By Easterine Iralu
Note: The following excerpt comes from A Terrible Matriarchy (2007, Zubaan, New Delhi, 314 pages), a novel about a child in Nagaland (now a province in India) sent to live with a stern grandmother who insists on hard work. The story follows a troubled family in a troubled place. For more information: www.zubaanbooks.com.
“BANO, get up and make the fire, and while you are about it, wake up the girl.”
I could hear Grandmother's shrill voice outside our door. She tapped on the wooden wall and Bano's response was quick.
“Coming, Mother, I am awake, I am tying my hair.”
Actually she had been snoring half a minute ago so I thought it was funny that she should pretend to be awake. She sat up in bed, stretched herself and then twisted her long hair into a rubber band. She shuffled out of the room in her slippers and soon, I heard her breaking twigs and blowing on the embers of last night's fire. We always buried a small burning log in the ash in the hearth so that we could start the fire with it in the morning. I got up on my own because I did not want Grandmother to wake me. I instinctively knew that would not be a pleasant experience. I splashed cold water on my face and stealthily slithered into the smoky kitchen. Bano had stuffed paper in the fire to get it burning and now the smoke from the fire filled the room. I choked a bit and began to cough. But when I coughed more smoke got into my nostrils and down my throat and I felt quite horrible.
“Girl, are you sick?” asked Grandmother.
“No,” I got it out between coughing. “It's the smoke.”
“Humph,” she snorted, “keep her away from me. We don't know what germs she might have brought from their house. Give her a good scrubbing down with the carbolic soap later.”
I dreaded that because it was something that Father would insist on doing if we had sores or rashes on our skin. “It disinfects your skin and kills the germs,” he would say. But it was a harsh soap that got into the sores and burnt your skin. Grown-ups tended to forget that your skin was tender and they would rub it in very hard till the sores bled or were very red. At least, one thing good was that if Grandmother believed that I was full of germs she would keep away from me.
Bano was boiling water for tea. The kettle was burnt pitch-black from the years of being used on a wood fire. It was so old, it was dented in places. “That kettle is older than me,” Father would tell us with a big laugh. Bano brewed tea in an aluminum teapot and kept it by the fire to warm it. When she served us the mixture of weak tea, sugar and milk, Grandmother took out some biscuits from a jar and gave us a biscuit each. I knew it would be useless asking for more afterwards so I nibbled at my biscuit and drank my tea slowly, avoiding the temptation to dip my biscuit in tea. That way it would finish too quickly.
“Drink up, we have so much to do,” said Grandmother.
I scalded my mouth with the hot tea because I was too scared to tell her that I was not used to drinking hot tea.
“Better bathe her before you start cooking,” said Grandmother to Bano.
“I'll make some hot water then,” replied Bano.
“No need for that. She shouldn't be spoilt with warm water.”
“But, Mother, it is very cold this morning,” said Bano looking surprised that Grandmother should suggest that I be bathed in cold water.
“She has to get used to it,” was all that Grandmother said.
I glanced at Bano and threw her a pleading look but she wouldn't look at me. “Come then,” she said to me and led me to the bathroom. I was placed on the cold cement floor. She did try to ease the shock of a cold water bath by soaping me down quickly and rubbing my body very fast and then rinsing off the soap with cold water in small amounts. It was terrible. I was so cold my teeth were chattering and I thought I would fall sick and die of pneumonia. Better to be dead, I thought. Bano said something like “poor girl” and wrapped the towel around me very quickly. I felt my body heat return when she did that and then she held me tight so that I would gradually warm up. Then she carried me to the room and we raced to put my clothes on me.
I pulled on the wool socks that Mother had knitted for me and ran into the kitchen to sit by the fire. “No time for that,” said Grandmother as she handed me a small water pot. “Go get some water for cooking.”
I took the water pot and put it into a carrying basket which reached down to my knees and went out the back door. The cold wind went through my thin clothes and I walked fast because it was worse if I slowed down. Bano hurried out after me with her own water pot. “Don't worry, I'll help you,” she whispered.
At the water spot, there were two women. “I swear he is the father of the child. Haven't you noticed how much the child looks like him?” the first one was saying to the other.
“No, not Bito, it can't be.”
“Well, you only have to look close enough and then you'll see how much the boy resembles him, even down to the fingernails.”
“Doesn't her husband know?”
“I'm sure he does, but you know how it is. He'd rather own the child than expose his family to scandal. But she has a hard time of it, ever so often we hear raised voices because our houses are so close by, and he beats her sometimes.”
The two saw us coming closer and began to talk of something else. Bano greeted them.
“What's Lieno doing with you this morning?”
“She's come to stay with us,” Bano answered.
“Oh, does your aunt want to make a woman out of her already?”
Both the women laughed at this and Bano did not say anything.
“Don't worry, Dielieno, we won't do you any harm. You are to be pitied for being descended from that woman,” the younger woman said in a friendlier tone.
I did not say anything either. I did not understand what they meant.
Afterwards, when we had filled out water pots and were walking away, I whispered to Bano, “What did they mean?”
Bano looked sternly at me and said, “You must not repeat what you heard to Grandmother. It will only make her hate you. I hope you understand me, Lieno?”
“Yes.”
Young as I was, I was beginning to understand that other people did not like Grandmother but they did not let her know.
“The women seemed nice, don't you think?” I asked.
“Don't get close to them. They worm their way into people's hearts and get them to tell their darkest secrets.”
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