“Arre, listen, all!” Govind called. “Memsahib, who has come all the way from Am’rica, has something to say to us.”
The men walked closer to where Smita stood, looking at her curiously. She could feel the heat from Mohan’s body behind her. She closed her eyes for an instant, thinking of what Papa must have faced when he’d agreed to convert, his responsibility to his family blinding him to all else. This is what it meant to care so much about another human being that you were willing to sacrifice everything, even pride and self-respect. Let Govind and his ilk cling to their misguided notions of honor. She was her father’s daughter. He had taught her well.
“I’m sorry,” she said loudly enough for all of them to hear. “I apologize for attacking you. I was wrong. I ask for your forgiveness.”
She had a feeling that Govind was not fooled by her performance. But it didn’t matter. She had allowed him to save face. He smiled magnanimously. “You are forgiven,” he said.
The mob began to hoot and holler, mocking her words. But Govind shushed them. “Chalo, hurry. Police will be here soon. Gather your things and let’s go.”
Smita could sense Mohan’s anger as the two of them stood watching the men destroy the last bits of evidence. “Forgive me,” she whispered to him. “I had no choice.”
Mohan didn’t reply, and she knew he was not appeased. She understood. But unlike him, she knew about limited choices.
The minutes ticked by. Several of the men began to extinguish their torches.
Rupal sauntered up to them. “Get out of here, motherfucker,” Mohan said. “Otherwise, you will be the first to hang when the police arrive.”
“I was only coming to say . . .”
“Chup. Not a word from you. And listen.” Mohan took a deep breath. “My men will be keeping an eye on you. You harass one more woman in your village, you make one more woman walk on coals or pull any of your stunts, and every government official in the state will be after your hide. You understand me?”
Rupal looked at him sullenly. “You misunderstand . . .”
“I told you. One more word, and I’ll make sure you hang.” Smita could see the sweat on Mohan’s face. “Now, go. All of you!”
The men extinguished the last of their torches and took a different road back to Vithalgaon to avoid marching through Birwad. After they were gone, a sudden silence descended on Ammi’s hovel. Mohan retrieved the lantern, and they walked to Meena’s hovel and stood, watching it burn.
“She asked me to come back here with her,” Smita said. “But I was too stupid to agree. As long as I live, I’ll never forgive myself. I could’ve saved her.”
“That’s doubtful.” Mohan’s voice was hollow. “Or say that you’d saved her today. But what about tomorrow? A week from now? No, not even God could’ve saved that poor girl.”
“She’s in there. My God, Meena is in there. I can’t believe they killed her.”
“Smita. I have no idea how long this ruse is going to work. Those men may come back. I don’t even know how we are going to find that child in the dark. Let’s move.”
“Meena said they were hiding in the field behind her hut.”
“Are you sure that she recognized you, much less spoke to you? I mean, she was . . .”
“She did.”
They got in the car and turned it around so that the headlights shone onto the dark, overgrown field. They exited the vehicle and stood gingerly at the edge of the tall grasses. Smita glanced at Mohan, reluctant to confess to her fear of rodents and snakes. Screwing up her nerve, she took one step forward, as if dipping her toes into chilly waters.
“Ammi,” she whispered. “Abru. Are you here?”
There was no response.
“Ammi!” she called, a little louder. “It’s Smita. From the newspaper. Are you safe?”
Mohan plunged into the grass. “Abru!” he called, his voice urgent.
Smita felt a sob growing in her throat. Where was the child? Was it possible that she had misheard Meena’s garbled speech? She turned around to say something to Mohan and froze. He was singing. Singing.
“Ae dil hai mushakil jeena yahan Zara hat ke, zara bach ke Ye hai Bombay meri jaan,” Mohan sang in a low voice.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Shhh. I sang this song to Abru the other day. She loved it. This way, she’ll know it’s me.” He began again.
Something rustled, and then a tiny animal flung itself at Mohan.
Smita screamed, then covered her mouth with her hand. A startled laugh escaped her lips. Of course. It was little Abru, hugging Mohan’s legs. They had found her.
“Oi, little one,” Mohan said, bending down to pick up the girl. “Where’s Ammi?”
The child pointed vaguely behind her. “Ammi!” Mohan called again, a little loudly. “Where are you? We need to get out of here.”
They heard a groan, and then Ammi lifted herself from the ground and tottered toward them. “Ya Allah,” she said, when she reached them. “Is it really you? Are those mad dogs gone?”
Ammi looked toward the smoldering hut. “They burned it,” she said to no one in particular. “A second time.” She took Smita’s hands in hers. “I heard her. I heard her screams. They tortured her like an animal in the slaughterhouse.” She glanced at her granddaughter. “I covered the child’s mouth before I remembered she doesn’t speak. So I covered my own mouth. But what I should’ve done is covered my ears. So that I didn’t hear what I heard.”
Smita fought against the nausea gathering in her again. “Get in the car,” she said to Ammi. “We have to leave here.”
In the car, Smita took Abru from Mohan and held her in her lap. No matter what happened from this point on, even if those bastards were waiting for them down the road, she would never let them have Abru. She had failed Meena; she would not fail her daughter.
Mohan locked the car doors as they pulled away. They drove down the country road with the headlights turned low, one excruciating kilometer after another. When they had gone past the crossroads where Govind and his crew could have waited for them, Smita exhaled. They were gone. She could scarcely believe that they’d managed to make it out of there alive with Ammi and Abru. Once she knew they were safe, Smita began to shake uncontrollably, the horror of the evening catching up with her. She tried to control herself, but from Abru’s expression, she knew that the child was feeling her anxiety. She forced herself to smile at the girl in what she hoped was a reassuring manner.
“Do you think we should go register a complaint at the local police station?” Smita asked. “While there still might be some evidence?”
“No way I’m taking that chance,” Mohan said. “The police will more than likely turn the child over to the brothers.”
Ammi spoke from the back seat. “Where are you taking me, seth?” she asked, in her nasally voice.
“Where would you like me to take you? I’m assuming no one in the village will give you shelter?”
Ammi snorted. “Those cowards? No. In this age, who will stick their neck out to help an old woman?” Suddenly, she struck herself forcefully on her forehead. “Why did my Abdul go and marry that heifer? Ruined my life. Look at me now, driven out of my own home and community.”
“Please,” Smita said sharply. “Your daughter-in-law has just been killed.” She glanced quickly at the child, wondering how much she understood. “Show some decency.”
Ammi fell into a stunned silence. Then, the wailing began. “Better if those animals had killed me, also!” Ammi cried. “What am I going to do now with this child? With this burden around my neck, I’ll have to spend my days begging for a living. As it is, that Meena was eating me out of house and home.”
Involuntarily, Smita kissed the top of Abru’s head. The girl continued looking at her silently. “No need for you to concern yourself about the child,” she heard herself say. “We will take care of her.”
The wailing stopped. It’s like she’s the toddler, Smita thought, at last acknowledging her dislike for the woman. But Ammi did have a point. Where would she go?