Flame Tree Road. Shona Patel

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      Shibani shifted her feet. Now, where was that Apu? Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a small movement in the taro patch. Shibani gave a tired sigh. It was that nosy son of hers again. Biren had lately started eavesdropping on their conversations. Apu and Shibani often discussed private matters relating to their mothers-in-law, husbands and what went on in the bedroom. Six-year-old Biren had already picked up on the furtive nature of their conversation. How long this had been going on and how much he had overheard already, Shibani dreaded to know, but this time she was going to teach him a lesson.

      Apu ran out of her kitchen, wiping her hands on the end of her sari. Shibani watched her nimble figure jump over backyard scrub and race around the emerald-green pond. She is still so lithe and supple, like a young sapling, Shibani thought fondly of her friend, who was a trained Bharatnatyam dancer.

      Apu huffed up to the fence and mopped her face with the end of her sari. “I have only five minutes. Ratna will wake up any minute. Quickly, tell me, what?”

      Shibani rolled her eyes in the direction of the taro patch and silently mouthed, Biren. He’s listening. Then she said loudly, “Have you heard the latest news about the small boy in the Tamarind Tree Village? The one whose ears fell off?”

      “No, tell me,” said Apu, suppressing a smile.

      “He had these big-big ears and was always listening to grown-up things. Now I hear his ears have come off. Can you imagine? One day he woke up and his ears were lying on his pillow like two withered rose petals. Now he has only big holes through which bees and ants can get in and make nests in his brain. So tragic, don’t you think?”

      Apu clicked her tongue. “Terrible, terrible. The poor fellow. What will happen to him, I wonder?” The shuffling in the taro patch grew agitated. Apu began to feel a little sorry for Biren. “Are you sure his ears fell off?” she asked. “I mean, fell right off? I heard they almost fell off. They had begun to come a little loose but thank God he stopped listening to grown-up things. He had a very narrow escape, I heard.”

      “I hope so, for his sake.” Shibani sighed. “I would feel very sad if I was his mother. Imagine having a son with no ears and a head full of bees and ants.”

      The taro leaves waved madly to indicate an animal scurrying away.

      “Oof!” exploded Shibani. “That fellow is impossible. He listens to everything. Now I hope he will leave us in peace. I can’t wait for him to start going to school.”

      “He starts next week, doesn’t he?”

      “Yes,” said Shibani. They had waited all this time because Shamol wanted him to go to the big school in the Tamarind Tree Village near the jute mill. It was a better school because the jute mill funded it privately. Most of the mill workers’ children studied there. “Thank God Biren is a quick learner. He’s already far ahead in reading and math because Shamol tutors him every night. That reminds me, did you talk to your mother-in-law about Ruby’s tuition?”

      Apu sighed. “I asked her. Twice. Both times it was a big no. It is so frustrating. Your suggestion made so much sense. Shamol can easily tutor Ruby along with Biren in the evenings. But Mother-in-law won’t have it. She says if you educate a girl nobody will want to marry her.”

      “What nonsense!” cried Shibani. “We both had private tutors and we got married, didn’t we? Thank God our parents were not so narrow-minded. Let me tell you, sister, Shamol especially picked me because I was educated. He said he wanted a wife he could talk to, not a timid mouse to follow him around with her head covered.”

      “At least you two communicate. My husband doesn’t talk at all,” grumbled Apu. “He is gone all week and when he comes home I can’t get two words out of the man. Living with him is like living with a mango tree, I tell you. He gives shade, he bears fruit, but he does not talk.”

      “He’s a good man,” murmured Shibani. “He adores you and the girls. We were both lucky, really, to get good husbands.”

      “But just see my karma! Thanks to my mother-in-law I am going to end up with two illiterate daughters.”

      Shibani gave Apu a crooked smile “What is your problem, sister?” she said sweetly. “Your Ruby will marry my Biren and Ratna will marry Nitin. It’s all settled between us, remember? We decided that the day they were born. Now, concerning my future daughter-in-law’s education—has your husband spoken to his dear mother? He may be able to convince her to change her mind.”

      Apu shook her head. “Oh, he will never go against his mother’s wishes, even if he disagrees with her. It’s just as well I have you to talk to, sister. Otherwise, I would have surely gone mad.”

      Shibani gave a noisy huff. “How can anybody go through life without talking? I don’t understand.”

      A loud wail came from the direction of Apu’s house. Apu glanced hastily over her shoulder. “Did you hear that? I better run! Ratna has woken up. I think she is coming down with a fever.”

      “Can you come and oil my hair for me tomorrow?” Shibani called after her. “You give the best head massage!”

      “I’ll come after lunch!” Apu yelled back. “Around this time when Ratna takes a nap. Don’t forget my chili tamarind.”

      * * *

      Later that evening Shibani overheard Biren talking to his grandfather. “Grandfather, can you please check? Are my ears getting a little loose?”

      “Why should your ears be getting loose? Did your mother box them for you?”

      “No, no, please see, Grandfather. I think they are going to fall off. What should I do?” Biren wailed.

      Grandfather twisted Biren’s ear and pulled out a cowrie. “Look what I found,” he said, handing it to Biren. “Your ears are not loose. They are full of loose change.”

      “Sometimes I think I hear buzzing inside. I think it may be a bee.”

      “They are buzzing because they are full of money,” said Grandfather. “I wish my ears buzzed like yours. I’d be rich.”

CHAPTER

       4

      Every morning, Shamol Roy took the passenger ferry to the jute mill dressed in a spotless dhoti and a starched cotton tunic, with a handkerchief perfumed with rose water folded in his pocket. At sundown he returned, wilted and worn, smelling like the rotting dahlias in a flower vase.

      The stench of decomposing organic matter clinging to his clothes and hair came from the raw jute in the mill storage godown where he worked as a bookkeeper along with his assistant. For ten hours a day Shamol Roy sat in the windowless godown of Victoria Jute Mills as sweaty laborers went in and out of the single door to unload the bullock carts lined up outside. The laborers hoisted the heavy bales on the claw hook of the large industrial weighing scale; the assistant squinted at the scales and shouted the weight, which Shamol Roy noted in neat, precise rows on his red СКАЧАТЬ