Child of Spring

by Farhana Zia

  “Bah! Good luck with that!” Paki said. “Amma’s at the Big House, collecting a sack of laundry to wash at the river.”

  “What were you thinking, Lali?” I turned to my friend. The goonda boys were clearly ruining the wedding.

  “Ho! What’s this?” Paki had spotted the laddu.

  I lunged and blocked his path. “Oi! Stay clear of the wedding feast!”

  “The badmaash girl nearly knocked me over!” Paki shouted.

  “I want a laddu!” cried Raju.

  It got so noisy that Amma intervened. “So much hulla goolla! Take this ruckus outside,” she ordered.

  We gathered up the wedding things and ducked out of the hut.

  “Here I come, carrying the splendid pots, tra la!” laughed Paki.

  “Here I come with the lovely bathtub, tra la!” roared Raju.

  “Stupid owls!” I muttered.

  Outside the sun was blazing, but we went on with the ceremony.

  When the time was exactly right for the bride and the groom to walk around the sacred fire seven times, Paki jumped up and snatched Dear Boy from Lali’s arms.

  “Let go of my son!” Lali protested.

  “Will not!”

  “It’s my job to take him around!” she cried. “Give him back!”

  “You can’t do it! You can’t walk properly on that lame foot!” Paki taunted.

  Dear Boy was yanked back and forth, and before I knew what was what, the poor thing was on the ground in a little heap.

  “What have you done, you donkey?” I screamed.

  “Look! Look!” Lali shouted. One of Dear Boy’s arms dangled from her hand, the other from Paki’s.

  “I knew it! I knew it!” I yelled. True to their reputation, the goonda boys had brought disaster yet again.

  “You promised to be good!” Lali cried.

  “A no-arm groom for a no-voice bride,” Paki roared.

  Lali and I ordered Paki and Raju to leave immediately, but they only laughed at us.

  Amma poked her head out. “Aiyyo!” she scolded. “What’s the trouble?”

  At the sight of my mother, Paki and Raju turned tail and sped away like a bunch of cowards.

  “Good riddance!” I shouted after them. “Amma! Look what they’ve done!”

  Amma clucked her tongue at poor Dear Boy’s condition. “Our handsome groom needs a bit of grooming,” she said and took him back into the hut. A little later, she returned, biting off a thread with her teeth. “He’s perfectly fine now, see?” She had patched Dear Boy up so that he could resume his marriage ceremony.

  With Paki and Raju gone, the festivities continued late into the evening. We nibbled laddu and sipped milky tea to our heart’s content.

  At the end of the evening, we parted with vows to have another wedding before the year was out. I made Lali pinch her neck and make a god promise that from this day forward, she’d never fall for false assurances made by certain no-good, unreliable, and untrustworthy individuals.

  Chapter 7

  The next day was Little Bibi’s birthday party. I knew I would not be invited. I never was. My young mistress only invited her rich friends, who wore nice dresses and were driven around town by smartly dressed chauffeurs. But still, I hoped.

  In the morning, between the sweeping and dusting, I made a jasmine garland just for her. After that, I worked alongside my mother to get everything ready for the party. Dishes and pans piled up in the kitchen as puffy turnovers fried to a deep brown, dumplings floated in creamy sauces, and the rice pudding was sprinkled with almond and pistachio.

  In the afternoon, Memsaab sent me to the bakery for the cake. I knew the way like the back of my hand, because I had done it last year and the year before that, and also whenever Little Bibi had a random hankering for a sugar bun.

  The birthday cake was so beautiful! It was decorated with flowers and creamy dribbles that crisscrossed like a garden lattice.

  “What does the writing say?” I asked.

  “Happy Birthday to Munni,” the baker explained.

  “That’s her real name,” I murmured. “And what is this?”

  “That is the number 14.”

  I set down the rupees on the counter and the baker put the cake in a box. I carried it out into the busy road, Amma’s warning ringing in my ear. “Walk, do you hear? Do not run!”

  Amma worried about me constantly, but Old Nahni understood me so much better. “My sweet girl is a lusty bird of spring,” she used to say. “And birds fly and they soar!” Dear Nahni, she had always understood me.

  I was thinking about my dear grandmother when a cow ambled out from nowhere. Before I knew up from down, the clumsy cow had lumbered into me, knocking the box out of my hand. It fell, smack, onto the ground in the middle of the road! My jaw dropped and I sank to my knees.

  “Hutt, hutt! Out of the way!” people shouted angrily. “Do you want to get killed, mad girl?”

  With my heart in my mouth, I picked up the box and dodged through the traffic to the other side of the street. I squeezed my eyes shut and wished, Please, please, let the cake be all right!

  I peeked inside the box. The pretty birthday cake was all topsy-turvy! Flowers drooped, leaves were tangled, and a crevice ran down one side! Devastated, I hurried back to the Big House.

  Amma was suspicious. “Were you running?” she hissed.

  “It was the cow!” I wailed. “I didn’t see her coming! I didn’t!”

  With her lips pursed together, my mother went to work. She nudged flowers and repaired leaves and smoothed icing to camouflage, repair, and restore. But the poor cake was a bruised child, a wounded soldier, a bird with broken wing.

  “Should I say the baker did a poor job? Hanh?” I ventured, but Amma clucked her tongue.

  “Tell the truth,” she said. “A lie will push you into the well, but a truth will pull you out.”

  “Maybe Memsaab won’t notice,” I said, mostly to myself.

  Amma and I carried the cake through the Big Courtyard, up the stairs, through the back porch, and into the party room. It was already decorated with colorful crepe paper and balloons. The Big Table was laden with an assortment of treats, each one more mouthwatering than the other.

  We set the cake down in the middle of the feast. I held my breath, stepped back, and gave it another long look. It isn’t too bad, I thought. Only a wee bit shaken up, that’s all. I wouldn’t be unhappy to have such a cake for my birthday.

  Amma and I placed the chairs around the table just so. I arranged the plates and the forks and knives and spoons just so.

  When Memsaab entered the room, her eyes went straight to the cake. My heart began to pound, dhuk-dhuk. I clung to Amma’s sari.

  My mother nudged me forward. “Tell all, Basanta,” she said gently.

  “It was the c-c-cow’s fault, Memsaab,” I stammered, but Memsaab didn’t blame the cow at all.

  “It was your job to be careful,” she said sternly.

  When Little Bibi came in, her glance skipped over all the other lovely party things and stopped at the bumpy cake. “What’s this?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

  “Just a small accident in the road,” Memsaab explained quickly, but Little Bibi was not easily appeased.

  “What sort of accident?”

  “The cow came too close, Little Bibi,” I volunteered. “And the clumsy animal knocked—”

  “Oh great!” she shouted. “What will my friends say to this ugly thing, hanh?”

  Ugly? How could a cake be ugly? It was like saying your Nahni was ugly because she got a little old and a little wrinkled.

  “I am sorry, Little Bibi,” I said.

  “A lot of good that does me!” my young mistress yelled.

  Quickly, I handed her the flower garland I had made for her. “Felicitations!” I said. “Happy birthday, Little Bibi!” Then I turned to run back to the safety of the kitchen.

  On my way out, I saw Little Bibi toss the garland aside. When it missed the chair and fell o
n the floor, she didn’t even bother to pick it up.

  Later, when the sounds of birthday songs and laughter sailed across the courtyard, I decided that things must be okay. The beautiful new ring from Memsaab had probably made up for the damaged cake—and for the missing ring that now lay in our Big Box under Amma’s red sari and Bapu’s muslin kurta.

  Chapter 8

  I was so weary from helping out at the birthday party that I didn’t really want to sit under the tamarind tree with Lali. But when I saw the white flower tucked behind my best friend’s ear, I changed my mind.

  “Oo Maa! A motia today! And who is the secret admirer?” I asked, fingering the petals. “Are you telling or not?”

  “Go! Go!” Lali flicked my hand away in mock anger.

  I bumped her shoulder with mine. It was time for a little fun. “Hmm,” I said. “I am guessing the giver of this flower sits on tree branches to toss jamun berries at passersby.”

  Lali slapped my back. “Paki? Tcha! Are you mad?”

  “Well then, let me see … the secret admirer likes to chuck marbles in drain holes?”

  “Bah!” Lali cried. “If you are talking about Bala you can forget it. Really, Basanta! How can you say such silly things?”

  I decided to ease up a little. “You can tell me, Lali. I’m your best friend.”

  Lali jiggled her foot and looked away.

  “You may not want to tell me, but I know,” I said. “The Milk Boy gave it, nai?”

  “Hanh!” Lali tittered shyly behind her hand. “He came to the hut early yesterday.”

  “He likes you, Lali,” I squealed. “A yellow flower and a white flower. This definitely proves it!”

  I’d had a suspicion when I first caught Ganga looking at Lali, but I couldn’t be sure. Now the flowers were proof, and Lali could no longer brush me off.

  “What did the silly boy say?” I asked. “Was it something that sounded like this? ‘O queen of my heart, c-c-come and ride on my b-b-buffalo’s b-b-back.’”

  “Go, go! It’s not nice to make fun!” Lali cried sternly. “He can’t help the way he talks.”

  “I’m just saying!” I giggled. “After all, the poor boy does stutter. And he’s cross-eyed. When he looks at the rooster, you think he’s staring at the crow!”

  “He can’t help that either, just like I can’t help this.” Lali thrust her bad foot out from under her skirt.

  I hugged her as an apology and changed the subject. “I’m guessing we’ll be planning a real wedding soon, hanh?” I asked, trying to coax a smile.

  Lali poked me in the shoulder. “Go! Go!” she scolded in mock anger and then hid her face in her hands. “We’ll have to wait until I am fifteen or sixteen, I think.”

  Lali and Ganga. Ganga and Lali. They went together just fine—dear, sweet Lali and kind, gentle Ganga.

  “What about Rukmani and Ramu?” Lali asked. “Do you think they will marry one day?”

  I shrugged. Good old Ramu needed our help; we could surely find someone better than Rukmani, someone who was just as nice as he was. Lali and I talked about it, pairing him up with this one and that one, but nobody measured up.

  “I am thinking Ramu and Basanta! Now that has a nice ring to it, nai?” Lali giggled.

  “Don’t be an idiot!” I scoffed. “His legs are spindly and he is much too old for me!”

  Lali thought for a moment and then she snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it!” she cried. “Basanta and Bala! What do you say to that?”

  “Pshaw!” I spat. “We’re talking about Ramu, not me. Lali, now I know you are utterly and completely mad!”

  Kalu trotted up to our hut promptly at sundown for his dinner bones. He crunched them for a while, then smacked his lips. He found his favorite resting place, circled three times, and sank to the ground, his nose on his paws.

  I patted him on his head and tickled him behind his ears. He thumped his tail happily. “Hey, boy! Make sure you are alert tonight, hear?”

  Kalu often joined us at night because he knew we’d give him a little something to eat. My parents were grateful for his presence. Amma said his bark was as good as a sturdy padlock on the door. Who would dare approach the hut with the dear dog standing guard?

  The night was balmy and perfect for sleeping outdoors, so Bapu moved his charpai outside and Amma rolled out our sleeping mats on the ground next to him. The earth was hard under my back, but being able to look at the stars made up for the discomfort.

  I searched for old Nahni in the night sky. She was up there, somewhere, Amma said, peeking from behind a star. Did my grandmother already know about the ring? Did she know her words had come to pass? Would she be happy for me, or would she moan hai, hai because I kept it instead of returning it to Little Bibi?

  The day’s events came back to me in a big rush. My young mistress had tossed aside the birthday garland, and no one had expressed one word of gratitude for the countless glasses of cold drinks I had fetched during the party. I sighed, turned on my side, and closed my eyes.

  I fell asleep to the sound of the crickets and the toads talking to one another near the water pump. I slept soundly until bright and early the next morning, when I was awakened by the sound of Dinoo Kaka cawing.

  I got up and headed toward the tamarind tree.

  As I passed the water pump, Rukmani called, “Oi, Basanta!”

  I slowed down.

  “Off to carry on crazy conversations with the crow, hanh?”

  I didn’t want to be waylaid by that pesky girl. I had better things to do with my time than listen to her insults. Dinoo Kaka was hungry and I needed to get back to help Amma with breakfast.

  “Some people might think that’s a teensy bit loony, if you ask me!” she called after me.

  “I don’t know what you’re babbling about!” I snapped. “Leave me alone!”

  “On the other hand, some might think talking to crows is fine business. Do you, by chance, discuss the price of rice or the state of the nation with him?” Rukmani laughed.

  “Shut up!” I broke into a run, my skirt flapping about my ankles.

  “Leaving so soon?” Rukmani asked. “Come back and I’ll show you something that’ll make your eyes pop open wider than a gate. The stupid crow won’t mind if you are a little late, I promise!”

  I stopped. Rukmani was like a Divali firecracker—fiery and dangerous, but alluring and hard to ignore. “Okay. Show me.”

  “Not so fast.” Rukmani spat out guava seeds with a loud thoo. “First you must agree to do something for me.”

  “What?”

  “You must take this laddu to the Milk Boy.”

  “You’re sending a laddu to the Milk Man’s cross-eyed son? What about Ramu?”

  I couldn’t believe my ears! This … this chicken thief who stole chickens from her memsaab’s coop and sold the eggs back to her! Why was she giving candy to Ganga?

  “I don’t care what the monkey-faced man Ramu says. It’s my laddu and I can do what I want with it!”

  “But—”

  “But, wut, nothing!” Rukmani snarled. “Do you want to see what I have to show or not?”

  Of course I wanted to see! Rukmani always had interesting things to show, especially the ones she pinched from her memsaab. And yes, I’d take the sweet sticky ball over to Ganga, even though Ramu’s feelings might be hurt if he knew. And so would Lali’s.

  “Promise me first you’ll go to the Milk Boy as fast as you can. Make a god promise and swear on your head!”

  “Yes, yes,” I said. “God promise and swear on my head and all that! Show me!”

  Rukmani put the laddu in my palm, then pulled a rectangular slab wrapped in shiny paper out of her choli. “Look,” she said proudly. “See this?”

  “What is it?”

  “Don’t you know anything? It is a chakalet.”

  “Chakalet?”

  “My memsaab eats it all the time. Do you want to see more?” Rukmani teased away the shiny paper, revealing a deep brown square.
She nibbled on the edge and smacked her lips noisily. Her teeth and tongue were darker now.

  “Is the chakalet good?” It smelled warm, sweet, and sticky. My mouth watered.

  “Mmm-mmm. So tasty!”

  The chakalet did appear to be very delicious.

  Rukmani crimped the foil and tucked the chakalet back in her choli. “There’s more.”

  More? What else had she stolen?

  “And this is leepshteek, see? It makes your lips a pretty color.” She twisted a glossy pink column up from a golden tube, then smeared it across her lips, turning them the same color.

  Rukmani returned the tube to the secret part of her blouse with a smirk. She hadn’t offered me a small bite of chakalet or a tiny smear of leepshteek. I couldn’t believe I had been duped into a god promise that would make me a traitor to two dear people.

  “You can keep those things, I don’t care!” I growled. “What I have is one hundred times better!”

  “You don’t say! And just what would that be?”

  “What I have is fit for a princess, that’s what it is!” And then I realized I was making a big, big mistake. But it was already too late.

  Rukmani’s eyes widened. I could tell her interest was piqued. “Show it to me at once!” she demanded.

  “I will not!” I was afraid of where this would lead.

  “Liar! You’ve got nothing to show!”

  “Maybe I do, or maybe I don’t,” I said, trying to climb out of the big hole I had dug myself into. “Actually, there’s nothing to show. I was only lying.”

  “Aiyyo!” she said petulantly. “Is it a bracelet or a ring? Tell me! Did your mother get it for your trousseau or what?”

  “My mother and father are getting me lots of lovely things!” I said.

  “Oh? And where does your mother put away those pretty things, hmm?”

  “Wouldn’t you just love to know!” I spun on my heel.

  “Basanta!” Rukmani shouted. “You will take the laddu to the Milk Boy, or else!”

  “Hanh, hanh!” I yelled back. “I will because I said I would, but not at this very minute, so stop pestering me!”