The Bandit Queens (73)

At the sight of the female officer, Geeta’s hope ballooned. After Phoolan Devi enacted her Valentine’s Day revenge massacre, she was imprisoned. As a celebrity, she was treated far better than most inmates, and she formed a friendship with the prison director, Kiran Bedi, who helped Phoolan enter that last bastion of criminals: politics. In jail, Phoolan waited for a trial that the authorities ensured would never take place. But then, all forty-eight charges were dropped and she was, suddenly, finally, abruptly, at last, free. After eleven years in prison, she was released and elected a member of parliament…until her assassination at the age of thirty-seven—but Geeta did not want to dwell on that part of the story. Instead, she focused on creating an ally, her own Kiran Bedi.

“Uh, namaskar,’’ Geeta greeted, palms together. “We were called to give a statement? We’re from the same village as Mr. Darshan…?”

“Varesh. Yes. Sit. We’ll start shortly.”

Saloni and Geeta sat on two flimsy lawn chairs, purses on their laps. The woman’s face was severe; her dark hair scrapped back into a low bun to accommodate her beret. She was young—Geeta would’ve guessed twenty-six or so—and investing great pains in hiding her beauty. She wore no eyeliner or bindi; her lips were as bereft as her fingers. Just like the men, she wore a black name tag over one breast pocket and a pin of the Indian flag on the other.

Sushma Sinha, ASP, wrote many notes into a red folder. Her assigned desk—really a foldout table, Geeta observed while they waited—was piled with many similar folders, all neatly quartered by twine. ASP Sushma Sinha’s pen was tied to her folder with identical twine. She paused her writing to drink from her purple water bottle. She did not touch her mouth to the rim, nor did she spill a single drop.

Competent, Geeta thought, her hope souring to dread, this woman was very competent. Sushma Sinha, ASP, looked as though she, too, was About the Work. Under different circumstances, this might’ve pleased Geeta. When Sushma Sinha, ASP, resumed writing, without a word or glance to her reluctant guests, Saloni and Geeta looked at each other. Saloni shrugged, but Geeta could no longer abide the uncertainty.

“Er, Officer Sinha, ma’am?”

Sushma Sinha, ASP, held up one unpainted finger. “Just a moment.”

From the left, each blow to the unseen man was a preview of Geeta’s bleak future. And didn’t cops do even worse things to female prisoners?

Murderess though she was, she’d never survive this dreadful place, subject to beatings and Ram knew what else, all to the tune of golden oldies. No, Geeta would simply have to follow Samir and Darshan, and shuffle off this mortal coil. Surely, by now, she was an expert and could arrange for the same punishment she’d been meting out to everyone like temple prasad. She’d gnaw on a mosquito coil, bake a pong pong dessert or—

The beaten man released another bleat of pain. Geeta said, “Excu—”

“Just a moment, ma’am,” Sushma Sinha, ASP, repeated with hostile courtesy.

So they stewed in the midday heat, Saloni inspecting the state of her regenerating arm hair, Geeta devising her suicide, until Sushma Sinha, ASP, said, at long last: “Where were you yesterday evening?”

“For you!” Geeta burst out, removing Farah’s gourd from her purse and thrusting it across the table.

ASP Sushma Sinha glared at it. “What will I do with that?”

Saloni tittered: “Makes excellent subji. Much better than the market here—they’re so hard, na? You can use this one tonight. Feel.”

“No. Yesterday evening?”

Geeta set the rejected gourd back on her lap as Saloni answered, “We had dinner at the twins’ home.”

“Yes, the twins. Preity Varesh and Priya Bhati.”

“Ji. We had dinner and—”

“Vegetable curry!” Geeta blurted again, her voice far too loud.

“What?”

Saloni ground her sandal into Geeta’s toes. “That’s what we ate for dinner. This one’s just wild about veggie curry.”

ASP Sushma Sinha’s brows furrowed; she was unamused. Her scowl added years, which Geeta gathered was strategic. “When did you leave their home?”

“Right after dinner.”

“When was that?”

“Oh, hmm. Maybe nine? We would’ve stayed longer, but she had to take care of her kid. Nightmare, you know.”

“Who’s ‘she’?”

“Preity,” Saloni said as Geeta, distracted by the prisoner’s flogging, answered, “Priya.”

Shit. Which one had she said? Which one should she have said?

Sushma Sinha, ASP, finally smiled, but it provided little relief to her two suspects.

“Could we move somewhere more private?” Geeta asked, thinking quickly. “It’s difficult to hear your questions.”

“It’ll be far too hot inside. None of the fans are working,” ASP Sushma Sinha said. “We can manage, go on.”

Geeta twisted in her seat toward the sound of the beating. “That man—he—uh—he says he didn’t do it.”

“They all say that. He just needs a little convincing to remember that he stole the television.”

“I mean,” Geeta said as the man’s howls pitched higher, “he seems pretty sure he didn’t.”