Smita’s mind froze.
“We warned her.” Mohan spoke into the silence. “We begged her to stay with that lawyer. We even invited her to go with us to Mumbai. But Meena was crazy. She insisted on returning to the land where her husband died.”
Rupal looked from one to the other. “Wait here,” he said. He strode out of the hut.
Smita turned immediately to Mohan. “Call the police,” she hissed. “Now.”
“It’s a risk. They’re all standing right outside,” he muttered. “They’ll hear me.”
She bit her lower lip. All she could think of was the men searching in the tall grasses for Abru. How long had she and Ammi been hiding? How long could they continue to do so? “Call,” she said.
He nodded and fished out his phone from his pocket. He dialed the number to the station, muffling the ring the best he could. The phone rang and rang. “Where are they?” he asked desperately. “Why aren’t they answering?”
And suddenly, she knew. “Hang up,” she said. “Hang up.”
“What the hell?” He ended the call.
“They’ve been paid off. They won’t answer. Otherwise, don’t you think someone from the village would’ve let them know? And they would’ve been here by now?”
Mohan swore under his breath.
Smita moved closer to him. “The child is alive. She’s hiding with Ammi in the field behind Meena’s house.”
“How would you—”
“She told me. Just before she died. We have to keep them from searching the field. I don’t know how, but that’s what we have to do.”
Mohan stared at her for a long moment. In the light of the lantern she could see his face, bleary with fatigue and stress. He went to the entrance of the hut. “Rupal!” he yelled. “Govind, come quickly.”
“What is it?” A man they’d never seen before sauntered up to the hovel. “They are busy.”
“Busy?” Mohan thundered. “Arre, saala, they are going to be busy in jail for the next fifty years if they don’t show up here in one minute. Tell them the police are on their way.”
The man laughed and spat on the ground. “Police knows not to . . .”
“Not the police from your little tadpole pond. This is the big shark that’s coming here. They will be here in less than a half hour, chutiya.”
The man turned and left.
“What are you doing?” Smita hissed. “You will get both of us killed.”
“Trust me,” Mohan said.
She was about to chastise him when Govind entered the hut. The front of his tunic was spattered with blood. Smita stared at it, her stomach heaving.
“You’re lucky to be living,” Govind said insolently. “My men could . . .”
“Your men can do nothing,” Mohan said haughtily. “You are out of time. I just called the big inspector-sahib at his home. He is a friend of my father’s, but still he was not happy to be disturbed at home at this hour. And you know what he said, fucker? He said he was going to come to see for himself the bastard who would kill his own sister. They will be here soon. And I am going to sit right here and watch the tamasha.”
“You shouldn’t have done this, seth,” Govind said. “Big mistake.”
Mohan opened his mouth to reply when the room lit up from the bright light outside. For an insane second, Smita thought someone had set off a bomb. Then, as she realized what was happening, she made to dash out of Ammi’s hovel. But Govind blocked her way. “Let it go, memsahib,” he said. His voice was flat. “This is the funeral she deserves.”
They watched the flames shoot skyward from Meena’s hut. After a moment, Smita bent over, moved to the right of the hut, and threw up. The wind carried a foul odor toward them, making her retch even more.
When she straightened up, she turned to Govind. “May worms come out of your eyes every time you sleep,” she said. “May you never know a moment’s rest ever again for killing your sister.”
“What sister?” Govind pointed to the blaze. “You see that? That stupid girl was so upset with the judge’s verdict, she set herself on fire.”
He turned to Mohan. “Come here, seth,” he said. He pointed to where a small group of men were working, each of them bent at the waist. “You see what they’re doing? They are washing and sweeping the area. When they are done, there will not be a drop of blood on the ground. Bas, we came like the wind, and we will disappear quiet as ghosts.”
“You came through the village with your drums and torches, no?” Mohan said. “You don’t think the people there saw you?”
Govind spat. “You think those Muslim eunuchs will open their mouths? Why should they interfere? If that old woman and the child are truly gone, we have no need to enter Birwad again. As you can see, the saga with Meena is—finished. We have restored the good name of our ancestors.”
Smita looked around. “Where is your brother?” she asked.
“That useless drunk? He didn’t wish to come.” He looked at Mohan. “Chalo, seth. Time for you to clear out of here.”
“We will wait,” Mohan said evenly,“for the big inspector to arrive. You are the one who should disappear.”
“Why did you create trouble for us, seth? Our customs and traditions exist for a reason. Why must you dishonor them?”
Mohan’s face darkened. “Listen,” he said. “I will make a deal with you. I will wait here for the inspector. And when he arrives, I will tell him I was mistaken. That the girl set herself on fire. But you need to be gone, along with all your friends.”
“Why will he believe you?”
Mohan tilted his head back slightly, an imperious gesture Smita had never seen him make before. “It’s not a question of him believing me. He is a friend of my father’s. We move in the same circles. Whatever I wish him to do, he will do.”
Govind’s mouth twisted in bitterness. “The ways of the rich and powerful.”
“Exactly. Bribing the police or bribing the judge. What’s the difference?”
Govind looked indecisively at both of them. “Why I must trust you?” he said at last.
“Why? Because you have no choice. Because a man like me can crush a hundred men like you. You said so yourself. And because, now that that poor girl is dead, I have already lost interest in your sad life.”
Govind flinched. Still, he stood his ground. Smita watched him, her heart in her mouth. The moments ticked by. Smita could see Mohan working himself up into a fury. She couldn’t tell how much of it was performance.
“I will go,” Govind said at long last, “but on one condition.” He glanced at Smita. “Your missus insulted me in front of my community. She must apologize.”
“Saala, just get out of here before the police come,” Mohan said. “Your honor won’t be worth five paisa in prison.”
“You don’t understand, seth. I will never be able to raise my head and look at my neighbors if your wife doesn’t apologize publicly. I would rather grow old in jail than tolerate such an insult.”
“Apologize? To a thug like you? She will do so over my dead body.”
Smita looked in horror from one man to the other, all the while thinking of Abru: What if the child wandered out of the field? What if Ammi was not with her? How long did they have?
She stepped forward and looked Govind in the eye. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I apologize.”
“Smita, don’t,” Mohan said, but she dismissed him with a wave of her hand.
Govind threw Mohan a gloating look. Then, his face hardened. “Not here. In front of all the men. Outside.”
Beside her, Mohan made a guttural sound. Smita ignored him. She walked out of the hut to where a cluster of men stood, Govind at her side.