Honor: A Novel(83)

“Do you think we should go register a complaint at the local police station?” Smita asked. “While there still might be some evidence?”

“No way I’m taking that chance,” Mohan said. “The police will more than likely turn the child over to the brothers.”

Ammi spoke from the back seat. “Where are you taking me, seth?” she asked, in her nasally voice.

“Where would you like me to take you? I’m assuming no one in the village will give you shelter?”

Ammi snorted. “Those cowards? No. In this age, who will stick their neck out to help an old woman?” Suddenly, she struck herself forcefully on her forehead. “Why did my Abdul go and marry that heifer? Ruined my life. Look at me now, driven out of my own home and community.”

“Please,” Smita said sharply. “Your daughter-in-law has just been killed.” She glanced quickly at the child, wondering how much she understood. “Show some decency.”

Ammi fell into a stunned silence. Then, the wailing began. “Better if those animals had killed me, also!” Ammi cried. “What am I going to do now with this child? With this burden around my neck, I’ll have to spend my days begging for a living. As it is, that Meena was eating me out of house and home.”

Involuntarily, Smita kissed the top of Abru’s head. The girl continued looking at her silently. “No need for you to concern yourself about the child,” she heard herself say. “We will take care of her.”

The wailing stopped. It’s like she’s the toddler, Smita thought, at last acknowledging her dislike for the woman. But Ammi did have a point. Where would she go?

“You will come with us to my family home in Surat tonight, Ammi,” Mohan said. “Tomorrow, we can decide what you will do.”

“Allah has brought you into my life, beta,” Ammi said. “May He bless you and your children’s children.” The old woman sobbed in gratitude. “Perhaps you can drive me tomorrow morning to my employer’s home? If I don’t have to worry about the child, they may give me a live-in position.”

“Let’s see,” Mohan said, and Smita was thankful that he was not encouraging Ammi. Meena’s body was likely still smoldering in the straw hut. It felt indecent to make plans about any of their futures so soon. Even as she was dying, Meena had saved the lives of her daughter and mother-in-law. But no use telling this to Ammi. Smita lowered her window a little as she struggled to keep her nausea at bay. The night air blew in, warm and innocuous, and the sweet, cloying perfume of harsingar, night jasmine, filled the car. It made Smita furious, that fragrance, how it masked the sinister enmities that defiled this land.

Ammi was saying something about Abru, and Smita forced herself to listen. It was clear that the old woman had no interest in keeping the child. Smita was relieved. If they could settle Ammi somewhere, she might be able to keep her promise to Meena. Meena. Smita saw again the young woman’s writhing, tortured body. Would she ever be able to forget that image? She shook her head, trying to concentrate on the child in her arms, pulling her in even closer. There was no possibility of taking Abru with her to America, as Meena had asked. But once they got back to Mumbai, she would do her best to place Abru in a home. Mohan would help. Surely, Anjali would help, also. Maybe Shannon would have some contacts. Between all of them, they would work something out.

Abru had fallen asleep. She smelled of grass and the earth, a rich, loamy smell.

But the small gesture of pulling the child closer had awakened the girl, and she looked deeply into Smita’s face. Her eyes grew wide with confusion. For a few seconds, they stared at each other solemnly.

And then the child who never said a word—who, according to her mother, even cried silently—was suddenly wailing at the top of her lungs and spoke.

After a moment or two, Smita could distinguish the repeated word: Mamaaaaaaamamaaaaaaaamamaaaaaammamamamamamamamama.

Abru was crying for her mother. But she was staring into Smita’s face.





Chapter Thirty-Six





Even though it was late when they reached Mohan’s home in Surat, Smita phoned Anjali as soon as they got there to share the news of Meena’s murder. Anjali was distraught, inconsolable, her usual cool cracking like a thin sheet of ice. “Why didn’t I anticipate this?” she said. “Why didn’t I?” she kept repeating. “I should have arranged protection for her. Oh God, oh God, oh God. I can’t believe this. How did I let this happen?”

There is enough guilt to go around, Smita thought when she finally hung up.

She next called Cliff in New York. “She’s dead?” Cliff said. “And you witnessed it? Oh my God. This is one helluva story, Smita.”

There was a time when she would have shared Cliff’s enthusiasm. Now, his reaction felt voyeuristic, macabre. A woman was dead. A child was orphaned.

“How quickly can you file?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Not tonight. This isn’t a breaking news story. Let’s not treat it as one.”

“It’s not?” Cliff sounded shocked. “Smita? Are you kidding me?”

Smita gritted her teeth in frustration. “I would like to hold the story until we figure out what we’re doing with the child,” she said.

“Hold it? Hell no. I want to run it as soon as you can file it.”