Bena’s Summer: The Laddoos of Discord | EXTRACT

Eight-year-old Benazir, Bena to friends and family, is perhaps the happiest child you know, fond of jalebis, limericks and raw mangoes. She is surrounded by friends and family, and her life is everything an idyllic childhood should be: protected, loved and edged with rainbow-gold. One summer that bubble bursts when Bena is witness to riots, death, destruction and abuse, in a setting that explains little, and expects children to forget it all. But Bena, defined by her grit and audacity, is different.

Read this extract from the story of Bena’s Summer…

 

Bena aped her grandmother’s fluid movements on the jaa’namaaz, mouthing the prayers she knew and silently chanting Allahji I love you when she didn’t. She was anxious for the namaaz to be over so Nanna could resume the laddoo story, though she knew that it was incredibly wrong of her to not be thinking of Allahji even during the namaaz. It was a strange conundrum, and Bena had found a solution in the Allahji I love you chant.

And when Nanna led her in the salaam, the prayer where you say salaam to your left and right, blessing all you can see, or not, with the Lord’s peace, Bena felt a sharp twinge in her chest. Bena suddenly remembered that Kishni Nani had not called out to her this morning, and she had not said salaam to her. The guilt of having hurt a fellow human being twisted in her gut like a knife. She was to grow up into a beautiful, benevolent princess; instead she had been horrible and obnoxious.

Bena was close to tears, and followed Nanna into the sajda. Please, Allahji, she prayed. Let Kishni Nani forgive me and not feel bad about what I said. Allahji didn’t respond.

Prayers over, Nanna blew into her face and chest a benediction, and wordlessly walked to where Meer was sleeping next to Bibbi Khala. She blessed the two of them before opening up the paan batta. Bena, do you want a paan, Nanna asked.

Of course Bena did!! So Nanna made a tiny sliver of a paan for Bena with no chuna, and lots of kattha, and stuffed it with candied peel. She also made a paan for herself and asked her pampered brat of a granddaughter a moot question.

Do you want to sleep now, Bena, like the rest of the household, or do you want the laddoo story.

Laddooooo story, Bena crooned, her remorse from less than two minutes ago firmly relegated to the past.

So, Nanna began again, for your kaan chhedan I decided that everyone who comes for the occasion must get a goody bag to take away. So we had almost fifty pretty potlis of brocade edged with golden lace bought especially from Lucknow, to pack the sweets in. Five besan laddoos and lots of shakkarpaara and some dry fruits were to be packed into these.

Bena grinned. Abbaji had gone to Lucknow to buy all kinds of things, and he had chosen the potlis and clothes for all of us himself.

But I felt left out, you were my granddaughter, and I was doing nothing special. So I told your Abbaji that the halwais can make everything, but I will make the besan laddoos in the giveaways.

Abbaji said I was being foolish, but he agreed. Bena snuggled into her grandmother’s midriff, revelling in the love. And then Dulhan Chachi offered to help you, Bena piped in. Yes, said Nanna, Dulhan came over to Badi Kothi and said Bhabhi, you have so much on your plate, let me make some laddoos with your recipe. I couldn’t refuse, plus there were more than three hundred laddoos to be made, so I agreed.

I sent the besan, sugar, gond, and bagfuls of dry fruits to her house, so she could make about a hundred laddoos. Then Abbaji had a barrel of desi ghee, enough for five hundred laddoos, delivered to her, so the making of the laddoos could start.

In a day, Dulhan came with huge canisters full of laddoos and I was so grateful for her help because my arms were already hurting from shaping all of the laddoos. I gave her a big hug of gratitude and she stayed over to dinner.

The laddoos Dulhan Chachi had made were very pretty, said Bena. Yes, they were, said Nanna, they were softly fragrant and perfectly round and studded with chopped dry fruits, and I was really happy with her. She stayed to dinner, and saw all the preparations and the clothes that were laid out for the big feast the next day.

And after she left, we realized that the laddoos she had made were slightly larger than the ones I had made, said Nanna. So I told your Mama and Bibbi Khala to put three of the laddoos I had made, and two that Dulhan had made, into each potli. Along with those, they were to put in a handful of nuts and shakkarpaara, Bena just had to add. Yes, Nanna smiled indulgently, you remember everything, don’t you.

Yes, I do, said Bena, smiling till it seemed her smile would split her face.

Anyway, it was late, so Roohi’s mother, Uzma, decided to help Azra and Bibbi Khala, and as the girls were laughing and singing songs and stuffing the goodies, Roohi’s mom got hungry.

Azra and Bibbi Khala decided it was fair game to feast on the laddoos because there were just so many. Mama popped one in her mouth and it almost melted into her mouth. I miss Ammi’s cooking, said Mama to Bibbi Khala. I can never get quite the same taste.

Bibbi Khala grinned at her older sister. It’s because you, Baji, can never pour in the quantities of ghee that Ammi does, into anything that she cooks. Both sisters laughed at their mother’s penchant for oodling ghee into the karahi, while Uzma, their childhood playmate, looked at them with consternation.

Kya hua. What happened, why are you looking at me like this, asked Mama. Roohi’s mom looked at the large, half eaten laddoo in her hands. Is baar toh Khala ne laddoo mein Daldadaala hai, desi ghee nahi. There is no desi ghee in the laddoos, Roohi’s mom said, they are cooked in vegetable oil.

There was silence around the huge platters of laddoos and the brocade potlis continued to wink away under the sparkling lights. Mama bit into her laddoo yet again, and so did Bibbi Khala, as did Roohi’s mother.

Nope, desi ghee, agreed the two sisters. Nope, Dalda, reiterated Roohi’s mother. So Bibbi Khala, ever the forensic expert, took a bite out of Roohi’s mom’s laddoo.

Ammiiiii, Bibbi Khala shrieked, Ammi, the laddoos are made with Dalda.

I ran to where the girls were sitting, said Nanna, I ran forgetting that I was now a grandmother and must walk with dignity. I was shocked by what I had heard. Hakim Sahab, I called out to your grandfather, please come, I said to him, forgetting that I only ever called him that when nobody could hear me.

Anyway, your Abbaji came hurriedly, and so did I. Bibbi Khala held the laddoo to Abbaji’s face. Abbaji sniffed. Dalda.

Your Abbaji looked at me, and I had tears in my eyes. I rolled each laddoo with my own hands, I told him, and he looked equally perplexed. Banwari ki dukaan se ghee aaya tha, wo thug nahi hai, hamari bohot izzat karta hai. The man isn’t a cheat, and he knew it was for the feast, Abbaji said.

Mine is perfectly fine, said Mama. I looked at your mum, Bena, with disbelief, said Nanna. Had she forgotten within two years of marriage to your father what desi ghee tasted like! Thank God, I didn’t say so, chuckled Nanna, or your horrid mom would never have let me live it down. Bena laughed her silver tinkling laugh, the one which was reserved for absolute mirth.

Tell me what Bibbi Khala did, Nanna, said Bena.

Oh, your Bibbi Khala is smart, said Nanna. She asked Roohi’s mom where she had picked up the laddoo from. She pointed at the canisters your Dulhan Chachi had sent. I looked at your Abbaji, and he silently held a hand out to sample the laddoos from the canister. He then sniffed at one from the pile in the karahi, the ones that I had made.

He didn’t say a word to the girls. He merely looked at me, said Nanna, and said with a long sigh, Zehra Bibi, you will not get to sleep tonight. Make some more laddoos. He left the room with his shoulders bent, and within two minutes, the driver came to heft the canisters onto his shoulders. Hakim Sahab has said I should distribute them at the railway station, he said by way of explanation.

You can take them to the orphanage, I told him, said Nanna.

He looked at his feet. I said so to Hazoor Hakim Sahab myself. Hazoor said his parents will shudder in their grave if they find out that he had fed the orphans Dalda.

I understood the wisdom of your grandfather that day, Bena, said Nanna. And I thanked Allah for keeping me in the protection of a man as wonderful as your Abbaji, Nanna finished with her eyes heavenwards. And all of us stayed up almost until after midnight making laddoos, your mum, Bibbi Khala and Roohi’s mother, Uzma, and of course Inni. Our arms ached, but we knew what we were doing, and we were happy to do it.

The story, always, concluded just so, Bena knew. But today she had a new question. Did anyone get angry with Dulhan Chachi for what she had done, Bena asked her grandmom. No, said Nanna very simply, we forgave her. I was hurt that she would do something so petty, but none of us mentioned it. It is easier to forgive, said Nanna, than to remember things that hurt.

Bena’s heart filled with hope. Nanna, can I tell you something, she asked with trepidation. Yes, my heart, Nanna said, and Bena told her about what had transpired with Kishni Nani.

You were very wrong, said Nanna, so wrong that you will have to ask for forgiveness yourself tomorrow morning.

Do you think Kishni Nani will forgive me? Bena’s eyes brimmed with tears. Yes, she will, said Nanna.

Bena had yet another question that was troubling her. Nanna, you don’t touch anything she has touched, do you?

Nanna’s bottom lip quivered. We are victims of our lives, bitiya, Nanna said. We live by rules we don’t understand and can’t defend. But you are the future, free and boundless. These rules don’t apply to you.

The only rules that will set you free, my darling little girl, are compassion and love. Nanna held her little granddaughter close, lost in thought, smiling when she realized that Bena had dozed off to sleep, clutching Nanna’s dupatta.

Nanna knew Azra would wake up any minute now and get upset with Nanna for having let Bena sleep so late. She won’t sleep at night, Ammi, she could almost hear Azra say. She kissed her sleeping granddaughter and picked up her tasbih to chant the tasbih-e-fatima, closing her eyes to the quiet around her. These were enchanted moments of quiet and reflection and prayer, Nanna knew, for in a few moments Badi Kothi would wake up, and erupt into the business of living.