Child of Spring (11 page)

M
emsaab had some extra chores lined up for us, so Amma, Durga, and I left for work earlier than usual the next morning. We crossed the field and headed toward the jamun berry tree. As we neared, the leaves began to shake violently and
thock! thock! thock!
berries dropped down all around the trunk.

“They’re in it again,” I observed. “Just like two
jungli
monkeys without tails!”

“
Tch
,” Amma muttered.

The rain of purple berries began to thicken. The rustling quickened, followed by a rattling and juddering of the branches. And then came a shrill cry from above—
Aaaaaa
!—and someone tumbled to the ground!

“Amma! Paki’s fallen from the tree!” I screamed. I gathered up my skirt and ran. Amma followed, Durga bouncing on her hip.

Raju met us, flailing his arms and hollering. “Big Brother said he was going to the top! He said no one could stop him! He …
waaaah!
”

Paki lay motionless on the ground.

Amma peered closely into his face. “Paki?” she whispered. “Paki, my boy?”

“Is he dead?” My voice was shaking.

Paki stirred. “Ow! Ow!” he moaned. He opened his eyes and looked about like a wild animal.

“He’s alive!” I cried.

“My leg!” groaned Paki. “My leg!”

“Hush! Lie still,” Amma said. She held him down and prodded and probed him gently all over. She lifted his leg. “Do you feel this, my boy? Can you move your foot?”

Paki screamed and fought to get up.

Amma turned to Raju. “How high was he?”

“He fell from up there.” He pointed.

I followed Raju’s finger to the crook of the lower branches. The owl had not reached the top yet!

“He said he was going to show everyone he was the best climber this side of
Inglistan
,” Raju bawled.

“It’s not his head or his neck,” Amma pronounced. “It’s only his ankle. He’s going to be
theek thaak.
” At once she was all business. “Go find Ramu and tell him to bring his rickshaw,” she said to Raju.

Paki had been up in the tree because of the big lie I had told him. He could have died. I could see it: people shaking their heads, clucking their tongues, grilling me, peppering me with questions. And Paki … poor Paki, lying still and silent under a shroud and a pile of marigolds. My stomach tied itself in knots.

“Are you okay, Paki?” I asked. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Give him room.” Amma shoved me aside. “You’ll be fit as a fiddle in a matter of days,” she assured Paki, but he continued to scream.

Raju soon returned, his mother at his heels. Ramu was right behind them, pumping the rickshaw pedals as fast as he could.

“Aiyyo!”
wailed the washerwoman. “One hundred times I have told the boy to stay away from that tree! One thousand times!
Aiyyo! Aiyyo!
”

“Never mind that!” Amma snapped. “You must take him to the Doctor Babu.”

But the washerwoman beat her chest. “
Aiyyo,
sister!” she wailed. “How will I do that? This boy spent my spare change on his precious kites last week!” To Ramu she said, “Brother, I will be beholden to you if you will take him to my home.”

Ramu picked Paki up and gently carried him to the rickshaw. He pedaled away, the washerwoman and Raju running alongside.

“Tie a poultice around his ankle when you get him home!” Amma called.

“Is he going to be all right?” I asked. “Is he going to be lame for the rest of his life?”

“It was a close call,” she replied somberly. “But, yes, the boy is going to be fine. And no, if Lord Rama wills it, he will not be lame for the rest of his life.”

I couldn’t keep my mind on my chores at the Big House, and Amma got angry with me for getting in her way. “He’s going to be just fine,” she said. She didn’t know that I had other things on my mind in addition to Paki’s ankle.

I felt like everything was spinning out of control. Little Hari was burning up with fever, Vimla Mausi and Lali were sick with worry, and Mausi’s payday had not yet arrived. I had lied to Paki about Bala, and there was no telling what Rukmani would have to say about the
laddu
for Ganga. And now Paki had fallen from the tree, and it was all my fault.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that Little Bibi had to yell in my ear to get my attention. “There were a million mosquitoes in my bed last night and they bit me half to death!” she shouted.

“Yes, Little Bibi?”

“Hello? Mosquitoes? See?” She thrust out an arm covered in prickly red welts.

Aiyyo!
I’d tried hard! I had. I’d slapped away the mosquitoes and when I let the netting drop, I swear there wasn’t a single insect in the bed. I brushed away a tear. There were so many bigger things happening and Little Bibi was worried about a few measly mosquito bites?

“Why are you sniffling?” she asked.

I wiped my eyes quickly with the back of my hand.
Oh, where to begin? “The washerwoman’s boy fell from the jamun berry tree, Bibi,” I said. My tears burst out like water from a broken jug.

“Paki? Pentamma’s boy? Why didn’t she come to Mama about it right away?”

My mistress expected an answer but I had nothing for her but more sniffles.

I felt Little Bibi’s arm around my shoulder, followed by a kind squeeze. “Wait here,” she said. She went to her cupboard and came back with a big wad of rupees. “It’s my pocket money,” she continued. “Give it to him.”

My eyes widened at the money. There was enough there to pay for a visit to the Doctor Babu.

“For heaven’s sake, you’re not going to cry again, are you?” Little Bibi said, but this time her voice was a mixture of stern and kind. It was a good voice.

“Cry, Little Bibi? Oh no! I am smiling, see?” I showed Little Bibi all my perfectly straight, pearly white teeth that I cleaned each morning with the twig of the bitter neem tree until they sparkled like the insides of seashells.

I lifted the threadbare curtain. The hut was silent. I could see Paki curled up in a darkened, smoky corner. “Pentamma Mausi?” I whispered, not wanting to wake him. “Raju?”

But their mother was not there, nor was Raju.

Paki stirred. I tried ducking away but his sleepy voice stopped me at the doorway. “
Oi!
Why are you hollering like a headless rooster?” He rubbed his eyes.

I drew closer. A hazy ray streamed through the opening in the wall and fell on his face, showing sleep lines as deep as the creases in my
lengha.
“It was not a holler, Paki, it was a whisper,” I said.

“If that’s a whisper, I am a monkey’s uncle.” Paki hobbled off the mat. “It woke me up, didn’t it?”

“I came to see how you were.”

“Bravo! A regular do-gooder!”

I swallowed hard. I didn’t blame him for being angry. If our positions were reversed, I’d be hopping mad too. “I didn’t mean for you to fall out of the tree,” I said.

“Liar! It was exactly what you intended. You probably jumped for joy, didn’t you?”

“Does your leg hurt terribly?”

“Does your leg hurt terribly?”
Paki echoed me mockingly. “What do you think? Of course it hurts, you she-donkey! It hurts very much!”

“I am sorry, Paki, I truly am.”

“A fat lot of good that does me!” Paki barked. “And now I have all this pain for nothing!”

“What do you mean?”

“Bala denied everything! ‘What, me?’ he asked.
‘Na baba!
Basanta lied to you.’”

So the truth was out!

“You are a liar and a spy and a spreader of malicious gossip!” Paki said.

“I couldn’t help it,” I said, truly sorry. “One thing just led to the other.”

“Go! Go! Everyone can help what they do!”

The owl had a point, but was this not a question of a pot calling the kettle black?

The jute curtain flapped and Pentamma Mausi came in. “
Aiyyo,
Paki! I told you one hundred times to lie still.”

“I was doing that, Amma. I was lying as still as a mouse when—”

“There you are, Pentamma Mausi,” I said, turning in relief. “I came to see how Paki was doing.”

“The poultice around his leg would help it heal if he would not bounce around like mung beans in a pot,” she told me.

I held out the money for her.

“
Arrey daiyya!
What is this?” Pentamma Mausi asked.

“It’s from Little Bibi for the Doctor Babu,” I explained.

“You approached the Big House for us?” Pentamma Mausi cupped my chin with her hand. “Your heart is as big as the sky, dear child. It comes to you from your mother,
nai?
”

Pentamma Mausi counted out all the rupees, folded them into a corner of her
pullo,
and tied them in a secure knot.

H
ari coughed so hard that he sounded like a locomotive. Vimla Mausi sat on her pallet, crying quietly. Amma had sent me with another box of food, but I found myself wishing I had also held back some of Little Bibi’s money for Lali.

I shook the thought out of my head. To each his own kismet, Amma would say. Little Bibi’s money was for Paki. Vimla Mausi’s better time lay ahead, and surely there’d be something good in her destiny too.

I untied the cloth and emptied the tiffin box into a rimmed platter. “Look! It’s
dhal
and
gawar
beans. Mmmm!”

Nandi, Pummi, and Dev came running. Lali helped me spoon out the food and the little ones gobbled it down.

“I don’t want Hari to die like my father.” Lali looked so scared that I put my arm around her neck.

“Eat, Lali,” I coaxed. “If your stomach is full you will feel so much better.”

She took a few small bites and then we went to sit under the tamarind tree. The sun was setting. Around us, dust was beginning to whirl.

“What are you thinking, Lali?” I asked. She had a faraway look in her eyes.

“Sometimes I think to myself … if I had proper feet like Basanta, I’d earn a proper wage like she does,” she said.

“Don’t be silly,” I said. “Who’d look after the little ones?”

“Nandi would. She’s old enough and she’s responsible. The extra money would help. It would!”

“You shouldn’t worry so,” I said. “Hari is going to get better, you’ll see.”

“I’m not so sure,” Lali said with a sob. “I had a bad dream last night. I saw Hari on a cloud, drifting away … farther and farther until he was a tiny speck. And then I could see him no longer. It’s a bad omen.”

“Rubbish!” I scolded. “You’ve got Paki’s kites on your mind!” But I was worried too. I eased the ring off my finger. “Take it, Lali,” I said. “Your mother can sell it for medicine.” I pressed the ring into her hand.

Lali pulled away, refusing the ring with a shake of her head. “It’s for your trousseau,” she insisted. She wouldn’t take it, no matter what I said, so I changed the subject and told her about the deal I had made.

Lali’s eyes lit up a little. “You spoke to Bala?”

“I went to him straightaway.”

“And he agreed to a whole 15 percent?”

“After a wee bit of arm twisting. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.”

“You’re right,” Lali said. “There’s only one thing. The dog show’s not until next week. I can’t wait that long.”

She had a point. For once, I had nothing to say.

The wind began to pick up and dark clouds rolled in from the west.

“Rain will help to cool things down,” I mused. And yet I knew it might just be a trick. Sometimes all the thunderclaps and lightning flashes and wind bursts amounted to nothing more than a noisy spectacle.

But the wind grew stronger and dust swirled around us like a giddy child spinning on her heel. Debris stung our arms and tamarind leaves flew into our noses. I shielded my eyes as branches shook and twigs rained around us.

“It’s a big one,” Lali said, looking skyward. “Ganga’s buffalo are probably getting skitterish.”

“You’ll be rich when you marry him,” I said. “He may be a simpleton but he is kind and will make you happy.”

Whoosh!
A fierce gust blew my
lengha
above my knees. I could hear Amma calling me in. But I wanted to stay a little longer.

“Ba-saaan-taaa!” Amma’s voice came again, more urgently this time.

Lali tugged at my
lengha.
“Do you hear? Mausi’s calling. We better go now.”

“Not yet.” I shook my head. A brilliant idea had just come to me. Lali’s kismet was about to change!