Chapter 28
I loved my prayer rug. Ordinary in quality though it was, it glowed with beauty in my eyes. I'm sorry I lost it. Wherever I laid it I felt special affection for the patch of ground beneath it and the
immediate1 surroundings, which to me is a clear indication that it was a good prayer rug because it helped me remember that the earth is the creation of God and sacred the same all over. The pattern, in gold lines upon a background of red, was plain: a narrow rectangle with a
triangular2 peak at one
extremity3 to indicate the qibla, the direction of prayer, and little curlicues floating around it, like wisps of smoke or accents from a strange language. The pile was soft. When I prayed, the short, unknotted
tassels4 were inches from the tip of my forehead at one end of the carpet and inches from the tip of my toes at the other, a
cozy5 size to make you feel at home anywhere upon this vast earth.
I prayed outside because I liked it. Most often I unrolled my prayer rug in a corner of the yard behind the house. It was a
secluded6 spot in the shade of a coral tree, next to a wall that was covered with bougainvillea. Along the length of the wall was a row of potted poinsettias. The bougainvillea had also crept through the tree. The contrast between its purple bracts and the red flowers of the tree was very pretty. And when that tree was in bloom, it was a regular
aviary7 of crows, mynahs, babblers,
rosy8 pastors9, sunbirds and parakeets. The wall was to my right, at a wide angle. Ahead of me and to my left, beyond the
milky10, mottled shade of the tree, lay the sundrenched open space of the yard. The appearance of things changed, of course, depending on the weather, the time of day, the time of year. But it's all very clear in my memory, as if it never changed. I faced Mecca with the help of a line I scratched into the pale yellow ground and carefully kept up.
Sometimes, upon finishing my prayers, I would turn and catch sight of Father or Mother or Ravi observing me, until they got used to the sight.
My baptism was a slightly awkward affair. Mother played along nicely, Father looked on
stonily11, and Ravi was mercifully absent because of a cricket match, which did not prevent him from commenting at great length on the event. The water
trickled12 down my face and down my neck; though just a beaker's worth, it had the
refreshing13 effect of a
monsoon14 rain.
第二十八章
我喜欢我的跪垫。尽管它的质量很平常，但在我眼里却美丽耀眼。我很难过，把它弄丢了。无论把它放在哪里，我都对它下面的那块地和它四周的东西有一种特别的喜爱之情，对我来说，这显然表明它是一块好跪垫，因为它帮助我记得大地是上帝的创造，并且把周围的一切都变得神圣起来。跪垫是红色的，上面用金线织出简单的图案：细长的长方形，一端有三角形尖顶，指示着教徒的礼拜方向，四周有细小的花饰，仿佛一缕缕轻烟在飘荡，又仿佛陌生语言中一个个的音质符号。绒毛很柔软。我祷告的时候，垫子一端没有打结的短穗子离我的额头只有几英寸，另一端的穗子离我的脚趾只有几英寸，这个尺寸让你感到温馨，让你无论在这广阔大地上的任何地方都感到无拘无束。
我在室外祷告；因为我喜欢这样。大多数时候，我在屋后院子里的一个角落铺开垫子。那是刺桐树阴下一个僻静的角落，旁边是一堵墙，墙上爬满了九重葛。沿墙摆放着一排花盆，里面种着一品红。九重葛也爬到了刺桐树上。它那紫色的苞片和树上红色的花朵相互映衬，漂亮极了。树开花的时候，就成了一个十足的大型鸟舍，乌鸦、鹩哥、鹛鸟、粉红椋鸟、太阳鸟和长尾小鹦鹉都飞来了。墙在我右边，和我成钝甬。在我前面和左边，在乳白色的斑驳的树阴外面，是沐浴在阳光下的院子的空地。当然，随着天气、时间和季节的变化，院子里的景象也会变化。但是，在我的记忆里，这一切都非常清晰，似乎从不曾改变过。我按照淡黄色的地上画的一条线所指示的方向面对着麦加，小地保持着这个方向。 有时候，祷告结束后，我转过身去，会看见父亲或母亲或拉维在观察我，在他们习惯了这个情景之前一直如此。
我的洗礼有些尴尬。母亲一直都假装得很好，父亲面无表情地看着，拉维很仁慈，他没有来，因为他去参加板球赛了，但这并没有阻止他对这件事发表长篇大论。水从我的脸上淌下来，流到了脖子上；尽管只有一烧杯的水，却像季风季节的雨一样，令我神清气爽。
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