Chapter 3

After cooking her last dish, Asha darted to school. She would graduate this school year from her second higher education. She could have graduated a year ago, but her situation was dire after her father's death.

She could hardly understand the teacher's words because her mind was full of the things she would do for the competition tomorrow. After class, she ran home, anxious for her clam, and excited about her preparations.

When she opened the door of her house, the bowl and the clam were on the wet floor. A crow pecked its black beak on the clam’s white shell while a red-orange light flowed at the object and the attacker from a half-opened window.

She shooed the crow away and picked the clam up in dismay to find a crack in it. "Oh my, this won't last tomorrow. What should I do?"

She laid it back on the bowl full of water. For minutes she stared at it while thinking the best means to preserve it or... had to go back in the freezing-like river water. And cringed with the thought. "Oh, I must cook it, no other choice," she said with drooping shoulders.

She reread the recipe to make sure she won't regret what she'll do. It said that she must boil the whole oyster and save the stock with the meat. They were part of the ingredients too. But the recipe recommended a newly cooked one, so the meat won't be hard.

"Ahhh, what a mess. Why was I careless? Why didn't I cover the bowl?" She pulled her hair in annoyance and sat on her bed, feeling exhausted. Her fears dictated to give up, but her eyesight went to the sole photo of her father and mother together. "No, I won't give up."

She stood up and paced back and forth. "Think, think, Asha, what is the best thing to do?"

Streaks of dark orange lights lit on the bowl, leaving a wonderful glow on the shell’s surface. This reminded her of one of her father’s habits when he’s lonely and unsure. She opened the window, sat on the bench near it, where her father usually sat, and watched the swaying mangrove trees’ branches outside.

"Baba, if you are in this situation, what are you going to do?"

Asha wished with all her heart that she could receive an answer or sign from her father in any way, but none came. "Why was I thinking?" She drew a deep breath. "I better cook it." After boiling, she brought it to the restaurant, put it in the chiller, and left a note on the container.

Thinking of her other ingredients, which were many, she restrained herself from asking Mukti or the head chef who would surely give. They already helped her more than she could ask for, she thought. Pride and shame won over, which she knew were part of her folly but still went on.

With a small lantern in hand, that night, she walked around the market to find leftover spices on or below the stalls. If she couldn't find them, she thought of buying them tomorrow, but that would take much from her savings.

An old vendor who was also her neighbor saw her. “What are you doing, lass?”

Asha stood straight in fright and bit her lower lip to know someone saw her rummaging the baskets under the wooden tables. “Good evening, Thakurma.” She expected a scolding, but to her surprise, the old woman extended a small cloth bag.

"Here's the ginger and the garlic. I hope this will help you tomorrow."

Asha’s eyes widened with what she heard. "Ah, you know?"

“This old woman knows all in this tiny village of ours. Don’t be shy, take it.” Thakurma said it a matter-of-factly and pulled the young girl’s hand to hold the bag.

"I… I don’t know what to say." Asha said, choking on the sobs welling up inside her. "Thanks, Thakurma. I hope I can repay you someday."

The elderly held Asha's hands and looked at her with worried eyes. "No need to repay me. I wish I could help you more. I'm really sorry about what happened to your Baba. Will you be fine?"

"Of course, of course, I'll be fine. Don't worry, Thakurma. This surely would help me tomorrow." She bent down and placed her hand on the old lady's feet as respect and stood back up.

She walked Thakurma up to the old lady’s doorstep. But before Thakurma could open it, a young woman approached them. "Asha, here's the lemongrass, cilantro, and coconut. You better bring this to the market tomorrow and let someone separate the coconut meat."

"Oh my, Mashi. You, too?" Asha’s eyes reflected her puzzlement. She told no one about the competition in their neighborhood, but how come they knew?

“A thank you will be fine. Just cook your best tomorrow,” the kind Mashi smiled as she placed the raw spices in Asha’s basket.

"Thank you, Mashi. I'm indebted to you, but how did you know?." Asha lowered her head while her hands fiddled on the things inside her basket, trying to control herself from crying.

Suddenly, the lady wrapped her arms around her as a mother would. "Asha, is there more I can help? I really feel bad for what happened to your family. Your Ma died and now your Baba."

With this caring and loving embrace, Asha cried on the Mashi’s shoulders but halted as soon as it came when the other woman let go. And continued her speech with a lifted fist. "That pompous judge is surely being paid. He pronounced your father guilty and made the sentence in a hurry. They didn't give him a chance to prove himself or let a government lawyer assist and defend him."

"I agree." Another married lady, but almost the same age as Asha, came out from her house. She extended a bag to Asha. "I don't believe your father poisoned the official. The more I couldn't believe that food poisoning was the real reason for his death." She squinted her eyes as she looked at Asha. "Can food poisoning kill a person? I remember my Ma was sick, and the doctor said she was food poisoned for eating stale food, but she didn't die. She only took medicine, and she was okay again."

"I don't know, Moriom. I want to know, too." Asha replied with more questions in her mind based on what the other said.

The Mashi raised her hands with her muscles tensed and added. "The law is nothing but written statements for rich men to exploit the poor, and the judges are imperious men that wish nothing but endowment from those wealthy families." She finished with a harrumphed, feeling satisfied with her words.

The wise Thakurma shook her head after listening to their cries. She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "It was tragic. Yet, life in our village is such. We can do nothing for being poor. Death no longer holds too much emotional pain to some of us here, for life is difficult. Seeing a neighbor die every month or even within a week isn't new at all." The old lady shook her head again as she walked into her small straw house.

"Good night, Thakurma, and thank you," Asha said. The old lady nodded and closed the door.

The other ladies waved their hands and left Asha in her own musings. Unknown to her, a smiling Mukti stood within the shadows. She knew Asha would never ask for help and so arranged the whole drama with the neighbors, who willingly played along with the sole desire to help the orphan.

Alone, Asha stood in the middle of their neighborhood, absorbing every word Thakurma said. Winter, though not below zero degrees, would cause more deaths because of their unprotected and unheated house. They made most of the houses with GI-sheet roofs and walls. Some were of Nipa roof with wood or straw walls. Only a few bricked houses stood near the city district. Thus, they wouldn't last the whole winter.

Life was hard in the village of Mangpur which was alongside the contrasting beautiful tourist spot Mangrove Forest in Panibon. "Tragic indeed," Asha said to herself and went home.

---- o ----

Inside her house, she checked her list. Making sure all the ingredients were in her basket and went to bed. However, sleep eluded her because of the biting cold or out of excitement. The dreamland received her after an hour of reading a book with an oil lamp.

Asha woke up with the first straw of light that came through the holes of her wooden walls. She rechecked all of her ingredients, in case another mishap happened while asleep. A peaceful smile radiated from her face to see everything was inside.

Somehow, while walking, she bit her lower lip while her eyes roamed back and forth in her basket and on the sideroad. It seemed she forgot something but couldn’t recall what it was. Then she heard a man shouted, “Fresh fish for sale.”

She beamed. Thankful for the fish vendor’s shouts. It was the fish she almost missed buying. Asha happily hopped toward the man. With a bit of bargaining, she got it for half a Rupee. A half kilo of fish would cost two Rupees at that time. With an enormous smile, she thanked the vendor and skipped up and down on the way to the restaurant.

The competition would start at ten in the morning and thankfully, near her workplace. She was ready, she thought, with a fraction of apprehension inside.

---- o ----

As she arrived at an intersection, a car stopped next to her. The driver opened the window and asked, "Little girl, do you know the place called Pranabanta restaurant."

She heard the 'little girl' again, and bluntly answered with her hands on her hips, "I'm not a little girl, don't call me that or I won't answer you." 

The man recognized that voice behind the veiled face. He couldn't forget it after what happened yesterday. "Oh, Miss, glad to meet you again. Sorry again for mistaking you as a little girl."

"Who are you? I've never met you." Her annoyance flared.

"Actually, we met yesterday at Panibon."

Her black eyes narrowed at him and, without warning, pointed a shaking finger at him. "You? Again?"

"Yes, me again and sorry again." He felt awkward with her stares. In their place, women never stare at men, though men could. Nevertheless, he dismissed the thought, believing he was a modern guy. Most of all, those eyes were attractive. 

"Can you please tell me where Pranabanta restaurant is?" he said with a charming smile.

"Humph, I won't answer you." She looked away and attempted to walk, but stopped when he bowed with palms stuck together above his head.

"Please."

"Fine, go straight and at the corner is the place." Her finger pointed to her right.

"Thank you, thank you." He kept bowing and drove away.

"I hope you're lost and won't see you again, bye, bye," whispered Asha, giggling. She headed to her left, to Pranabanta Restaurant, her workplace.

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Definition of Terms: Thakurma - Grandma; Mashi - Aunt; Baba - father; Ma - mother; Rupees- currency like dollars; Namaskar - sounds Nomoshkar, greetings or hello.