The Dye Maker

By Viva Shrivastava

Zhakheiya had lost so much in life, yet she learned to be strong and independent. Learnt from her father, the art of Dye Making, it came easily to her. Her aspirations of becoming the leading Dye Maker in town, and her understanding of colours and life itself, takes a turn when Ressam walks into her store one day...
Life was easy for Ressam when he was young but difficult and full of doubt now. He had lived under his fathers wings till one day he was forced to leave everything behind. Taking the first solo triumph of his life with him, unable to share with his family...
Can the strokes of colour, lead the two of them to their destiny?
Can a chance encounter with a soothsayer, be important?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zorba Books
• Release date: Sep 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9789385020841

Book preview

Part 1

The Dye Maker

ONE

ROOTS

Zakheiya carefully chopped the Dandelion roots into small pieces. She had been making dye for many years now. Consequently, she had gained mastery over the dye-making process. She knew the subtleties one had to keep in mind while making dyes of different colors. She had come to know the exact ingredients required to bring about the different hues of any color.

She was a child when she had started learning the art of dye making from her father, who was one of the most famous dye makers in their town. She remembered how she had spoilt her first pot of Saffron, because she hadn’t chopped the plant properly and had boiled it for a little longer than needed. Now, of course she had become an expert and didn’t make such mistakes, although she did add a smaller amount of vinegar to the plant dyes than was needed; but all the same, it didn’t add up to be a blunder.

She had inherited her father’s dye shop upon his death. The business had bloomed in her father’s days. However, their financial situation had depreciated after her father was struck with a heart attack and was rendered unfit for physical labor. After completing her studies at the local school, she helped her father with his shop. She would accompany him in the morning to the nursery and gardens and sometimes the farmlands to gather fruits, plants and roots, for making dyes. Over time she fully took up the responsibilities of the shop.

She looked up at the sky and noticed that the sun was shining with a lot less fervor than it did on most days. Of all the seasons, Zhakheiya disliked the monsoon season the most. She watched as ominous looking clouds floated over her head and hid the sun.

They reminded her of the problems that the monsoons would bring. Bad weather and strong winds meant it would be difficult for her to go get supplies. Her backyard was not fully covered and was not a suitable place to simmer the dyes when it rained. Her customers – the ones with the cloth-dyeing shops – bought less, because their businesses suffered as well, due to humidity. Overall, she found the monsoon season to be slightly depressing. She’d often feel low in spirit as she gazed at the dark gloomy clouds that made her life and profession difficult.

She was lost in her thoughts when she suddenly remembered that she had yet to boil the chopped up dandelion roots. A grim expression appeared on her face as she put the roots into a pot of boiling water. All the pots she needed had been prepared and were ready to be boiled on the stove. The only thing she had left to do was to wait for the water levels to boil down to half. Till then she went around the shop, cleaning and settling the counters and banners, preparing for the day ahead.

The dye shop had a backdoor, which opened up into her backyard. This allowed her to slip inside the shop and do it up before opening the shop’s front door. At noon, she would lock the front door and make her way back into the house to work and rest for a couple of hours.

Talent flows along with ambition. Such is the nature of the human ego. Once a person has achieved a sense of knowledge, they mould it into a thirst for success and call it ambition. Thus, Zhakheiya found herself forming ambitions out of her talent. She wanted to be the most successful dye-maker in the whole town. After all, dye making was the only talent she had. Other shopkeepers sometimes sent their children to "Zhakheiya aapa" to learn her art. She would take them to her backyard and show them the simmering pots and how much water and salt she had to add for a certain color to appear. She usually skipped the vinegar recipes. She gasped suddenly as she remembered that she had forgotten to add vinegar to her dandelion pot, again. She rushed to the stove and added the missing ingredient, hoping that she had not put too little this time. She didn’t want her favorite dye color to get spoiled. The dandelion root dye produced a brilliant shade of red, the most appeasing of all the reds she had ever seen. Red was her favorite color and every time she saw a brilliant shade of red, her heart would fill with joy. A joy she used to feel when her abba was alive. After his demise, a year ago, she had been feeling very lonely. She hadn’t even wanted to open up the shop again, as it reminded her of her father. She could see and feel him in every corner. The shop was filled with a bittersweet feeling of love combined with loneliness.

Slowly, she grew accustomed to the loneliness and immersed herself in her duties, as she kept the shop going. She had a much stronger heart now. She finished cleaning up and sat down on a chair to rest. Soon the silence of the morning would be filled with shopkeepers and merchants, getting ready to set up the market for the day. All she had to do now was to wait patiently for the customers to come to the shop and pay for the dyes they had ordered.

TWO

THE DYE SHOP

Z hakheiya! Have you prepared the red dye that I told you to? Wasim chacha yelled out, as he entered the dye shop.

"Yes chacha! It is ready. But why have you come yourself? You could have sent Rehmat to pick it up." Zhakheiya came out from behind the counter and helped Wasim sit down comfortably on a wooden chair near the wall. Then she took his walking stick, and carefully kept it in the corner.

Wasim Ali Hussain was the younger brother of Zhakheiya’s late father. When she had been a child, the two brothers had quarreled over a family issue, which had resulted in Wasim Ali leaving their house and taking up his own lodging. Zhakheiya, being too young to understand what was happening would constantly ask her father, "Abba! Where is Wasim chacha? Why does he not live here now? To this her father would reply, Wasim chacha has grown up, Zhakheiya. He wants to live alone now."

Zhakheiya would then ask her father, Does everyone have to live alone when they grow up?

Her father would say, "It is for the person to decide whether they want to live alone or not. See, today chacha has his own cloth dyeing shop and he runs it well."

Zhakheiya’s father never stopped her from visiting her chacha. She was always welcome in her chacha’s house, which lay just a little distance from her own. Whatever the bone of contention was between her father and uncle, it never surfaced before Zhakheiya. When her cousin Rehmat was born she was overjoyed. The fact that she would no longer be the youngest family member, had hit her hard and a sense of responsibility had been embedded into her from that very day. She could never have imagined back then, that one day she would have the courage and will to live alone, with total responsibility for her house and the shop.

Why don’t you stay in your shop and let Rehmat do the pickup service for you? After all, he is grown up enough for that she said.

Wasim chacha waved off her discontent and said, He is already busy with some other work at the shop. So, I thought I would get the dyes today.

"Don’t try to justify his actions every time chacha. You need to rest more, or else your backache problem will come back. Then you will remember my advice but to what cost?" asked Zhakheiya, who was visibly angry as evident by the frown on her face.

I had to come personally to pay and to settle our previous accounts as well. Rehmat could not have done that for me. And I wanted to see my dear niece too. Now tell me, where am I wrong in my actions? Wasim chacha said with a smile.

A smile appeared on Zhakheiya’s face, Now that is a different matter altogether. But you have got to take care of yourself. Here is your dye. She took out a bottle containing a concentrated red solution from a drawer and handed it to him.

Thank you. Why don’t you join us for lunch over the weekend? I say a person has got to take a break sometimes and get away from their work. I fail to remember the last time we all had a Sunday meal together. Wasim chacha complained