The Weight of Heaven (12 page)

frustration at being squeezed by ruthless landlords and moneylenders; women who had given birth to three consecutive daughters

being shunned by the community; middle-aged women who cried

for no apparent reason and carried themselves in that listless way

that Ellie recognized as depression.

Most of the time, Ellie was at a loss as to what advice to give them.

All the things that she had suggested to her mostly white, middleclass clientele in Michigan seemed laughable here. What could she

ask these women to do? Go to the gym to combat depression? Take

Prozac when they could barely afford wheat for their bread? Join

Al Anon to learn to accept the things and behaviors they couldn’t

change? These women were masters of acceptance—already they

accepted droughts and floods and infections and disease and hunger.

As for asking them to change their own behaviors, what would that

do? There were no shelters for battered women that they could go to,

no twelve-step programs that their husbands could enter, no social

institutions to support women who deviated from the norm. So Ellie

mostly listened while they spoke their woes, nodding sympathetically, sometimes cradling them as they sobbed and cursed their bad

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n

7 7

luck. She told herself that simply giving these women, who nobody

saw as anything beyond mother-sister-wife, a chance to vent was

worth something. Once in a while she suggested some small behavior modification, and mostly they told her why that wouldn’t work,

but sometimes a woman returned the following week with a story of

minor success, thanking Ellie for the suggestion. Those small victories Ellie carried around with her the rest of the week.

Now, she staggered out of the clinic with Asha, who acted as her

translator, by her side. She squinted at the sun and at the dry, dusty

road that stretched before them. Despite the recent rains, the land

looked as parched and thirsty as ever. “Where does Radha live?”

she asked.

“Very close by, only,” Asha said.

As always, Ellie was impressed by the simplicity and cleanliness of the mud huts that stood near each other as they entered the

main area of the village. A few dogs were lying on their sides under

the shade of a large tree near the cluster of houses, but they merely

raised their heads and yawned luxuriously as the two women walked

past. Ellie recalled what Nandita said—how rural poverty looked

much cleaner than urban poverty—and, remembering the slums

that she’d seen during her visits to Bombay, she agreed. Radha’s

house had a traditional grass roof, one of the few of its kind. Most of

the houses around hers had metal sheeting, which raised the indoor

temperature much more than the cooling grass. But Asha had explained to Ellie that the grass roof had to be replaced each year, and

in the last few years, the grass was not growing as abundantly as it

always had. A few chickens pecked near their feet as Asha knocked

on the door. A weak voice answered in Hindi, asking them to enter.

They opened the bamboo door and walked in.

It was dark inside the house—like many in the village, Radha’s

house had no electricity. A kerosene lamp blazed in front of the girl,

who sat on her haunches on the floor, which Ellie knew the villagers

made out of a plaster of mud and cow dung. Despite the darkness

7 8 Th r i t y U m r i g a r

in the room, Ellie sensed that the girl appeared even more dejected

than a few weeks ago. “
Namaste
, Radha,” Asha said, and the girl

replied,
“Namaste,”
as she rose off the floor. Her voice was dull, her

movements slow.

Ellie grabbed the girl’s hand and squeezed it in greeting, noticing the marks on her forearm as she did so. “Please to sit,” Radha

said, her glance including both Asha and Ellie, and all three women

sat on the floor, Radha and Asha on their haunches and Ellie crosslegged. “How are you, Radha?” Ellie asked, Asha translating for

her.

In reply, Radha lowered the
pallov
of her sari and opened a button

on her blouse so that the other two could see the marks on her chest.

Ellie swallowed the gasp of horror that sprang to her lips. Instead,

she asked, “Has he always beaten you, Radha? And how long have

you two been married?” She looked around the hut. “Who else lives

here?”

“We married when I was sixteen,
didi
,” the girl replied in Hindi.

“And first few years my husband was very nice. After the birth of

my son, we were very happy.” Her face fell. “But what to do,
didi
?

He lost his job six months ago, and now we have no income. All day

he goes out looking for the leaves, but the guards chase him away.”

“What guards? What did he do for a living?” Ellie asked, marveling at the sudden torrent of words that spilled from Radha’s

mouth. She looked expectantly at Asha, waiting for her to interpret

Radha’s words. But Asha looked uncharacteristically embarrassed.

“All rubbish she’s saying, miss,” she mumbled.

“Hey,” Ellie said. “I need to know what Radha said. Otherwise,

we can’t help her, can we?”

Radha continued to speak and Asha gazed quickly from one

woman to the next before translating. “She says her husband used to

cut leaves from the
girbal
tree, make a bundle, and sell to other villages nearby, miss,” she said. “Villagers use the paste of those leaves

for medicine. But then the company say that the trees now belong

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n

7 9

to them, not to the villagers. Put up big signs saying, ‘Private Property. No trespassing.’ So he is trying to steal some leaves when the

guards are not looking, but they find him and give him a beating.

Now he is afraid to go back, miss. So no moneys in the family plus

peoples getting sick without the leaf paste.”

Ellie felt her heart pounding. “What’s the name of the company?”

But before Asha could reply, “It’s HerbalSolutions, isn’t it?”

Asha bowed her head. “Yes, miss,” she said simply.

Despite herself, she heard herself asking, “Does—does she know

my husband is—that he works for the company?”

Asha was twisting the
pallov
of her sari in embarrassment. “That

I don’t know, miss.”

Ellie stared into the flame of the kerosene lamp, aware that Radha

was looking at her, waiting for her to speak. There was a sour taste

in her mouth. Who are you kidding? she said to herself. Pretending

to help these people when your very presence, perhaps even your

very existence, causes them grief and misery?

The door opened, and a tall, gaunt-looking man with a drooping mustache walked in. Ellie saw that it took a second for his eyes

to adjust to the dark room, but as his eyes fell upon them, his slack

face grew suddenly animated. He turned to Radha and spoke to her

in rapid-fire Hindi, all the while locking eyes with Ellie. Radha answered him in a dull, heavy voice, staring at the floor the whole

time. Ellie took advantage of this exchange to whisper to Asha, “Is

this her husband?” to which Asha nodded yes.

But the man must have heard her because now he loomed over her,

his breathing heavy and jagged. Wagging his index finger, he spoke

to Asha, a deluge of angry words, hard and biting, that brought a

scowl to Asha’s usually calm face. She tried to interrupt him several

times, but he cut her off, gesticulating wildly, and finally Asha gave

up and grew silent. The man went on and on, occasionally slipping in

a word that Ellie understood. She thought she heard him say “company” and “police.” After what seemed like an interminable length of

8 0 Th r i t y U m r i g a r

time, he finally fell silent, although his eyes were still wild-looking.

Nobody spoke for a second, and then he said, “
Bolo
,” to Asha, pointing to Ellie with his chin. Ellie knew that
bolo
meant to speak, so she

understood that he wanted her to translate for him.

But she would not give him that satisfaction. Leaping to her feet,

she grabbed Asha’s hand. “Come on, Asha,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“Go, go,” the man said, having understood what she’d said in

English. And then, deliberately, looking her straight in the eye,

“America, go home.”

A small crowd had gathered outside Radha’s hut, but nobody said

a word as Asha and Ellie emerged. Even the children and chickens

seemed subdued. The two women walked rapidly and silently away

from the cluster of houses. Behind them, they could still hear the

man shouting from the doorway. Ellie felt a twinge of fear at having

left Radha alone with her angry husband but comforted herself by

believing that the crowd would intervene. It struck her that that

could be a strategy that she could teach the village’s many victims

of domestic abuse—they come to each other’s help. Could they?

Would they? she wondered.

They were at a safe distance from the houses, now. She turned

to the young woman walking next to her. “Asha, I need you to tell

me everything the husband said. Please, don’t be embarrassed. You

won’t hurt my feelings, honest.”

Asha didn’t seem too convinced. “He’s mad man, miss,” she

started, but seeing the look on Ellie’s face, she stopped. And started

again. “He says the company ruin him twice—first it take away his

leaf business and also, it kill his best friend. He says that Anand, the

boy who was killed by police, was his best friend since day he was

born. So he hate the company.” Asha looked shocked and afraid, as

if she was the one who had expressed these sentiments.

“Go on,” Ellie said. “Tell me everything.”

“Nothing more to tell, miss. He says he doesn’t want us entering

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n

8 1

his home again. Says English peoples brings bad luck wherever they

go—in Iraq and in Girbaug.”

“Oh, please,” Ellie said. “That’s a bit of a stretch.”

Asha was not familiar with the expression. “Excuse, miss?”

Ellie shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Tell me, do—do the

others in the village feel the same way about me?” She was surprised to hear the tremor in her voice.

“All the women like you, miss,” Asha said eagerly. “They say you

help them. But ever since Anand die, there is much anger. Peoples

say, our life do not matter to the big sahibs. And we all use the
girbal

tree our whole lives, miss. We boil it in our tea, make paste out of it.

Some of the older peoples chew it. They our trees, miss. How can a

company come and buy our trees?”

Ellie was quiet, unsure of how to answer that question, unable to

tell Asha that she had asked the same question of Frank.

Asha touched Ellie’s shoulder. “That man is total stupid,” she

said. “You stay with us, miss.”

Ellie heard in the young woman’s voice the desire to appease, the

natural hospitality and generosity that seemed to come so naturally

to the Indians she’d met. She smiled. “I’m not going anywhere,” she

said lightly. “Don’t you worry.”

Nandita was walking rapidly toward them as they approached

the clinic’s compound. “What happened?” she said. “Why didn’t

you tell me you were going to Radha’s house?” She looked angry.

“Wow, news certainly travels fast in these parts,” Ellie said.

Turning to Asha, she said, “Thanks for all your help today, sweetie.

You worked so hard. I’ll see you Wednesday?”

“Okay, miss,” Asha said. “Good evening.” The woman glanced

at Nandita, nodded, and walked briskly away.

“What happened?” Nandita said again, as soon as Asha was out

of hearing range.

“I’ll tell you in a minute. But can I have a cup of tea first?”

8 2 Th r i t y U m r i g a r

Nandita must have heard something in her voice because she was

immediately solicitous. “Of course. Come on.”

In Nandita’s small office, Ellie blew on the hot glass of tea she

had been handed on their way in. She took a few sips, trying to get

her emotions under control before she told Nandita about her encounter with Radha’s husband. When she finished, Nandita looked

at her for a full minute and then exhaled loudly. “I’m so sorry, Ellie.

I don’t know what we could’ve done to prevent this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ellie protested. “You had nothing to do

with this, Nan.” She closed her eyes for a second, trying to gather

her thoughts. “I don’t even know who to blame for this mess. I know

Pete Timberlake, the guy who started HerbalSolutions. I’ve known

him for years. He and Frank went to college together. Pete’s a great

guy. He’d be shocked if he knew how much grief he’s brought into

the lives of people like Radha and her husband. If I know Pete, all

he knew was that he’d bought a bunch of trees that nobody wanted

and that seemed to have magical properties that helped Americans

with diabetes. And yet, having met Radha and the others, I’m mad

that people like them always seem to pay the price for someone else’s

ignorance.”

“But it isn’t an isolated instance, El,” Nandita said gently. Her

voice was strained, as if she was torn between trying not to injure

her friend’s feelings while also speaking the truth. “The West has