came one day to my house and settled on the bottom stair of the veranda to find out where the smell might lead. “Did you hear,” she asked me as she sat, “of Rosemount Hotel’s cook?”
I knew that the cook was probably not why she had come to me, but I said no, I had not.
“He was riding pillion on a scooter when he was hit by a speeding car – a Delhi car, of course,” Ama said. “He fell from the scooter. But thought he was fine. And then – then he looked down and he had no right leg! It had been sliced clean off. There it was, still in shoe and sock, lying in the pine needles. They wrapped it in a shirt and carried it to the hospital with them, but nobody could stitch it back on.”
“That Puran,” she began next, still not ready to come to the point. “He’s as senseless about his deer as about everything else. Lunatic fool giggles and whispers to it like it’s his lover, and feeds it all the grain I store for the hens. Between his deer and Charu’s useless dog, I am losing all the money I earn from selling milk.”
I murmured and waited. After a brief pause, unable to hold herself back any longer, she demanded, “Why is the girl with you all the time? People are talking.”
“She is learning to read,” I said. “I have told her she must.”
“She missed school all those years when I was paying for her, what is this new hobby for?”
“It’s never too late,” I said.
“Why?” Ama said, narrowing her eyes. “I never learnt to read a word, and has it been a problem for me?”
Before I could argue, she appeared to reconsider and said, “No, it’s a good thing. She won’t be as helpless as her poor dead mother. She won’t let a man get away with treating her badly. But don’t teach her too much. Girls who study too much are no good for anything – she won’t get a husband and she’ll have all sorts of silly ideas about herself.” She continued in a heavy voice, “I’m growing old. She is such a worry. I have to find her a groom, but my son is such a drunk – everyone knows it and stays away. These last few months his face has gone black – did you see him when he came yesterday? Just comes to me to demand money, as if I grow rupee notes in the field. As thin as a stick and lies about all day in a daze. That woman he’s taken up with is a born witch.” She shook her head. “How long will I live?” she said. “Every day I feel closer to death. My heart feels as if it has slid to my stomach sometimes. And who will look after Charu if I am dead? Sometimes I think it’s a curse that she’s pretty. How is an old woman to keep her out of trouble?”
Her wrinkles deepened and darkened. Her fingers were calloused, dry, and chunky like small yams from overwork. The strap on one of her slippers was held together by a safety pin. I felt a deep pang of guilt and worry at what I was doing behind Ama’s back. I said, “You mustn’t worry about her. I’ll look after her.”
Ama shook her head and smiled in the ironical, all-knowing manner she adopted with me at times. Usually it annoyed me, but this time I thought her attitude was justified; even to myself, my words sounded like a tall claim. How was I planning to look after Charu?
In a rush, as if I had planned it all along – although the thought had not crossed my mind till that minute – I said, “She’s my responsibility too, I’ve known her since she was twelve. And … everything I own will be hers.” It was suddenly self-evident: who better to inherit my savings bank account, the bits of jewellery my mother had given me over the years, and the furniture I had collected? I had been told that my chest of drawers, bought second-hand from people moving house four years ago, was an antique.
“You!” Ama exclaimed. Her thin body shook with mirth. Her long teeth, stained from chewing tobacco, were black and yellow. She noticed my offended look and stopped her laughter. “How are you to look after her?” she said. “You can barely look after yourself, far away from