The Elephant Chaser's Daughter Read online

  Despite the fun we sometimes had together, my siblings continued to treat me as an unwelcome visitor. When we fought over the TV remote or when I complained to Appa that Kavya wasn’t doing her homework, my siblings would tell me to go back to my special school and leave them alone. Though I knew they didn’t mean it, I couldn’t help seeing myself as an outsider and that realization made me terribly sad. How would I ever fit in to a permanent life in the village? How would I find in myself the qualities those women in the fields had found?

  When Uncle Christraj returned from work, he expected Grandmother to be at the door immediately to receive him. She would run around like a busy hen, fetching water for him to wash his hands before dashing to serve him dinner. Without a word, she would hand Kavya a small vessel filled with water for him to drink.

  ‘Food!’ he would bellow with the arrogance of a landlord, drawing Grandmother to his service like a magnet. There was no time to chat or rest; Uncle Christraj always returned home in a ravenous state, so food was to be served as soon as he walked in. He sat alone on the floor with the steel plate in front of him, hardly ever looking up.

  I was no help when it came to serving him. ‘What will she do in her husband’s house?’ he muttered, as I stood idly by.

  Grandmother nodded in agreement and asked me to place the steel plate in front of him. I obeyed.

  ‘She’s pathetic,’ he grumbled, just loud enough for me to hear.

  Grandmother laughed. ‘I guess she’ll have to marry someone from America.’

  The trouble was I knew they were right. Whether it was serving food or washing clothes and pressing them with the coal iron Grandmother and Kavya used expertly, I was of no use.

  There was one thing I could do. In the mornings, I would walk Kavya and Francis to school, hurrying to get them there before the final bell. I would wait until my sister disappeared through the packed school entrance. I wanted Kavya to know I cared about her. It didn’t occur to me then that she wasn’t happy with the way things were for her. I had rationalized that since I was older than she was, it was my privilege to be first in everything, but lately I was beginning to see the unfairness. I resolved to look after her when I started earning, and I told her so but she didn’t react. She would never sacrifice her pride to accept my help. But sometimes after school I would tell her stories of people and places I had read about in books and seen in movies, and her eyes would light up with pleasure.

  With both our parents away at work and Grandmother busy with household chores, I once attended, as Kavya’s guardian, a parent-teacher meeting at her school. Young as I was, no one took me seriously at first, but when I conversed with the teacher in fluent English, I drew surprised looks from everyone in the room. My sister’s face was aglow and I knew that, at least in that one moment, she couldn’t have been happier with me and was thankful for my schooling at Shanti Bhavan.

  Unlike me, Kavya was popular in school and with the neighborhood children. She loved joking with them and playing tricks to make them laugh. Often, she’d bring little children to our house and serve them the food prepared for us that morning. I’d scold her for being so generous, saying that there wasn’t enough in the house to feed the whole village, but she’d ignore me and walk away as though she hadn’t heard me. Often neighbors called her to their homes to sing songs from Kannada films. She had a sweet, high-pitched voice that charmed even the most critical listener.

  As days turned into weeks with no word from Shanti Bhavan, I lost myself in an imminent celebration in the village. A neighbor and friend from childhood, Sudha, was getting married. I hadn’t attended a marriage before, so was fascinated. But there was nothing much for me to do except watch the commotion created by the villagers who attended—the men who stood around joking with each other, and the women who went about cooking, cleaning, and decorating.

  ‘What work does he do?’ I heard someone ask about the bridegroom.

  ‘He is a painter,’ another replied. ‘He paints rich people’s homes.’

  ‘Why did you agree to give her to him?’ one woman asked Sudha’s mother.

  ‘Both he and his mother came to our house and made the proposal,’ she replied.

  Another woman whispered to her friend, ‘The whole village knows he already has a married woman as a mistress.’

  ‘His parents didn’t ask for a dowry,’ Sudha’s mother explained defensively. ‘He is our distant relative. His parents are very thankful.’

  I watched the bridegroom sitting on a stool in his underwear outside the hut, surrounded by older relatives rubbing turmeric onto his hands and legs as his father looked on proudly. It was a custom to put turmeric all over the bride and groom on the eve of their wedding.

  The painter is being painted, I thought.

  Meanwhile, Sudha sat in the next room waiting for a group of women to cover her with the yellow paste. She was stripped down to an inner skirt tied just above her breasts. Her long, thick braid had been rolled into a high bun. I looked on from a distance as women dipped their hands in the turmeric paste and rubbed it onto her gentle face.

  As her parents exchanged plates of tobacco leaves and fruit with the groom’s family, Sudha stared shyly at her husband-to-be and then quickly lowered her gaze. They were about to be married, but she hadn’t really met or spoken to him.

  ‘I was only sixteen,’ an elderly relative remarked to me. ‘Your grandmother was fourteen when she got married.’

  ‘Oh, look how shy she is,’ one woman said, nudging another. Sudha looked embarrassed—how could she not be? She was sitting, with lowered eyes and tight lips, almost naked in front of all these staring women and worse, was going to be married to a man who was a complete stranger to her.

  As for me, I found the thought of being the center of attention exciting. Now that my dreams of a fancy wedding to an educated man were fading, I imagined Amma and Grandmother tearfully dressing me up in a grand sari for my wedding, which would be held in the old stone church. It probably wouldn’t even matter whether I loved the groom, I thought; the exciting part of marriage was its ritual.

  Sudha’s wedding was a temporary respite, but once the ceremony was over, I struggled. I kept myself busy teaching English to my siblings, and they in turn taught me Kannada. Kavya helped me brush up on the slang and profanity that were once a part of my vocabulary. It made us both laugh. Apart from the household chores I had by now learnt to do, like cutting vegetables and fetching water from the bore well, I didn’t have much to occupy my time.

  I once again began to enjoy Uncle Naresh’s company. I would run into him frequently in the evenings when he returned from work, and gradually began to see in him a good friend, someone to whom I could express my feelings, someone who would listen. We often sat side by side outside the house, talking late into the evening.

  Even in the midst of wondering whether I would ever see Shanti Bhavan again, or perhaps because of it, I found particular pleasure in describing my school life, and Uncle Naresh let me talk. I tried to make him see what it was like watching the performances of the Broadway artists who frequently visited us. I told him about the Western movies I had seen recently, My Fair Lady and the Harry Potter movies, and recounted stories from the novels I had read. It was always the adventures of my many heroes that interested him most. I hummed the songs I had learnt in the choir, tried to describe the tribal Indian folk dances we performed, and excitedly told him about the treats the school offered on special occasions: like macaroni and cheese for dinner. I told him that for a long time I had been preparing for a good college education and a financially independent future. For some reason, I wanted him to understand the world I had been living in, a place difficult for him even to imagine.

  I talked to him about wanting to go to college, to travel to America, and one day perhaps to study at Harvard or Oxford. Those names meant nothing to him, but they were my dreams, and I wanted him to know why, despite my genuine affection for him, I could not embrace a village life as his wife. I
expressed my fears about losing what I had come to love most. He always listened quietly and always seemed to feel empathy for my concerns. Even though I had rejected him and hurt him, he was the only one in my family who understood how frightened I was.

  Once, in a spontaneous outpouring, I began to describe the kind of man I desired as a husband and father for my children. I expected to be able to select the man I would marry, one who would be compatible with my personality. ‘He must be well educated. He shouldn’t be into any bad habits like drinking—’ I stopped abruptly, chagrined, realizing I was describing someone who was everything he wasn’t.

  Grandmother kept expecting me to have a change of heart. One day she exploded, ‘You will marry him, or I will haunt you as a ghost after I die! You will never escape my curse for seven generations of your rebirths.’ I flinched at the sharpness of her words and the fury in her voice, but refused to give in. Seeing no fear on my face, she slowly began to shrink, resigned, before bitterly declaring to Grandfather, who was equally unhappy with me, ‘Leave it to God. If He has written it on their foreheads, then they will marry.’

  Grandmother’s words terrified me. I was afraid of my destiny. With no news from school, I began to lose hope that Shanti Bhavan would survive. Some evenings I’d sit in silence alone by the tamarind tree and think about my classmates and friends, especially Sheena and Keerthi, wondering how they were dealing with the uncertainty about our future. My mind took me beyond the dark hills in the distance, bringing joyful reminders of my school that was now only a beautiful dream. Sometimes I wondered if Shanti Bhavan had really existed. It seemed so translucent, distant, and now quickly tumbling out of reach. I tried to clutch it to my chest, but it only slipped away faster, like dry sand running through a child’s fingers. This was a storm I could not brave, and there was no shore in sight.

  If I were to resign myself to a life in the village, I would have to make peace with Grandmother and marry her son. There was nothing else I could do. Life had come to a standstill. Without knowing what to expect from marriage, I tried to convince myself it might not be so bad after all. I resolved to reconcile myself to this future, as fate might have inscribed it.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: A FAMILY AFFAIR

  My hands would turn damp and clammy by morning, sticky with sweat from another night spent reliving the same nightmare: the tall gates to my school closing for the last time; the security guard clamping the heavy lock into place. The days spin fast, and even though I’m not there, I can feel the ending—rust steadily creeping into the dark iron, eating away at the majestic entrance. Reddish-brown dust blows through the empty classrooms, blanketing the very chairs I had sat on. I watch helplessly, rooted to the spot. The stillness of the place is all that is left. I wake up panting, eyes wide open. I find myself in my grandmother’s hut, staring at the familiar patterns of coconut leaves on the ceiling. I wipe the sweat from my brow and inhale deeply.

  When days had turned into weeks and still there was no news to give me the slightest hope of returning to Shanti Bhavan, I slowly resigned myself to accept the only choice left—what my family offered me. One afternoon when no one was at home except Grandmother who was taking her usual mid-day rest, I looked at her, frightened, longing for an expression of kindness. Mustering my courage, I sat beside her mat and said simply, ‘I will marry Naresh Mama when I turn eighteen.’ My voice was soft; there was no exuberance, only submission.

  At first she was shocked, then suspicious. She sat upright and exclaimed, ‘I can’t trust you. You change your color like a chameleon.’

  Of course there was no reason why Grandmother should understand my sudden change of heart; I didn’t understand it myself. I had rejected her wishes and shamed her before the school authorities. I begged her forgiveness without really meaning it, just as my father often did when a moneylender demanded that he repay a debt. I sat with my head bent, silent, as she showered me with a torrent of insults.

  Until now, Shanti Bhavan had been there to save me, but now, without it, I was at the mercy of my family and, if I was to live among them, I simply had to accept whatever life they would let me have. That evening when no one was watching, I slipped away to the nearby fields to be alone. Perched on a tall haystack in the middle of a field, I took in the stillness of the landscape around me. It didn’t offer me any tranquility; even the gentle breeze blowing against my cheek couldn’t bring comfort. I did not feel the breeze on my skin. My mind was elsewhere. I was hearing the sounds I had grown up with in the world of Shanti Bhavan—lively music from the radio in the morning, happy chatter after classes, and Sheena’s shrill laughter as I chased her around the playground in games of tag. How was I to silence those sounds that were so much a part of me?

  I knew I could not be content living with Uncle Naresh in the village but I was determined to go ahead and marry him if that was the only option left for me now. Torn between despair and anger, I tried to tell myself I was not to be blamed for my change of mind.

  The shrinking sun in the west signaled it was time to return home before someone panicked and rounded up others to look for me. The last thing I wanted was for neighbors to think I was a problem for my grandparents who did so much to look after me. I carefully slid down the haystack, and walked back towards the brightly lit village.

  I told myself my uncle had always been sweet to me, and tried to believe he would remain so after our marriage. I pictured him in the role of my husband—physically strong to protect the family, playful with my future children, loving and kind to me.

  I wanted to make a beginning to the new life. I would stand by the door and watch the road like a dutiful wife, waiting for Uncle Naresh to arrive in the evening after work. I would hand him a steel pitcher of water to wash his hands and feet before stepping into the house. During meals, to everyone’s surprise, I would be the one to serve him, sitting by his side to attend to his orders for a second helping. Grandmother couldn’t have missed any of my gestures towards him; she took notice of everything I did and, in her own way, communicated that she was pleased. Both my grandparents were in good spirits when we all ate our dinner together. When the family gathered for an evening prayer in front of the portraits of Jesus and Mother Mary, Grandmother once again gave me a kiss on my forehead. By the gentleness in his eyes and the slight smile that tugged the corner of his mouth, I knew my uncle, too, was pleased. Our family was united and happy at last.

  Not long after, my mother returned from Singapore to attend to Kavya’s first Holy Communion. After the church ceremony, I spent time in the company of my uncle, taking a walk along the paddy fields. He seemed happy to have me around him and patient with my excited chatter.

  The next day, my mother asked me to join her at my grandmother’s house to meet some guests—two women and a young girl—who had come to visit the family. I found them seated on a mat spread on the floor, with a plate filled with tobacco leaves and bananas set out before them. Uncle Naresh was seated next to my grandmother while I settled in a corner. I had never seen these two people before and wondered why they were here.

  The girl appeared no older than fourteen. She appeared frightened and looked up to make eye contact with my grandmother only when she was addressed. She seemed lost among this gathering of adults whispering to each other about apparently serious matters. At first it seemed neither she nor I had anything to contribute to the discussion that was taking place until, as the conversation between the elders progressed, it became clear she was being considered as a wife for Uncle Naresh!

  I couldn’t understand why my family was thinking of her when I had told Grandmother I would marry him. Perhaps they thought I didn’t mean it or might change my mind. I didn’t dare to clarify myself.

  A fierce brew of jealousy and anger surged in my bloodstream. How can he live with a stranger? I recalled the good times we had shared: the jokes he told me, his loving smile, and the run-and-catch we played around the house. Now, after wanting to marry me, he was considering another girl!


  I couldn’t bear the idea of this girl lying beside him every night, being touched by him, calling herself his wife, and having his children. The jealousy I felt towards her consumed me, but I didn’t want to show it. Accepting my indifferent look as reflective of my true feelings, Amma turned to me and whispered, ‘She hasn’t gotten her period yet. As soon as she does, she’ll marry your mama.’ The casual way in which she spoke about his marriage to the innocent girl only deepened my irritation. It angered me that no one asked the girl if she wanted this marriage. Clearly she did not have a say in a matter as important as her own marriage.

  Glancing at my uncle, I caught his eye and frowned at him. He sat with his head bowed as though he were going through some sort of punishment. I was waiting for him to sit up and announce that he loved me and wanted to marry me. Instead he remained motionless, not giving me the luxury of knowing his thoughts.

  As the smiling guests drifted off, Grandmother was telling everyone how good the girl’s family was, as though they had known each other for years. ‘The father had a good job,’ Grandmother explained. ‘He was a mason, but went away with another woman.’

  Meeting this new girl made my skin crawl and triggered an intense yearning in me. I wanted my uncle to tell me how badly he needed me, and to assure me that I was more important to him than the girl he had just met.