Free The Selector of Souls by Shauna Singh Baldwin Page A

her, yet despite what they had done to her, Kiran only trusted the men and women in starchy white. Damini called the nurses when Kiran asked for them and didn’t complain to Aman when he came at visiting hours—because what does a man know about how a birth should or shouldn’t happen? But her disapproval of the doctors and hospital must have shown because Kiran hired an expensive nursemaid very quickly. Instead of allowing Damini to massage Loveleen’s baby limbs or feed her gripe water, Kiran sent her home a week early, saying Mem-saab needed Damini’s skills more than she did.
    Which was true.
    When Damini returned to Delhi, Mem-saab rewarded Damini with a pair of solid gold flower-shaped earrings to mark the girl’sbirth. When Amanjit and Kiran visited Mem-saab for Loveleen’s naming, Damini took the girl baby in her arms and showed her to Suresh, through the gate.
    Suresh said, “The way you’re looking at her, anyone might think she were your grandson.” Damini has tried to restrain her feelings since then, but Loveleen knows she is soft.
    Once, while visiting Mem-saab, the little girl fell—children do. And Damini had swabbed Dettol on the wound. Direct from the bottle, as she had for Timcu and Aman to make them tougher. Loveleen howled and was inconsolable. Kiran confronted Damini, bottle in hand, scolding that she would kill the child with pain. Didn’t Damini know Dettol must be diluted with water?
    Usually the most powerful antidotes are required to vanquish threatening unseen energies. But, Kiran explained, there are also threatening unseen energies called germs that attack babies, children and adults. She reminded Damini of how many times the nurses in the hospital washed their hands, how the doctor wore plastic gloves. When dealing with germs, she said, handwashing and Dettol-adulteration with water are required.
    But how could Damini have known? The directions were written on the white label in English, not Devanagari script. If she wanted Damini to follow English directions, Kiran should have translated them into Hindi and read them aloud.
    Kiran had taken Loveleen from Damini’s arms, and set the child down before the TV.
    And here the girl now sits as though she’d never moved, just grown in these nine years. She gets two whole months of holy-days each year at this time. She could memorize the
Ramayan
, she could learn to cook, she could jump rope with Khansama’s children. Instead this little girl needs videos, maybe the ones Suresh copies, to tell her stories of pale women and clean-shaven pink men. If she doesn’t have her videos she gets Bore, a saab’s disease like Dipreyshun.
    Loveleen does not rise as Mem-saab enters her own drawing-room.
    “Darling,” says Mem-saab. “Go tell the driver to bring my car.”
    Loveleen turns to face Mem-saab so she can read her lips, and shouts, “Damini-amma, tell Zahir Sheikh to bring the car.”
    Mem-saab says gently, “No, Lovey, darling. You go and tell Zahir Sheikh to bring my car. The video can wait.”
    The girl turns her head, but does not move. “You can’t order me around,” she says.
    Offspring of a snake! Damini stands silent with shock.
    Mem-saab is looking at Damini, “What … what did she say?”
    Damini turns to her and mouths the words slowly.
    Mem-saab comes around to face Loveleen. Her small hand grips the child’s arm above the elbow. “I said, go and tell the driver to bring my car. Damini-amma has to get ready to go with me.”
    The child shakes off her hand, but goes. Damini fetches Mem-saab’s handbag and glasses.
    The sun whirls like the brass disc behind dancing Lord Shiv. The car’s back seat burns Damini’s fingertips and thighs. The fan blows hot air as soon as Zahir Sheikh starts the car. In a few minutes, her bra is a wet cord beneath her breasts.
    Outside, tree branches are ridged where leaves have dried and fallen. Park fountains at the centres of roundabouts are dry. Every bright white street, every red