by Sharon Maas
But what else could he do? Better a puppy than nothing. Certainly, the last thing they'd thank him for when he returned home was a puppy, one more useless mouth to feed — bouche inutile; now where had he heard that before, something from the war — but how very ridiculous, how typical of his thoughtlessness, to plunge into such a misadventure! It would save face, in fact, to turn back and go home empty-handed, and just say he'd been out for an early-morning stroll through the floods — Nat had the good humour to chuckle at his own joke. Coward! Okay, so he'd found the puppy on his early-morning stroll. It would be his mascot for the rest of his stay here. He followed the sound.
It came from the mango tree, which stood a few yards behind the hut. The puppy must have somehow managed to scramble up into the branches, which fortuitously forked off quite low to the ground. Goodness knows how he'd managed that — it was still too dark to see up into the gloomy cave made by the spreading crown of leaves, so Nat shone his torch and let the beam of light wander along the tree's wide branches, searching, and he made little crooning noises to quiet and comfort the puppy.
In response the whimpering not only grew louder, it turned into a torrent of language, human language, clearly discernible as Tamil though the words were nothing but a disjointed, unintelligible babble, and when Nat aimed his beam at their source he saw her. Gauri Ma, up in the tree, not two yards away from him, a stick-doll of a Gauri Ma wrapped in a ragged piece of sari wound not only around her body but around an upright branch against which she leaned, and otherwise clothed only in an even more ragged sari-underskirt.
'Gauri Ma!' cried Nat, and he took a step nearer to the tree-trunk but his foot hit against some hulking object in the water, a large, slippery thing like a log. Somehow — he could tell for his foot was bare and the thing was not rough and hard like a log but smooth and soft — he knew it was something else and he shone his torch on it and saw that it was a corpse, a bloated black corpse, and he gave a cry of alarm and disgust and Gauri Ma blabbered all the louder, and now he understood her.
It was her husband Biku who had tied her to the tree so she would not fall when she slept; he had tried to tie himself but couldn't, and then he had fallen out of the tree in his sleep and must have been hurt and she had called to him and called, but he had not stood up again. That had happened one, two days ago, she had been in the tree for three days, she had a pot next to her hanging from a branch and it was full of iddlies, which Biku had bought from a coffee stall in the market and she had been eating iddlies, iddlies, iddlies but now the remaining iddlies were all sour, and if she ate any more she would get ill and Biku was dead and she had been calling out all the time but there was no-one, no-one, no-one. And then the whimpering began again.
'It's all right, Ma, I'm here and I'm coming to get you. Do you remember me? I'm Nat, your tamby, I've come back from far away? I've come to get you, Ma. Do you know, I woke up this morning and I heard you calling so I came to get you; is that not a miracle, Ma? I heard you from my father's house and I walked through the big water to find you. It was very dark, Ma, but I found you. Do you see how great God's grace is, Ma? So don't worry for your tamby is here to help you. I will take you to my father's house and you will not die. Biku has gone home to Shiva Mahadeva, he has found rest from this world. Ma, do not think you are alone now, for your tamby is here to take you.'
And all the time he talked he climbed into the branches till he was sitting next to Gauri Ma on her branch. Her sari was tied very tightly to the branch, and because of the wetness the knot had hardened so that it could not be loosened, so Nat took the sari in his teeth and ripped it across and it was so ragged that it split easily. And then he gently laid Gauri Ma over his shoulder and descended back into the flood, and adjusted her weight so that he was holding her in his arms across his shoulder, and he carried her through the floods and the lightening dawn and just as the sun sent its first beams through a hole in the clouds Nat reached his father's gate, and so he brought Gauri Ma home on the day the deluge ended. And he brought not only Gauri Ma, but good luck.
Nat, they all remembered now, was the boy with the Golden Hand.
40
Chapter Forty
Saroj
Georgetown, 1969
Saroj awoke as in a furnace. When Trixie felt her forehead she whipped back her hand and shook it as if scorched. 'Chile, you're cooking,' she said, and all Saroj could do was grunt and turn over.
Lucy Quentin came in wearing a dark green seersucker wrap, shaking a thermometer which she stuck under Saroj's armpit. She picked up some pieces of clothing, threw them across Trixie's clothes-horse, read Saroj's temperature and made some noises of her own. Saroj was too dizzy to hear what she said. She drifted into sleep. When she next awoke Ma was there, bending over her, wiping her forehead; then she was gone, and so was Saroj. She woke up again, and there was Dr Lachmansingh. Lucy Quentin. Trixie.
'We won't move her,' she heard someone say. '…an infection,' said someone else, and, 'Too much excitement; she needs rest.'
She smelled some delicious smells, and Ma brought a tray loaded with bowls containing her favourite dishes; but she could not eat, just sleep sleep sleep. She drifted in and out of soft clouds, and every time she drifted back, Ma was there, looking down with limpid black eyes, as she'd been there in the hospital; but this time the face was her own, it was no hallucination and Saroj sighed in relief for when a hallucination seems real as it had back then, seeing her own face on Ma, sanity seems a balancing act on a razor's edge.
It was as if Saroj's body, denied the rest it had needed after the operation, now demanded it with a vengeance, keeping her nailed to Trixie's bed. Delicious healing curled through body and mind, sweet and syrupy like molasses. Rancour melted away under Ma's ministrations. She was in the hands of an angel in a space unlimited, where time could not be measured.
When her fever finally wore itself out three days had passed. Ma was still ministering to her. She finally ate; and then she sank back into her pillow with a long deep sigh and wished she could just turn back the clock, rearrange her life so it was just her and Ma in a bubble of perfection, and it would stay that way for ever.
'Ma . . .' she murmured.
'It's all right, darling, don't talk. You're much better now, I was so worried!'
'Ma . . . I want to talk to you . . .'
'I know, dear, and we will, we'll have a nice long talk, but not today. First you have to get really healthy again, and then when you feel up to it you can come home and . . .' Saroj stiffened ever so slightly, and Ma must have felt it because she went on, '. . . Or I'll come here, or we'll go for a walk together, just you and me, and I'll tell you a long, long story, everything you want to know. But not now.'
Saroj nodded, and felt the tears squeezing out of her eyes. Ma wiped her cheek with a corner of the sheet.
'Don't cry, dear, everything's going to be all right. I promise. And remember this: I love you very, very much.'
She leaned over, stroked a strand of hair from Saroj's forehead, and kissed her between the eyes. Saroj closed them; and when she opened them again Ma was gone, as silent as the moon.
The next day was Saturday. Saroj was well enough to get up and take a walk with Trixie. She felt good, better than she had done for weeks, months, even years. Strong and determined, clear and free.
Trixie rode her bike to the Sea Wall, Saroj perched on the carrier.
'It's funny,' Saroj said to Trixie as they walked up the little stone staircase to the wall, 'I've forgiven Ma completely. Absolutely. It doesn't matter what she did. And as for Baba . . .'
'Does that mean you're going back home?'
'No, no, that's just it! I just feel clean, somehow, and yet strong and sure of myself, as if I know leaving is right, and yet without hating Ma into the bargain. I don't know. I want to have this talk with her and get things cleared up between us — it's as if I've grown up in a few short days, as if I'm willing to hear her side of the story and, well, understand her and w
hat makes her tick.'
'Great! What I want to know is, who's your real father? D'you think she still loves him? It's a long time ago; nearly sixteen years. I mean, we know she has a lover now, when she goes secretly to the temple, but d'you think it's the same one? Has she had him all these years? My goodness, what a story, I can't wait to hear it.'
Saroj frowned. 'Well, she knows him well enough to ask him to donate blood; and he was willing enough to do so, so maybe…”
'Can you imagine it, your Ma getting romantic with someone? Whispering sweet nothings in his ear?' Trixie giggled and clasped her hands and mimed love-sickness, rolling her eyes and gazing at Saroj with a doting expression.
Saroj giggled too, but only for a moment. 'No, I can't imagine it. I still can't. It's just not like Ma. I can't imagine her being in love, and even less I can't imagine her doing that …”
'Maybe she was raped?'
'No. No way. Look, if she was raped, she wouldn't have known him to ask him to give blood, would she?'
'Well, maybe someone she knows raped her.'
'Ridiculous! Who on earth! Can you imagine, if somebody raped you and you got a child from that, going to him and asking him to donate blood? It's just not logical.'
'Well, you know what I mean. Someone she really liked but she was too shy and he kind of — well you know, persuaded her and she gave in and...”
'Trixie, that's your imagination running away with you again. You're crazy!'
'Well, anyway, I'm just dying to know who it is! Think she'll tell you?'
'She'll have to. I'll make her. Everything I want to know, she said.'
'When are you going to have this little talk?'
'Well, tomorrow might be a good day. Why not?'
'Anyway, d'you mind if I'm not home tonight?'
'Where're you going?'
'Out.'
'Trixie, why do you always have to be so damned mysterious? Why can't you just tell me straight out where you're going?'
'Okay then. To a barbecue. Up at Diamond Estate. But the main thing is…' and her eyes shone with excitement and she gripped Saroj's hand. 'The thing is, who d'you think's taking me?'
'How on earth would I know? I don't move in your exalted crowds.'
'Well then... Brace yourself... Saroj, it's Ganesh! While you were sick he called to ask after you and then we had a chat and it turned into a long conversation about four hours long and then he asked me out! Can you even believe it? I can't! To the Diamond barbecue! I've been dying to tell you all day and I thought maybe I wouldn't tell you because you might be mad, but oh Christ, I'm awful at keeping secrets and I don't want it to be a secret anyway, oh Saroj, I'm just crazy about him!'
Ma telephoned later that evening, when Trixie had left and Saroj was alone at home.
'I'm fine, Ma! Everybody's out and it's nice and quiet. I've started to study again.'
'Child, you're supposed to be recuperating!'
'Yes, but Ma, exams are in only a few weeks and I've lost a whole week of school. Are you coming tomorrow?'
'Yes, that's what I wanted to tell you. I got a letter this week, from a relative in India, whom I haven't heard from in years. I've been thinking about it all week and I've come to a decision. Dear, I'm going back to India. And... would you come with me? I'd like you to meet some special people there, and...'
'Go with you to India? Now?'
'Well, not immediately, of course. After your exams. Why don't you take time off from school, and we could travel together? There's so much I want to tell you, and show you; we should have talked a long, long time ago and there's so much you should catch up with. And you are very young for your class, you know, so it wouldn't really matter if you repeat a year!'
'Ma! I want to go into the Lower Sixth and do A Levels and I don't want to lose a year! Maybe after A Levels!'
'In two years?'
There was such disappointment in Ma's voice Saroj wanted to reach out and comfort her. She was like a little child, and Saroj was denying her a heartfelt wish.
'Oh Ma, you've been away from India for so long it doesn't make much difference, does it, if you wait two more years? Look, I can come with you in the holidays and we’ll stay for two months. Surely that’s enough time?'
'Well, I suppose so. I wanted to stay longer, maybe a year, but maybe you could come back early.'
'Baba would let you go? He'd give you the money?'
'Let that be my problem. And you needn't come back here at all, you know. You could go to Richie and Ganesh in London. You could stay with them and do your A Levels there.'
'Ma! I could? Really?'
'Yes. That way you'd be a lot nearer to your goal, wouldn't you?'
'But then I can't win the Guyana Scholarship! Who'd finance my studies?'
'Let that be my problem. And maybe I would stay too. In London, with you. Or in India. Who knows? But… listen, dear, your father's home, I just heard his car. I'll come round tomorrow around ten and we'll talk some more. All right?'
'All right. Goodbye, Ma. And . . . thanks.'
'I love you, Saroj. Never forget that.'
'I — I love you too, Ma.'
There. It was said. And it wasn't half as hard saying it as she'd thought it would be. And it was true.
In the middle of the night the telephone shrilled, jolting her awake. Insistent, demanding, it screamed for attention and through the grogginess of sleep her blood curdled. She grabbed her pillow and buried her head beneath it and when the telephone stopped screaming she removed the pillow and listened into the silence broken only by Lucy Quentin's voice floating over the walls, low and stunned yet so distinct, so filled with meaning that the very first word sliced sleep and night from Saroj's mind, and she listened with a pounding, knowing heart, knowing with that knowledge that comes not from without but from some deep forgotten instinct.
'Oh Christ… No… Oh hell. Oh Christ… Are you sure? Is the fire brigade… Christ, no… What'll I tell her? Oh Christ… Yes… In the morning. Shall I come… Can I help… I see… yes, you're right, quite right. I know, she's in no condition… It's better if I tell her myself, when she wakes up. Oh Christ. This is terrible, just terrible. Oh my God. Till tomorrow then... Yes… Yes… Yes… Mr Roy, what can I say…'
Lucy Quentin stood in front of the telephone, the receiver still in her hand, frozen stiff and staring at the wall. She didn't hear Saroj approach from behind.
Saroj, still in a nightgown, cycled furiously through the silent dark streets to what had been the Roy home. Now it was nothing but fire, a mountain of fire leaping up into the black sky and licking it with furious tongues, pennants of vicious flames flying from the window holes. A roaring inferno so hot there was no approach. Six fire engines were parked in Waterloo Street, firemen and police officers pushed back the gathering crowd, while other firemen held hoses that sprayed the inferno with jets of water that sizzled into nothing.
Saroj fought through the crowd, crying aloud for Ma. She reached the front line and fell into Ganesh's arms. And then she fainted.
41
Chapter Forty-one
Nat
A Village in Madras State, 1969
Though it did not rain again that season it was days before the flood receded enough to make much of a difference, and even when the soaked earth was again visible life could not return to normal. Almost all the huts in the village had been destroyed so living conditions remained the same: all the women and children in the houses of Doctor and Henry, the men in the school house which, now that the branches had been removed and they could sleep on the concrete floor, was much more comfortable.
But the sun made a difference. Even on that first day, the day Nat brought Gauri Ma home, faces that had been drawn and weary broke out in smiles, children came out to play in the water, women brought out the moist clothing that had collected over days, even weeks, and hung them over the trees and bushes to dry, and tied the ends of their wet saris to the branches of trees so that they waved like lon
g many-coloured banners in the sunlight.
Doctor found out that those whose homes were ruined or badly damaged could apply for government aid to build new huts, but the villagers themselves had no idea of where, and how, to do this, and most of them could neither read nor write enough to fill out the appropriate forms. The men and the village elders together with Doctor, Nat and Henry held a palaver in the schoolhouse, and Nat was charged with the task of overseeing the reconstruction formalities. And so he met each villager again, his friends of old, went with them to review the damage done and salvage anything to be salvaged, heard their lamentations, filled out the forms, and took them in groups to the appropriate official in Town, where a bored civil servant collected the forms and had each applicant sign with a thumb-print.
And since whatever aid was due was slow in coming, and since living together in such cooped up quarters, eventually brought out the worst in some of the villagers so that they turned to squabbling among themselves and dividing up into groups according to caste (Gauri Ma was allotted the back verandah of Henry's house, all to herself, so that she ended up with more room than any other single person in the village), Doctor lent them the money, interest free, until such time as the emergency aid funds might — if ever — arrive. And since Doctor was fully occupied with treating the sick it was again Nat who went to town to buy the bricks and the coconut fronds for the roofs and arranged for them to be brought out in bulk to the village on bullock carts. He also organised the reconstruction teams, and settled the heated disputes as to the order in which the huts were to be built.
