Thakur Sahib’s household was in mourning. An uneasy silence enveloped the three-storied mansion – the largest in the village. It was the loudest silence she had ever heard, Choti Bahu thought, as she sat alone in the dark, her arms still wrapped tightly around her child. Her hold would not loosen for another four hours, at least.
Meanwhile, the deathly quiet had carried itself over to the large group of neighbours and well-wishers gathered in the outer courtyard, waiting for the sweets they had been promised. Thakur Sahib’s household had been preparing for this day for a long time. In the past week, the women of the house had done nothing but prepare all kinds of delicacies to welcome the newest member of the family. A few children from the village swore that they had seen hundreds of crisp, golden jalebis bubbling in sugary syrup in enormous frying pans with charred bottoms in Thakur Sahib’s kitchen.
‘Any moment now,’ little Shamu thought, his stomach rumbling. ‘Badi Malkin will come with a huge tray and I’ll have two crisp jalebis melting in my mouth.’
But the only person who came to greet him and the other villagers was one of Thakur Sahib’s snooty servants, who shut the door in their faces after muttering something.
‘Why did they turn us away, Baba? Wasn’t the baby born?’ Shamu asked, tugging at his father’s sleeve as they walked home.
‘Yes,’ his father replied. ‘But it was a girl.’
Fudge 