Land of Five Rivers by Khushwant Singh Read Free Book Online Page A

meal and fell fast asleep. Only the desire to have a son would occasionally arouse him at midnight. And then it was over so quickly that Malan had to spend hours counting the stars to cool down and get back to sleep. These midnight efforts had produced a daughter every year. The girls came to the world uninvited and departed without leave. Only one, Minnie remained. She was the replica of her mother; like the fruit of a tree that bears only one. Minnie had large gazelle eyes — the eyes of Malan. Her long black hair fell down to her waist. And she had a full-bosomed wantoness which often made Malan think that all her frustrated passions had been rekindled in her daughter’s body.
    Minnie scrubbed the kitchen utensils, bolted the door of the courtyard and went to bed in her own room. Malan was left alone.
    It was late. The moon was so dazzlingly bright that it seemed to be focussing all its light in that one courtyard. Was it cold? Not really. Just pleasantly cool. Malan asked herself why she sat alone in the courtyard under the night of the full moon. Was she expecting someone? Minnie had gone to bed and her father had gone away to the city. Why was he away on a night like this? On full moon nights she used to keep herself indoors away from temptation. But tonight she had her daughter’s sequined
duppatta
wrapped about her face. The sequins glistened in the silvery moonlight; it seemed as if the stars were entangled in her hair; they twinkled on her eyelashes, on her face and on her shoulders. A night-jar called from the mango grove:
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It would call like that all through the night —
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    Her thoughts carried her with them. Her daughter would be married in a week’s time. Then she would be left alone — all alone in the huge courtyard. A shiver ran through her body. The empty courtyard would terrify her. She would have to learn to live by herself. Her husband was too occupied with the pursuit of money; his money-lending and debt-collecting. He came back late in the evening only to collapse on his charpoy. She had often asked him why he involved himself in so many affairs, but it had not made any difference.
    Malan went indoors and saw her daughter fast asleep — as dead to the world as only the young can be. Her red bangles lay beside her pillow. Silly girl! She had only to turn in her sleep and they would be crushed. Malan picked them up to put them on the mantlepiece. Before she knew it, she had slipped them on her own arms; six on one, six on the other. They glistened even in the dark. They were new; her daughter had only bought them the day before from the bangle-seller.
    Malan came out in the moonlit courtyard — the sequined
duppatta
on her head and her arms a-jingle-jangle with bright red glass bangles. She felt like a bride — warm, lusty. Blood surged in her veins.
    There was a gentle knock on the door. It was he. It was the same knock — a nervous, hesitant knock. He was there as he had written in his letter he would be: ‘On the full moonlit night of December, I will knock at your door. If you are willing, open the door; if you are not willing, let it be. I will continue to knock at your door as I have always done.’
    Knock, knock, knock — very soft, very sweet, a very inviting knock. Who could it be but he! The prowler in the moonlit nights. Suddenly the moon went behind a cloud and it was absolutely dark.
    In a moment, Malan’s feet took her across the dark courtyard. With trembling hands she undid the latch. Another moment and she was in his arms. Their lips met; their teeth ground against each other. Passion that had been held in check for over twenty years burst its banks and carried them on the flood.
    Malan did not know how they went to the bo tree outside the village. She did not remember how they went into the field beside the bo tree — nor how long they stayed there. She was woken by the train which passed by the village in the early hours of the dawn. She extricated