The Daughters of Madurai by Rajasree Variyar

Author:Rajasree Variyar [Variyar, Rajasree]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Union Square & Co.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The fifth month

The skin on her fingertips swirl into prints.

She begins to move her limbs.

Her mother feels her flutter.

“YOU NEED TO FIND A NEW PLACE FOR YOUR WORK,” Sanjay said. And to live, he thought, but did not say.

They were strolling through the vegetable market between aisles of fruit and vegetables. Strolling because, even at this hour, the place was full of keen-eyed shoppers whose weekly excitement was snatching up the freshest fruit and vegetables. Lavanika skipped along ahead of them. The space and the pace gave them time. Time for Sanjay to listen, speechless, as Janani told him of her friend’s near-death. It was the first time she’d spoken of it, though it had happened weeks ago. He’d known something was wrong, known by her forced smiles, by how much longer it took her to relax into their conversations. When she finally told him, she’d spoken in a monotone soft enough that he had to strain to hear. Sometimes he thought he’d lost her words completely, until he realized that she was halting, hesitating, to choke down tears. He wished he could have reached out, put a hand on her arm.

“Lavanika, wait!” Janani stopped in front of a huge pile of green beans. Bending down, she began to sort through them, selecting some, discarding others. Sanjay was sure there was a method, but every bean looked the same to him. The vendor sat half-hidden behind the pile, watching them—an old man with a cloudlike swirl of gray hair, a smile beneath his equally gray moustache, legs wrapped in his lunghi and tucked beneath him. He leaned over and held out a steel bowl to Janani, who threw her handfuls of beans in, then placed the bowl on a scale beside him.

“Ten rupees, ma,” he said.

Sanjay watched her eyes narrow, her nose wrinkle. “Eight is enough, Aiyan.”

The old man smiled, shook his head shoulder to shoulder. “OK, OK.”

She handed over the coins and they moved on. Lavanika had returned for long enough to see the transaction complete, fidgeting with her faded, daisy-printed dress—she was off again as soon as they turned from the bean vendor, humming to herself, curls bouncing and anklets tinkling with every movement. It struck him then, how much she reminded him of Janani at that age, of the little girl he’d played hide-and-seek with so many years ago.

“I know,” Janani said quietly, and Sanjay was startled back into their conversation. “I’m saving. I’m sewing most days now. The women in the village mostly come to me—tightening and loosening blouses, stitching new blouses, skirts, everything.” She looked at him and must have seen the blankness in his face, because she laughed. “Usual tailoring work. Mamiyar knows I’m doing a little, so I have to give her some extra money, but I keep enough.” She paused. “I’ll have enough. Perhaps Shubha can come and work with me, when it’s time. It’ll spare her from the rice fields.”

They circled around a family with a mass of children, all exclaiming over a mango seller’s wares.

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