Karma (13 page)

I follow Amma and Maya through the streets in the early morning. Maya carries a bundle of clothes on her head. Holding it with two hands.

Go home, Sandeep,
Amma says.
What kind of man watches women do laundry?

I retreat in a sulk but decide not to go far. I sit at the top of the tank's stone steps and keep my eye on Maya. But my attention is distracted when Hari plants himself beside me.

My stupid sister is still infatuated with you.

No, she isn't.

Well, here, read her letter for yourself.

I shake my head.
Take the letter back and tell her she's too good for me. I don't deserve her.

Well, it's true, you don't. But she'll be angry if I return it unopened.

Then open it yourself and tell her I read it. I'm busy, Hari. I'm busy with other things.

Ah, the girl,
he says, laughing.
Everyone's talking about her. Even Tejal. So when are you going to tell me
the truth? That your sister found her in a brothel?

My hands grip Hari's neck so quickly I'm not sure who's more surprised. I squeeze slowly. Is it easy to kill someone?

When I let go, Hari rolls on the ground, holding his throat.
What's happened to you?
he whispers between coughs.
You've changed since that girl came!

Hari, I'm sorry. Really really sorry. And it's true. I'm not myself these days. But I can't let you say those things about Maya!

But everyone is saying them, Sandeep! Are you planning to fight the whole town? Wake up! There's talk going around that this girl has put a spell on your family. And you know what that means.

He runs down the steps and is gone. I turn back to Maya. She is spreading a skirt on the ground to dry. Opening the folds into a giant red poppy. When she's done, a woman drags her feet over the flower.

I am the cause of so much trouble.
—M.

(No. We are a backward nation. —S.

Amma forbids me to come down to the tank again.
It's not right, Sandeep. The women are saying the most disgusting things.

But I follow anyway. I'd rather deal with Amma's anger than leave Maya alone with the gossips. Though some protector I am. I sit and listen. And do nothing.

Paagal!
The end of a sari hits Maya across the back of her legs.
You are a crazy one!

Maya keeps her head down. She beats a red cloth against the rocks.

Suchait hona!
A woman kicks dirt across a freshly washed blouse.
We must beware of you!

I run down the steps, but Amma holds me back.
No, Sandeep!

I hear the women laugh as Maya struggles with the mound of wet cotton. Twisting and twisting until it weeps with water the colour of blood.

Their cruelty is so easy.
—M.

(They've never met anyone like you. —S.)

Maya can barely stand. Cannot eat. She lies on the bed staring at the space between roof and wall. And doesn't blink.

Barindra and I argue with Amma.

The child is exhausted, Mina.

And the women are nasty!

It'll get easier for her,
Amma says.
Once she learns how to wring the water out.

But she's even thinner, Mina. Shrinking. As if her skin is giving up whatever fight she's in.

And haven't you noticed, Amma? How she lifts laundry like she's carrying the dead?

Your writing is addling your head, Sandeep. You imagine things that aren't there. And you, Barindra, what do you know about women's work? What Maya needs to do is to stop fighting her fate. Forget her pain. Like the rest of us.

Yes. Forget. Forgotten.
—M.

(Forget what? — S.)

Parvati says I must hurry.

-  I know it's only been ten days, but if Maya doesn't tell you something soon, she'll spend the rest of her life doing laundry! Have you learned nothing, Sandeep?

My voice is despondent.

-  Sometimes she flicks her fingers. Like she's playing an instrument. Maybe a piano.

Parvati pauses.

-  A piano doesn't exactly narrow down the country of origin. Anything else?

I can't tell her what's happening in the pages of the diary. Yet I hate lying.

-  Don't give up, brother. I have faith in you. How are you sleeping?

She always asks this. My doctor-sister believes my dreams come from memories trying to push their way through to consciousness.

-  Your body wants to remember,
she says softly.

I had to quit school because I lost the ability to focus.

-  I'm sleeping all right, Deedi.
Another lie.

What should a six-year-old remember? The lap of his mother? Her face? But perhaps she was covered. Because of the dust.

Parvati said everyone died. Seven people. The bodies found hundreds of feet from the camp. Every one of them alone. Except me. The goats had herded themselves. I must have crawled under their bellies.

It's an unusual story. Nomadic tribes know how to protect themselves from desert storms. But these shepherds seemed to be caught by surprise. Out in the open.

What do you think happened?
I asked her.

Maybe one day you'll remember, Sandeep

I hear you at night.
—M.

(I don't know why I call out your name. —S.)

Men don't understand that women are not separate. We're the

community. We're the shared work. And yes, we are the gossip. But without each other we die! Men live only for themselves. Their hearts beat alone.

Amma continues to argue hard with her hand on my wrist.

Even you, Sandeep, who don't listen to anyone. You live as if it doesn't matter that we have a strange girl in our house. You live as if the gossips won't come after you next!

Stop it, Mina! Leave the boy alone! These are the tongues of wicked women. The talk that you haven't discouraged!

It's the women at the laundry. I say nothing, Barindra.

Well, the laundry is finished. Maya's not our servant, and you can't just keep her here to wash blouses, skirts, and dhotis.

Fine. But you must admit there's something unearthly about her, husband.

Barindra's face darkens like ink flooding his veins.

Her extraordinary beauty?

That's not all of it. The women are saying that when she walks she makes no footprints.

Ridiculous superstition.

We won't fall for that.

Easy for you
.
People are saying she'll bring misfortune to this town.

So stop listening, Mina
.
Has no one considered that Maya may have nowhere to go?

And have you not considered that her family threw her out for good reason?

No. I believe she is lost. And it's not safe for her to return home.

All I know, Barindra, is that when I look at that girl I don't see her missing anyone. It's as if she was born into this world alone.

Well, you're right about something, Mina. She's
the loneliest creature I've ever seen.

And you wait and see. Something terrible is going to happen.

Trouble follows that girl like a shadow.

What does the fate of one girl even matter?
—M.

(You matter. To me. —S.)

Amma says we are losing our social standing with each passing day.

Dadima says the mobs will drag the girl away, strip her naked, make her eat shit, then stone her.

Barindra says we are losing our good sense and our moral strength.

My sister says Maya is being singled out as if she carries some communal sin on her skin. Parvati uses the English word:
scapegoat
. Someone who carries the blame for the guilty.

- What happens to the goat, Deedi?

- It gets sent to the wilderness. Alone.

Maya won't get out of bed.

Amma can't rouse Maya. Even with her red lamb curry.

Barindra brings a doctor to listen to her heart.
Yes, it's broken,
he says.
There's nothing to be done about that.

Dadima sneaks an old wrinkled shaman into the house.
Is the girl a witch?

I cannot say yes or no,
he says.
I can only tell people what to look for.
(Coward.) He lifts Maya's hands, turns the palms upward.
Too many lines,
he says, shaking his head.
She carries an extra soul. A soul she can't put down.
He drops angelica oil onto her third eye.

Dadima whispers:
If she dies in our home, will there be two ghosts to haunt us?

(Maya? Are you there? –S.)

In the night all the apples on the trees in Bara Bagh fell to the ground. The earth shuddered under the pounding. Someone says they saw a witch dressed in orange spitting on the fruit.

Fact

A violent wind can harvest an orchard,

Barindra says.
Shake every fruit loose
.

There's nothing supernatural about it.

A bride in Jaisalmer fainted the night of her marriage and cannot be wakened. In her sleep, she cries:
Maya. Maya. Where is my husband?

Fact

Just another nervous bride,
Barindra says.
Afraid of the wedding night.

Nothing more to that story.

A sand snake was found curled under the body of a sleeping child. When the little boy woke, the viper bit his arms, legs, and face. He cried out only once. Then the snake put his head inside his mouth.

Fact

Twenty children a year die of snake bites,
Barindra says.

It's not sorcery. It's a door left open.

A man claims she came to him in the night.

A naked succubus wanting his body and soul.

And now she has taken all his strength.

Fact

The man is well known at the brothel,
Barindra says.
And yet he blames Maya for his impotence!

A woman who bumped into Maya at the market died on Tuesday. Two days later she rose from her funeral pyre and walked into the desert. Her skin burned green.

Fact

Well, that's just stupid,
says Barindra.

The word
tonahi
is on everyone's lips. Witch.

Fact

A woman spits on Amma's head at the market.

The spice man shouts at her and waves a stem of wormwood in her face.

Rocks are pitting our front door.

We are done with this!

Mina, be reasonable. Children die in Jaisalmer every week.

Brides refuse to sleep with their husbands. Winds shake trees. Hallucinations can plague the mourning. And men lie about their desire.

And people in fear do terrible things, Barindra. The town believes Maya is not who she appears to be. They claim she casts no shadow. They say that her teeth grow longer as the sun sets.

Yes. Yes. Let me guess what else. She is sleeping with their husbands. This has to stop.

How? How will this stop? Every year there's a story about a witch living in our midst.

And that is what they are— stories! Someone wants to get back at a woman. She spurned a man's advances. She holds title to a property that someone covets. Or the woman is a Dalit with no caste at all. These are the witches, Mina. They are
powerless victims, nothing more.

And when they come for her, what will you do? When they throw the stones? When they beat her? How will you stop that? You and Sandeep cannot hold back a mob. And that is what is coming to our door. Tonight. Tomorrow. In the middle of the night.

Mina . . . .

Take her. Take Maya away now. Before our life here is lost.

Please.

You can't sleep any more.

You've got to wake up.

And tell me what to do.

I smell the camels before I see them.

Mounds of shadow kneeling in the darkness.

Where is Farooq?
I hear Barindra whisper to a tall figure standing beside the beasts.

The young man bows.
I am Akbar. Tenth grandson of Farooq. I am sorry to carry news of his sudden illness.

Illness? I spoke to my old friend less than five hours ago! He seemed well enough.

A very bad case of loose motion. There is no riding of the camels in such a condition.

So he sent you?

I am to assure you that I am as excellent a guide as my grandfather. You are not to worry. He bows again.

Well, we shall see. Whether I worry or not. Have we met before?

Never. I grew up in the desert. I have come to Jaisalmer for one year only. To study. To improve myself.

He's lying. I don't know how I know. But I can hear it. The lie rattling in his throat like an apricot pit.

Grandfather has explained the problem, Mr. Barindra. And he thought I was well suited to the task. Farooq is an aged man. Not as quick as I.

Akbar takes a step toward Barindra.
You are in good hands.

Barindra steps back.

Now I can see Maya.

Wrapped in grey.

Her face shadowed by folds of wool.

One shaking hand keeps the blanket from falling.

Ah, so this is the girl everyone is talking about?
Akbar bows. His turban almost touches the ground.
Yes, she is beautiful. See, even the moon adores her.
As if on command, a single cloud clears and a soft light washes over Maya's face.
But is she Indian? Hmm. I think not. From another place. A country with a big sky. And no monsoons, perhaps.

His voice is smooth as silk.

No one is breathing.

Is Barindra going to fall for this bullshit?

That's enough, Akbar,
I say, with a tone I might use with servants. (If I had any.) I step out of my hiding place behind the fort wall