Sari Caste Page 5

  We spent most of that day sitting on the pavement in the crook of a broken wall. Crowds of people ebbed and flowed past us like a huge river of sweating ragged bodies. It was as if the commotion, smells, and people of the whole city were passing in procession. I rocked Lipika to comfort me, as well as her. In spite of the commotion I sang her all the songs mother had taught me. Sharmila had drifted off to sleep. Her youngest one seemed to find the singing comforting too.

  Round my neck on a thread, I still had the earrings and bracelet mummy had given me. It was my last important connection with her and Kajal. Poor Kajal, I had her future husband's baby and some of the jewellery from her dowry too. I hated Patap and wished I had never listened to him. Then looking down at my little one I knew that could not be completely true. I wished Kajal could be with me to make me smile. She had always been so cheerful. I had forgiven her but I had no idea what thoughts she had of me.

  In the early afternoon Kalidas returned with rice and a few bananas in leathery brown skins. Sharmila lit a small fire from vegetable peelings, sticks and rubbish the children had collected, and began a meal. I fetched some water. We managed, with great patience, to persuade Hiren to drink a little water and swallow a few mouthfuls of the soft overripe banana. I hated the hopeless feeling I had about him, as though that feeling had the power to condemn him.

  Determined to keep strong I knew I must eat. I had never tasted bananas before and didn't like their slimy, buttery flavour. The skins were taken by the children and splayed onto their heads as hats. Laughing they rolled them up to throw at each other. Eventually Sharmila rescued them to put aside towards the next day's fuel. Kalidas went off with some friends to smoke and talk, the children settled down to sleep and at last I had my chance to tell Sharmila, quietly, I would not be coming back except perhaps to visit occasionally, if she was still there. She could not prevent herself scoffing at these words. She had been living on the street for a year now. No one came back if they were lucky enough to leave.

  "Manasa, I shall be so lonely without you. You've been just like a sister to me. The children love you and Lipika. What shall I do without you?" She clung to my arm sadly.

  "Be happy for us. Think how much I shall miss you. I shall not forget you and I shall visit you sometimes. Bring you food when I can."

  She smiled releasing my arm. "You must have done some good deed in your past life that has merited this. It is good for you and for Lipika." With the back of her hand she brushed away the tears glistening at the inner corners of her eyes. Living on the streets had taught her to value her pride as the only priceless thing she owned. I admired her for that.

  "I have to leave now. They want me to begin work this evening." My own pride and hope prevented me from admitting I was unclear exactly what my work would be or that I was about to join a "shop" full of prostitutes. Instead, I took the string from my neck and removed the bangle, and earrings. "This and the little money I have left are for you. Listen carefully Sharmila, find a doctor for Hiren. He will recover then and you will all smile again. Use the money for that. Goodbye dear Sharmila, dear friend."

  Unable to speak her eyes revealed her disbelief followed by tears of gratitude to be able to do something for Hiren before it was too late. She clung to the offerings as if they might escape. We were careful not to let anyone see her secure them about her own neck for safety.

  "We'll miss you. Be careful, Manasa, men can be harsh masters. There are some who have little respect for women. Remember us. Come back and see us." It was as if she had seen into my future without knowing what she said. From past experience I knew she was right but what good could experience be when you were starving and had to take whatever you could to survive? I wished, suddenly, that I could confide to her my fears about this job. I decided not to. I could not risk losing her respect for me even if I should lose my own.

  She helped me fix Lipika to my back in the old sari wound round me. Then we each hugged the other. I didn't want to let go of the only friend I had made since leaving home. I was not sure I would ever have another like her. I turned to hug the children but a sharp pain knifed its way through my stomach. I caught my breath as I staggered against Sharmila.

  "Oh no! What's happening, Manasa."

  "No, Don't worry." I hesitated a moment "Just a little backache. Lipika is growing fast." I managed a grin in spite of the strange goings on inside me. "Ah, the pain has gone." I smiled warmly at Sharmila. I wanted to get back to the bedroom so that I could lie down. They might be very angry to find I had brought them the bad luck of sickness. I must make myself recover before it was time to start work.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Sweat poured over me with every step. Stomach cramp caused me to stumble. I had to force my way back to my workplace. My insides twisted and churned. I tasted bananas again. I had not enjoyed eating them. Now they were rejecting me. This slowed me down and made it difficult to cope with the burden on my back. I must not be ill. I must not.

  What was to happen about Lipika? If only I had let my employers know I had a young baby. I was afraid now that they would be so angry to discover my secret together with the fact that I was too ill to work that they would not let me stay. How could they trust me? Then I remembered the child who had served me food. She must belong to some one. Obviously, the other women must be just like me, or like I was supposed to be, abandoned widows with their children. Why then, were there no children in the room I was to share? I made up my mind to fight for the job offered to me. I knew I could work and look after Lipika too. I would give them loyalty and hard work, even while I was ill and even if it meant working more hours than the others did. I would grasp this opportunity for Lipika and me and not let go, as when a dog sinks it's teeth into a bone and no one can prize it from him.

  I let myself into the building easing through the rickety door. Fortunately, nobody paid any attention. It was extremely difficult not to groan or cry out. Lipika slept soundly still. Doubled into an awkward stoop I found my way to the bedroom. Lavali sighed and shifted a little in her sleep. Hot and feverish, I struggled to free Lipika from my back without waking her. I managed to get her little slumbering form into my arms without anyone being disturbed. All I wanted was to collapse. With a huge effort I lowered her, still wrapped in the old sari, onto the far side of my bed nearest to the wall. With the release of the restriction from around my middle, my stomach lurched. Before I could even think of what to do I was violently sick. The room spun out of focus and caved in on me.

  Sometime later, I awoke in a bitter smelling heap on the floor. I was too clumsy and slow to clear it away without being heard. Lipika's cries seemed lost in a far away fog. Someone came over to see what was happening. It was Supriya. She tutted and grumbled. "This is a bad way to begin your first day. Very bad. We are not allowed to drink alcohol. Now you must take another pill. Whose baby is this?" She picked up Lipika in such a natural way, I knew she loved children and was used to taking care of them. Lipika's cries faded to a gentle sob.

  "She is my daughter, Lipika. I told you I was going to fetch her, remember? I am sorry about the mess. I have eaten bananas. They made me ill but I am well now. I can still work hard. I detest alcohol. I give my word to you I never drink it." I said in a hopeless flurry of cleaning up and explanations while feeling too weak to do either.

  "We must keep the baby quiet and good. We have many children but not babies." She seemed fascinated sitting on the edge of the bed with her forefinger in Lipika's hard working little mouth. I took advantage of this to find water jugs and cloths to mop up. Then pushed the window open wider to let out the stale air. Suddenly exhausted, I drank the water that was left and slid onto my haunches to recover.

  "Feed her. You mustn't anger Mona with the crying. She will hear and then she'll make a terrible fuss." With total unconcern for my exhaustion Supriya swung my little one neatly into my lap. Sensing she was with me, Lipika immediately began to search for food. Supriya went back to bed and left me to cope. My body felt
hollow and shaky as if it did not to belong to me.

  Although I cannot remember it, I must have laid both Lipika and me back on the bed after that because that was how I woke again a little later. My mouth was like crazed leather, my mind disorientated. Thoughts drifted back and forth. I tried to remember all that had happened since I had left home. Most of all I was aware of how strong I must be to survive.

  Living in the city had seemed so easy at first but now I began to wonder how I should manage without a family. How would Lipika ever marry? People would believe her coming had brought me much bad luck, if I told them I had lost my husband, his family, and our other children. They would believe her to be cursed by her stars. No one would want her. Then she would be as isolated as I was. I could not let guilt and sadness crush me. No, these tears would not fall. Here we were surrounded by people and no longer alone. There was work for me and we had somewhere to live. I would have to be astute in handling my new employers for I would not allow them to take advantage of me like Patap and my father had. It was not too late to learn from my past mistakes if I lived in the present only and held on fast to my new position.

  At last, I heard Supriya get up. She yawned and went over to wake Lavali. Then she came over to me. She lent over the bed, "Time to get up now and eat. Then wash, change sari, and find your work for tonight. Your baby's still sleeping. She has slept well since you fed her." Supriya whispered gently. I smiled at this little crumb of praise. I liked Supriya.

  "A baby!" Lavali boomed.

  I froze. I was terrified Lipika would wake up. Mona would hear the fuss and throw me out before I had a chance to explain. Indignant words rushed out before I could catch them. "She is a good baby." I softened my voice. "Please let me stay. My husband and his family died. We are all alone."

  Lavali frowned at me with a look of puzzled disapproval. I searched for words to defend myself. Perhaps the determination showed in my face. Lavali shrugged and set about lighting a mustard oil lamp. "Come and help me!" She demanded. "Electricity is not always good."

  Supriya turned to us with her matter of fact smile and said, "You can easily do that, Lavali. She must come with me to collect the food, and learn about the children, and the kitchen." Lavali wobbled her head from side to side without turning round.

  I followed Supriya silently through to the outer door, along the narrow passageway that twisted away to the back door of the kitchen. It was a large kitchen. Children from about six to fourteen years prepared and cooked food in all kinds of pans and dishes. They chattered energetically through clouds of steam. The older ones chopped vegetables, crushed spices, and gave orders while the little ones crouched to stir and dip their fingers into the food. I was impressed.

  A yellow-skinned slitty-eyed little girl came and took my hand. She spoke in a language I did not understand, interspersed with Bengali. She gesticulated broadly with hands and arms indicating for me to lift her up to reach a tray and to help her load it for me. Supriya, I noticed, was being similarly supplied. I smiled at the small girl serving me. Unsure whether she would be able to understand me I kept my message short. "Your food is delicious. Good girl." I patted her shoulder. She smiled a bright wide smile in reply. I had made a friend.

  As soon as we returned to the bedroom Lavali ordered harshly. "You smell horrible. How can I eat with that terrible smell around me?"

  "I don't know what to do." I mumbled weakly.

  "Give me that sari. It must be sent to the dhobi to wash. Hurry, let me have those foul clothes."

  "Be patient, Lavali, she's not well but she's willing to work." Supriya smiled, calmly sitting down to eat.

  I knew it was unfriendly to be eating in those rank clothes but I had been embarrassed about undressing and had nothing clean to put on. Shyly I removed the offending sari and handed it to Lavali.

  "The underskirt too!" She demanded. "Hurry the food will be spoilt. I'm starving. This is a favour I'm doing for you!"

  I felt intimidated but she was right. It was a relief to know what to do with my soiled damp clothes. I handed her the underskirt and sat down half-naked on the floor. Lavali bundled the items together and tossed them into the corridor. Both women became engrossed in our delicious meal. They had been so natural about it, until then, I had not noticed my companions' lack of covering. Now, as we ate, I felt uncomfortable. I did not know how to relate to this situation.

  Supriya put me at ease. "What we wear isn't important except when we work. After that we need much rest and are glad not to worry about those things."

  Lavali spoke in a softened tone, "Anyway you couldn't work in the plain sari you were wearing. Mona will have something. She has plenty of saris for work."

  Mona had plenty of saris but how much did they cost, I wondered? Anyway I would not need a special sari to clean and cook but for now I must just listen and seem to obey. Lipika began murmuring I turned to her as a kind of weary indifference enveloped me. I left the women to clear up while I spent the next half-hour feeding Lipika and singing to her. I was now totally naked. Yet it seemed not to matter until, to my shame and confusion, Mona and Pramath appeared from somewhere. There had been no warning of their arrival. Suddenly, there they were standing over Lipika and me. I wanted to die from my embarrassment.

  "You didn't tell us about a baby." Mona growled at me. A baby! Was that all she could think of at this most shameful moment? Was she blind? With one error I had lost everything. Tears of rage and shame stained my burning face. It was so unfair. Unable to reply I held my breath.

  She turned to rasp at Pramath. "Will you allow sick grandparents next? Where will be the profit in this?"

  I was sure Pramath would be angry and leave me to my fate. Instead he shrugged, "You don't see the best qualities. For one with a baby her body is strong. She will serve us excellently well. It is good you have me to advise you, Mona. To catch good fish you must be patient. Then you will see plenty of profit."

  I could not believe this conversation was taking place over my head. The other women were as transfixed as stone carvings. I forced myself to shake off my paralysis and reached out for the old sari to cover my nakedness.

  "Mona has plenty of beautiful saris but you will not start work until we are sure about you." Pramath touched Lipika's head gently as he turned to Mona. "Don't worry. I can see she'll be a loyal worker but pills are not always good. Take her to the clinic."

  Mona raised her eyebrows with an indifferent shrug. "I need money for that."

  "OK." He drew a fat roll of notes from his pocket. I had never seen so much. He pealed off a thick layer and slapped it into Mona's waiting palm. I didn't want to take pills or go to the clinic. Dare I press now for what I wanted and risk ending up destitute on the street again? My wishes didn't have the chance to be expressed. "Keep busy." Pramath grinned, slipped the rest of his money away, and left us.

  "Please let me stay. I will work hard for you, Mona." I was in tears, unable to overcome the public humiliation of my nakedness in the company of a man. I did not know what to expect from one moment to the next in this place. Yet, strangely, even more upset that I might not be allowed to stay. My vulnerability stirred in me again that determination to hold on fast.

  Mona sniffed down at me and walked away. I shook my fists at her retreating back. Lavali stood very still shaking her head at me and waving my fists down. As the door closed she rushed over and slapped me. "Never do that again. Mona is not your favourite aunty."

  I drew back rubbing my cheek, "If you slap me again, I shall slap you. I'm not afraid of you or of her. Why should I put up with her bad treatment of me?"

  "Because you are here and that is what you must do."

  I jutted my chin at her; "She doesn't own me."

  "You will get yourself killed with that attitude. Who will challenge her on your behalf, eh? You are not here because you have many loving family members to help you. You're a prostitute like us and nobody cares about us."

  Her words stung but I did not believe that it cou
ld be that bad. "It is a crime to kill people."

  Lavali sniggered, "That's if you believe prostitutes are people. Others have had their throats cut when they tried to leave. You were right to beg to stay. If you want to survive you must obey the rules."

  I turned to look at Supriya. Her face was sad but she nodded. "You have to do whatever they tell you but you don't have to care what they think. Let's talk about something else now."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Grudgingly, Mona said I could stay so long as I kept out of her sight. I spent my week looking after Lipika and ten other children. It was such a relief. I was safe. I had found myself a useful job. There was little time to speak to the other women but I didn't mind.

  The children were from poor families who could no longer afford to feed them. There were children from places and countries I was unlikely ever to see. Some of the little ones were docile but others were full of mischievous energy. Mona's instructions were to keep them quiet. Amala, a sedate little girl and Ch'en, a more robust Chinese orphan boy claimed a lot of my attention. Neither of them looked more than three years old. If one started to cry for their mother, aunty, or siblings it was certain the other would join in. Apparently, at first they had been inconsolable. Now their tears were more despairing as if they were beginning to understand they would not see their families ever again.