by Shilpa Raj
The possibility of donors, though it was new to us, seemed encouraging.
‘I have asked Vivek to shut down the vineyard and clear the banana farm within a week. We cannot afford to run it any longer.’ Vivek, DG’s second son, had been overseeing the farm adjoining Shanti Bhavan for the past fifteen months, having taken time off before his graduate studies.
The farm employed many families that had previously served landlords as bonded laborers. The workers were paid good wages and offered benefits to help them become independent and self-supporting. However, with high labor costs, the farm was far from profitable. The plan to close down something we had all enjoyed was sad, but I understood that it was necessary.
‘It’s a wise move to cut costs without delay,’ DG said. ‘I have borrowed a substantial amount of money from some of my close friends to keep things going for the time being. We must also try to reduce expenses. There are many things all of us can do, like turning off lights and not wasting water.’
My mind quickly began to run through more possibilities, a glimmer of hope dawning.
The meeting helped to raise everyone’s spirits, and when it was over, I found Sheena and we embraced tightly. ‘I was praying to God through the entire holiday to bring us back,’ I whispered.
Over the next month or so, we saw and heard from DG at our daily assemblies and learnt more about the perilous financial situation of the school and how he was coping with the difficulties. Even though he put up a brave front, he couldn’t fully hide his worries. When I was older, he told me that it was not the money he had lost in the financial crisis that hurt him most, but the thought of shattering our hopes for the kind of future he had promised us.
If we ever saw him tense or troubled, we too would grow anxious; he was our mirror for what lay ahead. For the most part, however, he managed to appear calm when he spoke to us, careful to shield us from his concerns.
At one of the assemblies, DG told us he was contacting many wealthy industrialists in the area to see if any of them would partner with him to run Shanti Bhavan. But all of us were worried about bringing in industrialists. Would they care about us the way DG always had?
A group of business executives from an organization in Hyderabad arrived the following Sunday. Staring out our dorm windows, we saw several serious-looking men being escorted around the campus. DG introduced us with pride to every visitor we encountered, always referring to us as ‘my children.’
A few days later, word spread quickly that DG had returned from Hyderabad after another meeting with the industrialists and had called for an assembly that evening. As we walked down the stairs to the assembly hall we feared he was going to announce that Shanti Bhavan would be sold.
To our great surprise, DG informed us the school would not be partnering with the industrialists. Instead of feeling sad at not receiving their assistance, we felt relieved that Shanti Bhavan wouldn’t be taken over by those who might not embrace the school’s mission and who would, instead, simply view it as an investment. He told us that volunteers from abroad who had served in Shanti Bhavan in the past had mobilized some funds to supplement what the school already had from other sources—a contribution from DG’s mother of all her life savings, loans from friends and relatives, and what remained of DG’s own financial resources. The challenge now was to carry the momentum forward and win the support of many more donors. To this end, Ajit and his fundraising team would promote the school through its new website, newsletters, and events. For now, Shanti Bhavan would continue, but not without difficulty.
Our happiness and security hinged on money, and children and staff spent many a long evening discussing how we could cut expenses. If a child let the ceiling fan run too fast, others would remind him about the electricity bill. In time, no lights were left burning unless they were needed, water was used sparingly to reduce well-pumping time, and every pencil and scrap of paper was utilized to the fullest. At night classrooms were lit with candles, and we sat huddled close to each other, reading by dim, flickering lights.
On Sunday afternoons, we did community service: cleaning the grounds, washing our own clothes, pulling weeds, and sorting out storerooms. The number of garden staff had been reduced to cut labor costs, and it was decided that the children should take part in looking after the grounds. The boys would level the road after heavy rain that washed away top soil into the narrow gutters on both sides. Groups of children took turns to help wash dishes. Higher grade girls were moved to the dorm that housed small children so they could help the aunties in the evenings. With these and other minor adjustments, the school was able to carry on with a reduced support staff.
Each morning before self-study classes at 6:30 a.m., Aunty Shalini gathered all the upper-grade children outside the classrooms to pray together. Although most children were Hindu, there were also Christians and Muslims among us, but these differences didn’t matter. None of us worshipped any particular God out loud when we said our prayers to save Shanti Bhavan; but, remembering the holy pilgrimage, I always prayed to Mother Mary, begging her to take care of DG and save Shanti Bhavan.
Our lives had changed in some ways with the uncertainty about our future. We were suddenly conscious of the cost of every resource. Yet, even with all our lingering fears, we were happier than ever before, united in doing whatever we could to save our school. As days passed and some sort of normalcy set in, I felt a glimmer of hope.
As for DG, he never let us see him looking sad, even on the day his father’s ashes were buried. DG had returned to Shanti Bhavan carrying with him his father’s remains in a box that seemed much too small for its burden, to be buried according to his father’s last wishes, in a plot near the campus prayer hall. I wondered if he ever allowed himself to shed tears.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: REFORMATION
‘Discern,’ she said. ‘Stanza three, line six. Who can tell us what discern means?’
English literature was my favorite subject and Mrs. Law my favorite teacher. Normally, I seated myself in the front row, eager to get her attention. I relished her challenging questions and the thrill of receiving her compliments when my responses merited them. I worried that Mrs. Law thought Keerthi was a better student than I was.
But on this day, I sat quietly in the corner, not able to concentrate. My mind wandered over my time at home with Uncle Naresh and how I had succumbed to the pressures of my family. Every image was clear and every word fresh, plunging me back into the darkness of our hut and the stealthy steps I took that night—my anklets ringing as loudly as church-bells in my memory. There was no way I could overcome the shame I felt.
I had not yet revealed to anyone the ugly secrets of my vacation break. Even Sheena couldn’t bring down the wall I put up. I avoided my classmates, keeping uncharacteristically quiet, feeling safer that way.
So when Sheena’s boyfriend, Ajay, began to show an interest in me, it wasn’t difficult initially to rebuff him. Of course I would never do anything to hurt Sheena. Still, he would greet me with a smile whenever he saw me, tell me how pretty I looked, and strike up conversations with me on trivial subjects like the weather and food.
And then, in the classroom one evening after the others had left for dinner, I let Ajay kiss me passionately. Only the sound of approaching footsteps forced me to pull away.
My heart raced in panic. My knees buckled at the thought of a staff member catching us together in the dark room. I knew I would be taken to Mrs. Law and DG, and the news would spread throughout the campus within hours. What frightened me most was the thought that Appa and Grandmother would somehow learn about it. Once again, in pursuit of affection and attention, I had allowed an impulse of the moment to land me in an untenable situation. To my relief, the footsteps faded away and I darted to the dorm without saying a word to Ajay, leaving him confused and disappointed.
The next morning, I was hyper alert, anxiously observing how everyone behaved towards me. I watched intently, scanning for quiet whispers or subtle glances acros
s the classroom. After a while, nothing seemed amiss and I felt assured that Ajay had not told anyone and it would remain our secret. Yet, when I ran into Sheena in the dining hall, I couldn’t bring myself to talk to her or even look her in the eye. The stinging realization that I had betrayed my best friend paralyzed me.
That evening I dressed up in an attractive skirt with a colorful flowery print to watch a play about our lives back at home that the children were putting up for a group of visiting British teachers. Ajay’s performance as an alcoholic husband was impressive, and I sat in the audience staring at him with admiration. The memory of the previous evening was still fresh in my mind. When the play ended, I clapped till my hands hurt.
My excitement about Ajay was too big to put down. I rushed to talk to him backstage. ‘Ajay, you were amazing,’ I gushed. But, to my dismay, he passed me without so much as a glance. I stared as he headed straight to Sheena who was standing alone, waiting to go on stage. From her happy glow, I presumed he was telling her how beautiful she looked in the sari she was wearing as her costume for a dance.
Searing, irrational rage overtook me and, in that moment, I couldn’t have despised anyone more. I felt terribly jealous of Sheena. Why did she always have everything that I didn’t—the attention of a popular boy like Ajay, the entire staff’s sympathy and love, and enviable beauty on top of it? Ajay was accustomed to girls falling for him easily, so what happened between us meant nothing. He probably didn’t think I was pretty enough to pursue. My interest in him fused into intense loathing.
Now, back in class, Mrs. Law was staring at me as if she could see through me, bringing me back to the present with a jolt. I straightened myself in my chair. Fortunately, she didn’t call on me for an explanation of the word ‘discern’. She slowly shifted her gaze around the room, explaining, ‘Discernment is good judgment. Here, Browning distinguishes between true love and infatuation.’
Mrs. Law’s description struck something deep in me. I didn’t seem to have learnt any lessons from my past mistakes and I was continuing to bring shame upon myself. Certainly, I had not shown any discernment in being drawn to my uncle for the wrong reasons nor in cheating on my best friend. I had been behaving recklessly, with no regard for the consequences. I couldn’t understand where I got the boldness to do such senseless things.
At that moment, a part of me wanted to burst out and tell everyone what I had done. The weight of my secrets hung like a millstone around my neck. My life had turned into a drama of lies and deception. But there was no way I could safely share my secrets with my classmates and Mrs. Law. I was afraid my friends would shun me, and Mrs. Law might decide that my promiscuous ways were a bad influence on the other girls and send me away from school.
My body felt dirty in the company of my classmates who had never been intimate with men, except for Kavina and Amuda who had shared kisses with their boyfriends. Unable to deal with my inner turmoil, I mustered the courage to confess to Sheena, bracing to face whatever was to come. I saw this as my only path to absolution, though I didn’t have the slightest hope of forgiveness.
We arranged for a moment to talk alone that evening before dinner. The guilt was eating me alive. I found her waiting for me near the tall hibiscus bush by the steps to the dining hall, and I told her what I had done. ‘Sheena, please forgive me. I am so sorry.’
I’ll never forget her stunned look, her eyes wide in disbelief. She stepped back as if my presence repulsed her. I leaned forward to take her hand, but she shrugged me off.
‘Sheena, please don’t. It just happened. I’m sorry,’ I begged, desperate with remorse. And then, without meaning to, I blurted out all the embarrassing details of the night I went to my uncle’s cot and how out of control and miserable I felt later. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing. The last thing I want is to hurt you!’
The glow of the street lamp lit her face. She was crying. ‘How could you?’
I tried to say something, but no words came quickly enough. She turned swiftly and was gone, not waiting to hear any more. I knelt on the stone pathway and dissolved into tears, not taking my eyes off my friend as she walked away. What had I done?
Suddenly, I saw her returning. I wiped my tears and stood up. She stopped in front of me, her face a crumpled mask of disgust. ‘You can do things with village boys, but I do things with boys in Shanti Bhavan.’ She chose her words carefully, knowing that each one was like a hammer, shattering me.
Before I could ask her what she meant, she turned and walked away. What is the difference? Am I good enough only for the village boys?
The next morning as I was walking to my classroom after breakfast, I ran into a group of boys in the corridor chattering and laughing. I kept my head down. Suddenly one of the boys from Sheena’s class called out, ‘Shilpa, I’m impatient. When can we?’
The air rushed out of my lungs, my legs went weak, and my cheeks turned scarlet. How could a boy say something like that to me? Everyone within earshot seemed to understand what he meant and erupted in laughter. It was worse knowing I had brought it upon myself and now had to face not only Sheena’s wrath but also this humiliation. But there was no point fighting back.
It was not much different with the girls. They aimed their cold stares at me with surgical precision throughout the day. They knew. Everyone was supportive of Sheena, taking pity on her for the double betrayal she had suffered from both her boyfriend and her best friend.
With each passing day, there was less hope of reconciliation and forgiveness from Sheena. Whenever we met, she would walk past without the slightest acknowledgment of my presence.
It was not a surprise that soon Aunty Shalini came to know the full story from Sheena, including everything about my uncle. I could barely keep pace with Aunty Shalini as she led me up the stairs to Mrs. Law’s office. I followed her like a prisoner approaching her execution.
We arrived at a small room at the end of the corridor on the first floor of the school building. DG and Ms. Denny were waiting for me. ‘Take your seat,’ DG said, gesturing to the red-cushioned chair on his right. I hesitated never having sat next to him, but Ms. Denny’s stern nod left me no option. I took my seat, burying my trembling hands in my lap. Ms. Beena walked in apologizing for being late.
‘Shilpa, from the time you all were little, I have told you there is nothing wrong in liking a boy, or in a boy liking a girl.’ DG’s brow was deeply furrowed. I hung my head in shame.
DG leaned forward. ‘Look up, girl. Look at me. Always look a person talking to you straight in the eye.’
I glanced at Aunty Shalini as if she could focus my eyes for me. Ever since I was a child I had been taught by her to put my head down while being corrected by an adult. Why was DG now telling me to do the opposite? I hesitated before looking up awkwardly, fighting hard not to return my gaze to the floor.
‘How many times have I told all of you that you must wait a few more years before entering into any serious relationship? This is not the time for such things!’ DG rarely shouted at us but when he did we trembled. He sighed and spread his arms wide in exasperation. ‘Darling, you will completely ruin your life if you continue the affair with your uncle,’ he said, his voice turning gentle and concerned.
I burned with shame. How much did he know? It scared me when he raised his voice but, even more, I dreaded DG’s calm voice when I was in the wrong; I wanted him to shout at me. I couldn’t help but remember when Appa would sigh in frustration and sit alone on the doorstep after heated arguments with Amma. His depressed appearance terrified me even more than his anger.
Why wasn’t DG angry? Had he lost all trust in me? Was he now convinced that trying to bring me back on track was a waste of his time? I felt terribly sad that I had disappointed him.
Mrs. Law, who had so far remained silent, spoke up. ‘Shilpa, all of you, both boys and girls, should first complete your studies at Shanti Bhavan and at college and land a good job. Then you can marry the person of your choice. But if you want to destroy
your own chances for success, no one can save you.’
I nodded. Handing me a tissue to wipe my face and patting my back, Ms. Denny advised me to have self-control and strength—two essential qualities for every girl. ‘A woman is the backbone of every family, Shilpa. And her reputation is her greatest strength. If she’s proper in her ways, no one can hurt her family,’ she said. I had received the same message from my grandmother. Ms. Beena joined in, reminding me I was too young to get into a serious relationship.
Despite the concern being shown, I was convinced that everyone thought less of me. ‘Everyone will .... I should never have.... I’m not a bad—’
DG interrupted me before I could finish a thought. ‘Look, everyone makes mistakes. If you choose to beat yourself up instead of focusing on what you can do to change, nothing good will come of it.’
I was taken aback.
Silence spread through the room, seeping into every corner, hanging thick like a fog. No one said a word for a minute or two. Then the clear ring of DG’s voice cut through the haze. ‘Shilpa, darling, you are young,’ he said, taking my shaking hand in his. ‘We too were young once upon a time, with the same feelings and desires as yours.’ He offered an embarrassed smile and Ms. Denny laughed. I was sure there was no way DG could have ever made the same mistakes I had. ‘And what happened between you and Ajay doesn’t make you a bad girl.’
Until then, he hadn’t mentioned Ajay. I could hardly bear to look at him.
‘But what took place with your uncle is something you cannot allow to continue. You escaped once. You mustn’t play with your life again.’
I found my voice at last. ‘I will not.’
He held my gaze for a second longer; but where I expected anger, there was only kindness. ‘So, you hold your head up. Do you understand?’
I nodded. ‘I promise I won’t get distracted from my studies, I won’t get involved in any relationships, and I won’t lose self-control.’