Amitav Ghosh - The Circle of Reason

She was tall; Maya noticed that even in that first moment of bewildered surprise, but she could not see her face, for she had her sari hooded over her head. She had a bundle on her waist, or so Maya thought, but then the bundle stirred and whimpered, and she saw that it was a child. Shombhu Debnath ushered them into the house and turned to latch the door. The woman put out a hand and caught Maya’s arm. The anchal of her sari slipped off her head, and Maya saw that it was Parboti-debi. Parboti-debi smiled at Maya and pressed her arm. Her thin, lined face was radiant with joy. I’ve come, Maya, she said. He got me out at last.

Maya stared at her dumbstruck. Parboti-debi held up her daughter, and stroked her pale, delicate cheeks with a finger. Look, she said proudly, she’s better already now that she’s with her father.

Maya looked at her father, and for the first time that she could remember he would not meet her eyes. He turned away and lowered his long craggy face, like a boy waiting for judgement. And when she was silent he shot her a sheepish glance and whispered: You’ll look after her tonight, Maya? Give her a place to sleep? No?

Slowly Maya stretched out her hand and touched him on his arm. Yes, she said, I’ll look after her, and now you go and rest, too. He would have liked to draw her to him and kiss her on the top of her head as he used to when she was a child, but Maya was suddenly as old as he was, and stronger — strong enough to embrace every element of his being with love and compassion — so he turned gruffly away, while she led Parboti-debi to the store-room by the kitchen.

In the morning Maya’s mind teemed with confused explanations as she waited for Toru-debi in the kitchen. She had already told Alu and Rakhal about Parboti-debi’s sudden arrival. Alu had said little; his only interest in the matter was how it would affect her, Maya. But Rakhal’s face had mottled with anger and his scar had burst open. The puritanical code of physical strength and purity which ruled him like some deep inviolable instinct was outraged; his mind had recoiled reflexively from the offence. He had stormed away from her. But, still, Maya didn’t worry too much about Rakhal — he had hardly spoken to his father for years anyway. Toru-debi was a worry of a different kind, founded on a fear of shame and embarrassment; Maya had no equipment to deal with situations of that kind.

Maya rose as Toru-debi came into the kitchen with her hair hanging loose over her shoulders, on her way to the pond for her morning bath. Parboti-debi was sitting cross-legged in a corner, feeding her daughter out of a bowl. Toru-debi saw her as soon as she stepped in and froze in the doorway. Parboti-debi rose to her feet and covered her head with her sari. Maya darted protectively in front of her and began to blurt out an explanation.

Toru-debi ignored her. She smoothed her hair back with one hand and looked away, smiling crookedly. So that’s it, she murmured. I should have known. Maya stopped, for she saw that Toru-debi was talking to herself. So that’s it, she said again.

What? Maya said apprehensively. Toru-debi frowned at her significantly, pressing her lips together, and beckoned. It’s the blouses, she whispered into Maya’s ear. She wants the blouses.

Blouses? Maya said.

Yes, yes, Toru-debi whispered impatiently, she wants the blouses. I know. Toru-debi squared her shoulders, drew her loose hair into a knot, and arranged a strained social smile on her face. Ah, Parboti-didi, she said, I’m glad you could come, but you shouldn’t have bothered. Of course, I knew you were coming, I dreamt — I dream a lot, you know — I knew you and Bhudeb-babu would come today. But you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. I haven’t forgotten, really. It’s just that … so much work. But never mind. I’ll finish them, right now. You can show them to Bhudeb-babu and tell him that he doesn’t have to come.

Maya tried to break in again, but Toru-debi stopped her with an angry frown. Just wait here, Parboti-didi, she said, assuming her smile again. Have some tea. It won’t take long; I’ll finish them in a couple of hours.

And, forgetting her bath, Toru-debi hurried back towards her room.

Alu was in the courtyard, watching the kitchen. He ran up to Toru-debi: What happened? In an agitated rush, Toru-debi said: It’s the blouses, she wants the blouses. I promised her six embroidered blouses and then I forgot. And now she’s told Bhudeb-babu and he’s going to come, too, and God knows what’ll happen when he finds out that they aren’t ready yet.

Involuntarily Alu grinned: It’s got nothing to do with blouses.

The blood rushed to Toru-debi’s face. She drew her hand back, and for the first time in his life she slapped him. Fool, she cried trembling, half-witted idiot. Can’t you see how serious it is? He’s coming, and it’ll be the end of everything if the blouses aren’t ready. Only the sewing machine can save us now. Whatever happens, I’ll never let your uncle say that it was because of the blouses.

Alu, rubbing his cheek, watched her run into her room.

Balaram had spent the night in the canvas shelter he had rigged up on the dust path which ran past his house to Bhudeb Roy’s. It was surrounded by a circle of heavy oil-drums, with an opening where the circle met the path which ran to the front door of his house. The shelter was only a canvas sheet, stretched over the drums, and held in place by stones. There was a small tarpaulin-covered heap at one end of the circle, across from the shelter. That part of the circle was forbidden to Balaram; Rakhal had told him, at least ten times a day for days on end, never on any account to touch that heap or even go near it.

It was a long time since Balaram had slept through the night. It was at night that he expected Bhudeb Roy to make his move. The night, he told Alu and Rakhal when they tried to persuade him to spend his nights in the house, the night is that man’s element; we can never rest at night, not till it’s over. And so he spent his nights dozing fitfully and watching Bhudeb Roy’s house. He slept when he could during the day; there was plenty of time, for over the last few weeks the number of students in the school had dwindled away until one day none had turned up at all. Sometimes, obscurely, he worried about their absence. There was something watchful and wary about it, as though they were waiting for an outcome, a result: a verdict which they would do nothing to influence. He knew he ought to do something to bring them back, but at the same time their absence was a relief. The students would only be a complication, an extra, nagging worry, when all he wanted was to get the waiting over with; this unbearable waiting to see what Bhudeb Roy would do next.

Early that morning he had an intuition that something was going to happen, and soon. His shelter had been placed so that it commanded a good view of Bhudeb Roy’s house. Since dawn he had caught glimpses of Bhudeb Roy and his sons rushing about on their balcony and their roof. The walls blocked his view of the garden but now he could occasionally hear Bhudeb Roy bellowing at his men.

He had a strange feeling that something unusual was happening in his own house as well. No one had come out to him that morning. Even Alu, who always brought him a cup of tea in the morning, had not appeared. He ought to check perhaps but, then, on the other hand, it wouldn’t be wise to leave his post when there was so much happening in Bhudeb Roy’s house. He thought of shouting for Rakhal and Alu, or even perhaps beating the signal they had agreed upon on the empty kerosene-tin. But he decided against that, too: they probably wouldn’t hear him if he shouted, and the signal was only for emergencies. For all he knew, this was a damp squib. And anyway, if something happened, he had only to reach out for the tin, and Rakhal would be there; he had worked out that it would take him no more than five seconds to reach the circle of oil-drums from the house.