The Hope of Shridula (33 page)
Read The Hope of Shridula Online
Authors: Kay Marshall Strom
- It is always difficult to move ourselves into another time and culture, then to attempt to understand it. Yet isn't that precisely the point of reading outside our own experience? What elements in this book's setting, either physical or cultural, surprised you? Confused you? Enlightened you? If you read the first book of the Blessings in India trilogy,
The Faith of Ashish,
did you expect more change in the almost half a century since that saga ended? One element of the Indian social system that seems especially difficult for Westerners to grasp is the powerlessness of outcastes. How did you see that evidenced in Shridula? Ashish? Jyoti? - A common response to criticism over caste issues is that the Indian social order is not really so very different from class divisions in other societies. To what degree do you think this argument is valid? In what ways do you see the Indian caste system as different? How is the plight of Indian outcastes similar to that of Africans enslaved in the U.S. a century earlier? How does it differ?
- The landlord Varghese family takes great pride in their long and distinguished Christian heritage, which they claim goes all the way back to the Apostle Thomas. What does "Christian" mean to them? What separates them from the Hindu majority? What compromises were various family members willing to make in order to secure social or material gains? Why do you think Brahmin Rama encouraged Landlord Saji Stephen Varghese to so thoroughly embrace and participate in the Hindu festival?
- Despite his Christian background, what do you think persuaded Nihal Amos Varghese to join the Communist Party? He claims to be both a Christian and a Communist. Could this have been possible? Why or why not? What compromises would it require? In his insistence that he could be both at once, do you see any parallels to some professing Christians today? If so, in what ways?
- In the bleak social order in which this story is set, hope is a difficult commodity to come by. When did you first recognize signs of hope in Shridula? Where does that hope come from? How does it mature? Do you see elements of hope in any other characters? Who, and in what way?
- "Rice Christians" is a derisive term for people who declare themselves Christians purely for the material benefits it brings them. Is this situation a danger for Ashish? For Shridula? Why or why not? Do you see any ways in which Abigail Davidson might have unwittingly encouraged this? Do you think this is a concern for outcastes—now called Dalits—in India today?
- Mohandas Gandhi is widely recognized as the leader of India's independence. Although this book is in no way intended as a comprehensive expose on his life, and although the book's scope ends before India's constitution was passed in January 1950, do you see any ways in which Gandhi failed to champion the cause of Untouchables? Why or why not? In what ways was he influenced by Christianity? How did his actions influence subsequent movements in other countries (e.g., U.S. civil rights; apartheid in South Africa)?
- After all Ashish went through, after all he learned about the landlord's deceptive ways, why do you suppose it was so difficult for him to leave the labor settlement? What enabled Shridula to take the initiative in their escape? Do you think the two of them could have made it without the help they received from Glory Anna and Sheeba Esther?
- Miss Abigail repeats a story attributed to the revered Indian Christian holy man Sadhu Sundar Singh about a man of high caste birth who, even to save his life, refuses to drink from a cup that might possibly have touched the lips of an Untouchable outcaste. The Sadhu's conclusion: "Indians will not receive Christianity from an English cup. If they are to receive the Gospel, it must come to them in an Indian cup." What was Miss Abigail's purpose in telling this story? Is it a valid point? Why or why not? How might this principle apply to Christians today?
- In what ways does Shridula cast a face of hope over a social landscape many might consider hopeless? Do you see in this book a development of the budding faith that began with the child Ashish in book 1? If so, in what way? What is the vehicle for any such development? What might be required for the full blossoming of that faith? What might be required for the fulfillment of the hope of Shridula?
The Blessings in India saga concludes with
The Love of Divena,
which will be published in Fall 2012. Here's a sample of the final book of this enthralling series.
March 1985
A
breeze wafted along the marketplace and stirred up the fragrance of spring. Cooler air rustling through the palm fronds refreshed Shridula as she sat with her basket of chili peppers before her and four small cucumbers laid out to one side. A near-perfect market day.
Shridula pushed back an unruly lock of gray hair and dared to dream of selling enough vegetables to earn a whole
rupee.
More than a
rupee,
perhaps. Maybe enough to buy a small bag of rice. Even a coconut. What a treat that would be.
A steady stream of women in brightly colored
saris
passed by. Married women, whose husbands had
not
deserted them. Women with sons who could look after them as they grew old. But only a few paused to look over Shridula's fine peppers. Mostly they fixed their eyes on other vendors' piles of green mangoes, the first of the season, and on their fresh leafy greens, and coconuts, and packages of peppercorns. Women even stopped to pick through old Arpana's pile of woven mats, despite the fact that everyone already had woven mats, and if they needed new ones, they could make them themselves.
"Beautiful hot peppers!" Shridula called out. "Plucked from the garden this morning!"
But each shopper hurried past without pausing to look.
Shridula held out the finest of her peppers and called all the louder, "Beautiful peppers! And cucumbers, too!" She thrust the cucumbers out toward the women shoppers. Still no one stopped.
Hours later, when the sun reached its zenith—the cooling breeze long gone—Shridula still had not earned even one
paise.
Not one penny.
"Lovely peppers, spicy hot," Shridula sighed.
No, no! She must not allow that note of desperation to creep into her voice. When she was young and her voice still rang with hope, shoppers had flocked to buy from her. She brushed a calloused hand across her weathered face.
"Cucumbers! Cucumbers, fresh from the garden!"
She didn't dare call the cucumbers "lovely." Not when she had picked them so early in the season that faded blossoms still clung to the ends. The cucumbers were too small and immature to bring a good price. Shridula knew that. Yet if someone should have a particular hunger for cucumbers, and if hers were the only ones at the market . . .
A woman with two whiney little ones tugging at her green
sari
stopped to pinch Shridula's peppers.
"Fresh and firm," Shridula offered.
"We shall see about that," the woman sniffed. She dug through the basket and pulled out an especially nice pepper. She laid it aside and chose another, and another, and another until she had piled up the best from Shridula's basket. The woman scowled at her squealing children. "I suppose these will do," she said with a sigh. She scooped the peppers into her bag and handed Shridula a ten
paise
coin. Ten cents.
"No, no! Fifty
paise!"
Shridula insisted. Even that was less than she had hoped for.
"Hah!" laughed the woman in the green
sari.
"Do you think you are the only woman selling peppers at the market today? You most certainly are not!"
Shridula tried to barter, but the woman's loud shouting frightened her children and they began to cry. Other women stopped their shopping to gawk at the seller who had obviously done something to provoke such an outrage. In the end, Shridula accepted the coin simply to get rid of the woman. The woman in the green sari pushed her little ones ahead of her and hurried away, a triumphant smile on her lips and her bag filled with Shridula's finest peppers.
By mid-afternoon, Shridula gazed with despair at her wilted chili peppers and shrunken cucumbers. The early stream of shoppers had melted down to an impatient trickle. A great weariness settled over Shridula. With a sigh of resignation, she put the cucumbers back in the basket and balanced it on her head. Clutching the single thin coin, she set her feet on the road toward home.
Over the years, the dirt road between the marketplace and Shridula's small hut had grown so familiar to her feet that she no longer paid it any mind. It used to be that she prayed to the God of the Holy Bible as she walked the road. But that was before her husband had left. When her sons still lived.
"My soul is weary," Shridula's father, Ashish, used to say. Back then, she couldn't understand what he meant. She did now.
Far down the road, the old woman's weary feet turned off onto the narrow path that led to the far edge of the untouchable end of the village. Except that people were not supposed to use the word "Untouchable" for outcastes anymore. Now the acceptable term was
Dalits.
Broken people.
As she approached her wooden hut, Shridula slowed and stared ahead in confusion. A few more careful steps, then she stopped still and squinted hard into the gathering shadows. Someone sat crumpled against her door. A filthy, muddy someone with wild hair and ragged clothes. A beggar! Yes, a beggar dared take up residence in her doorway!
"Get away!" Shridula ordered. "This is my house."
The beggar unfolded herself. She was only a skinny child of no more than ten years. A boney wisp of a girl who stared up at her with red-rimmed eyes.
"
Ammama?"
the girl whispered.
Shridula's legs went limp and the basket slipped from her head. Cucumbers and red peppers tumbled to the ground. The girl stared hungrily at the vegetables as they rolled through the dirt.
"Why do you call me Grandmother?" Shridula demanded. She had not intended her tone to be so sharp. "Who are you?"
The girl buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
"What is your mother's name?" Shridula pressed. For the girl had called her
Ammama—"
mother of my mother," not
Achama—"
mother of my father."
The girl wiped her hand across her dirt-streaked face. "Ritu," she said, tears catching in her voice. "My
amma's
name was Ritu. But I do not have an
amma
anymore."
"Where is she?" Shridula asked, her own voice shaking.
"One day she did not wake up and
Appa
said we must leave her on the sidewalk where she lay. We said goodbye to her and walked and walked. For many days we walked . . ."
The girl could say no more, for tears overtook her once again.
Shridula sank to her knees. Her daughter. Her sweet Ritu, who had married so young. Whose husband had taken her from the village. How many years ago? Shridula had no idea.
"Why did you come here?" Shridula demanded of the girl.
"I did not come. My
appa
brought me. But when we got near the village he said he was tired of taking care of himself so he found a new wife. He left my sister at an orphanage and he brought me here." When Shridula said nothing, the girl insisted, "I did not want to come! My
appa
brought me here and left me!"
Shridula opened her hand and looked at the single thin coin. Ten paise. In the earthenware container on the shelf in the house was, at the most, two handfuls of rice. Enough to last the two of them three days. Maybe four, if they ate only one small meal each day. She would take her peppers back to the market tomorrow, of course, but she couldn't make women buy them.
"What is your name?" Shridula asked as she walked toward the girl. She forced her voice to be more gentle and kind.
"Anjan," the girl said.
"Anjan! Why would my daughter name her child 'fear'? What kind of name is that to give a little one?"
The girl looked at the ground and said nothing. But Shridula had seen her face, and she recognized the look in the waif's eyes. It was fear. The poor child was doomed to live down to her name.
"Come," Shridula said. "You must be hungry. I will cook us some rice with spicy peppers. We will have cucumbers, too. They are not quite ripe, but they will still be good."
For the first time, the hint of a smile touched the edges of the girl's mouth.
As Shridula pulled dried sticks from her small pile of firewood and started a fire in the cook pit, she positioned herself in such a way that she could see the girl in the doorway. She poured water into the cooking pot and set it over the fire. The girl watched her.
From the almost-empty rice container, Shridula got half a handful of rice to stir into the pot. No more than that.
"We shall eat slowly," Shridula told the girl, a false smile on her face. "That way we won't need as much rice in our bowls."
The girl said nothing.
Shridula dropped a handful of peppers into the pot, too. And because it was a special occasion, she added a pinch of precious spices.
"Two cucumbers," Shridula said to the girl. "Do you like cucumbers?"
The girl wrinkled her brow in puzzlement. "I do not know," she answered. "I never ate one."
"Good!" said Shridula. "Then you will not know whether these are ripe or not."
When Shridula handed a bowl of rice and peppers to the girl, the young one grabbed it and lapped it up like a starving animal. Then she started on her cucumber. She ate the entire thing. Even the wilted blossom on the end.
"I am not particularly hungry," Shridula said as casually as she could manage. "Would you be able to finish my rice as well?" She reached out her bowl.
The girl's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Please take it. I have had enough."
The girl looked straight up into Shridula's eyes, but only for a quick moment. She grabbed for the bowl and scooped the rice into her mouth.
"Tomorrow I will take the water pots and fill them at the pond," Shridula said. "Then you can wash the mud from your face."
"No," the girl said. "Getting water is my job. I will take the water pots to the pond."
The dirt-floor hut, small and cramped and almost always too hot, was not a pleasant place to sleep. Like most everyone else, Shridula pulled her sleeping mat outside at night and slept under the stars except during the rainy season.
"I only have the one sleeping mat," she said to the girl as she spread it out. "Come, lie down beside me."
Gingerly, the girl crept to the side of the hut, but she would come no farther.
"You must be very tired," Shridula said. "Come and lie down."
The girl didn't move, so Shridula settled herself on one side of the mat. For a long time she lay still. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the shadow of the girl.
"My
appa
was called Ashish. Blessing," Shridula said softly. "From the day he was born, his parents knew he would be a blessing to them."
The girl said nothing.
"My
appa
and
amma
named me Shridula. I was their blessing, even though I was only a girl."
Still the girl said nothing.
Shridula watched the stars in silence. The girl didn't move.
"You did not want to be left in my doorway. And I did not want you left here, because I have no money to buy food for you," Shridula said to the small shadow pressed against the side of the hut. "But here you are, so we will live together. We will find a way."