Nectar in a Sieve: Chapters 24–30

My cooking days are over, I thought a little sadly, and suddenly what I had formerly performed without thought, or even with impatience—the gathering of fuel, and the blowing of the fire, and the waxing of the flames under the steaming pot, with all the business of smoke down the lungs and in the eyes—acquired a sweet and piercing poignancy.

There would be meals to cook on the journey, however, since we were travelling by bullock cart and expected to be on the road at least two days, and for these I took the hand-made bellows and six cakes of dung.

After a while two priests with half-shaven heads entered. One carried a beakerful of water, the other a tray of more votive offerings, which they placed at the feet of the God.

I tried and tried, concentrating on the prayers that were being said and at last the images faded; I saw in their place the countenance of the God and his Consort, and it seemed to me that they looked on me benignly and I was at length able to pray.

I tried and tried, concentrating on the prayers that were being said and at last the images faded; I saw in their place the countenance of the God and his Consort, and it seemed to me that they looked on me benignly and I was at length able to pray.

One of the priests began to sprinkle holy water, people manoeuvring to get near the precious drops; the other was handing out the food to a third man, and as soon as this was done the gilded doors of the inner chamber were closed.

The friendliness that had existed before was gone; men and women struggled to be in the forefront, fighting their way with ferocity, thrusting forward with strident urgency.

We gave up and leant our backs against the painted wall which encircled the temple, the vermilion and white striped wall we had foolishlessly thought meant safety.

Gradually I was able to make out the forms of the carven Gods and Goddesses on the sides of the temple, on the colonnades, and in the niches of the walls, and as I gazed they seemed almost to live, their stone breasts gently breathing, their limbs lightly moving.

And those who saw us entering again laughed and said free meals were only given in the evening, not in the morning, their laughter changing to concern when we explained what had befallen us: but their concern was only perfunctory since they were after all lookers-on and not partakers, and I noticed one or two glances exchanged, pitying yet scornful, which said as plainly as words, These are simple careless country folk.

Lost and bewildered though I was I could contain myself no longer and I said sharply there was not too little care but too many thieves, and saw them nodding in facile agreement.

For all their play they looked as if they had never eaten a full meal in their lives, with their ribs thrust out and bellies full-blown like drums with wind and emptiness; and they were also extremely dirty with the dust of the roadside and the filth deposited upon it; and the running sores many of them had upon their bodies were clogged with mud where blood or pus had exuded.

But when a man of wealth passed they were as tender and pitiful as fledglings, beseeching with soft open mouths and limpid eyes, their begging bowls meekly held before them and altogether changed with an artfulness which surely my children had not at their command.

But when a man of wealth passed they were as tender and pitiful as fledglings, beseeching with soft open mouths and limpid eyes, their begging bowls meekly held before them and altogether changed with an artfulness which surely my children had not at their command.

But when a man of wealth passed they were as tender and pitiful as fledglings, beseeching with soft open mouths and limpid eyes, their begging bowls meekly held before them and altogether changed with an artfulness which surely my children had not at their command.

We followed him out to the tap, which was about a furlong away.

A number of peons were standing about, turbaned and belted, much more imposing than the tannery chowkidars had been.

The little boy was thin and hollow-cheeked, his mother looked worn and haggard and was obviously hardly able to feed the baby who kept whimpering fitfully: the cry of hunger which is different from the other cries of infants.

We looked at each other, trembling on the brink of a quarrel, bitterness parting the threads of forbearance one by one, but while a few still held, suddenly, the outward semblance fell away.

We looked at each other, trembling on the brink of a quarrel, bitterness parting the threads of forbearance one by one, but while a few still held, suddenly, the outward semblance fell away.

She stared at him as if unused to consideration, hardly credulous, almost suspicious.

We looked again at our grandchild who was part of ourselves, and at the poor little waif who lay quietly now on the rag-heap, and we said farewell.

Many a time my husband stood aside unable to face the fray: if I had not reproached him his distaste of the whole procedure would have led him to starvation.

It was the boy with the impudent face who had guided us.

“If you do not,” he continued threateningly, “it will be the worse for you. I am not used to being bilked.”

Before I could reply the boy advanced. “I want payment; that’s what I want,” he said truculently. “I shall see that I get it.”

Puli, seemingly unaware, continued eating stolidly. He is used to it, I thought. He knows and accepts the shameful probing curiosities of human beings.

I might have felt apprehensive for him, but that I knew him to be eminently capable of looking after himself; or sorry, save that he so patently did not desire it; but I could not help feeling a vague responsibility which certainly I knew I was in no position to fulfil.

I might have felt apprehensive for him, but that I knew him to be eminently capable of looking after himself; or sorry, save that he so patently did not desire it; but I could not help feeling a vague responsibility which certainly I knew I was in no position to fulfil.

We heard the noise of the stone-breakers long before we reached the quarry; a clink-clank of stone on stone with intermittent dull explosions.

“The sheet rock is blasted by gunpowder,” Puli explained. “The municipality sends special men to do that, but the other work can be done by anyone.”

The stones were indeed scattered, and mixed inextricably with those of other workers: but when we had collected what we reckoned to be our pile no one raised any objections.

I was thankful there was this spirit of amity; we were neither of us anxious to engage in futile disputes.

Whatever we earned we entrusted to him; the theft of the money from my sari while I slept had undermined not only my confidence but Nathan’s: besides, Puli was manifestly more capable of caring for it than we were.

“We beg and work sometimes and filch from stalls when we can...I and the other boys....I know every street and alley,” he added proudly.

“Pull it and hear the drum beat,” said the wily man, holding out the string to Puli, and how could he resist it, who was only a child, when I myself was enchanted!

“Two annas more won’t matter,” he wheedled. “I promise I will never ask you for anything..."

“I don’t know what came over me,” I blurted, penitent. “I shall work very hard tomorrow to make up. You will see.”

Three or four empty bullock carts passed us on the way to collect the broken stones, the bullocks drawing them struggling to get through the morass, their hides slippery with rain.

Midnight, and as always before, his paroxysms eased. The fits of shivering stopped, the stiff limbs fell limp and relaxed.