The Sleeping Dictionary Read Online Free PDF Page A

maybe not; I held fast to my belief that if I were patient, Baba would find me.
    The rains came and went all day, bending the branch that had become my savior. Then the night came. I fell into a strange sort of waking dream, where every sound I heard was Baba’s firm, reassuring footstep; although I understood, in my heart, there could be no sound of walking when all the earth was covered with water.
    The next morning followed the same pattern as the one before: a purple sky growing paler, then sunlight, with monkeys and crows chattering. I ate the second papaya and watched more bodies float in the water. The outside of my sari had dried into a stiff, dirty shell, but drops of water remained inside some folds. I unwound the cloth and sucked it, trying to ignore the tastes of earth and salt. Then the torture began: tree ants climbed my legs and arms and bit me in places that I couldn’t reach. I tried talking to them, explaining that I did not want to be in their home and begging them to leave me in peace. How tired my arms and legs were, but if I lost hold, I would drop to the water. I was a good swimmer, but there was no land to reach; I would be lost.
    Hours later, I thought a miracle had arrived: a fishing dinghy loaded with living people. I called down to them as they approached, but the men paddled on without a glance. I hadn’t wept since the night before, but now I did. Twice more boats passed slowly, all of them overloaded with people and animals. I called to them each time with the small, rough voice I had left. Look! I’m here! Save me, please. How thirsty I was. I feared I might wither up where I was, like a dry leaf on a tree.
    Then, late in the day, I spied a small fishing boat occupied by what looked like a single family: two grandparents, a man and a woman of middle age, and two young boys. The boys were pointingat some animal swimming in the water and laughing as if it were an ordinary day.
    I shouted louder than I had before, and the brothers stopped laughing and looked. I could tell the children had not yet seen me. Quickly I pulled off my sari and, holding one end, flung it out like a flag. Now the children pointed at the dirty, cream-colored cloth, and to my joy, the father changed course and rowed toward me.
    As the boat approached, I wrapped my sari and descended the tree that had saved me: a difficult operation because my limbs had not moved for so long. But I finally reached the water and swam the short distance to the boat. The boys’ father held out an oar that I caught.
    “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you very much.”
    “Good that you can swim,” said the father, and he gave me a small smile that made me feel safe.
    “Girl, where is your family?” asked the wizened old man who was likely the family grandfather.
    “I don’t know!” I said, as I clambered aboard. “We lived in Johlpur, but it is gone.”
    “We’re from Komba. Our place is gone, too,” the younger boy said, sounding almost excited.
    “A terribly big wave swallowed the beach,” I said as the boat moved along, passing thick mangrove forests on one side and open sea on the other. It was a landscape I knew well, but seemed alien with so many of the mangroves uprooted and leaning crazily.
    “Not a wave. It was Goddess Kali’s doing,” the grandfather said in a stern way.
    “We can’t give you food or drink, as there is not even enough for ourselves,” the thin grandmother told me. “But it is a sin not to help. We will take you to shore. From there you can find your people.”
    “But her family is gone,” the father said.
    “On land someone will help her.” The boys’ mother spoke quietly. The water had stained her white sari gray, but I could still see the thin red border. She was well-off to have a sari woven in a mill.
    “Who will help?” I asked, for I was starting to understand that my old life might be over. A new wetness trickled down my cheek, and my thirsty tongue crept out to catch the salty