After a moment’s suspense, he went back to his seat in the grocery, lit his hookah and attended to the clients. They were happy to get out, and he the happier to get rid of them. Everybody had gone and Beti still lay there, prostrate on the floor, and weeping. The blood that oozed from her back was trickling down to the floor and a few flies — it was summer— were already settling to their orgy. The dust in the street rose — and fell. Now it was a bullock cart, and another time a motor car. The sun was hot, iron-melting. It was Ananda who entered. ‘Ram, Ram. .,’ cried the parrot. Smoking his hookah Motilal flared up at him. It was frightening to see him flare up like a lion.
‘What do you want?’ he growled in a hoarse, frenzied voice.
‘Just a seer of sugar,’ murmured Ananda, trembling. He looked towards Beti and it sent a shiver through his back.
‘Bapuji. . Bapuji. . save me. . save me!’ she begged.
‘Save you! Go to hell, you dirty dragon! Go and sell yourself in a house of prostitution, you wretch, you devil! You witch, you donkey’s kid, you bloody. .!’ He growled like thunder. Beti breathed heavily and sobbed.
‘What do you want. . hukk. . hukk,’ he coughed, ‘what do you want? Sugar?’
‘Yes.’
‘How much?’
‘A seer.’
‘Bapuji. . Bapuji. . save me. . save me!’
Motilal leapt from his seat, and kicking her right happily on the back, banged her with the thorny piece of firewood again.
‘Ayyo. . ayyo. . ayyo. . Mai, mother. . ayyo. . ooo,’ she yelled, then rolled forward and writhed.
‘Dog, whore, wench, devil, you witch! Shriek, shriek, as much as you like. Nobody will come to help you. No! Nobody. . ’
He grinned, wiped away his perspiration with his right arm, and drew a puff from his undenying hookah.
‘Ha. . Haa. .’ she breathed, and became unconscious.
Ananda was in tears. He wanted to run away. But he was afraid Motilal would catch him, and break his thirty-two teeth. He looked so enraged, did Motilal. He seemed ready to beat up the whole world. Ananda shivered and stood, gazing unwillingly at the parrot.
Fortunately, the fear that Beti would die entered Motilal’s head, and this horrified him. He went into the kitchen, brought a pailful of water, and sitting beside her threw a handful upon her face. Her mouth was wide open, and her tongue half visible. She was as red as the inside of a pumpkin. After a moment she opened her eyes and smiled. He smiled back tenderly, compassionately. His hookah was with him. .
In the evening when Ananda was coming back from school, Beti was sitting on the gram platform, whisking away the flies.
The morning was fresh as usual. For Beti and Motilal, days followed one another, and each day was as fresh and good as the other. They had got up as usual at five, and while she had gone to the street pipe to get a pailful of water, Motilal had dusted a part of the grocery and had seen to the folding of the bedding. Then he went and removed the door planks one by one, tried to dust them too and laid them aside by the kitchen door. Beti had come back with water, and began to wash the vessels, in the street. They were not many. Just a few blackened and blistered pots and the two bell-metal plates they ate in. She took a handful of sand from the street, and with a tuft of coconut fibre rubbed them till they shone like gold. Motilal, who had nothing to do for the moment, sat on the steps, his hookah in his hands. He had not slept very well the previous night, and his head was maddeningly heavy. He closed his eyes and sank into a quiet doze. People began to move about in the street, and the morning carts were rattling along. Beti Bai was thinking of her native village and she began to weep. Her mother was dead, and now there was nobody to go there for. And even if she wished, would Motilal ever make such an expensive journey? Never. .
The first client woke Motilal. She had come for a quarter of a seer of rice. A quarter of a seer of rice! What a sinister thing to began a day with!
‘Nothing else?’ he bawled, furious.
‘Nothing else. Just a quarter of a seer of rice.’
‘Oh! this world, this world! We’ll soon die starving, with your damned quarter of a seer of rice! A quarter of a seer of rice. .a quarter of a. . ’
‘I must be going, Seth.’
‘You want to go? Why, woman, you can go and drown in the next well! Or better still, go and lie with a licking male dog.. woman, you. . ’
‘Very well,’ she grunted, and walked away.
‘I say — I say—’ roared Motilal. To let go the first client. . the first client, by God, and ruin the whole day. . ‘I say!!!’
The client walked away. She hastened along. Motilal ran swearing after her.
‘I saaay — I saaay. . ’
The client shrugged her shoulders, and hurried on faster than ever.
‘I say. .’ he cried gasping, and stood threateningly in front of her. She tried to slip away. But he caught her hands and held them fast. She shrieked. But there was not a soul to come to her rescue. And she ambled back helplessly, and grumbling, bought her quarter of a seer of rice. Motilal gave a broad smile. He was victorious.
‘I am not going to let go my first client like that,’ he muttered to himself.
‘Then you had better learn to be more polite to them,’ she suggested, with an indulgent smile. She was not so angry now. And perhaps if she was good to him, she would get a handful more.
‘But a quarter of a seer of rice! Just imagine!’ He coughed, and laughed disdainfully.
‘Oh! I cannot buy any more, Seth. Don’t you know my husband has run away with another woman, and I am poor?’
‘Is that so?’ he asked nervously. His son had done the same. This sadness turned into a strange pity. And, asking her to open her bag, he threw in a handful of rice. She was so happy. And she walked away with many a blessing on the generous Motilal.
In the meanwhile, Beti Bai had finished washing the vessels, and had even come back from her daily bath beneath the public tap. She was muttering to herself the songs of Krishna, which she chanted every morning, doing her household work.
To Yashodha’s beloved little one,
Blue as the autumn cloud,
To Krithum, then, Victory, Victory.
The fire was still to be lit, and the cow to be milked, and the milk boiled. All this had to be done before eight o’clock, when the customers would begin to come in numbers, one after the other. This morning, her fire too would not take well. It had been twice dead. What a bad sign to begin a day with, she said to herself, and she resolved to bear quietly any threats or beatings from Motilal. A bad day, for her, meant just that. At last the fire slowly lit up, and, placing a pot of water on the oven, she went out to milk the cow. The calf somehow had managed to slip away from its noose, and half the milk was gone. She banged the calf in fury, and thrusting it aside, beat the teats in the hope of getting even half a seer of milk. Fortunately there was still a little left — in fact there was a great deal left — and driving the cow on to the street, she went back to the kitchen. The fire was but feebly burning, and the water was not warm. She cursed herself, cursed the fuel, cursed the calf, and blowing air into the oven, she sat thinking of all that might happen that evil-omened day — that dark day to be. Even a cough from Motilal would disturb her and send a shiver through her spine. But in a moment, as though to console her, the fire made the luck-bringing hiss. She was happy about this. So after all it was not going to be a bad day! The fire god had prophesied. . Motilal entered. He too was happy.