The Elephant Chaser's Daughter Page 12

  On the very first day, the landlord sent Appa back home to get his own plate and cup. He and his wife wouldn’t let Appa eat or drink from theirs in the kitchen. Appa was not allowed to enter any of the rooms in the house, except for the entrance veranda where he slept and the cow shed where he worked to clear the dung while the cattle grazed in the fields. He didn’t question his living arrangement.

  Revulsion at the thought of Appa being so ill-treated consumed me. ‘There is no such thing as low or high caste. Castes are meaningless!’

  ‘That may be true in your textbooks. Not here.’

  There was no point in arguing because I knew he was right. I hid my anger. I wondered what would have become of a child as hot-tempered and rebellious as I was in the world my father grew up in. Or I too might have become submissive.

  I wondered what my father craved as a young man. Did he dream of cars and places to visit, or did he have nightmares of being locked up in jail? I sensed his dreams were very different from mine.

  Everything Appa learnt was self-taught. He moved about in the forest listening to its silence and watching the shadows. He fished in the lake with his bare hands. He gathered wild berries and wood apples (locally known as vilam palam) by throwing stones at them.

  We walked home that evening in silence. Appa’s pace was unusually slow, as if he were weighed down by the painful memories he had dredged up in the past few days.

  Until then, I had thought of my father as a cruel and uncaring person, unfaithful to my mother and indifferent to me. He had spoken to me with affection, letting me know that he cared. He was not simply the harsh man that Grandmother and Amma made him out to be. I saw in him an intelligent man with considerable foresight—a man who learned from his own failures, one who understood a lot more about the world than his father. At the very least, he was wise enough to send me away to get an education despite the family’s objections.

  I was thankful my life so far seemed to be headed in a very different direction from that of the women in the village. Yet, even with my Shanti Bhavan upbringing, I was not sure I had completely outwitted my fate, or whether my karma might still undo me in the end. As an ‘untouchable,’ will I someday be punished for reasons I can’t now comprehend?

  I saw Kavya running towards us as we entered the lane where we lived. In no time, she was in my arms in a tight embrace.

  ‘What stories did Appa tell you?’ she asked eagerly.

  ‘I’ll tell you after dinner,’ I replied. And I kept my promise.

  CHAPTER NINE: THE ELEPHANT CHASE

  With no visible signs to distinguish summer from winter or autumn from spring, I relied on school activities to tell me what season we were in. Nap time on hot afternoons, swimming in the pool in the evenings, and eating chocolate banana popsicles for snacks meant Grandmother would soon come to take me home for summer vacation. We had no snowmen in winter; colorful paper wrappings, green and red ribbons, and sprigs of mistletoe-like plants plucked from the gardens signaled the arrival of our Christmas.

  I had survived my first semester of ninth grade with perhaps a bit less drama and better grades. After the summer vacation spent getting to know my father, I was again home for Christmas vacation. Seeing me in the distance, Kavya and Francis raced each other down the slope, screaming, ‘Akka! Akka!’

  Overjoyed, I hugged my sister tightly and reached out to pat my brother as he danced around us. ‘How are you?’ I asked, ‘How are you?’ as I turned from one to the other.

  Kavya began to tell me all about her friends, the stray kitten she had adopted, and how often Francis got a beating from Appa for not finishing his homework. I turned to scold Francis but he had disappeared.

  I caught sight of him running to announce my arrival to everyone in the family. I felt like a celebrity. As he returned, I noticed several pink scars on his cheeks, and turned to ask Grandmother about them. She replied casually that my sister and brother often fought with each other, and those marks were from her pinches and scratches.

  ‘They must hate each other,’ I said.

  She laughed. ‘Small children always quarrel. Don’t worry.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Your brother loves your sister so much he can’t do without her.’

  Suddenly I felt a pang of jealousy; I knew they didn’t feel the same way about me.

  News of my arrival spread fast, and by the time Grandmother and I had finished praying before the framed picture of Jesus, a few neighbors had arrived to see me. Everyone had something to say about my appearance.

  One woman didn’t approve of my short hair which stopped a few inches above my shoulders. ‘Don’t they allow you to grow your hair?’ she asked, explaining that long hair gave women beauty.

  Another woman was curious to know whether there were boys in the school. When I said that there were, she turned to my grandmother with distaste. ‘In our day, we were not even allowed to look at boys. My mother told me to keep my eyes down when I passed them on the street.’ She looked straight at me. ‘How times have changed!’

  I was irritated but remained quiet, remembering my teachers’ admonitions not to argue.

  But not all of the comments were negative. A few neighbors said I looked very smart, fashionable and, more importantly, had become a quieter person—a quality admired in young women as being one likely to attract husbands. Most men in the village preferred obedient, dutiful wives.

  Appa arrived. He had developed a slight pot belly and his hair had thinned since the last time I saw him. He smiled at me. ‘Have you been studying well?’

  I was glad to see him. ‘Have you practiced your writing?’

  He laughed and took the glass of plain, black tea Grandmother offered him.

  ‘Appa, has Amma called you?’ I was eager for any news of my mother.

  ‘Yes, she calls at least once a month.’

  ‘Does she send you money?’

  He waited for a moment before replying, ‘Yes.’

  Part of me wanted to take back the question, realizing I had probably insulted him by questioning him so directly about money in front of everyone. I wanted to ask him what he did with the money but refrained. Grandmother told me later that he spent it on drinks and women.

  ‘Do you know when she’ll be coming back?’ I asked, more softly, sadness welling up inside me.

  Appa kept silent, staring at the floor. Then, instructing me to send for him if I needed anything, he left. I didn’t see him again for several days.

  The next few days were spent playing on the improvised rope-swing that hung from the tamarind tree at the end of the lane, and accompanying Aunt Maria to the lake where she washed her clothes. I enjoyed spending time with Kavya and her friends who were busy with their make-believe games. On most evenings I visited the market with Kavya or my cousin, Devya, to run errands for Grandmother or to escape the boredom at home.

  One evening we were on our usual visit to the market. Devya couldn’t join us because Aunt Maria was down with some sort of illness and needed her help preparing dinner. I preferred Devya’s company to Kavya’s because we were the same age and had a lot more to talk about, especially her interest in a young man who lived close by. I sensed my little sister had become resentful of my closeness to Devya. Kavya accused us of keeping secrets from her.

  Once when she demanded we reveal what we were whispering about, I snapped at her. ‘Behave yourself. Don’t ask questions about adults.’ I was taken aback by the sharpness in my tone and so was Kavya.

  She stuck her tongue out at me and ran away crying.

  I felt bad about scolding my sister, but I couldn’t trust Kavya not to tell Grandmother and, if the family found out, Devya wouldn’t be let out of the house.

  ‘My father will take me out of school to stop me from meeting him,’ Devya said. She often met the boy on the bus on her way to school. I didn’t think there was anything wrong in her liking a boy. She was a bright girl who deserved a lot more than what the village could offer.
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br />   I wished both my siblings and Devya could also have the opportunity to live and study with me and enjoy the freedom I often took for granted. I feared they would one day resent me for my luck. It seemed a terrible shame that Shanti Bhavan could take only one child from each family.

  In the market that evening, the blend of different smells from fried snacks—delicious bondas, freshly baked egg puffs, crisp dosas, and spicy kababs—filled my senses as I sank into the market’s contagious energy and spirit. I couldn’t resist buying the bondas that were sizzling in the oil pan at a roadside shop. Kavya gobbled hers while I ate mine slowly, thoroughly savoring its crunch.

  Then I heard someone call out to Kavya, and turned to see two men seated on the wooden step of a grocery shop, smoking cigarettes. They looked familiar; I was certain I’d seen them before but couldn’t remember where. Both were probably in their twenties, one younger than the other, and their disheveled hair and the glittery, thick, gold-plated chains around their necks gave them the look of village louts. One glance and I was sure they were trouble. It was clear they were not to be trusted, and I felt uncomfortable even making eye contact with them.

  The older man grinned at Kavya and nodded towards me. ‘Who is she?’

  ‘She’s my sister,’ Kavya muttered. I felt her tugging at my sleeve. We hurried to merge into the busy crowd of the evening market. I was afraid they were following us; I turned to look but they were nowhere to be seen.

  I didn’t tell Grandmother or Appa. They wouldn’t have allowed me to step outside again. But my encounter with the two men continued to disturb me. Little did I know then that they would pursue Kavya and me, and my family would face a terrible tragedy at their hands.

  Two days later, a new worry replaced that uneasiness. A neighbor came running to Grandmother’s house saying Appa had been caught with a woman near the water mill in the neighboring village. Upon hearing that they were having frequent trysts, her husband hired some local ruffians to thrash Appa. I hadn’t seen or heard from him since the evening of my arrival and now hearing what he had been up to filled me with rage. I was old enough to understand that he was probably having an ‘affair.’

  I remembered my classmate Kavina once telling us that her father was in a relationship with her mother’s younger sister. ‘He’s having an affair,’ she said, and I looked it up in the dictionary, wanting to know exactly what it meant. I loved learning new words.

  ‘That man will never change. What to do now?’ Grandmother called out to my uncles to find Appa and bring him back. I was angry with him and worried, not knowing what would have happened to him. I began to cry.

  ‘Stop that,’ Grandmother said sternly. ‘Women must stay strong in times of trouble, or the home will fall apart.’ She continued her household work as though this were nothing out of the ordinary, but from the way she was chopping vegetables, I could see she too was tense.

  After a few minutes, unable to restrain herself any longer, she burst into a long, vehement tirade about how Appa was constantly bringing shame to the family. ‘By tomorrow morning, this news will have spread like wildfire. You just watch how happy they are going to be,’ she mumbled, referring to the women with whom she fought over almost everything—who stole someone’s chickens, whose daughter would get a rich husband, and other petty village rivalries.

  An hour had passed and still there was no sign of Appa. Restless, I went to sit by the roadside, closely watching every passing vehicle. Grandmother spotted two of her friends emerging from a neighboring house. She went to them, perhaps seeking consolation from other women who had faced similar problems.

  ‘Poor Sarophina,’ one remarked bitterly. ‘This man has a wife and a daughter who has already come of age, ready for a family of her own. Still he is behaving like this.’ The way she casually referred to my having gotten my period as a sign that I was ready to have a family angered me.

  Ever since I started my periods, I had been treated differently. Grandfather instructed Grandmother to set aside a glass of milk occasionally, as he strongly believed that girls who had come of age needed to be strong and healthy. Grandmother, on the other hand, had gone extreme; she had taken it upon herself to be my personal guard, accompanying me herself whenever she could and otherwise making sure my siblings or cousins were with me.

  ‘You must be careful now. Those vultures out there are waiting to catch innocent chicks like you,’ she warned whenever I stepped out of the house. She often overwhelmed me with her protective instinct, but it made me feel special.

  Kavya resented it. ‘I want to get my periods too,’ she often protested, bursting into angry sobs. She refused to believe me when I tried to explain that she would, too, in a few years.

  ‘When his wife isn’t there to keep him happy, what else can he do?’ the second woman retorted. I was repulsed, but didn’t have the courage to speak up, afraid it would upset Grandmother.

  A short time later, a police vehicle pulled up in front of my parents’ house. Appa staggered out of the jeep, favoring his ankle. Grandmother went back inside, sighing in relief that her son-in-law was still alive and hadn’t left her daughter a widow.

  Kavya, Francis, and I ran towards Appa. Ignoring us, he slowly limped into his hut, pulled out a straw mat, and lay down. I grabbed the half-empty bottle of liquor he was carrying, and thrust it into my brother’s hands. ‘Go throw this in the garbage pit,’ I ordered, my words mirroring the first moments of my life. When Francis hesitated, Kavya barked at him and he took off. I took Kavya’s hand for a moment, grateful for her support. She stood staring at Appa and squeezing my hand.

  ‘Get the balm,’ Appa groaned, avoiding my eyes. I retrieved the small bottle of ointment from the cupboard, and sat down on the mat beside him to rub it over his back and shoulders. He moaned in pain each time I pressed hard. When Francis returned he sat quietly on the doorstep watching us and soon Kavya went to sit with him.

  The neighbors who watched the scene unfold looked at us with pity. I could see they were touched by our apparent devotion to our injured father. In reality, I was simply doing my duty as a daughter, and my touch was devoid of affection. I kept looking at Francis and Kavya huddled in the doorway. This was the life they had to endure, all the time.

  I knew it was easier for me. But sometimes, even at school Appa managed to bring the humiliating side of our family’s life with him. At a parent-teacher meeting the year before, I noticed Kavina hiding from someone. In a confused whisper she told me, ‘Your father is looking at me strangely. I feel awkward.’ I turned just in time to catch him staring at her, like he did at the young women who passed by our house on their way to and from work. I felt terribly ashamed of him and wanted to vanish from the room. I begged Kavina not to tell any of our classmates, fearing that I would be ridiculed. From the way I behaved towards Appa for the rest of the afternoon, I was sure he understood that I had noticed, but he didn’t seem to care. But no matter how I distanced myself from my father or tried to think of him as a stranger, I was still tied to him emotionally.

  An hour passed. Appa couldn’t bear the pain from the beating and began to moan in anguish. Grandfather had to take him to the village medicine man who lived in a shack on top of the hill. By the time he came back late that night, I was lying down with a bad fever. My blurred vision of Appa, returning exhausted and tearful, entered my dreams.

  That night I dreamt of ruffians entering our house, throwing plates and pots out onto the road, and scattering Amma’s saris all over the floor. I woke up screaming, and Grandmother had to hug me tight and place a wet cloth on my forehead to cool my fever.

  The very next morning, Muniappa, a village landlord, and two rough-looking men turned up in front of my father’s house. I had gone there to check on Appa, although I wasn’t feeling very well myself. He was sleeping, trying to recover from the damage done to him the previous day, and couldn’t hear them shouting for him. I came out of the house quickly to find out what they wanted. I was sure they had heard what h
ad happened to Appa the previous evening, and considered it an opportune time to pressure him for whatever they wanted. When it rains it pours, I thought.

  ‘Where is your father?’ one of the men asked in Kannada. His tone of expectation easily revealed his authority over Appa.

  Trying to act bold and wanting to impress them, I replied in English, ‘He is resting inside.’

  By then Appa had struggled out of the hut, and greeted the landlord respectfully, ‘Namaste.’ He turned his gaze in my direction and gestured to me to go inside. I could see fear written all over his face.

  I obeyed him and he pulled the door shut behind me. I heard the men yelling at Appa, followed by the sounds of a struggle. Unable to bear it, I opened the door to see the two men viciously beating Appa.

  ‘Appa! Appa!’ I cried out and rushed towards him.

  Blood was gushing from his nose.

  Suddenly Kavya and Francis were there and screaming, ‘Stop! Stop!’

  ‘Kavya,’ I called, ‘Fetch Grandmother. Run.’

  And she ran.

  ‘Stop hitting my father,’ I screamed at the two men.

  ‘Shut up,’ the landlord shouted back. I could feel the flood of warm tears running down my cheeks. By then, a large crowd of neighbors had gathered around.

  An elderly man bravely stepped forward to question the landlord. I recognized him as the one who rang the church bell every day. Now he was risking getting beaten too. But the landlord seemed to be listening to him—maybe the landlord respected his elders, maybe he feared this man’s connections to the church, or maybe it was yet another thing I didn’t understand about the workings of my village.

  The landlord turned to his thugs and said something I couldn’t hear. The men stopped hitting Appa.

  ‘You better pay soon,’ the landlord ordered Appa. ‘In the meantime, your English daughter can live with me.’

  I instinctively grabbed Appa’s shirt. He pulled me by the arm and stepped in front of me.

  ‘I will bring the money as soon as I can,’ Appa responded firmly. He didn’t want the landlord to think he was weak.