Sari Caste Page 3

  A short way off a torn canvas awning announced a teashop. I battled my way towards it. My mouth had dried with thirst and I longed to sleep. I squatted in the shade of the drooping canvas. The cha was refreshing and allowed me some respite while I tried to think what to do next.

  "You're travelling alone?" The wiry tea man's smile was ugly. His teeth were few and grey. Gleefully he leered at me, his prey, hoping to stun me into submission.

  "My husband died." I muttered. It came easily and I almost believed it.

  "You are looking for new husband?"

  "No. Only somewhere to feed my baby and to sleep."

  "I have small yard behind teashop. You stay with me and you sleep there." His eyes were big and hungry. He was sure of my acceptance but fascinated to hear me give it.

  "No." I struggled up from the pavement so hastily I stumbled. Lipika woke up and began to howl for her milk. "She is hungry and thirsty."

  He shrugged mild now, almost devout, in his reticence. "You stay. You feed her. You find jug of water in yard. You drink some and baby."

  Too tired to think any more, I accepted timidly. The yard was small. A tethered goat lay on some sacking watching our movements with lazy curiosity. While rocking Lipika, to comfort her in the shade of a sad little tree, I found a chipped and scraped jug of water and drank almost all of it. Dreamily, I wondered why he had not charged me anything for either the cha or the water. I sat down against the thin ragged trunk of the tree and freed my breast. The little one searched nodding open-mouthed for the nipple. Eagerly she shaped her mouth over it and sucked. I dozed while she filled herself. Her little moans and slurps stirred me now and then. It was peaceful. When she had finished we were both exhausted. I sipped what was left of the water before laying her close beside me on the old crumpled sari. We both slept.

  Some time later, a swarm of flies roused me. I flapped my arm at them. Instinctively I reached a drowsy hand over Lipika. She was sleeping. The flies were getting into my clothes. I put my hand to my breast and found someone else's hand. A cry of panic leapt into my throat. In shock, I grabbed the hand and bit it hard.

  Jumping up in fright I screamed at the tea man, "Leave me alone."

  "You demon. You devil. I take care of you!" The leathery contours of his face shone eerily in the light of the lamp he carried.

  "No. No. Go away!"

  I snatched up my sleeping Lipika and fled. The tea man chased after us through to the street at the front of the teashop. He shooed us away cursing us for begging and being a nuisance.

  I rushed along the dimly lit streets. Here and there the blackness was pierced by someone unable to sleep, quietly smoking a bidi. I had to find somewhere for Lipika and I to spend the night. I stumbled over soft, pliable mounds as if I was in a desert of dark shifting sand dunes. From the dunes arms and legs lethargically pushed me away. I soon discovered that the bundles of rubbish, I was avoiding, were people asleep. They slept in their rags directly on the hard, bare ground or with a crumpled cloth beneath them. At first, I was shocked, but as the number of bodies, all squeezed together, increased, I understood this was what people did here. I decided I might as well join them. It took me another hour to find a space close to a family with four small children. I curled up with Lipika in my lap.

  It was bumpy and uncomfortable. I slept little. My thoughts tumbled about between Patap and Kajal and my own troubles. Patap did not know about our baby. Soon he would be married to my little sister. Would she remember what I had told her about going away, that night? Had she heard me? If she had, she knew she was free of us now. Could she forgive me? I wondered if her marriage would be happy. Would they have daughters or sons? Another lost sister, I would never trust a man again. Never marry.

  I remember the stiffness of my arms protecting my baby in my lap, while trying to make plans. I would somehow have to earn some money. Then I could send Lipika to school so that she could become clever and maybe even rich. She would not have to rely on a man for her future, either. If she wanted to be married, to have children, I would arrange one that she would help me choose. She could be as fussy as she liked!

  What would Lipika's voice sound like when she would be able to speak? How tall would she grow? Would she be graceful or clumsy, gentle, serious, practical? Despite the ache in my back thoughts and images began to swim together in a hazy cloud of what might be. How childlike I was then.

  I must have slept for a few hours before dawn for I woke to the rush and sloshing of water as women washed their squealing children at a standpipe in the gutter. I was dazed for a moment. I could not turn my neck and my back hurt. I put my hand out to Lipika. Gone, gone. My child, my new-found reason to live. I began to shriek.

  "Where is my baby?" I yelled at everyone around me. I grabbed at the women, one by one, demanding to know if they had taken her. They stared at me in a helpless stunned way, as though I was mad. Eventually, there was the lightest tap on my shoulder. I froze. It felt as delicate as the touch that had led me here. How could Patap be here? Amazed, I swung round to find a small frail woman holding Lipika out to me. The crowd fell silent, straining to hear what she would say and what I would do.

  Contemptuously, she explained, "I've been feeding her." Her face saddened then. She looked hurt. "You let her slip away while you slept. In the dark one of the children trod on her hand. A dog came sniffing. I heard her cry and rescued her but you slept on. Take her, but you don't deserve her."

  My face burned with embarrassment. I snatched her back. "I was very tired but you should have called me."

  The other women encircled us staring. A bent woman chewing something snarled, "Why are you alone? Where is your family? You haven't been around before and we don't want your kind polluting us and our families." She grabbed her small daughter's head and yanked her to safety. The child clung to her mother's legs. "Go away." She spat.

  The others began to shout at me and jostle me. They tried to shoo me off. I looked down shaking and wondering what to do. I had done nothing to harm them. Poor Lipika began to screech. I examined her hand with trembling fingers as I squatted down to prevent my legs giving way, as well as to show them I would not leave. Lipika's cries died away in response to my rocking. Where could I go and be treated any differently? There was no point in leaving. These women would either attack me or leave me alone. If I stayed silent and defiant I hoped they'd relent. As I sat with the early sun on my back I wondered where I would find food for the day to keep me strong enough to feed Lipika. My ribs ached and I began to feel light-headed.

  Then the frail woman came and squatted next to me. "Leave her alone. She's my husband's sister. She will be quiet now so go and get on with your day."

  The bent woman curled her lip. "Where's her husband? We haven't seen her here before."

  "He died. My brother has not heard yet. That is why I am here." I'd learnt of the importance of speaking up quickly in this place, and decided not to wait for my companion to think of an answer that wouldn't fit with my circumstances.

  "Oh!" The women turned their attention to each other and moved away a little but the space filled with other people as soon as it appeared. I wanted to stretch out and push them back so that I could breath. You cannot make a space in a river. The water simply flows back. I smiled at my companion in gratitude for her protection.

  "It was wrong for me to lie but you are lonely. You obviously had a fright when you couldn't find your baby. She liked me feeding her, you know. I can help you feed her." The frail woman offered "Then you will look for work and pay me a little in return."

  As my anxiety ebbed and my breathing slowed I began to think calmly. "Your lie was a great kindness to me. Until you spoke for me and sat beside me I was very frightened they would attack me. You are the only person who has been kind to me in Calcutta." I caught her eye and smiled again though I felt little like smiling. "I must find work. I am alone, you are right. My husband, his family, and our two older children died of cholera on the journey here. There is litt
le money left." I was becoming adept at lying but it seemed the gentlest most acceptable way forward.

  "Death leaves you with brilliant pictures of lost ones. I know it hurts so much, doesn't it? Two weeks ago, my baby daughter got sick and died." Tears sparkled in her eyes and trickled over to lie sadly on her cheeks. Impulsively I put my arm around her. She cried hard into right shoulder while Lipika began to stir on the other one.

  I did not feel guilty about my lie to her. Surely, that must have been because I really had lost everyone I had loved, as if they had truly died. "That is terrible for you. Poor, poor thing. I shall buy milk from you whenever I can."

  She wriggled away looking pleased. "Then we shall help each other. I'm Sharmila." Her smile gave her thin fleshed face an unnatural sharpness. She patted the ground beside her. Immediately three little boys appeared and clambered into our laps. They were very small and bony. Two of them clung tearfully to their mother. The one in my lap was even smaller. He stared at his mother and brothers helplessly, without making a sound. He was as light as the silks I used to weave. Reading my eyes Sharmila said, "I feed them first, always," and lowered her head. I could not understand why they were so thin. We might have lacked many things and sometimes our food at home had not varied much but we had never been without food of some kind. People could not be valued here. I wanted to curl up and cry. With all its problems, I missed my home. At least all the faces around me there were familiar and, except for father and his parents, welcoming. I knew what to expect there.

  "When did you last eat?" I asked almost not wanting to hear the answer.

  "Let's think of something else. My husband works when he can. There's nothing more to do."

  "My name is Manasa," I held Lipika up and smiled, "and this little bundle is Lipika." It was good to see them laugh, all except for the little one still cowering in my lap. Lipika wrinkled her nose poised to cry for more food. Sharmila was so thin she would not have had much to offer. "I shall find some work and we will all eat." The little faces stared hopefully at me. "Will you take care of Lipika? When I go and look."

  "Yes! Oh, yes!"

  "I am a good weaver and a hard worker. I shall soon find something." Lipika was totally indifferent to my plans. Her screams drowned all conversation. The boys covered their ears and crouched round their mother. "I must give my greedy one a little more." I felt an awkwardness I had never experienced before, as I bared my breast in the company of these intense wide-eyed children. Lipika snuggled up to take as much as she could from me. She was starving. A great sadness welled up inside me. I knew what was wrong. The little boys stared at us in envy. They had no energy to squander on curiosity. I was determined they should have more to eat too.

  Leaving Lipika behind, I made my way to Esplanade Row and the north area of the Maidan. I had looked everywhere for someone who needed a good weaver. There was nobody to greet me or offer me something to eat or drink or somewhere shady to sit. Goods covered the pavements and often it was necessary to walk in the road. All the time I had to watch out for impatient drivers coming close enough to knock me over. I tried to learn about the city calmly but there was so much that was new to me. I waded through a tangle of clamour and odours, and colours. I hadn't known such a variety of peoples and goods existed. If only I could find some tiny foothold to squeeze myself into. Weary with hunger, I bought myself some dhal and rice, which I washed down with ghol. I hated eating alone among a crowd of strangers. It was the loneliest of experiences. The crowd seemed to fade from me as they elbowed me away to take their turn to pay for food but none of them was alone. Not even the beggars walked alone. Each mouthful I took reminded me I was a foreigner. Only my thoughts of Lipika kept me there. I knew I must keep strong until I could earn a little, for I had spent hours trudging the crowded streets. I hoped I would not run out of money before I found work. The effort of keeping myself on the move sapped my strength and spirit. Sadly, I returned to Sharmila with no news of employment. She carefully hid her disappointment and tried to bolster my resolution to look again the next day.

  I spent weeks going off in all directions looking for something that would bring me a wage, no matter how small. I watched carefully for my chance but no matter how I tried they always wanted a man or boy. Women had babies and babies were a nuisance. I had slowly used up my funds. My milk did not satisfy Lipika and I feared losing her. Without Sharmila's small offerings now and then, and her constant encouragement I could not have kept going. Everyone on the streets lived in anxious anticipation of whether they would eat or not. It would be easy to just give in to the hunger and weariness but I was determined to prove to myself that I was not going to let any man keep me from what I deserved, especially not my father. Why should I beg? I wanted to take care of Lipika and me with dignity. I was not a bad or useless person and I would prove it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I decided I would rest for a while. Hunger made that a necessity. I needed to restore my courage. As always Sharmila was kind, despite her growing worry for her youngest son, Hiren, who had become listless and withdrawn like a sick, frightened animal. We always gave him the best of whatever we found to eat and drink but nothing could make him thrive. His tiny body had shrivelled like a thirsty sapling in a forgotten desert. Sharmila and I spent many hours singing to him while he lay cradled in her lap or mine. His bent form leaned, so lightly, against me that I thought he might float away. Those dark saucer eyes stared up at my face as though he looked through me. He blinked only occasionally; every particle of his energy needed to sustain each breath.

  "Manasa, I get very angry with Hiren sometimes." Sharmila mumbled tearfully. "I can't help it. No matter how hard we try he doesn't get better. I can't bear the helplessness I feel. My son is dying and we can't help him."

  I put a weary arm round her shoulders. "He will get better, Sharmila. Try not to worry about him. Tomorrow, I must look again for work."

  Sharmila was silent. She brushed a tear impatiently from her cheek, forcing her lips into what she must have thought, was a smile. I squeezed her arm and lay down to sleep.

  "I will find work tomorrow, Sharmila. Surely I will."

  I fed Lipika very early and left Sharmila to care for the children by herself. Hiren's weak little wave gave me heart. I decided that if people were not wise enough to employ me as a most capable, diligent weaver then I must adapt and look for other useful work. I began looking for servant work. I walked miles. I was hungry, thirsty, and tired already, even before midday. Nobody I dared approach, seemed wealthy enough to pay for servants. Those who could had already got what they needed. People were suspicious of me, all alone, looking for work. Nothing. There was just nothing for me. I sat down in the quietest place I could find. What was I to say to Sharmila when I returned defeated? I buried my face in the corner of my sari, as I had seen mummy do many times, and wept bitter angry tears. How could I continue?

  "You are sad. You need some work?" I looked up through my tears. A well-fed man with an expressionless face leaned over me. He was chewing paan.

  His mater-of-fact approach encouraged me to ask boldly. "You need a reliable worker, sir?"

  "I might."

  "I am a weaver of many patterns, beautiful saris" He shrugged, disinterested so I added hastily, "But I can do almost anything. I work hard and I am very reliable. Very reliable."

  He grinned. "Show me how reliable. Take these fifty rupees. Come back here by yourself again tomorrow in the morning for work." He spat red betel juice from the far side of his mouth, grinned again and sauntered casually away.

  I had never imagined I could have so much money just to make sure I would work. I felt incredibly rich. I sat for some time going over and over my impossible good luck unable to stop grinning. Today we would eat plenty. Indulgent now, as I walked, I let my eyes wander over the goods spread out along the sides of the road, dusty sunglasses greasy and scratched before even worn, plastic pens, crumpled books, glossy magazines in racks, sandals, coloured flip-flops, wooden t
oys, dolls, and balloons. I loved balloons. And there, yes there was a beautiful yellow diamond kite. I had to buy it. The boys would be overjoyed to see it fly as I had been. With care, I rethreaded my route back to Sharmila so that I would be sure to find my way the following day. My last treat I gave to myself. Ice cream. I did not know what it was but I had seen it many times recently. The cold white melting food chilled my lips and slid softly down my throat, delicious. I bought an armful of fruit and some cooked rice and dhal to take back with me to share with my friends.

  I worried about Lipika. I knew she would be very hungry left with Sharmila to feed her, poor baby. What choice did I have? With what language could I explain away the empty stomach she had suffered all day? I could not enter her infant realm of wordless images. I had felt confident that Sharmila would take the best care of her she could manage. We were all helpless but sometimes I envied Sharmila having a husband to share her pain, even though he could not afford treatment for their youngest son. What heartache we faced each day. Without friends how could anyone survive such a life? Hot and sluggish I had to rest a while. Across the road the colours of a huge billboard advertising a film screamed its message to passers-by. I studied it idly. From the banner a strong, even-featured man stood facing a beautiful young woman with lowered gaze. Just behind her was her heavily jewelled rival with painted eyes and lips. Her alluring dance drew the man's attention over the shoulder of the woman before him. I could not read the wording but I thought of Kajal, Patap, and me; of mummy and my father and of how women sometimes jeopardised their solidarity for the sake of a man. It saddened and sickened me. I turned my back on it and continued walking.