The Selector of Souls

by Shauna Singh Baldwin

  “I must talk to you,” she tells Father Pashan.

  “And I’m ravenous,” says Bethany.

  Father Pashan asks the nuns to continue without him, and orders makhni dal, raita and naan for the two sweating arrivals.

  Anu yawns, and covers her mouth with her palm, “Excuse me! I was awake all night—two babies were born.” Those two miracles definitely happened. But hearing herself tell him how the two babies were nearly switched at Bread of Healing seems incredible. “Goldina was raped,” she adds. “A member of our parish. Should I report it to the authorities?”

  Bethany spoons dal onto Anu’s plate.

  “Does Goldina want to lodge a complaint?” asks Father Pashan.

  “Now?” says Sister Bethany, through a mouthful of naan.

  “I will support her,” says Father Pashan. “She can’t read or write, so I myself will go with her to the superintendent of police and help her fill out the charge sheet. I’ll go to her house and tell her so.”

  “That might put her whole family in danger,” Bethany says. “From her rapist, his caste-members, and the police.”

  Sister Anu tells them that Damini was the one who finally persuaded Kiran to give up Moses, but also recounts Goldina’s accusations against her. “I can’t believe Damini would let a child die—or worse,” she says. “But that’s what Goldina said.”

  “Because the child was a girl?” says Father Pashan.

  “It was implied, but I have no proof. Just as there’s no proof Kiran-ji tried to bribe me.”

  “There never is,” says Bethany, emphasising each word with a flourished fragment of naan.

  “And I heard Damini refuse when Kiran-ji asked her to ‘look after’ the girl.”

  “Even so,” says Bethany. “You can’t let her continue working—you’d be afraid to ever leave her alone with a child. Can we find her something else? She can read and write in Hindi. And she wants to help other women—I’ve seen her reading to Goldina.”

  “She has a son in Jalawaaz,” says Sister Anu. “Maybe he can assist his mother.”

  “Bethany, maybe she can help you with literacy classes?” says Father Pashan.

  “I’ll see.” Bethany sounds dubious.

  “She worked for the Amanjit Singhs in New Delhi for years,” says Sister Anu. “She still works for them occasionally in the Big House. But after last night I don’t think Kiran-ji will hire her.”

  “Yes, I’m sure she didn’t believe you or Damini would challenge her, much less perform a Sikh naming ceremony for her baby,” says Sister Bethany.

  “I’m still horrified that she thought she could bribe me. What did I do to make her think I would accept it?”

  “Nothing, I’m sure—some people are in the habit,” says Father Pashan. “But what made Mrs. Kiran Singh try to steal our poor Goldina’s baby?”

  Sister Anu hesitates. “She said she didn’t want to disappoint Amanjit-ji with a girl. Maybe she thought Goldina could be bought because she’s poor and powerless.”

  “No,” says Sister Bethany with tense passion. “It was because Goldina is a dalit. Everyone can be poor—it’s much worse to be poor and a dalit. And much worse than that to be poor and a dalit and a woman.”

  “Well, my child, you managed to return the babies to their rightful mothers,” says Father Pashan. “The Lord was working through you. But as for Goldina—the man should not be allowed to do this to a Christian woman. Goldina didn’t name him—just said he is a teacher?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t tell if she meant he is employed as a teacher, or that he was a private tutor, or a self-styled guru.”

  “Maybe Samuel did something to anger the rapist, and Goldina took the punishment,” says Bethany.

  “That shy man? What could he have done?”

  “Maybe he unfurled an umbrella while the teacher was walking by,” says Bethany. “Maybe he tried to enter the Ram-Sita temple—which other stonecutter is skilled enough to carve those idols? Maybe he squatted on a cushion in the teacher’s presence. Maybe he smoked or wore sandals. Maybe he asked for payment on time for his work. Maybe he asked the teacher or principal to give one of his children admission to the school, or the discount the law says they should have. Maybe he just looked the teacher in the eye.”

  “I have told Samuel often that he’s a good enough man to look anyone in the eye,” Pashan says, then pauses, adjusting to the implications of those words. “I will put a word in the ear of the SDM. I will tell him, Gandhi-ji’s goal of an India without discrimination for untouchability is our goal.”

  “Gandhi-ji?” Sister Bethany tone drips derision. “He thought caste Hindus could be taught to be tolerant. And they are, now—as long as the opportunity to show it is safely in the past or future. I think more like Dr. Ambedkar. Let’s hold evening classes—legal clinics—to inform dalits and tribals of their rights.”

  “Go slowly,” says Father Pashan. “Do it with love, not judgement. Love creates duties. Rights create competition.”

  “How slow, Father? It’s never the right time, never convenient,” says Sister Bethany.

  Pashan says, “God has a plan; he knows the right time, Bethany.”

  After lunch, he escorts them as far as Scandal Point. He points to the statue of freedom fighter Lala Lajpat Rai. “That statue stands on the spot where the Maharaja of Patiala once abducted a British viceroy’s Christian daughter. The story never tells what happened to the viceroy’s daughter. How she felt, whether she had a child or many … but I do know the British banished the Maharaja from Shimla for it. Christians don’t have such power today, but we can let the Holy Spirit guide us, and pray that our example can change others.”

  His faith calls to mine, thinks Sister Anu.

  And what of Damini? Goldina’s accusation is just that—an accusation in the heat of anger. No proof. But why should Goldina lie? Why else would Goldina fear leaving Kiran’s baby girl alone with Damini? And yet … she did hear Damini say “No,” to Kiran’s loathsome request.

  Damini kept Sister Anu’s secret even when she was telling Kiran; a loyal friend. Anu too would like to be a good friend to Damini. Where in Gurkot can she find another community health worker like her?

  And without this job, can Damini’s family afford to travel to Shimla for AIDS treatments? And AIDS medicines? Damini will be so afraid that Leela will be left a widow.

  Sister Anu will wait a few days before she makes up her mind.

  “God takes a longer view of suffering,” says Father Pashan. “He sent his son as a man to share our suffering. Because of Christ’s life, because of his death and resurrection, he understands that everyone suffers in his or her own way—even caste Hindus. But I can visit Goldina and Samuel, and I can make sure the SDM understands the situation.”

  Sister Bethany says, wretchedly, “Maybe Our Lord’s understanding would be more complete if he planned his second coming as a dalit woman.”

  “Who are we to say whether the Heavenly Father’s understanding is enough?” says Pashan giving them his boat-shaped parting smile.

  DAMINI

  “HURRY UP, DAMINI!” SISTER ANU IS STANDING BESIDE a shack that clings to an outcropping above the throb and rush of the Meethi Darya.

  Damini tests the slide of rocks and pine needles, and reaches for the dark grace of tree trunks as she descends the last few yards of the only footpath down the mountain. It’s more than an hour since they left Bread of Healing to visit Goldina for a postpartum follow-up and she is thirsty.

  Her skin crawls at the idea of entering a sweeper’s home, but the nun has gone in and Damini can’t stay outside.

  A strong smell assaults her in the darkness of the mud and straw shack—pigs, but she can’t see any nor hear snuffling. When her eyes adjust, she sees a blue tarp, probably used to cover the roof when it rains, in one corner. A three-sided brick-stack stove warms a blackened pot in another corner. A few platters and tumblers are carefully arranged on a wooden crate. Stonecutting tools are piled in the
third corner, and Goldina sits in the last, Moses in her lap, her face in shadow.

  Damini looks around for a water pipe, but there is none—Goldina and her daughters must be fetching river water every day. Where are the sleeping quilts? All Damini can spy are blankets which, even in September, are not enough. What do they do when the snow lies thick on the ground? There’s not even one bulb wired for electricity, and no latrine. How have Goldina and Samuel raised five children in this tiny space? They must take turns lying down to sleep. She who knows herself poor has never lived in so bare a home.

  Goldina rises immediately, though with difficulty. She’s wearing the same kameez she wore at the birthing. She offers tea.

  Damini hesitates—refusing would look as if she is afraid of contamination, and agreeing imposes work on a new mother. Offering to make it for Goldina would be taking over her cooking area … But Sister Anu accepts. She’s probably thirsty, too. And if Goldina is making tea for one, she may as well make enough for three.

  Moses settles into Damini’s arms. “Almost as if he knows you,” Sister Anu says.

  “Must have met him in a past life,” says Damini, looking away from the sparks in those infant eyes. The redness of birth has faded. Moses’s soot-black hair is spiderweb-soft, as Suresh’s used to be. He has Suresh’s round face, his colouring. Damini checks his movements as she would check any other baby, but his cheeks, his bright black eyes and those long lashes are like Suresh’s; this really is her grandson.

  Sister Anu extends her forefinger, and the baby’s tiny fingers grip it, slowly releasing as Moses’s eyes flutter closed. “He’s strong. Already seems to be putting on weight.”

  Goldina portions tea into the muddy-looking glasses and considerately places them on the ground before Damini and Sister Anu, so they do not need to touch her hand as they pick them up. She has not made any for herself.

  Sister Anu takes Goldina’s temperature, pulse, and blood pressure. She checks that Goldina’s uterus is contracting well. She examines the whites of Goldina’s eyes and asks how many menstrual cloths she has changed since she came home—Damini is surprised to learn Goldina’s blood flows no more than a respected woman from her own caste. Sister Anu demonstrates checking for tenderness that might indicate breast abscesses. Goldina takes Moses from Damini and opens her sari-blouse.

  Once Sister Anu has verified that Goldina’s breast milk is flowing well, and that the child has a good suckling reflex, Damini asks, “How did you meet this teacher?”

  “We killed our pig and I went to the school to deliver the pork. He said I should persuade Samuel to make a statue he wanted for the front of the school.”

  “Leh! So he was giving Samuel work,” says Damini.

  “Samuel didn’t want that work.”

  “Too lazy?” asks Damini.

  “No!” says Goldina. “But the teacher wanted Samuel to sculpt a statue of Savarkar. Samuel said he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—carve a statue of a madman who called for the killing of Gandhi-ji. He offered to carve a statue of Baba Sahib Ambedkar instead. The teacher said Ambedkar-ji was a reformer of Hinduism like Savarkar. Samuel said no, Baba Sahib Ambedkar left Hinduism and became a Buddhist. The teacher said, who did Samuel think he was, correcting his superiors, making up his own history. He said Samuel has had too much good bhagya in this life. He said a stonecutter is given hands for the service of his superiors. A man who refused an opportunity to commemorate a Hindu patriot like Savarkar had no right to those hands.”

  “No!” says Sister Anu.

  Goldina could be lying or she could really be describing Suresh. He threatens when he gets annoyed. He doesn’t really mean it.

  “But, he said, since he was not a Muslim like the emperor who cut off the hands of Hindu men who carved the Taj Mahal, he would spare Samuel’s hands.”

  “I never heard only Hindus carved the Taj Mahal,” says Sister Anu, “Or that Shah Jahan cut off the hands of only Hindu carvers. I thought he cut off the hands of all his stone carvers. And who knows if that story is true? But—what happened then?”

  “He showed me his tail, lying along his thigh like a stick.”

  Damini no longer wants to hear more, but Sister Anu is nodding with a compassion that shames her into listening.

  “He said if Samuel didn’t want to do it, he would teach me a lesson.”

  “I told him I would make sure Samuel didn’t make his statue,” says Goldina, “and I left. But that night, I was walking home from Jalawaaz, and he lay in wait for me on the footpath.”

  She drops her kerchiefed head, and her shoulders shudder. Sister Anu reaches out and lays a hand on Goldina’s bent knees.

  “And now?” says Damini, when the heaving slows and Goldina’s silence becomes unbearable.

  “Now? Now you see, Moses is born, and my husband can’t bear the sight of him.” says Goldina.

  “Why did you tell Samuel what happened?” says Damini.

  “He found me the next morning, bleeding and crying on the path. I bled and cried a lot more after that, but I know he only beat me because he could not beat the teacher. Maybe he thought he’d beaten the baby out of me, but a few months later I felt it move and you told me it was alive …”

  “Did Father Pashan talk to him?” says Sister Anu.

  “Yes, he came yesterday afternoon. He said Samuel must remember Joseph, and baby Jesus. He said to remember Lord Joseph too believed in Mary Devi’s purity, though he knew the baby was special, and could not have come from him.

  “Samuel said, ‘Father, I carve statues of the gods. I have carved so many idols I never thought could have come from an outcaste like me. I know my work, even when I can only admire it from afar, even though I was unworthy to receive it. And I tell you, this boy is not mine. I’m not like Lord Joseph—I am only responsible for my own. I won’t give my name to another man’s son.’ ”

  “But I thought Father Pashan persuaded him … ?” Sister Anu’s voice trails away.

  “Oh yes. By the time Father left us, Samuel was saying yes, yes, yes. But when the priest was gone, he gave me one-two more slaps for ‘being unfaithful.’ We had a marriage of self-respect, he said, and now everyone was finding out, his self-respect was becoming less and less.”

  “Women take beatings more courageously than men,” says Damini, comfortingly.

  “I told him at least the teacher didn’t lock us all in some shed and set us on fire. At least he didn’t poison our water supply. At least he didn’t strip me naked and parade me down the street to shame Samuel. But Samuel said he had to bear what happened, not what could have happened. And today, he was telling: ‘leave me, leave my home, go away.’ But where should I go?”

  “What do you want to do?” says Damini.

  “Me?” Goldina seems surprised by the question. “Now I think maybe I should have given the child to Kiran-ji when she wanted him. She could have told Aman-ji she had twins.”

  “How can you say that!” Sister Anu looks horrified.

  “No, you’re right.” Goldina says. “Damini got him back for me—I am in her debt for that. Sister, you told Kiran-ji she could give up her girl baby for adoption, if she really didn’t want her. If you can offer such help to Kiran-ji, you can do the same for me, a Christian like yourself. You understand—you told us your daughter is happy in Canada. Please, find a good woman to be Moses’s mother. I am generous as the woman I am named for—but not to any woman who takes what she wants without asking, and feels she deserves it. Give him to anyone except Kiran-ji.” She holds Moses out to Sister Anu.

  “Oh, no,” says Sister Anu. “You’re just upset right now. Wait a few days, you’ll come to love him.”

  “I loved him enough to fight Kiran-ji,” says Goldina. “I am still fighting for him.”

  Sister Anu says, “Maybe Damini can persuade Samuel. You are the mother of his five children, and this has happened through no fault of yours.”

  “And he must be happy to have a son,” says Damini.

 
“Then he will say yes, yes, yes to you as well. But he will still tell me to leave. If I keep him, Moses will become Samuel’s daily reminder that the teacher is his superior.”

  “If you give away this child,” says Damini, “you will live with this decision for the rest of this life, and maybe many more.”

  “You don’t have to decide today,” says Sister Anu.

  “I have decided,” says Goldina, using the word nishchay, which unlike faisala or iradha, carries no maybe, wishfulness or longing.

  “Dr. Gupta says my son-in-law has to go to Snowdon Hospital—the baby can go to Shimla with me.”

  “No, not with you,” says Goldina. “He has to be with Christians. Sister-ji, you take him. Take him now.”

  Damini and Sister Anu argue and argue, but Goldina remains as stout-hearted as a worm struggling in the beak of a griffin. “If my husband calls me a loose woman, others will too. And other women will refuse to work with me. But if I send Moses away, Samuel will not send me away—you know what a good worker I am.”

  “Well,” says Sister Anu, when it’s almost nightfall, and Damini’s stomach is beginning to growl. “I suppose we can take Moses with us. I will keep him three days. In that time you or Samuel can change your minds, and come to the clinic to get him. After that, I will take him to Shimla. He will be at the Shimla convent a few days or weeks. Again if you or Samuel change your minds, he can come back to you …”