But Mohan was already pulling her toward him. “It’s the only thing that’s gotten me through this day.”
All through the next day, Smita worked on her article while Mohan made phone calls. First, he phoned a lawyer friend in Surat to find out what papers they needed for Ammi to give up her rights to Abru. The woman promised to courier the appropriate documents immediately. Next, he called Ammi’s employer to gauge her interest in hiring Ammi as a live-in maid. The woman said she needed to check with her husband. While Mohan awaited her reply, he phoned several of his relatives to ask if they were looking for an elderly servant.
Ultimately, he determined that Ammi was best off with her current bai. It turned out the employer lived so far away from Vithalgaon, poor Ammi took two buses to and from her job each day—which meant there was no threat to her safety. Ammi herself was pleased with this solution. With the matter decided, she seemed anxious to start her new life. Smita and Mohan went to the market in the evening and bought Ammi a small suitcase, six saris, and some toiletries. That night, Ammi signed the custody papers and gave her granddaughter a perfunctory hug, as if the parting was to last a few hours instead of a lifetime.
Abru was tottering around the back garden, gleefully pulling at the leaves and flowers. Smita watched her from the patio as she sipped her morning tea and waited for Mohan to return. He had woken up early to drive Ammi to her new home, putting Abru next to Smita in bed before leaving. Smita had not seen them off, having said her goodbyes to Ammi the night before.
Abru looked up sharply at the sky, and Smita’s hair stood on end. Had the child felt her dead mother’s presence? It was so hard to know what Abru understood and what she remembered. But then, Abru went back to pulling on the petals of a white flower, and Smita relaxed. After a few minutes, Abru came up to her. Smita could see that she was tired. Since crying for her mother during the ride back to Surat two nights before, Abru had lapsed into silence again. But Smita marveled at how much she was able to communicate without words.
She picked up the girl. “Do you want something to eat?” she asked, and Abru shook her head no. “Okay,” she said, carrying her back to the bed. They lay on their sides, staring into each other’s eyes, a trickle of affection stirring in Smita’s breast. She stroked the child’s hair. Within minutes, Abru’s eyelids fluttered, and she drifted off to sleep.
Smita fell asleep, too. She woke up when she heard Mohan’s car and then hurried to the door. Mohan walked in, looking exhausted. “How’d it go?” she asked.
He lifted an index finger, signaling her to hold her questions for a minute, and went into the kitchen to get a tall glass of ice water. Carrying the glass into the living room, he sat next to her. “It’s bloody hot outside,” he said. He looked around. “Where’s Abru?”
“Napping.” Smita said, then frowned. “Is this normal? She sleeps a lot.”
“I think so. She’s so little. Just a baby.”
“And so terribly undernourished.”
“That will change—now that we have her. Don’t worry. She will be fine.”
“Don’t you think it was odd,” Smita asked, “how Ammi just gave her a quick hug goodbye last night? As if she has no feelings for her own grandchild.”
Mohan was silent for several minutes. “We talked on the way to her bai’s house,” he said. “She asked me to adopt Abru.”
“Ha,” Smita said. “That’s rich.”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“What?” Smita said, startled.
He shrugged. “Why not? I’m not going to place her in a children’s home. Do you have any idea what orphanages are like here? What happens to the children?”
“But how? You have a job and—”
“Most people with children work for a living, Smita.”
She heard the reprimand in his voice, and it made her bristle. “You know, Meena asked me to take care of her. Me.”
“Well, Meena assumed we were married. But okay. If you want Abru, you take her. She’ll be safe with you.”
Mohan’s tone was reasonable, placid, but Smita detected a hint of impatience in his voice. She looked down at her hands, her nose turning red. “Are you mad at me?” she asked at last.
“No, of course not. Why would I be?” Mohan rubbed his cheek. He had not shaved this morning, Smita noticed. “I’m just exhausted, yaar,” he said. “Things are moving too damn fast. And now there’s a child to think about.”
“So why did you say what you did? About me taking her?”
Mohan’s eyes flashed. “Because, Smita, I’m trying to do what’s best for the child. And you made it sound like it was a bloody custody battle.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just surprised, is all. I mean, you don’t even have your own apartment. How can you manage a child?”
“What does one have to do with the other? Zarine Auntie can watch her while I’m at work. I mean, where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
How effortlessly, Smita thought, Mohan has carved me out of his life with Abru.
“Smita,” Mohan said, looking exasperated. “What is it? Why are you crying?”
“I don’t know. I just feel sad. And confused. Meena put her in my charge. With her final breath. I feel as if I’m failing her.”
They stared helplessly at each other.
“The papers,” Smita said after a few minutes. “The ones that Ammi signed. Who did she name as the guardian?”
“She didn’t. She left it blank.” Mohan exhaled. “But, Smita. This is going to be a bastard of a process. First of all, we have to make sure there are no other claims on Abru. We’ll have to track down Meena’s sister and make sure—”
“She’s most likely in no position to take in a child,” Smita interrupted.
“Right. But the courts may insist we find her. As for the brothers—” Mohan stopped briefly. “Look. If you really want to take her to America, I’ll help you. I would be delighted. I just won’t put her in an orphanage.”
“But that’s just it, Mohan. There’s no way I can. I travel most weeks out of the year. My lifestyle just wouldn’t allow me to be a single parent.”
He grinned mirthlessly.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Just that, when did it become a lifestyle instead of simply life? It sounds like a fashion parade or something.”
“Yeah, well. That’s Brooklyn for you,” Smita said vaguely. “But really, I also can’t stay in India long enough to get through the red tape.”
“You could leave her with me,” Mohan said. “I can do all the paperwork for you. That’s what all the rich Americans do, right?”
“And you would do this? You wouldn’t get too attached to her?”
“I’m already attached to her.” Mohan’s tone was rueful. “But I would do this. For you. If you needed a child that badly.”
Smita was suddenly irritated. This sounded too much like their arguments about India being her homeland. Motherhood was another box that Mohan was placing her in. “I don’t need a child. This is not about me. I just feel a sense of responsibility for this particular child.”
“That’s a bad reason to wish to become a mother, Smita. Because you feel responsible.”
“Dear God, Mohan. Who said anything about becoming a mother? I just said—”
“So how are you going to adopt Abru? As your sister?”
“Okay. Touché. But if you were to keep her, what would you be? Her father?”
Mohan cocked his head, puzzled. “Yes, of course.”
“I see,” she said. “And that . . . that doesn’t scare you?”
His eyes widened slightly, as if he finally understood what she was asking—as if he had figured out what made her tick. “Yah. It scares me. All the important things in life are supposed to scare you. My first day in graduate school, I was scared. Same thing the day I started at my job at Tata. Hell, the first time I met you, I was scared.”
“You were scared of me?” She laughed. “Why?”