The Hope of Shridula (24 page)

"Here," Glory Anna said, handing the Bible to Shridula. "You read."

Tracing each word with her finger, Shridula read slowly, "
Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also."

"There!" Glory Anna announced. "That is not Hindu at all, but it is what the Mahatma teaches." She pulled the Bible off Shridula's lap and ran her own finger down the lines. "And this, too . . .

"
Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you."

Shridula shook her head. "I do not care if Jesus said it. I do not care if Mahatma Gandhi does it. It is not right! Love the ones who beat you? And starved your old parents? And called up the evil spirits to fill a snake with poison to kill your mother? No! I will never love such a one!"

"Whenever your son Rajeev speaks, he uses Christian words, laced with Christian thoughts," Brahmin Rama said to Saji Stephen. "Such talk is extremely offensive to Indians."

"The Varghese family is as Indian as you are!" Saji Stephen said. "Everyone in the village knows we are a Christian family with ancient Christian roots."

"True, but the words your Rajeev chooses are abrasive and offensive. Especially when he uses them to argue against a true India."

"You mean a Hindu India?"

A flicker of frustration flashed in the Brahmin's eye. Only for a moment, but long enough for Saji Stephen to see and make note. "What I mean is that your Rajeev pushes the tenets of the Christian religion over Hinduism."

"You mean by agreeing with Mahatma Gandhi and the multitudes that follow him?"

Frustration clouded the Brahmin's face. "Who will you be, Landlord?" he demanded. "Christian or Indian?"

"A Christian Indian," Saji Stephen said. "Just as my family has been for as long as anyone can remember."

"The words 'Christian' and 'Indian' do not fit together as equals," Brahmin Rama insisted. "A
Christian
Indian speaks the way your son speaks. The words of such a one may make Untouchables smile and Englishmen cheer, but they will certainly infuriate the ones who are soon to rule India. An Indian
Christian,
however, can hold to his beliefs while also demonstrating that he truly is an Indian."

Saji Stephen opened his mouth to speak. But because he could think of no clever rebuttal, he closed his lips and said nothing.

"At this moment the entire village is busy getting ready for the
Vishu
festival," Brahmin Rama said. "Do you desire to retain your prestige and power in the area? Then allow me to send a servant to prepare your house for the festival. Let it be known throughout the village that the first thing the Varghese family saw on the morning of the New Year was Lord Krishna reigning over the
Vishukkani."

"I am not a Hindu."

"Fine. Keep your true religion tucked away in your heart where it belongs," Rama said. "The way to hush up those who would speak against you is to show them you are a true Indian."

As the first light of New Year's dawn streaked the sky, Saji Stephen hurried throughout his house calling, "Come, come! Do not open your eyes until you get to the veranda!"

In other homes in the village, whether rich houses or humble huts, mothers led their young ones, eyes squeezed shut, to their own prepared altars. Everywhere, families opened their eyes to the
Vishukkani,
the first sight of the New Year.

"Really, Father, I never believed you would make yourself so beholden to a Brahmin," Rajeev groused.

"A ridiculous idea!" Nihal Amos muttered as he felt his way along the wall and out to the veranda. "The very idea of kowtowing to that scrawny Rama is absolutely absurd!"

Saji Stephen paid his complaining sons no mind. It was his house and they had no choice but to do as he commanded.

"Will we get a treat?" Rajeev's little son Wafi asked. He danced about excitedly, his eyes shut tight—until he ran into Glory Anna.

"Be careful!" Glory Anna scolded. She grasped more tightly to Shridula's hand.

"Now!" Saji Stephen called. "Open your eyes to a new year of happiness and prosperity!"

What a glorious spectacle lay before them! Golden oil lamps—
nilavilakku—
cast a striking glow over a splendid display of symbols of prosperity: platters of special fruit—coconut halves, mangoes, bananas, and golden cucumbers. All this was set off with a golden spray of
kanikkonna
blossoms. A giltedged metal mirror stood in the center. Piled around were new clothes for everyone and special gifts for Wafi and the other children. And over all stood an intricately decorated idol of Lord Krishna, reigning supreme over the dawning new year.

Sheeba Esther gasped out loud. "What have you done?" she demanded of Saji Stephen.

But Wafi squealed with delight, and Saji Stephen busied himself handing around the new clothes.

"Dress quickly," he instructed. "We must hurry to the temple. We must prepare ourselves for the festival to come."

Every member of the Varghese family was to be conspicuously present, dressed in new clothes, for the entire day of festival songs and dancing and feasting and prayer. Saji Stephen demanded it. They paraded to the village marketplace, Saji Stephen on the front seat of his gaily decorated bullock cart and his two sons seated in back of him. The women and children walked behind the cart. They were a sullen group. Glory Anna stayed close to Sheeba Esther, who wrung her hands in continual distress. Only Rajeev's little Wafi bubbled with excitement.

As they approached the marketplace, Amina's constant scolding of her children was interrupted by cheerful calls of "Rajeev! Rajeev Varghese!"

Rajeev looked around in confusion.

"What of the new India, Rajeev?" a villager called out to him.

Only then did the landlord's elder son notice the villagers gathering around the cart and how truly pleased they were to see him. They smiled up and shouted out greetings. Immediately Rajeev's scowl turned into a campaigner's grin.

Brahmin Rama had told Saji Stephen, "The people love Mahatma Gandhi." His words were true. Saji Stephen could see that. But Rama had also warned, "The Mahatma neither likes nor trusts Christians." So Saji Stephen tossed everything Christian from his words and demeanor, and threw himself wholeheartedly into the Hindu festival.

"Ha! Ha!" Brahmin Rama laughed when he saw the landlord. "Change your name, and no one in India will suspect you are a Christian!"

"Oh, but they will," Saji Stephen said. "For I will sit on my veranda and in plain sight of everyone, I will eat an entire platter of roasted mutton smothered in ghee. Only a Christian has the freedom to do that."

Shridula had watched as the Varghese family paraded away, Glory Anna and Sheeba Esther following after the landlord's cart. She had watched as the household servants cleaned up quickly from the morning so that they too could hurry down the road to join the celebration. Only Shridula remained behind.

How strange to be all alone in the landlord's huge house.

"Stay in Glory Anna's room and do not come out!" Udit ordered before he left. He had glared at Shridula as though he expected her to creep around the house and peek about into forbidden places. Of course she would not.

Shridula lay down in her corner of Glory Anna's room and tried to sleep. She couldn't. The pop . . . pop . . . popping of firecrackers drifted from the village. Shridula got up, opened the door a crack, and peeked out. Nothing outside but lonely silence broken by the distant popping. She closed the door and lay back down. How she wished she could sneak down to the settlement to visit her father. But she dare not. She squeezed her eyes closed and forced herself to sleep.

Dancing, dancing in the sunshine, following after the Lord Krishna as the gaily decorated image paraded along the crowded road . . . Laughing, laughing, her mouth sweet with treats . . . Singing, singing, joyous music . . .

Shridula awakened with a start. Jerking upright, she struggled to understand where the festival had gone. No longer did sun stream through the window. Shridula came fully awake to realize she had been asleep for some time.

Out in the great room, something rustled softly. Shridula rubbed her eyes. The servants must be back from the festival. She stood up and listened for their voices.

Nothing.

As Shridula sank back down in her corner, footsteps hurried past. She crept to the door and eased it open just a crack. A single figure—tall and lean and singularly shabby—moved through the gathering darkness of the great room. The figure reached out and grabbed an ivory carving from the tabletop, then snatched up the golden candlestick beside it. Shridula gasped out loud.

The shadowy figure swung around and stared into her face.

"Hari!" Shridula exclaimed.

Jyoti's elder son stared back at her with an even gaze. He didn't even attempt to run.

"What are you doing?" Shridula demanded.

"Helping the landlord share his wealth," Hari said with a laugh.

"No, no! You must not steal from this house!"

Hari's mouth twisted into a vicious sneer. "You would defend this cruel master?" He quickly added, "Oh, I see how it is. You were left here, were you not? Yes, because you are good enough to be Master Landlord's house slave, but too worthless to take part in the festival! Instead of scolding me, you should help me empty out his house!"

"Please!" Shridula begged. "If you take anything away, I will be blamed for it."

"Then do not stay here. Come away with me," Hari said. "Even a girl can fight for the Communists."

"Please, Hari! Please! My father saved your life."

Hari's face hardened. "My life would not have needed saving if the workers had helped the Communists take power from upper caste hands and—"

"The servants will be back any time!"

Hari shot Shridula a look of contempt. He turned and dashed out through the open door, the ivory carving and golden candlestick clutched tight in his hands. What else he may have tucked into his clothes, Shridula couldn't imagine.

As the sun set, as the landlord and his family danced for all to see, as the servants walked the road back to Saji Stephen's house, Shridula sank into her corner and wept.

April 1947

S
hridula awoke long before dawn. Another day of waiting for the inevitable. Two weeks had passed and no one had yet mentioned the missing ivory carving and golden candlestick. But they would. She knew they would.

That morning, Shridula and Glory Anna occupied themselves in the great room—Glory Anna adding to her growing collection of paintings and Shridula running to and fro in an effort to keep paints and paper before her. Sheeba Esther walked through and stopped directly in front of the shelf where the stolen items had stood. Shridula caught her breath and tried not to watch. For what seemed an incredibly long time, Sheeba Esther gazed at the empty shelf. But then she abruptly turned her attention to Glory Anna's painting of the strutting blue peacock that ruled the landlord's garden.

"Beautiful," Sheeba Esther exclaimed. "You managed to paint the tail feathers in such lifelike detail. And the color you used here . . ."

Shridula stopped listening.

Fetch Glory Anna's supplies so she can paint. Sit by Glory Anna and read with her. Listen to Glory Anna play the sitar. Every once in a while, squeeze out time to run back to the settlement for a short visit with her father. And all the time, wait, wait, wait for the inevitable.

"Hurry now and move back to your room," Sheeba Esther was saying to Glory Anna. "Amina is coming with her children, and she will be most unhappy to see you here."

Saji Stephen shut his leather-bound book of accounts with an impatient slam. "The British have spoken. It is actually going to happen. I heard all about it on the radio this morning. Before the British leave our country, they will cut it up into portions and give it away piece by piece."

"Do not blame the British for dividing the country," Rajeev said. "All the parties in India agreed to the partition. Nehru and the other nationalist leaders, and Jinnah who speaks so loudly for the Muslim League. Of course, Ambedkar had to whine out his piece on behalf of the Untouchables. Even Master Tara Singh, who represents the Sikhs, had to have his say. Yes, the Sikhs!"

"The lot of them actually
agreed
on something?" Nihal Amos's tone rang of ridicule. "I did not believe that possible." "India will be partitioned along religious lines," Rajeev said. "The areas mostly Hindu and Sikh will be the new Union of India. Those predominantly Muslim will make up the new Dominion of Pakistan."

"Good," Saji Stephen said. "It is done, then. That was not so bad."

Rajeev shot his father a look of disdain. "Not so bad because you are down here in the south and it will not be your land divided up and given away?"

Saji Stephen tossed his book of accounts onto the carpet beside him and slapped his hand down on it. "It has to be done. And every one of us will share in the cost."

Nihal Amos stared hard at the leather-bound book. "By that, you mean every one of the workers."

Saji Stephen shoved the book under the jasmine vines and out of sight. "By that I mean every single person—except those of you who do nothing but sit and eat and talk!"

"Punjab and Bengal have Muslim majorities, yet they are set to be split," Rajeev said. "I cannot think that arrangement will end in any way that could possibly be called satisfactory."

Aaaaaahh . . . lo! Aaaaaahh . . . lo! A grating shriek echoed through the landlord's house. Aaaaaahh . . . lo!

Shridula awoke with a start and jumped up from her sleeping mat. "What is it?" she cried in alarm. "What is happening?"

Aaaaaahh . . . lo! Aaaaaahh . . . lo! Aaaaaahh . . . lo!

Glory Anna rolled over in the dark and laughed out loud. "The peacock, of course."

"That beautiful bird makes such a terrible racket?"

"Depends on what he wants to say," Glory Anna said. "Sometimes he coos . . . or gobbles. That shriek is his cry of warning."

"Warning about what?" Shridula asked.

"I do not know. Maybe an intruder. But probably just a rival peacock who wants the lady peahen to see him spread out his fancy feathers."

"All that noise just to show off?"

"Birds or humans," Glory Anna said, "that is the way men are!"

Aaaaaahh . . . lo! Aaaaaahh . . . lo!

Rajeev opened his eyes to see his brother already sitting up. "What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing," Nihal Amos said. "No intruder."

"Fool of a bird!" Rajeev groused as he rolled over onto his side.

"The sun is rising," Nihal Amos said. "We should be out at the storehouses early this day, anyway. You get up and I will rouse Father."

"Uhhh," Rajeev grunted. "Fool of a bird!"

"Sheeba Esther says we can go out on the veranda today," Glory Anna announced as Shridula came back to the room with a basin of water for their morning wash. "We can stay all day if we please."

"What about the landlord? He will not want us out there with him."

"He will be away until late afternoon. Rajeev and Nihal Amos, too."

Free! And on such a perfect day! The sun didn't yet burn too hot, and the breeze blew fresh with blossoms and the fragrance of ripening fruit.

"Sit beside me on Saji Stephen's expensive Persian carpet," Glory Anna called as she bounded outside. Shridula hesitated, but Glory Anna insisted. "Come on! No one will see us. The men are gone, and the women will not come around without the men here."

Shridula closed her eyes and breathed in the delicious fragrance of new jasmine blooms.

"We could call for Saji Stephen's servant Udit and tell him to bring us a plate of ripe mangos and guavas," Glory Anna suggested. "Come on, Shridula; sit beside me on this expensive carpet."

Shriudula hesitated. In the end, she settled herself nearby, on a simple woven mat.

"We should sit out here more often," Glory Anna said. "We could watch the road and talk to everyone who comes by."

They did call for Udit to bring a plate of fruit, and they ate every last piece. They also watched the road, though few passed by on it, and those who did ignored the girls. Shridula and Glory Anna talked a bit, but when the fruit was gone, they sat in silence and wondered what to do next.

"Watch this," Glory Anna said. She scrunched her brow, puckered up her mouth, and uttered a loud:
Aaaaaahh . . . lo! Aaaaaahh . . . lo!

Shridula cried out and slapped her hands over her ears. But to her amazement, an answering call echoed back from the garden:
Aaaaaahh . . . lo! Aaaaaahh . . . lo!

"How did you do that?" Shridula exclaimed.

"Watch," Glory Anna said. Again she scrunched and puckered:
Aaaaaahh . . . lo! Aaaaaahh . . . lo!

Aaaaaahh . . . lo! Aaaaaahh . . . lo!
This time the answer came from just around the corner.

Again Glory Anna puckered her mouth and called:
Aaaaaahh . . . lo! Aaaaaahh . . . lo!

No answer this time. Instead, the beautiful peacock paraded from around the corner, its blue feathers glistening iridescent in the sunlight, the feathered crown on its head bobbing in time to its strut. The peacock passed directly in front of the girls, then stopped to fan out its spectacular tail.

"How did you do that?" Shridula gasped.

"Easy," said Glory Anna. "Watch. I will teach you."

When Saji Stephen and his two sons arrived at the laborers' settlement, only a small crowd waited to greet them. On cue, the group cheered, but only in a politely reserved way.

"Perhaps your . . .
Communist
. . . brothers are not as pleased to see you as you expected them to be," Rajeev murmured to Nihal Amos with a smirk.

"Perhaps they are displeased to see me in the company of a stingy landlord and an agent of the British government," Nihal Amos said.

"Agent of the British government? I am no such thing! As a matter of fact, it was I who—"

"Stop it!" Saji Stephen ordered. "Both of you talk and talk and talk about unity. But then you argue and argue and argue to the very brink of exhaustion. I want no part of either of you!"

"Come on, Shridula. Sit with me on Saji Stephen's Persian carpet," Glory Anna insisted.