The Bandit Queens (63)

Saloni palmed Geeta’s head. “Geeta, he’d finished the food. He was going to die anyway.”

Geeta said nothing.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Try to breathe, na?”

“Kabaddi, kabaddi, kabaddi.”

“This is inconvenient.”

“Like, so inconvenient.”

Saloni asked, “What’re we going to tell people?”

Priya snapped her fingers. “We could just say it’s a mystery. That we found him like this. People will think the witch got him.” She performed a sad moonwalk. “We just step in his blood, and walk backward so they think it’s the churel.”

They all glared at her, even her twin.

“This,” Preity announced, moving her arms in a wide arc around her, “is the real world. Join us?”

“Plus, everyone thinks Geeta’s the churel anyway.” Saloni patted Geeta again. “Sorry, dost, but it’s true.”

Preity exhaled. “How about this? He was drunk. He got up to go su-su in the middle of the night and fell and hit his head and died?”

Priya and Saloni both shook their heads, but for different reasons:

“Zubin went drinking with the guys after dinner, but Darshan said no. Zubin will know something’s black in the lentils.”

Saloni said, “How does that explain the other two wounds from the statue? And an autopsy would show he was sober, na?”

Geeta swiped at her wet cheeks. She felt the need to contribute. “We could tell the truth, but just that you did it.”

Preity was outraged. “I’m not saying I did this! The whole point was to keep me out of it! What would my defense even be, Geeta? ‘My husband tried to have relations, so I killed him?’ Everyone knows you can’t…rape”—her voice lowered on the word like everyone’s did when they said balatkara—“your wife unless she’s under eighteen. You’re not married to him, Geeta, you’d have a stronger case for…you know.”

The idea of telling people, strangers, this story over and over again, imploring them each time to believe her, to believe a man wanted that from her—no. It was mortifying. Geeta’s nausea roiled stronger.

Priya licked her lips. “I could say I did it.”

“You?”

“Think about it. We live in the same house. He tried with me years ago, so people would believe it, correct?”

Saloni nodded. “It does seem likely—”

“No! Not you. She was supposed to fix it for us. I won’t put you through that.”

“Let me do this. For you. For us.” Priya gripped her sister’s hands so tightly Geeta saw the tips blanch of color. “It should’ve been me. I’m the one who laughed him off. I was the one who was supposed to go to the store that day. He thought it was me, and then your entire life was ruined. Let me do this.”

“It wasn’t your fault. I never blamed you. Only him.”

“Listen to me. This is the best way out. I’ll say that after dinner, Zubin and you all left. Then I came in here for incense sticks or whatever, and Darshan trapped me. He tried to force himself on me and I hit him with the—” Priya looked at Geeta, who pointed at the beaming Radha-Krishna.

“Statue.”

“Right. Statue. Twice. And then he fell and I ran away to my room.”

“What about fingerprints?” Saloni said. “Geeta’s will be on it.”

“Fingerprints?” Preity snorted. “Don’t tell me you watched another C.I.D. marathon. We’re talking about the Kohra police department. Forget a lab, they’ve been petitioning for a computer for the past six years.”

“It’s like I always tell Arhaan: don’t do something ninety or ninety-nine percent of the way. Do the full job properly.”

Preity rolled her eyes. “Well, fine, then. We’ll both touch it. To be safe.”

“Not the blood, though!”

“Yes, yes, inspector saab, not the blood. I swear, a couple of those C.I.D. episodes, and suddenly you think you’re Rajani Pandit.”

The twins dabbed their fingers up and down the statue in a lazy massage. “Sufficient?” Priya asked Saloni, whose mouth twisted in diligent scrutiny.

“A bit more.”

“Bonobos.”

They looked at her, the twins still touching the statue. Geeta hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud.

“What’d she say?”

“What’s bobobos?”

“I think they’re tapioca balls.”

Saloni said, “They’re these chimpanzees in Africa. She’s obsessed with them for some reason.”

Priya shook her head. “No, I’m pretty sure they’re tapioca balls.”

Saloni’s brow creased. “What are tapioca balls?”

“Like, bubble tea.”

“When have you ever had bubble tea?”

Priya sniffed. “Meri mausi ka chota sala ki saheli took me when I visited her in Ahmedabad.”

Saloni appeared no less dubious. “Your maternal aunt’s youngest brother-in-law’s college friend?”

“Yes. We’re very close.”

Preity thunked down the statue like a gavel. “Who the shit cares? Can we get on with it?”