Bapsi Sidhwa


It is Friday: the day to remember the Trouble-Easer and Behram Yazad. Mother mops the brick floor in the bedroom and closes all doors. I dawdle on the bed, my prayer cap on my head. I am impatient. I wish my mother would get along with the ceremonial story, and not take so long with her prayers. I hear the Swish-swish of the Kusti as she whips the sacred-thread behind her to banish evil. She will tie the thread thrice round her waist, knotting it in the front and in the back, and, so, gird her loins in the service of the Lord.



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