The Bandit Queens (42)

After many failed attempts, Bandit eventually obeyed, hurling himself toward the pillowcase. His ears canted back in aggression. He growled. Geeta clapped her approval. As soon as Bandit shook out the case, he found the entry and wormed his butt inside, wiggling into the makeshift bed. He then fell asleep.

She looked at him, self-swaddled and content. “I’m gonna die.”





THIRTEEN


Geeta regarded the familiar door, limbs heavy with dread as she took a reluctant step forward. Her hands tightened, punishing the soft gourd she’d brought as a peace offering. The irony pressed heavily on her skull. After years spent voluntarily sequestered, for the second time in one day she was going around knocking, begging for scraps of company in exchange for unwanted gourds. She’d brought Bandit along, though he’d likely be no more welcome than she’d be. She hoped she didn’t look as pathetic as she felt. She would probably be turned away, with more hurtful words at her back to boot, but she had few options left. Her pride was important to her, true, but no more than her heartbeat. She was outmatched; she needed help.

“Stay,” she instructed Bandit, who heeded, his tail swishing. She approached the door and rang the bell, which pealed eight notes of tinny music.

The door opened. Geeta heard children playing inside.

“What’re you doing here?”

“I need you,” Geeta blurted, thrusting the gourd forward like a bouquet.

“I think meeting twice in one day is our limit, Geetaben.”

“Believe me,” Geeta said. “I wouldn’t come here if it weren’t an emergency.”

Saloni sighed. “Fine, but make it quick.” She assessed the calabash and rolled her eyes. “I swear, there’s probably only one gourd in this entire village, and it just makes the rounds.” She exited, a solar lantern hanging from her wrist. After closing her double doors, she settled onto the swing, eyes widening when Geeta sat next to her rather than on the parapet. Saloni made a giant production of shuffling over to accommodate Geeta. The swing skittered, adjusting to their weight.

Saloni wore a long house dress, floral with short sleeves. Her upper arms were plump and fair. She waxed regularly, and her skin was smooth.

“So?” she prompted when Geeta sat tugging her earlobe rather than speaking.

“Farah is trying to kill me.” Why had she burned the evidence? Then she could simply show Saloni the samosas instead of sounding like a lunatic. She hurried to say, “I know it sounds crazy and totally unbelievable, but if you just hear me out, you’ll—”

“Go on,” Saloni said, her voice so calm, it further agitated Geeta.

“Y-you don’t think it sounds, you know, gando?”

“Oh, it’s a hundred percent batshit. But so is Farah. So keep going.”

But this information was too distracting. Geeta shook her head as though to clear it. “Wait. You think Farah is…?” She twirled a finger near her temple.

Saloni snorted. “That woman has serious snake eyes. Like Dipti, from school? Remember, she kept telling everyone that her real father was Anil Kapoor?”

“Yeah, but we were just kids.”

“No, see, this is why the gandos always flock to you, Geeta, ’cause you use reason where there is none. What made Dipti batshit wasn’t that she was lying, it was that she actually believed it.”

“She did?”

“Yes. So are you going to finish the story or what? I don’t have all night. Karva Chauth is tomorrow, you know.”

Geeta began, taking pains to be honest about her culpability in Samir’s demise, but omitting the Karem portions. “And then, today, she put mosquito coils in my samosas.” She looked at Saloni’s impassive face in the weak porch light.

“That’s kind of lazy, isn’t it? Doing it the same way to you as she did to him?”

“I think it was more a kind of, you know, message.”

“A message? We’re talking about Farah. She may be batshit, but she’s also an idiot. She can’t string two sentences together without falling over her feet. She’s hardly some don sending you a ‘message.’?”

“Why aren’t you more surprised?”

“I am. I mean, I can’t believe you’re actually a real murderer.” Saloni’s voice held no censure, just awe. For her tone, she could have swapped the word “murderer” with “prime minister.”

Still, Geeta bristled. It was the truth, but hearing it from Saloni’s smug lips was unwelcome.

“Well, so are you.”

Her brows arched. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, wow. You forgot about Runi already?”

Anger and guilt competed across Saloni’s face. Her lips pulled in, souring her beauty in a way Geeta recognized immediately. It was odd realizing that sixteen years later, they were the same people they’d always been. Saloni’s green eyes went dark, but that could have been a trick of the weak bulb mounted near the lintel. That the power was still available this late was unusual.

Saloni’s lips pursed. “I didn’t murder anyone. Runi hung herself.”

“And why did Runi hang herself?”

“She couldn’t repay her loans.”

“Saloni, you tell yourself whatever you need to. But I remember the things you said to her. As if it wasn’t enough to humiliate her, you even brought people with you. And the very next day? We found Runi’s body.”