The Bandit Queens (46)

“Things change. You don’t remember, but before your sister was born, your mother used to be thin.” At his slack jaw, she said, “It’s true. Back in school, if she turned sideways, she disappeared.”

“You knew my mother? When she was a kid?”

“Of course. We were born and raised here. Like you.”

“Wait,” he said, his steps halting. “So you were a kid once? Were you a churel then, too? A mini churel?”

“Yes and no and no.”

“What was Mummy like back then?”

“Bossy.”

He rolled his eyes. “So the same then. Hey, how come you’ve never been to our house?”

“I have. I come for the loan meetings every week.”

“I mean to visit Mummy.”

“We don’t have that kind of relationship.”

“Maybe you would if you visited.”

They approached his home, where Saloni was hosting a henna circle. Women chatted, waiting their turn with the two artists Saloni had hired. Preity was on the swing, an artist painting her hand, which rested on a throw pillow. She waved her free arm at Geeta and greeted, “Ram Ram!”, which Geeta found strange since they weren’t friends. Farah was not present; it would have been inauspicious to have a widow casting a pall over women fasting to ward off that very misfortune.

But no one seemed to find it odd that Geeta was joining the festivities for the first time. Even though she’d been expressly summoned, part of her had expected to be banished; similar to Mrs. Amin, who’d been widowed by the time her daughter wed and was banned by the other guests (Inauspicious, na? Why invite the evil eye?). The woman ran a business, she alone fed her kids and paid for her daughter’s dowry and the wedding to which she’d been denied entry. It was, Geeta felt, just another example of women living within the spaces that others defined. She was reminded of Farah’s words: They don’t get to make all the choices. We get to make some, too.

It was stirring, but it just wasn’t true.

“Go get your mummy.” The boy moved to obey, but Geeta stopped him. “What’s your name?”

“Arhaan.”

“Arhaan, you have some crumbs. Right here.” She pointed to her lower lip.

His tongue darted. “Thanks, Geeta-aunty.”

Perhaps the heathen wasn’t totally beyond redemption.

Saloni appeared in the double doorway. Now sun-soaked and teeming with chattering women, it was hard to believe this was the same porch upon which they’d bickered hours prior. It was made even harder by the fact that Saloni seemed chuffed to see Geeta.

“Finally!” she crowed, grabbing Geeta’s upper arm and leading her inside. Excitement transformed her face and Geeta saw that her former friend was still lovely. “I’ve been thinking about last night.”

“Me, too,” Geeta said, spying her opening. “You,” she proclaimed with what she hoped was haughty but dignified censure, “are no frie—I mean, shit, are no ally to women. You—”

“Oh,” Saloni said, eyes slitting, “if you want to go, we will go. I woke up with plenty to say to you, too. But not in the middle of my party. And not when I’m trying to help you, you ingrate. You haven’t changed a bit. Still watering your weeds and pulling your flowers. And you wanna talk about allies. Fool.”

“Did you call me here just to abuse me?”

“No. That’s a bonus.” Saloni smiled. “I called because I know how we can find Ramesh.”

Geeta felt a ringing in her ears, as though they’d been boxed. Her “What?” came out more aggressively than intended.

“Shh!” Saloni hissed, checking that none of her guests had overheard. “Not here!”

“Where is he?” Geeta demanded after being led to the kitchen, which was, Saloni said wryly, the emptiest place today of all days. Despite her preoccupation, Geeta noticed the tall blue refrigerator in the corner.

“So I don’t know where, technically, but—”

When Geeta sighed, Saloni continued a bit louder, “But I know how we can find him.”

“How?”

“Okay, so you know how Preity’s husband used to be in a teen patti game in Kohra, but since he’s lousy at cards, he kept hemorrhaging money, and Preity cut him off?”

Geeta blinked. “No. Why would I know any of that?”

Saloni huffed. “Whatever. He did and she did. I swear, she has him by his pubic hairs ever since he got high at the Raval wedding with you’ll-never-guess-who.”

“Ramesh?”

Saloni threw Geeta a look of superb disgust. “No. Why would Ramesh randomly show up at the Raval wedding to get high with Darshan? Use your brains a little. No, he got high with Priya’s son, Sonny. I mean, how inappropriate can you get? The kid’s sixteen and his nephew. He hallucinated something about the punditji saying he’d spend his next thousand lives as a black widow spider—but not a female, a male, which is really the one time you don’t wanna be a—”

“Sonny did?”

“No, you duffer. Darshan. On account of his shit karma because of, well, you know, the whole”—Saloni pantomimed splashing something on her face—“acid debacle. So ever since then, Darshan’s been atoning and prayashchiting and licking Preity’s soles like you wouldn’t be-lieve. Especially since after they got high, some chakkar happened with one of the Amin girls and the twins were pissed. But I wasn’t surprised—she’s always all over him.”