The Elephant Chaser's Daughter Page 9

  Aunty Shalini began to treat me with icy strictness, believing this was the only way to straighten me out. One Saturday, after we finished our lunch, she gathered all the children in my dorm, seated herself on a plastic chair, and looked soberly at us as though something terrible had happened. She ordered me to stand up and face the rest of the children.

  Hesitantly, I lifted myself off the floor and turned towards my classmates.

  ‘Starting today, no one is allowed to talk to Shilpa. She is a very bad girl,’ Aunty Shalini commanded, her voice stern and her expression grim as she scanned the room. ‘I don’t want any of you to become like her.’

  In years past I had loved being summoned to the front of the class to recite a poem or read a passage during the creative writing period. I was proud to be noticed. But this was different. I was standing exposed before my peers who were watching me with contempt and pity. I felt ashamed of myself and wanted to run away and hide.

  That was the beginning of my difficult days. When her temper got the better of her, Aunty Shalini dealt with my bad behavior by slapping me. The official school rules didn’t permit staff to hit children, but none of us ever complained, since we were used to our parents beating us with belts and sticks. ‘I deserve this,’ I told myself every time I received a hard slap on my face or was banned from watching the Sunday night movie.

  I must have somehow relished the attention my bad behavior brought. With my mother gone, my need for affection, already enormous, grew even more. I was often seeking affection from the aunties. If Aunty Shalini or Aunty Jyothi ever said a kind word to me, I would clasp my arms around her neck and bury her in kisses, baffling her with my suddenly loving behavior. Lost in self-pity, I wondered why they couldn’t always treat me affectionately.

  My teachers grew increasingly exasperated. During a math class, I vehemently refused to open my book and work out the problems. My classmates were startled by my defiance. Fed up, my teacher dragged me by the arm and made me stand outside the classroom. Seeing some visitors who were taking a tour of the school building heading in my direction, I felt ashamed and stepped back into the room. The teacher shouted at me to remain outside, but I wouldn’t budge. She tried to push me out and I stomped on her foot so hard it caused her toe to bleed.

  The teacher cried out for someone to fetch Ms. Nirmala, my class teacher, to come at once to deal with me. Learning what had happened, Ms. Nirmala pinched me hard on my arm as she hauled me off to Aunty Shalini.

  But I refused to apologize to anyone.

  ‘I don’t know what to do with her,’ Aunty Shalini cried in frustration. She raised her hand to slap me.

  I flinched, but my fear quickly turned into anger.

  ‘The devil has entered your body,’ Aunty Shalini said, for everyone to hear. ‘Look at your hair. It is twisted like horns.’ She pointed at the uneven edges of my short hair standing up on both sides of my head. It was no fault of mine that my hair stood up at the ends; every morning, I would stand in front of the mirror trying to wet and comb my thick hair down, but with no success. Even the boys made fun of the way my hair stood up.

  ‘If you don’t change your behavior, you will be sent away from Shanti Bhavan. Do you want to go back to your village?’ Aunty Shalini asked.

  This took me by surprise. It had never occurred to me that I could be sent away from school. Until then, I had taken it for granted that I belonged to Shanti Bhavan and it would always be that way. For a moment, as I missed my family so badly, I thought I wouldn’t mind leaving the school. But when I thought of Ann-Mary and how Grandmother spoke of her with contempt, I knew it would be a disgrace for all of us.

  ‘Bow your head,’ Aunty Shalini shouted. ‘How dare you look me in the eye when you have done something wrong? Don’t you have any shame?’ She turned towards Aunty Jyothi. ‘From today, she will clean toilets and sweep the entire dorm during games time. Let her sleep on the floor at night.’ Aunty Jyothi nodded.

  I was convinced that there was no one in this world to love me. I was angry at everyone—angry with my mother for abandoning me, angry with my classmates, and angry with all these women who, blind to the love I longed to give and receive, failed to see my true nature.

  And something that made my resentment towards Aunty Shalini grow stronger was that she was very affectionate towards one of my seniors named Sheena. Unlike me, Sheena had delicate features, accentuated by a black mole above her upper lip that stood out in contrast to her light skin. Her eyes, highlighted with thick black kajol, brightened when she was excited. Aunty Shalini and Mrs. Law showered lots of care and attention on Sheena because she had no parents. ‘Why can’t they love me too? Don’t they know that my mother is not with me?’ I would think, feeling sorry for myself.

  I learnt from the stories that had spread around the campus that Sheena had lived in three different foster homes before coming to Shanti Bhavan at the age of five. In each of those homes, she was considered more of a servant than a family member. In one, she lived with a woman named Arifa whom she thought of as her mother. But one day Arifa told her that she had bought her from an old woman who couldn’t take care of her. Sheena was shattered.

  Soon, Sheena found herself with another family—a middle-aged woman named Nela, her husband, and two young children. Sheena said Aunty Nela was very loving and gentle towards her, but Sheena disliked Nela’s husband Rafil, a fat, sullen man who never accepted her as part of the family.

  It was Aunty Nela who had brought Sheena to Shanti Bhavan for admission. It wasn’t clear what Nela’s true motives were in giving Sheena away, particularly since she’d initially wanted her as a maid. The truth would forever remain a mystery, as Nela died before Sheena was old enough to ask her.

  Knowing her story didn’t soften my heart. Aunty Shalini, Mrs. Law, and all the girls in my class gave her special attention. Blind with jealousy, I started a senseless fight with her during a baseball game, and we hadn’t spoken since.

  April rains drenched the thirsty grounds that hadn’t tasted water in more than three months. This was also when snakes came out from between the rocks, seeking the warmth of the morning sun. Scorpions that could be mistaken for small lobsters would appear from nowhere in the soil, as though they had been reborn. In the rain-shadows of the Western Ghats, every drop of water meant life for all creatures. It was time for us to go on our summer holidays.

  At times I didn’t even care if I were to be sent away from school or asked not to return after the holidays. I was prepared to stay at home with Grandmother and Kavya. At least they wouldn’t make me feel like a bad girl.

  But this time, no one came to take me home.

  With my mother away, Mrs. Law considered it unsafe for me to live in my grandmother’s house where liquor was sold, and she didn’t think my father was responsible enough to take care of me. Aunty Shalini chose not to explain those reasons to me, though. Instead, she told me that I was being held back as punishment for my bad behavior.

  I cried bitterly all morning. Slumped against the main door of the building, I watched the other children wave goodbye to the aunties and walk away holding hands with their smiling parents. I even imagined Amma walking me to the gate, taking my hand and laughing at my chatter. Memories of Amma only brought more tears.

  Just when I thought all the others had left, I saw another girl standing alone near an overgrown hibiscus bush. It was Sheena. Wiping away my tears, I slowly approached her. She, too, had tears in her eyes. As I neared, she turned away.

  ‘I’m not going home,’ I muttered.

  Sheena didn’t respond. She turned around and started walking away. I ran to catch up with her.

  ‘Where are we staying?’ I asked, studying her weary, tear-stained face.

  ‘We are together with Aunty Shalini in the big dorm,’ she managed to say between heavy sobs. She sat down on the concrete doorsteps of the dorm. I joined her and we sat together in silence for a while, not knowing what more to say. The sudden quiet of the campus br
ought with it a strange, overwhelming feeling of loneliness for us both.

  The holiday passed more quickly than I expected and by the end of it Sheena and I had become the best of friends. We were together all the time, taking walks through the lush gardens, playing for hours on the large trampoline that was laid out on the lawn, swimming in the shallow pool, watching television, and sharing our stories during intimate chats after dinner.

  At first I found it very intimidating to be around her. Apart from her beauty, there was much more to inspire awe—her graceful dancing, the ease with which she could sketch a scenic view, and her quick memory for the lyrics of the Hindi songs she loved listening to on the radio. But there was also something fragile about her, and the more I got to know her, the more I felt an urgent need to protect her from all that was painful to her. She had gone through enough and I made it my responsibility to see to it that she was happy. And in a strange way, much as I sought to protect her, she offered me a sense of security that my mother could not and a joy that Kavya and I could not share.

  Sheena wished she had a home to go to on vacations with her amma or appa, as others did. I could not give her that but by the time this holiday ended we had become inseparable. I even began referring to her as my ‘best friend,’ a term I had never used before.

  Once school reopened, while others ran about or bicycled around the field during evening playtime, Sheena and I would sit under the shade of a neem tree and share our childhood experiences. I always sat next to her while watching movies and demanded that the soccer team captain put us on the same team. On lazy Saturday afternoons, we loved looking at each other’s scrapbooks filled with clippings of movie actors and singers.

  ‘You look like Aishwarya Rai, Sheena,’ I said, comparing her to the famous Bollywood actress and admiring her light skin and her sharp, delicate features. Sheena brushed off the compliment with a smile but I thought she was secretly pleased. I thought of myself as plain and ordinary, while Sheena was beautiful.

  We were an unusual sight. Sheena was popular and beautiful, and I was neither. Sheena would walk confidently ahead of me while I followed along behind her like a loyal bodyguard, making sure she was okay. I could never refuse her or do anything that would hurt or anger her. I was willing to accept a subordinate role if it brought her happiness. She gave me a sense of belonging to someone. With Sheena as my friend, I didn’t need anyone else. She always took my side in quarrels with the other girls—no small task considering how much they disliked me for my hot temper and unruliness—and comforted me when I was sad. That was all I asked for. I told myself my mother would soon return, but for Sheena there was no one to call her own. She was an orphan, and even more alone than I was. I resolved never to hurt her.

  It was hard not to notice the dark brown scars on her lower lip and arm, left behind by beatings from one of the women she had lived with. Pointing to them one evening under the neem tree, Sheena said, ‘I wish these scars would go away.’

  I promised her that they would. And she believed me.

  CHAPTER SEVEN: REJECTION

  The vineyard stretched for nearly a mile outside my window, wilting in the fiery summer sun. I was as usual slumped on a makeshift cot looking out while the few other girls in the room sat on the floor, engrossed in a game of carrom board. The towering presence of a large anthill in a dry corner of the grounds made me wonder how tall it would grow. My attention turned to the rheumatic screech of a rusty hand-pump that the gardener was desperately trying to start. With plenty of time to spare, I grew lost in the smallest details.

  A sudden voice startled me. ‘Go to your beds, children. I’ll come around to give your medicines,’ she said. It was Sister Sheila, a petite, soft-spoken woman in her early forties. I straightened myself out on the cot, slid under the covers, and waited for her.

  It had been nearly a week since I was brought to Baldev, a small clinic run by my school. Here, patients with minor ailments come from nearby villages for outpatient care, and sick children from Shanti Bhavan are kept isolated. Uncle Tommy, a young, energetic member of the facility staff, had rushed me to the clinic after I awoke a week before around midnight with raging fever and a fit of uncontrollable shivering.

  ‘It is viral. All of Bangalore has it,’ the doctor who periodically visited the hospital confirmed after putting me through a thorough check-up the next morning. I was told not to return to school for at least five days. ‘We have this problem during the monsoon season,’ the doctor said with a worried look, referring to the recent outbreak of fever that was spreading through Shanti Bhavan.

  I spent my days in the clinic sleeping a lot and waking up only for meals—a welcome change from the busy schedule at school. Sister Sheila checked each bed at precise, four-hour intervals, carrying a thermometer and notepad to record every child’s temperature. She often lingered a little longer by my bed, asking about my family. She told me I woke from nightmares on several occasions, calling for my mother.

  ‘Where is your mother?’ Sister Sheila asked at last. Her voice was gentle and her expression open and concerned.

  ‘She went away in a plane to Singapore.’ I said, eager to talk about her. The last time I had seen my mother was three weeks earlier when she came to Shanti Bhavan for the second time in the same month. Before that, she had been gone for over two years.

  ‘What is she doing in such a faraway place?’ Sister Sheila asked.

  ‘My grandmother says she cleans toilets and cooks for rich children,’ I said flatly. I was used to giving everyone at school the same answer my grandmother had given me. Memories of my mother’s recent visits to Shanti Bhavan still haunted me and there was a hunger in me to talk about it to someone, so I slowly spilt the details to Sister Sheila.

  One Sunday morning, a month ago, Mrs. Law called me to her table during breakfast. DG was sitting across from her in the dining hall with a group of first graders gathered excitedly around him.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs. Law. Good morning, Dr. George,’ I greeted them both respectfully. DG smiled at me but immediately returned to delighting the children with riddles and silliness.

  ‘Shilpa,’ Mrs. Law said gently, ‘your mother is coming to Shanti Bhavan today to see you.’

  I couldn’t believe it. ‘Mrs. Law! What time will she be here?’

  ‘Calm down, my dear.’

  I didn’t realize I had jumped out of my chair. ‘But when will she come?’ Even a moment of delay was intolerable.

  ‘By 11 o’clock,’ she replied, putting her arm around my waist and giving me a quick kiss on my cheek. ‘Are you excited?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs. Law. Yes.’ I answered almost in a scream, unable to control my joy, and thanked her several times before hurrying away. I gobbled down breakfast and ran to my dorm to tell Sheena and the other girls in my class. Even Keerthi hugged me, and Kavina, one of the girls I really liked, said how happy she was for me. Since making friends with Sheena, relations with other classmates had improved a bit. I guess my temper had improved some too.

  I sat by the window facing the dining hall and waited eagerly to catch a glimpse of my mother. There was no one in sight except for the kitchen staff who were busy spreading red chilies and spices on large straw mats to dry in the sun. I kept turning impatiently to look at the large rectangular steel clock above the entrance door.

  I was strangely nervous. Over and over I asked myself, ‘Does she still love me the same way as before?’

  An hour later, Aunty Jyothi entered the dorm and instructed me to comb my hair neatly, wear black shoes, and come with her to the dining hall. ‘Your mother has arrived,’ she said with a smile. I ran to the bathroom and struggled before the mirror to flatten out the edges of my hair. I wanted to look nice for Amma.

  I followed Aunty Jyothi across the lawn holding her hand. From a distance I could see a fairly chubby woman seated all by herself at a table facing the entrance to the dining hall. I was looking elsewhere for my mother when suddenly the woman sprang to her feet, kn
ocking over her chair in her haste. I tightened my grip on Aunty Jyothi’s hand. The woman ran towards me crying out, ‘Shilpa! Shilpa!’

  Within seconds she locked me in her arms. She held me close and kissed my cheeks, my lips, and my eyes, calling me her chinna. She held my face between her hands and wept. It was my amma.

  When the initial shock of seeing my mother passed, I found myself crying uncontrollably with my face pressed against her chest. I was confused. Her body felt strange against mine. I wiped her tears and she responded with more kisses. ‘Please don’t cry, Amma. Please don’t cry,’ I repeated, unable to stop crying myself.

  Holding me tight, she took me to her table in the dining hall and seated me on her lap, as though I was a small child. This was the first time I’d seen Amma dressed in something other than the faded saris she always wore. She looked so different now in a tan churidar printed with dark green flowers. Her once protruding collarbones were barely visible, and I found her prettier than before.

  Breathlessly, without wasting a moment, I asked the question I had harbored for the past two years, ‘Amma, why did you leave without telling me?’

  Amma looked away for a moment, struggling to maintain her composure. ‘I had to. Everything happened so quickly.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I wanted to come and see you but your grandparents told me not to because you were too young to understand why I had to leave.’

  I wasn’t fully satisfied with her answer, but didn’t want to press her lest I make her sad. Instead, I began telling her all about the school and my friends. She was overjoyed listening to my chatter and held me tightly in her arms.

  ‘You have grown taller,’ Amma said, gently pushing me back to take a good look. I told her that only two girls in my class were shorter than me, so I always stood third in line. She ran her hand through my hair and softly touched my face and arms as though she wanted to be sure I was real. Her tenderness towards me was something I had badly missed, the kind of love only a mother could give.