It was a harsh winter . That year it was particularly harsh . It rained almost every other day . Dry firewood was hard to come by . Mai used to stack ours by the door . She had a meticulous method . Large logs at the bottom , Thin twigs at the top , flanked by heavier branches for all – day cooking . Mai used to guard it jealously . To the novice , the heap seemed a hotch potch of firewood . But Mai knew exactly how many were there .
How else do you explain the inexplicable wars she waged against aberrant neighbours , winning every time , with the culprit restocking her pile , under her supervision .
Then there was the perpetually drying clothes . Babies clothes were pilfered or worse , burnt as kindling . Woollen leggings were favoured as they burnt easily , like dry paper or hay . In those scarce times , woollens were hard to come by and Mai had kept a strict lookout for them as she sat rolling chapatis or boiling tea by the wood-fire.
Once she saw the neighbour’s son throw in a black coloured woollen scarf , and got up mid -roti. That was not a good sign . She grabbed a stick from her pile , walked quietly to the neighbour’s fire , fished the smouldering scarf out , beat out the wisps of flames against the cold hard floor , looked at the culprit in the eye , and said “Come Here.”
The poor waif had no choice but to follow . We all followed them with our eyes , rooted to our respective warm spots , with fear and winter. Only didi moved silently , saving the roti on the fire from being charred . Even her eyes were glued to the spectacle . We braced for another war or at least few smart slaps .
Contrary to all expectations , She pulled out some dry newspapers from beneath our bedding and gave it to him . As the boy meekly made his way to his bonfire , she also handed him over the stick she had used . A thick one .
When she resumed her roti making job , She was quiet for a moment , and staring at the orange yellow heat , just said " What ? Kids shouldn't be beaten , they need to be taught ."
After a while , when rolling out the next one , she dusted the flour off her hands , straightened her scarf and said "He just wanted some kindling."