Tikkipala by Sara Banerji Page B

eyes to brighten them. It writhed and bellowed when they tried to clean its skin with the stinging leaves of the Puah tree. In the end two women had to hold it down, even when they wanted to spit the pulp of puah fruit into its mouth. ‘This Coarsechild is giving a bad example to our own children,’ said the mothers. ‘How can we teach them to behave when they see such violence from another child? All the people of our tribe and our very culture are being polluted by the foul behaviour of this Coarseones’ child.’
    Several times over the following weeks, then months, the elders decided that there was no point in continuing with the creature, that it would never be still and pure and quiet enough to be offered to the Tikki and that the best thing would be to do awaywith it at once. But because the hunter was still unwell, and because they had nothing else, they kept on trying.
    â€˜The time has come to bring Vikram to his prepared nursery,’ said the Raja, nine months later.
    Sangita was looking joyfully into the face of the new born son but swiftly tucked him against her breast when her husband spoke. She did not answer the Raja and he had to give the order a second time. Talking had been difficult for him ever since his stroke and it made him feel angry and ashamed to have to repeat his question. He tried to subdue his feelings as he asked the question a second time.
    She looked up, blinking, as though she had forgotten he was there, or perhaps even forgotten that he existed. He pressed his handkerchief to the paralysed side of his mouth and dabbed the dribble away. Even standing here was hard for him. Ever since he had slipped and fallen, as he searched for his lost Anwar, his right leg had not functioned properly. It was the fall that had brought on the stroke as well. The doctor had told him, ‘Any functions not restored to you after six weeks will be lost permanently.’ That had been three months ago. He would never be able to smile or use his right arm again.
    â€˜Who is Vikram?’ Sangita asked.
    She is doing it on purpose to torment me, the Raja thought. But all the same, keeping his tone calm, told her, ‘my new son.’ He wanted to sit down, but there was no chair in the room and he did not have the energy to call a servant to bring one. He wondered if his wife had ordered the servants to remove the chairs, thinking that if he could not sit he would be unable to visit her. If he had not leant on the shoulder of his bearer he would never even have reached Sangita’s apartment, it was so far from hisown. He wished now that he had not dismissed the bearer when he reached Sangita’s door. ‘I will call you when I need you,’ he had said. He wondered if he should call the man now.
    When, because of his stroke, he was forced to abandon the search for his lost son and return to Bidwar, he found his wife had taken up residence in the eastern wing, which was the furthest part of the palace from his own apartments.
    â€˜Vikram is not the baby’s name,’ Sangita said.
    Trying to ignore this, the Raja persevered, ‘Now that I am back you must return to the south wing.’
    â€˜Why?’ she had asked.
    â€˜What will people say, when the Ranee lives so far from her husband that it is as though she has taken up residence in another building.’ he said.
    â€˜What will they say?’ Sangita had asked.
    â€˜Let us have no more of this,’ said the Raja. ‘I order you to return.’
    â€˜Really?’ She raised her eyebrows and let out a laugh that sounded scornful.
    She had been heavily pregnant and because he had hopes that the child inside her might be an unblemished son and that after all, even though Anwar was probably gone forever, the Bidwar line would not come to an end, he had not wanted to upset her. He had merely said, as mildly as he could, ‘I shall insist on it after the child is born.’
    In the months before