Nectar in a Sieve (24 page)

"He is probably better fitted to fend for himself than we are --" Nathan began, but although he was echoing my thoughts I found myself turning on him indignantly: "How can you say such a thing! He is only a child . . . no more than nine or ten! And he is not whole either, as we are."

But that he was right Puli demonstrated the next morning. When we woke we found him sitting crosslegged beside us, frowning thoughtfully.

"You earn two annas," he asked, "after working all day?" I nodded: "Sometimes three or four."

"Between two and four then," he amended impatiently. "Have you no wish to earn more?"

I stared at him.

"If only I could," I said, half breathless. "Is there some way?"

"There is a stone quarry," he said, "not far from here. Stone-breakers earn good wages."

"And who will employ us," said Nathan sadly, "at our age! Such heavy work would in any event be beyond us."

"Age doesn't matter," the boy said impatiently. "As for who will employ you, there is no such thing. Anyone can go and work and be paid by the results -- so much for each sackful."

"Are we not beyond such labour?"

"Indeed no! All kinds work in the quarry, men, women and children. I would work too," he added, "but I cannot hold a hammer or stone firmly enough. One can earn a lot if one works quickly."

"Lead on," Nathan said. "We are in your hands."

We heard the noise of the stone-breakers long before we reached the quarry; a clink-clank of stone on stone with intermittent dull explosions. As we drew near, the din grew louder; we had to shout to make ourselves heard.

The quarry was on a hillside, not the calm and pleasant Chamundi Hill, but another, lesser hill, bare and rocky, with here and there a few clumps of prickly pear. On one side of the hill the land fell away sharply, almost vertically, and here was revealed the actual quarry, an enormous irregular crater strewn with boulders and lined with jagged rocks, its sides pitted with holes of varying size. People were everywhere; some working in the quarry itself, others scattered about the hillside; the heftier among the men splitting boulders, the women and children chipping fragments off the larger stones. Movement everywhere: a myriad arms, rising and falling, hands flailing, backs bending and straightening in a relentless rhythm. At intervals I observed a red flag being hoisted which seemed to be some sort of danger signal, for those working in the vicinity immediately dispersed to wait at a safe distance; a shrill whistle also blew as a warning to those who had not seen, or who had disregarded, the red flag; and within a few seconds followed the explosions we had heard when approaching the quarry.

"The sheet rock is blasted by gunpowder," Puli explained. "The municipality send special men to do that, but the other work can be done by anyone."

So it seemed: there were all ages and sizes here; but we were at a loss where to begin. "Begin here," Puli said. "It is some way from the quarry, where most of the blasting is done, and you won't have to run so often." He sat himself down, keeping a watchful eye on us.

"I have never done this kind of work before," I said uncertainly. "I hardly know --"

"Oh, it is quite simple. You merely hammer the stones until they break. The only thing is you must get them the right size. See that pile there?" he pointed to a heap of stones, most of which were about the size of a child's fist. "Try and get them like that."

And that was precisely the difficulty: to break the stones to the required size. Sometimes they were too big, sometimes too small. We struck lightly and only chips glanced off the stone: we struck hard and it fell to fragments. The air was full of flying dust and stone particles, part of the trouble lay in keeping one's eyes open while striking.

"It is not a simple way of earning," I said, "and it is more difficult than it looks." And Nathan grumbled, "If we had a hammer, at least we should not have so much waste." Yet there were many like us without hammers and using only stones, who were making very good progress. Once or twice I stopped to watch, admiring and envious, while the stones broke obediently to the right size under their skilful blows and the knobbly heaps before them grew. Only once were we disturbed by blasting near us. Engrossed in our work, neither of us had observed the red flag, nor with the hammering constantly beating upon our eardrums, did we hear the whistle go; but Puli, more alert than either of us, hustled us to safety, and as we ran we felt the ground shake beneath us.

"You must learn to be careful," Puli said severely, while stones and earth still rained down on us like hailstones. "Did you not hear the whistle, or the people who shouted to you? This blasting is a nuisance," he went on. "You will find your stones are scattered; but you will get used to it."

The stones were indeed scattered, and mixed inextricably with those of other workers: but when we had collected what we reckoned to be our pile no one raised any objections. "Sometimes one loses, sometimes one gains," a man said philosophically. "It evens itself out."

I was thankful there was this spirit of amity: we were neither of us anxious to engage in futile disputes.

The sun was setting before we finished. The heap of stones before us was not very large; nor, to our proud eyes, very small. All about us people were stopping work. As the light faded so the clink-clank din died; in the gathering darkness only a few faint sounds of hammering told of a solitary stone-breaker continuing his labours.

I turned to the boy beside us. "Well, what now? Who pays us?"

"We must get a sack first," he replied. "Your husband had better wait here while we are gone. Come, I will show you the overseer's hut."

I followed him. The hillside was full of moving people, some carrying laden sacks, others with wicker baskets on their shoulders which creaked with the weight of the stones, some of which tumbled from holes in the loosely woven wicker.

The overseer's hut was built some distance away from the quarry -- a small affair with thatched roof and pressed-fibre walls. The two doors, one at either end, were both open. A long line of people was moving in slowly at one; from the other, people were coming away, not with sacks but with money. I joined the line, empty-handed. Puli was standing some distance away; from somewhere he had produced a begging bowl which he held in the crook of his elbow, while he displayed his mutilated hands to the passers-by. He had altered his voice, I noticed, making it weak and quavery while he uttered his sing-song plea: "Take pity on an orphan child, take pity . . ."

Wrong place, I thought. Only the poor come here. But to my astonishment I saw one or two had dropped pies into his bowl. Soon he was able to rattle it, thus attracting even more attention.

The line was moving slowly forward: I shuffled along with it. The man behind me was laden with two baskets; he kept prodding me with them until at last I turned round in irritation. Then I saw he was a very old man, the load he carried kept slipping over his lean shanks and every time he hitched the baskets up they bumped against me. My irritation vanished.

"You have been busy today, I see," I said.

"No more than usual. . . . I generally manage two baskets."

"We were two," I confessed, "but I doubt whether we have filled even one!"

"You will work faster when you are used to it. . . . You are new, are you not?"

"Yes, first time we have been."

"I thought so," he nodded. "You ought to collect your sack as soon as you get here, otherwise there is this long wait and then you have to come back and wait again."

I thanked him, feeling surprised that Puli had not known, he who was so competent in his way. Then I reminded myself that despite his airs he was only a child.

My turn. I entered. A man was sitting on the floor writing on a small raised wooden board resting on bricks before him.

"How many?" He did not raise his eyes.

"One only."

He entered something in a book and reached for some coins, then he looked up. "Where is your sack?"

"I have not got one . . . I have just come for it," I stammered.

"Why did you not ask for it in the first place?" he said crossly. "Are you trying to get money for nothing?"

He put the coins back on the pile, took a basket from those stacked behind him.

"Here you are . . . no sacks left. And hurry up, else you won't be paid tonight."

I took it and ran back to Nathan. Breathless with haste we filled the basket and I was back while the line of waiters still stretched before the hut.

"Two sacks, one rupee . . . three sacks, oneeight . . ." the overseer's voice kept calling, monotonous, slightly weary. Stooping I placed my basket in front of him.

"One sack, eight annas," he called; then impatiently, altering his rhythm, "Not there! Behind, with the others!"

I put the basket alongside the others. Now at last I was to be paid. He took out the money, two coins, each a four-anna piece, dropped them in my palm.

Nathan was waiting, eager and impatient. "How much?"

"Eight annas!"

We looked at each other, smiling, jubilant. "We shall soon be home," Nathan said softly. "Think of it!"

It seemed natural that we should wait for Puli, and sure enough he joined us a few minutes later. The boy had attached himself to us of his own accord and now both of us took it for granted he would remain.

"Well," I said as he came up. "How did you fare? I saw you were busy."

"Not well at all," he replied dolefully, holding out one anna. "That is all I got for my pains."

I myself had heard the rattling of many more coins, and apparently so had Nathan. "You must be very clever," he said drily, "to make so much clatter with only one coin!"

There was a silence, then Puli recovered himself.

"Ah that! True, there were other coins, but they were pies. I have exchanged them for this one anna."

He was an artful child in many ways, and more than a match for us.

Each day Puli accompanied us to the quarry, usually remaining with us while we worked and always returning with us to the temple. Whatever we earned we entrusted to him; the theft of the money from my sari while I slept had undermined not only my confidence but Nathan's: besides, Puli was manifestly more capable of caring for it than we were.

We calculated that if we earned eight annas each day and contrived to live on four, we could save the money we needed to return in forty days. "At any rate within two months," said Nathan, "allowing for everything."

He turned to Puli, who had bought some marbles which he was tossing up and down in his begging bowl, being unable to use them in any other way.

"What of you? Will you come with us?

The boy stared: the thought of leaving the city seemed to shock him. He shook his head. "No! I do not want to go to your village."

"It is much nicer than here," said Nathan enticingly. "More peaceful, with green fields and open air. . . . and when the paddy is ripe -- ah, such a sight as you have never seen."

"And what would I do there," said Puli contemptuously, "in these green fields of yours I know nothing about! What is more, they are not even yours, do you want me to starve with you?

"You are right," Nathan said sadly. "We have nothing to offer you."

"I do not know why you want to return," Puli continued. "You have told me yourself you have no land. What will you live on?"

We ourselves did not know. We had left because we had nothing to live on, and if we went back it was only because there was nothing here either. We ate once a day and that was all: when the day came for buying cloth to cover ourselves with, or a mat to lie on, or medicines for Nathan while he fevered, there would be nothing.

"You are too young to understand," said Nathan. "This is not my home, I can never live here."

"Yet you came?"

"I came because I was forced, and believing my son lived here. Now he has gone none knows where. I must return to my youngest son, he will somehow support us."

"Are you sure?" said the ruthless child. "You are too old to keep travelling up and down."

"At least," said Nathan, "I shall be where I was born and bred. This city is no place for me, I am lost in it. And I am too old to learn to like it." He changed the subject: "How will you fare when we go?"

"As I did before you came," said Puli indifferently.

"We beg and work sometimes and filch from stalls when we can . . . I and the other boys. . . . I know every street and alley," he added proudly. "I have been chased often, but have never been caught. Now if I came to your village I would know neither where to hide nor where to seek. No, no! I will not leave."