Read Online Heat and Dust by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ruth Prawer Jhabvala
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except for occasional spasmsthat twitched through her little bird body. The mother went to the jars where the rice was stored and scattered a handful over Rituâs head. The grains bounced off the girlâs hair though one or two got stuck there. She still didnât move. The mother opened and closed her hand and circled it over that bowed head, cracking her knuckles, and she was also murmuring some incantation. Quite soon Ritu got up, looking tear-stained and exhausted but otherwise normal. The three of us went out again and lay back on our beds next to the others, who hadnât moved. Next day neither the mother nor Ritu mentioned the incident, so that it might just not have been except that there were some rice grains stuck in Rituâs hair.
20 March. Â Â Â Â After that night the mother and I have drawn closer together. We have become friends. Now she often accompanies me to the bazaar and bullies the shopkeeper if he is not giving me the best vegetables. She has seen to it that everyone charges me the right price. I understand her Hindi much better now, and she some of mine though it still makes her laugh. But she does most of the talking and I like listening to her, especially when she tells me about herself. I have the impression that, although she is a widow, the best part of her life is now. She does not seem to have a high opinion of married life. She has told me that the first years are always difficult because of being so homesick and thinking only of the fatherâs house: and it is difficult to get used to the new family and to the rule of the mother-in-law. She rarely mentions her late husband so I presume he didnât make up for much. But she seems to be very close to her son â it is she, not Ritu, who does everything for him like serving his food and laying his clothes out. She is very proud of him for being agovernment servant and working in an office instead of sitting in a shop like his father used to do (he was a grocer). It is a great step up for him and so for her too. She certainly holds her head high when she walks through the town. She is about fifty but strong and healthy and full of feminine vigour. Unlike Ritu, she doesnât spend all her time at home but has outings with her friends who are mostly healthy widows like herself. They roam around town quite freely and donât care at all if their saris slip down from their heads or even from their breasts. They gossip and joke and giggle like schoolgirls: very different from their daughters-in-law who are sometimes seen shuffling behind them, heavily veiled and silent and with the downcast eyes of prisoners under guard.
Since we started getting friendly, Inder Lalâs mother invites me along on some of her jaunts. Iâve been introduced to all her friends, including a sort of leader they have â another widow whom they call âMajiâ though she is not that much older than they are. Maji is said to have certain powers, and though I donât know what they are, she does give me the impression of having something more than other people, even if it is only more vim and vigour. She seems to be positively bursting with those. She lives very simply in a little hut under a tree. It is a lovely spot, in between the lake where the boys go swimming and a lot of old royal tombs. When I was taken to see her, we all crawled inside her hut and sat on the mud floor there. I enjoyed being with all those widows, they were so gay and friendly, and though I couldnât take much part in their conversation, I did a lot of smiling and nodding; and when they all began to sing hymns â led by Maji, who sang very lustily, throwing herself around in her enthusiasm â I tried to join in, which seemed to please them.
After that Inder Lalâs mother took me to see the sutteeshrines. We walked to the end of the bazaar and through the gateway leading out of town, then down a dusty road till we came to a tank or
20 March. Â Â Â Â After that night the mother and I have drawn closer together. We have become friends. Now she often accompanies me to the bazaar and bullies the shopkeeper if he is not giving me the best vegetables. She has seen to it that everyone charges me the right price. I understand her Hindi much better now, and she some of mine though it still makes her laugh. But she does most of the talking and I like listening to her, especially when she tells me about herself. I have the impression that, although she is a widow, the best part of her life is now. She does not seem to have a high opinion of married life. She has told me that the first years are always difficult because of being so homesick and thinking only of the fatherâs house: and it is difficult to get used to the new family and to the rule of the mother-in-law. She rarely mentions her late husband so I presume he didnât make up for much. But she seems to be very close to her son â it is she, not Ritu, who does everything for him like serving his food and laying his clothes out. She is very proud of him for being agovernment servant and working in an office instead of sitting in a shop like his father used to do (he was a grocer). It is a great step up for him and so for her too. She certainly holds her head high when she walks through the town. She is about fifty but strong and healthy and full of feminine vigour. Unlike Ritu, she doesnât spend all her time at home but has outings with her friends who are mostly healthy widows like herself. They roam around town quite freely and donât care at all if their saris slip down from their heads or even from their breasts. They gossip and joke and giggle like schoolgirls: very different from their daughters-in-law who are sometimes seen shuffling behind them, heavily veiled and silent and with the downcast eyes of prisoners under guard.
Since we started getting friendly, Inder Lalâs mother invites me along on some of her jaunts. Iâve been introduced to all her friends, including a sort of leader they have â another widow whom they call âMajiâ though she is not that much older than they are. Maji is said to have certain powers, and though I donât know what they are, she does give me the impression of having something more than other people, even if it is only more vim and vigour. She seems to be positively bursting with those. She lives very simply in a little hut under a tree. It is a lovely spot, in between the lake where the boys go swimming and a lot of old royal tombs. When I was taken to see her, we all crawled inside her hut and sat on the mud floor there. I enjoyed being with all those widows, they were so gay and friendly, and though I couldnât take much part in their conversation, I did a lot of smiling and nodding; and when they all began to sing hymns â led by Maji, who sang very lustily, throwing herself around in her enthusiasm â I tried to join in, which seemed to please them.
After that Inder Lalâs mother took me to see the sutteeshrines. We walked to the end of the bazaar and through the gateway leading out of town, then down a dusty road till we came to a tank or
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