And just like that, it was done. They walked out of the courthouse, Meena leaning so hard against Smita that Smita thought she might lose her balance.
A cavern opened up in Smita’s heart as they emerged into the daylight. She turned helplessly to Anjali. One look at the lawyer’s crushed face made her regret her earlier outburst. She realized what it had taken to even bring charges against the brothers. “What happens next?” she whispered.
“What happens? Anjali said. “Nothing. We lost.” Her face fell. “This judge is actually one of the better ones. Not nearly as dishonest as the others. I thought we had a slim chance.”
“He’s honest?”
“I didn’t say that.” Anjali bit her fingernail. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken this case. I thought the glare of publicity in a foreign newspaper would make a difference. I was wrong.” She opened her mouth to say more but was drowned out by the drumming. They all turned to see a small group of dancing, celebratory men looking for all the world like participants in a wedding procession. They watched incredulously as Govind and Arvind were hoisted up by the men, as if they were heroes, or athletes who had won a championship. Rupal was distributing sweets to people walking past them. Smita realized that they had expected no other outcome other than victory. Otherwise, why would they come prepared with drums and sweets?
“Shameless bastards,” Anjali muttered, casting a worried glance at Meena, who appeared to be folding into herself, trying to make herself as small and invisible as possible. But Govind noticed her from his perch. “Ae, whore!” he called out. “You really thought you would win against your own brothers?”
Anjali strode toward the group, but her assistant blocked her way. “Madam, don’t,” she said. “You know they are just trying to provoke us.”
“Come, Meena,” Anjali said, taking the younger woman by her elbow. “You don’t need to listen to this garbage anymore.”
“It’s okay,” Meena said in a flat, dull voice that made Smita’s hair stand on end. “There is nothing anyone can do now.”
“That’s nonsense,” Anjali said, but the uncertainty in her voice did not reassure any of them.
“How is she getting home?” Mohan asked, ever practical.
“We’ll drop her,” Anjali said. “But first we need to take her to our office. There are a lot of loose ends to tie up.”
“And you?” Mohan said to Smita. “What would you like to do?”
She thought quickly. There was no way to interview Meena while she was in this catatonic state. Also, she needed to file a brief story about the verdict. The longer piece could run later, after she’d interviewed Meena again. Turning to Meena, she asked,“Can we stop by your house tonight? I would like to talk a little more. And to see Abru and Ammi, of course.”
“Ammi,” Meena repeated, and Smita heard the dread in her voice. Was there anything she or Mohan could do to persuade Ammi to be gentle with her daughter-in-law for the next few days?
“Didi,” Meena said, “can’t you come home with me now?”
“But you’re not going directly home, Meena,” Smita said. She turned to Anjali. “How long will she be at the office?”
“Let’s see. By the time we get to my office from here, do all the paperwork, and then drop her home, I’d say five or six hours. You’re welcome to follow us to our offices if you like.”
Smita felt the beginning of a bad headache. It would be easier to file her story from Mohan’s house. She longed for some ibuprofen, a few uninterrupted hours of work, and a shower before she met up with Meena again.
“How about we stop by later tonight?” she said. “Say around six?”
“Theek hai,” Meena said. She turned away listlessly. “Whatever you wish.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Smita broke down as soon as Mohan pulled away from the courthouse. “I don’t understand, I don’t understand, I don’t understand,” she cried.
“What’s there to understand?” Mohan’s voice was infused with anger. “It’s simple—they offered the judge a bribe and he took it.”
“But why didn’t Anjali anticipate this? Why didn’t she—?”
“Don’t blame her. She probably juggles fifty cases at a time. Once in a while, she wins. Most of the time, she loses. It’s like gambling. The house always wins.”
But that was exactly it. The judicial system wasn’t supposed to be rigged like a casino, with the decks stacked against the plaintiffs.
Smita caught herself. What’s the matter with you? she lashed out at herself. You act as if you have never covered a wrong verdict before. Hell, how many times have the cops gotten off after shooting an unarmed black man in America?
“I’ve been thinking,” Mohan said. “Maybe I can ask my father to employ Meena. Allow her to do a few odd jobs and in exchange, give her a roof above her head. We would send Abru to school.”
“Do you think he’ll agree?” Smita said hopefully.
“They already have a full-time cook who lives with them. And Ramdas does the cleaning. It will be a little awkward. The cook is very territorial. But something can be worked out.”
“Oh, Mohan. That would be ideal.”
“It won’t be that easy,” he said. “All this is assuming Meena will agree to move.”
“What do you mean? Why shouldn’t she? You’ve seen for yourself how isolated she is.”
“Ammi. You forget about Ammi. Do you think Meena will abandon her so easily?”
“Abandon her? Mohan, Ammi hates her. You know she blames her for what happened.”
“Exactly. And Meena blames herself. In fact, she agrees with Ammi that she’s the reason why Abdul is dead. So she may feel obliged to stay. And in any case, my parents are not going to be back for a few months.”
The hope that had flared, died out. It would have been so wonderful to have carried this lifeline to Meena this evening. Smita knew that Mohan’s parents would have treated Meena well. But she had the sinking feeling that Mohan’s assessment of Meena’s character, of her fealty to the mother-in-law, was accurate.
Smita remembered how furious Mummy had been when she’d learned that Asif had bribed Sushil to help sell their apartment. Zenobia had accused him of collaborating with their persecutor, the man who had terrorized their children. “Where is your izzat, Asif? Or should I say, Rakesh?” she had taunted her husband. “First, you sold out your religion. Now, even your honor?”
Smita and Rohit had sided with their mother at the time. But after all these years, Smita felt a profound sense of gratitude. Papa had done whatever he needed to do to pull his family to safety. In the depths of his despair, he had refused to play dead. And the rewards for that one compromise had been plentiful: The university had created a tenure-track position for him at the end of his visiting professorship. Mummy eventually began to volunteer at the local library and built a new life; Rohit was happy in his marriage and business. Smita felt a sudden urge to call Papa and thank him for what he’d sacrificed. In fact, she’d do it in person when she visited him, take him to his favorite diner in Columbus and tell him the story of her unexpected visit to India. Papa would forgive her for lying to him, his love for her unwavering, unconditional.
“I’ll talk to her,” Smita said.
“Talk to who?” Mohan replied.
“To Meena. Tonight. I’ll . . . share some of my story with her. If need be. I’ll try and stress the importance of getting away from that wretched place. If not for her sake, for the sake of her child.”
Mohan was silent.
“What?” she said. “You don’t think I should?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure.” He paused. “I . . . I just think that enough damage has been done to this young girl by us. By people like us. I mean, Anjali helped save her life when she was in the hospital. That’s good. Very creditable. But then, she decided to use her for her cause. To fight a battle that she knew Meena couldn’t win.”
“I know. But what I’m . . .”