A Different Sky by Meira Chand Read Free Book Online

Goddess of Mercy, that we would have nothing to do with men and that the bond with our “sisters” would be stronger than with our own blood sisters. After we lit joss sticks a nun passed a comb through our hair and tied it up into a bun. This is sor-hei, the “comb up” ceremony. It meant we were not alone when we left our village to find work in the world, our sisters would be with us,’ Ah Siew explained.
    â€˜ Sor-hei. ’ Mei Lan giggled at the strange word.
    â€˜There is nothing to laugh at. Unmarried girls wear their hair in a plait. Married women tie it up in a bun. Sor-hei is like a marriage ceremony: we sisters are married to each other and our work. If women are not married nobody knows what to do with them. They don’t fit in anywhere, they are without a use or a place.’ Ah Siew was so serious that Mei Lan fell silent.
    â€˜We were saved in this way from the nunnery or the brothel, which is where we would have to go if we refused to marry,’ Ah Siew added in a low voice.
    Mei Lan stared at her in confusion. If what her mother’s friendssaid about her birthmark were true, she too might never marry. Then, people would not know what to do with her , she would be of no use to anyone and could not escape the nunnery or the brothel like Ah Siew.
    â€˜What is a brothel?’ Mei Lan demanded, but Ah Siew was disinclined to answer and turned her gaze to the road.

4
    W HEN R AJ S HERMA RETURNED to Serangoon Road and Manikam’s Cloth Shop where he worked, his employer was waiting impatiently for him. It would be useless to try and explain to Mr Manikam the extraordinary events of the afternoon and how he had seen not one riot but two.
    â€˜Good for nothing; only knowing how to waste time,’ Manikam shouted as Raj entered. He pushed a bale of white cotton shirting angrily back on to a shelf.
    â€˜Big riot in Chinatown,’ Raj explained, placing the money he had received from a maker of mosquito nets in Pagoda Street on the counter top. Manikam’s specialised in muslim for curtains and netting, and was known to have the best dhotis on Serangoon Road. It was also a place to buy shirting material. There were no peacock-coloured silks or bright woven cottons in Manikam’s. The monochrome tone of the stock, although unexciting, gave the cramped premises an air of spacious calm. It was a place in which to sit and think without distraction, and Raj was happy to do this for hours at a time.
    â€˜Riot, riot, what is this riot? How many hours are you taking for riot?’ Manikam raged, his heavy black spectacles sliding down his bulbous nose as he spoke. He wiped his sweating face on a small towel that hung over one shoulder.
    â€˜Trolley and rickshaw not moving,’ Raj explained.
    â€˜Legs are there,’ Manikam insisted, picking up the money Raj had placed upon the counter.
    â€˜Rioters were communists,’ Raj informed Manikam.
    â€˜What is that?’ Manikam asked, rubbing his hands on his vest.
    â€˜Communists are killers,’ Raj elaborated, remembering the old Chinese man he had escorted home and the bloody events that had punctuated his afternoon.
    â€˜We are all killers in our way,’ Manikam replied.
    â€˜People were getting killed,’ Raj insisted, and Manikam turned in sudden concern.
    â€˜You all right? Not getting hurt?’ he asked, the edge sliding out of his roar. Reaching under the counter, he fished out a dented metal cash box to stow away the money.
    â€˜Old Chinese man on trolleybus ill with asthma, I had to help him home. This also was taking time, and then at his house another riot happened. Everywhere today there is rioting,’ Raj explained. Manikam nodded, his anger abating as he counted the cash into the box. Raj would have elaborated further on the afternoon, but Manikam had lost interest now that the cash was in the box.
    â€˜It is good to help those in need. Good things come back to us, as