which burned the cow-dung fuel that Adhiratha collected and dried each day. Their morning meal was only rice water from the previous night’s cooking.
During the weeks that followed Adhiratha tried to help Dolly in every way he could. He struggled behind her carrying the heaps of dirty clothes. Went round the bungalows collecting the washing in a basket. Even tried to assist his wife in beating the clothes against the stones. In the end she told him, ‘It is not your dharma to be a dhobi. Try to find some work that is more suited to you.’
‘I am no good at it, you mean,’ he said humbly.
‘That is what I mean,’ she laughed.
Adhiratha found a job at last. Pulling a rickshaw.
It was Dolly’s turn to be aghast. ‘You are to become a rickshaw wallah? I am to be the wife of a rickshaw wallah?’
‘Well, I am the husband of a dhobi woman,’ he laughed. ‘We are coming down in the world. That is all.’ Then he gave her a hug and said, ‘We have still got each other. We are still young. Who knows what will turn up.’ He picked up her hand, and caressed it. It was wrinkled like the hand of a dead person from so much immersion in water.
‘We would be better off if we had never had the good period in the company compound,’ she thought. Their present situation, a home surrounded by stinking drains and a single daily meal of rice and dhall, would have been easier to bear, she thought, if she had not experienced those happy days in the leafy compound, where they ate chingri and hilsa and bathed their rice in ghee.
That year, on the first day of the Durga Puja, as Dolly passed the company shrine on her way to collect the dirty washing, she turned her head the other way. And hoped the goddess noticed and felt ashamed, for by this time Dolly and Adhiratha had been married for five years and, in spite of all her prayers, there was still no child. In fact Adhiratha had begun to say that it would be a disaster if Dolly became pregnant now.
Dolly was tempted not to offer homage to the goddess that year. She wanted to punish Durga who had given her a happy life for a very short time, so as to be able to take it away and let Dolly see what she was missing.
But all the same, after she had gone round all the houses, and her basket was full, she made her way back to the shrine.
She had gone without her meal the previous evening and bought a small milk sweet with the money she had saved. As she unwrapped this, her stomach let out a rumble of hunger. She became seized with a strong temptation to eat the sweet instead of giving it to a goddess who was never going to listen to her prayer. All the same she put the sweet down on its peepul leaf and prostrating herself, begged aloud, ‘Oh Mother Durga hear my prayer and make me a mother too.’ She did not mention Adhiratha’s eyes. Perhaps she had been presumptuous, the last four years, in asking the goddess for two favours at once.
She reached the river late because of her visit to the goddess. The other dhobis were already laying their clothes out on the rocks to dry.
Dolly waded out into the water and, wetting the first of her sheets, rubbed the harsh yellow soap over it. All afternoon, up to her thighs in water, she beat the cloth against the smooth rocks.
‘You had better hurry,’ said the other dhobis in the evening, as they folded their already dried clothes and stacked them in the baskets. ‘They will be bringing the Durga down here for immersion soon and you mustn’t still be in the water.’ Dolly had to bite back tears remembering the previous years when she had been celebrating the company puja with her husband. Now she was not even allowed to stand in the water when the goddess came.
Frantically Dolly worked but the pile was huge and the clothes filthy. By the time the sun began to set the other dhobis were leaving and she had still not finished.
She would have to take the wet washing home, ten times as heavy, to dry in the tiny apartment.
She heard the shouts. People were yelling, ‘Oi, Ma, get out of the water. The goddess is coming.’
She looked up and saw the procession approaching. Men in fresh white carrying the gigantic figure of Durga on a palanquin on their shoulders. Not Adhiratha this year. Rickshaw wallahs don’t carry the goddess.
They were coming to this part of the river to immerse the Durga.
‘Out of the water, out, out,’ they cried as they approached. To immerse the goddess in water polluted by an untouchable dhobi woman would be a terrible sacrilege.
Desperately Dolly began to gather up her pile of washing, pulling still wet sheets and saris, shirts and pajamas out of the water, hurrying because the Devi was very close.
Something bumped her knee as she scrabbled up her wet washing.
It was a hand of last year’s Durga, huge, the arms of clay long since melted away. It lay palm up, its beautiful fingers curled round something sharply gleaming. Dolly bent to take a closer look and felt amazed that the nail polish should still be intact after so long in the water, thrilled because the knuckles and finger rings were almost unblemished. She was thinking to herself, this must be a miracle, when the shining thing lying on the palm began to move as though it was alive. For a moment the light reflected off the holy hand became so bright that Dolly had to look away, dazzled.
When she could open her eyes, she bent to take a closer look and saw, cuddled among the goddess’ fingers, some creature with tinsel twisted round it. A puppy perhaps, that had got tangled in the remains of Durga’s marigold garlands.
The shouts of the approaching Durga worshippers were growing ever nearer and more furious.
Dolly was the only one still in the water but instead of hurrying, she bent, staring fascinated at what lay in the palm of last year’s goddess. The glittering thing let out a sound like the mewing cry of a cat. The hand began to twirl as the current caught it again.
Dolly’s arms were full of washing. It was only a half-dead kitten, then. Round the weighty bundle she did a namaskar of respect to the hand of Durga then turned away as the current caught the hand with its living glittering burden and started to twirl it off.
Then Dolly realised what the sparkling mewling thing was, dropped her armful of clean washing into the water and grabbed. Snatched the shining thing from out of the middle of the hand just a moment before it was carried out of reach.
She held a newborn child, still attached to its placenta and tangled up in sparkling tinsel. The hand that had prevented the baby from sinking went speeding off along the river.
Dolly stood thigh-deep in water, dazed with joy, because the goddess Durga had, after all these years, answered her prayer. Everybody knew that goddesses do not do things like ordinary people. This child had been sent to her in an unusual way, but all the same it was what she had asked for and what the goddess had given.
Grabbing up the once again filthy and now dripping washing and thrusting it into her basket, pressing the holy child against her breast and ignoring the furious outcry from the Durga worshippers, she waded out of the river and began to stagger home.
She arrived ages late. Adhiratha was home already and shocked at the sight of Dolly’s catch.
‘How are we going to feed this child?’ he demanded as Dolly began unravelling the baby from the twists of tinsel. ‘Put it back where it came from. We have hardly enough for ourselves. Wait till we get a child of our own then it will be able to drink milk from your breast and will cost
