The Mistress of Spices by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni Page B

something beyond everyday sight.
    I reach for the small bag of fennel to press into her palm, but it is not there.
    Spices what—
    Desperate I look around, feel Ahuja’s wife hurrying inside her head. For a moment I am afraid the spice will not give itself to me, I Tilo gone beyond boundaries.
    But here is the packet on top of this stack of
India Currents
magazines, where surely I did not place it.
    Spices is this a game or is it something you are telling me.
    There is no time to ponder. I pick up the packet and a copy of the magazine. Give her both.
    “Trust me. Do what I tell you. Every day, after every meal, some for you and some for him, and when you have finished it all come back and tell if it hasn’t helped. And here, read this. It’ll keep your mind off your troubles.”
    She gives a sigh and nods. It is easier than arguing.
    “Daughter, remember this, no matter what happens. You did no wrong in telling me. No man, husband or not, has the right to beat you, to force you to a bed that sickens you.”
    She does not say yes or no.
    “Go now. And don’t be afraid. This morning he’s been too busy to call home.”
    “How do you know?”
    “We old women, we sense things.”
    From the door she whispers, “Pray for me. Pray that I die soon.”
    “No,” I say. “You deserve happiness. You deserve dignity. I will pray for that.”
    Fennel, I call when she is gone, fennel that is shaped like a half-closed eye accented with
surma
, work for me. I reach into the bin and lift up a fistful. Fennel which the sage Vashistha ate after he swallowed the demon Illwal so he would not come back to life again.
    I wait for the tingling, for the song to begin.
    Only silence, and the pointed ends of the spice biting my palm like thorns.
    Speak to me, fennel,
mouri
, colored like the freckled house sparrow that brings amity where it nests, spice to digest sorrows and in their digestion make us strong.
    When it comes, the voice is no song but a booming, a wave crashing in my skull.
    Why should we, when you have done that which you should not? When you have overstepped the lines you willingly drew around yourself?
    Fennel equalizer, who can take power from one and give it to the other when two people eat of you at the same time, I entreat you, help Ahuja’s wife.
    Do you admit your transgression, your greed in grasping for what you promised to give up forever? Do you regret?
    I think back to her fingers, light as a bird’s hold on my arm, and as trusting. I think how I wiped away the tears, the feel of her damp eyelashes, her face in my hands. That living, breathing skin. How the band of steel that clenched my chest for so long had given a little.
    Ahuja’s wife, you who are almost becoming Lalita, I too know what it is to be afraid, I would lie now, if it would do either of us any good. For your life I’d give mine, if they would take it.
    Around me the spices, distant and coldly courteous, wait as though they did not know the answer already.
    I do not regret, I say finally, and feel the air draining away. My tongue is a slab of wood in my mouth. I have to force the words around it.
    I’ll pay in whatever way is decided.
    It is so silent I could be alone, whirling in a black galaxy. Whirling and burning, and no one to hear when finally I explode to nothing.
    Very well
, says the voice at last.
    What will it be?
    You will know
. The voice is thin and far now. Appeased.
You will know at the proper time
.

     
    In the half light of evening I am sitting at the counter slicing with the tip of my magic knife
kalo jire
seeds no bigger than a weevil bug’s egg.
    It requires concentration, this task. Certain words must be said as the knifetip cuts clean into the
kalo jire’s
brittle hardness, the breath must be taken in and held until it is safe to let it go. And so I’ve had to wait till the store is shut down.
    I work without stopping. By the time Haroun comes today,as every Tuesday he does on his way to evening worship at