I am willing to offer my services to that effect.
It is my understanding that Shamol Roy would have wanted the best possible education for his sons. I would like to assuage any concerns you may have about the Christian/religious orientation of this institution. Although Catholic missionaries run Saint John’s, it is not mandatory for students to convert to Christianity. I can get a written statement to that effect if you wish. I leave it to Prabhu Mallick to explain the details. One thing to keep in mind is the school session begins in September, which leaves us only six weeks. I will need your answer in the next few days to ensure the older boy’s placement for this academic year. The younger child will have to wait until he is eight before he can be admitted.
I would appreciate your answer at the earliest.
Very truly yours,
Owen McIntosh
“It is completely out of the question,” Biren’s uncle exploded. “These Christian schools, all they care about is religious conversion. They bribe us poor Indians with education and the promise of opportunity and betterment. They are destroying our culture and killing our religion. These belaytis will do anything to control our country.”
“But the letter said conversion to Christianity was not compulsory,” said Grandpa. “Think of the opportunity. The boys will get a good education. It will give them a head start in life. Nobody gave us this chance.”
“But it is an English education,” argued the uncle. “English education gives Indian students false hopes. They will never be on the same rung as a white man. The belaytis dangle the carrot, then they take it away. What is wrong with the village school? Biren can continue to attend the school and pass his matriculation. After matriculation he will be old enough to go to work. He can easily get a job in the jute mill. As it is, he has already impressed McIntosh. Who knows, he may even give Biren an equal or better paying job than Shamol. After that it will be up to Biren to prove himself and move up the ladder.”
“Shamol would not like that,” said the grandma, wiping away a tear. “He always said he wanted his sons to get a better education, to go further than he did. He never wanted the boys to work in the jute mill. There is no future there. Shamol was so brilliant in his studies, but he had to give everything up and go to work to support our family, because you...you...” She sighed. “You are ill.”
“Ill, my left foot!” exploded Grandpa in a fit of rage. “You are bone lazy, that’s what you are. Too high and mighty for any job. So many jobs have come your way but you turn them down because nothing is good enough for your highness. Even if you did a part-time job—which you know very well you are capable of doing—it would have eased Shamol’s burden. He would have had time to pursue his own studies. Shamol was the brilliant one and look at the kind of job he did! Did he once complain? Now you are trying to deprive his children of an opportunity he has paid for with his life. What is wrong with you? Now, you stop all your addabaaj under the banyan and get some kind of a job. It’s high time.”
“Baba, please calm down,” pleaded the older daughter-in-law. “We all want the best for Biren and Nitin. I just don’t think Shamol would have wanted to send his children so far away from home, considering the current circumstances. We think the children should stay close to their mother and be a comfort...”
She froze and her hand crept up to her mouth.
Shibani stood in the doorway with her shaven head and her white borderless sari. Her face was waxen, her eyes cold and dead. She rarely showed herself in public and, when she did, her presence was chilling.
“You really think so?” Shibani said in a soft voice. “You really think my two sons are a comfort to me, sister-in-law?” she repeated, her voice turning hard and cold like marble. “Then, why are they kept away from me? Why are they never allowed to come close to me? Why can I not cook for my own boys, feed them with my hand, comb their hair like a mother should? Because my curse will contaminate their young lives, is it?”
Nobody said a word.
“My children have already been taken away from me,” Shibani continued. “Do they even see me as the mother they once knew? Look at me!” She spat out the words. “Just look at me, will you? Is this the girl you brought into this house as your daughter-in-law? Is this the woman who gave birth to your two grandsons? Is this the way God wanted me to be, or is this your doing? You tell me.” Her eyes, brittle with anger, snapped from one face to another. She exhaled sharply and, as she did, the flat look returned. It drifted over her eyes like scum, covering a splash in a pond. “I lost my beloved husband to snakebite, but I will not lose my sons to ignorance.” Her voice was deadly. “I, as their mother, may not have a say in their future, but remember this—if you don’t let my sons go, I will hang myself. The only reason I am keeping myself alive is to protect my sons, to see their future is not marred.” She looked at her brother-in-law without blinking. “If you stop them from going to this school, you will have a widow’s death on your hands, brother. And this family will be doubly cursed. Remember that.”
With that, she turned around and vanished in a whisper of white, leaving her ominous words hanging like a shroud over the stunned family.
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