516 + IndiajPakisan Indian troops. Tis fle, unlike previous muzzle-loaders; used premade cartridges ‘wrepped in paper and greased with animal fatto ensure a tight fi. However, the end ofthis cartridge had to be bitten off before being rammed dovn the barrel. Indian ‘woops probably rightly, believed thatthe grease was comprised of beef and pig fat— beef being taboo to Hindus and pork to Muslims. The cartridges were quickly with drawn, but Indian suspicions could not be easly mollied, At Meerut, near Delhi, 85 Indian soldiers who balked at orders to use the guns were stripped of rank and pub- lily humiliated before being jailed, Their comrades freed them from ji, broke into an armory, and began killing European cWvilians and soldiers. The mutiny spread to Deh, where it forced the impotent Mughal emperor to endorse the rebellion, giving ithe character of a war of independence. The British regrouped and, supported by Sikh troops, regained Delhi, but the uprising spread ia northern India and Benga. Anunfortuiate massacre of British prisoners at Lucknow (the infamous Bibi-ghar incident) caused a brutal reprisal bythe British Then, a group of about 750 Euro- peas and about 1,400 of their servants was besieged in a compound outside Lucknow. Thee five-month resistance became a symbol of British heroism and the Enpire. Ont sid, the Indians foun heroine of ther ow in Lakshmi Bai, whose heroic death wasa significant step inthe eventual quashing ofthe uprising in 1859. Although unsticessful asa war of independence, the Mutiny of 1857 brought smany reforms and changes, mong them increase inthe numberof British troops {nthe Indian army and a limitation in Christian missionary activity Indian princes ‘were enhanced in power and prestige. Expansion of railroads and telegraphs, to= gether with the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869, greatly facilitated communica tion within India and between Britsin and the colony. Significanty, in 1858 India ‘was proclaimed a crown colony abolishing the fction that British interests were cep- resented by the East India Company. But psychologically, the events of 1857-1859 left deep scars that never healed on either side. Both sides harbored memories of ‘matsactes and treachery. The British expressed their mistrust by mixing Hindus, Muslims, and Sikhs into every regiment and denying them control of powerful \weepons le cannons. Indians increasingly resented the harshness of British rule and ts accompanying economic exploitation. {In 1876, Queen Victoria received the title “Empzese of India" and the “golden age of the British Raj began. Not surprisingly, tis golden age produced more gold for Britain than for India. Improvements to the ifrastrcture favored British inter- ¢sts while Indian industries struggled to compete with British enterprises. Queen Vicioria’s promise that qualified Indians would find employment and promotion in ‘he cil service was only partially honored, and prejudice agenst Indians was ll too clearly revealed in the defeat of the Thert Bil of 1883, which in rae eases would have permitted Indian juges to preside over white trial. Nationalist sentiment raised by ‘the controversy led to the founding ofthe Indian National Congress in 1885 as forum for political discussion. ts members were educated Indians, the products of Macaulay’ recommendations, graduates of Indian (and sometimes British) univer- sites who worked as lawyers, doctors, civil servants, and educators. Their proceed- ings were conducted in English. By 1892 its actions resulted in greater Indian India/Pskistn + 517 representation inthe councils that advised the viceroy and governors. Unfortunatly, its lngely Hindu membership alicnated Muslims, few of whom participated in its liberations. THE Daive For INDEPENDENCE 1 1905, another British blunder gave further impetus to independence. or reasons ‘oo complex to detail here, the then viceroy Lord Curzon decided to partition Bengal {nto two provinces, one primarily Hindu, the other Muslim. The arbitrrines ofthe partition sparked widesrread opposition, including a boycott of British goods and a campaign to buy only Indian made products (die swadesht movement), indepen dence movements spread throughout India, provoking 2 harsh British response, ‘hich in turn sparked terrorist bombings and assassinations. In 1906, the All India Muslim League was formed asa counterweight tothe Indian National Congress, and in the strugeles that ensued, Muslims and other minority groups were guaranteed Tepresetation in the body that advised the viceroy. Although radials continued to agitate for immediate independence, Britsn’s policy was to inch India i all, toward self government. rey petals Given this volatile state of afsirs, India’s response tothe outbreak of World War {in 1914 was all the more surprising, Thousands of Indians rallied to England's cause and soon found themselves fighting in Burope and the Middle East To be sure, some tried to exploi the war to promote independence, but this movement fa. fered. At the same time, Mohandas Gandhi, who would soon be dubbed mahatma or “ret soul” by Rabinandcath Tagore, was practicing his nonviolent and spiritually based satyagraha movement in rural parts of the country. Even before the wac ended, Britain’s viceroy an its secretary of state proposed fefarms that promised feradual movement towarl independence. Paradoxically, the end of World Wat I in 1918 brought on arbitrary and harsh measure of imprisonment without tral for issidents Gandhi called a nationvide sayagrahaor strike in 1919 and was immedi. ately rested, Protests turned violent on both sides, ‘The senseless slaughter of World War I had convinced many Indians, inluding Gandhi, that Western civilization was morally bankrupt, Apparent confirmation of this view occurred at Amritsar in April 1919 when a British officer named Dyer - countered a peaceful group celebrating a spring festival, Inexplicably. Dyer ordered his Indian troops to ie on the assembly Hemmed in on three sdes by surrounding ‘houses, the crowed was trapped. At least 400 died and 1,200 were injured. Dyer was eventually relieved of his command, but to many British he became a hero —outray ‘ng all of India. For the next two years, India vas wracked by boycotts and strikes ‘many inspired by Gandhi working closely with both Hindus and Muslims. Thow sands of protesters were jiled, and Britain responded by promising reforms sna {gradual selfrule, but Indians were intent on fll independence. By 1922, ashow- dlown seemed imminent when a mob burned « police station, killing 22 occ Gandhi, appalled by the violence, called off the movement; he was then arested sndS18 + IndiaPakistan sentenced to sx years. The Hindu-Maslin coalition he had held together collapsed, Dut independence agitation continued, aided by British blunders. At the 1929 Con. ‘gress mecting,Javahazlal Nehra succeeded in prociming Indias official goal of in- ‘dependence. Until 1950, January 26, 1930, was observed as Independence Day Since 1950, thas been observed as Republic Day The peried between the declaration and India’s actual independence:in 1947 was marked by continued civil strfe—Gandhi’s ingenious boycott of British taxed salt for example. But asthe inevitability of independence drew ever neuer, frctares in the epparertly unified Indian front began to appear. Gandhi's nonviolent move- ‘ment was countered by Nehru’s socialist tendencies, while the leader of the Muslim Leegue, Qusié-i-Azam M, A Tinnah, led a movement for a separate Muslim state. Ironically, the success end power ofthe Indian National Congress hed raised fears ‘mong various non-Hindu minorities f “Congress Raj"—dominance bythe Con- sress Paty. The outbreak of World War Il in 1939 brought other complications and delays. Once again, Indians rallied to Britain's cause, but this time in fewer numbers, and some advocated overt conperation with Japan, Fear of Muli defection fom Britain's side prompted the British fo support finnah’s separatist dea, and this was ‘made official ia the agreement that becured Indias independence in 1947 ‘There had been Hindu-Muslim violence before independence—for example, in the iotsin Bengal in August 1946 that leat least 4,000 people dead, But no one was prepared forthe carnage that followed independence and the formation of Pakistan, 8 divided country with territory both in the north (present-day Pakistan) and in the cast (present-dsy Bangladesh. ear became hysteria as Maslims leing Hindu dom- ination moved westward toward Pakistan, while Hindus fearing Muslims fled toward India, Hysterie turned into madness as murders, massacres, rapes, looting, and burning raged out of control Pechaps 1 million people died in the months of atzoc= ties inspite of Gandhi’ direct eppeals for peace and tolerance. A lasting effect of the hastily drawn borders of 1947 is the continuing tension between India and Pakistan over the former princely state of Kashmir. Another casualty of these conflicts was Gandhi himself who was assassinated in January 1948, Independence and the new republican constitution adopted in 1949 did not end India’s centurizs-long problems nor bring immediate peace and prosperity. Al- though politically unified under its constitution, India remains divided by language (fifteen constiationally recognized languages, plus many others), religion, geo3- raphy, educational and economic levels, political philosophy, geographic region, and 2 widening gulf between educated, cosmopolitan urban dwellers and tadition- ‘bound rural peoples. As the world’s largest democracy with a population of 1 billion People, homogeneity and culural unity are hardly to be expected. Externally, India's ‘most pressing problem remains its dispute with Pakistan over Kashmin, which erupted into war in 1947 and 1965 and threatens to do so again. The fact that both India and Pakistan have nuclear weapons gives this conflict international significance. Noevertheles, the India of the twenty-first century is emerging as an interna- tional politica and economic force, capturing high-tech jabs in computer-related arse pie colaaabaes eo India/Pakisan + 519 industries and services and providing stiff competition for the European powers that for centuries exploited India’s wealth. THE SHORT Story IN INDIA While England's merchants and armies were constructing the empire “on which thé suun never set, her writers were largely preoccupied with domestie matters, Consids ting the scope and importance of Britain's colonial expansion, relatively lite ofits lerature deals directly with ths development, although postcolonial critics have re, Tolle the ways in.which many literary works (for example, Jane Austen's Mansfield Park and Charles Dickens's Great Expectations) use the existence of the colonics as ‘major plot ingredients. Novels and poetry dominated the British literary scene in the nineteenth century, with the short story gradually emerging after 1880, Simultane, ously the curriculum for India inaugurated by Macatlay’s reforms in 1835 streesed ‘aditional canonical English lteratare—Shakespeare, Milton, and later the romant {ic poets Indian students rea smost no British fiction in school or university unt ‘ery ate in the century. Of course, Britons stationed in India read the novels of the deysand eventually there arose in India British fiction writers who depicted their {Nes as colonials or wrote about the “exotic” natives they sew around them, Anglo. Indian authors such as Rudyard Kipling, Flora Annie Steele, and Alice Pesrin ex. plored the life of India and the relations between the British who lived there and the Indians who served, were exploited by, and, yes, opposed them, Meanwhile, Indian students were being exposed to European literature, ideas, and literary forms, inchuding the novel. Bankim Chandra Chatterjee is generally re, garded as Indias frst novelist, writing historical romances in the vein of Sit Walter Scott But by the torn of the century, European novelists and short story writers in ‘the realistic mode were infiuencing Indian writers to abandon the traditional ex, phasis on supernatural characters, marvelous events, and florid style in favor of es Son that described current people and situations in India. As a result, distinctively Pew Indian fiction srose, first in the novel, and then in the short story, and fiction both in English and in indigenous languages became not only a medium of imagina- ‘tive expression but also form of political and social protest. Catiously, it was not British but European writers such as Anton Chekhov and Guy de Maupassant who inspired Indian writers to take up the short story. Who wrote the “first” Indian short story is impossible to determine, but one candidate is Rabindraneth Tagore, Bengali who published several volumes of stories ina variety fmodes beginning in 1895, Honors for the fst stores in English by an Indian mey bbelong to Cornelia Sorabji whose Love and Life Behind the Purdah was published in Ipod: The shor story quickly became a vehicle of socal protest infact, Passion for the Fatherland (first520+ India/Paistan sing Englishes the language that could transcend regional imitations and reach the worlds age “Tagore stories are seldom overly anticolonal but Premehand often attacked British instttions and practices end, ike Tagore, used fiction to criticize indigenous social problems such asthe caste system and the treatment of widows. The same ten- dencies are found in the “big three” writers of the early Indian short story in English--Mil Raj Anand, RK. Narayan, and Raja Rao, Anand’s ist story cllec- tion, The Barber Tade Union and Other Stories (1948), began his literary carer but it ashi exter novel, Untouchable (1935), that established his reputation as socal crite Moreover, Anand canbe credited with treating even the lowes of his charac- ters as complex human beings. Narayan, the lest overly political oFthe three, ets his stories and novele in the imaginary village of Malgaci which serves as @ micro- cosm ofthe lager world. In his hands, the people of Malgudi and their problems, {wiuimphs, and everyday ies become deeply humanized. Rao’ short ition uses the particulars of Indian social life to comment on India socety at large. More than ny other of his contemporaries, Rao sought to bend English othe Indian idiom, to rake it ess foreign language than one capable of expressing indian realities. By the rmid-tentieth century, these viters, and many others influenced by ther, had es- tablished the shor story genre in many languages and the short story.in English as an important cultural force in india and beyond Justa India has emerged as world politcal and economic power since ts in- dependence, so has it become prominent caltaraly, expecially through its literature and film, After independence, a new generation of writers emerged. Many of them txcelled in the thort story, and the Nayi Khari or new story” movement ofthe 1950s und 1960s reenegized the gente with sharper realism and sometimes with ex~ perimental techniques, New sory writers inclade Krushwant Singh and Attia Foasin. More recently, women writers have emerged to bring feminist concerns and sensibilities tothe short story, while writers of the “Indian ciaspora” (for examples YS, Naipaul Roth PrawerJhabvala, and Rohiston Mistry) have tacked the prob- Jems faced by Indian emigrants in England, the Caribbean, and North America. Ia the 1980s; Indian literature exploded on the world scene with the publication of such novels as Salman Rushdie’s Satanic Verses (1988) and Anita Desai’s Bavmgart- ners Bombay (1988), opening the way for stil further best-selling authors such as ‘Acundhati Roy (The God of Small Things, 1997) and Zadie Smit (Whit Teeth, 2000, and On Beanty, 2005). indian writing in English is now a dominant force in post- Colonia iteretare and, ice Tndian fil and the burgeoning Indian economy, ismak- ing itself fl throughout the word Raja Rao: The Cow ofthe Barricades + 521 Raja Rao (. 19087 2082). Like many writers ofhis generation, Raja Rao as born into‘an intellectual fam ily, his father a professor, his mother an actress. Unlike mary of his peers, how- ever, Rao was educated not in, England but in the United States (Hunter College in New York) and France (Universities of Montpelier and the Sor- bonne). in substance, too, his education was unusual, for although a Hindu, he studied at Muslim schools in India afd then focused on Christian theology and history at university In 1931 he marvied a French woman and shortly thereafter began writing short stories in French and English, When his mariage ended in 1939, he returned to India and joined the résistance against British tle. His first novel, Kanthapura (1938), rake: a Gandhian approach to oppos: ing the Raj, as does his collection of stories, The Cow ofthe Barricades (1947) ‘After India’s independence in 1947, Rao lef the country and traveled widely, including visi to the United States in 1950, in 1965 hie married US. actress Katherine Jones and began lecturing on Indian philosophy at the University of Texas at Austin, here he remained until 1983. The novels Rao wrote during ‘hese years—The Serpent and the Rope (1960) and The Cat and Shakespeare (1965)—reflect his abiding interest in spiritual and philosophical issues. An- ‘other volume of stories, The Polceinan and the Rése, appeated in 1978, fol- lowed by nonfiction works of history and literary criticism. In 1988 he was avarded the Neustadt international Prize for literature Although Rao was educated in the West and spent much of his lif in Euc ‘ope and the United States, his fiction is thoroughly Indian in oittlodk. The in- fluence of Mulk Raj Anand may be visible in #20 novels and stories, which are often setin Indian villages. “The Cow of the faricades” is evidently et during ‘the “quit india" campaign and is typical of Rags Gandhian influence with its {emphasis on the Master's spirituality and the uncanny nature of Gaur, the ‘ow, which seems almost ghostlke in her mysterious movements and habits. Readers ae left to decide for themselves wha: Gauri signifies and whether the story advocates peaceful or violent resistance. . The Cow of the Barricades 1947 “Trey called her Gauri for she came every Tueslay evening before sunset to stand and nibble at the hair of the Master. And the Master touched her and caressed het and he said: “How are you, Gaurit” and Gauti simply bent her legs and drew back ‘het tongue and, shaking her head, ambled round him and disappeared among the bushes. And till Tuesday next she was not to'be seen, And the Master’ disciples gath ered grain and grass and rice-water to give her every Tuesday, but she refused it all.522 + TndiafPakstan and took only the handful of grain the Master gave. She munched it slowly and care- fally as one acticulates a string of holy words, and when she had finished eating, she knelt again, shook her head and diseppeared, And the Masters disciples said: “This is a strange creature” and they went to the Cotton Street and the Mango Street, and they went by the Ginning Mills and through the Weavers’ Lines, but Gauri was nowhere to be seen. She was not even a god-dedicated cow, for never had a shop- keeper caught her eating the grams nor was she found huddled in a eattle-pound. People said, “Only the Master could have such strange visitors” and they went to the ‘Master and said: “Master, can you tell us who this cow may be?” And the Master smiled with tinquenchable love and fun and he said: “She may be my baton-armed ‘mother-in-law. Though she may be the mother of one of you. Perhaps, she is the ‘great Mothes vehicle” And lke to a mother, they put kumkum? on her forchead and till Tuesday next they waited for Gaur But people heard of it here and people heard of it there, and they came with srain and hay and kumkum water saying “We have a strange visitor, let us honour hen” And merchants came saying, “Maybe she's Laishmi, the Goddess, and we may hhave more money next harvest” and fel at her fet. And students came to touch her dhead and touch her tal saying, “Let ne pass the examinations this year!” And young. girls came to ask for husbands and widows to ask for puity, andthe childless to ask for children. And so every Tuesday there was a veritable procession of people atthe ‘Masters hermitage, But Gauri would pass by them all like a holy wife among men, ‘and going straight to the Master, would nibble at his hair and disappear among the bushes. People unable to take back the untouched offerings gave them to the river ‘and the fishes jumped to eat them as ata festival; but the crocodile had disappeared from the whirls of the deep waters, And one fine morning the Master woke in his bed to hear the snake and the rat playing under him, for when the seeker finds har- ‘mony, the jackal and the deer and the rat andthe serpent become friends. And Gauri ‘was no doubt a fervent soul who had sought the paths ofthis world to be born a sage in the next, for she was so compassionate and true ‘And people were much afrighted, and they took the women and the children to the fields beyond and they cooked food beneath the tres and lived there—for the army of the Government was going to take the town and no woman or child would be spared. And doors were closed and clothes and vessels and jewels were hidden away, and only the workmen and the men ruled the city, and the Master was the hhead of them all, and they called him President. Patrols of young men in Khadi and Gandhi cap* would go through the streets, and when they saw the old or the miserly ‘pesping from behind the doors they called them and talked to them and led them to 1 great Mother’ vehicle In the Rgvda, the cow infeed toa a odds and deme wih Ad the {other ofthe gos 2 umm: The ed powder used to mat the fordeads of Hinds women 5 Lalakiis Codes of fortune and wit of Kron, 4 Kha Homespun cot cloth advocate by Gani 5 Gandhi cap Close Bing at wovn by flower of Gandhi Raja Rao: The Cow ofthe Barricades + 523 the camp by the fields, for the Master said there was danger and nobody could stay but the strong and the young. Grass grew beneath the eaves and the dust of the ‘monsoon swept along the streets while the red men’s trains brought army after army and everybody could see them for the station was down below and the town upon a hill. Barricades lay on the streets like corpse-heaps after the last plague, but the biggest of them all was in the Suryanarayana Stzet. It was as big as a chariot. ‘Men were hidden behind it and waited for the battle. But the Master said, “No, there shall be no batle, brothers.” But the workmen said again, “Its not with, Tove you, I love you. that you can change the grinding heart of this Government.” and they brought picks and scythes and crowbers, and a few Mohammedans brought ‘their swords and one or two stole rifles from the mansions, and there was ¢ regular fighting army ready to fall on the red man’s men. And the Master went and said this and the Master went and said that, but the workmen said, “Well fight? and fight they would. So deep in despair the Master said, "I resign from the presidentship.” and he went and sat in meditation and rose into the worlds from which come light and love, in order that the city might be saved from bloodshed. And when people hheard this they were greatly angered against the workmen, but they knew the work- ‘men were right and the Master was right, and they did not know which way the eye should turn, Owls hovered about even in midday light, and when dusk fell all the stars hung so low that people knew that that night would sec the fight. But everybody looked at the empty street-corners and ssid, “Where is she— Gautit” At ten that night the fist war-chariots were heard to move up, and cannons and bayonets and lifted swords rushed in assault, ‘And what happened afterwards people remember to this very day. There stie ‘was, Gauri, striding out of the Oil Lane and turning around Copper Seenayya’s house towards the Suryanarayana Street, her head held gently bent and her ears pressed back like plats of hait, and staggering like one going to the temple with fruits and flowers to offer to the Goddess. And she walled fast, and when people saw her they ran behind her, and crowd after crowed gathered round her and torch and lantern in hand they marched through the Brahmin Street and the Cotton Street and past the Venkatalakshiamma Well, and the nearer she came to:the barricades the faster she walked, though she never ran, And people said, “She will protect us. Now it’s sure she will save us" and bells were brought and rang and campliors wee lt and coconuts were broken at her fet, but she neither shuddered nor did she move her head; she walked on. And the workmen who were behind the barricades, saw this and they were sore furious with it, and they said, “Here, they send the cow instead of coming to help us” Some swore and others lnighed, and one of them said, "We'll fire at her, for ifthe crowd is here and the red man's army on the othe: side it will be ter- ible” But they were afraid, for the crowd chanted “Vande Mataram”® and they were all uplifted and sure, and Gauri marched onwards her eyes raised towards the 6 Vande Mataram: Natonl song of nds,524 + Indie/Paistan barricades. And as she came near the temple square the workmen laid down their ‘armas, as she came by the Tulsi Wellthey folded their hands, end as she was beneath the barricades they fell prostrate at her feet murmuring, “Goddess, who may you bet” And they formed two rings, and between them passed Gauri, her left foreleg first, then her back right leg, once on the sandbag, once on the cart-wheel, end with the third move men pushed her up and she was on top of the barricades. And then came a rich whispering like a crowd at evening worship, but the red men's army vied from the other side of the barricades, “Oh, what's this? Ob, whats this?” and they rushed towards the barricades thinking it was a flag of truce. But when they saw the cow and its looks and the tear, clear as a drop of the Ganges, they shouted out, “Victory to the Mehatma! Mahatma Gandhi ki jell” and joined up with the crowd, But their chief, the red man, saw this and fired a shot. It went through Gauri's head, and she fella vehicle of God among lowly men. But they said blood did not gush out of the head but only between the forelegs, from the thickness of her breast. Peace has come back to us now. Seth Jamnalal Dwarak Chand bought the two hhouses om either side of the barricades, cut a loop road through: them, and in the ‘middle he erected metal statue for Gauri. Our Gauri was not so tall nor was she stiff for she had very human look. But we all offer her flowers and honey and per. fared sweetmeats and the first green grass of spring. And our children jump over the railings and play between her legs, and putting their mouths to the hole in the breast-—for this was made too—shout out resounding booms. And never have our ‘carpenters had gayer times than since Gauri died, for our children do not want theit bbaswanna-bulls but only ask for Gauris. And to this day hawkers cry them about at the railway station, chanting; “Gauris of Gorakhpur! Polished, varnished and on four wheels!” and many a child from the Himalayas to the seas of the South pulls them through the dusty streets of Hindustan. ‘But even now when we light our sanctum lights at night, we say, “Whereis she, Gaurit” Only the Master knows where she is. He says: “Gauri is waiting in the Middle Heavens’ to be born. She willbe rebora when India sorrows again before she iste? ‘Therefore it is sai, “The Mahatma may be all wrong about polities, but he is right about the fillness of love in all creatures—the speechful and the mute” QUESTIONS aur eas only the rain given by the Master cis sigiicane What mighe & Suggest 2 Whac do people other than the Maser expect fom Gauri? What does this eget? 7 Mile Heavens: In Hinds cose. here ae to een he Kishan Chander: Peshawar Beprss = 525 3+ Why do women and chikiren leave the village? What signs, natural and super- ‘natural, tell them to leave? 4 Wiac aspects of Gaur sgt hat she an rn cow? Wha aspects up ‘Best that she is in’some ways supernatural or ‘spiritual? 5 Twice the story offers paradoxical comment: “they knew the workmen were {ght and the Master was right" and simiay inthe last sentence ofthe story, Can these paradoxes be resolved? Are both sides ofthese paradoxes equally {rue within the story, or does the tory itself favor one side or the other? Cite specific passages in support of your answer, Sw does the story comment on the possibilities of passive resistance asa po- [cal tol? How does i reveal ehe conflicts and isses surrounding indeporc dence movernents? Krishan Chander (1914-1976) A prolific short story writer jn Urdu, Krishan Chander was a long-time seetetary-general ofthe Progrestive Writers Association in India As such he left bis mark on a whole generation of young writers, making them conscious of so, lal realty. Among his better-known collections of shore stories ee Tali ‘yal Nazzare, Ara Data, Zindg| ke Mod Par and Ajanta se Aaga Ham Wahi {iain 's the ttle of his collection of short stories devoted exclusively to the {heme of partition. He also wrore novels and 2 large numberof radio plays, Some ofthese radio play are collected in an anthology called Fk Rupya kool 1 Peshawar’ Express ca. 1950 ‘TRANSLATED RY K. §, DUGGAL ‘Won 1 leteResbaeat,Theaved sigh of rele’ All my bogies? were occupied ‘ainly by Hindus. They came from Peshawar itself and from Mardan, Kohat aad Ghat Sada, from Khyber and Landi Kota, Banna and Naushechra, Finding theme ‘selves unsafe in Pakistan, they were fleeing their home towns. There were start aon. ‘gy measures atthe ralway station: the army pers6ninel appeared quite eetidines an be fotlowed ons map ast$88 + IndinyPakistan [Ruth Prawerjhabvala: Miss Sahib + 559 a fresh splendor, he ruminated, “He must be gone to fetch some hel and settled down to wait. Whea a truck came downhill, he stopped it and got the help of «couple of men to detach the horse from its pedestal and place itin his sta: (b. 1927) ‘tion wagon. He gave them five rupees each, and fora further payment they siphoned off gas from the truck, and helped him to start his engine. ‘Mani hurried homeward with the cash securely tucked away at his waist in his suppose!” Ruth Prawer Jhabvala + Ruth Prawer jhabvala epitomizes the contemporary international author who is impossible to place by naticnalty. In an interview, she was once asked about dot He shut the stret door and stole up sof to his wife ashe squated before her roots and replied, "I don't have any” Born to Jewish Polish parents in the litoven wondering i by a miracle food would drop from the sky. Muni displayed Cologne, she and her family fled Hitlers Germany in 1939 and settled in his fortune for the day. She snatched the notes from hisa, counted them by the glow England, eventually residing in London, tn 1951, she completed a master’s de- pf the fire, and ered, “One hundred rupees! How did you! come by it? Have you sree in English literature at London University and maried architect Cyrus been stealing?” Jabvala, who moved the amy to Delhi na. n 1955, Jhabrala published the “Thave sold our goats to a red-faced man. He was absolutely crazy to have them, first of her many novels, To Wier She Will and there followed a steady stream, ‘gave me all this money arid carried them off in his motor car!” ‘of novels set ii India and based on her experiencés there. Her early books ivere Hardly had these words let his lips when they heard bleating outside. She bright and upbeat in tone, but increasingly, the novels darken in outlook and. ‘opened the door and saw the two goats at her door. “Here they azel” she said. shift from 2 focus on Indian characters co the experiences of expatriate Euro “What's the meaning of allthis?” [peans reacting to the country. Because of the novels and short stories of this He mottered a great curse and seized one of the goats by its ears and shouted, Period, Jhabvala soften regaded as an Indian writer, chough she denies the “Whereis that man’ Don't you knqjw you are hist Why did you come back?” The validity ofthat label. Indeed, the authors to whom she is most often compared {goat only wriggle in his grip: He asked the same question ofthe other too. The goat ate the English novelists, Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, and Willa Makepeace shook itself of is wife glated at him and declared, Ifyou have thieved, the pelice Thackeray will come tonight and break your bones, Don't involve me. 1 will go away to-my The family lived in india until 1975, but finally left for the United States. As parents... she explains in an essay in Ain Experience of ndia (1971), the land that she at first found beautiful and entrancing finally became oppressive init dire and ir reméciable poverty, After mosing, abvala gradually shifted the setting of her QUESTIONS a fiction from india tothe Uniced States, hough many of her characters are 1, How would you describe the narrator's tone in this story? Does the narrator Indians attempting to negotzt the dffcuccransition to living inthe West. pity Muni’s poverty? Regard it matter of factly! Humorously? Another consistent theme in her fiction is the search for spiritual fulfillmenc. Even before leaving India, however, habvala formed what would be one of 2 What forces and conditions have brought about Mun’s poverty and kept the most mporeane partnerships of her creative fea relationship wh he him poor filmmakers James ivory aid Ismail Merchant. She was at first reluctanc when 3. What do the incidental and descriptive details reveal about villge life? Be the flmmakers called her in 1963 to write a screenplay of her nove, The House- specif holder (1960), bu since then Jhabval’s success at writing screenplays of other . writers’ novels has been ite short of phenomenal with substantial ims ike ‘4: Apart from language, what divides the US. vourist and Muni? What differing as- The Bostonians (1984), A Room with a View (1986), and perhaps most notably Sumptions and ideas interfere with communication? E. M, Forster's Howards End (1992). She has won two Academy Awards for Do you regard the ending ofthe story as comic or tragic? Why sereemitng, and some critics note that her later ftion is informed by some of the techniques of fim. ‘6 What does the story reveal, if anything, about the relations between rich na- Jhabyala’s main accomplish nents as a writer probably remain her niemo- ‘dons and poor ones? Can it be tead allegorically or symbolically? ‘able pictures of indian life andthe depth and sensitivity with which she exarn- ines the complexities and amtiguities of cross-cultural encounters. Whether she is writing about the problems of Indians inthe period after colonization, the difficulties faced by Europeans in Southeast Asia, or the complexities of 29 Ghoti The oiciom worn by member ofthe respecuble Hindu cates,500 + IndiayPakistan «adapting oneself ro the demands of Western culture, Jhabvala always brings {rsh insights and nuanced thinking to her fiction, “Mis Sah" s but one story inallarge opus of such writin, Miss Sahib 1968 “Tine entrance to the house in which Miss Thy lived was up a Bight ofetairs be MiSSTul tween a vegetable shop and a cigarette and colddrink one. The stairs were always dirty, and so was the space around the doorway, with roted bits of vegetable and ‘empty cigerette packets trampled into the eaud. Long practice had taught Miss Thy to step round this refuse, smilingly and without rancour, and as she did so she al ‘ays nodded friendly greetings tothe vegetable-eler and the cokd-drnk man, both of whom usualy failed to notice her Everyone in the neighbourhood had got used to her, fr she had lived ther, in that eame house, for many years. It was not the sort of place in which one would have expected to find an Englishwoman like Miss Tuby, buf the fat was, she was too poor to live anywhere ise, She had nothing but her savings, and these, in spite of her very frugal way of life, could not ls for ever: and of course there was always the vexed question of how Jong she would live. Once, in an uncharactersticlly realistic moment, she had eal. «ulated that she could afford to goon for another five years, which would bring her ‘up to sixty-five. That seemed fair enough to her, and she didnot think she had the right to ask for more. However, most of the time these questions did not arse for she tended to be too engrossed in the present :o allow fears of the future to disturb her peace of mind, ‘he was, by profession and by passionate inclination, a teacher, but she had not_q. e4clt taught for many years. She had first come to India thirty years ago to take up a teaching post ata school for girls from the first families, and she had taught there and at various other places for as long as she had been allowed. She did it with en- ‘husiasm, for she loved the country and her students. When Independence came and /49- all the other English teachers went Lome, it never for a moment occurred to her to jin then, and she went on teaching asf nothing had changed. And indeed, ao fa aa she was concemed, nothing did change for a number of years, and it was only atthe end of that time that it was discovered she was not sufficiently well qualified to go on ‘caching in an Indian high school. She bowed her head to this decision, for she knew she wasnt not compared sith all those clever Indian girls who held M.A. degrees in politics, philosophy, psychology, and economics. As ¢ matter of fat, even though ‘they turned outto be her usurpers, she was proud of these gil; for wasnt it she and those like her who had educated them and made them what they now wete—sharp, emancipated, centuries ahead of their mothers and grandmothers? So it was not dif. ‘cult for her to cede to them with a good grace, to enjoy her farewell party cry abit atthe speeches, and receive with pride and aglow in her heart the silver model of the ‘Taj Mahal which was presented to her as a token of appreciation. After that, she i Ruth Prawer Thabval: Mise Sahib = S61 sled for England —not because se inthe least wanted to, but because it was whet everyone seed to exper of het. She dd nt stay long, rue, noone here said she was not wel qalifed enough to teach and she had no diay in getting jobs but she was nt happy. Ives tet the sme, Sheliked young people alvays, and to abe liked the young people she woe teaching here; but she could not lve them the way she had loved les Inca pate She missed thei playfulness thei eifection, ther sweetnese—by compari the English children struck her as being cool and dant And not ony the aldren bot everyone She met, of ony sew insets ad shop: thy seemed # soles eeople somehow, polterprhape and more considerate than the Laan aiong whe ans had spent so many years, but withoct (0 she put ito hers rel love Even ph cally the English looked colo he with their damp white tna and pale Hl res and she longed again tobe sutrounsed by those lowing coloured shins and tines eyes the dark large lig Ind eye! and hae tht sprang with such abundance ffom their heads And besides the peopl twas everything eee well resting vas too diz, too cold. There was no sun; the gras was not pew the floss vee bright enough, and the rin that continually dled trom ¢wathrg sy wove pose substitute forthe silver rivers that had come rushing in torrents out of hmanen Gare biue, monsoon coud Se she and her savings retumed, imprvidenty, to Inds Everyone sil emem- beredler and was glad to ee her aain but once the Ratio precio, woe ony, they wer alto busy ove much time to sere for her She dt ins ohe wos jst happy tobe back; and in any case she ad to lve rther along way away owe her fiends because, now that she had no jo, she had to be where tonto were cheaper. She found the oom inthe house between the vegetable slr snd the old drink shop and lived there contented ll the week round only entrng for ou Sundays to vis her former colleagues and pupil As tne wenton ther somde visits Became ewer and farther between, for everyone alway seemed tobe sath busy anyway, thee was lest ay now and lo she found k wasnt ala cope spare the bus-fare ound fro, But did't mater, he was een happier goying home because all her ie was there now, and the inert and atin she hed oe rnety bestowed on her colleges and pupil she now bad strongly fo theater people lving inthe house and even forthe vegetable tcler sn the debi nea though her contact with them never went furs han sls aed node house was old ity, and inward-looking In the conte wi a courtyard hic cout BE overlooked ike a tage fom the galeries rnning al the sey ooo the upper storeys. The house belonged to an old woman wh Ined onthe rowed Alor wth her enormous family of chen and grandchilten the ups eves ad been subdivided and et out to vatious nants The stars and alors were dere «owded, not onl with the tenant themselves it with their servants Everyone the house except Mis Tay kep a servant ail oy who ccanod and weet and cooked and was eguenty beaten and frequently damied There scrote be on ‘unending sappy ofthese boys; they could be had very cheaply and slept eurted op onthe sats orn threshold, and te what was ein the poe562 + India/Pabistn Miss Tuhy was a shy person who loved other people but found it difficul to ‘ake contact with them, On the second floor lived an Anglo-Indian nurse with hes stown-up son, and she often sought Miss Tuhy ut EE Tai ask questions about England to discuss her problems and those of her son (a rather “ssibid young eran who worked in an sinesofce) She felt that she and Mis Tay should present a united front against the other neighbours, who were all Hindus sat whorn she regarded with contempt: But Miss Tuhy did not fe! that way She ea! and was interested in everyone, and it seemed a privilege to her to be nec them na tobe aware nf what secmed to her thei: facinating, this passionate lines ‘Down ia the courtyard the old landlady ruled her family with a rod of iron, She Kept tight hold of everything and GOVE ot lite sums of pocket-money te her forty-year-old sons, She could often be heard abusing them and the wives, aed ‘ormetimes she beat them. There was only one person to whom she showed anys Galgence—who, infact, could getaway with anything —and that was Sharmila ne other granddaughters, When Miss Thy first came to live in the house, Sharfale ves spiced, slapdash girl of twelve, with big Mack eyes and a rapidly developing gure. Although she had reached the age at which her sisters and cousins were a ‘eady beginning to observe tha retignce which, as grow women, would keep ther away from the eyes of strangers, Sharmila stil behaved with all the freedom of da smaller children, running cound the courtyard and up and down the stirs and ig and out of the homes of her grandmother’ tenant, She was the fst in the hoves ve fstablish contact with Miss Tohy, simply by bursting into the room where rhe Enetsh lady lived and looking round and touching things and iting them up to ec, mine them_—*Whatsthat?"—all Mise Thy’ reaguies: her mother-of pea pom: Polder the photograph of her little nice asa bridesmaid, the silver Taj Mahal, Decorating the mantel-piece was a bowl of realistically shaped fruits mde of Plasterof pais, and before leaving Sharmila ited a brightly coloured banana ot ot ghe bowl and held i up and sai, “Can Ihave itt” Afr that she came every dey fod every day, jst before leaving, helped herself to one more fruit ntl they wer oh finished and then she took the bow), Sharmila was lazy at schoo! al the year round, but she always panicked before her elass-promotion exams and ceme runaing for help to Mist Tay. These vere Mis Tuhy’s happiest mes, for not only was she once again engaged in the heyyy Bursuit of teaching, but she also had Sharmila siting there with her all dy loc, pent ardently over her books and biting the tip of her tongue in her eagersess © dearn. Miss Tuby would have dearly loved to teach he the whole year roud, welt past hr interest sharply declined, fo that sometimes, when Miss Tuhy looked up {fom t assionate reading ofthe romantic poets, she found her pupil fddling with the strands of hair which always managed to escape from her sober pital aed her sag mnie oPen i a yaw she saw no reason to disguise, And indeed Mise Tuy ‘na inal to admit that Sharmila wa right fr what use would allthis lemming eweg ocean neacion ne Ruth Praver Tbabval: Mis Sahib = 363 be to her when her one purpose in life, her sole duty, was to be married and give sat isfaction to the husband who would be chosen for her and to the in-laws in whose house she would be sentto live? She was just siteea when she wat married. Her grandmother, who usualy hated spending money, excelled herself that time and it was a grand and memorable occasion. A big wedding marquee was setup in the courtyard and crammed tight ‘with wedding guests shimmering in their best clothes; all the tenants were ivited ‘toy including Miss Tuly in her good dress (white dots on a chocolate brown back round) and coral necklce, Like everyone else, she was excitedly awaiting the strval of the bridegroom and his party. he wondered what sort ofa boy they had chosen for her Sharmila, She wented a tall, bold boy for her, a soldier and a hero: and she +had heightened, almost mythological visions of the young couple—decked out in jewels and gorgeous clothes—galy disporting themselves in a garden full of brightly-coloured flowers. But when at last the band accompanying the bride- ‘groom's party was heard, and everyone shouted ‘They have come!” and rushed to the ‘entrance to get the frst gimpse, then the figure that descended from the horse emnid the jubilation of the trumpets was not, inspite of his garlands and his golden coat a romantic one. Not only was Sharmila’s bridegroom stocky and ill at ease, but he wes also no longer very young. Miss 'Tuhy, who had fought her way to the front with the pest of ther, turned away in bitter disappointment. There wer tears in her eyes. She knew it would not turn out well. Sharmile came every day to visit her old home. At first she came in order to boast, to show off the saris and shawls and jewellery presented to her on her mar. riage, and to tell about her strange new life and the house she lived in and all hee new family: She was brimming over with excitement and talked non-stop and danced round the courtyard, Some time later she came with different stories about ‘what her mother-in-law had said to her and what she had answered back, about her sisters-in-law and all the other women, how they tried to-get the better of her but how she soon showed them a trick or two: she tucked in her chin and talked in a loud voice and was full of energy and indignation, Sometimes she stayed for several ays and did not return til her husband came to coax her back. After a year the fist baby arrived, and a year later the second, and after afew more years a third, Sharmila became fat and matronly, and her voice was louder and more raucous. She still ame constantly now with two ofthe children trailing behind her and a third riding on hher hip, and she stayed longer than before, often refusing to go back even when her hhusband came to plead with her. And inthe end she seemed tobe there all the time, she and her children, co that, although nothing much was said on the subject, it was ‘Senerally assumed that she had left her husband and her in-laws' house and hod ‘ome back to live with her grandmother. She was a little heavy aow to go running up and down the stars the way she used to: but she sil came up to Miss Tuby’s room, and the English lady's heart still beat in the same way when she heard her step on the stair, though it was diferent S22 now, heavier, slower, and accompanied by children’s tiny shufile and patter, “Miss Sahib!” Sharmila would call from the landine. and Mies Tul sennld fee hey564 + IndlayPakisen ddoor wide open and stand there beaming. Now it was the children who moved from object tc object, touching everything and asking to know what it was, while ‘Sharmila, panting e litle from her climb up the stairs, lung herself on the narrow bed and allowed Miss Tuy to tuck a pillow behind her back. When the children had. examinec all the treasures, they began to play their own games, they craved all over the floorand made a lot of noise. Their mother lay on the bed and somietimes she laughed end sometimes she sighed and talked about everything that came into her hhead. They always stayed for several hours, and when they left at last, Miss Tuhy, ‘gorged with bliss, shut the door and carefully cleaned out her little room which the children had so delightfully disordered. When she didi fet like going upstairs, Sharmila stood in the middle of the ‘courtyar¢ and shouted “Miss Sahib!” in her lould voice, Miss Tuhy hurried down- stairs, smoothing her dress and adjusting her glasses. She sat with Sharmila in the courtyard and helped her to shell peas. The old grandmother watched them from hhet bed side the room: that terrible old woman was bedtidden now and quite un- able to move, a huge helpless shipwreck wrapped in chavs and blankets. Her speech ‘was blurred and could be understood only by Sharmila who had become her inter- preter and chief functionary. It was Sharmila, not one of the older women of the household, who carried the keys and distributed the stores and knew:wheve the ‘money was kept. While she sat with Miss Tuhy in the courtyard, every now and again the grandmother would make calling noises and then Sharmila would get up in to see vhat she wanted, Inside the room it was dark and smelled of sickness and old ages ard Sharmila was glad to come out in the open again, “Poot old Granny” she said to Miss Tuy, who nodded and also looked sad for Gransiy because she was old and bedridden: as for herself, she did not feel old at all. but a young girl, sitting here like this shelling peas and chatting with Sharmila. The children payed and sang, the sun shone, along the galleries upstairs the tenants went ‘© and frohanging out their washing; there was the sound of voices calling and of ‘water running, traffic passed up and down on the road outside, a near-by flour-mill chucked and chucked, “Poor old Granny Sharmila said again. “When she was young, she was like a queen—tall, beautiful, everyone did what she wanted. If they didn't she stamped her foot and screamed and waved her arms in the air—tike this" Sharmila Cemonstrated, failing her plump arms with bangles up to the elbow and laughing. But then she grew serious and put her face closer to Miss Tuhy’s and said in lowsexcited voice: “They say she had a lover, a jeweller from Dariba. He came at ‘aights when everyone was asleep and she opened the door for him.” Miss Tuby blushed and her heart beat faster; though she tried to check them, a thousand im. pressions rippled over her mind, ° “They say she was a ot like me’ said Sharmila, smiling litte and her eyes hazy with thought. She héd beautiful eyes, very large and dark with heavy brows above ‘hem; her Lips were fall and her cheeks plump and healthy. When she was thoughtful oF serious, she had a habit of tucking in her-chin ¢o that several chins were formed, and this too somehow was attractive, especially as these chins seemed to merge and swell into ber very large, tight bust. Ruth Prawer Ibabvela: Mis Sahib = 565 But her smile became a frown, and she said, “Yes, and now look at her, how she is, Three times a day Ive to change the sheets under her. ‘isis the way it all ends, ‘ai’ and she heaved a sigh and a brooding look came on her face, The children, who hhad been chasing each other round the courtyard, suddenly began to quarrel in loud voices; at that Sharmila sprang up in a rage and caught hold of the biggest child and. began to beat him with her fist, bat hardly had he uttered the first cry when she stopped and instead lifted him in her arms and held him close, close to her bosom, her eyes shut in rapturous possessiveness as if ee were all that she had, twas one of the other tenants who told Miss Tuby that Sharmila was having asi affair withthe son of the Anglo-Indian nurse from upstairs. The tenant told it with a lot of smiles, comments, and gestures, but Miss Tuhy pretended not to understand, she only smiled back atthe informer in her gentle way and said “Good morning.” in English and shut the door of her:room. She was very much excited, She thought about the young man whom she had seen often and sometimes talked to: a rather colourless young man, with brown hair and Anglo-Indian festures, who always dressed in English clothes and played cricket on Sunday mornings. It seemed impos- sible to connect him in any way with Sharmila; and how his mother would have hhated any such connection! ‘The nurse, fully opening her heart to Miss Tuby, never tired of expressing her contempt for the other tenants in the house who could not speak English and also did not know how to live decently. She and her son lived very decently, they had chairs and a table in their room and linoleam on the floor and a picture of the Queen of England on the wall. They ate with knife and fork. “Those others, Miss Tay, wouldn't like you to see” she said with pinched lips (she was a ‘thin woman with matchstick legs and always wore browa shoes and stockings)."The dirt. Squalor. You would feal sick, Miss Tohy. And the worst are those downstairs, ‘the and she ddded a bad word in Hindi (she never said any bad words in English, perhaps she didn't know any). She heted Sharmila and the grandmother and that whole family. But she was often away on night-duty, and then who knew—as the other tenant had hinted—what went on? ‘Miss Tuhy never slept too well at nights. She often got up and walked round her room andl wished it were time to light the fire and make her cup of tea. Those night hours seemed very long, and sometimes, tired of her room, she would go out on the stairs and along the galleries overlooking the courtyard. How silent it was now with everyone asleep! The galleries ané the courtyard, so crowded duting the day, were cempty except where here and there a servant-boy lay sleeping huddled in a corner. There was no traffic on the road outside and the flour-mill was silent. Only the sky seemed alive, with the moon sliding slowly in and out of patches of mist. Miss Tuhy thought about the grandmother ard the jeweller for whom she had opened the door when it was like this silent and empty at nights. She remembered conversations she ‘had heard yeats ago among her English fellow-teachers. They had always had a lotto say about sensuality inthe East. They whispered to each other how some of the older Dboys were seen inthe town entering certain disreputable alleys, while boys who came from princely or landowner families were taught everything there was to know by ‘women on thei fathers’ estates. And as forthe gitls—well, they whispered, one had.5965 + India/Paistan only o lookat them, how quickly they ripened: could one ever imagine an English giro developed at thitent It was, they said the climate; and of course the vod they ate all those curries and spices that heated te blood, Miss Tuy wondered i she had been bora in india, had grown up under this sun and had eaten the food, would she have been different Instead of her thio, adequate English body, would She have grown up ike the grandmother who had opened the door to the jeveller, or like Sharmula with fashng black eyes and e big bus? Nothing tired, not a sound from anywhere, aif all those lively people in the house were dead) Miss Tuby stared and stared down at Sharmila's door and the courtard washed in moonlight, and wondered was there a secret, was something going on that should not bet She cept along the gallery and up the stars towards the nurse's dor. Here oo everything was locked and lent, and if there was a secret it was being kept She put her ear tothe door nd stayed ther, istening She did not fein the east bad or guilty doing this, for wit she wanted was nothing for herselé but ony to have proof that Sharmila wes happy. She did not sera happy. She was getting very ad-tempered and was forever fighting with her family or vith the other tenants It was a not uncommon sight 0 have er standing inthe middle of thé courtyard, amis akimbo, keys at hex Waist, Shouting insls in her loud, somewhat raucous voice, She no longer came to visit Miss Tul in er room, and once, when the English lady cae tobe wth her down- Staits she shouted at her tht she hed enough with one old women on her hands tnd dd not heve time for any more Bot that ight she came upstairs and brought» litle dish of earot hala which Mss Tuby tried to refse turing er face away and seying primly that thankyou, she was not hungry. “Ae you angry with me, Misie Sahib” coaxed Sharmila witha sme in her voit, and she dog er forefinger nto the haa and then brought it to Mss Tuby’s ips saying "One Lie ick jut one for Shani? Mis Tuy pt out her tongue and sl id it slong Shami’ finger. Sheblshed ae she did oy and anger and hort meted out of her hear. “There cried Sharmila, and then she Aung here at uaual'on the bed. She began to tlk, to unburden herself completely, Tears pouzed down her checks as she spoke of her unhappy ife and ll the troubles brought down upon he by the grand- thother who didnot give her enough tmoney and treated hee ikea slave, the other family members who were jealous of her, the servants who stole fom her, the shop- eepers who cheated heeft were for my children she cid, "wy should | go ont dake an end of itand get some peace at ast” “Sh sid Mie Tuy shocked and ea. “Why nat What have got live for™ “You? std Mss Tuy with an incredulous laugh, and looked at that large, ul bloomed figure spravded thereon the narrow bed and ramping the bedover fiom vic the embroidery (gc carrying baskets of apples and pansies on their ams) had almoct completely faded Sharmila sid, "Did | eer tel you about that woman, two doors away from the coal-merchant’s howset She was a widow and they treated her like a dog, so one ight she took sear and hung herself fromm a hook onthe ssts, Weal went t0 ‘Ruth Prawer Jnabvala Miss Sahib) + $67 have a bok at her. Her feet were swinging inthe ar as if there was a wind blowing. I ‘was only four but still remember” ‘There was an ceri little pause which Miss Tuihy broke as briskly as she could: “What's the matter with you? A young woman like you with all your life before _youIwonder you're not ashamed” “Iwant to getaway from here! I'm s0 sick ofthis house!” “Yes, Miss Tuy” said the Anglo-Indian murse a few days later, when the English lady had come to pay her a visit and they both sat drinking tea under the tinted por- trait ofthe Queen, “I'm just sick and tired of living here, that I can tll you. If could ‘get outtomorrow, would, But its not so easy to find a place, not these days withthe rents? she sighed and poured the two of them strong tea out of an earthenware pot. She drenk in as refined a way as Miss Tub, without making any noise at all.’My boy's wanting to go to England, and why not? No future for us here, not with these people.” Miss Tuhy gave a hitch to her wire-framed glasses and smiled ingratiatingly “No young lady for him yet? she asked, and her voice quavered like an inefficient spy. “Ob, he goes with the odd girl or two. Nothing serious. There’ time yet. We're not like those others—hurry-curry, muddle-puddle, marry thems off at sixteen, and they never even see each other’ face! No wonder there's trouble afterwards” She put her bory brown hand on Miss Tahy’s knee and brought her face close: “Like that one downstairs, the she-devil. Is so-disgusting. 1 don't even lke to tell you.” But her ‘tongue was already wiping round her pale lips in anticipation ofthe tellin, Miss Tuhy got up abruptly. She dared not listen, and for some unknown reason tears had sprung into her eyes. She went out quickly but the nurse followed hee. It ‘was dark on the stairs and Miss Tuhy’s tears could not be seen. The murse clung to her arm: “With servants,” she whispered into Miss Tuby's ear. “She gets them in at night when everyone's asleep. Mary Mother” said the nurse and crossed herself. In- stantly a quotation rose to Miss Tuhy's lips: “Her sins are forgiven, for she loved ‘much, But to whom litte is forgiven the same lovet litle” The nurse was silent for moment and then she sai, “She’s not Christian,” with contempt. Miss Tuy freed her arm and hurried to her own room. She satin her chair with her hands folded in her lapand her legs trembling. A procession of servants fled through her mind: un- dersizedhill-boys with naked feet and torn shirts, sickly but tough, bent on survival. She heard their voices as they called to each other in their weird ill-accents and leughed with each other, showing pointed teeth. Every few years one of thera in the neighbourhood went berserk and murdered his master and ran away with the jew- ellery and cash, only tobe caught the next day on a wild speee at cinemas and cou- try liquor shops. Strange wild boys, wof-boys: Miss Tuy had always liked them and felt sory for ther. But now she felt most sorry for Sharmila, and prayed for it not to be true Tteould not be true. Sharmila had such an innocent nature: She ws child. She loved sweet things to eat, and wiien the bangle-sellr came, she was the first to ran to ‘meet him. She was also very fond of going to the cinema; and when she came home568 + India/Paéstan she told Mis Ty the tory Ske ced oul the more important scenes epecily Shelve scenes ane pe were about io et ce ab fash wih ere fying in the wind, she ran to the next tree and called to bim-—Agjunt—and he fol- Tower and be pats ams found the ean th meted otra vy — no they stood long a cach eter eating eachother up with ther pes and then the music—oh, Missie, Missie, Missie!” she would end and stretch her arms into the ‘rand iagh ionging Onc an he it iy shopping tp othe baat Ms Tay caught ight of Sharmin the dtance And rang her ike tha, onexpecedy, te saw eta Sg i a ae fern a he She new non ‘hme Het nnge of Sharla wes (worl one superimpose onthe oe et teste two imager meiged fn bet tind: there wat he Ropden setolgi, traces of whom stil existed inher smile andi cata glances of Ker eyes, and then there was Sharmila in bloom, the young wife dancing round the courtyard ‘and'boasting about her wedding presents. Bu the woman she now saw inthe bazaar srs fan doves theca of ie el ape carly ve es rear led 3 Haein indus andthe bel of her dipper ms den ove to oe sd so that she seemed to be dragging her foot whch che walked, She was quarelling with one of the shopleeprn shea guticalting and wing conte langage the cter shop ecpulesed outa he sal anand fom the way toe ened and com mete eachother ier obvious ht Shri aswel the tren he was enacting was one she had often ployed before, Mo Tuy in Pain, tured and walled aveyn he pposte lceton, even thought meat anger, trey home: forthe ft imesh eed to grat the vegetable slr and the cade ek muna she pawed between hit we shops om fer nto the howe and whens ado sep round he ee roca te te mdse fe movemet of ina and thought rably fo benl woy wa tht no oe ever ook te ube tocdrn the pla Te staf ic house too were dy en here wba sl of tevoge She eached her oom witha sigh of te bu teemed aif th bad snl Gane iceping in fom under Une dosed dooe Then she bed oan Sharon fied bic eying wast to et away mao sek of thse and she to fl fneaume angle ge sway Gom the house and fom the suet and cronded teen ie "That night sh sid to Shari, ina bright voz, Why don't weal go way somseere rely oly” Sharla nko hed never ud ocsion tae he cy she wasbor in, thought strana eae Bt Mis Tuy wan ery much ines. Sb remembered itt btn she bad gone on year gohen she ws sul eching, Se ada says gneto the Simi l and Sayed ot Engl beeedigshowse and she bad {Wieaong wale very day and brethod nthe mountain a and collected pine en Sh ld Shs al about is, and Shr to begun to ge eed and ‘Su tas gu ands many more question, Sanger and bacon for eh every morning” Mis Tay reminisced and Sharm wo had never ete eer cpp her ands with plewre and pean Roth Prewer Jhabvala: Miss Sahib + 569 affectionate squere ther youngest child playing inher lap"Yu' ike tha, Mn, ba? Shaushage Hmm!” “Theil get wondered cheeks up ther? said Mis Thy, “el Engi aple chess andthe ome tthe sllow cycle indy vce No tage be pony-rides and wild ower to pick and loraly col mate rom the movin ieame?™ "Lets g” cred Sharia wit another hg to her cl “Wellgo by rin” said as Taty"And then abs take us up the mountains” Sharmila suddenly stopped smiling "Yes andthe money? Where's htt come from You think she'd ever pve” and she tossed her hed toward the room where her grandmother ly imobite and groaning but sill a power tbe resionel th, Miss Ty wave her side: be my rea? she sid Ad why nod? The money wat ther, and what pleasure it would be to spend it ona holiday with Sharmila and the cildren! She aay teal thoughs fea ton, ofthe Rte. Money wat thereto be spent, tae laste wih, not ke ot 1 miserable day by day existence which, any cas, might endo knew. morrow o the day after. And then what use wuld ever be wher Her pastes sipped wad lay cooked on her nother face wa shed she looked drunk wth citement. Yul get uch surprise she tid "When we're sting in the bas and is going up up up higher and higher, and youl sec the mountains before you, more Deut than aayting youve ever eased of ‘Unfortunately Sharm and he chien were all ery sckin the bus tha sid them up the mountains and 0 couldnt enjoy the seney Sharmila be. tween reching with abandon, wept loudly that she was dying and cured she fats that ad brought he her instead of leving her quit at home where she belonged and vasappy- However once the bs bad stopped and they had vache het det nation, they began to enjoy themselves. They were amused by the English boarding. hous and at ea-tmes wee low a wonder nt oni at th food, tek of which they had never ete, but aio atthe tablets and the ctlery. Ts at wal wa undertaken with great ents, and they collected everthing they found onthe vray—pine cones and lower and eves and tones and entpy cigar packets As Mise Tuhy had promised, they rode on ponies: ren Shara asping and gigging and eng ot loud ces of ight was hosed onto the back of pony Su hte be helped down cain, nol ins of lnghtn because Sh we esr. Mis ‘aby evel in ther enjoyment and for hers she was happy too tobe besoin ‘mong the familiar smells of pine and wood-ires and cold et. She loved the ple miss that rose from the mountainside andthe ain tha ened down so soll oe wished they could say forever But afer the third day Sharmila and the crea began to get bored and kept aking when they were going home They no longer cated ogo for alk or ride on posies. When ainedr all four of them at sa, flyby the window. andsighedand moaned and kept aking, what hal we do nowt snd Sharmila wondered how human beings could bea to ie in pac lite toe Speaking for hersl twas just the same as being dead. Mss Tuy halt ten nok nly to ther complaints ut also o those ofthe management, for Sharia nd theFe Lavy MS vy 560 + India/Pakitan adapting oneself to the demands of Western culture, habvala always brings fresh insights and nuanced thinking to her fiction. "Mise Sahib" is but one story in alarge opus of such writing Miss Sahib oO 19s ‘Tie eitrance tothe house i which Miss Tay lved wes up a flight of stairs be- tween a vegetable shop and a cigarette and cold-drink one. The stairs were always dirty, and so was the space around the doorway, with rotted bits of vegetable and empty cigarette packets trampled int the mud. Long practice had taught Miss Tuy {o step around this refuse, smilingly and without rancour, and as she did so she al- ‘ways nodded friendly greetings tothe vegetable-eller and the cold-drink man, both of whom usually filed to notice her. Everyone in the neighbourhood had got used ‘hes for she had lived there, in that same house, for many years. 1k was not the sort of place in which one would have expected to find an Englishwoman like Miss Tuhy, bug th fact was, she was too poor to live anywhere else. She had nothing but her savings, and these, in spite of her very frugal way of life could not last for ever; and of course there was always the vexed question of how long she would live. Once, in an uncharacteistcally realistic moment, she had cal- culated that she could afford to go ox for othe five years, which would bring her ‘up to sixty-five. That seemed fair enough to her, and she did not think she had the right to ask for more, However, most ofthe time these questions did not arse for she tended to be too engrossed in the present to allow fears ofthe future to disturb hee peace of mind. ‘She was, by profession and by passionate inclination, a teacher, but she had not taught for many years. She had first come to India thirty years ago to take up a teaching post at a school for gils from the firs families, and she had taught there and at various other places for as long as she had been allowed, She did it with en- thusiesm, for she loved the country and her students, When Independence came and all the other English teachers went home, it never for a moment occarred to her to join them, and she went on teaching es if nothing had changed, And indeed, as far as she was concerned, nothing did change for a number of years, and it was only at the end of that time that it was discovered she was not sufficiently well qualified to go om teaching in an Indian high school. She bowed her head to this decision, for she knew she wasn't not compared with all thse clever Indian girls who held M.A. degrees in Politics, philosophy, psychology, and economics. As a matter of fact, even though ‘they turned out tobe her usurpers, she was proud of these girls; for wasn't it she and ‘those like her who had educated ther and made them what they now were—sharp, emancipated, centuries ahead oftheir mothers and grandmothers? So ft was not dif ficult for her to cede to them with a gcod grace, to enjoy her farewell party, ery a bit at the speeches, and receive with pride and aglow in her heart the silver model ofthe ‘Taj Mahal which was presented to her as a token of appreciation. After thet, she ‘Ruth PrawerThabvala: Miss Sahib + S6L sailed for England—not because she in the least wanced to, but because it was what everyone seemed to expect of her. She did not stay long, True, no cne here said she was not well qualified enough to.teach and she had no difficulty in getting a jobs but she was not happy. It was not the same. She liked young people always, and so she liked the young people she was teaching here; but she could not love them the way she had loved her Indian pupils. She missed their playfulness, their affection, their sweetness—by comparison the English children struck her as being cool and distant. And not only the children but ‘everyone she met, or only saw in streets and shops: they seemed a colder people somehow, politer perhaps and more considerate than the Indians emiong whom she had spent so many years, but without (so she put it to herself) real love. Even physi« cally the English Looked cold to her, with their damp white skins and pale blue eyes, sand she longed again to be surrounded by those glowing coloured skins; and those ‘eyes! the dark, large, liquid Indian eyes! and hair that sprang with such abundance from their heads. And besides the people, it was everything else as well. Everything ‘was to0 dim, too cold, There was no sun, the grass was not green, the flowers not bright enough, and the rain that continually drizeled fcom a washrag sky was a poor Substitute forthe silver rivers that had come rushing in torrents out of immense, dark-blue, monsoon clouds So she and her savings returned, improvideritly, to India. Everyone still remem- bered her and was glad to see her again but, once the first warm greetings were over, they were all t0 busy to have much time to spare for her, She didn't mind, she was just happy to be back; and in any case she had to live rather along way away from hher friends because, now that she kad no job, she had to be where rents were cheaper. She found the room in the house between the vegetable-seller and the cold- rink shop and lived there contentediy all the week round, only venturing forth ont ‘Sundays to vist her former colleagues and pupils. As time went on, these Sunday visits became fewer and further between, for everyone always seemed to be rather busy anyway, there was less to say now, and also she found it was not always easy to spare the bus-fare to and fro. But it didn't matter, she was even happier staying at hhome because all her life was there new, and the interest and affection she had for- ‘erly bestowed on her colleagues and pupils, she now had as strongly forthe other people living in the house, and even for the vegetable-seller and the cold-drink man ‘though her contact with them never went further then smiles and nods. ‘The house was old, dirty, and inward-looKing. In the centre was a courtyard which could be overlooked like a stage from the galleries running all the way round the upper storeys. The house belonged to an old woman who lived on the ground ‘oor with her enormous family of chien and grandchildren; the upper floors had been subdivided and let out to various tenants. The stairs and galleries were always crowded, not only with the tenants themselves but with their servants. Everyone in the house except Miss Tuy kept a servant, a hill-boy, who cleaned and washed and cooked and was frequently beaten and frequently dismissed. There seemed to be an ‘unending supply.of these boys; they could be had very cheaply, and slept curled up ‘on the stairs or on a threshold, and ate what was left in the pot —to.570+ IndlayPakistan { ‘children were behaving badly —especially in the dining-room where, after the third day they began demanding pickles and chapattis, and the children spat out the unfa- miliar food on the tablecloth while Sharmila abused the hotel servants in bazaar language. So they went home again earlier than they had intended. They had been avy less than ten days, but their excitement on seeing the old places again was that of long-time voyagers. They had hired a tonga' atthe station and, as they neared home, ‘they began to point out familiar landmarks to each other; by the time they had got to their own neighbourhood bazaar, the children were bobbing up and down so ‘much that they were in danger of falling off the carriage, and Sharmila shouted cor- dial greetings tothe shopkeepers with whom she would be fighting again tomorrow. ‘And at home all the relatives and friends crowded into the courtyard to receive ‘hem, and there was much kissing and embracing and even a happy tear or two, and ‘the tenants and servants thronged the galleries upstairs to watch the scene and call down their welcoae to the travellers, It was a great homecoming, (nly Miss Tuy was not happy. She did not want tobe back. She longed now for the green mountains and the clean, bool ai; she also missed the boarding-house ‘with its English landlady and very clean stairs and bathrooms. Itwas intensely hot in the city and dust-storms were blowing. The sky was covered with an ugly yellow heat hhaze, and al day hot, restless winds blew dust about. Loudspeaker vans were driven through the streets to advise people to be vaccinated against the current outbreak of smallpox. Miss Tuhy hardly left her room. She felt ill and weak, and contrary to her usual custom, she often lay down on her bed, even during the day. She kept her doors and windows shut, but nevertheless the dust seeped in, and so did the smells. ‘and the noise ofthe house. She no longer went on her daily shopping and prefecred not to eat. harmila brought food up for her, but Miss Tuby did not want it, it was too spicy for her and too greasy. “Justa litle taste.” Sharmila begged aid brought a ‘morsel to er lips. Miss Tuhy pushed her hand away and cried out, "Go avay! I can't stand the smell!” She meant not only the smell of the food, but also that of Sharsmila’s heavy, perspiring body. twas in these days of terrible heat that the grandmother at last managed to die. Miss Tuhy dragged herseif up from her bed in order to attend the funeral on the bank of the river. It was during the hottest part of the day, and the sun spread such @ Pll of white heat that, seen through it the flames of the pyre looked colourless and uite harmless as they first licked and then rose higher and enveloped the body of the grandmother. The priest chanted and the eldest son poured clarified butter to feed the fire. All the relatives shrieked and wailed and beat their thighs in the tradi- tional manner. Sharmila shrieked the loudest—she tore open her breast and, beating it with her fst, demanded to be allowed to die, and then she tried to fing herself on the pyre and had to be held back by four people, Vultures swayed overhead in the dust-laden sky. Thesriver had dried up and the sand burned underfoot, Everything Auta Desak Studien the Park + 571 ‘was white, desolate, empty, for miles and miles and miles around, on’easth and, apart from the vultures, in the sky. Sharmila suddenly flung herself on Mise Tuby and held her in a stifling embrace. She wept that now only she, Miss Tub, was lft to her, and promised to look after her and tend and care for her as she had done for her eat; dead granny. Miss Tuhy gasped for air and tried to ree herself, but Sharmila, only clung to-her the tighter and her tears fell on and smeared Miss Tuy’s cheeks. Miss Tuhy’s mother had died almost forty years ago, but Miss Tuby could still vividly recall her funeral. It had drizzled, and rich smells of damp earth had mixed ‘with the more delicate smell of tuberoses and yew. The clergyman’s words brought «ase and comfort, and weeping was restrained; birds sang cheerfully from out of the ‘wet tres. That’ the way to die, thought Miss Tuy, and bitterness welled up into her hitherto gentle heart. The trouble was; she no longer had the fare home to England, ‘ot even on the-cheapest route. QUESTIONS 1. How do you regard the tile? sit descriptive or ironic? 2. Analyze Miss Tuhy’s attitude toward Indians. How does her attitucle change as the story progresses? What does she like about India and Indians? What does. she dislike? 3, Postcolonial criticism frequently analyzes what happens to people from previ- ‘ously colonized countries who emigrate to the United States, Canada, or Britain, ‘Can such techniques be applied to Miss Tuhy? Ifo, what do they reveal about hher and her relationship to India and Inclans? 4. How are we to understand Miss Tuhy? Is she representa:ive of English sentimen- ‘ality about the Raj? Is she jst a foolish individual who can't adjust to new reali- ‘es? Is she in spite of her professed fondness for India and its people, a racist? 5. “Uimatey is Miss Tuy tragic or simply pathetic woman? Anita Desai (b. 1937) Anita Desai is among Indias outstanding contemporary authors, wth a world: wide audience for her novels and short stories, which focus primarily on the problems and issues of moder India and frequently on wemen’ issues, She was born north of Delhi, the daughter of a Bengali businessman, D.N.‘When Mr.Pirzada Came to Dine INTHEAUTUMNOF 1971 a man used to come to our house, bearing confections in his pocket and hopes of ascertaining the life or death of his family. His name was Mr. Pirzada, and he came from Dacca, now the capital of Bangladesh, but then a part of Pakistan. That year Pakistan was engaged in civilwar. The easter frontier, where Dacca was located, was fighting for autonomy from the ruling regime in the west. In ‘March, Dacca had been invaded, torched, and shelled by the Pakistani army. Teachers were dragged onto streets and shot, women dragged into barracks and raped. By the end ofthe summer, three hundred thousand people were said to have died, In Dacca Mr. Pirzada had a three-story home, a lectureship in botany at the university, a wife of twenty years, and seven daughters between the ages of six and sixteen whose names all began with the letter A. “Their mother’s idea,” he explained one day, producing from his wallet a black-and-white picture of seven girls at a picnic, their braids tied with ribbons, sitting cross-legged in a row, eating chicken curry offof banana leaves. “How am Ito distinguish? Ayesha, Amira, Amina, Aziza, you see the difficulty.” Each weck Mr. Pirzada wrote letters to his wife, and sent comic books to each of his seven daughters, but the postal system, along with most everything else in Dacca, had collapsed, and he had not heard word of them in over six months. Mr. Pirzada, meanwhile, was in America for the year, for he had been awarded a grant from the government of Pakistan to study the foliage of New England. In spring and summer he hhad gathered data in Vermont and Maine, and in autumn he moved to a university north of Boston, where we lived, to write a short book about his discoveries. ‘The grant was a great honor, but when converted into dollars it was not generous. As a result, Mr. Pirzada lived ina room ina graduate dormitory, and did not own a proper stove or a television set. And so he came to our house to eat dinner and watch the evening news. At first [knew nothing of the reason for his visits. Iwas ten years old, and was not surprised that my parents, who were from India, and had a number of Indian acquaintances at the university, should ask Mr. Pirzada to share our meals. Itwas a small campus, with narrow brick walkways and white pillared buildings, located on the fringes of what seemed to be an even smaller town. The supermarket did not carry mustard oil, doctors did not make house calls, neighbors never dropped by without an invitation, and of these things, every so often, my parents complained. In search of compatriots, they used to trail their fingers, at the start of each new semester, through the columns of the university directory, circling sumames familiar to their part of the world. Itwas in this manner that they discovered Mr. Pirzada, and phoned him, and invited him to our home. Ihave no memory of his first visit, or of his second or his third, but by the end of September Ihad grown so accustomed to Mr. Pirzada’s presence in our living room that one evening, as Iwas dropping ice cubes into the water pitcher, [asked my mother to hand me a fourth glass from a cupboard still out of my reach. She was busy at the stove, presiding over a skillet of fried spinach with radishes, and could not hear me because ofthe drone of the exhaust fan and the fierce scrapes of her spatula, I tumed to my father, who was leaning against the refrigerator, eating spiced cashews from a cupped fist. “What is it, Lilia?” “Aglass for the Indian man.” “Mr. Pirzada_won’t be coming today. More importantly, Mr. Pirzada is no longer considered Indian,” my father announced, brushing salt from the cashews out of his trim black beard. “Not since Partition. Our country was divided. 1947.” When I'said Ithought that was the date of India’s independence from Britain, my father from Taderpecler of Moladus (1991) by Tompa dahictsaid, “That too. One moment we were free and then we were sliced up,” he explained, drawing an X with his finger on the countertop, “likea pie. Hindus here, Muslims there. Dacea no longer belongs to us.” He told me that during Partition Hindus and Muslims had set fire to each other's homes. For many, the idea of eating in the other’s company was still unthinkable. Ttmade no sense to me. Mr. Pirzada and my parents spoke the same language, laughed at the same jokes, looked more or less the same. They ate pickled mangoes with their meals, ate rice every night for supper with their hands, Like my parents, Mr. Pirzada took offhis shoes before entering a room, chewed fennel seeds after meals as a digestive, drank no alcohol, for dessert dipped austere biscuits into successive cups oftea, Nevertheless my father insisted that 1understand the difference, and he led me to a map of the world taped to the wall over his desk. He seemed concemed that Mr. Pirzada might take offense iflaccidentally referred to him as an Indian, though Tcould not really imagine Mr. Pirzada being offended by much of anything. “Mr.Pirzada is Bengali, but he is a Muslim,” my father informed me, “Therefore he lives in East Pakistan, not India.” His finger trailed across the Atlantic, through Europe, the Mediterranean, the Middle East, and finally ‘to the sprawling orange diamond that my mother once told me resembled a woman wearing a sari with her left arm extended. Various cities had been circled with lines drawn between them to indicate my parents? travels, and the place of their birth, Calcutta, was signified by a small silver star, Thad been there only once and had no memory of the trip. “As you see, Lilia, itis a different country, a different color,” my father said. Pakistan was yellow, not orange. Inoticed that there were two distinct parts to it, one much larger than the other, separated by an expanse of Indian territory; it was as ifCalifornia and Connecticut constituted a nation apart from the U.S. ‘My father rapped his knuckles on top of my head. “Youare, of course, aware of the current situation? Aware of East Pakistan’s fight for sovereignty?” Tnodded, unaware of the situation. We returned to the kitchen, where my mother was draining a pot of boiled rice into a colander. My father opened up the can on the counter and eyed me sharply over the frames of his glasses as he ate some more cashews. “What exactly do they teach you at school? Do you study history? Geography?” “Liliahas plenty to lear at school,” my mother said. “We live here now, she was born here.” She seemed genuinely proud of the fact, as ifitwere a reflection of my character. Inher estimation, Iknew, Iwas assured a safe life, an easy life, a fine education, every ‘opportunity. Twould never have to eat rationed food, or obey curfews, ot watch riots from my rooftop, or hide neighbors in water tanks to prevent them from being shot, as she and my father had, “Imagine having to place her ina decent school. Imagine her having to read during power failures by the light of kerosene lamps. Imagine the Pressures, the tutors, the constant exams.” She ran a hand through her hair, bobbed to suitable length for her part-time job as a bank teller. “How can you possibly expect her to know about Partition? Put those nuts away.” “But what does she learn about the world?” My father rattled the cashew can in his hand. “What is she leaning?” We leamed American history, of course, and American geography. That year, and every year, itseemed, we began by studying the Revolutionary War. We were taken in school buses on field trips to visit Plymouth Rock, and to walk the Freedom Trail, and to climb to the top of the Bunker HillMonument. We made dioramas out of colored construction Paper depicting George Washington crossing the choppy waters of the Delaware River, and we made puppets of King George wearing white tights and a black bow in his hair. During tests we were given blank maps of the thirteen colonies, and asked to fillin names, dates, capitals. Icould do it with my eyes closed.‘The next evening Mr. Pirzada arrived, as usual, at six o'clock. Though they were no longer strangers, upon first grecting each other, he and my father maintained the habit of shaking hands. “Come in, sir. Lilia, Mr. Pirzada’s coat, please.” He stepped into the foyer, impeccably suited and scarved, with a silk tie knotted at his collar. Each evening he appeared in ensembles of plums, olives, and chocolate browns, He was a compact man, and though his feet were perpetually splayed, and his belly slightly wide, he nevertheless maintained an efficient posture, as ifbaiancing in either hhand two suitcases of equal weight. His ears were insulated by tufls of graying hair that seemed to block out the unpleasant traffic of life. He had thickly lashed cyes shaded with a trace of camphor, a generous mustache that turned up playfully at the ends, and @ mole shaped like a flattened raisin inthe very center of his left cheek. On his head he wore a black fez made from the wool of Persian lambs, secured by bobby pins, without which Iwas never to see him. Though my father always offered to fetch him in our car, Mr. Pirzada preferred to walk from his dormitory to our neighborhood, a distance of about twenty minutes on foot, studying trees and shrubs on his way, and when he entered our house his knuckles were pink with the effects of crisp autumn air, “Another refugee, Iam afraid, on Indian territory.” “They are estimating nine million at the last count,” my father said, Mr. Pirzada handed me his coat, for it was my job to hang iton the rack at the bottom of the stairs. Itwas made of finely checkered gray-and-blue wool, with a striped lining and hor buttons, and carried in its weave the faint smell of limes. There were no recognizable tags inside, only a hand-stitched label with the phrase “Z. Sayeed, Suitors”” embroidered on it in cursive with glossy black thread. On certain days a birch or maple leaf was tucked into a pocket. He unlaced his shoes and lined them against the baseboard; a golden paste clung to the toes and heels, the result of walking through our damp, unraked lawn. Relieved of his trappings, he grazed my throat with his short, restless fingers, the way a person feels for solidity behind a wall before driving in a nail. Then he followed my father to the livingroom, where the television was tuned to the local news. As soon as they were seated my mother appeared from the kitchen with a plate of mincemeat kebabs with coriander chutney. Mr. Pirzada popped one into his mouth, “One can only hope,” he said, reaching for another, “that Dacca’s refugees are as heartily fed. Which reminds me.” He reached into his suit pocket and gave me a small plastic egg filled with cinnamon hearts. “For the lady of the house,” he said with an almost imperceptible splay-footed bow. “Really, Mr. Pirzada,” my mother protested. “Night after night. You spoil her.” “Ionly spoil children who are incapable of spoiling.” ‘twas an awkward moment for me, one which I awaited in part with dread, in part with delight. Iwas charmed by the presence of Mr. Pirzada’s rotund elegance, and flattered by the faint theatricality of his attentions, yet unsettled by the superb ease of his gestures, which made me feel, for an instant, like a stranger in my own home. It had become our ritual, and for several weeks, before we grew more comfortable with one another, itwas the only time he spoke to me directly. Thad no response, offered no comment, betrayed no visible reaction to the steady stream of honey-filled lozenges, the raspberry truffles, the slender roils of sour pastilles. Icould not even thank him, for once, when I did, for an especially spectacular peppermint lollipop wrapped ina spray of purple cellophane, he had demanded, “What is this thank-you? The lady at the bank thanks me, the cashier at the shop thanks me, the librarian thanks me when Iretun an ‘overdue book, the overseas operator thanks me as she tries to connect me to Dacca and fails. If am buried in this country Iwillbe thanked, no doubt, at my funeral.”‘Itwas inappropriate, in my opinion, to consume the candy Mr. Pirzada gave me ina casual manner. I coveted each evening’s treasure as I would a jewel, or a coin from a buried kingdom, and Iwould place itin a small keepsake box made of carved sandalwood beside my bed, in which, long ago in India, my father’s mother used to store the ground areca nuts she ate after her morning bath. Itwas my only memento of a grandmother Thad never known, and until Mr. Pirzada came to our lives I could find nothing to put inside it, Every so often before brushing my teeth and laying out my clothes for school the next day, Topened the lid of the box and ate one of his treats, That night, like every night, we did not eat at the dining table, because it did not provide an unobstructed view of the television set. Instead we huddled around the coffee table, without conversing, our plates perched on our knees. From the kitchen my mother brought forth the succession of dishes: lentils with fried onions, green beans with coconut, fish cooked with raisins ina yogurt sauce. I followed with the water glasses, and the plate of lemon wedges, and the chili peppers, purchased on monthly trips to Chinatown and stored by the pound in the freezer, which they liked to snap open and crush into their food, Before eating Mr. Pirzada always did a curious thing. He took out a plain silver watch without a band, which he kept in his breast pocket, held it briefly to one of his tufted cars, and wound it with three swift flicks of his thumb and forefinger. Unlike the watch on his wrist, the pocket watch, he had explained to me, was set to the local time in Dacca, eleven hours ahead. For the duration of the meal the watch rested on his folded Paper napkin on the coffee table. He never seemed to consult it Now that Ihad leamed Mr. Pirzada was not an Indian, Ibegan to study him with extra cate, to try to figure out what made him different. Idecided that the pocket watch was one of those things. When Isaw itthat night, as he wound itand atranged iton the coffee table, an uneasiness possessed me; life, Irealized, was being lived in Dacca first. Iimagined Mr. Pirzada’s daughters rising from sleep, tying ribbons in their hair, anticipating breakfast, preparing for school. Our meals, our actions, were only a shadow of what had already happened there, a lagging ghost of where Mr. Pirzada really belonged. Atsix-thirty, which was when the national news began, my father raised the volume and adjusted the antennas. Usually Toccupied myself with a book, but that night my father insisted that Ipay attention. On the screen Isaw tanks rolling through dusty streets, and fallen buildings, and forests of unfamiliar trees into which East Pakistani refugees had fled, secking safety over the Indian border. I saw boats with fan-shaped sails floating on wide coffee-colored rivers, a barricaded university, newspaper offices burnt to the ground. Itumed to look at Mr. Pirzada; the images flashed in miniature across his eyes. Ashe watched he had an immovable expression on his face, composed but alert, as ifsomeone were giving him directions to an unknown destination, During the commercial my mother went to the kitchen to get more rice, and my father and Mr. Pirzada deplored the policies of a general named Yahyah Khan, They discussed intrigues I did not know, a catastrophe I could not comprehend. “See, children your age, what they do to survive,” my father said as he served me another piece of fish. But Icould no longer eat. Icould only steal glances at Mr. Pirzada, sitting beside me in his olive green jacket, calmly creating a well in his rice to make room for a second helping of lentils. He was not my notion of a man burdened by such grave concerns. I wondered ifthe reason he was always so smartly dressed was in Preparation to endure with dignity whatever news assailed him, perhaps even to attend a funeral at a moment's notice. wondered, too, what would happen ifsuddenly his seven daughters were to appear on television, smiling and waving and blowing kisses to Mr. Pirzada from a balcony. Timagined how relieved he would be. But this neverhappened. That night when Iplaced the plastic egg filled with cinnamon hearts in the box beside my bed, Idid not feel the ceremonious satisfaction Inormally did. I tried not to think about Mr. Pirzada, in his lime-scented overcoat, connected to the unruly, sweltering world we had viewed a few hours ago in our bright, carpeted living room. And yet for several moments that was all Icould think about. My stomach tightened as I worried whether his wife and seven daughters were now members of the drifting, clamoring crowd that had flashed at intervals on the screen. In an effort to banish the image I looked around my room, at the yellow canopied bed with matching flounced curtains, at framed class pictures mounted on white and violet papered walls, at the penciled inscriptions by the closet door where my father recorded my height on each of my birthdays. But the more Ttried to distract myself, the more Ibegan to convince myself that Mr. Pirzada’s family was in all likelihood dead. Eventually [took a square of white chocolate out of the box, and unwrapped. it, and then I did something Thad never done before. Iput the chocolate in my mouth, letting it soften until the last possible moment, and then as Tchewed itstowly, Iprayed that Mr. Pirzada’s family was safe and sound. I had never prayed for anything before, had never been taught or told to, but I decided, given the circumstances, that itwas something Ishould do. That night when Iwent to the bathroom Ionly pretended to brush my teeth, for I feared that I would somehow rinse the prayer out as well. Iwet the brush and rearranged the tube of paste to prevent my parents from asking any questions, and fell asleep with sugar on my tongue. No one at school talked about the war followed so faithfully in my living room. We continued to study the American Revolution, and learned about the injustices of taxation without representation, and memorized passages from the Declaration of Independence. During recess the boys would divide in two groups, chasing each other wildly around the swings and seesaws, Redcoats against the colonies. In the classroom our teacher, Mrs, Kenyon, pointed frequently to a map that emerged like a movie screen from the top of the chalkboard, charting the route of the Mayflower, or showing us the location of the Liberty Bell. Each week two members of the class gave a report on a particular aspect of the Revolution, and so one day Iwas sent to the school library with my friend Dora to learn about the surrender at Yorktown, Mrs. Kenyon handed us a slip of paper with the names of three books to look up in the card catalogue. We found them Tight away, and sat down at a low round table to read and take notes. But I could not concentrate. Ireturned to the blond-wood shelves, to a section Ihad noticed labeled “Asia.” Isaw books about China, India, Indonesia, Korea, Eventually I found a book titled Pakistan: A Land and Its People. Isat on a footstool and opened the book. The laminated jacket crackled in my grip. I began turing the pages, filled with photos of rivers and rice fields and men in military uniforms. There was a chapter about Dacca, and Ibegan to read about its rainfall, and its jute production, Iwas studying a population chart when Dora appeared in the aisle “What are you doing back here? Mrs. Kenyon’s in the library. She came to check up on us, Islammed the book shut, too loudly. Mrs. Kenyon emerged, the aroma of her perfume fillingup the tiny aisle, and lifted the book by the tip of its spine as if it were a hair clinging to my sweater. She glanced at the cover, then at me. “Is this book a part of your report, Lilia?” “No, Mrs. Kenyon.” “Then I see no reason to consult jit,” she said, replacing it in the slim gap on the shelf. “Do you?”‘As weeks passed itgrew more and more rare to see any footage from Dacca on the news. The report came after the first set of commercials, sometimes the second. The press had been censored, removed, restricted, rerouted. Some days, many days, only a death toll was announced, prefaced by a reiteration of the general situation. More poets were executed, more villages set ablaze. In spite of itll, night after night, my parents and Mr. Pirzada enjoyed long, leisurely meals. After the television was shut off, and the dishes washed and dried, they joked, and told stories, and dipped biscuits in their tea. When they tired of discussing political matters they discussed, instead, the progress of Mr. Pirzada’s book about the deciduous trees of New England, and my father’s nomination for tenure, and the peculiar eating habits of my mother's American coworkers at the bank. Eventually Iwas sent upstairs to do my homework, but through the carpet Theard them as they drank more tea, and listened to cassettes of Kishore Kumar, and played Scrabble on the coffee table, laughing and arguing long into the night about the spellings of English words. I wanted to join them, wanted, above all, to console Mr. Pirzada somehow. But apart from cating a piece of candy for the sake of his family and praying for their safety, there was nothing Icould do. They played Scrabble until the eleven o'clock news, and then, sometime around midnight, Mr. Pirzada walked back to his dormitory. For this reason Inever saw him leave, but each night as [drifted offto sleep Iwould hear them, anticipating the birth of a nation on the other side of the world. One day in October Mr. Pirzada asked upon arrival, “What are these large orange vegetables on people’s doorsteps? A type of squash?” “Pumpkins,” my mother replied. “Lilia,remind me to pick one up at the supermarket.” “And the purpose? It indicates what?” “Youmake a jack-o’-lantern,” I said, grinning ferociously. “Like this. To scare people away.” “see,” Mr. Pirzada said, grinning back. “Very useful.” The next day my mother bought a ten-pound pumpkin, fat and round, and placed it on ‘the dining table. Before supper, while my father and Mr. Pirzada were watching the local news, she told me to decorate it with markers, but I wanted to carve it properly [il others Ihad noticed in the neighborhood. “Yes, le’s carve it,"Mr. Pirzada agreed, and rose from the sofa, “Hang the news tonight.” Asking no questions, he walked into the kitchen, opened a drawer, and retumed, bearing a long serrated knife. He glanced at me for approval. “Shall 1?” Inodded. For the first time we all gathered around the dining table, my mother, my father, Mr. Pirzada, and 1. While the television aired unattended we covered the tabletop with newspapers. Mr. Pirzada draped his jacket over the chair behind him, removed a pair of opal cuff links, and rolled up the starched sleeves of his shirt. “First go around the top, like this,” Instructed, demonstrating with my index finger. He made an initial incision and drew the knife around. When he had come full circle he lifted the cap by the stem; it loosened effortlessly, and Mr. Pirzada leaned over the pumpkin for a moment to inspect and inhale its contents, My mother gave him a long metal spoon with which he gutted the interior until the last bits of string and seeds were gone. My father, meanwhile, separated the seeds from the pulp and set them out to dry on a cookie sheet, so that we could roast them later on, T'drew two triangles against the ridged surface for the eyes, which Mr. Pirzada dutifully carved, and crescents for eyebrows, and another triangle for the nose. The mouth was all that remained, and the tecth posed a challenge. I hesitated. “Smile or frown?” asked. “Youchoose,” Mr. Pirzada said