I stared in horror at Sultan’s oiled hair. It was still combed as if nothing had happened. His body, covered in a white shroud, stretched on the charpoy that he used to share with his brother. Without thinking, I reached up to the now-shriveled chameli garland barely hanging on my wrist. The flowers were no longer white. They had aged within the day. Why had I not destroyed them as soon as I’d gotten home?
It was time for the evening prayer. The wailing in the courtyard had drowned out the maulvi’s voice from the mosque.
It hadn’t taken us long to gather around the charpoy in the middle of the courtyard. Four villagers, followed by two policemen, had carried the rope cot in, holding on to the crudely carved poles.
I had finished washing the tea dishes, and Amman Bhaggan had been preparing the evening meal. Now she stood at the foot of the charpoy, tearing out her hair and looking to the skies.
“My beautiful boy! You would have passed your exams. You would have become the groom every girl wanted to marry. You would have had sons, as many as you wanted. As beautiful as you. As intelligent as you.”
“That’s enough, Bhaggan. Find peace. God takes from us the best of what we have.” Bibi Saffiya spoke from the charpoy that was placed at a safe distance from the body on the charpoy covered in flies.
The white shroud was soaked with blood. Flies buzzed all over it. Amman Bhaggan now sat at the foot of the charpoy, one hand covering her head with her dopatta, the other fanning the dead body of her favorite child.
“I did it to him. I praised him and cast an evil eye on him. I should not have praised him, and then others would not have been so envious of him,” she mourned.
I looked around the courtyard. The police van had brought the broken body, which looked as if it had been run over by a bus, squashed in the center. Two officers stood in the corner, drinking glasses of warm water. It had been hot that afternoon. But now it seemed even warmer.
Why had he been run over by a bus? Was I to blame? If I had brought him the notebook, would that have delayed when he crossed the road?
I looked across the courtyard at Stella. Had my jealousy caused his death? Was it because I didn’t want her to have him? But I didn’t even like him. I didn’t like the smell of eggs. I couldn’t remember it now. I had already forgotten the smell of his coconut oil.
I looked away from Stella. I could not bear to see the pain on her face. She sat staring at the bloodied body in the middle of the courtyard. She stared at Bhaggan and the wailers. She held Maria’s hand tightly. Then she tugged at it, and Maria looked down at her. The sisters communicated without saying anything, and Maria helped her sister to walk toward the body.
I approached Amman Bhaggan in silence to try to rub her feet, but she wouldn’t let me touch her.
As her screams became louder, more village women joined the mourning wails. I didn’t recognize some of them. They had come from the village across the canal. They had heard the sirens and now the wailing. I didn’t know that they had known Sultan. I had never seen them in Bhaggan’s kitchen. They were here to help her mourn.
One wailed, “You left your mother all by herself. You selfish son. How could you have chosen to go before her? How could you have chosen to be with your maker before it was your turn?”
Another joined in, “You were always impatient. You were always wanting more than your share. And now you have taken it. You wanted to be with your father. You chose to be with him, rather than stay here with us.”
Another slapped her own head with both hands. “What a beautiful prince. There will be no other like you.” As she wailed, the woman pulled Maalik and Taaj into the circle and said, “Pull your hair, tear your clothes. Why do you continue to live? Why do you not join your brother?”
The two boys looked at their mother, not knowing how to respond. I wasn’t sure either. When Bhaggan had talked about death, it had been about old people, or people who were evil, who needed to die. Sultan had been neither.
I watched as Stella took the fan from Bhaggan’s hand and sat on the other side of the body. Slowly, she started fanning his head, and the flies flew away from his face. Then she took her dopatta and wiped the blood off his cheek.
She sat there until the maulvi told the women to leave so he could cleanse the body and prepare it for burial.
I felt weak. I couldn’t stand. I hid in our room. It was dark and hot, but I didn’t care. I waited until it was dark outside.
No one would cook in the kitchen today. The house of death was also the house of starvation.