The Selector of Souls by Shauna Singh Baldwin

Author:Shauna Singh Baldwin [Baldwin, Shauna Singh]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Adult
ISBN: 9780307362940
Publisher: Knopf Canada
Published: 2012-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Gurkot

ANU

PEOPLE FROM JALAWAAZ, GURKOT AND HAMLETS AROUND are gathered beneath the red-gold fabric of a shamiana. It’s Inauguration Day for the chapel, St. Anne’s School, and Bread of Healing Clinic. Some sit cross-legged, wrapped in shawls and blankets, on the dhurries Sister Anu and Sister Bethany have spread before a platform. On the platform, a table draped in white stands before five white plastic chairs. A chrome microphone, rented from the electrical shop in Jalawaaz, inclines its oval head beside the table. The snow peaks, blue-white in December splendour, embrace the festivities.

Sister Anu leads the guests of honour, along with Sister Imaculata and Father Pashan, on a tour of the clinic, past the doctor’s office, the nurses’ station, the lab room and tiny dispensary. Mr. Amanjit Singh zips up his North Face ski jacket, warms his hands before the bukhari in the women’s ward and declares, “Women’s health, children’s education—there can be no development without it.” At this, the sub-district magistrate of Jalawaaz, a South Indian brahmin of about thirty-five who is new to the hills but well-equipped by his training in the Indian Administrative Service, smiles a Chiclet smile. “My last posting was Kerala,” he says, “Verrry dev-lupped. Women’s literacy there: almost ninety percent.”

Mrs. Kiran Singh says, “Very nice, Sister,” when they tour the women’s ward. Large sunglasses ride the bridge of her diamond-studded nose and mask her eyes. Sister Anu can’t see much of her face, but hasn’t seen a woman wearing so much makeup or such ornate gold and diamond earrings since she left New Delhi. Kiran-ji seems so supremely confident and detached, or maybe so studiously bored, that to her own ears Sister Anu’s enthusiasm and hope seem positively gushing.

In the men’s ward, the weary-looking superintendent of police looks with longing at the red-blanketed beds. At least Father Pashan and Sister Imaculata seem impressed by Sister Anu’s attention to detail and her explanations.

Sister Anu leads the dignitaries outside, down a path to the chapel. Everyone stops to remove shoes at the door. The superintendent of police takes a scarf from the bin outside to cover his head in respect, and so does the SDM. Kiran draws her dupatta up over her head. Turbaned Amanjit Singh doesn’t need a scarf. Father Pashan points out the marble confessional and introduces Samuel, the loving restorer of its carved surface. Samuel gazes at the ground as Father Pashan complements him for recarving cemetery headstones and clearing the colonial-era graves. The priest offers to show Amanjit Singh Samuel’s handiwork in the graveyard, but Amanjit shudders. “Let’s not spoil such an auspicious day.”

Exiting the chapel, the dignitaries climb the platform, and sit down. The lambardar of the village and the head of the village council come forward to greet the chief guest and benefactor, Mr. Amanjit Singh, then everyone else. Milk from Gurkot cows is served in aluminium tumblers.

Sister Anu helps Sister Bethany sling a long red ribbon between the pillars on the clinic veranda, then takes a chair behind the children’s area, to survey the platform and the now-milling crowd.

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