Read Homeless Bird for Free Online

before the priest. I stitched the train that took us to Varanasi, and Hari splashing about in the river. At last I made the procession to the Ganges with Hari’s body covered with garlands. All around the edge of the quilt I put a border of bugs and butterflies.
    In February on the night of the full moon we could hear the sound of drums in the distance. It was Holi, the feast that celebrates the god Krishna’s love for the fair Radha. At first Sass would not allow Chandra and me to go into the village. At Holi a special red powder mixed with cow’s dung and urine is thrown at everyone. But Chandra kept pleading, and finally, after we promised to wear our oldest clothes, we were allowed to go. To our surprise Sass decided to go with us. She said it was to see that we behaved, but I believe she was glad of an excuse to leave the sadness of the house.
    In no time everyone was covered with the red dye. Small boys ran about squirting everyone with their water guns. Late in the evening, when the dancing became wild, Sass hurried us home. But for a few hours we had forgotten our troubles.
    When the hot weather came, I worked on the quilt in the courtyard, hoping for a little breeze. Day after day the heat pressed down on us. I longed to be like the turtles in the dried-out streams, hidden in the mud, waiting for the rains to give them life again.
    Chandra loved to watch me embroider. “Your needle makes the pictures come alive,” she said.
    “I can teach you,” I offered, but Chandra only shook her head.
    “I’d rather watch you,” she said.
    Chandra was not lazy, but only a little spoiled. She was allowed to sleep later than I was in the morning, was given more food to eat, and had fewer tasks than I did, always the easier ones like airing the quilts and pillows. Still, I could not be angry with her for the way Sass treated me. Chandra was willing enough to help me, but she gave little thought to a task. She was always dreaming of something else—the shape of the clouds or the color of the sari she had seen in the marketplace or, most often, the husband she would have one day.
    I sometimes teased her for her daydreams, but I was happy to have her for a sister. If Sass scolded me, Chandra would find an excuse for me. When she was given some treat to eat that was not given to me, she would secretly save some and give it to me when we were alone. Chandra had tied a rope to the mango tree, knotting the end. When Sass was busy elsewhere, we hung on to the rope and swung ourselves into the treetops.
    The best parts of the days were the afternoons, when Chandra and I had the courtyard to ourselves for our baths. We took turns pouring pails of water over each other. We would unwind our saris. Only then, as the cool water washed over me, could I forget Sass’s scalding words and the fiery sun. We would put on fresh, dry clothes, making sure all the while that no parts of our bodies showed, so as to preserve our modesty.
    I sometimes looked into Hari’s room. The bugs had dried up and fallen to the floor. The butterflies had lost their color. His room was now used to store flour and lentils. A stray cat often slept there. It would gaze at me with its sly brown eyes just as Hari had done. One of Hari’s schoolbooks still lay on the trunk. No one touched the book, and day by day the dust grew on it. Though I could not read, I sometimes opened the book and looked at the words. They were words that Hari had known.
    I thought it would be a fine thing to have a book of my own. No one seemed to want it, and I began to think of asking for it, wondering if such a request would be met with a new round of scoldings. One evening I gathered my courage and went to Sassur. I blurted out, “May I have Hari’s schoolbook?”
    Sassur always seemed surprised to find I was still there. After staring at me for a moment, he said, “It would fetch only a rupee or two in the marketplace. Take it. But what will you do with it? Can you read?”
    I