by Payal Doshi
Rea unclasped it and gazed at the charcoal sketch inside. It was the only picture she had of her Baba. He had died when Rohan and she were babies, and whenever she asked what had happened to him, Amma and Bajai evaded her questions. But once, in a rare moment, Bajai let slip that Baba used to call Amma ‘his precious petal.’ Times like these, when Rea felt alone, she turned to the dark strokes of her Baba’s face. Through his eyes, she felt his embrace and imagined him smiling at her.
“Stop daydreaming,” Amma hissed.
Rea hid the locket under her collar and gave Amma a dirty look. The supervisor blew his whistle. Another hour had passed.
“Amma, I’m tired.” Rea huffed out a breath and let her shoulders drop. Most of it was an act, but the muscles in her arms were beginning to tense. “I want to go home.”
“Stop complaining.”
“This isn’t fair. I saw Bajai in the morning. Her back looked fine to me. I don’t care what you say, the next time I’m going to—”
Amma grabbed her. “Not another word, you hear me?”
Rea stared at her in surprise. Red squiggles had filled the whites of Amma’s eyes and her breath grew short. The tea-picking women called out, asking if everything was okay, their bright clothes flapping in the wind like tropical birds. Amma broke out of her trance and she let go of Rea. Her gaze shifted to her hands and her fingers trembled.
“Amma, are you all right?” Rea asked.
“I’m fine. My only problem is a lazy daughter who does not care enough about her family.” She bent over the tea shrubs once more. “Keep plucking,” she said.
At that moment, Rea hated her.
Chapter 2
Eleven Pakoras
The whistle rang in three short bursts, signaling the end of the workday. It was half past five in the evening, and Rea’s chance to recruit someone for her plan had long gone.
She and Amma huddled forward, making their way to the supervisor’s office. They waited in line while the plantation women grumbled about the weather and the rise in vegetable prices, biding the time until their pickings were examined and weighed. Amma peered over the rest of the tea-pickers and frowned.
“Why isn’t the line moving today?” she complained, checking her watch for the tenth time.
“It’s always this slow,” Rea said, irritated.
It wasn’t like they were expected to be anywhere. Besides, if anyone should be complaining, shouldn’t it be her?
UGH.
Everything annoyed Rea right now. Amma’s twitchiness, her upcoming birthday, the chattering women, the stench of tea and the stupid mosquito buzzing in her ear. With a smack, she crushed the bug. Blood blotted her palm, and she brusquely wiped it on her skirt.
Amma slid the basket of tea leaves off her back.
“We should get a bonus today. I’m certain we’ve exceeded our picking goal for the day.” She glanced at the sun. “If only we can get to the front of the line quicker. I wonder what’s taking so long?” She tapped the tea-picker in front of her, asking what the hold-up was. The woman, chewing on a betel leaf, shrugged.
“Well, I stink,” said Rea.
Without waiting for a reply, she skipped out of the line and ran to the public toilets. A strong whiff of urine greeted her as she walked up to the mirror, reeking of leaves, sweat and cow dung. Her skin had turned into the color of brewed tea and her black hair was bleached coppery brown from the sun. Rea made a face, seeing the frizz and knots in her curls. She scrubbed her face with spurts of water coming from the tap and by the time she was done, Amma was waiting by the door.
“Let’s go,” she said. “I’m late.”
“You’re late?” Rea reddened. “For what?”
Amma turned on her heels and started for home. She was walking so fast that Rea had to jog down the winding trails to keep up with her. One misstep and off she’d go, rolling head over heels down to the bottom of the hill. Not that Amma cares, Rea thought, sourly. Finally, they reached the main road and Rea was about to confront her when a cab driver narrowly missed plowing them over. The driver cursed loudly and whizzed his taxi past a truck carrying poles of steel.
It was rush hour in Chowk Raasta, a place where three roads met to form a junction, and it was drowning in a cacophony of whirring engines, whistling policemen and people yelling at traffic. Cars, bullock carts, scooters and jeeps waited in snaking lines. Horns shrilled, and clouds of exhaust fumes hovered. Hawkers selling fruits, toy planes, umbrellas, sunshields, firecrackers and freshly roasted peanuts in paper cones knocked on windows, singing slogans to tired passengers in hopes of a sale. Rea took in the scent of roasted peanuts. Her mouth watered; she hadn’t eaten in hours, and her stomach growled. Amma would never spend the money on such a treat. Scowling at her mother’s back, Rea eyed the peanuts. How she had to resist the urge to grab a cone and make a run for it!
As they hustled through the chaos, Amma kept an eye on the sun inching below the Himalayas.
“Stop walking so fast,” panted Rea, turning into the gully that led to their village. A few locals walked alongside them, tired and wilted at the end of the day.
“Once we get home, I want you to stay inside with Rohan and lock the door. Understood?”
“But we never lock the door.” Rea couldn’t imagine anyone in their right mind wanting to rob them. There were things so old in their house, she’d willingly give them to a thief. “Besides, I’m going to meet Leela.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am.”
Amma grabbed Rea’s hand and marched towards their house. Brightly colored lanterns hung from their neighbors’ doors and fairy lights twinkled, casting hued shadows over the darkening road. The village had begun adorning herself for Diwali.
“Stop!” Rea cried, yanking her hand away. “What am I supposed to do at home? Bajai will be watching her TV shows. Rohan will be reading his book. What do I do? Stare at the walls?”
Amma grabbed Rea again, more gently this time. “You can do whatever you want next week. I won’t say a word, okay? But tonight, I need you to promise me that you’ll stay home.”
A sad desperation filled Amma’s face and Rea meekly lowered her head. Together, they walked a few steps to a huddle of colorful rectangular houses. The town of Meruk was nestled over four thousand feet high in the hills of Darjeeling, but Rea’s village didn’t have an official name. Some referred to it as Tombu because of the Tombu Tea Estate that employed most of its inhabitants, while others simply pointed in its general direction.
Amma stopped before their house. She turned to face Rea, her expression inscrutable.
“Stay inside and lock the door.”
“Where are you going?” Rea pestered.
“I have to work.”
“Where?”
“Stop hassling me, Rea. Go inside.”
“No. Tell me or I won’t move from here no matter what you do.” Rea buried her shoes into the ground, her final attempt at not surrendering.
“I have—” Amma glanced at the failing light. “I have to go. The Mishras need me to clean their house. I’ll be back in two hours. Now, go.”
Rea wanted to remind Amma that she no longer had a job at the Mishras, but she knew better than to push her mother when the vein above her temple pulsed. Leaving Amma standing there, she slumped up their front steps.
The Chettri home stood out from the other houses because of its pomegranate-pink walls and the blue tarp that covered its roof. Even before entering the house, Rea could smell it. When Bajai was not sweeping, she was in the kitchen cooking, and the smell of food perpetually lingered. In winter, the walls turned cold, making it cooler inside the house than outside. To keep warm, they’d light a fire next to a patch of green Bajai called her garden. Although Rea had to admit, Bajai grew and tended to the most beautiful flowers.
Rea opened the door and stepped inside. She looked back over her shoulder at Amma. Her mother was standing in the street, watching her. Their eyes met, and she made an impatient gesture for Re
a to close the door.
Rea rolled her eyes and shut the door, forgetting to lock it, despite Amma’s orders. The next second, she slipped off her shoes, ran to the front window, and peeped out. Amma was scurrying down the road. Rea’s eyes narrowed as her mother hurried in the direction opposite the Mishras’ house. Something didn’t feel right. Actually, a lot didn’t.
Rea turned and sat down on their old couch, her mind clicking and spinning as it catalogued the mystery of Amma. She looked over at Rohan, who was still sprawled on the mattress on the floor, watching TV—he hadn’t moved since he got home from school.
“Baccha, you’re home!” Bajai said from the kitchen. She was enveloped in a haze of cooking steam. “Where’s Amma?”
“She had errands to run. She’ll be back soon.”
“Very well,” said Bajai and walked over to the front door. She drew the latch, locking the door.
“Is everything okay?” asked Rea. They only ever drew the latch before going to bed at night. But now both Amma and Bajai suddenly wanted it locked during the day. It was strange.
“Of course, everything is fine. You two blossoms are the world to me. You know that, right?”
Rea smiled half-heartedly. Bajai was acting weird as well, but she needed to focus on where Amma was running off to. Before Rea could think of her next move, Bajai brought out a plate of fried pakoras and Rohan sprang up like a dog awoken by the scent of food. He reached out and grabbed one, his eyes glinting greedily as he popped it into his mouth.
“Is it good?” their grandmother asked, a sparkle in her eyes.
“It’s amaaaazing,” he said, taking the plate from her. Without offering Rea a single pakora, he ate all eleven of them and burped loudly. “Oh, Bajai.” He patted his stomach. “I’m going to sleep like a bear in hibernation tonight. Not even a bulldozer will wake me up.”
Bajai chuckled and Rea scoffed. She knew Rohan’s lies better than anyone.
Rea glanced out the window again, but Amma was gone. It bothered her how her mother could lie to her face and leave. Why was it so easy for everyone to do that? Rohan, now Amma. Did they hate her so much that they didn’t care if she found out? She was practically twelve, not a child who could be distracted with made-up stories.
Rea decided, right there, if she wanted them to stop treating her like she didn’t matter, she was going to have to stand up for herself. Today was the day neither Amma nor Rohan were going to get away with fooling her. But, first, she was going to find out why Amma was lying, and then later tonight she was going to make Rohan answer for himself by showing up at the cricket match.
Satisfied with her plan, Rea walked over to her school bag and took out the first notebook she could find. It was her history notebook. Oh, history, I wish I could say I felt bad about this, she thought, as she ripped a piece of paper from the last page.
“Um, Bajai, I need to go to Leela’s house to work on a school project.”
Her grandmother looked at the clock. Rea could tell she was about to say no.
“Er... Amma said I could go.”
“Amma said yes?”
Rea nodded quickly.
“I suppose schoolwork is important. But be home for dinner. I’ve made your favorite egg thukpa.”
Rea caught a whiff of the brewing noodle soup and gave Bajai a quick kiss on the cheek. Before leaving, she wrote on the torn scrap of paper, ‘Meet outside our houses at 11:45PM for Rohan and my birthday cricket match.’
“What’s that?” asked Rohan, craning his neck to see the paper. His breath smelled of pakoras.
“None of your business,” snapped Rea. She folded the paper in her hand, smugly pleased that her response had surprised him.
Rohan watched her slip on her shoes and walk towards the door.
“Did Amma really give you permission to go to Leela’s house? She told me I couldn’t go out tonight.”
“Like that would stop you,” said Rea. “Anyway, I’m going. Are you going to tell?”
Rohan eyed her closely and then shook his head. Rea turned without another word and slammed the door shut. Her bicycle was lying against the wall of their house. She grabbed it by its rusty handles and jumped on. She had much to accomplish.
Leela’s house, which was much larger than hers and okra-green in color, was a beehive of activity—the men chatted loudly, pots and pans clanked in the kitchen, siblings and cousins chased each other, and contestants on a TV show belted out Bollywood songs. Rea cycled from one window to the next. This was what it was like to live in a joint family. To have sisters and brothers to play with. To have aunties and uncles to spoil you. To have a father and a grandfather…
Diwali, the Festival of Lights, brought the whole family together but Amma didn’t partake in the celebrations except in the customary exchange of sweets. For years, Rea asked why no relatives called on the phone or sent cards or dropped by for tea, but Amma’s mood would turn, saying Bajai and her children were all the family she needed.
At least Bajai took her and Rohan to the bazaar to buy firecrackers and rangoli colors. When they got home, Bajai would draw a collage of flowers outside their door and Rea would fill it in with the colorful powders, placing diyas around the house afterwards.
As Rea waited for Leela to appear, it occurred to her that they hadn’t been to the bazaar this year and she made a mental note to remind Bajai when she got home. Right then, Leela walked into the kitchen, ate a laddoo, and walked back into her bedroom.
Rea snapped out of her thoughts. Urgently, she tapped the bedroom window before she lost sight of her, and Leela, visibly surprised, hurried over, her orange spectacles slightly askew on her nose. Before she could say anything, Rea slipped the piece of paper under the sill and pedaled off down the lane in the direction Amma had gone.
Chapter 3
Amma’s Strange Secret
The streets blurred past Rea in waves of sound and color.
She entered Haat Bazaar, a market situated in the heart of the village, making it the fastest (and bumpiest) way to get through to most places in Meruk. Looking for Amma, Rea whipped her wheels left and right, maneuvering her bicycle amidst cobblers hollering to shine and repair shoes, women haggling with sellers around pyramids of fruits and vegetables, and groups of peddlers calling out glowing descriptions of their wares: clothes, jewelry, books, pirated movies, and anything else that could bring them money.
A breeze blew, carrying the perfume of dhupi trees. People standing by tea stalls sipped on their evening chai as stray dogs rummaged through gutters littered with candy wrappers, banana peels and half-eaten fruits.
But there was no sign of Amma.
Dejectedly, Rea rode towards the exit. Between slabs of hanging mutton and sandalwood artefacts, a streak of blue flashed and the loose end of a dupatta fluttered out of sight. She squeezed her brakes.
Amma was rushing towards the market’s exit!
Rea swerved her bicycle around, staying hidden behind the backs of locals. As remnants of twilight melted over the Kanchenjunga, a few street lights flickered on and Amma slowed her pace. She turned, disappearing behind a fringe of bamboo trees and entered Pokhriabasti, the farmers’ village.
What is Amma doing there?
Rea followed, blending into the crowd, and watched Amma as she made her way through the shed-like houses. She moved as if she knew exactly where she was going. How often has she visited this village that she knows it so well? Rea wondered. Maybe she had a friend at the plantations who was also a farmer’s wife? But the idea of Amma having a friend seemed strange. Much like herself, she preferred her own company.
What if she was secretly meeting a man? Rea’s heart flip-flopped. No, Amma wasn’t interested in that kind of thing.
ARGH!
Rea had lost her again. She scanned through the scattering of women and finally there was Amma with her dupatta draped over her head. Puzzled, Rea rode after her. Some Indian women wore their sarees or dupattas in that manner as a sign of tradition and def
erence, but Amma never did that. Hidden beneath the dupatta’s embroidered edges, Rea could barely glimpse her face…
Just then, Amma stopped. Her shadow fell long and dark over a shabby house. It was the color of the forest. Dirt browns merged into maroon-greens and smoky-greys. Paint flaked, exposing splotches of cement, and weeds grew from where shingles had slipped from the roof.
Muttering a prayer, Amma extended a leaf from a nearby plant and touched it to each eyelid. It was a ritual she performed whenever she was worried or nervous. She did it before beginning a new job or leaving one or when the bills began to pile up. Sometimes, she did it after Rohan and Rea returned late from school. It was the only superstitious thing Rea had ever seen her do.
A large stone well stood a few meters from the house. Rea placed her bicycle against it and hid behind the well. The village felt familiar. Before she could put her finger on why, the door opened and Amma slipped inside. A bulb above the curtained window came on, and Rea was startled by the sight of objects nailed into the outside walls.
There must have been at least fifty of them. Each consisted of a lemon and three green chilies pierced together by a metal string. It was a talisman to ward off evil. People hung them over their front door or on the backs of their cars or scooters. But never were there so many in one place. With a jolt, Rea realized whose house this must be.
The shed-house belonged to Mishti Daadi, an old lady known for reading the future by staring at a person’s face or palms, Rea couldn’t remember which. Every now and again, stories about her floated through the town, saying she had predicted a full harvest, or spoke of winning lottery numbers or healed cattle with a miraculous potion. Some thought her to be a saint, others an old woman who swindled money from the desperate, but most dismissed her as a harmless old crank. Rea remembered one of the girls at school whispering about Mishti Daadi. She said the talismans hooked on the walls weren’t hung by Mishti Daadi; they were nailed in by those afraid of her letting out evil spirits.
Rea wasn’t the brightest student in school, but she had a fairly good sense of the way the world worked. Mishti Daadi’s ‘powers’ were nothing more than a trick. Amma used to say, “This world is full of people who say what you want to hear just to take your money.” Bajai said, “Such people prey on the fearful and hopeless.”
