The Two-Tailed Snake by Nod Ghosh

Author:Nod Ghosh
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fairlight Books
Published: 2023-08-23T09:49:03+00:00

A Pen in Her Hand

Like the elves in the fairy tale, Joya did her best handiwork while others slept. Her fingers tugged on silky threads until they were taut. In the distance, midnight trains howled as they approached Howrah station. Nearer home, the chirrup-chirrup-tip-tip-tip of bats provided soft accompaniment to her thoughts as she worked.

How long. How long?

Will he ever return?

Quick! Quick!

The faster I finish his suit, the sooner I might see him.

But it must be tidy.

Must be the best.

In and out her needle moved, her stitches even, her finishing neat.

For months, Joya fell into a shallow slumber after supper. She’d wake to the sound of her mother shuffling into bed in the next room, and would creep into the parlour where Ma kept her scissors and threads, her iron and her pins. Ma took sewing in from friends and neighbours, and had taught Joya how to use the tools.

Like the fairy-tale characters, Joya’s industry kept her awake, sometimes until dawn streaked the sky, only there was no shoemaker to appreciate her work.

Joya couldn’t remember what the elves in the Brothers Grimm tale did during the day. Perhaps they slept. She, however, had a day of labour ahead.

With provincial elections looming, the factory workers had been discussing politics with raised voices and exclamations… Chitter-chatter-shorbonaash!

‘What will become of Netaji’s INA officers?’ Pallav the machinist asked.

Whisper-shush-now-choop!

‘Array baap-re!’ Usman the sweeper said. ‘But British are going soon, isn’t it?’

Maybe-might-be-must-be!

‘Officers are accused of treason,’ Pallav continued.

Really? Hai-re-hai!

‘My cousin-brother is in Indian National Army,’ Bokul the cutter said, puffing with pride. ‘He was fighting with wrong side before.’

Oh-oh-oh-oh!

Lohith tapped Bokul with his stick. ‘Do we pay you for gossip?’

The chat continued regardless after the manager walked away, with talk of Congress and the Communist Party.

Political business.

Joya’s belly contracted.

Had her parents been wrong to hide Baba’s political business from her?

After everything changed, she wished she’d asked Baba about the political business when she could. Ma was a closed book on the subject.

Joya wished she were still at school. But that was impossible.

The factory’s machines hummed and whizzed. Seeking something more probable, she wished she were home sewing with her own needle.

Joya cast her magic at night.

She didn’t see with her eyes, but with her fingers: the occasional pinprick on skin, the needle feeding through gabardine and lining, the way the jacket took shape under her hands, how the lines were created that would eventually sit on her father’s shoulders.

Uncle Shom’s factory wasn’t far from New Market, where high-class tailors cut cloth for the city’s gentlemen. Joya had brokered deals with their managers. She collected tiny scraps, pieces too small even for their hands to fashion into useful garments. It made her smile to think Baba would wear the finest materials, that he would be dressed like a bhadralok, but in pieces.

As Joya stitched, she imagined how astonished Baba would be, if he ever came back, when she surprised him with her work. She had a good hand.

Master-Moshai had said her hand was like that of a noblewoman, that she could make uniform letters on her slate, the best in the class.

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