“Let’s clear up the mess,” says Jeevan’s mother, putting an arm around Ma’s shoulder and leading her inside.
Ma’s face is red with shame, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I didn’t think she’d actually come here and threaten us like that … if Paras had been here she wouldn’t have dared.” She catches sight of me and Jeevan and tries to control herself.
“You’re doing your best,” says Jeevan’s mother. “You weren’t to know she’d just turn up like that.”
“Asha,” Ma says, wiping her face. “See to your brother and sister, please. I sent them off to the swing.”
“I’ll go,” says Jeevan, blowing the hair off his face. “I can take them to our place, give them something to eat—you’ve got enough to deal with here.” He shoots me a smile and I smile back gratefully.
Jeevan and I run over to where Rohan and Roopa are playing on the swing Papa made for us.
They leap off and wrap their arms around my waist. “Why were those men so angry?” asks Roopa.
“That lady was really mean,” says Rohan, snuggling closer, “and they made Ma cry … I hate them.”
“Some people enjoy being nasty; it makes them feel big and important. But don’t worry—they’ve gone now and everything will be OK.” I force a smile and try to sound confident but I’m beginning to doubt everything.
“Who wants a ride on my bike?” asks Jeevan. He picks the bike up off the ground and props it against the wall. Rohan and Roopa squeal as he lifts them onto the seat. “Hold on.” He climbs on the crossbar and twists to face me. “We’ll find a way to get the tractor back, I promise.”
I watch them disappear out of the garden, feeling numb and useless, my throat so tight I can’t speak.
How much has Ma borrowed? They said they’d be back at Divali—that’s only seven weeks away. How will we get the money? All I can think of is what we’ll do next time, when they come back again, and it fills me with darkness.
I look up. The mountains, far beyond the grazing grounds, make a black, jagged ridge against the setting sun.
When I go inside, Jeevan’s mother has gone and everything is quiet.
The broken pieces of my blue china cup are piled one on top of the other. Ma hasn’t thrown it away with the rest of the things that were broken, and I feel a surge of love for her. I pick up a shard, feeling the rough, cracked edge against my skin, and slip it into my kurta pocket.
Ma is sitting on the wooden bench, staring with bloodshot eyes into a hot cup of chai, her face puffy and her long hair—usually so neatly tied back—loose and wild.
“You’ve got to tell me what’s been going on, Ma.” My words are urgent and my insides are twisting up again. “Ma, look at me.”
“I know you’re worried and I promise we’ll talk later.” Her voice shakes and she passes a hand over her hair. “We need milk for supper, did you bring it down?”
“No, this is too important, Ma—don’t change the subject. I’m not a child you can hide things from anymore.”
“It’s been such a dreadful day … I’m sorry, Asha.” She speaks like she’s in a trance. “Where are Rohan and Roopa?”
“Jeevan took them for a ride on his bike, remember? Drink a bit of chai, Ma, it’ll make you feel better.” I bite my lip. “What happened? Why did you borrow money from that woman?”
Ma doesn’t speak. She gets up. “You know … we haven’t heard from your papa for four whole months, Asha … I keep on waiting but there’s been no letter since May.” She spits each word out like a bitter seed.
“I know.” I miss Papa more than if I’d lost my own arm or leg. “Ma”—I make her look at me—“everything will be all right. He wrote so many letters before. He loves us. He said he’d come back for my birthday, for sure. He’s probably just been really busy with work.” I have to convince her so she doesn’t give up. “Just tell me the truth. Why did you borrow the money?”
She sits opposite me, dark semicircles around her eyes. “I didn’t want to tell you,” she says. Her voice has lost its usual lightness and sounds as brittle as glass. “You know that we can’t survive on the money we make from the farm—even with my extras it’s not enough—and your papa …” She hesitates. “Asha, he hasn’t sent any money since that last letter in May.”
“What?” I nearly choke on the word, the reality of what Ma has said forcing me to grow up in a single breath. I grip the table, unable to speak. I knew about the letters stopping, but she never told me the money stopped too.
“I had nowhere else to turn,” she says, using the edge of the tea towel to dab away her tears. “I kept thinking he was just running late, that the money would turn up the next month. But it never did.” The sky grumbles and looks darker than ever. She wraps her arms around me and kisses me lightly on the head. “Stay inside—I should get the milk. I won’t be long. I promise we’ll talk more when I get back.”
I wait for her to go, then trail into the back garden with its neat rows of shiny peas and peppers that she’s been growing to sell at the market. The chickens are still unsettled and they can’t stop squawking and pecking each other. Warm drops of rain splash onto my hair and trickle down my neck as I shelter under the wide-canopied shisham tree beside the house, its rough trunk hard against my back.
Glossy
