The Bandit Queens (93)

“He wouldn’t, though,” Geeta said. “Maybe I miscounted?”

To Saloni’s surprise, Farah spoke up. “Okay, I was fine with you being on a dumb journey to rekindle some two-cent romance. But this? This is too much. You threatened to kill me for asking for money—okay sure, ‘blackmailing,’ if you wanna get all technical—but still just asking. This fucker stole from you. He’s gotta go.”

“How did he know?”

“Please,” Saloni spat, pacing the length of the room. She kicked The Chut’s charpoy leg. Her big toe stung. “A jewelry box is your big hiding spot? Any moron could find that. Any moron did. Ramesh has been a greedy prick from day one. And I should’ve told you. I promised your parents, but I should’ve broken that promise. They wouldn’t have wanted this life for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

Saloni rolled her shoulders back. “If we’re gonna do this, I need a drink. Where’s that bottle Karem brought over?”

“Cupboard,” Geeta said, gesturing vaguely. “Maybe he took it for his new cane?”

“Yes, and maybe I’ll get thin by Diwali.” Saloni pointed at Farah. “You in?”

Farah refused primly, with ample judgment. “I don’t drink. Plus, we have to meet Varunbhai soon, na?”

“It’s not tharra, it’s actual rum.”

“Ooh.” Farah perked up. “Okay then.”

Saloni wasted no time with glasses. She twisted off the cap and sipped before choking. “This,” she announced with distaste, “is water.”

“What?” Geeta held out her hand. She gave a delicate sniff. “Shit.”

Farah scoffed. “Oldest trick in the book. Plain lazy, actually.”

Geeta stuttered, her hands suspended in the air near her head. “Hold on, this doesn’t make any sense. I’ve seen him; he’s sober. When he found the bottle, he said—”

“Wake up, Geeta!” Farah snapped, smacking the back of one hand against her other palm in rapid succession. “He’s a drunk and a thief. Just like Samir. The only question here is what you’re gonna do about it.”

Saloni surveyed Farah with begrudging respect; perhaps bringing her along hadn’t been a misstep after all.

“I’ll confront him about the money. We don’t know the whole story yet.”

“Whole story?” Saloni asked. “Okay. Fine.”

Geeta sat very still, frozen and pallid under her brown skin, as Saloni spoke of the dowry. At one point, Farah, noticing Geeta’s gooseflesh, opened the door and whistled. No further invitation was necessary. Like an actor in a prompt corner waiting for his cue, Bandit burst through the doorway, heading straight for Geeta’s lap. She finally moved then, a small shift to hold him. She tolerated his eager tongue and damp nose, but her lack of enthusiasm was contagious and he soon settled on her lap, paws kneading her orange sari in comfort. Saloni continued speaking, unsure whether any of her words were penetrating. She looked at Farah, whose shoulders rose and fell, her face a matching question mark.

“A refrigerator?” Geeta repeated, her voice so clear and cogent, it startled the other two women.

“Huh?”

“They demanded a refrigerator, you said.”

“Yes,” Saloni said cautiously, puzzled. “Among other things.”

“And my parents gave it?”

“Yes.”

“Son of a fat bitch.”

Saloni’s arms rose in victorious relief. “There she is!”

Geeta’s words rushed out, anger driving them louder and higher. “He said, he said, so many times, that my father left us—me—with all these debts. That he’d pretended to be good with money, that he’d tricked Ramesh’s family into marrying me. He bad-mouthed my father to everyone in the village. He told me I was ‘lucky’ to find someone who didn’t demand a dowry. I actually felt gratitude toward him, do you believe that? Goddamn him! I’m such an idiot!”

Farah patted Geeta’s back, the comfort genuine but still awkward between bodies unaccustomed to proximity. “Breathe. Remember?”

Geeta nodded. She rocked with Bandit in her lap. “Kabaddi, kabaddi, kabaddi.” But it brought no relief. She hiccuped.

“And now that chut has the balls to come back for more,” Saloni said.

“I want my money back.”

“We’ll get it back.”

As the ramifications of what Saloni had confessed landed, Geeta’s mien of rage crumbled. She buried her face into Bandit and wept. “What’s the point? My parents gave up everything for me, just to die with nothing. And it’s all my fault.” When a man had a baby girl put in his arms, he saw his name and legacy disappear, to be swallowed by another man. His grandchildren would have to strain to recall his family name, a name that his great-grandchildren would never know. And she had cost her father much more than that in agreeing to marry Ramesh.

Geeta looked up, her damp face bleak. “This is why people want sons.”

Farah angled away. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? Is it any different than what Khushi told us about daughters?” She didn’t await a reply. “All we are are liabilities. After everything my parents did for me, they died poor and hungry.”