Child of Spring (4 page)

T
he clock struck five and Amma and I opened the Big Gate to go home. It had been a long day, filled with curious happenings and jumbled-up feelings. I felt like I was in a dream inside a dream inside a dream

The walk home seemed unusually long. How many more steps until I could run to the tamarind tree? How much longer until I could be alone?

“Let’s ride a rickshaw home, Amma,” I pleaded.

“
Daiyya!
Why?”

Because,
I thought,
I want to admire my ring and because I want to talk to Dinoo Kaka and to Old Nahni hiding behind a star and tell them that I wished really hard and my wish came tru
e
at last.

I hugged Tikki to my chest and felt the weight of the secret that lay inside her. It reminded me of the fiery mango pickle and her countless cries of “Basanta, do this! Basanta, bring that!” Where were the smiles,
hanh
? Where were the “pleases” and the “thank-yous”?

“I’m tired of all this walking,” I replied.

“Daiyya!”
Amma exclaimed. “You’ve never complained before!”

A dip in the road made me stumble and I clutched my doll more tightly. I knew I had to hide the ring better as soon as Amma’s back was turned, and I knew the perfect place to put it.

“Wash up,” Amma told me as soon as we got home.

I ran to the water pump without being told twice. “I might be gone a while,” I called over my shoulder. “I’ll be visiting Dinoo Kaka too.”

I threw some water over my face and sped to the knoll, looking out for Paki and Raju on the way. Luckily, they were not around. I sank to the ground under the tamarind tree, lifted up Tikki’s dress, and fished out the secret hidden in her middle.

Now it was just me and the ring and Dinoo Kaka in the branches above, and he wouldn’t breathe a word. I slipped the ring on my finger and gazed at it for the longest time. I held my hand out to admire it. As I twisted it this way and that, a ray of sunshine struck up a ruby red spark.

“Look, Dinoo,” I cried. “Look how the ring shines against my skin!”

“Caw, caw!”
Dinoo Kaka crowed in admiration.

“
Hanh,
Dinoo, it is very beautiful, is it not? But I have to put it away soon. Tikki’s getting married in the next hour,
you see, and I must attend to a thousand things before Dear Boy’s arrival.”

As soon as my mother left to scour the pots with coconut husk and ash, I dived under Bapu’s
charpai
and pulled out the Big Box. I rummaged under Amma’s bright red sari and Bapu’s white muslin kurta, teased up the splinter in the corner, and dropped the ring into the hidden little hollow, where it now nestled as snug as a bug in a rug. I pushed the box back under the cot, satisfied that my secret was safe for now.

When Amma had returned from the water pump, it took just a little cajoling to get her to agree to another wedding. Just as soon as the sweet milky tea and the
laddu
were secured, I ran to tell Lali about it. I warned her in no uncertain terms to be prompt and punctual.

As I waited for Lali to arrive with Dear Boy, I prepared for the wedding. I coaxed the pink back into Tikki’s cheeks with the help of a little spit. I twisted her brown ringlets around my finger and creased the folds of her red bridal sari. I gently nudged aside the mica in my treasure box and picked out a tiny bead necklace for her to wear. My little bride was finally ready.

I looked about with satisfaction. The dowry was arranged for Lali’s inspection, the tea was piping hot, and the
laddu
had been divided evenly into seven pieces.

But Lali and Dear Boy were late! I paced back and forth until Amma told me to stop skittering about like a cockroach, but it was hard to be still. My mind kept going back to the ring.

At last I heard a drumbeat, winding its way closer and growing louder by the minute.
Rat-tat-tat … rat-tat-tat!

“They’re coming! They’re coming!”

“No need to shout,” Amma admonished me.

I heard commotion outside. “They’re here, Durga!”

Lali lifted the curtain and peered into our hut. “Ganga couldn’t come,” she announced. “He’s helping his father mend the old cobbler’s thatch. He’s so sweet,
nai
?”

I didn’t care if the Milk Boy was absent; that’d just mean more bites of
laddu
for the rest of us. But the crowd outside still seemed larger than expected. I turned to Lali. “Just how many wedding guests have you brought with you,
hanh
?”

“We are seven,” she answered.

Seven?
I counted by my finger joints: Lali, the mother-of-the-groom. Nandi, Pummi, Dev, and Hari, the groom’s aunts and uncles. That did not add up to seven.

“Paki and Raju came too,” Lali said.

“What? You brought Paki and Raju along?

She rushed to explain. “They promised to be very, very good.”

“And you believed them?” Lali was so gullible! Didn’t she know Paki and Raju
always
spelled trouble?

But Lali quickly brushed me aside and assumed the
demeanor of a proper mother-of-the-groom. “
Bas! Bas!
Enough chitchat! Tell me about the dowry!” she commanded. “Is the bride bringing with her a large bed, a spacious
almarah
to hold her clothes, and plentiful kitchen utensils? What about necklaces, bangles, anklets, nose rings, and such? And did you include a pressed and starched dhoti and a fine wristwatch for the groom?”

“First you must come in.” I stepped back to allow everyone to enter. “Welcome, welcome. Sit, sit.”

Lali entered first, holding her head high. Dear Boy followed, perched upon Paki’s shoulder. Behind him came Nandi and Pummi, singing a wedding song. Raju followed, beating a ghee tin can, and Dev and Hari brought up the rear, dancing the
bhangra
dance.

“Show the dowry,
nai
?” Lali demanded and I uncovered it for all to “ahh” and “ooh” over. I had scraped together a reasonable assortment of things: a few scraps of cloth, neatly folded; a small cushion for a bed; some old dishes; a matchbox chest; and a few other items.

Paki squinted at the pile. “What’s that?”

“Those are brass pots for Tikki’s kitchen,” I explained.

“Is this a joke?” Raju asked.

“And that?” Paki pointed at a chipped teacup.

“It’s a tub for the bride’s bathwater.”

“So nice,” said Nandi, but the two boys clutched their bellies and laughed.

“Shut up, you
goonda
hooligans!” I shouted. “Mind your manners!”

“Ha. That thing’s a
tub
?” Raju sneered at the chipped teacup. “Hee hee!”

“Get a load of the
almarah
!” Paki added, pointing to Bapu’s shoebox. “Ho ho!”

“Beware!” I told him. “I’ll run to your mother. Pentamma Mausi will twist your ears so hard you’ll be sorry you came!”

“
Bah!
Good luck with that!” Paki said. “Amma’s at the Big House, collecting a sack of laundry to wash at the river.”

“What were you thinking, Lali?” I turned to my friend. The
goonda
boys were clearly ruining the wedding.

“Ho! What’s this?” Paki had spotted the
laddu.

I lunged and blocked his path. “
Oi!
Stay clear of the wedding feast!”

“The
badmaash
girl nearly knocked me over!” Paki shouted.

“I want a
laddu
!” cried Raju.

It got so noisy that Amma intervened. “So much
hulla goolla
! Take this ruckus outside,” she ordered.

We gathered up the wedding things and ducked out of the hut.

“Here I come, carrying the splendid pots, tra la!” laughed Paki.

“Here I come with the lovely bathtub, tra la!” roared Raju.

“Stupid owls!” I muttered.

Outside the sun was blazing, but we went on with the ceremony.

When the time was exactly right for the bride and the groom to walk around the sacred fire seven times, Paki jumped up and snatched Dear Boy from Lali’s arms.

“Let go of my son!” Lali protested.

“Will not!”

“It’s my job to take him around!” she cried. “Give him back!”

“You can’t do it! You can’t walk properly on that lame foot!” Paki taunted.

Dear Boy was yanked back and forth, and before I knew what was what, the poor thing was on the ground in a little heap.

“What have you done, you donkey?” I screamed.

“Look! Look!” Lali shouted. One of Dear Boy’s arms dangled from her hand, the other from Paki’s.

“I knew it! I knew it!” I yelled. True to their reputation, the
goonda
boys had brought disaster yet again.

“You promised to be good!” Lali cried.

“A no-arm groom for a no-voice bride,” Paki roared.

Lali and I ordered Paki and Raju to leave immediately, but they only laughed at us.

Amma poked her head out.
“Aiyyo!”
she scolded. “What’s the trouble?”

At the sight of my mother, Paki and Raju turned tail and sped away like a bunch of cowards.

“Good riddance!” I shouted after them. “Amma! Look what they’ve done!”

Amma clucked her tongue at poor Dear Boy’s condition. “Our handsome groom needs a bit of grooming,” she said and took him back into the hut. A little later, she returned, biting off a thread with her teeth. “He’s perfectly fine now, see?” She had patched Dear Boy up so that he could resume his marriage ceremony.

With Paki and Raju gone, the festivities continued late into the evening. We nibbled
laddu
and sipped milky tea to our heart’s content.

At the end of the evening, we parted with vows to have another wedding before the year was out. I made Lali pinch her neck and make a god promise that from this day forward, she’d never fall for false assurances made by certain no-good, unreliable, and untrustworthy individuals.

T
he next day was Little Bibi’s birthday party. I knew I would not be invited. I never was. My young mistress only invited her rich friends, who wore nice dresses and were driven around town by smartly dressed chauffeurs. But still, I hoped.

In the morning, between the sweeping and dusting, I made a jasmine garland just for her. After that, I worked alongside my mother to get everything ready for the party. Dishes and pans piled up in the kitchen as puffy turnovers fried to a deep brown, dumplings floated in creamy sauces, and the rice pudding was sprinkled with almond and pistachio.

In the afternoon, Memsaab sent me to the bakery for the cake. I knew the way like the back of my hand, because I had done it last year and the year before that, and also whenever Little Bibi had a random hankering for a sugar bun.

The birthday cake was so beautiful! It was decorated with flowers and creamy dribbles that crisscrossed like a garden lattice.

“What does the writing say?” I asked.

“Happy Birthday to Munni,” the baker explained.

“That’s her real name,” I murmured. “And what is this?”

“That is the number 14.”

I set down the rupees on the counter and the baker put the cake in a box. I carried it out into the busy road, Amma’s warning ringing in my ear. “Walk, do you hear? Do not run!”

Amma worried about me constantly, but Old Nahni understood me so much better. “My sweet girl is a lusty bird of spring,” she used to say. “And birds fly and they soar!” Dear Nahni, she had always understood me.

I was thinking about my dear grandmother when a cow ambled out from nowhere. Before I knew up from down, the clumsy cow had lumbered into me, knocking the box out of my hand. It fell,
smack,
onto the ground in the middle of the road! My jaw dropped and I sank to my knees.

“
Hutt, hutt!
Out of the way!” people shouted angrily. “Do you want to get killed, mad girl?”

With my heart in my mouth, I picked up the box and dodged through the traffic to the other side of the street. I squeezed my eyes shut and wished,
Please, please, let the cake be all right!

I peeked inside the box. The pretty birthday cake was all topsy-turvy! Flowers drooped, leaves were tangled, and a crevice ran down one side! Devastated, I hurried back to the Big House.

Amma was suspicious. “Were you running?” she hissed.

“It was the cow!” I wailed. “I didn’t see her coming! I didn’t!”

With her lips pursed together, my mother went to work. She nudged flowers and repaired leaves and smoothed icing to camouflage, repair, and restore. But the poor cake was a bruised child, a wounded soldier, a bird with broken wing.

“Should I say the baker did a poor job?
Hanh?
” I ventured, but Amma clucked her tongue.

“Tell the truth,” she said. “A lie will push you into the well, but a truth will pull you out.”

“Maybe Memsaab won’t notice,” I said, mostly to myself.

Amma and I carried the cake through the Big Courtyard, up the stairs, through the back porch, and into the party room. It was already decorated with colorful crepe paper and balloons. The Big Table was laden with an assortment of treats, each one more mouthwatering than the other.

We set the cake down in the middle of the feast. I held my breath, stepped back, and gave it another long look.
It isn’t too bad,
I thought.
Only a wee bit shaken up, that’s all.
I wouldn’t be unhappy to have such a cake for
my
birthday.

Amma and I placed the chairs around the table just so. I arranged the plates and the forks and knives and spoons just so.

When Memsaab entered the room, her eyes went
straight to the cake. My heart began to pound,
dhuk-dhuk.
I clung to Amma’s sari.

My mother nudged me forward. “Tell all, Basanta,” she said gently.

“It was the c-c-cow’s fault, Memsaab,” I stammered, but Memsaab didn’t blame the cow at all.

“It was your job to be careful,” she said sternly.

When Little Bibi came in, her glance skipped over all the other lovely party things and stopped at the bumpy cake. “What’s this?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Just a small accident in the road,” Memsaab explained quickly, but Little Bibi was not easily appeased.

“What sort of accident?”

“The cow came too close, Little Bibi,” I volunteered. “And the clumsy animal knocked—”

“Oh great!” she shouted. “What will my friends say to this ugly thing,
hanh
?”

Ugly? How could a cake be ugly? It was like saying your Nahni was ugly because she got a little old and a little wrinkled.

“I am sorry, Little Bibi,” I said.

“A lot of good that does me!” my young mistress yelled.

Quickly, I handed her the flower garland I had made for her. “Felicitations!” I said. “Happy birthday, Little Bibi!” Then I turned to run back to the safety of the kitchen.

On my way out, I saw Little Bibi toss the garland aside. When it missed the chair and fell on the floor, she didn’t even bother to pick it up.

Later, when the sounds of birthday songs and laughter sailed across the courtyard, I decided that things must be okay. The beautiful new ring from Memsaab had probably made up for the damaged cake—and for the missing ring that now lay in our Big Box under Amma’s red sari and Bapu’s muslin kurta.