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

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 herself from her lover’s embrace, covered her face with her
duppatta
and hurried back to her home.
    She slipped off the bangles from her arms and put them back beside her daughter’s pillow. She folded her daughter’s sequined
duppatta,
took her own back and went to her charpoy. She fell asleep at once and slept as she had never slept before — almost as if she were making up for a lifetime of sleeplessness.
    When she woke, the sun was streaming into the courtyard.
    â€˜How you slept, like a little babe!’ teased Minnie. Minnie had swept the rooms and the courtyard and cooked the morning meal. She had bathed and was ready to go to the temple. She had tied jasmine flowers in her
duppatta
to offer to the gods.
    As soon as Minnie left, Malan stretched herself lazily on a charpoy in the courtyard. She was filled with sleep and her head was filled with dreams.
    A soft breeze began to blow. Warm sunshine spread in the courtyard. Malan felt like a bowl of milk, full to the brim — with a few petals of jasmine floating on it. It was a strange heady intoxication. Her eyes would close, open, and then close again.
    â€˜O Malan! Where’s that slut?’ cried a voice suddenly. Malan felt as if someone had slapped her face.
    â€˜Never heard of such goings on!’ said another voice, ‘and only four days to her wedding!’
    â€˜What has my daughter done?’ shrieked Malan rising up in anger. ‘She is as innocent as a calf.’
    There were derisive exclamations. Then someone sneered, ‘Your little calf has been on the dung heap all night.’
    Malan’s body went cold, her life-blood draining from her veins; a deathly pallor spread over her face.
    Lajo, her neighbour, was speaking. ‘It was barely dark when the bitch walked off with a stranger. I had got up to relieve myself when I saw them go away into the fields, with their arms entwined around each other’s waists. I didn’t get a wink of sleep. We have to watch the interests of our daughters. I’ve never heard of anyone blacken the faces of her parents in this way.’
    Malan sat still as if turned to stone. She did not seem to hear