gizzard and intestines with his drink. When Kamla came into the living room to serve him his snacks, he said, ‘We must teach our children traditional songs.’ Kamla said, ‘I don’t know any. You can stay here and teach them and I’ll go to Gangtok and work.’ He ignored her and repeated the verses of the song until Maya could sing along. She climbed up on to his chest and fell asleep. This, too, was a ritual and soon Kamla came to take the girl away and leave Puran to his drinking. The house was silent as Thooli helped her mother in the kitchen. Puran counted the minutes. He looked at the clock. It was 8.30. The cake still waited on the table. He looked at the clock again at 8.35 and back at the cake. Its presence was now a reproach to the smallness of his life. ‘Budi. Ay Budi! Bring me some more snacks.’ He called her Budi—wife—as a provocation. ‘It is ready, Maya ko Bau. I’ll wake the children up and then we can eat.’ She called him Maya ko Bau—Maya’s father—when he irritated her. ‘Why did you let them sleep? We are celebrating,’ he snapped. Kamla came to the doorway of the living room and shouted, ‘How will they celebrate? By looking at your face? There is no television, not even a black-and-white one. No radio. They wake up at four in the morning. Thooli spends her morning with the cows. She failed this year. Did you know that? Why should they stay awake? What is there to celebrate? You were drinking, the children are frightened by what you do after you drink. Or did you expect them to talk with the night insects?’ Puran straightened up and snarled, ‘What did you say? Say it again! Tell me! Is someone plugging your hole while I’m away?’
The Book of Aleph
AU TU MN