The Selector of Souls (61 page)

But she knows Imaculata will feel all of this in her voice, her disobedient voice. And when Anu is finished, the older woman is silent a long time. Then she says, “You want permission to leave. Have you prayed about this?”

“Yes, sister.” Sister Anu prayed as Amanjit Singh registered a criminal case against Suresh and other rioters. But witnesses are fast disappearing, the SDM has been mysteriously transferred and after only one hearing, one of the judges as well. And between prayers, Sister Anu found herself railing at god.

If you care so much about Christians, to the exclusion of all others, why couldn’t you divert a .22 Diana airgun bullet one centimetre to keep your loyal servant alive?

Imaculata and other people of the cloth seem to remember Father Pashan as a soldier who fell in the line of duty. His name is rarely mentioned and prayer has done nothing to bring him back.

Sister Imaculata’s anger surges at Anu. “And even after prayer and meditation, you want to send this letter to other provincials and Mother General?”

“Yes, sister.”

“Didn’t you tell me you were a very adjustable woman?”

“Yes, I did, Sister. But how much should we have to adjust? Can’t the Church do some adjustment as well? Look how they are treating you after all your years of service.”

Imaculata bites her lip as if holding back a flood. “Don’t you be making me your excuse for leaving, Sister. God will provide for me.” In a moment, she says, “I had such high hopes of you, Anupam. I thought, ‘A young Indian nun. If only we can keep her.’ Silly of me, I know, because I always knew you had that little problem: disobedience. Still, I hoped you would grow into my role and take care of our sisters.”

“I’ve been a failure as a woman, a wife, a mother and now a nun,” says Sister Anu.

“I wouldn’t say that. You have made progress.”

“I’ve disappointed you.”

“In some ways—not all,” Imaculata says. “So many are attracted by the security we offer—well, used to offer. I just thought you were different.”

“I was attracted by security too,” says Sister Anu.

A snort of derision. “Shafiq Sheikh said you risked your life trying to save people in the clinic.”

Sister Anu gazes into the smouldering fire. “So did he.”

“You miss Father Pashan—is that it?”

“Yes.” Living without men also distorts the world.

“Did you have feelings for him?”

“Not that way,” says Sister Anu, meeting Imaculata’s eye. “He made me realize it’s possible for a man and woman to be friends. I admired him. I thought everyone would admire all the work we were doing, what he was trying to accomplish.”

“ ’Tis a shame, my girl.” Sister Imaculata sighs. “I regret I never told him how much I admired him. I would have loved to have a wake for him, to celebrate his life, you know. But right now, a wake could be considered a foreign ritual.” Her hand covers a tremor in her lips for a moment. Anu’s throat constricts in sympathy.

Imaculata fixes her gaze on the gold ring on her left hand, masters herself. “We’ll never know what those Hindu men thought they were accomplishing, or for whom. But reconsider, Sister. Surely you’re needed once the clinic in Gurkot reopens?”

“I’m no longer the right person for it,” says Sister Anu. “I fear I will recommend birth control pills to women like Goldina. I now feel abortion should be available to women who need it because of rape or any other reason. I think a woman must own her own body all the way to the moment a child takes its first breath and gains consciousness at birth. And I believe Damini’s daughter, Leela, should have been able to get an early abortion even though I could not have brought myself to have one.”

“You certainly have been brainwashed by family planning propagandists.”

“Oh, and one more thing. I never want to refuse care to a patient, even one who may have AIDS.”

“Not to worry. You’ve just disqualified yourself from a job with us.”

Anu pushes a lock of hair away from her eyes. “Sister Bethany is also an Indian nun—did you consider her as your successor?”

“She doesn’t have leadership ability,” says Sister Imaculata.

“Bethany?
Bethany
doesn’t have leadership qualities?” Anu says.

She waits.

“I see I’ve learned Indian ways too well,” says Imaculata.

Sister Anu says quickly, to rescue the older woman from embarrassment, “I asked the project leader of the NGO taking over the clinic how he would fund his work. He said, ‘With the x-ray machine.’ He said, ‘People in Canada and the USA will send their x-rays by email and our doctor will interpret them and send them back the next day.’ And he says they have a training programme for young hill women to become nurses and midwives.” Maybe that will persuade Amanjit-ji to keep the free clinic going for a few years.

“But do you really believe dalits, tribals and other backward caste people don’t need us?”

Sister Anu shakes her head. “There’s always more we can do, more we should do. They need the support of touchables of all religions. They need people of conscience worldwide to come together against caste, as people did against slavery and apartheid.”

“You don’t say.”

“We should care as much for the treatment of their bodies and rights, as we do for their souls.”

“I admire your passion, Sister.” Sister Imaculata says. “Tell me, did we bring any souls to Jesus?”

“Father Pashan said belief is personal. He just wanted to alleviate suffering and set a good example. But it’s progress that some women have begun to speak about domestic violence, and sexually transmitted diseases. That we vaccinated children, discussed sex and menstrual problems. Damini is starting a Women’s Survival Society—members have to promise before the goddess not to kill, beat, sell or neglect baby girls, girls and women.”

“The goddess, is it? Can’t even keep the first commandment—no
god but god. All that work …” Imaculata digs in her toes, her rocker creaks back. “Well, do as the good Lord tells you.” Her tone consigns Sister Anu to the devil. “It is not for me to question his ways.”

Sister Anu rises and stokes the fire. What kind of god sacrifices his beloved son and then, once the son has saved the world, sacrifices more good people, beloved as Father Pashan? Why did god or Pashan need to reenact any part of Christ’s story? Does it not make Christ’s death and resurrection pointless? She resumes her seat.

“So you’re returning to Hinduism?”

Returning would only be necessary if she had left it. “It’s possible that praying to thirty-three crores of gods might bring me closer to infinity than praying to one, but I haven’t decided.”

“You need a role, Sister. You had a role here with us.”

Anu says, “I can either sidestep through life as a daughter, sister, wife, mother or nun or seek my true self. I can’t wait till I’m fifty or sixty before I really begin my life. I should choose its shape and form. It shouldn’t be something that just happens to me.”

Shadows leap and dance across Sister Imaculata’s face. Her expression hardens.

“Go back, then. Retrogress to your temples, your idol-worship, your low-or-high-caste ways. Whatever it is you Hindus do.”

“Sister, don’t say that …”

“Then what should I say?”

“Talk to me in your own words, with your own feelings. As if we were just two women.”

“Just be a woman, you say? All right, say then—what might you be needing from me?”

“Your blessing—or at least your good will. I can’t take my final vows, but I still cherish your friendship. Maybe I have to seek god in new ways, my own way. I must venture out, even if it is difficult. But I am not someone who returns the same way I came. I want to be open to transformation. The world may be all illusion, as the vedas and shastras say, but it’s the only one I have.” She feels no bravado as
she says this, but no shrinking either. “Then maybe I’ll feel the deep connection that I seek.”

Sister Imaculata seems to master her anger with an effort. “Venture out, then. Venture forth. No one is stopping you.”

Sister Anu stretches her arms toward the fire and makes another try. “I want independence and self-direction, Sister. And I don’t doubt our Lord can provide them.”

“Independence is over-rated, Sister. Obtain it, and you’ll trade it away before the cock crows. We create interdependence in life—why not decide to value what you have?”

“If I do trade my independence again, it will be my decision, not that of the Church.”

“You’ll see, we all need redeeming in our own way, Sister. For our sins.”

“We should be responsible for our own sins, rather than foisting them on poor Jesus. Why is he our whipping boy?”

“Hush! You can only ascend to heaven through him—don’t you see that, my dear? On the day of judgement, won’t it be better to have served Christ, than not?”

“If god is as great as I believe, he will see through such pretences. He’ll give me credit for the courage not to depend on the Church’s explanations.” Anu takes the rosary Imaculata gave her at graduation from her pocket. She holds it out.

Recognition dawns on Imaculata’s face. She slowly draws it from Sister Anu’s hand. “To love god is to give oneself utterly, Anu. If you cannot do that, then I agree you should leave. Christ can exist without you. The question is can you exist without Christ?”

“I don’t intend to. I am a better person when I try to follow Christ’s example. I feel I have become more charitable, more accepting of people who are different from me. I can truly say I will still be a Catholic, just with a small ‘c.’ ”

Sister Imaculata stands and stokes the embers. “Huh, small c!” she says. “No such thing. Leave the Church, Sister. Why wait for
permission? We’re not a cult that will threaten you or try to stop you. Walk out tomorrow, as I’ve seen a few nuns do. But don’t suppose,” she taps her forefinger to her temple, “that the Church will ever leave you.”

D
AMINI
, L
EELA
, K
AMNA
, S
UPARI
, M
ATKI
, T
UBELIGHT
, Goldina and at least twenty other married women ranging from fifteen to eighty years or more, are seated on dhurries spread before Anamika Devi’s pot form. The Toothless One is still grumbling about the walk uphill, then down the ghost-trail, (though her daughters-in-law nearly slipped down the mountain as they half-carried her). Chimta and her mother-in-law sneak in, having told their husbands they are collecting firewood.

Flickering diya lights throw shadows on the rocks, a couple of bats sway and stir above Goldina’s kerchiefed head. In order for Goldina and other outcastes to participate, this meeting couldn’t be held at Tubelight, Chimta, Matki or Supari’s home. And if Damini held it at Leela’s home, these women would have expected to sit on chairs and Goldina to crouch beside them. But in Anamika Devi’s cave everyone must sit on the ground before the goddess. Just entering the cave turns Damini hot and cold, and her mouth dry as Thar Desert sands, but she is determined to carry out the goddess’s wishes, bring her out of this cave and honour her shakti.

After they have sprinkled Ganges-water, sung a few bhajan-songs, and made offerings and performed aarti, Mohan looks around, “Where are the other boys?”

Damini explains, “Only men who promise not to kill or beat their daughters, sisters or wives can be in the Women’s Survival Society. And since you have not beaten anyone …” Mohan seems to have forgotten killing a man by mistake, and it seems kinder to keep it so.

“He’s not getting married,” says Kamna. “So he can’t beat a wife. Neither am I—”

“Why not?” says Tubelight.

“So I won’t beat a husband.” Everyone laughs and Kamna looks surprised. She was serious.

“Bhaino,” Damini interrupts, calling them sisters, “In our first meeting, we must decide how to show Anamika Devi’s unforeseeable nature. It’s a very small step, but we know it takes small steps to climb a mountain. We could decorate this cave to please Anamika Devi, but Lord Golunath and the goddess have asked us—no, told us—to bring her into the open. And because her form has somehow effaced itself from our hearts, she must be given a body. I have asked you here to say what you want, and decide these matters.”

“Yes,” says Tubelight. “She wants to be something other than her pot—she should have a face and a true name.”

Several women are nodding.

“How many arms should Anamika Devi have?” asks Damini.

“Oh, at least ten,” says Leela. “She works all the time, just as we do.”

“Das-angulum!” says Chimta. “Even Durga Devi usually has only eight.”

“Ten,” says Goldina firmly.

Damini asks what should Anamika Devi hold in each of her hands?

“In one, she should hold a conch shell to call all women to her side,” says Supari.

“No, a cowrie shell, to show what we have in common,” says Tubelight.

Matki raps Tubelight on the arm, and pulls her dupatta across her embarrassed giggles. “The conch, because her spring gives us water.”

“Should she wear a mangalsutra?” asks Damini, suddenly anxious. If Anamika Devi receives a wedding collar, how will she speak through a widow?

“No,” says Supari. “She’s always been untamed by marriage. If she marries, her husband should wear a collar to keep
him
faithful.” She grinds her betelnuts.

“And if she’s a widow, she doesn’t need one,” says the Toothless One, pointing to her own bare neck, then Leela’s and Damini’s.

“A big spoon,” says Tubelight.

“Because she cooks for the family?” says Damini.

“No, to spank her children if they need it.”

“Not the boys,” says Chimta.

“Yes, boys also,” says Damini.

“For that, she’ll need a very thick slipper,” sighs Chimta.

“Maybe a pair of boots,” says Damini. “Because she walks beside us—she doesn’t have a car. And she’s like an unknown soldier, since we don’t know her caste.”

“Every woman can’t wear combat boots,” says Tubelight. “Don’t think she’s just like you. How long can you survive in the mountains if you make enemies of the snow leopards?”

“A broom,” says Goldina. “Definitely a long broom. And a small one as well.”