It was that one visit to Goa that changed Ramulamma's mind about the world and its peoples,
especially the white sahibs, or rather the `red sahibs,' for they baked themselves in the sun till she
had been afraid blood would start pouring out. They were no different from all the people she
knew, in fact that one sahib who lived in that dirty shack next to the street that led to the beech
somehow reminded her of her brother-in-law, who kept buffaloes in the city. No, that was not
quite right, for the sahib's beetroot-red belly was far larger than her brother-in-law's, who was
quite tidy in his own way. Yes, it was the smell that somehow connected the two in her mind, but
her relative couldn't help it, most of the time he was with his buffaloes, and naturally the smell
clung to him, but the white sahib seemed to exude it through his pores.
Ramulamma day-dreamed in the bus on the way back to the airport, with little Shanta snuggled
close and half asleep for it was a bit too early in the morning for the child. Professor Govindaraja
and his wife were busy chatting in English in the seat behind, no doubt already planning the week
ahead. She caught a few words she knew and if she had strained could have just about followed
what they were saying, but she was tired, not with exertion, but with all she had experienced over
the last few days. She liked the professor's family, they were good to her, always had been very
kind and considerate, and of course she had readily agreed to go with them for a holiday to Goa
to look after Shanta, whom she loved in any case. Somehow children were not born in this
month in her villages, she knew why, men were busy nine months earlier with the ploughing and
the sowing in the fields. She smiled mischievously to herself at the simile conjectured up in her
mind. Anyway even Dalit dais needed a holiday now and then, and she had always been curious
to see the sea. And the aeroplane ride was a bonus!
So, white people were no different from all the people she knew, some were very nice, some
were not. But one thing she would give them, they lived the way she would have liked to live,
boldly, not too worried what anyone else would say. All those girls, clinging to their lovers with
their lips, letting them fondle their bodies in front of everyone without a care in the world. And
why not? It was nature, we all felt it in our bellies, and we hid from our thoughts, and got ill as a
consequence. She heaved a deep sigh, and smoothed Shanta's locks absent-mindedly. Hopefully
when the little princess grew up the world would have changed, and she too would be bold. She
herself had been bold, in her own way, a long time ago. Her mind went back to that forgotten
time in the forest, she sighed some more, the past had better remain forgotten, she must think of
the future. What future? Delivering other people's babies. Well, that was not so bad, was it, in a
way they were her children, all of them, as much as any young girl's, who just lay on her back.
She sighed again, and shook her head to clear it of thoughts.
The bus was blowing its horn in an imperious way, as the driver tried to nudge sundry vans,
handcarts, and cycles out of the way. He cleared a path for himself, and turned grandly into the
airport driveway, as porters came running up to take the luggage. And there was plenty of it. It
was Ramulamma's duty to get all of it together, even as she collected the child's bag and its
spilled out teddy bear, crayon box, handkerchiefs, and miniature make-up kit. The professor's
wife was large and placid. She had an unwavering trust in Ramulamma, which meant that she let
her do all the gathering and shepherding. The next several minutes, Ramulamma had no time to
think. If she did leave anything behind, even a box of tissues, Mrs Govindaraja would not scold,
but smile in that unhappy way of hers which cut even more deeply. If she had any time at all it
was to wonder in a vague sort of way at the motley crowd gathered round the airline desk, the
NRIs being weirder than the whites. Why did they wear those long and baggy short pants, and
why did they speak English through their noses? All right, Americans were born that way, but
these were Indians like anybody else, so how could their noses catch cold all of a sudden just by
being in America? Anyway, it was none of her business, she had enough to do to prevent Shanta
from running off and hiding behind trolleys. She didn't breathe easy till she buckled the girl into
her seat in the aeroplane and helped Mrs Govindaraja stow all her bags into the lockers above.
She was still fussing about making sure everything was OK, till the flight attendant pressed her
into her own seat next to the child. Well, that girl was slim and smart in her blue silk sari, and
Ramulamma watched her as she swished her way forward brushing her hips against the shoulders
of fat men who poured out of their seats. She knew what those men were thinking, but who could
blame whom?
Suddenly the cleaning men had vanished, and the airline girls stood by the door. They were still
smiling in that fixed way of theirs, but there was a liveliness in their eyes as they whispered to
each other. A handsome young man in uniform said something to them, and they burst into
giggles, looked down rather self-consciously, and smoothed the silk of their flawless saris, with
one hand down like you see models do on the TV.
Ramulamma herself drew in her breath sharply. The Great Khan had entered the plane last, and
was lingering by the door to say something to the girls, who fluttered their eyes in a cinematic
way, smiled shyly, and tried to busy themselves, though there was nothing much to do. Satisfied
with the effect he had created the star lounged casually in, and threw his long body into the front
seat. Ramulamma's heart missed a few beats. Who would have thought that the Great Khan
would enter her plane! He looked exactly as he appeared in the innumerable films she had seen
on TV, and in the occasional theatre. He was the nation's heart-throb, and even Mrs
Govindaraja's face would take on that soulful look when he made love to an actress. Who could
resist those large deep eyes, you couldn't look away, no, no one could. And that body! Like a
young bull's. Her heart leapt again to think he was just a few seats ahead. She had heard it was all
make-up, but there was no make-up in that look, that body, that stance. He was Krishna! Brought
back into this prosaic world, and all the women around were his gopis.
She couldn't see him anymore, just the tip of a haughty shoulder jutting out, a sandaled foot
thrust forward. A flight attendant was bending low, lower than necessary, taking his orders. It
seemed to take a long time, but, said Ramulamma to herself, he must have seen much more than
that poor girl was showing so artlessly.
Snacks were being served, and Ramulamma was busy for several minutes helping Shanta eat, and
not make a mess. She went forward crossly to break up the ring of women around the Great
Khan, and get them to give more orange juice for Shanta, and a glass of milk. Why could they not
get milk for a child? There was a little argument. She couldn't bring milk, not with all the
security checks. Well, they paid so much money, so why could the airline not give milk to the
child, she needed milk, she always drank milk at that time of day. The flight attendants argued
back, Mrs Govindaraja told Ramulamma it did not matter, but in her own eyes it did matter,
people should be responsible, she was always responsible, so why not a great big airline?
Suddenly a tall man in uniform and cap stood in front. He had gold bars on his shoulders, so he
was some big person, and he told her in clear Telugu that he was very sorry that they had no
milk, they should have had but they didn't, but he had a box of chocolates and maybe the child
would forgive him if he gave her chocolates instead of milk. Respectfully but quite firmly he
pushed his way to Shanta and gave her the chocolates with a big smile. Shanta seemed to know
right away he was the captain and asked him for his autograph. Ramulamma had to get her bag
down to take the autograph book out. Shanta said she was going to be a pilot when she grew up.
Just two days ago she had declared she would be a deep-sea diver. The captain said by the time
she grew up she would be piloting a spaceship to go to the moon. Shanta said she would take
them all to Mars. Everyone laughed and the captain went back up front.
That little incident knocked all thought of the Great Khan out of Ramulamma's head. Anyway,
they said they were about to land, so she had to get up, put everything back in the bag, and stow it
safely above, sit down, buckle Shanta and put on her own belt. Leaning over Shanta she tried to
see if she could spot the girl's house, and though Shanta kept claiming she saw it down there far
below, you couldn't be sure, it all looked so different even though it was sunny and clear. She
saw the trees grow large, and then the shadow of the plane flying over the airfield, they seemed to
hang in the air like an eagle for quite some time, till with a bump they were on the ground
screeching, with their tummies against the belts. The holiday was over, that very night after
accepting a gift of money from the professor she would take a bus back to her village.
The airline bus from the plane to the building was no better than a country bus, with three huge
steps for Ramulamma to negotiate, hung all over with the several bags that Mrs Govindaraja
thought it was necessary to take on board. Of course everyone brushed past her. No one thinks of
giving way to a servant, not that she was one, she was a very experienced dai, but for all those
city people she was just a rural woman, they could all see that. If they didn't have respect for her,
Ramulamma had a lot of respect for herself, and hung back pointedly till they had rushed ahead
and squeezed themselves in. She got up the steep steps last, and a fat man grudgingly moved
aside a little so that she could cling onto a strap with one foot on one step and one foot off.
They jolted off, and it required all her strength to stand swaying, and not let the bags she carried
swing into the gentleman who had made room for her. She changed her stance for better balance
and noted with a start that the Great Khan was seated next to the door, next to where she was
standing. His eyes were closed as if he was meditating. Mrs Govindaraja used to go to a class
conducted by a guruji in Goa. But she hadn't seen him there. Perhaps, he had closed his eyes not
to see the crush of people all round. She would have closed her eyes if she could. She watched his
chiselled face, that long sensitive nose, those fine firm lips, that left ear she had seen him wiggle
in films. Yes, he was a bull of a man, a fine bull.
With jerks and starts the bus was nearing the entrance. If it had been her rural bus she would have
cursed the driver and told him to be more careful, but now she just hung on grimly trying not to
fall. If she did fall, would the Great Khan catch her in his arms as she had seen him do in films, or
would he just leave a Dalit old woman to tumble down? This was not a film shoot, why would he
exert himself? Finally, the bus jerked to a halt and the doors swung open. She could feel the
pressure palpably of people trying to get off the bus as quickly as they could. She turned a little to
get both feet onto the step before climbing down and that was when the fat man elbowed into her.
It wasn't that she had been thinking about it, she told herself many times later just to be sure, no
she was pushed into a fall. The weight of the bags added to the push and she was going to fly
through the air to crash onto the tarmac head first. A strong golden arm encircled her waist
swiftly and pulled her back into the Great Khan's lap.
Some people nearby clapped. Others craned forward to see what had happened. There was a
dramatic pause. He looked into her face with that slightly mocking smile he had made famous
through all the continents. Then in a clear loud voice he repeated a famous dialogue of his in
Urdu: what, could he see a beautiful woman fall, and not be there to hold her? The whole bus
clapped loudly, everyone laughed and some raucously, enjoying the joke. Somehow with his help
and other hands that suddenly came forward, she got off the bus and hurried inside. Strangely for
her, she couldn't remember clearly enough what happened in the next ten minutes, except that
Shanta was skipping alongside and asking her if she was hurt. But luggage had to be found and
placed on trolleys, and the driver of their car spotted and made to come to where they were
standing. Other cars honked impatiently, and one tried to nudge into her as she was loading the
luggage into the boot, but at long last they were all in and driving away through the traffic
towards the Govindaraja home. Shanta in the middle of the back seat, between her and her
mother, nodded off comfortably pillowing her head on her shoulder. Ramulamma closed her eyes
against the hot glare of the fleeting traffic and returned to her thoughts. No, he had not jeered at
her. He had held her a little longer than necessary against the firm comfort of his body, and his
eyes, smiling but not dishonest, had looked into hers, straight and intimately, not the way sahibs
looked at one. His eyes had seen her as she really was, as she had been when she was sixteen,
long years ago.