Mistress by Anita Nair

apart.’
    Sethu felt a chuckle gather within him. It was true. Big bun, little bun and plaited bun …but where was the plaited bun?
    Sethu felt his chuckle grow into a fit of giggles and so hastily, he
began reading the Bible even as they stood there. Perhaps they would leave him alone then.
    Why had he chosen to give himself a new name? It wasn’t as if he was a Known Defaulter. Or was he one now? KD. Synonym for rowdy, hooligan, criminal, anti-social element. How could you, Sethu, Uncle would ask. How could a member of my family become a KD?
     
    Sethu was fourteen years and three days old when he ran away from home. He didn’t know what else to do.
    He stood staring at the school noticeboard. He had failed in his exams again, for the third year in succession, and now he would be expelled. The headmaster had said as much to his uncle the previous year. ‘We don’t keep a student if he fails for two years in the same class. In Sethu’s case, I’m willing to make an exception. You see, his marks are good enough in all the other subjects, but how can I promote him to the next form if he doesn’t even scrape through in mathematics? I don’t understand it. He has an amazing memory. All he has to do is look at a page just once and he can tell you everything there is on it. Yet, in mathematics, he is worse than the worst dunce in his class. I don’t think he is applying himself. What else can it be?’ He turned to Sethu and said in a voice that was meant to scare him, ‘This is your last chance. If you don’t work hard enough, I’ll have no option but to expel you. Do you understand?’
    Sethu nodded. He always did when he had nothing to offer by way of explanation or comment. Even then he knew that mathematics would crush him.
    On their way home, his uncle didn’t speak a word. Later, when they sat down to lunch, he said, ‘You heard what the headmaster said, didn’t you? If you want to make something of yourself in life, you need an education. Or, if you’d rather be a farmer like me, you can quit school tomorrow. It is your decision.’
    This was his uncle’s way. Other men would have torn a young branch off a tamarind tree, stripped it of leaves and then stripped the skin off their wards’ back. Not Sethu’s uncle. He stripped the skin off Sethu’s soul with his quiet reproach. Sethu said nothing, feeling the heaviness within rise to his eyes and clamp his throat.
    Sethu didn’t understand what it was about numbers or water that defeated him so. It wasn’t as if he didn’t try hard enough. He
did. He worked, he wheedled, he did everything he could to make them heed his bidding. But neither the numbers nor the waters of the river succumbed to his advances. They mostly ignored him, or merely let him down. Like now. Sethu knew he must flee his uncle’s reproachful eyes and the waters of the river that questioned his adequacy day after day.
    He walked along the riverbank. Sometimes, he felt a great surge of restlessness and he would walk along the river not knowing where he was going or what he would do if he got there. It was just enough that he was walking. Then his legs would tire and he would turn back, glad to go home.
    Now he walked towards the railway station. He would take the train to Madras. That’s where everyone ran away to. In Madras, he would make a life that didn’t require him to master numbers or water. Or ever encounter the disappointment in his uncle’s eyes. Perhaps he might even meet his father, who had gone away to Madras five years ago and never returned. His mother had a new husband now, and Sethu hoped his father would take him in.
    He patted the pocket of his shorts. He had some money. His fees and book money for the next year, and some money his mother had given him to buy a pair of sandals and a few groceries in town. It wasn’t much, but there was enough to buy a train ticket to Madras and a meal or two till he found a job.
    He didn’t have to wait long for the train to