BooksBarbecue
Back Passage West
Chapters (59)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Cast of Characters
  5. Part One
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. Letters
  14. Part Two
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. Letters
  26. Part Three
  27. 18
  28. 19
  29. 20
  30. 21
  31. 22
  32. 23
  33. Letters
  34. Part Four
  35. 24
  36. 25
  37. 26
  38. 27
  39. 28
  40. Letters
  41. Part Five
  42. 29
  43. 30
  44. 31
  45. 32
  46. 33
  47. 34
  48. 35
  49. 36
  50. 37
  51. 38
  52. 39
  53. 40
  54. 41
  55. Epilogue
  56. Acknowledgments
  57. About the Author
  58. Also by Rishi Reddi
  59. About the Publisher

He gave me some book and asked me to read it. It was in formal Punjabi language and the words all were strange to me but I pronounced them slowly. The white man looked skeptical and he directed the Punjabi man to take the book from me and he did so. I sensed that they were both against me—perhaps our countryman was even more against me than the white man. I grew frightened again. Santosh must have sensed my uneasiness for he started to cry. Our countryman told me that the book was the Christian Bible. Then he said that he didn’t think I could read at all, even in Punjabi.

I protested. I asked them if I could read a book that I brought. You know that I always keep the Gita with me, that small one. So I opened my bag and showed it to him and told him that I could read it. He shook his head.

But I read it, my husband. You would have been proud of me. There were portions that I knew well, because my father and I used to read them together. When I was finished, the Punjabi man said it seemed I did not know how to read, that I had merely memorized some lines. I told him that he could point at any part of the text and I would read it. But he said no. We were arguing like this as Santosh wandered to the other side of the room and suddenly pulled a few papers from the shelves, and some books fell. I felt so bad I immediately got up to check him.

That is when everything stopped. As I walked to Santosh, that white man saw me, and asked something which the Punjabi man stated to me—he asked why do I have a limp? I told him that I had a disease as a child. He told me then that it would not be a matter of whether I could read or not, the U.S. would not allow persons such as me into the country.

I felt that he had plunged a knife in my heart. I told him that I was your wife, that your son was there with me in that same room. But he would not listen, my husband, he would not listen. All humanity was gone from him. It was only after they made me leave the room and could not see me anymore that I allowed the tears to come. I kept thinking that they would call me back in, that they would recognize their mistake and realize that I was your wife and that I should be with you, but no one came. By the end of the day, all life had gone out of me.