Maya piled seven flat stones in a ring on the ground and drew a line at a short distance from the ring.
"You mustn't step out of this line when you throw the ball. Aim at the tiles, topple them and run away. The players on the other side will scatter the stones within the ring. One of them will stand guard while the others throw . . . You're not paying any attention! I don't want to play with you any more."
She scattered the stones with a kick and walked back to the house.
"Maya . . . hey, Maya. . . don't get angry," Kamala shouted, running after her daughter. "I was listening to you. I was only adjusting my sari. I was certainly listening to you," she pleaded.
Maya stopped and looked searchingly at her mother. Kamala nodded vigorously to convince her daughter.
"O. . .kay," said Maya "I'll give you one more chance, only because you're my mother. What would you like to play next?"
"How about this . . . this. . . seven stones?"
"Seven tiles. It needs more than two players."
"How about asking Revabehn and your sister to join us? See, she's looking at us through the window."
"Let her. That's all she's good for. Revabehn is too old. She becomes breathless after two minutes. We won't include either of them. We won't play seven tiles at all. Any other game?"
"I don't think we should play any of these running and catching games. People will laugh at me. I can see the heads of some of our neighbours. . ."
"How does it matter? I'm not asking them to play."
"Why don't you? I mean, why don't you find out if their children will?"
"Forget it! That Rajesh Patel next door is in my class. He's the one who told everybody that Amrita is m. . . not normal. And that 'styli' Seema thinks no end of herself because she's the monitor of her class. There's no one else of my age around here."
"Shall I ask appa to take you to the club more often?"
"Such a bore! Those old people keep talking all the time. The children are busy reading comics in the library, watching TV or swimming. They don't even look at me."
"Swimming is very good," Kamala said enthusiastically. "You could also learn how to. . ."
"No need! The pool is deep and dirty and somebody is always shouting 'frog. . . frog. . .'"
"That's okay. Frogs also need a place to live in."
"But I don't want to share the frog's house. Moreover, the water's very deep."
"Say that! You are scared of the water. That doesn't matter. You will outgrow your fear."
"Me, scared? What are you talking about? I'm not scared of anything or anybody!"
"Good, that's how I want my little girl to be. . . fearless like Bhim and Arjun. You can read about them in the club library. It will also improve your English. You didn't do too well in your last school tests. The teacher has written in your diary that you need to pay greater attention to your work. Maybe we should stop playing now and go to your books. It's getting dark. Appa will come home any minute and he won't like to see us outside the house so late."
"There, another evening wasted! Why does time seem to go so slowly in school and so quickly at home?"
"That's because you don't take as much interest in your studies as in playing. . ." Kamala threw an arm around the little girl's shoulder and guided her inside.
"Don't start your lecture," said Maya, shrugging off her mother's arm. "I hear enough of it in school. I'll study on my own. You go to your dear daughter. I know very well that's why you are in such a hurry to enter the house."
She strode away, every step reflecting the tautness of her temper.
Kamala sighed. It seemed as impossible to break through Maya's barrier of anger and revolt as it was to reach through the fog that clouded her older daughter's mind. She sat on the swing and rested her forehead on her hands wrapped around the iron chain.
What if I had married someone else? Would I still have given birth to Amrita? Who can change my destiny? Anyone other than Raghu may have walked out on us. There's nothing wrong with him. I'm simply not capable of understanding him. That's all. If I were to spend less time with the girls. . .
"I'm leaving now," said Revabehn entering the room. "My children will be wondering what happened to me."
"Yes, go. What's Maya doing?"
"She is with her books but she doesn't seem to be in a good mood. More like a tetchy little black ant, the biting variety that draws blood. Keep baby away from her."
"You still call her that when you know she's older than Maya?" laughed Kamala.
"She'll always remain my baby. You can have that other one."
"Don't be so harsh on her," said Kamala trying to allay the old woman's prejudice. "It is not easy for anyone to accept such a sibling. Her friends make fun of her in school, that's why she's so grouchy."
"You'd better go up to them before something untoward happens."
Kamala taught Maya while trying to keep Amrita engaged in some task so that she would not sit blankly in her corner. Every so often she went to the terrace and looked down to see if Raghu was coming so that she could open the gate for him. He hated having to sit in the car with the engine idling while she opened the gate and the garage door. He washed and changed while she made his coffee. He drank it reading the newspaper and left for his club and she returned to her daughters. It was easier when he went on tour. She didn't have to wait for him in the evening. After sending Maya to school she could concentrate on teaching Amrita. At ten, she had the mental age of a two-year-old, still dependent on her mother to do everything for her.
"Maybe your progress would've been better in a school. The teachers may have taught you something but what to do? That headmistress. . . what a fuss she created that you wouldn't 'fit' in with the rest. With so many children in every class like a herd of sheep no one would have noticed you. As for the other school. . . * the less said the better! Special School. . . they called it. How was it 'special'? In their fees, charging so much more than a normal school. Why doesn't the government do anything about this? There should be at least one good school for children like you in every town. This one was supposed to be managed by a charity trust. They were neither charitable nor trustworthy. Misleading everyone with sweet words, eating up the parents' money and molesting the children. Such a scandal when one of their students became pregnant. What torture for those poor parents! How will I shield you from the outside world? There are only animals out there, no humans. Is your father concerned about any of this? He is happily travelling to different parts of the country or going to his club as if he doesn't have a single care in his mind. If I tell him anything, he says I am over-reacting, throwing a tantrum, acting childishly. You are not 'his problem' as if I'm solely responsible for giving birth to you."
Through the long monologue she massaged oil on Amrita's body and bathed her.
"Here, pour the water over yourself. . . don't splash!"
She did not move out of the way quickly enough and water fell on her.
"See what you've done, you naughty girl. Let's dry you now," Kamala flung a towel over the girl's head and dried her briskly while Amrita threw her wet arms around her mother's stomach for support. Kamala did not try to stop her. Even though her sari was hitched to her knees and the pallu tucked in firmly at the waist, Amrita's aim had been good and she needed to change anyway. She led her out of the bathroom and dressed her.
"Now sit in this chair till I come. No tricks," she warned, hoping that at least this time her daughter would disobey her.
"If it had been your sister. . .oh, I can't think of what she would have been up to! You are such a good girl. If only that Headmistress. . ."
Kamala was teaching her daughter to draw. She had been doing this for the past several months and had at last succeeded in getting Amrita to hold the pencil between her fingers and not in the fist. She covered the girl's hand with hers and guided it over the paper, making straight lines and circles. When she removed her hand the pencil remained where she had left it.
"Ammu,
push the pencil forward, harder. It has to make an impression like this." Once again she enveloped her daughter's hand in hers.
"How long will you do this, behn?" Revabehn asked her.
"I'm sure if I persist she will learn to write her name one day."
"Then what? I can't and I'm earning enough to support my family."
"I'm teaching her to be like her sister," Kamala replied confidently.
"Her sister," Revabehn waved her hand dismissively. "Don't talk about her!"
"Oh, what did she do now?"
"When I went to pick her up from school today, her teacher was waiting to tell me that Maya hasn't been doing her . . . what was the word? Home . . . home . . . yes, homework. That woman, her teacher, complained to me that Maya wasn't doing her homework. As if I am the one teaching her. Why is the school paying her a salary if she can't make a child study?"
"I hope you didn't tell her this?"
"Don't worry. I only replied that I would pass on her complaint to you."
Kamala began to teach Maya with renewed enthusiasm, not letting her play and keeping her bound to her books.
"Ma, I learn in school the whole day and you are making me study some more at home. This is too much!"
"I believe your teachers are angry with you for not doing your homework. What if they get so angry that they throw you out of the school? You can play during the holidays," Kamala ignored the scowl on Maya's face and quickly marked the questions in the textbook that she wanted her to learn.
"I have some work downstairs. Do your work quietly and don't trouble your sister," she warned.
"And you," she went to Amrita, "here is your drawing book. Practise these circles till I come. Don't go near her."
Revabehn had taken leave for a month for the wedding of her eldest daughter. She had arranged for a substitute maid but Kamala preferred to do the chores herself.
I shouldn't be such a perfectionist. So what if the woman didn't sweep below the chairs and cupboards? What's a little dust? Okay, I could overlook that but the way she washed the vessels? If I have to do them once again, I might as well do them all myself Good riddance! I should tell Revabehn not to send her here again. Of course, it'll be best if she doesn't take any more leave. She will. Her daughter will become pregnant within a year, I'm sure.
Dust and dry leaves rose in the air as Kamala swept the front yard. She used the coarse broom made from the spine of coconut fronds for the rough cemented front of the house. Normally she wouldn't have bothered about the yard but Raghu was returning that day from a long tour and she didn't want him to complain as soon as he arrived. The two tall Ashoka trees that stood on either side of the house were shedding their long, yellowing leaves and they lay below the straight trunk like giant caterpillars stunned and twisted in a final spasm. Maya and the wind scattered them all over the yard. Kamala never tried to check her daughter. She could stop one but not the other. That's what she told Revabehn when the maid complained about the leaves everywhere.
"How long will she do this? Another six months? She's changing already. Her shouting and screaming are considerably less. Let her be. We shouldn't scold her for everything," was her constant refrain.
Remembering her own words made her smile as she began to wash the vessels in the kitchen sink.
Who would have ever believed that 'Argument Kamala' would one day preach tolerance and patience?
That was the nickname her brothers had given her when she had been only too ready to start an argument with them, her parents, neighbours or anyone at all who dared to disagree with her. She would go on and on till her adversaries conceded defeat. She entered teens and quietened suddenly, not rising even to the bait that her brothers threw to test her patience.
Where did that fire and spirit vanish. . . and when? I never realised how much I've changed.
She looked at her reflection in the gleaming stainless steel plate that she had just washed.
It is not only my temper that has changed but also my face. How my jowls sag like an old woman's. Oh well, I am a mother of two children after all. In any case, I've never been a beauty at any time.
She pacified herself.
I should conserve water. The tank will get empty at this rate and he won't have water to bathe. I wonder if his flight is on time. He should come now. What are the girls doing? I've almost forgotten about them in all this work.
She went to the foot of the steps and listened. It was quiet. She turned to resume her work, then decided to go up and check on her daughters anyway.
Oh, my feet are killing me. I wonder how Revabehn does all the work in so many houses. I find it difficult to do it in mine. And to think that she is much older than me! But then, she sweeps as if she's scared of hurting the ground and the clothes look like rags. I don't dare to complain to her though. Not when she's so good to Amrita. She may change her mind about Maya when that girl quietens down like I did. . .
She opened the door quietly. Maya was at her table. Amrita sat with her face sunk between her raised knees, rocking from side to side. Little bits of paper fluttered all around her in the light breeze of the fan. Kamala bent down and tapped Amrita on her shoulder.
"What's the matter? Why are you crying? Did she beat you?" she asked.
"I didn't touch her," Maya replied emphatically.
"Then what's wrong with her? Who tore her drawing book?"
At the steel in her mother's voice Maya looked down and busied herself with her books. Kamala stood behind her.
Patience. . . patience. . . remember you were just priding yourself on having outgrown your anger.
"Look at me," she insisted. "Who tore her book? She or you?"
Maya got up, throwing her books on the table. "It's not fair that she spends the whole day drawing and I have to do sums and English and Hindi and Science and Social Studies. It's simply not fair! I go to school and suffer and she has a nice time at home with you. She. . ."
"Stop it. I've told you a hundred times why she doesn't go to school and even then you can't understand? When will you grow up and learn to sympathise with her? You think only about yourself, you selfish girl."
Despite herself, Kamala's right hand rose threateningly.
"Go on, beat me. That's all you know. You don't understand my problems. All the time it is Amrita, Ammu, that poor girl You don't care for me at all."
"Your problems?"
"What's the point? You'll pretend to listen to me and then give me a long lecture about your darling daughter. I don't want to talk to you any more."
She ran out of the room and banged the door shut before Kamala could stop her but not before she saw the sudden eruption of tears in her daughter's eyes that the girl brushed away as she ran.
"Fine, one has stopped crying and the other has begun. . ."
"Appa. . . appa. . ." she heard Maya shout downstairs.
She quickly closed the door, leaving Amrita inside and went down to open the gate for her husband.
***
7
aya was at that age when she was easily provoked. She quietened her inflamed mind by using her sister as her punching bag. At nine, she was also wise enough to wait for the right time, when her mother was too busy with her chores to check on her daughters.
Sometimes Kamala was alerted by a noise or sheer instinct made her rush upstairs but more often, she only noticed the bruises when she bathed Amrita.
"Why do you take this nonsense from her? Beat her when she raises her hand. Like this. . . like this. . ." Kamala slapped her own cheeks till they burned.
The terrified girl crouched against the wall of the bathroom and covered her face.
"It's all right, Ammu, I was only showing you what to do when she misbehaves with you."
"I knew it. I knew you were fond of her and you hate me," Maya stood outside, arms akimbo and legs apart like a wrestler.
"Then why do you beat your sister? You know she has a problem. You should be treating her better," Kamala shouted back.
/> "You know only to blame me for everything. Why did you give birth to her? I would've been so much happier on my own."
"How can you be so cruel? She's just a little girl like you."
"Hey, I am not a little girl."
"Then don't behave like one. I'm tired of your tantrums. You trouble your sister. You trouble me. You don't study.
"As if you're perfect," Maya retorted, stepping out of her mother's reach.
Kamala glanced at Amrita and controlled herself. The girl was chewing her lower lip and looking nervously from one to the other, dangerously close to tears.
"Go on, say it," Maya continued. "Say that I should be kind to your darling daughter. I won't. I don't like her. I don't want her."
"If you don't stop ill-treating your sister, I will tell your father. . ." Kamala threatened, looking over Amrita's head as she dried her hair.
"Tell him. He doesn't like her himself."
Kamala paused and turned towards her younger daughter. Without realising what she was doing, her hands tightened over Amrita's head making her wince.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"You think I don't know anything but you are wrong. I know very well that appa hates her and, what's more, he hates you too."
"Rubbish."
"Don't think you can fool me. How often I have seen you pretend to read but actually you'd be crying and appa will not even look at you."
"What nonsense," Kamala tried to dismiss it off but her words flaked nervously. Her hands quivered as she dressed Amrita. It was nothing compared to the chaos within her. She had tried to keep her differences with Raghu away from Maya but it looked as if she had only been fooling herself all along. She glanced through her lashes at the girl waiting triumphantly for her to respond.
"Okay smarty, what more do you think you know?" she asked finally.
"Why should I tell you?"
"Fine," Kamala shrugged. "Keep your crazy ideas to yourself, I don't care. But let me tell you one thing and you'd better get this into your head. Next time I see you picking on your sister I'll make sure that you don't ever do it again."
Her threat worked for two days.
Amrita Page 8