The Bandit Queens (20)

Geeta walked along the fence’s perimeter until she found the gate. There was no lock. The dogs watched her as she tested the latch, flipping it up twice before returning it home. Then she retraced her steps inside, her su-su needs forgotten, but the sitting room was empty. She followed voices to a bedroom that had been repurposed into a workstation. Geeta loitered outside the doorway, craning her neck to peek. Tubes and pots, both clay and steel, sat on various surfaces as men moved between tables. Karem and Bada-Bhai stood near the wall across from her. They watched as a man poured half of Karem’s tharra into a clay pot. The other half was set aside.

“What’s the need for all this, Bada-Bhai? I thought you liked my recipe as is?”

Bada-Bhai laughed. Karem did not. “Of course I like your recipe—if there’s one complaint, it’s that it’s too good.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We must cut it with something. That’s just good business. We double our profits.” Bada-Bhai clapped Karem’s shoulder. “That’s how we’re able to pay you so much.”

“What is that?” Karem pointed to a clear liquid a worker poured into the pot. “Another tharra?”

Bada-Bhai was quiet.

“Ethanol?” After a beat, Karem did not ask, but said, his voice flat, “Methanol.”

“It’s good business. Don’t concern yourself.”

“You could kill people.”

Bada-Bhai narrowed his eyes. His smile was tight beneath his mustache. “You’ve managed to make room for doubt after all, it seems.” He shrugged. “No one’s died. We test it.”

Geeta filled the doorway and asked, “On the dogs?”

Karem swiveled toward her, a question in his eyes. Geeta angled her head. “There are dogs tied up out back.”

Bada-Bhai sighed, as though much aggrieved. “The dogs try the moonshine and after two days, we know it’s good to sell.”

“If they live,” Geeta said.

He shrugged. “Most do.”

Karem looked as though he’d just been told his father was a eunuch. “Th-that’s cruel.”

“What else? Are you going to volunteer to drink it?” Bada-Bhai smirked at Geeta as he would to an ally and informed her, “He doesn’t drink. Ironic, na?”

Karem grimaced. “A natural reaction, I think, given the line of work.”

“Do you drink?” Geeta asked.

Bada-Bhai sniffed and tugged down the hem of his maroon shirt. “I indulge from time to time. There’s no crime in it.” He paused. “Well, no sin anyway.”

“Then maybe you should drink the poison you’re shoving down those poor dogs’ throats.” Geeta bared her teeth into a smile. “Since you like to indulge.”

“Listen, budi,” Bada-Bhai said, one finger erect toward her. “Keep your lecture to yourself. They’re just street dogs. If I had children tasting it, then yeah, sure, you could call me a monster.”

There was no time to smart from the insult: “old woman.” “That’s the best defense you have? That you don’t tie up and poison children? And to think, they nominated Gandhi for a Nobel instead of you.”

“Hey! I took those dogs in. They were homeless and diseased. I gave them shots and paid to deworm and de-sperm them or whatever. They get food and water—”

“And poison.”

“Oi! I don’t need grief from a bored old housewife who makes do kaudi ka jewelry. Karem, you wanna handle her?”

“It’s not two-bit,” Geeta snapped.

“And she’s not a bored housewife.”

Geeta tried not to let it bother her that he did not dispute the old part. Bada-Bhai released a grunt of irritation. By advancing toward Karem, who instinctively stepped back, he herded them out of the room. “This is my business and as long as you want to keep getting paid, you’ll keep your nose out of it.”

“Free the dogs,” Geeta said.

“No.”

“Untie them or I’ll call the police.”

“Geetaben.” The caution came from Karem, whose sudden shift in loyalties dismayed her.

“What?”

He gestured to the makeshift lab. “We can’t call the police. I’ll get arrested. You might, too.”

“Oh.”

“Listen to the man,” Bada-Bhai said, smug. “He has brains at least.”

“We’re not calling the police,” Karem said. “But we’re done here. That was the last batch I’ll sell you.”

Bada-Bhai shrugged. “Fine. But don’t expect to sell to anyone else in Kohra. I’ll make sure everyone knows your stuff is lethal. That’s why, with a heavy heart, I had to terminate business with you…” He put his hand over his chest and looked to the ceiling. “Because I couldn’t in good conscience risk my loyal clients’ lives with something as seedy as methanol. But luckily for them, I found new, clean tharra.”

“Which you’ll just keep putting methanol in.”

“Naturally. But who are they going to believe? Some Podunk ghogha farmer thrashing sugarcane or a proper businessman?” Bada-Bhai looked at Karem’s clenched jaw and shook his head. “Big mistake, Karem. How are you going to feed those kids now? Make sure to tell them that the reason they’re hungry is because their idiot daddy chose a bunch of stray dogs over them.”