The Faith of Ashish (8 page)

A
s stars faded from the night sky, the laborers' settlement came awake. Latha grabbed up a handful of twigs and tossed them on the fire pit. Once she had a cooking fire burning, she threw rice into the earthenware pot—only half a handful, though, because the rice sack had grown much lighter than before.

"Quickly, Wife," Virat said. "Already workers gather in the courtyard."

Virat and Latha hurried to join the others, but then they hung back on the outer edges of the gathering. "Can you see what's happening?" Latha whispered.

"No," Virat said. But as he said it, he noticed a tree stump off to one side, so he jumped up on it and stretched himself tall until he could see over the heads in front of him.

"Anup covered up the opening to the well with some sort of thing," Virat whispered down to Latha. "Oh, now he is bowing down . . . bowing low, into the dirt. So low his forehead touches to the ground. I cannot see why . . . Oh, it is because of the landlord's son! The landlord's son who drove the bullock cart jumped up on the well and now he stands on it for all to see."

"Harvest!" Boban Joseph Varghese yelled out. No old grandmothers' watchful eyes here. Among Landlord Varghese's laborers, old women worked in the fields right alongside the young ones.

The people answered back with a ringing cheer.

"When the crop is in, every one of you will share in the celebration!" Boban Joseph promised. "My father has commanded that a feast be laid out for you in the harvested field. The greater the harvest, the greater the celebration!"

The workers roared their approval. To the chants of "Harvest! Harvest!" Boban Joseph jumped down and bowed his own head.

"Oh, now it is the Brahmin who comes!" Virat gasped to Latha. "It's the priest!"

Brahmin Keshavan Namboodri stepped forward. A garland of marigold blossoms hung around his neck. He folded his hands as if in prayer and lifted them high.

"He asks the gods to bless the harvest," Virat whispered. Reciting
mantras
over and over in a loud voice, Brahmin Keshavan implored the gods to graciously grant a most bountiful harvest. If they would, he promised, they would be honored with many gifts and generous sacrifices.

As dawn broke, the workers filed out to the first field. But Virat and Latha were not with them.

Gasping at the sight of Boban Joseph outside her doorway, Latha shrank back into the hut. But Virat stepped outside and fell to his knees, prostrating himself, his forehead pressed to the dirt.

"Get up, get up!" Boban Joseph said. A touch of disgust tinged his young-man voice. "Father says you and your woman are not to go to the fields today. Father says both of you are to wash and oil yourselves and dress in clean clothes."

Virat lifted his head, but he did not get up. "The clothes we wear are the only ones we own," he said.

"Get up on your feet!" Boban Joseph ordered. "Wash yourselves, at the least. Wait here in your hut until someone sends for you."

"Yes, my master," Virat said. But still he did not get up.

Latha listened from inside the hut. "What does he want with us?" she begged of her husband after Boban Joseph had gone.

"I don't know," Virat said.

"It is about Ashish."

"Most likely it is." Virat's heart weighed heavy with dread, though he did not speak it to his wife.

Virat untied his
mundu
and slipped it off. He did his best to shake the dirt from the many yards of dingy cloth. Taking up one of the water jars, he carefully washed himself, including his hair and, last of all, his feet. When he finished, Latha unwrapped her
sari,
took the other water jar and did the same.With the last bit of remaining water, Latha did her best to rub away the worst of the soil and stains from their clothes. Then they put their clothes back on.

When Virat started to sit on the dirt floor to wait, Latha stopped him. "No, no!" she said. "We must not get dirty all over again."

So, awkward and uncomfortable, they stood and waited. And waited and waited and waited some more. With the last of the workers gone to the fields, no one remained in the settlement but the smallest children. Little One, though only in her fifth year, bore the sole responsibility for watching over Baby. Other toddlers appeared to be left to care for themselves. Latha watched as the little ones wandered about. No old grandmothers' watchful eyes here. Among Landlord Varghese's laborers, old women worked in the fields right alongside the young ones.

When the sun had climbed halfway to its zenith, a servant from the landlord's house came bearing a neat stack of clean clothing, fresh from the washer men. He didn't enter the hut but called to Virat and Latha through the doorway: "Dress yourselves, then go to the road and wait."

"Look!" Latha gasped in wonder as she unfolded a bright green and yellow
sari.
"No stains. Oh, and the edges. See, Husband, they are not frayed!"

Also in the stack they found a fresh
mundu
of white cotton for Virat—one with no holes—and a bright yellow
chaddar
for his head.

"I am certain good news is coming our way," Latha said as she began to wrap the fresh
sari
around her waist—gathering it in the front before wrapping it around the rest of her body and up over her shoulder.

Virat said nothing. He had seen the cobra. He had seen the markings of the feet of the god Krishna on its head.

Virat and Latha were waiting, washed and wearing their new clothes, when the landlord's bullocks lumbered down the road pulling the cart. Mammen Samuel Varghese, on the front bench beside his son, motioned for the two to climb up in back. "I will take you to the clinic to collect your child," Mammen Samuel said. He didn't look at them when he spoke, but kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. "I will take you because I am a good Christian man descended from a long line of good Christian men. That is what you are to say to the doctor. Tell that to the English healer."

As the bullocks pulled the cart through the village, people stopped to pay tribute to the landowner. He ignored them all. The cart rumbled through the village, over the rough planks of the bridge, and on to the untouchable side of the river. Only after the lumbering bullocks had pulled the cart past him did Virat see Ranjun the potter on the untouchable side of the river. Whatever Ranjun might claim about his superior standing, at that moment, no one would mistake him for anything but an out caste. He stood ankle deep in mud, his long
mundu
folded up and tucked into his waist in such a way that exposed his legs and knees for all to see. So disrespectful a display! Ranjun saw Virat, too. Most certainly he recognized the landowner as well. Virat could not miss the twitch in Ranjun's haughty moustache. With an imperceptible flick of his fingers, Ranjun's
mundu
fluttered down and covered his bare, mudsplattered legs.

Boban Joseph steered the cart away from the path through the mud-hut settlement where Virat and Latha's place stood empty and over to the wide road. The path led a much shorter route to the English Mission Medical Clinic, but since it required traveling on a polluted trail, no self-respecting person of high caste birth would consider using it.

For two long hours, the landlord bounced along in the cart, staring straight ahead. Not one word did he utter. Boban Joseph also sat in silence, except for the occasional command he called out to the bullocks.

Virat watched for another village. But instead they came to a compound with three small wooden buildings and one larger one, all neatly whitewashed. The large building had a cross fastened to the top. Boban Joseph steered the bullocks over to the shade of the single large mango tree that grew to one side of the largest building and called out for the team to halt.

"Doctor!" Mammen Samuel bellowed from his seat in the cart. "I have come back for the boy!"

But Dr. Moore didn't answer the call. Abigail Davidson did.

When Latha saw Abigail, her mouth dropped and her good eye opened wide. Such chalky white skin! And her hair . . . like the threads of Virat's new
chaddar,
it was! But Abigail's eyes really transfixed her. They shone with the hue of a spring morning. "A goddess!" Latha breathed. She eased out of the cart and lay flat on the ground before Abigail.

"Stand up, you fool!" Mammen Samuel hissed as he, too, climbed down from the cart. "This is but an Englishwoman." Latha peeked up and saw that her husband stood beside her. Wide-eyed, yes, but he did not bow.

"Tell the doctor I have come to collect the boy." Mammen Samuel issued his order to Darshina in words clipped and tinged with rudeness. "I brought his father and mother with me. Tell the doctor that because I am an honorable Christian man and I desire peace, I have chosen to do as he requested." Darshina repeated his words to Abigail, and Abigail called, "Dr. Moore! Dr. Moore! Do come at once!"

"What is all the commotion?" Dr. Moore insisted. When he saw Mammen Samuel Varghese, he said, "I see. Do step into the clinic."

Darshina translated, and with an irritated sigh, Mammen Samuel entered. Not Latha and Virat, though. They shrank back and did their best to make themselves invisible. But when Dr. Moore threw the door open wide, they could plainly see Ashish sitting just inside, spinning a bright red wooden top across the floor. He stopped his play, looked up, and stared.

"
Appa!"
the little boy cried. "
Amma!"

Latha tried to run to Ashish, but Dr. Moore blocked the way.

"Come, come!" Mammen Samuel insisted. "I did as you instructed. Now we will take the boy and leave."

"Please, do sit down," Dr. Moore responded in a cool voice. He motioned Mammen Samuel to the best chair. "Let me come right to the point. It seems my assistant, Miss Davidson, has taken quite a liking to this child. It is her belief that he might well be better served in the English school for orphans in Madras, under the guidance of English caretakers, than growing up in some fearsome jungle. I must say, I am rather inclined to agree with her."

As Darshina repeated the doctor's words, Mammen Samuel's face flushed with fury. "You tell the doctor that if he is as honorable a Christian man as I am, he will keep his word and release the boy to me at once!"

Darshina looked helplessly from one powerful man to the other. Frustrated tears filled Latha's eyes, and little Ashish began to wail. Darshina repeated the landowner's angry words.

"Now, see here," Dr. Moore answered. "You may be an important chieftain or a clan head or whatever you fancy yourself in your village, but if you knew the first thing about being an honorable Christian man, you would welcome such an opportunity for the lad!"

Darshina did not have to worry about translating those words, however, for Abigail forced her way past the doctor and picked up Ashish. She hugged him tightly and kissed his soft cheek, then carried him to his mother.

"You have a wonderful son," she said, tears glistening in her blue eyes. "Take him home. I will pray to God that He will keep this little one in His care forever."