The Hope of Shridula (26 page)

Still, the Coopers were leaving India soon, and they had requested her presence through a politely written note of invitation. Were Miss Abigail to beg off, they would consider her extremely rude. Really, what choice did she have? She would go, but she wouldn't stay long. Perhaps she would plead a headache. Yes, that's exactly what she would do—plead a dreadful headache!

Krishna walked her to the clinic, but the doctor met them at the door and bid him a curt farewell. To Miss Abigail he said, "Ah, my dear Miss Davidson, so good of you to come." He ushered her to the straight-backed chair she so disliked.

"There, now, are you quite comfortable?" Susanna Cooper asked in a tone Miss Abigail found terribly condescending. "We cannot have you sitting in a draft, can we, Miss Davidson?"

Miss Abigail insisted she was perfectly comfortable.

"I must say, I did not realize you were in the habit of sharing your wisdom with Indians," Dr. Cooper said in an attempt at levity.

Miss Abigail raised her eyebrows and shot him a stiff, noncommittal smile.

"That Indian . . . Raja, or some such name, I do believe. He has been here before. Is he in need of something from us?" "What sort of something might you have in mind, Doctor?" Miss Abigail asked.

Wicked of her to so thoroughly confound him, perhaps, but she did enjoy the game.

"Well, yes . . ." Dr. Cooper did his best to hide his growing agitation. He coughed, then cleared his throat.

Miss Abigail fixed him in an impassive stare.

"Rather," Dr. Cooper continued. "Well. I am pleased, then, that there is nothing about which I must need concern myself."

Miss Abigail held her gaze steady.

"Dash it all, Miss Davidson, those people are not to be trusted! I should think you would understand that after so many years out here among them!"

Indignation lit Miss Abigail's aged face. " '
Those people,'
Doctor? I suppose Indians might say the very same thing of the British. And with far more justification, all things considered."

Foolish man, that Dr. Cooper! Silly woman, his wife, Susanna.
Miss Abigail could not imagine living in India as they had, rigidly resisting everything Indian. Both husband and wife refused to learn the first words of Malayalam. Both refused to taste a bite of Indian food. And although it had caused the cook who had been at the clinic since Miss Abigail first came to leave in disgust, Dr. Cooper insisted they be served cooked meat every day of the week.

"Isaiah informed me that—"

Isaiah! Right there was another thing! Imagine changing the name of a grown man—such an insult! Krishna refused to answer to this new name, yet the stubborn doctor would not call him by his Hindu name.

"Isaiah?" Miss Abigail asked with feigned ignorance. "I do not believe I have had the pleasure of meeting . . . Oh! Could Krishna be the one of whom you speak?"

"Excuse me, Miss Davidson," Dr. Cooper said. "I have no desire to enter into a dispute with you tonight. But I think I have made myself clear on this particular matter. I will not have that heathen name spoken in my house."

"I see. Krishna means 'defender of justice.' Your given name is William, is it not? What does that name mean?"

"I am sure I have not the faintest idea," Dr. Cooper huffed. "Nor do I care. William is a strong English Christian name."

"Old German, to be accurate," Miss Abigail said. "And, therefore, perhaps not Christian at all."

Dr. Cooper grunted in frustration. "The point is, Miss Davidson—"

"The point is, Dr. Cooper, we are in India, not England. Have you had the pleasure of learning about the Indian Christian holy man, Sadhu Sundar Singh?"

Dr. Cooper sighed loudly and lifted his eyes toward heaven.

"No," Abigail said. "I see you have not. How unfortunate for you. Sundar Singh once told the story of a high caste traveler who grew faint under the relentless Indian sun. Barely conscious, the traveler slumped onto a bench at a train station. A passerby thought to do a good deed and brought him a cup of water. But the traveler waved it away without tasting it. 'He will not drink that,' the train man said. 'He is high caste and an Untouchable may have used that cup.' Fortunately, the train man spied the traveler's own cup lying on the bench beside him. He grabbed it up and ran to fill it with water. The traveler readily drank the water and, fortunately, was revived and able to continue his journey. The thing is, the high caste man would rather die than risk drinking from the cup of an Untouchable."

"Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous!"

"I tell you that story, good doctor, because of Sadhu Sundar Singh's concluding words. He said, 'Indians will not receive Christianity from an English cup. If they are to receive the Gospel, it must come to them in an Indian cup.' "

At the landlord's labor settlement, Shridula told her father, "Everyone at the landlord's house talks of independence. They talk and they talk, but I do not think anyone really knows what will happen."

"No," Ashish agreed. "I am sure they do not."

"Nihal Amos says the Communists will take over. But Rajeev says no, that Indian men will be elected to run the country, and he will be one of them even if he is a Christian and he has a Muslim wife."

Ashish shook his head. "They cannot both be right."

"No," Shridula agreed. "I wish neither of them was right."

Ashish took his daughter's hands in his and held them tightly. "The scavenger Jyoti and her son no longer live in this settlement," he said. "I went to bed one night and they were next to my hut. I awoke the next morning and they were gone."

Shridula opened her mouth, but the question died on her lips.

"I heard nothing," Ashish said. "No sound of struggle."

Several minutes passed before Shridula spoke again. Remembering all the ears pressed against her father's door, she whispered, "Glory Anna reads with me from her Holy Bible. I can read almost every word now, though I do not know what they all mean."

"I miss reading with you, Daughter," Ashish breathed.

"I found a special verse I want to read to you," Shridula whispered.

Ashish took his leather-bound Bible from its hiding place, and with nimble fingers Shridula flipped halfway through to the book of Jeremiah, to chapter 31 and down to verse 16. "Listen,
Appa: Thus saith the LORD: Refrain thy voice from weeping, and thine eyes from tears: for thy work shall be rewarded, saith the LORD; and they shall come again from the land of the enemy. And there is hope in thine end, saith the LORD, that thy children shall come again to their own border."

She stopped reading and looked up at her father. "Do you think there will be independence for us too,
Appa?"

"I do not think so," Ashish said.

"But the Holy Book says refrain from weeping, and work shall be rewarded, and come back—"

"Those words are not for such as us, little one," Ashish said. "They are for the children of God. We are nothing but Untouchables."

August 1947

S
hridula awoke with a start. Could that be rain she heard? Rain, in the searing month of August? When the sun scorched the earth and every grain of rice that the harvesters missed roasted in the fields? Shridula eased herself from her sleeping mat and moved quietly across the room on tiptoes. Carefully she pulled the door open. Glory Anna snuffled in her sleep and rolled over, but she didn't awaken.

Unexpected rain in the middle of hot weather—how wonderful! Healing to both the body and the soul. That's what Shridula's mother used to say.

Shridula slipped out the door and tiptoed to the veranda. In the last twinkling of the last stars before dawn, she lifted her face upward and waited expectantly. But, alas, no drops of rain touched her. Something else was crackling through the sky. Something unfamiliar. Something disquieting and strange.

"Fireworks," Saji Stephen said in a weary voice. "The fires of independence hang heavy in the air."

Shridula gave a start. "Master Landlord! I am sorry! I did not see . . . I did not know . . ." As she stammered her attempt at an apology, she moved back toward the door and the safety of Glory Anna's room.

"Come, come. No need to run away," Saji Stephen said in a strangely gentle voice. "Everything is different this day. On the English calendar, it is the fifteenth day of the month of August in the year nineteen hundred and forty-seven, A.D. Remember that date, girl. Last night at midnight, the British Indian Empire disappeared from this country. The morning dawns on the new Union of India. This is the day of Independence."

"What does that mean, master?" Shridula whispered.

"It does not mean justice," Saji Stephen said. "That scavenger boy who robbed my house is independent, yet you who protected him are not. That is the way independence works. Some benefit even though they do not deserve it. Others never benefit though they do deserve it."

Shridula, her eyes wide, stared at the landowner.

"You think the whispers do not reach my ears? You think I do not know?" Saji Stephen said. "I am no fool. Of course I know."

The flames of revolt that brought independence to India left no family untouched. Not of any caste. When the sun was fully up, Rajeev hoisted the old tricolor Swaraj flag Mohandas Gandhi had designed, and flew it high above the house so that everyone in the village could see it.

Nihal Amos squinted up at the saffron, white, and India green flag of the Indian National Congress. "Is that not a bit out of date?" he asked.

"Good enough," Rajeev said. "The new flag will be these same three colors. The only real change is that spinning wheel in the middle. It will be replaced with an
Ashoka Chaka."

As the Sudra servant brought platters of
idli
cakes and bowls of
sambar
for their breakfast, Rajeev turned on the radio, which crackled and sputtered to life. "Patriotic speeches," he said. "We need to hear them."

"Yes," Saji Stephen agreed. "Someone should explain to us what all this means."

"Not much. That is what I say," said Nihal Amos. "Nationalism is just another word for dominance by the Brahmin caste."

"The Untouchables would never allow that," Saji Stephen said. "I have 692 of them in my labor settlement. How long do you think they will be willing to continue to bow under the Brahmins' Hindu social order? How long will they stay crushed at the bottom of the heap? When they decide to rise up and fight, Brahmin Rama will not be the one hurt. I will."

"So what do you think of your favorite, Mr. Gandhi, now?" Nihal Amos asked. "He called those Untouchables
harijans,
Children of God. Yet the thought of them quitting Hinduism terrified him. And well it should. Hinduism would be nothing without the Untouchables."

"Utter nonsense!" Rajeev exclaimed. "Once the government is put into place, every Indian will have a say in it. From highest of the Brahmins to lowest of the Untouchables. Yes, even the scavenger!"

"I do not know." Saji Stephen shook his head doubtfully. "I just do not know. Perhaps I should call a fortune-teller to advise us where to cast our lots."

"Father!" Rajeev scolded. "You sound like an ignorant old woman. What could a fortune-teller possibly have to say to you? Use your intelligence. We have only to watch which way the government inclines, then cast our lots alongside it."

"Oh, yes, Father, by all means!" Nihal Amos said in his most mocking tone. "Why not listen to the words of Brahmin Rama, too? Throw away every vestige of your Christian principles. Forget what is right and do anything that looks to be in your best interest."

In honor of the day, Glory Anna instructed Shridula to dress her in Grandmother Parmar Ruth's vibrant green and yellow silk
sari.
"Everything about today is terribly exciting!" she exclaimed. "I must look exciting, too."

"Yes," Shridula said. "Of course."

"Do not sulk!" Glory Anna ordered. "You are fortunate to be here with me. Whatever happens, we will be safe in this house."

"But my father is in the labor settlement," Shridula said.

"Even so, you cannot go down there. I forbid it! Stay here with me."

Shridula said nothing. She helped Glory Anna into the yellow blouse and fastened it, and then into the yellow
pavada—
petticoat. She wrapped the length of green silk around her, taking care to make perfectly spaced tucks across the front the way Sheeba Esther taught her.

"You can choose any one of my
saris
to wear today," Glory Anna offered. "Except my new one, of course. But any other one you can wear."

"Thank you," Shridula said. She already knew what she would wear this day—her own worn hand-me-down
sari:
the clothes of an Untouchable fortunate enough to be a servant in a fine house.

"The British Parliament passed the Indian Independence act a month ago," Rajeev said. "Today independence is official. Yet still I have heard nothing about my own position with the government."

"You expect too much," Saji Stephen told his son.

"Not at all! It is not as if the country must start a whole new government from the beginning. Or this partition arrangement, either. For both the new India and the new Pakistan, it is simply a matter of adapting the legal framework from the India Act 1935."

"Surely you are not the only person vying for a government position," Nihal Amos said.

"No. But unfortunately I made the mistake of counting on a united India," Rajeev said with a sigh. "Me, a Christian; Amina, a Muslim; our offspring, true children of India. But now, with the country splitting, no one cares about a united Indian family."

"You did your part by dropping your Christian name," Nihal Amos said. "What do you propose to do now? Change the name of your wife as well?"

"Why not? A Muslim wife is no longer an asset to me."

Slowly and carefully, Miss Abigail Davidson climbed the steps to the roof of her cottage. The sun was fast rising in the sky, yet Lelee had not yet brought her morning tea. It wasn't like the child to be late. But never mind. Miss Abigail had no pressing engagements. She never did anymore. She could afford to wait. Still, she did like her morning tea on time.

Immediately, the suffocating heat closed in around her. Miss Abigail raised her hand to her chest and gasped a deep breath. She sank into a chair and closed her eyes. Where was that girl with the morning tea?

"
Mem,
you should not be sitting outside on this day."

Miss Abigail jerked her head up to see Krishna standing over her. She blinked at him in confusion. How could he have gotten up the stairs so silently? Could she possibly have fallen asleep?

"Please,
mem,
stay inside this day."

"I dare say, this morning is no hotter than yesterday morning," Miss Abigail said. "Once I have had my tea, I shall consider my plans for the remainder of the day, but not until then."

"
Mem,
are you to be forgetting what day it is?"

Miss Abigail stared back blankly.

"Today is to be the first day of the new independent India," Krishna said.

Independence! Of course. How could she have forgotten?

"But where is Lelee with my morning tea?"

"Lelee is no longer here," Krishna said. "Please, I am to be bringing your tea to you in your room."

"What do you mean the child is no longer here? Wherever would she go?"

"Before the doctor and the
memsahib
left, they send everyone away. Are you not remembering? No one is here anymore,
mem,
but only you and only me."

With a sense of growing dread, Miss Abigail pulled the handkerchief from the waist of her
pavada
and blotted at her eyes and forehead. Dr. Cooper and Susanna had left? Had anyone told her? She had been dreadfully forgetful of late, but surely she could not have forgotten that.

Miss Abigail sat up straight and gathered together the pieces of her shattered dignity. "Would you be good enough to help me down the stairs?" she asked. "Perhaps it would be the best idea if I were to lie down for a bit."

"Yes,
mem.
Yes, that is being the best idea."

Miss Abigail grasped Krishna's arm and moved forward with unsure steps.
Perhaps there will be riots,
she thought.
I should go down to the clinic and make certain everything is ready to care for the injured when they come.
She leaned heavily against Krishna.
But not just yet.

"You will bring me the tea, then, Krishna?" she asked. "I do like my morning tea."

"I will not, I will not!" Amina's angry voice echoed through the house, from the back room she shared with Rajeev and their children clear to the veranda where Saji Stephen and Nihal Amos sat in silence, taking in her every word. "You are my husband, but you cannot force me to change who I am!"

What Rajeev said in response, they could not make out. But Amina's answer was perfectly clear.

"My father never would have agreed to the marriage had he known you would make such a demand of me! He will be most angry. Furious!"