The Hope of Shridula (9 page)

10

June 1946

A
s the summer sun rose, a sizzling disk in an already scorched sky, Shridula followed her mother out to the closest rice paddy. Ankle-deep in water, she hiked up her
sari
and tied it high, then hunkered down in the mud to start the arduous task of planting the morning's first basketful of rice seedlings. One by one by one. Each six inches apart. Row after row after row.

Across the road in the field beyond, her father steadied himself on a wooden harrow and steered the black water buffalo through the uneven mud toward the east. Soon that paddy, too, would be ready for planting.

Boban Joseph, ensconced on his father's Persian carpet and shaded by fragrant jasmine blossoms, cast a haughty gaze around the veranda at his brother and two nephews. From his seat of honor Boban Joseph declared, "I agree with my friend, the Great Soul Gandhiji. Whether an Untouchable calls himself a Christian, a Muslim, a Hindu, or a Sikh, nevertheless he remains an Untouchable. He cannot change the spots he inherited from Hinduism. He may change his clothes, he may call himself a Christian Untouchable or a Muslim Untouchable or whatever he wishes, but he nevertheless remains an Untouchable."

"Mahatma Gandhi never uses the word 'Untouchable,' " Nihal Amos pointed out. "And even if he did, that statement makes absolutely no sense."

"You would say that, of course, since you are a Communist," Boban Joseph said in his most dismissive tone of voice. "Why are you standing on my veranda, anyway? This night the moon will be full. You are no longer welcome under my roof."

Nihal Amos ignored the last comment. "Mahatma Gandhi does indeed speak of all Harijans still being Harijans regardless of their religion. Yet even as he says it, he restricts his social care to Hindu Harijans alone. Do you not find this a striking contradiction, Uncle?"

"Not in the least. Gandhiji is absolutely right. Social funds
should
be used only for Hindu Harijans."

"Perhaps you have forgotten that you yourself are from a Christian family," Saji Stephen said with a smirk.

Wagging his finger in his uncle's face, Nihal Amos insisted, "Mr. Gandhi's real concern is not for the plight of the Untouchables at all. It is for his own political interest."

"If you believe that, there is much you do not understand," Rajeev Nathan proclaimed. "The Mahatma fights a battle without weapons. Nonviolence is his way. Truth, too. That is his real power. Truth so strong that the whole of the British Empire will not be able to stand against it!"

"My friend Gandhiji is no coward," Boban Joseph said. "But, as I advise him, he must also learn the persuasive power of violence. For while he sits safely in prison, we, the truly brave, are the ones left to carry on the fight."

The noonday sun beat down relentlessly on Shridula's aching back, scorching her dark skin through her mud-caked
sari.
Despite her mother's repeated warnings, she dipped her hand into the muddy paddy water and poured it over her arms. It felt so good that she dipped her hand in again and splashed the stinking water onto her sweltering face.

Over in the next paddy, her father, splattered with mud and flushed crimson under his dark skin, stopped the water buffalo and called for the water boy. He waited and waited. When the boy didn't come, Ashish bellowed for him. Still no water boy. Still no water.

"You say Gandhiji is a personal friend of yours, Uncle?" Rajeev Nathan allowed himself to smile at the ridiculous thought. "Surely, then, you know that Jesus' Sermon on the Mount was his revelation for Passive Resistance."

"Pshaw!"

Rajeev Nathan cleared his throat. "If I may say, I have made an extensive study of Mohandas Gandhi and his teachings. To him,
Ahimsa
is not so much nonviolence as action founded on a refusal to cause harm. We all know that the masses have been exhausted by endless servitude. Yet Gandhi does not teach them to avoid suffering. He teaches them to cease
fearing.
That is a big difference."

Boban Joseph waved his nephew aside and strutted across the veranda. "Yes, yes. But I could teach the Mahatma a few things. 'Quit sweeping the floor and clean up your own mess,' I would tell him. 'Hold onto the old Hindu social order,' I would say. 'That social order has served you well.' "

Rajeev Nathan opened his mouth to argue, but Saji Stephen interrupted. "Come, come!" he said. "We should not spend our evening talking politics."

"
You
should not spend
your
evening talking politics," Boban Joseph retorted, "because you have nothing of value to add to the conversation. What do you know of such things? You seldom listen to the radio reports with me, or even read what is written in the newspapers."

"Much wisdom and understanding come from listening to the ideas of others," Rajeev Nathan pointed out.

"Oh, yes, you with your Muslim wife and brood of mixed blood children," Boban Joseph mocked. "So much I could gain from you!"

"The point is—" Nihal Amos began.

"The point is that at least Rajeev Nathan's belly makes him look like an upper caste person. But you, Nihal Amos: Your emaciated asceticism is an embarrassment to this family. And are you so foolish you cannot see the uselessness of Marxism? No, I alone am in a position to discuss politics. But to do so, I need more intelligent companions than the likes of any of you!"

Glory Anna, panting in her stifling room despite the wide open window shutters, wiped perspiration from her face and eased her door open. Seeing no one about, she crept out—but only far enough to catch a bit of a breeze from the veranda. Rajeev's children called out to each other from the back of the house, their voices drowning out the gossip of her brothers' wives. But at the sound of her uncle Boban Joseph's voice, Glory Anna jumped back into the room and pulled the door closed. The very thought of his eyes on her set her to shivering. And of his hands reaching out to her—oh, it was too terrible to imagine! Uncle Boban Joseph was the main reason Glory Anna endured the searing heat of the day closed up inside her grandmother's airless room.

"Call her what you will, Saji Stephen, but bring that Untouchable girl back here," Boban Joseph was saying. "Only this time, leave her old father where he belongs—at work in the fields."

Saji Stephen answered, but Glory Anna couldn't make out the words. Boban Joseph laughed out loud.

They were talking about Shridula! That was a puzzlement. Why had Saji Stephen sent that Untouchable girl to her in the first place? To be a servant? A companion? It made no sense. Glory Anna knew perfectly well that she could live her entire life closed up inside her room, or she could disappear tomorrow and never be seen again, and her father would never give her a second thought. So why bring Shridula to her?

Evidently, Shridula hadn't known either. While she was there, the two girls never spoke a word to each other. The entire time Shridula was in her room, Glory Anna sat on her grandmother's bed and stared at the wall. For a long time Shridula stood in silence, but she finally slipped to the floor and spent the rest of the day sitting against the wall, staring at her hands. Only once did the two have the misfortune of sneaking a glance at each other at exactly the same moment. But they quickly looked away and made certain it didn't happen again.

" 'White monkeys.' That is what mother used to call the English." It was Uncle Boban Joseph's irritated voice again. "So many taxes they pile on our backs. Tax on our land, tax for our water, tax to walk along our own road through our own town. The British government has sucked the blood out of our bodies and left us with hardly a bit of life remaining!"

"That's why we must demand self-rule for India." Rajeev Nathan said that. He was never at a loss for words.

"The rest of you do well to fear the English," Uncle Boban Joseph said. "But fear is not necessary for me. I can buy off their officials. The police may come for the rest of you, but they will not come for me." This was followed by a sharp laugh. Uncle Boban Joseph, most likely. Yes, certainly Uncle Boban.

For a while, all was quiet. Glory Anna let down her guard and risked moving a few steps closer to the veranda. Then Rajeev Nathan spoke again, and this time his voice dripped with bitterness. "If you think you are safe, Uncle, you are the biggest fool of all. The English will bring more disaster on India than this country has ever known. Why should they spare you?"

Glory Anna caught her breath. Horrible disaster? In this place? Oh, but where would that leave her? Her head spun. She felt as though all the blood had drained from her face. Glory Anna ran back to her room. She didn't dare so much as breathe until she had pulled the door shut behind her.

"Overseer!" the old woman with three teeth cried out, "When is our time to rest? Do you intend to work us until we all drop dead in the fields?"

Dinkar wiped his calloused hand across his sweat-streaked face. "It is not my decision," he said. "I must follow Master Landlord's orders."

"Well, I cannot work anymore today," she said. "I quit!"