23
WEDDING BREAKFAST
When I finally woke, I couldn’t tell what the hour was, because the sky was overcast. The drone of bloodthirsty mosquitoes had woken me several times during the night, and my arms itched with bites. Trying not to scratch at them, I got up and stretched.
“Wake up, sleepyheads!” Arul called to me and Muthu.
You and Arul were already exploring the far corner of the graveyard, where the grass looked as unkempt as the boys’ hair. Not that ours was in a much better state.
“What a good place to hide,” I said. The inscriptions had worn off many of the grave markers, and most looked like they hadn’t been tended in years. The high wall teetered in some places, but mostly it hid us from view of the road. “Lonelier and more neglected than our bridge.”
“What are we going to do for breakfast?” Muthu yawned. “I’m hungry.”
“Hungry,” you agreed.
“You’ll be delighted to hear,” Arul announced, “we’ve been invited to a wedding breakfast.”
“Wedding?” I said.
“Yes. I forgot all about that wedding, boss.” Muthu winked at Arul, and then he wound an imaginary turban on his head. “Is my turban on straight?”
“Yes, but it’s not as fancy as mine,” Arul said.
“Dum, dum, dum.” Muthu started marching, beating on an imaginary drum. “You want to join the wedding procession, Rukku?”
I didn’t ask the boys what they were up to, because I was thrilled to see you return his smile, like your confidence and courage were resurging.
“Dum, dum, dum.” You walked alongside Muthu. “Dum, dum, dum.”
Arul followed, playing an imaginary pipe.
We’d lost our home, but you three were still cheerful, and I tried to forget my worries and be content with that.
“It’s as large as my fairy-tale palace!” I gazed at the wedding hall from a nearby hill, where we’d stopped to rest. “Just the sight of it’s worth that long walk!”
We could see over a low white wall and right into the pillared room where a newlywed couple sat cross-legged opposite the priests. The bride wore so many jewels, she looked like one of the trees strung with strands of twinkling lights in the surrounding garden.
“Rich people,” Muthu said. “They’ve stuck lights on the trees even though it’s daytime.”
The music in the hall rose to a crescendo, the beat of drums and the whine of the nadhaswaram so loud, we could catch the sound.
“Why do they play that silly pipe when people get married?” Muthu said. “It sounds like a frog with a sore throat.”
“Pretty.” You hummed, slightly off-key. “Pretty.”
“Right.” Arul smiled at you. “Stay quiet, Muthu, you uncultured brat. Rukku and I are enjoying the concert.”
The crowd of guests stood and showered the couple with rose petals. “Perfect timing,” Arul said. “They’ll move to the dining room next. It’s around the back. Come on.”
As guests lined up to congratulate the couple, we walked downhill and around the hall to the back, where the open windows allowed us a glimpse of long tables on which banana leaf plates had been laid out. Servers came in bearing huge pots of steaming food.
“Ah, what a spread!” Muthu sounded entranced.
I was more impressed by how much the guests didn’t eat, as the servers cleared away banana leaves still piled high with food.
“Here comes our feast,” Muthu said as a man came and stuffed some bags into the dumpster outside the back gate of the wedding hall.
When he was gone, Muthu skipped over to the dumpster and shooed away a couple of bedraggled crows that were hovering above it. He lifted out an untouched, unpeeled banana and waved it triumphantly in the air. Then another. And another.
He handed them all to you.
Arul joined him, and the boys discovered even more: golden laddu balls, some half eaten, some barely touched. I couldn’t imagine throwing away a sweet—just wasting the whole thing. Actually I couldn’t even imagine wasting one bite of such a mouthwatering delicacy.
Ignoring the dirt caking my fingernails, trying to forget that these were a stranger’s leftovers, I stuck a sweet in my mouth.
“So good,” Arul mumbled with his mouth full. “Try some, Rukku.” We were all so hungry that Arul had forgotten about praying.
“Yech,” you said.
“Laddus aren’t your favorite? Want to try a different sweet?” Muthu picked off the bits of rice and vegetables that were stuck to a ball of syrupy gulab jamun and handed it to you. “You’ll like this. Smells of rose petals.”
“Sweet?” You sniffed suspiciously at the dark, sticky ball and then nibbled at it as daintily as a princess, while the rest of us hungrily cleaned off one leaf plate after another.
“Look, Rukku.” Muthu motioned at the cloud of flies that hovered around us. “Our meals are so delicious that uninvited guests always visit.”
A skinny cow ambled over. Kutti barked at it.
“Shhup!” you said to Kutti, placing a finger across your lips.
“As I was saying,” Muthu said. “Uninvited guests—coming in all sizes!”
The cow edged away, but you rolled up one of the empty banana leaves and held it out to the cow.
It started chewing placidly. You leaned against the cow’s side and crooned to it.