The Bandit Queens (57)

Farah splintered two more walnuts and once again offered some to Geeta. “There’s no poison, Geetaben,” she teased. “I promise.”

Geeta tried to smile. “You know how it is: ‘One who has been burnt by milk drinks even the buttermilk very carefully.’?”

Farah pealed a laugh. “You always have the best proverbs.”

“I try. So we’re good?”

“We’re excellent. I just have a small favor to ask.”

Geeta’s teeth gritted. What was it with these women and their “small favors”?

“Last time you had a small favor to ask, someone died.”

Farah giggled again. In the yard, Saloni bent her knees and jumped toward a green fruit. The buffalo watched her with mild interest. She missed, instead disturbing two crows. Outraged, they dove toward her face and she ducked. Their caws were louder than the baby.

“Well, it’s nothing like that. This is a much easier favor.”

Geeta narrowed her eyes at Farah. “You sure about that? ‘When someone lies, a crow caws.’?”

“Well,” Farah sighed. “While I can’t say I miss Samir, I do miss his income. We’re down to one paycheck. I mean, I’m cooking with gobar instead of gas.”

“So do I. You have a buffalo, at least it’s free. But Farah, you didn’t think of this beforehand?”

“Oh, you know me. So spontaneous. Aren’t all artists?” She shrugged. “I thought we could make do. Turns out, he didn’t have much saved.”

“His stealing your money to buy tharra wasn’t your first clue?”

Farah nodded in acquiescence. “So I figured you could help us out.”

As the mother crow shat on Saloni’s head, Geeta felt dread chill her toes despite the warm day. “I’ve already helped you out, Farah. Exceedingly so.”

“A little more wouldn’t hurt. Let’s say, two hundred rupees each week?”

“So another loan?”

Farah let out a short, fat “ha.” “Goodness, no. A loan, you pay back. This would be more like a gift. And I’d give you a gift in return, too.”

“And what would that be?”

“My silence. About your crimes.”

“You little pirate,” Geeta seethed. She ignored Saloni’s thumbs-up from the yard. Her hair resembled the nest she’d disturbed, white guano dribbling down her crown, and she had scratches on her arms and face. She was sweaty as she showcased the acquired fruit to Geeta like a trophy. “You’re just as guilty as I am. More so—you fed him the coil.”

“But the way I see it, I think it’s more likely that they’ll believe you acted alone. I wasn’t the brightest student. And I’m certainly not well read. I doubt the police would think I was capable of cooking up such a complicated plan. But you, Geetaben.” Farah leaned forward and let her baby crawl. “You’re super clever. No one would underestimate you.”

“Thank you?”

“So it’s settled? Two hundred rupees starting next week? Or actually, let’s make it this week, why not? I figure the easiest way is just to have you cover my weekly loan repayment with Varunbhai. Less hassle for us both.”

Saloni vacated the yard, limping. Geeta said: “I’ll think about it.”

“What’s there to think about? It’s an obvious choice.”

“Hardly.”

“Geetaben, was I unclear? Oh dear. I do hope I wasn’t unclear. I’m blackmailing you.”

“No, I got that part.”

“Okay, good. Sometimes I’m not clear when I speak. Samir always complained about that.”

“You were very clear.”

Farah grinned. “Thanks, yaar.”

“I don’t think you can call me ‘friend’ while blackmailing me, Farah.”

“No, no, you’re still my closest friend! I don’t see why a small business matter would get in the way of that.”

She wasn’t being over-smart; Geeta could see she was earnest. It boggled the mind. Had this always been part of Farah’s plan, or had she just sniffed an opportunity and taken it? “I’ll be off then.”

“Are you sure? I could make some chai.”

“With or without the poison?”

“Well,” Farah said, crushing two more walnuts. “That’s really up to you now, isn’t it, Geetaben?”





SEVENTEEN


“I don’t understand.”

“Welcome to the party.”

“Why would Farah blackmail you?”

“Why are we going to the twins’ house for a poisoned dinner party? Because this village has turned into a lunatic asylum.”

“Bey yaar, I keep telling you, only Darshan’s is poisoned, obviously.” As they walked through the village, Saloni raised the dish of spicy vegetable curry she’d prepared with the seed. Deep burgundy swirled across her palms; her henna had taken very well. Geeta’s was an unappetizing orange. “She’s nervous, okay? We’re there for moral support.” Saloni threw Geeta a pointed look. “It’s what women do. Watch out—gobar.”

Geeta dodged the fresh cow pie on the dirt. A stack of dried ones were propped against the building to their right, to be used for fuel. “Isn’t Priya there for immoral support?”