The Wheel of Surya. Jamila Gavin

The White Road

      ‘Jhoti! That little brat of yours is stealing Ajit’s tin! If you don’t come right now and sort it out, her bottom will feel the back of my hand!’

      A woman’s voice screeched harshly across the yard. It penetrated the inner courtyard where Jhoti crouched outside the kitchen door, grinding spices on a block of ribbed stone. She had been at her job an hour or more so her arms ached and her fingers were all red with rolling and mixing the spices into a paste.

      She jerked back on her haunches and sprang to her feet; too quickly, for as the blood drained from her face and a sharp pain jabbed through her stomach, she swayed with dizziness and had to lean up against the wall. She should remember that she was pregnant and not make these swift movements; but she was so used to reacting instantly to the sound of her sister-in-law Kalwant’s voice, that it had become a reflex action. So she only paused long enough for the dizziness to pass and the pain to subside, before she hurried across the courtyard and out into the compound beyond.

      An ancient, knuckly, pepul tree spread a twisting shade beneath its broad, dark green leaves. Here, the infants, those that is who were too young even to herd goats or follow the buffalo, tumbled and played under the baleful eyes of the male village elders, who sat smoking on their string beds, or sipping tea and playing cards at an old wooden table.

      Usually there was no need to interfere. Even infants can sort out their own problems if left to it. But today, as Kalwant was passing by on her way to fetch water from the well, she had noticed her son, Ajit, struggling to gain possession of a tin from Jhoti’s daughter, Marvinder.

      ‘It’s mine!’ raged Ajit. ‘I found it.’

      ‘It’s mine!’ insisted Marvinder. ‘Ma gave it me.’

      When Ajit saw his mother, he fought harder, shouting, ‘Ma! Marvinder’s trying to take my tin away.’

      ‘No, I’m not!’ screamed Marvinder. ‘You took it from me. It’s mine, I tell you,’ and she tugged even more fiercely.

      However, determined that no snip of a girl would get the better of her son, Kalwant yelled for Jhoti.

      As Jhoti hurried into view, Kalwant pointed accusingly, and shrieked, ‘Do you see?’ as Marvinder now had Ajit flat on his back and was sitting astride his chest. ‘That child of yours is a little snake! Look how she attacks my son! Stop her at once, or I’ll . . .’

      Jhoti turned hesitatingly towards the battling children. Marvinder was winning. She held the tin grimly between her fingers while Ajit kicked and punched in his efforts to regain it.

      Jhoti knew it was Marvinder’s tin. It was a Bournville chocolate tin which she had retrieved from the Chadwicks’ rubbish tip. When Marvinder saw her mother, she cried indignantly, ‘Ma, Ma! Ajit says this tin is his. But it’s mine, isn’t it? You gave it me! He’s trying to steal it!’

      ‘Did you hear that?’ Kalwant’s voice peaked with self-justified outrage. ‘Did you hear?’ she appealed to the world at large. ‘Marvinder is calling my son a thief ! This is too much!’ She plonked down her water vessels and with threatening hand outstretched, she strode towards the children.

      Jhoti broke into a clumsy sprint, but could not reach her daughter before Kalwant snatched her up, tipped her upside down and began slapping her bare bottom for all she was worth. Marvinder’s screams echoed round the compound. The old men paused in their gossiping, turned round and frowned. The other children froze their actions and stared in awe.

      ‘Stop it, stop it!’ begged Jhoti, crying herself. ‘She’s only a baby. Leave her alone!’ She grabbed her daughter’s head and managed to clasp her under the shoulders. For a moment, it looked as Marvinder would be torn limb from limb as the two warring mothers tugged at each end of her.

      Then another voice rang out from within the low, flat-roofed dwelling. It was a voice cracked with age, but authoritative. ‘For goodness sake!’ Madanjit Kaur berated them. ‘Can’t an old woman get any peace around here?’

      Mother-in-law shuffled out. Her unmade grey hair hung loosely down her back. She stood surveying the scene with hands on hips, her narrow, black eyes glaring vehemently. The baggy folds of her pyjamas beneath the full, green cotton tunic, could not disguise her powerful, stocky figure, or the strength of will with which she presided over her domain.

      ‘Yes, Jhoti! I know it’s you.’ She wagged an accusing finger. ‘No good dropping your head in that shamefaced way. There’s been nothing but trouble from you ever since you entered this household, and it’s not as though you came with much dowry either. How could we tell, when we arranged this marriage, that you had been so badly brought up? And now we see you doing the same with your own child, wilful and disobedient girl! Arreh Baba ! I guessed as much as soon as I laid eyes on you, but no one would listen to me. The old man is too fond of a pretty face, that’s the trouble! You all are!’ She aimed her recriminations at the old men, but they just shrugged and turned away bending closer over their cards, not wishing to be drawn into any womanish disputes.

      ‘Get on back to your tasks, Jhoti, and take your brat with you!’ she commanded.

      Kalwant smirked, and dropped Marvinder’s legs which she had been clutching all this time. Jhoti staggered as the full weight of her daughter swung against her body.

      Marvinder’s sobs pierced the air. ‘Ma, Ma! It’s my tin. You know it is!’

      Kalwant, under the full protection of Mother-in-law’s gaze, reached out and extricated the tin from Marvinder’s grip. ‘There you are, my precious,’ she held it out to her son. ‘Now it’s yours again!’

      Ajit snatched it gleefully and ran round proudly displaying it like a trophy. Marvinder’s mouth opened wider as a protesting wail gathered in her throat, but Jhoti hastily stuffed the end of her veil into the child’s mouth, and heaving her up on to her hip, ran from the scene.

      ‘Hush, darling!’ she entreated. ‘Or Grandmother will have us both beaten. I’ll find you another tin, I promise.’

      Only when she reached the privacy of the inner courtyard, did she set her child down on the ground. Then she unstuffed the veil from her daughter’s mouth and wiped away the tears from both their faces.

      ‘Come and help me finish grinding the spices. You like that, don’t you?’ she whispered, hugging and kissing her.

      Marvinder nodded, weeping quietly now as her mother held her tightly. ‘Oh, darling baby,’ Jhoti whispered, ‘who else would I have to love, if I didn’t have you?’

      Living as she did with her husband Govind’s family, Jhoti was at the very bottom of the pecking order. Not only was Govind the youngest of three sons, but he was always away. She had met him for the first time when he had come home for their marriage, and then a week later, he had gone again; back to Amritsar. In due course they sent him word to say that she was pregnant, and he said he would come home in time for the birth. But Jhoti gave birth earlier than expected, and when he heard it was a girl, he didn’t hurry back. It was another two months before he saw his daughter. But at least Jhoti had been in her own home then. She stayed as long as she dared, relishing in the affection which her mother and sisters lavished on her. How they cared for her and her baby; each day her mother would come with oils and massage her belly, her limbs and her feet; her sisters washed and combed out her hair, rubbed and oiled her scalp and then talked and joked and laughed for hours with her, taking it in turns to rock the infant.

      When she finally returned to her in-laws, she wondered if the pain of homesickness would ever pass; and in the evening, when all the chores were done, when the men got tipsy on home-brewed rice wine, and the women welded themselves into tight little gossipy knots from which Jhoti was usually excluded, Jhoti would soothe her baby to sleep, then slip away and walk through the dark fields, and climb the steep dyke to the narrow, straight-as-a-die, long white road; turning her face towards home, she looked and looked until the gleaming road disappeared over the dark horizon.

      Jhoti’s life