Flame Tree Road (4 page)

“Do you know who my husband is?” she shrieked. “He is Dhiren Deb. My husband is supplier of all the goods in the Victoria Jute Mills co-op store. My husband will ask the jute mill owners to stop all funding to this school if you do not pay attention, do you understand?”

“I am listening,” said the schoolmaster, a little taken aback.

“All we are suggesting,” the grandmother said in a soothing voice, “is the next time Samir needs to be disciplined, just take the ruler and beat the child next to him. If Samir sees the other child suffering, he will be frightened and behave himself.”

The schoolmaster was incredulous. “Beat some other innocent child who has not done anything wrong instead of the real culprit? How does that even make any sense?”

“Just try it,” said the granny, nodding wisely. “We know it works. Samir gets very frightened when he sees somebody else being punished. At home we just beat the servant boy and Samir immediately behaves himself. Now, don’t get us wrong. We want the child to be disciplined and grow up to be a fine boy. Just don’t beat our little darling is all we are saying.”

* * *

Samir quickly figured out some friendships were negotiable. He could join in a game by giving the leader a pencil. But most games involved a lot of push and shove, and he was deathly afraid of getting hurt, so he just stood on the sidelines and cheered the players on in his high girlish voice. Sometimes he was generous for no reason at all. He played treasure hunt and left coveted items in secret places so that they could be “stolen.” He even left his leather shoes under the tamarind tree and watched secretly to see who would steal them.

The one person Sammy wanted most to be friends with was the brilliant and smooth-talking Biren Roy. But Biren Roy avoided him. He and his three friends walked around with their hands in their pockets avoiding the riffraff. In class, Biren Roy asked such intelligent questions that he made the schoolmaster nervous.

Samir learned that Biren Roy lived in another village and went home every day in a small boat with a one-eyed boatman. He also came to grudgingly accept that there was no hope in the world of ever calling him a friend.

CHAPTER

6

Some days after school, Biren loitered at the tea shop on Momati Ghat. It would be around closing time in the early afternoon with a few fishermen smoking their last bidis. Sold as singles in the tea shop, the bidis were lit with a slow-burning coir rope hung from a bamboo pole. The fishermen who idled at the tea shop were the ones who had returned without a sizable catch. There was no fish to spoil in their baskets and no need to rush to the market. Those were also the ones who told the tallest stories.

Kanai, the one-eyed fisherman, waggled his foot and sucked the smoke from his bidi through a closed fist.

“I saw the
petni
again last night,” he said, narrowing his single eye.

“Saw it or
heard
it?” asked Biren. He had heard fearful stories from the fisherman about the faceless ghost of Momati Ghat with backward-facing feet who wailed in the voice of a child.

Kanai glared at him. “I saw it. I may have one eye but I am not blind.”

“What did the
petni
look like?” Biren asked.

“It was white,” said Kanai. “Completely white from head to toe.”

“Was it a boy or a girl?”

“What kind of question is that? A
petni
is a
petni
. It is neither a boy nor a girl.”

“If you are talking about the creature that is hanging around the ghat late at night, that is no
petni
, Kanai,” said the ancient fisherman they called Dadu. Grandfather. He had a foamy white beard and the skin on his face was cracked and creased like river mud. “That is one of the cursed ones.”

“Who is cursed?” asked Biren. He tapped a dimple in the soft ground with a twig and watched a tiny sand beetle pop out and take a swipe before sliding back into a whirlpool of sand.

“Widows,” said the old fisherman. “They are the most wretched creatures on earth. A widow is even more dangerous than a
petni
because it can appear in the daytime and spit on the happiness of others.”

Biren shuddered. “I hope I never see one,” he said.

“You’ve seen them,
mia
. They are everywhere,” said Kanai. “There’s one that begs under the banyan tree near the temple. Surely you’ve seen that one?”

“Oh,
that
one.” Biren sighed with relief. “That is only Charulata. She is harmless. We talk to her all the time. Baba said she is a poor woman whose husband died when she was only thirteen. A mango tree fell and cut her husband in half, poor thing.”

Kanai spit on the ground. “She must be badly cursed, then.”

“That is not true,” retorted Biren indignantly. He flung his stick in a wide arc across the riverbed. “My
baba
says only ignorant people believe in curses and bad luck.”

“Just listen to this pooty fish and his big-big talk!” scoffed a diminutive fisherman nicknamed Chickpea.

“Your father is a good man,
mia
, but too much education is his undoing,” said Dadu, the old fisherman. “Education leads a man astray. He becomes bewildered and loses touch with his roots.”

Kanai took a deep pull of his bidi and waggled his foot. “Because your father works with the
belaytis
in the jute mill he has too much big-big ideas.” He turned to the others. “Do you know his father tried to tell me the earth is round? I told him I have rowed all the rivers, but I haven’t fallen off the edge yet, have I?”

The others laughed.

Of course the earth is round
, Biren thought indignantly. But he did not know how to convince the fishermen.

Tilok, the tea shop man, stuck his head out of the shack and banged a spoon on his brass kettle. “Who wants more tea?” he shouted. “Today is the last day for free tea! No more free tea from tomorrow. Tomorrow you pay.”

Biren looked puzzled. “Why is he giving free tea?”

“Don’t you know?” said Chickpea. “Tilok had twin baby boys yesterday. He should be giving everybody free tea for
two
weeks.” He cupped his hand and yelled, “Do you hear that, Tilok? We demand free tea for two weeks.”

“Trying to make me a pauper, are you?” Tilok laughed. He burst into song as he poured the tea in thin frothing streams into a line of terra-cotta cups.

“Just listen to him—he is such a happy man.” Kanai chuckled. “Now, if he had twin daughters, he would be singing a dirge.”

Biren pushed his toe into the sand, thinking. His mother envied Apu for having girls. She made cloth dolls for Ruby and Ratna. She dressed baby Ratna in tiny saris and put flowers in her hair. “I wish I had a little girl,” she lamented to Apu. What puzzled him was Apu wanted boys and Shibani wanted girls. They each wanted what the other had. The fishermen on the other hand were unanimously in favor of boys. Daughters were viewed as a curse, it seemed.

Kanai flicked the butt of his bidi into the sand and sighed. “I go to the temple every morning to pray my wife has a son this time.”

“I have three daughters!” grumbled Dadu. “I had to sell my cow to get the last one married off. Marrying off daughters will pick you clean, like a crow to a fishbone. I would be in the poorhouse if my son had not brought in a dowry. By God’s mercy, all four children are married and settled now.”

Biren shaded his eyes toward the far horizon and jumped to his feet. “Oh, look!” he cried. “The jute steamer is coming!”

As so it was. A black dot had just popped up on the horizon. Its square form distinguished it as a flatbed river barge designed to carry bales of jute, tea chests and other cargo.

Biren dusted off his shorts and took off flying down the crooked path toward the riverbank. A small brown mongrel with a curled-up tail chased after him, yipping excitedly.

As the steamer drew closer, Biren saw a pink-faced Englishman sitting on a chair bolted to the deck. The man had one knee crossed over the other and was smoking a curved pipe, looking as if he was relaxing in his own living room. He surveyed the tumbled countryside, the cracked and pitted riverbank and meek-eyed cows huddled in slices of shade. When the man turned his head, he caught sight of the magnificent flame tree by the tea shop and stood up to get a better view. He failed to notice the small boy who waved at him from the riverbank. The steamer passed by smoothly, leaving the water hyacinths swirling in its wake.

Kanai spat on the ground. “Go, go,
mia
, run, run, run,” he muttered. “Chase after the
belayti
, wave to him, bow to him, lick his shoes. He will never acknowledge you. To him you do not even exist. The sooner you get that into your foolish head, the better it will be for you.”

CHAPTER

7

The river breeze teased Shamol Roy awake one night. He propped up on his elbow to gaze tenderly at his sleeping wife. Shibani lay on her side, her hands tucked under her cheek. Her lips were parted, and in the yellow light of the moon her skin glowed a satiny gold. Shamol traced her nose and lips with his finger.

“Precious pearl, sweet beloved, queen of my heart,” he murmured in her ear. “Do you hear the river calling?”

Shibani’s eyes fluttered open. Her smile gleamed in the dark. “Oh,” she gasped. “Shall we go?”

“If you wish, my beloved.”

They tiptoed out of the
basha
in their old cotton nightclothes and house slippers. The front door closed softly behind them and they ran giggling down the road, holding hands. Free from the cares of parenthood and family, they were like children again.

Shamol and Shibani had little opportunity to demonstrate their affections for each other during the day. Trapped in their roles of husband and wife, father and mother, son and daughter-in-law, a certain decorum was expected of them. Even in their early married days, and despite their yearning, intimacy had not come easy. The door to their bedroom had to be left ajar to allow Grandfather access to the bathroom, and nature called often and at random for the old man. Shamol and Shibani took to slipping out of the house and going down to the river, where under the flame tree, and calmed by the sound of water, they’d discovered each other for the first time.

* * *

The river sky floated with a thousand stars and a lemony moon sailed in their midst. Sirius, the Dog Star, the brightest of them all, was a twinkling jewel on Orion’s belt. People whispered the Dog Star had mysterious occult powers. It caused men to weaken and women to become aroused, they said.

Shamol took Shibani’s face in his hands and kissed her until every star was pulled down from the sky. When he looked into her eyes they sparkled brighter than the heavens.

He led her to the flame tree and drew her down beside him. They leaned against the trunk, their arms around each other, and looked up at the sky.

“Oh, I forgot,” said Shamol. He fumbled in his kurta pocket and drew out a small paper-wrapped object. He pushed it into her hand. “I have something for you.”

“What is it?”

“Open it. It’s butterscotch toffee from Scotland. Willis Duff, the new engineer at the jute mill, gave it to me.”

Shibani unwrapped the toffee and took a tiny bite. “My, it is quite delicious. Here, try a bit.”

“No, no, you eat it. I only had one so I kept it for you. Every time I get something, I give it to the boys. Sometimes I feel bad—I never bring anything for you.”

She squeezed his hand. “You bring me fresh jasmine garlands wrapped with your heart. What more can a girl ask for?”

The caressing tone of her voice made his nerves tingle.

Overcome by bashfulness, he squinted at the glittering sky. “Look, there’s Sirius, the Dog Star. Do you see it?”

“It’s the brightest star in the sky,” murmured Shibani. “See how it sparkles. Maybe it’s winking.”

“Everything pales beside you, my darling.”

Shamol pushed Shibani’s hair aside to kiss the nape of her neck. “Do you remember our first time?” he said softly. His tongue tasted the salt of her skin. “Here, under this tree?”

Shibani leaned her cheek against his hand. Of course she remembered, and wasn’t Biren the result? Anything could happen on a night when the stars begged to be plucked from the sky.