The Gunny Sack Read Online Free PDF Page A

the family to come and bathe the bride, to anoint her with saffron, to await the puro, the procession of singing females of the opposite side bringing in the bridal clothes and henna.
    So the pandit’s prophecy came true. And Mongi overnight became a woman. She came to Africa with her husband in a steamer. Disembarking in Dar es Salaam, the two respectfully touched the feet of Dhanji Govindji and his wife who had come to meet them.
    By this time the Indians of Matamu and neighbouring towns had acquired a sheth in Dar es Salaam, their agent Karmali Samji, who bought their produce and supplied them with goods. Karmali Samji’s dhows plied the sea between Dar es Salaam and Kilwa; his team of porters went a hundred miles into the interior along the old caravan route. Zanzibar, which had ruled the coast for centuries, finally lost its grip on the mainland. Amarsi Makan’s millions had been squandered, as were Jairam Shivji’s and Ladha Damji’s. In their place, new “uncrowned kings” of business were setting up along the coastfrom Kilwa to Mombasa, with empires stretching all the way up to Kampala in the interior.
    Ji Bai and Gulam stayed a month in the newly-constructed rest house of Dar es Salaam, after which they travelled in one of Sheth Karmali Samji’s dhows to Matamu. The dhow anchored in shallow water, and Ji Bai was carried ashore on the back of an African as Gulam followed with rolled trousers, instructing the porters. They were welcomed by a band playing an Indian wedding tune on reed flutes, and the procession left for Dhanji Govindji’s shop, stopping at the mosque on the way, for the bride and groom to bow their thanks. As they crossed the threshold of their home a shower of rice grain greeted them, waiting women broke into a geet, and the crunch of clay saucers under their feet wished them good luck.
    One of her first acts when she reached Matamu, Ji Bai would say, was to engage in a childish squabble with one of Fatima’s children. Growing up in such a short time was not easy.
    With two jewels in his breast, Dhanji Govindji’s luck seemed to have blossomed. What past acts come now to reward me like this? he would say with a satisfied sigh. The sounds of their pleasant voices, their laughter, their singing and games rang joyfully through the house and filled him with pleasure. Like all respectable women they did not meet his eyes, of course, and they hid their faces behind their pachedis. Nevertheless there grew a communication between them, an understanding. Whenever their laughter and singing desisted for long, when prolonged silences were punctuated by mutterings and whispers and sighs, he would call Fatima and ask what was the matter. Instantly matters would return to normal. In turn the two girls pampered him. When he praised some food one of them had prepared, it would be repeated after a suitable interval. A severe mood on his part would be placated by a favourite sweet, a mithai. A more lax atmosphere was taken advantage of by more extravagance. He was like a god to them, whomthey daily propitiated, whose attributes they sang to each other, whose idiosyncracies gave them joy to recall.
    A few months after she arrived, Ji Bai, pushing aside the gunny curtain, entered the outhouse late one night before going to bed. Her kerosene lamp, raised in front of her, revealed a black face, wide-eyed, frightened and looking drunk. Herself frightened out of her wits, she asked, “What do you want?” Back came an incoherent reply. There was a rustle in the shadows, and when she raised the lamp higher she saw two more men.
    “We’re hiding from the Mdachis,” a voice said. “Don’t call out.”
    Here Ji Bai used the wits she had left with the sense of humour she never lost. “Well, I have a need,” she spoke with determination.
    “It’s all right, mama,” came the unruffled reply. “We can’t see in the dark.” A man came and took the lamp away, lowered the wick, and left it burning in a corner,