eat, or, to be precise, she had not wanted to appear parsimonious. Squatting at the tap, she could hear the old lady questioning her brother like an unsparing schoolteacher.
Kamala’s landlord was a simple man, fundamentally unsuited to the business of landlording, treating his tenants with a courtesy usually reserved for guests. He was unable to deny any request made to him, especially if it was phrased in polite terms and after due inquiries about his health and the well-being of his family. Since his wife suffered, like him, from an excess of sensibility, any difficult decision that needed to be conveyed to his tenants was delivered by his mother, who did not.
The landlord’s mother was always ready to concede her son’s superior knowledge of the ways of the world and, certainly, his right to manage his own affairs. If she voiced her opinion in his hearing, it was only to provide him with an alternate point of view (humble and fault-ridden though it may be). And if by the magic of osmosis, her opinions somehow managed to become his, that was the will of the gods. It was a process she handled deftly, bringing to it an expertise garnered through years of managing the landlord’s late father; in short, the old lady was the unofficial regent of the courtyard.
Please, she prayed, she is very important to me. Please let my brother not be provoked into being rude to her. I could not bear the shame. I could not repair the damage.
Kamala had misplaced her worry.
Her brother appeared keen to make a good impression. She returned with plates clean and dripping wet to hear him holding forth to an interested audience. The landlord’s mother had been joined within minutes by her daughter-in-law and by the young bride. “… many guntas of land,” he was saying. “Yes, we are lucky to be living so comfortably …
“And yes, the shop is also doing well. The second one also.”
In a frozen, startled silence, Kamala listened to descriptions of the acres of land her brother owned, his thriving shops. And then, not content with talking so freely about himself, he proceeded determinedly to establish the worth of Kamala’s late husband’s family as well: “… even more land,” he said. “Cows producing the finest milk. Very nice house.”
Kamala saw the open mouths, the heated rise in speculation; even Narayan listening to this in astonishment. She had no idea how to stem the flow of her brother’s sudden loquacity. She could feel eyes sliding speculatively from him to her and back again. It was the bride, naturally presumptuous, who chose to ask the big unanswered question:
“Aiyo, uncle,” she said, “if Kamala-aunty can stay like such a queen at home, why is she living and working like this?”
“Hush, child,” said the landlord’s mother. “What a question to ask.”
Her brother did not seem offended by the bride’s impertinence. “It is a good question,” he said, with a kindly solicitude that made Kamala want to bang her wet plates on his head, “but you good ladies know Kamala … she can be very obstinate. How many times we have all told her to come and live with us—but she will not listen.”
“Yes, Kamala-aunty can be quite obstinate,” agreed the bride, with an unbecoming haste.
“Amma”—her brother addressed the landlord’s mother—“it is good that you have looked after her so well; she is very lucky. But why should she clean houses here when she can live in comfort at home? Her husband’s family too would welcome her—our family is held in such respect in the village.”
“We are happy to have her with us,” said the old lady, “and I thank you for your words. We have cherished her like a daughter. But she is luckier still to have a brother like you, of strong character and so caring. Lucky for her and so good for Narayan—he needs a man’s hand to control his mischief.”
Narayan’s protest was quelled by his mother’s stern glare; she herself said nothing.
Her brother, encouraged by the old lady’s words, caught Narayan by the ear and twisted it until the boy winced. “Mischief, is it?” he said, genially. “I see that next time, I shall have to bring my cane with me.”
WHEN ALL WAS QUIET and everyone asleep, Kamala lay awake, irritated and baffled by her brother’s conduct, the careless stories that she could not, in good grace, contradict. In the space of half a day, he had spoiled her hard-won reputation of eight years. She could see it