The Faith of Ashish (10 page)

Ashish struggled to his feet and swiped his dirty little hands across his tear-streaked face. That's when he spied the well. Exactly like that other awful well, it was. Even an earthenware cup on its side. Terror grabbed at him. Trembling, he threw his hands over his face and fell to the ground wailing.

"Ashish? What's the matter, Ashish?"

Slowly Ashish moved his fingers apart and peeked between them. Little Girl knelt in the dirt by his side and peeked back at him.

"I can't find my house," Ashish told her through his sobs." And this awful well—"

"It isn't a bad well," Little Girl said. "That's where we get our water. Come with me. Baby and I will take you to your house."

Back in his own hut, Ashish fell exhausted onto the sleeping mat. Baby spied his red top and snatched it up to play. Little Girl sat beside Ashish. "Are you a bad boy?" she asked him.

"Yes," Ashish said. "I'm very bad. That's what the men said when they kicked me and hit me with sticks."

"I'm more bad than you," Little Girl said. "I'm so bad I had to be born a girl."

"I forget myself. You are, of course, a
meat-eater."
Brahmin Keshavan's carefully chosen words were the worst possible accusation, pronounced as though the words themselves were foul, disgusting things to be spat out.

"But not due to caste," Mammen Samuel quickly protested." Christians are permitted to eat meat. Not carrion, of course. Not like a wild animal or an Untouchable or a savage. But fresh meat, yes."

Mammen Samuel Varghese took great pride in his claim of an ancestry line that traced all the way back to the ancient King Gundaphorus, famed for his quest to build the grandest of all cities. And Mammen Samuel never tired of telling the lesser told tradition of the king's encounter with Thomas, one of the twelve disciples of Jesus Christ, shortly after Thomas arrived on the Malabar Coast aboard a trading vessel from the Red Sea. When Saint Thomas heard about King Gundaphorus' quest, he approached the great king and said, "Allow me to tell you of the greatest City of all—a City not made with hands." Under the tutelage of Saint Thomas, King Gundaphorus became an enthusiastic follower of Christ. And not only the king, but many members of his court as well, which Mammen Samuel Varghese insisted, included his ancestors. Saint Thomas himself had baptized the first Christians in Mammen Samuel's family. Or so the landlord said.

Mammen Samuel's eyes narrowed as he gazed at the pale faced Brahmin who sat so smugly, his thin lips set tight. A Brahmin priest had killed the great Saint Thomas. Ran him through with a lance, he did. Could that ancient Brahmin have been an ancestor of this very Brahmin Keshavan Namboodri who sat so hautily on Landlord Varghese's fine carpet and drank his tea?

Mammen Samuel's nostrils flared and his eyes flashed. Though he did not raise his voice, his tone took on shadings of his ancient warrior caste past—Kshatriya ferocity.

"You Hindus speak of
karma?
Look around at the luxuries of my house." Mammen Samuel picked up the platter of fruit. "Look at the fine artistry in the silver of my vessels." He grabbed up the dish of cashew nuts. "See the rich gold of my bowls." He waved his arms about dramatically and exclaimed, "Look at the exquisite design of the rug on which you rest your body. Four thousand rupees I paid for this carpet! Surely a million of your gods have smiled on me. Can you deny it?"

Brahmin Keshavan could not. And although the expression on his face did not change, he simmered in fury at the injustice of it all.

"To accumulate gold bowls and silver platters and exquisite carpets is not the supreme goal of life," Keshavan said. "The supreme goal of life is to escape the never-ending cycle of death and rebirth as yet another human—or perhaps as an animal. The supreme goal is to finally become a part of the universal soul of Creator god Brahma himself. It is only achieved by living a life that is pure and good. As for me, I am but one step away from that supreme goal. For my life is indeed pure and good."

"Why, then, do you worry yourself about snatching away a share of my wealth?"

"To give is your destiny," Brahmin Keshavan said. "It is my destiny to receive from you and to bless you in return."

Mammen Samuel's lips tightened and his eyes flashed. "I can make my way quite well without your blessing," he hissed.

All afternoon, Ashish tossed in a restless sleep. When he awoke, Little Girl sat in the doorway of his house. Baby played in the dirt outside.

"Are you still sick?" Little Girl asked anxiously.

Ashish looked about him. For a few moments, he couldn't remember where he was.

"Are you still sick?" Little Girl asked again.

"I . . . I don't know," Ashish stammered.

"Your face looks strange. Do you hurt?"

"Not as much as I did before."

"The holy Brahmin came and blessed the harvest," Little Girl said. "Maybe he can come back and bless you too."

"I don't think so," said Ashish. "If he comes, I think he will hit me with a stick."

Brahmin Keshavan sat straight and tall like a stone statue, his face rigid and angry. But he did not leave Mammen Samuel's veranda.

Mammen Samuel glowered and smoldered, yet he made no excuse to part ways either.

Finally Mammen Samuel said, "You are a Brahmin, a priest. You have your duties, and you have your privileges. I am a
Kshatriya,
a ruler-warrior. My duty is to bring order, to draw the incompatible together. Perhaps it is your place to limit contact between castes, to keep those who are unlike separate, and so to maintain the old ways. But the realm of a successful ruler is made up of unlike peoples, all rendered harmonious and productive together."

"And profitable for the ruler," Keshavan said.

"Profitable for the entire village," Mammen Samuel insisted. "The days of heroism and conquering enemies are past. Now it is the task of my kind to show our prowess by fighting against disharmony."

"Make yourself a king if you desire," Keshavan said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "What does a king matter to a Brahmin? We are
Bhudevas,
gods on earth. What is a mere king to a god?"

I
'm a
chamar,"
Virat admitted to Anup. "I don't know how to harvest wheat."

"You'll learn," Anup told him.

By noon, Virat was walking across the wheat field in the middle of a long line of men, all of them swinging their scythes in rhythm, all taking care to slash the wheat stalks close to the ground. At first Virat stumbled along behind the others, hesitant and unsure of himself, too afraid to swing the scythe wide enough or low enough. But he watched the men on either side of him and learned quickly. Nor was Virat the only one new to the harvest. A fair sprinkling of other men had also come to the settlement since the fall crops came in. But Anup took care to intersperse the new ones among the experienced men, and by day's end, all worked together like veteran hands.

The women followed along behind the men to sort out the cut wheat stalks, bundle them together into stacks, and tie them securely. "Your job is only to gather the stalks into piles," Anup's wife Sethu told Latha. More experienced hands would come after her and form each pile into the right-sized bundle, then grab out a clump of stems and wrap it around, twisting the ends and tucking them in tightly so the bundle would hold together.

"When we finish with this entire field, we'll load the bundles onto our heads and carry them to the storehouse. The wheat will dry there until it's hard enough for threshing," Sethu said.

Before the sun reached its zenith, the muscles in Lath a's arms burned like needles plucked from the fire. Her hands, unused to such harsh work, split to the quick so that each seedling she planted bore the stain of a drop of her blood. More than one worker staggered and fell under the blistering sun. Boys too young to swing scythes ran back and forth from the settlement well, laden down with jars of water which they passed along the lines of laborers. Only after the harvesters had had their fill did the women get a turn at the water.

When a water jug finally came Lath a's way, she grabbed it and gulped greedily. As she turned to pass it on to Sethu, a rumbling tiger growl shook the field behind her.

All chattering stilled, every movement stopped. Even the swooping birds fell silent. But only for a moment. Latha leapt up and bounded back toward the settlement.

"No!" Sethu screamed at her. "Don't go
that
way!"

The terrifying growl still hung heavy in the air, but Latha could think of only one thing: her injured son, lying alone and helpless in the hut.

"Stop!" the women shrieked. "Come back!"

Ignoring the cries, Latha dashed through the unharvested field toward the path to the settlement. Directly in front of her, almost hidden in the uncut wheat, crouched the tiger. A gasp caught in Lath a's throat and she froze in her tracks. Icy yellow eyes peered out at her through waving stalks of grain. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled out straight.

The tiger twitched and flicked its tail. Its muscles tensed.

Step back slowly,
Latha told herself. But her feet would not obey.

On the breeze, musty tiger stench wafted across the field. The women's shrieks faded into ominous silence. But still Latha couldn't move. Her legs seemed to have turned to stone.

Joyoti's young son Kilas and little Anandraj hurried up the path from the settlement well, laughing loudly. Kilas lugged two large water jars and the small boy struggled with one. Before Latha could shout out a warning, the great animal swung around and thrashed its way through the wheat. With a powerful lunge, it flew at the boys.

"Tiger!" Latha finally managed to scream. "Tiger! Tiger!" Kilas shrieked, "No, no! Anandraj!"

Like a streak, the tiger leapt up and bounded for the trees, dragging the small boy with him.

"My Ashish will never go to the fields. I will make certain of that!" Latha announced to Sethu. The need for water had finally pushed the two mothers to venture out of their huts and to the well. "Never! My mind is made up."

Sethu sniffed. "Of course he will. He must work like everyone else. Anyone who does not work deserves to eat dirt."

"How can you talk that way?"

"My Anup and the men with him will find the tiger and kill it. Even if they don't, we will all be back in the fields tomorrow. Master Landowner will not stop the harvest simply because the tiger dragged off one boy, whose name no one even remembers."

Latha looked at her new friend in disbelief. "His name was Anandraj. His mother remembers," she said. "His brother remembers. And I will never forget."

"That boy's fate happened because of his
karma,
Latha. And it might be a good thing, too. Now his soul can move on to a different body, and he will have another chance in another life. Maybe his next life will be better than this one."

"I will not go to the fields tomorrow," Latha said. "I will stay at home and watch over my son."

The last of the purple and yellow bruises had faded from Ashish's face, and the wounds on his body were almost completely healed. He still wore the bandages, although they were so dirty and ragged Latha expected them to fall away at any time. Ashish seldom complained of pain and he had even started to run around the huts chasing after Little Girl. Even so, he was not the same Ashish as before the beating. He showed more fear now and shyness around everyone except his parents and Little Girl and Baby.

"Your boy is old enough to work," Anup told Latha. "The landlord will expect it. Everyone here must earn his keep.""But Ashish is tiny and weakened," Latha pleaded. "The tiger would grab him first!"

"Forget the tiger. It has gone back to the jungle."

But Latha would have none of it. "Maybe it has and maybe it has not. But even if the tiger has gone, it will remember the taste of human flesh, and when it gets hungry, it will be back."

Anup was not unkind, but neither did he waver in his decision. "Ashish is part of the community now. He is required to work the same as everyone else is required to work. It is not your choice."

Virat suggested to Anup that Ashish might spend his days gathering firewood. Latha could use what she needed for her own cooking pit, and whatever was left, the child could trade for some of the fresh greens and cucumbers and chili peppers other families grew in their small garden plots.

"Work hard," Latha begged her son. "If you do not, you will be sent to the fields. Please, please, work very hard."

Latha feared danger in the fields, but not she alone. Many women took to hiding in the settlement and refused to go out to work. No longer was the cadence of the harvest quick and sure. Now the workers hesitated, pausing frequently to look behind them. And when the sun started to sink below the hills, they glanced about anxiously and refused to work any longer. Boban Joseph rode his father's horse up and down the line bellowing, "Harvest! Harvest!" but no one listened to him. As one, the laborers abandoned their tools and hurried for the safety of their huts.

Boban Joseph, whose oversaw the harvest, carried the worrisome news to his father. "They fear the tiger more than they fear you," he said. "The harvest goes too slowly."

Late one afternoon, after the workers had deserted the harvest even earlier than usual, Latha—water jug on her head and Ashish tightly in her grip—stood with a crowd of women waiting for a turn at the well. Cheers suddenly erupted on the far side of the courtyard.

"
Amma,
look!" Ashish cried. "It's a baby elephant!"

And a magnificent elephant it was, too, beautifully painted with bright designs and decorated in red and gold. But most amazing of all, Master Mammen Samuel Varghese himself held the cord tied around the elephant's neck. He actually led it along! (Although a crowd of servants did follow closely behind him.)

"Can I touch the elephant?" Ashish begged his mother. "On its painted ear? Please,
Amma?"

"No, no!" Latha said. "Hush now. Stay close beside me."

A small, wide-eyed boy sat straight and proud on a fancy blanket thrown over the elephant's back.

"I bring you my son, Saji Stephen!" Mammen Samuel announced to the gawking crowd.

The lively chatter dissolved into oooohhh's and ahhhhh's. "Oh, such a heavenly child!" cried a woman at the millstone. She clasped her work-worn hands together in reverence and bowed low.

"Sa—ji! Sa—ji! Sa—ji!" the growing crowd chanted.

The procession stopped beside the well. A servant climbed up and lifted the boy down from the elephant's back and into the arms of Babu, who stood the boy on the rim of the well for all to see. A gasp of admiration arose as the crowd pressed in for a closer look. The boy could not have had more than seven years of life. Cleaner than any child the laborers had ever seen and smelling of sweet sandalwood oil, he was outfitted in elegant clothes that caused every mother to stare in disbelieving admiration—all pure white with what looked to be golden threads woven throughout.

When the gasps and exclamations began to die down, Babu lifted the boy onto his shoulders and paraded him through the crowd. Men and women alike bowed down and touched their foreheads to the ground as he passed by.

"You see!" Mammen Samuel called out. "All of us are safe from the tiger. The beast has crept back to its lair. If it were not so, would I dare to bring my precious little son out here among you? Would I expose my child to danger? Of course I would not. You know I would not!"

Ashish, transfixed, could not take his eyes off the child. A little boy, very much like himself. Oh, but nothing like him. This boy wasn't bad or cursed. He looked to be almost like a small god!

When Babu approached with Saji Stephen on his shoulders, Ashish reached out his hand and held his red wooden top up to the boy. "For you," he said to Saji Stephen.

"Get away," Babu scowled, kicking at Ashish.

But Saji Stephen said, "No, no, Babu! I want it!"

Babu hesitated and glanced over to his master. When he saw that Mammen Samuel smiled, Babu reached down and took the top. He handed it up to Saji Stephen, who always got everything he wanted.

"Entirely safe!" Mammen Samuel called out. "Perfectly safe! I bring my own son to your settlement to show you."

The workers released a collective sigh.

"Tomorrow, the harvest will resume as before. Tomorrow, all of you will be in the field early and you will stay until dusk. And after the harvest is over, we will all celebrate its success together."