Read Online The Sleeping Dictionary by Sujata Massey - Free Book Online
Authors: Sujata Massey
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would have raised my hand to say that any person could build a room of her own in her mind, just as I had an imaginary cupboard where I kept Thakurma’s and Ma’s stories to comfort me. And then, like a voice from that cupboard of childhood dreams, I heard a girl’s voice say: “Aey, Broom Girl. Aey!”
The voice was not inside my head but somewhere nearby. I jerked my head up, thinking I must have been daydreaming. But then I saw the new Indian student who’d arrived the previous week: a pretty, plump girl with untidy black braids. I was confused again, for how could anyone know that I’d once sold brooms?
“You don’t remember me,” she said in Bengali, and the disappointment in her voice gave me the courage to look again. In a flash, I recognized the long-lashed eyes that had watched me years ago from a veranda in the countryside near Johlpur. It seemed unbelievable, but this new student might be the jamidar’s little princess daughter.
“When I was younger, I sold brooms. Did you know my mother and me?” My tongue curled at the unfamiliar feeling of our shared old dialect.
“Yes, certainly. You came to my house when we were very little girls.” She spoke in a manner that fit her high caste—but without impatience or anger.
“I called you Princess. I remember your frocks,” I blurted.
“Yes, I liked them much better than what I’m wearing now.” She flicked her stiff green school skirt. “My name is Bidushi. Bidushi Mukherjee. What is yours?”
It was unusual for someone high up to declare her name to a servant. But she was looking at me in a kind way, so I mumbled my new first name, Sarah. How I hated it; but I understood that it was just one of many changes I’d had to make to live under the protection of Lockwood School.
“Sarah! Must everyone call you that now? It sounds strange, doesn’t it?”
“I’ve become a Christian.” I dropped my head, expecting that the conversation was done, but it seemed that Bidushi expected more. Clearing my throat, I asked, “And how is your esteemed family?”
Bidushi pressed her rosebud lips together for a moment. Then in a somber voice, she said, “Four years ago, a tidal wave killed my parents.”
“I know that wave!” I said. “I saw it. That same wave took my whole village and family. I escaped only because I was on higher ground in the jungle.”
“I suppose that we were both lucky,” Bidushi said, but her voice was heavy. “They didn’t take me to the beach because I needed to finish my lessons. The next day, the Collector came to explain to my ayah and me that all of them had drowned.”
“Have you been alone since then?” I ached for her.
“My father’s brother and his wife came to take over the estate. My aunt began keeping me inside, because well-bred girls should not beseen outside the family. I have been trapped inside the walls of our estate until last week!” From the tone of her voice, she sounded glad to be away.
Feeling shy but wanting to reassure her, I said, “Welcome to Lockwood School. I hope it will be a good home for you.”
“Yes, because you are here.” Bidushi’s eyes shone. “We are the same, two Johlpur orphans alone in a strange place.”
But we were not the same. I was a servant, and she was a student; and she still had her relatives’ protection and money, while I had a stipend that I’d never seen because Miss Rachael was keeping it for me. But I could not say all of that. Instead, I asked why she was studying in such a faraway school.
“My uncle and aunt didn’t really want to send me. But a plan was made many years ago for me to marry my mother’s cousin’s son from Calcutta. Recently, his parents inquired about my education. You see, Pankaj—that is my betrothed’s name—is in England studying law at the University of Cambridge.”
“I have heard of Cambridge!” I knew that Miss Richmond was a graduate of Newnham College, Cambridge, and that many Englishmen who’d been at
The voice was not inside my head but somewhere nearby. I jerked my head up, thinking I must have been daydreaming. But then I saw the new Indian student who’d arrived the previous week: a pretty, plump girl with untidy black braids. I was confused again, for how could anyone know that I’d once sold brooms?
“You don’t remember me,” she said in Bengali, and the disappointment in her voice gave me the courage to look again. In a flash, I recognized the long-lashed eyes that had watched me years ago from a veranda in the countryside near Johlpur. It seemed unbelievable, but this new student might be the jamidar’s little princess daughter.
“When I was younger, I sold brooms. Did you know my mother and me?” My tongue curled at the unfamiliar feeling of our shared old dialect.
“Yes, certainly. You came to my house when we were very little girls.” She spoke in a manner that fit her high caste—but without impatience or anger.
“I called you Princess. I remember your frocks,” I blurted.
“Yes, I liked them much better than what I’m wearing now.” She flicked her stiff green school skirt. “My name is Bidushi. Bidushi Mukherjee. What is yours?”
It was unusual for someone high up to declare her name to a servant. But she was looking at me in a kind way, so I mumbled my new first name, Sarah. How I hated it; but I understood that it was just one of many changes I’d had to make to live under the protection of Lockwood School.
“Sarah! Must everyone call you that now? It sounds strange, doesn’t it?”
“I’ve become a Christian.” I dropped my head, expecting that the conversation was done, but it seemed that Bidushi expected more. Clearing my throat, I asked, “And how is your esteemed family?”
Bidushi pressed her rosebud lips together for a moment. Then in a somber voice, she said, “Four years ago, a tidal wave killed my parents.”
“I know that wave!” I said. “I saw it. That same wave took my whole village and family. I escaped only because I was on higher ground in the jungle.”
“I suppose that we were both lucky,” Bidushi said, but her voice was heavy. “They didn’t take me to the beach because I needed to finish my lessons. The next day, the Collector came to explain to my ayah and me that all of them had drowned.”
“Have you been alone since then?” I ached for her.
“My father’s brother and his wife came to take over the estate. My aunt began keeping me inside, because well-bred girls should not beseen outside the family. I have been trapped inside the walls of our estate until last week!” From the tone of her voice, she sounded glad to be away.
Feeling shy but wanting to reassure her, I said, “Welcome to Lockwood School. I hope it will be a good home for you.”
“Yes, because you are here.” Bidushi’s eyes shone. “We are the same, two Johlpur orphans alone in a strange place.”
But we were not the same. I was a servant, and she was a student; and she still had her relatives’ protection and money, while I had a stipend that I’d never seen because Miss Rachael was keeping it for me. But I could not say all of that. Instead, I asked why she was studying in such a faraway school.
“My uncle and aunt didn’t really want to send me. But a plan was made many years ago for me to marry my mother’s cousin’s son from Calcutta. Recently, his parents inquired about my education. You see, Pankaj—that is my betrothed’s name—is in England studying law at the University of Cambridge.”
“I have heard of Cambridge!” I knew that Miss Richmond was a graduate of Newnham College, Cambridge, and that many Englishmen who’d been at
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