was. I want somebody who will care about me. Like Elizabeth Bennet. And I want my Mr Darcy.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Oh don’t worry, Amina. When you get back to school Mr Clifford’s bound to make you read Pride and Prejudice. It’s a book about a white English family arranging marriages for their daughters. If you think it’s only Indians who do that, you’re wrong.’

  ‘I suspect that they weren’t marrying off their ten-year-old daughters though.’

  ‘Well, no,’ Sumati conceded. ‘But the daughters wanted to fall in love – like I do. Choose someone when I am ready.’

  ‘That’s the important thing. When you are ready. Everybody cannot be ready at the same time – like cows that are ready for milking. Seriously, Sumati. They don’t have feelings, nor do they fall in love with a bull, do they? I want to read this Pride and Prejudice. Will you ask Mr Clifford to lend it to me?’

  ‘I’ll tell him tomorrow. He’ll know you’re getting better if you want to read about Mr Darcy.’ They both burst out in hysterics, bringing Devinia running upstairs. She peeked inside the bedroom, was reassured, then left again.

  ‘It’s the first time I’ve enjoyed myself so much in months.’ Sumati sighed. ‘And by the look on your mother’s face just now, you haven’t laughed for a long time either.’

  ‘They’re arguing a lot,’ Amina whispered. ‘I can’t wait to go back to school. ‘Something’s changed, I know it has. I heard my father threatening to marry me off but my mother argued back. It looks like you and me are in the same boat. But our parents are not going to succeed. We mustn’t let them. We must make a pact.’

  ‘I’ll go and get a blade and we’ll join our blood.’

  ‘Until we do, let’s join fingers.’ Amina picked up Sumati’s hand.

  The two friends linked their little fingers together and swore. ‘Sisters forever,’ they said in unison.

  SEVEN

  The boys from the village were bathing and talking at the standpipe one evening. Etwar, now as tall as his mother, and with the same green eyes, high cheekbones and strong jaw, glared at them. He was anxious about his sister, and they were talking about her.

  ‘Some Standard Six boys were discussing you at the standpipe,’ he said to Amina when he returned home. ‘Rajnath Kamalsingh, Farouk Ali, and some others.’

  ‘I don’t know any Standard Six boys,’ Amina snapped.

  ‘Yes, you do. Some of them play cricket for the school team. And it’s not the first time they asked about you either.’

  Amina frowned. ‘How would I know who plays cricket? I only knew there’s a team because Mr Clifford mentions it in morning assembly when they’ve won.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘You’re falling asleep.’

  ‘Etwar, will you ask Ma if I could have some cocoa tea?’

  ‘You’re allowed that?’

  ‘Dr Boyle said I could start having some sweeter drinks, so long as they’re boiled and watery. And ask her if she could rub my head? I have a headache.’

  ‘All right. By the way, your friend Sumati seems to know those boys well. Too well if you ask me, by the way she was strutting up to them by the standpipe.’

  ‘Why are you saying that?’

  ‘Ramona’s mother was there. Meena. She called Sumati a bad name for swinging her hips so much that the water was falling out of the bucket on her head.’

  ‘She doesn’t like Sumati. But Sumati doesn’t care what anybody thinks.’

  ‘She’s not like you at all then.’

  ‘Just get Ma!’ Annoyed, Amina yelled so loudly it made Etwar jump.

  The following day, Sumati called on Amina on her way to the standpipe.

  ‘She’s perkier today,’ Devinia said. ‘That laughing yesterday must have done her good. Go up and see her.’

  Sumati pushed open the door and found Amina sitting bolt upright in bed.

  ‘Mr Clifford sent this book for you,’ Sumati told her. ‘He said he’ll come over.’

  ‘William Wordsworth!’ Amina exclaimed. ‘I like poems.’

  ‘You look better.’ Sumati sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Have you thought of a plan yet? I don’t know what to do. I can’t even think about having children of my own, let alone looking after somebody else’s.’

  ‘I can’t get that out of my mind either,’ Amina said. ‘Where did they find this man?’

  ‘Somewhere up near Port of Spain. It sounds good, but it’s not.’

  ‘Is he rich or something? Or is it that nobody round here knows him?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘What about the grandparents? And the wife?’

  ‘She died. Don’t know about any grandparents.’ Sumati looked round furtively at the doorway. ‘I’ve something to tell you.’ She breathed in deeply. ‘I’m in love.’

  ‘In love?’ Amina gulped. ‘How d’you know?’

  ‘I just do.’

  ‘So do you think you love this old man? Or his money? Strange, but that’s your problem solved. What happened to our pact? That didn’t last long, did it?’

  ‘It’s more complicated than that. That’s not what I meant. I’m in love with a boy.’

  ‘What boy?’

  ‘Farouk Ali.’

  ‘A Muslim?’ Amina looked horrified. ‘You are in so much trouble now. Does your father know this?’

  ‘No! And my parents are not going to find out either.’

  ‘Don’t tell them then. It’ll pass.’

  ‘You mean like a cold?’

  ‘Yes! Like a really bad cold. But I hope it doesn’t turn into consumption!’

  Sumati began to snigger nervously, which started them both laughing, so loudly that Devinia stopped sweeping the sand in the yard outside and looked up at her daughter’s window, smiling properly for the first time in months.

  ‘How do you know you’re in love?’ Amina asked curiously.

  ‘My stomach starts to churn when I see him. Or even think about him – like now.

  He’s on the cricket team. He’s got nice big hands and is good looking. Square-jawed. Straight white teeth. Remember him?’

  Amina shrugged. ‘You could be talking about any of the big boys in school. I never notice them.’

  ‘Well, that’s the difference between us. We’re like dahi and sugar – sour and sweet.’

  ‘I expect you’re saying I am the sour one.’

  ‘Or cocoa tea and condensed milk then.’

  ‘And I’m the bitter one? Don’t forget that dahi must have sugar to taste good, and cocoa tea is nothing without condensed milk.’

  Devinia heard them talking and rushed upstairs with two bowlfuls of dahi. ‘The cow’s giving too much milk these days,’ she said. ‘It’s good for your stomach.’ She laid the bowls and spoons down on the chest and left the room again.

  ‘You’re allowed to eat dahi?’ Sumati asked.

  ‘No. The doctor said boiled milk, and the dahi milk is made with raw milk.’

  ‘I’ll eat both then,’ Sumati said, already spooning the thick curds into her mouth.

  ‘You’re still keeping something from me,’ Amina said. ‘What is it?’

 
; Sumati looked ready to explode. She shuffled close to Amina under the blanket, leg to leg, arm to arm, cheek to cheek.

  ‘Promise me on your mother’s life that you won’t tell anybody,’ she hissed.

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘Farouk wants me to meet him somewhere!’

  ‘Sumati,’ Amina said solemnly, ‘promise me you won’t do that. If somebody sees you, you will look like a bad girl. That is all it takes for people to call you a bad name.’

  ‘I don’t even have to do anything for Meena to call me that.’

  ‘I heard. But if you meet Farouk, who knows where it will end? Please. I thought we made a pact to put a stop to this child marriage thing?’

  ‘I’m not getting married. I only said he asked me to meet him.’

  ‘Don’t make our parents right about marrying us off so young. They’re afraid we will bring shame on the family.’

  ‘I’ll never do that,’ Sumati wheedled. ‘Nobody will see us. I only want a bit of fun, that’s all.’

  ‘You have to think beyond a little bit of fun.’

  ‘Gosh, listen to you!’ Sumati said.

  ‘What about fulfilment in your life?’ Amina went on.

  ‘Now you’re sounding like old Clifford.’

  ‘I don’t care, Sumati. All our parents marry off their girl children, without thinking that the world has changed. We want the change. They can’t see that even when it leads to tragedies such as Moonia’s suicide, rape, beatings, and girls being crippled for life.’

  ‘Amina, you are right. I said you had a good brain. That will be wasted if they marry you off. Your mother has a good brain too, but she didn’t get a chance to use it.’

  ‘My mother married my father when she was only five years old. He was twenty! She never even had the chance to go to school.’

  ‘I don’t want to end up like my mother,’ Sumati said. ‘Although she’s not stupid either. But she does everything for us. Never herself. Pa comes home drunk and calls her the nastiest names. Says he will slash her face so no man will ever want her. Threatens to strangle her if a man even looks at her. It’s so unfair. My mother is the kindest person I know. I want to be like her – but not married to a man like my father.’