The Gunny Sack Read Online Free PDF

and Ji Bai sat on the pit and relieved herself in the darkness.
    When a man hides inside a house, the first place to look for him is the lavatory. Dhanji Govindji, presented with the
fait accompli
, hid the three men in his loft inside the store. The next morning Guu Refu’s head was found on a pole on the road leading to his farm. Askaris appeared and began combing the area, but Indian shops were spared. Mzee Guaro came with the message, “The Mdachi commander requests that you check your lavatories at night.” The three men left at dusk, pretending to be three grateful customers, just before Dhanji Govindji closed for the day and went to pray. Ji Bai never knew if the men later hanged for the crime were any of these.
    Dhanji Govindji and Sons, said the new sign outside the shop. Business was flourishing. But then, with two Lakshmis resident in his home, what else could he expect? His two eldest sons were in harness, and there seemed no danger of them breaking loose. Moti gave birth to a boy, who was born on a Friday and thus called Juma. Ji Bai’s son was born six monthslater and named Husein. With increased wealth and family came respect and influence. His unwitting deed in hiding three men from the Germans was known about and hinted at in respectable and prudent Swahili company, although he wished it were forgotten, lest inquisitive German ears came to know about it and destroy all he had built up. The pinnacle of Dhanji Govindji’s success came when he was made mukhi of Matamu after Ragavji Devraj retired.
    It is not good to be too happy, anyone can tell you, just as it is not good to be too beautiful or handsome. Children who laugh too much go to bed crying, and it is always prudent to administer the bitter with the sweet. The jealous, evil eye lurks not very far off.
    Ji Bai said that it was exactly during this happy interlude that Fatima’s mother, the Zanzibari widow, showed up to visit her daughter. Mother and daughter held long huddled talks. Mother and husband did not speak. Things were never the same again.
    A few weeks after the widow left, Moti, hidden behind a veil, had a long chat with her father-in-law. That night Dhanji Govindji summoned Huseni. “Why were you not at the mosque today?” he asked. “I was visiting,” was the reply. “You have been seeing Bibi Taratibu behind my back, you have been consorting with the Mshenzis again.” There was no answer. “You fool,” said the father in uncontrolled rage, “you are descended from the Solar Race! What do you have to consort with slaves for?”
    The sullen Huseni, eyes red, shifted on his feet. He raised his head.
    Then he simply spat at his father’s feet and walked out. He never returned, he was never heard from again. There were reports that he had become a bandit, that he had gone to Zanzibar, that he had stowed away on a ship to Bombay. But nothing was confirmed. Every time he welcomed a traveller into his shop, or bid one goodbye, or wrote a letter, Dhanji Govindji would sense a message from the restless Moti. Ask. Please ask.Enquire about him. Discomfited, sad, remorseful, he would begin: “Ah, yes. I would like to enquire about my son, a big black man with a large, round head, tall like a tower, like Bhima in strength. If you have seen him or hear of someone like him …”
    Moti was always a little fickle; but she waited two years for her man. Then she asked for permission to remarry.
    Moti and Mongi, the two jewels in the house. One lost its place and fell. It is her turn to cook today and she returns from the market holding Juma by the hand. Baruti the servant walks behind with a basket of produce on his shoulder. The shop of Nanji Kara and Sons comes up and son Rajan in white singlet and red loincloth leans out to spit. Aaaahk!-thuck! She draws her veil shyly and averts her eyes, too late. Eye has met eye, and heart found heart. She walks on with thudding heart and he draws back, but the old woman his mother, sitting on the