Water. Bapsi Sidhwa

raised her head to look at her with her expressive, questioning eyes. The widow’s skin was smooth, and her cropped hair was a black fuzz.

      “Sit with your back to me,” instructed Shakuntala.

      Chuyia did as she was told. Shakuntala took a great yellow glob of turmeric paste from the grinding slab and spread it all over Chuyia’s raw scalp. It stung.

      “It’s turmeric. It cools the head,” she said.

      With her white sari and bald, yellow head, Chuyia was a very different child from the girl who had ridden in the bullock-cart.

      Chuyia turned to face Shakuntala. “You saved me like the Goddess Durga,” she said, her eyes round with the beginnings of trust.

      Shakuntala turned Chuyia’s head back around firmly and continued to apply the paste to the girl’s scalp. “Sharp teeth and an even sharper tongue! I’m no goddess. Now go sit in the sun. Go,” said Shakuntala, dismissing her. She dipped her fingers into a bowl of coconut oil to remove the dark stains.

      Chuyia made no move to go.

      Shakuntala spoke impatiently. “Are you deaf?”

      After a pause, Chuyia, speaking in a small, fearful voice, said, “They’ll throw me into the river!”

      “Only if you bite someone else. Now go.”

      Reluctantly, Chuyia left the sanctuary of Shakuntala’s room, but not before she had impishly stuck out her tongue.

      Ambling back into the courtyard, Chuyia came upon Patirajji, sitting on the verandah with her back to the pillar. The old widow greeted her with a twinkle in her eyes, and Chuyia got the impression that she had been waiting for her. Chuyia squatted close to Patirajji, as if for protection, ready to spring up at any sign of a widow-attack.

      They sat in silence while Patirajji peered at Chuyia short-sightedly. Girlishly formal, she asked, “What’s your name?”

      “Chuyia.”

      Shakuntala, concerned for the girl, lifted a ragged yellow curtain to look at Chuyia and Patirajji from her window.

      Patirajji made up bit of doggerel and sang:

      Chuyia the mouse,

      With the sharp little teeth,

      And the tight little bite,

      Bled the lumpy old louse.