The Bandit Queens (48)

“You eat, too, Mama.”

“Mama can’t, Pihu. Mama’s fasting for Papa’s long life, remember? Run along.” She turned to Geeta. “Well? You gonna kill him or what?”

“First of all, that’s not a ‘small favor.’ Secondly, you two need to work on your extortion skills because you already told me where to find Ramesh. Kohra. Why would I need you to vouch for me when I can find him myself?”

“Wait. Is this extortion? On C.I.D., it’s blackmail.”

“No, I think it’d be blackmail if I, like, threatened to say she did kill Ramesh.”

“So this is like reverse blackmail.”

“Isn’t that bribery? ’Cause it’s, like, offering a good thing, not threatening a bad thing.”

“Hm. Okay. Extortion, then.” Saloni gestured to Geeta with a gracious flick of her wrist. “You were correct.”

“Thank you?”

“But you’re also wrong,” Preity said, smiling. Her scars puckered around her lips. The skin looked both loose and tight. “Because we saw him in Kohra, but that’s not where he’s staying.”

Geeta waved her hands. “Let’s back up. Why do you even want to get rid of Darshan? Saloni just spent half an hour telling me you have him dancing on your finger. You have the best husband of anyone, the way I hear it. I’m surprised he’s not fasting for you.”

“The best husband?” Preity’s smile died, her eyes hardening. “Look at my face, Geetaben.”

But Geeta found she couldn’t. Abashed, her eyes fixed upon Saloni’s immaculate floor. “I—yeah, sorry,” she stammered. “I thought— I don’t know, I thought you all had, sorta, made peace with it. Or something. Somehow.”

“No, Geetaben, I haven’t ‘made peace with it.’ Maybe in my next life, but in this one I wanna see that chutiya die.” She paused. “And suffer, if possible. But mostly die.”

“I—okay, look, you have every right to your anger. But I still—”

“My name is fucking Preity. Preity of all things! Do you know what it’s like introducing myself to people?”

“Do you know what you’re asking here?” Geeta hissed. “In order for me to prove I haven’t killed anyone, I have to kill someone?”

Priya joined them. “Ram Ram! Oof, what did I miss? Will she do it?” She looked at her sister’s palms. “Ooh, very pretty, Preity.”

“Oh, come on!” Geeta bellowed at Saloni. “Her? Is there anyone you didn’t tell?”

Saloni’s shoulders bunched toward her ears. “They’re kind of a package deal.”

Preity implored Geeta: “Every day I see my sister and know exactly how I would’ve looked if it hadn’t been for the bastard I have to sleep next to every night.” Priya swallowed. She, too, stared at Saloni’s kitchen floor. “Whose children I have to raise.” Preity coughed. “Not that it’s not a privilege,” she belatedly added.

Saloni toggled her head in agreement. “Rewarding.”

“Like, so rewarding.”

“But I want him gone.”

“And have you thought about your life afterward? Farah’s Muslim, she can remarry. You can’t. You can’t even wear colors. You’ll have to shave your head. Everyone will think you’re bad luck. No more parties or weddings—not even your own children’s!”

Preity rolled her eyes. “Who even shaves their head anymore? This isn’t 1921, Geetaben. You’re being dramatic.”

“Like, so dramatic,” Priya said.

“Oh,” Geeta said. “You’re right. Forgive me. I forgot that we live in London, that you’ll just wear lipstick and dance two weeks after removing your nose ring.”

Saloni said, “She’ll mourn for an appropriate time and then resume her life. Just like Farah.”

Priya pulled a face. “My sister can do a better job pretending than Farah. She’s a great bluffer.”

“You didn’t buy that Farah was mourning?” Geeta asked. Fresh panic roiled through her. If these fools didn’t believe Farah, did anyone in the village?

Saloni snorted. “Oh, please. I’ve seen that girl cry more convincingly over a broken sandal. But after it’s done, we’ll continue inviting Preity to events and functions. Others will follow and the men won’t even notice. Anyone who gossips or gives her trouble will have to answer to us. Plus, she’s already suffered plenty—no one’s gonna fault her for wearing red to her daughter’s wedding.”

Preity pouted at Geeta. “Be a friend, yaar.”

“We’re not friends! You guys are nasty to me all the time.”

“That’s not true. You’re the one who’s always such a snob, refusing invites.”

Incredulity pitched Geeta’s voice higher. “What invites?”

Preity raised a painted hand. “I invited you over for Navratri.”

“And you never came to our Holi party.” Priya shrugged. “After a while we just stopped trying. It was clear you didn’t like us.”

Geeta had assumed the invites were a perfunctory social convention at best, and a trap designed to humiliate her at worst. Memories of her walking back home from Deepa-aunty’s house, alone and covered in garbage, kept her in hiding long after Ramesh had disappeared. It was the same reason she’d refused to believe Arhaan today when he’d insisted his mother wanted Geeta at the party. Had she imprisoned herself, all the while nursing a sad anger and tricking herself into thinking she preferred it that way?