The Hope of Shridula (13 page)

Trembling with fearful excitement, Saji Stephen grabbed up the last rock—the biggest one of all. He grasped it in both hands, eased his way to the edge of the rise, and took careful aim. Then, with all his might, he heaved the rock at the anthill. The rock pounded into the ground, and the muddy anthill collapsed.

Hardly able to contain his glee, Saji Stephen hurried through the river of mud, back to the safety of his house, before the Brahmin—or the snake—could catch him.

14

July 1946

P
salm
39,"
Shridula began to read. "
I said, I will take heed to my ways, that I sin not with my t . . . t . . . my t . . ."

"
My tongue,"
Ashish said.

"
. . . my tongue: I will keep my mouth with a b . . . a br . . ."

"
A bridle.
It is a metal brace that fits in the mouth of a horse so that the rider can guide where the horse goes."

"
. . . a bridle, while the w . . . the wicked is before me."

Shridula hunkered down next to her father, Miss Abigail Davidson's Bible open in front of them. By the flickering candle stub, she carefully pointed to each word as she read it.

"
Be . . . hold, thou hast made my days as an hand . . . b . . . br . . ."

"
. . . handbreadth,
I think. I don't know what it means."

"
. . . as an handbreadth; and mine age is as nothing before thee: v . . . verily every man at his best state is altogether v . . . van . . ."

"
Vanity. Altogether vanity.
That means 'too proud.' "

Zia looked at the two hunched together over the Holy Book and frowned. They took no notice, so she uttered a sigh. When they still didn't look up, she sighed again—more loudly this time. Shridula went right on reading:

"
Surely every man walketh in a vain shew: surely they are dis . . . dis . . ."

"I don't know that word. Read what comes after it."

".
. . he heapeth up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them. And now, Lord, what wait I for? my hope is in thee."

"There! Do you see what it says, Daughter?" Ashish said triumphantly. "The son of landowner son is wrong. Our hope in not in him, and it is not in the Marxist Communists. All those people will do what is best for them, just as the landlord does what is best for him. If we have any hope at all, it has to be in the God that is hidden away inside this Holy Book."

"But can we find that God?" Shridula asked.

"Enough. Close the book and put it back in its hiding place," Ashish said, because he didn't know the answer to her question.

When Shridula was very young, Ashish would draw English letters in the dirt with a stick and read them to her. "This letter is
A,"
he would say. "It makes this sound . . .
aaaa."
By the time she was old enough to gather twigs for the fire, she could pick out words in his Bible and read them.

"You must stop, Husband," Zia warned him. "What you are doing is too dangerous. Someone might hear you!"

But Ashish shrugged off her warnings. "Which one of the workers has ears so good he could hear us over the pounding rain?"

"Perhaps someone curious enough to stand close by the door," Zia said.

"Pshaw! No one cares that much about what I do inside my hut. Everyone is too busy following their own karma to worry about ours."

In truth, had anyone in the settlement happened to overhear the English words, they wouldn't have understood them. And if by some miracle they did understand, no one would have suspected Shridula and Ashish of reading the words. For not one other person in the settlement had ever even seen a book.

But Zia was not satisfied. "What if a nosy neighbor mistakes that English book for the holy Veda? You know the punishment that would bring down on you."

Ashish did indeed. According to the Hindu scriptures, hot molten lead should be poured into the ears of any unworthy person who heard the words of the holy script recited. Of course, all Untouchables were unworthy. Should an unworthy person actually dare to read the holy Veda, that person was to be pulled to pieces.

"But this is not the Veda," Ashish explained yet again. "It is the Holy Bible. And it is not written in the forbidden holy language of India. It is written in English."

Zia glowered at him. "If nothing else, it is most certainly a waste of our precious candle nubs."

"
Psalm 37. Fret not thyself because of evildoers, neither be thou en . . . envi . . . envious against the workers of in . . . in . . .
"

"
. . . workers of iniquity,"
Ashish said. "That means, do not look at wicked people and wish you were like them."

"
For they shall soon be cut down like the grass, and wither as the green herb."
Shridula paused in her reading. "Is this talking about the landowner,
Appa?"

"I do not know," her father said. "Maybe. But there are many other wicked people besides him."

"Yes," said Shridula. "The British."

Ashish frowned. "Not all of them."

"The landowner's son said so. That is why we needed to join the Communist party and get our membership cards."

"The pale English lady is British," Ashish said softly. "She saved my life. She believed I was a blessing, and she gave me this Holy Book." He ran his hand over the page before him. "Wherever there are wicked people, there are also good ones. Remember that, Daughter."

"
Trust in the LORD, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed. Delight thyself also in the LORD; and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart."

Shridula stopped reading. "What does that mean,
Appa?"

"I do not know," Ashish said.

"
Be fed
means that I will have enough rice for the pot," Zia said. "And vegetables to add every day. It means our stomachs will not ache from hunger."

Ashish nodded his agreement. "But I do not understand the part about
delight in the LORD.
I cannot understand the meaning of the word
delight."

"I wish you did," Shridula said. "If we could do it, the Lord would give us the desires of our hearts."

Ashish smiled. "What is the desire of your heart, my daughter?"

Shridula leaned in close and lowered her voice to a whisper. "To walk away from this place. Like your parents did, Amma, and yours, too,
Appa.
To walk away and never come back. But all of us together. So we would all be free."

"Close that book!" Zia ordered. "What good is it to make an Untouchable girl displeased with the life she has been born to?"

"But
Amma
. . . "

"The English lady was wrong to teach you to read, Ashish. She was wrong to give you that book. It does not belong with our kind." Zia turned to face her husband. "And you are wrong to teach Shridula!"

Ashish placed his hand on the Bible and held it firmly. "It is not for you to give me orders, Wife," he said to Zia. He didn't sound angry, but his voice was firm.

"The book is dangerous." Now Zia was pleading. "Reading it will only bring trouble down on our heads."

"You do not know, because you were not there with me and the pale English lady. The Holy Book was not a gift to you, it was a gift to me."

"That was long ago."

"You were not the one who sneaked off and hid in the stinking latrine to read it. I was. You did not see me scratch out the words I did not know on a stick of wood, then cower before Master Saji, begging him to read them to me. It was not you he laughed at and mocked and called 'stupid.' Do not speak to me of such things, for you do not know."

Ashish turned back to the open page and traced down with his finger. "Here," he said to Shridula. "Read the next part, too."

"
Rest in the LORD, and wait patiently for him: fret not thyself because of him who prospereth in his way, because of the man who bringeth wicked devices to pass. Cease from anger, and forsake wrath: fret not thyself in any wise to do evil. For evildoers shall be cut off: but those that wait upon the LORD, they shall inherit the earth."

Suddenly the door swung open and a wave of water poured in.

"A curse!" Zia screamed. "A curse! Already it is happening. Do you see, Husband? Do you see what you have done?"

Ashish leapt up and slammed the door shut. "Pounding rain," he assured his wife. "Nothing more."

Shridula closed the book and held it high. But she could not help asking, "Is it talking about us,
Appa?
Will we inherit the earth?"

"No, I do not think so. We are Untouchables. But we will not be evildoers, either."

"Even if we cannot inherit the earth, even if we must be Untouchables," Shridula said, "I still think we should wait upon the Lord."

15

August 1946

B
rahmin Rama, his
mundu
plastered against him, splashed his way along a river that only a month earlier had been the village road. Rama was not one to curse the rain. Indeed, he prayed for it, and when it came, he rejoiced in it and called it a blessed gift from the gods. But not this day. Not when he was personally forced to endure such a miserable soaking.

Naga Panchami.
The fifth day of the bright half of the
Sharvan—
the full moon. Yes, snake pictures, drawn in red sandalwood paste, did decorate wooden boards throughout the village. And yes, clay images of snakes did adorn thresholds, though they had to be tucked away under shelters to protect them from the pouring rain. But this year the village had no
Naga
temple. There was no anthill with a snake in residence that could be decorated and showered with flowers and fruit. They had no place where they could make offerings of milk and honey. And it was all the fault of that wretch of a new landowner. Of that, Brahmin Rama was certain.

Outside the landowner's house, Saji's servant Udit struggled to sweep sheets of water away from the door and off the veranda.

"Send your master out!" Brahmin Rama ordered.

The servant bowed and ducked inside. But he immediately returned. Bowing lower he said, "Master says he is too busy to talk to you."

"Tell him to come out immediately or I will come in and get him!" the Brahmin bellowed. Actually, it wasn't much of a bellow. But no one who heard him could doubt his fury.

The servant scurried back inside.

"Why do you call on me on such a wet day?" Saji Stephen demanded from the doorway.

"Because today is
Naga Panchami,"
Brahmin Rama called back. "Because you destroyed the
Naga
temple and desecrated the holy site."

Saji Stephen's face went pale. He desperately wanted to shoot back an indifferent answer, but his tongue wouldn't work in his mouth. Surely, no one had seen him! He was certain of that. Besides, many weeks had passed since that night. He had heard the village gossip about a guilty person, but no one ever mentioned his name.

"Did you think I would not know it was you who destroyed it?" Rama charged. "I am a Brahmin. It is my job to tell the past and to see into the future. Of course I know it was you!"

"You cannot come to my house and make accusations against me!" Saji Stephen insisted—but only half-heartedly, because of course the Brahmin could do exactly that. He had already done it.

"I did not come simply to accuse you. I came to call up the powers of evil against you. I came to put a curse on you, on your family, and on everything you own. Never will you forget the day you lifted your hand against the goddess!"

Saji Stephen dropped to the floor in a dead faint.

By evening, the rain no longer poured down in sheets. And by morning, although the sun rose behind thick, gray clouds, no rain fell. Saji Stephen slogged his way to the settlement in the bullock cart.

"I want the laborers back to work this day!" he ordered.

Dinkar sneaked a glance at Ashish, who stared straight ahead. "But master," he said, "the fields are awash in water."

"I do not care if the workers all drown! I want them out there in the paddies!"

"Even if we force them to go out, what can they do?" Dinkar pleaded. "They cannot weed or hoe."

"Just do it! Do it!"

Dinkar turned an imploring look to Ashish.

"The workers will be back in the paddies," Ashish said. "But they cannot make the rice grow. Pray to your God to do that."

Saji Stephen turned on Ashish, his face twisted in fury. "I do not need to pray. I am the landlord!
I am the master!"

Hunkered down in the pond that the rice paddy had become, Shridula ran her fingers though the muddy water. "I cannot tell the difference between the weeds and the rice," she complained.

"It is better to leave the weeds in than to pull out the rice," Zia said.

"Then why do we sit in the mud all day? We could sit under a shelter and leave the weeds in just as well."

"We sit in the mud and leave the weeds in because the master commands it of us," Zia told her daughter. "You ask too many questions."

Shridula looked out at the sea of hunched-over women. Each one also dug through the mud, yet each one left the weeds to grow alongside the rice. All except Kashi, a withered slip of a girl. The more the others slowed down, the more frantically she worked.

"Stupid girl! You pull out rice along with the weeds and leave weeds to grow along with the rice," groused a woman with a jagged scar over her eye.

Kashi neither looked up nor slowed her pace.

"You keep working like that and the whole village will starve!" scolded the woman with three teeth.

Plunge, grab, pull. Plunge, grab, pull. Plunge, grab, pull. Kashi worked like a woman possessed.

"The landlord is not here to see you," Zia said gently. "We all get the same handful of rice whether we work or not.

" Kashi pulled her hand out of the mud and stared around her. For the first time, it seemed, she saw the other women watching her. She sat down in the muddy water and wept.

By late afternoon, Ashish stopped prodding the men and looked up at the sky, the same as he had done countless times before. And he saw the same thing he saw every other time: black clouds, heavy with rain.

"The fields are too flooded to work!" Dinkar insisted. "And at any moment the rain will start again. Let the poor fools go back to their huts."

"The rice is already far behind," Ashish said. "The men must work harder. We all must work harder, or there will be no food for any of us."

"You mean there will be no riches for the landlord. I still live in the first hut, which means I am still the real overseer. And I say the time has come to stop!"

Ashish tried to protest, but the men nearest Dinkar had already heard the overseer's words. As one, they abandoned the paddy and headed for the path to the settlement. For them, the workday had ended.

"Dawn until dusk," Ashish pleaded. "Dawn until dusk until the paddies are free of weeds. Then we can take our rest."

"No!" the young man with the old man's face called out. "We will take our rest right now. If you want the weeds out, you can pull them yourself!"

At that moment, the clouds opened and a torrent of rain poured down.

Days and more days passed before the rain finally slowed to a drizzle. The sun did its best to peek through heavy cloudbanks. But by the time it finally did shine through, the paths and fields were running rivers. When the workers made it back to the paddies, they found healthy weeds towering over stunted rice plants.

"Everyone is well rested!" Ashish called out. "Now we must work as hard as if it were harvest."

Someone shot back, "If it were harvest, we would be rewarded with extra rice and spices, and a great harvest feast!"

"If we do not work hard, there will be no harvest at all," Ashish answered.

As Dinkar led the line of laborers out to the paddies, the landlord's servant Udit came running. "Ashish!" he called. "Ashish! The master sends for you. You must come with me now."

When Saji Stephen saw Ashish approach, he stopped his pacing. "I told you this was to be the best harvest ever! I allowed you to be my overseer, and I told you to bring me a great harvest!"

The landlord stood at the edge of the water-soaked garden, his face twisted in fury. "I told you exactly what I expected of you. Now I hear that the rice is ruined. What have you done to my paddies?"

There was the rain. More important was the wasted time when the rice seedlings should have been planted. Most important of all was Saji Stephen's lack of direction and discipline for the laborers. But Ashish couldn't tell the landlord that he himself was the one who had caused the disaster in the rice paddies. So he stood perfectly still, looked straight ahead, and kept silent.

"It is your fault!" Saji Stephen yelled. He stamped his feet, and muddy water splashed up, soaking him. "It is the curse! It is the Brahmin's curse that did it!"

Ashish didn't dare move.

"The harvest
will
be a good one! It will be a
great
one!" Saji was shrieking now. "Until the paddies are clear of weeds and the rice is growing tall, the workers will not get even a handful of rice! Not one handful! You tell them that, Ashish. Go back and tell them that!"

Rain or sun, with morning's first light, the workers filed out to the paddies. Carefully they separated the weeds from the growing rice. They pulled out the weeds as best they could, then they cultivated the ground. The men worked, the women worked, and the children worked. Older boys, such as Jyoti's sons Hari and Falak, worked alongside the women. The little ones carried drinking water to the workers. Everyone worked. No one took a break. Only when it was too dark to see the weeds did they file back to the settlement to light their evening fires.

At first, everyone cut down on the amount of rice they allowed their families. More and more water went into the cooking pots and less and less grain. But as the rice sacks grew empty, the men took to digging up roots. The women brought weeds back from the paddy to boil in their pots. Everyone grew thin and wan. Kashi, already shriveled, faded into bones covered by skin.