11

This is how the day’s events came to pass.

Having finished, at his father’s command, seven pages of his letters on a palm-leaf, Apu was wondering what to do next when he went inside the house to look for his sister. Durga, for fear of their mother, had bathed early that morning and was now in the inner courtyard under the papaya tree, performing the punyipukur brata. She had dug a small, square pit in the courtyard, around which she had scattered chickpeas and peas whose shoots were now sprouting from the damp earth. She had planted small banana saplings on all four sides and was now painting alpana designs around the edge with a paste of ground rice: lotus vines, birds, sheaves of paddy, the rising sun.

“Wait,” Durga said, “let me finish this mantra, then we’ll go somewhere.”

“Where, Didi?”

“Just come, I’ll take you. You’ll see.” Then, having completed the attendant rituals, she began to recite in a single breath:

O Punyipukur, garland of flowers, Who worships you in the noonday hours? I am the virtuous Lilabati, A brother’s sister, and fortunate to be—

Apu, who had been standing and listening, laughed mockingly. “Pah!” Durga stopped her chant and, with a smile tinged with embarrassment, said, “Why are you doing that? Go on, get out of here. What are you doing here? Go!”

Apu laughed and walked away. As he went, he chanted, “I am the virtuous Lilabati, a brother’s fortunate sister, hee hee—a brother’s fortunate sister, hee hee—”

Durga called after him, “You’ve gotten awfully clever, haven’t you? I’ll tell Ma and she’ll sort out that mocking of yours!”

Her ritual complete, Durga said, “Come on, there are lots of water chestnuts at the Garer Pukur. Bhonda’s mother was saying so. Let’s go get some.”

At the far northern edge of the village, the path wound through bamboo groves, overgrown weeds, and ancient orchards of mango and jackfruit. Far from the inhabited parts, where the deep woods ended, lay the silted-up pond at the edge of a field. It was all that remained of the moat that had once encircled the home of the Majumdars, the village’s original residents; the other parts had long since been filled in. Only this section held water year-round, and so it was called the Garer Pukur—the Fort Pond. No trace of the Majumdar house itself now remained.

When they got there, they saw that while there were indeed many water chestnuts in the pond, there were hardly any near the bank; they were all far out in the water. “Apu,” said Durga, “see if you can find a bamboo stick. We’ll use it to pull them in.” Then she began picking ripe sheora berries from a bush at the pond’s edge and eating them. Apu, searching for a stick in the woods, saw her and cried out, “Oh Didi, don’t eat those berries! Good heavens—who eats sheora berries! Only birds eat those!”

Pinching a ripe berry to squeeze out the seed, Durga said, “Come here. Just try one—they’re as sweet as jaggery! Who says you can’t eat them? I’ve eaten loads.”

Apu left off his search for a stick and came over to his sister. “But don’t they say you’ll go mad if you eat them? Give me one, Didi.”

He ate it and made a slight face. “It’s a little bit bitter, Didi.”

“Of course it’ll be a little bitter! But isn’t it sweet? Tell me!” Finishing her sentence, Durga popped a few more ripe berries into her mouth with great relish.

Since the day they were born, they had never had anything truly good to eat. And yet, they were new to this world, their tongues were new—and they yearned to taste its many flavours, especially the flavour of sweetness. The chance to find that satisfaction by buying sandesh or mithai never came their way. And so, for these covetous children of a poor household, gleaning sweet nectar from a humble wild tree amidst the world’s infinite riches, the merciful wood-nymphs fill the forest’s lowly fruits and flowers with sweet honey.

A little later, Durga waded a short way into the pond. “Look at all the water lilies, Apu! Wait, I’m picking some.” She went deeper into the water, grabbed two lily stalks and pulled, tossing them onto the bank. “Catch, Apu,” she said. Apu said, “The water chestnuts are way out in the deep water—how will you get there, Didi?” Durga tried to pull the distant plants in with a stick, but failed. “The bank is too steep! I’m slipping into the deep water. How can I reach? You do something. Grab my anchal from behind and hold on tight, while I use the stick to pull in that clump of water chestnuts.”

In the woods, some kind of yellow bird, perched on the tip of a branch of a moynakanta tree, was bobbing the leaves and letting out a most wonderful whistle. Apu gazed at it and asked, “What kind of bird is that, Didi?”

“Never mind the bird now—just grab my anchal and pull, hold it tight! I’m going to slip—with all your strength!” Apu held on to the anchal from behind. Durga edged her way down, step by step, extending the stick as far as she could. Her clothes got soaked, but still she couldn’t reach. She went down a little further and tried to pull, holding the very tip of the stick with just her fingertips. Apu, holding on with all his might, found his strength giving way and burst out laughing from behind her. As he laughed, his grip on the anchal loosened, and Durga pitched forward towards the water. But she righted herself at once and said with a laugh, “Useless boy! If you were any help at all—Hold on again!” With great difficulty, a clump of water chestnuts was pulled closer. Durga peered at it eagerly to see how many it held. Then she tossed it onto the bank. “They’re too young, there’s no milk inside yet. Hold on one more time.” Apu once again pulled from behind. After a moment, as his sister leaned forward, the strain dragged him a step or two closer to the water. Seeing his own clothes getting wet, he broke into a fit of giggles.

Durga laughed. “Oh, you!”

For a while, the secluded bamboo grove at the pond’s edge was filled with the sound of the siblings’ merry laughter. Durga said, “As if you have an ounce of strength in you! You great big lump!”

A little later, Durga had waded into the water to try again, while Apu stood on the bank. Just then, Apu pointed to a nearby sheora tree and shouted, “Didi, look what’s here!” Then he ran over and began digging something out of the earth.

From the water, Durga asked, “What is it?” Then she too climbed out and went to her brother.

By then, Apu had dug something up and was wiping the dirt from it with the corner of his kocha. He held it up to his sister with delight. “Look, Didi, it’s sparkling! What is it?”

Durga took it in her hand. It was a sparkling object, somewhat round, with one pointed end and cut facets. She turned it over and over, examining it with fascination.

Suddenly, a thought struck her, and her face, framed by its rough, unkempt hair, lit up. She glanced around fearfully to see if anyone was watching. “Apu,” she whispered, “I think it’s a diamond! Be quiet, don’t shout.” Then, fearfully, she glanced around once more.

Apu stared at his sister, amazed. It wasn’t that the object known as a diamond was unknown to him; from his mother and sister he had often heard of the splendour of the diamond and pearl ornaments worn by fairytale princes and princesses. But he had a slightly mistaken idea of what a diamond actually looked like. He had imagined a diamond looked like a fish’s egg—yellowish, but hard, not soft!

Sarbajaya was not at home. When she returned from a neighbour’s house, she found the children standing near the door to the inner part of the house. As she approached, Durga whispered, “Ma, we found something. We went to the Garer Pukur to get water chestnuts, Ma. This was buried in the jungle there.”

Apu added, “I saw it and told Didi, Ma.” Durga unwrapped the object from her anchal and placed it in her mother’s hand. “Look, Ma, what is this?” Sarbajaya turned it over and over, examining it. Durga whispered, “Ma, it’s a diamond, isn’t it?”

Sarbajaya’s own idea of a diamond was not much clearer than theirs. “How do you know it’s a diamond?” she asked doubtfully.

Durga said, “The Majumdars were rich, weren’t they, Ma? Pishi used to tell stories about people finding gold sovereigns in the jungle around their old house. This was buried right at the edge of the pond, in the woods. It was sparkling in the sun. It must be a diamond, Ma, it must be.”

“Let your father come home first,” Sarbajaya said. “I’ll show it to him.”

Durga went out into the courtyard and told her brother gleefully, “If it is a diamond, you’ll see, we’ll be rich.”

Not understanding, Apu just giggled foolishly. After the children had gone, Sarbajaya took the object out and examined it closely.

Roundish, with cut edges and facets, one end pointed—like the top of a sindoor pot’s lid. It was quite brilliant. Sarbajaya thought she could see all sorts of colours within it. But she was certain it wasn’t glass. She couldn’t remember ever having seen glass of this kind. Suddenly a current seemed to pass through her whole body, and in a corner of her mind, pushing past all doubt, a deep, impossible hope timidly peeked out—what if it really was a diamond?

Her idea of a diamond was something akin to a philosopher’s stone or the jewel from a serpent’s head. Things of legend, rarely seen in the real world; and if one were found, it was said that all the riches of the world could be had in exchange for a single piece.

A little later, Harihar entered the house, a small bundle in his hand.

Sarbajaya said, “Listen, come here a moment! Look at this!”

Harihar took it in his hand. “Where did you get this?”

“Durga found it when she went to get water chestnuts from the Garer Pukur. What do you think it is?”

Harihar turned it over for a moment. “Glass, or—maybe some kind of stone. It’s so small, I can’t really tell.”

A faint glimmer of hope appeared in Sarbajaya’s mind—if it were glass, wouldn’t her husband have recognized it? Then, in a low voice, as if afraid her husband might offer a counter-argument, she said, “It’s not a diamond, is it? Durga was saying that people have found all sorts of things in the moat of the Majumdar house! What if it is a diamond?”

“Yes, if diamonds were just lying around on paths and roadsides, we’d have no worries, would we? Honestly, the things you say!” Yet a moment later, the thought occurred to him: perhaps it could be. Who could say? The Majumdars were rich. It wasn’t inconceivable that it had once been set in one of their ornaments and had somehow ended up buried in the ground. As the saying goes, if it is not in your fate, you will not recognize hidden treasure even when you hold it in your hand. Would his story end up like the tale of the poor Brahmin?

“Alright, wait here,” he said. “Let me just go and show it at the Ganguly house.”

As she cooked, Sarbajaya kept repeating to herself, “I beg you, dear God, so many people find so many things. We are suffering so much in this household—look upon my children with favour—I beg you, dear God.”

Her heart was pounding.

A little later, Durga came home and asked eagerly, “Hasn’t Baba come back yet, Ma?”

At that very moment, Harihar entered the inner part of the house. “Hmph. I said right away it was nothing. Mr. Ganguly’s son-in-law, Satya Babu, is visiting from Calcutta. He looked at it and said it’s a piece of cut glass, the kind that hangs from a chandelier-lamp. If you could find diamonds and jewels on the roadside, then—Honestly, the things you imagine!”