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Authors: Bapsi Sidhwa
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inherited—together with the servants and the dog—from the Altmans.
Ruth stealthily observed Grace through her sunglasses. Her expression softened. The sweeper, standing a little apart, was absorbed in the events with her customary quiet. Sensing her mistress’s regard she became uncomfortable andRuth slid her eyes away. At unexpected moments like this, Grace’s loveliness caught at Ruth’s heart. It astonished her that none of her Pakistani friends noticed the exquisite cast of her face unless Ruth pointed it out. She was a sweeper, and as such largely invisible in other respects—her beauty of little consequence except to other sweepers and, if they could lay their hands on her, pimps.
They heard the engine’s snarling wail and seconds later the airplane thundered past over their heads in a low, tightening arc. There was no mistaking it; the way the airplane was circling the airport meant that it was desperately seeking permission to land.
It was the late 1980s. In India the Sikh demand for Khalistan, a separate state in East Punjab, was at its most fervent. Air India planes on domestic flights between Delhi and Amritsar were almost routinely hijacked by Sikh dissidents and the pilots forced to veer off course to fly the short distance—a couple of miles as the crow flies—across the border into Pakistan. This would be the fourth or fifth hijacking and people living close to the airport could at once make out when an Air India flight was in trouble. In the past, the Pakistani authorities, nervous of being implicated in the hijacking, would not allow the plane to land until it was almost out of fuel and the appeals from their Indian counterparts became frantic.
Once one of the planes landed the Sikh dissidents would readily surrender to the Pakistani commandos. They were handcuffed, chained to each other and shunted off to jail to await trial. The Pakistani authorities were at first profuselythanked and then charged with the hijacking. Because of this, the Pakistanis were determined not to allow a hijacked plane to land on any account. ‘Next time we will let it crash,’ they had warned.
The women in the garden could sense the aircraft’s distress. It was making tighter circles and the engine’s roar appeared to have developed a strident whining undertone.
‘For God’s sake let it land,’ breathed Ruth, echoing the prayer in each quickening heart. Billo’s small features had drawn closer together, making her pugnacious face appear even more belligerent. Ruth was surprised to see the line of tears glistening down her slightly pockmarked cheeks.
The noise was deafening. The huge aircraft appeared to almost touch the TV antenna tied to a bamboo pole on their roof; then it banked and perilously sank from view. The women cringed, anticipating the explosion and the plume of flame and smoke that would arise from the crash. A few seconds later they knew from the heightened roar and screeching that the plane had landed. Grace and Billo both made the sign of the cross. Grace and her husband Sadiq attended mass most Sundays at the Catholic church, a ten-minute walk from the house. Billo was Muslim. Her gesture didn’t surprise Ruth who suspected she was a Christian convert to Islam. Such conversions were commonplace—a means to avoid the stigma of untouchability attached to most converts to Christianity. In any event, Billo had the bubbly, confident personality that could embrace all the religions in the world.
‘You want lunch outside, Memsahib?’ asked Billo, wipingthe telltale trails of moisture from her face and reverting to what Ruth fondly termed her
managerial mode.
Ruth nodded: ‘Whenever the cook is back.’
The men would soon return to their duties. The cart driver had yet to be paid. Billo disappeared through the sliding French doors that led into the sitting-room and Grace began unhurriedly to disperse the puddles of water on the drive with her long reed
jharoo
.
Shernaz gave Ruth a ride to
Ruth stealthily observed Grace through her sunglasses. Her expression softened. The sweeper, standing a little apart, was absorbed in the events with her customary quiet. Sensing her mistress’s regard she became uncomfortable andRuth slid her eyes away. At unexpected moments like this, Grace’s loveliness caught at Ruth’s heart. It astonished her that none of her Pakistani friends noticed the exquisite cast of her face unless Ruth pointed it out. She was a sweeper, and as such largely invisible in other respects—her beauty of little consequence except to other sweepers and, if they could lay their hands on her, pimps.
They heard the engine’s snarling wail and seconds later the airplane thundered past over their heads in a low, tightening arc. There was no mistaking it; the way the airplane was circling the airport meant that it was desperately seeking permission to land.
It was the late 1980s. In India the Sikh demand for Khalistan, a separate state in East Punjab, was at its most fervent. Air India planes on domestic flights between Delhi and Amritsar were almost routinely hijacked by Sikh dissidents and the pilots forced to veer off course to fly the short distance—a couple of miles as the crow flies—across the border into Pakistan. This would be the fourth or fifth hijacking and people living close to the airport could at once make out when an Air India flight was in trouble. In the past, the Pakistani authorities, nervous of being implicated in the hijacking, would not allow the plane to land until it was almost out of fuel and the appeals from their Indian counterparts became frantic.
Once one of the planes landed the Sikh dissidents would readily surrender to the Pakistani commandos. They were handcuffed, chained to each other and shunted off to jail to await trial. The Pakistani authorities were at first profuselythanked and then charged with the hijacking. Because of this, the Pakistanis were determined not to allow a hijacked plane to land on any account. ‘Next time we will let it crash,’ they had warned.
The women in the garden could sense the aircraft’s distress. It was making tighter circles and the engine’s roar appeared to have developed a strident whining undertone.
‘For God’s sake let it land,’ breathed Ruth, echoing the prayer in each quickening heart. Billo’s small features had drawn closer together, making her pugnacious face appear even more belligerent. Ruth was surprised to see the line of tears glistening down her slightly pockmarked cheeks.
The noise was deafening. The huge aircraft appeared to almost touch the TV antenna tied to a bamboo pole on their roof; then it banked and perilously sank from view. The women cringed, anticipating the explosion and the plume of flame and smoke that would arise from the crash. A few seconds later they knew from the heightened roar and screeching that the plane had landed. Grace and Billo both made the sign of the cross. Grace and her husband Sadiq attended mass most Sundays at the Catholic church, a ten-minute walk from the house. Billo was Muslim. Her gesture didn’t surprise Ruth who suspected she was a Christian convert to Islam. Such conversions were commonplace—a means to avoid the stigma of untouchability attached to most converts to Christianity. In any event, Billo had the bubbly, confident personality that could embrace all the religions in the world.
‘You want lunch outside, Memsahib?’ asked Billo, wipingthe telltale trails of moisture from her face and reverting to what Ruth fondly termed her
managerial mode.
Ruth nodded: ‘Whenever the cook is back.’
The men would soon return to their duties. The cart driver had yet to be paid. Billo disappeared through the sliding French doors that led into the sitting-room and Grace began unhurriedly to disperse the puddles of water on the drive with her long reed
jharoo
.
Shernaz gave Ruth a ride to
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