Three Bargains: A Novel Read online

  He got out and went to them in case the girls needed something. Neeta memsaab looked agitated. “She knew you were coming,” she said. “She loved it when you girls visited her in Delhi. Remember all the shopping we did at South Extension?”

  The twins nodded. “I don’t understand this girl.” Neeta memsaab turned in the direction of the fields, looking perturbed.

  “It’s okay, Auntie, we’ll go with Madan and find her,” Rimpy said.

  “No, no.” Neeta memsaab threw back her shoulders. “You girls don’t go out in this heat. We’ll send your servant boy.” She nodded toward Madan standing at the foot of the stairs.

  Rimpy and Dimpy glanced uncomfortably at each other. They did not look at Madan but let their gazes wander to the side. Madan did not flinch; he kept his attention on Neeta memsaab, wishing the twins would stop looking so awkward. He did not eat on the same plates, let alone at the same table. Whatever he did for them, whatever he shared with them, no matter how much he was part of their daily lives, when the doors shut at the end of the day he went to the back of their house, to another world and another family.

  “Just follow the path.” Neeta memsaab pointed to the trails slicing into the fields surrounding the house. “You’ll come across her at some point. Check one of the lookout towers.” She turned back toward the house.

  “It’s Neeta Auntie’s daughter, Neha,” said Rimpy, realizing that no one had told him who he should be looking for.

  “He’ll find her,” Neeta memsaab said from the doorway. “You girls come back in. I’ve made fresh nimbu pani, its icy cold and sweet, just how you like it.”

  Rimpy ran back up, and Dimpy, throwing Madan an apologetic look, followed her twin.

  Madan tossed his book in the car and locked it, following the path Neeta memsaab pointed out. The hip-high stalks of corn allowed an uninterrupted view of the area, but there was no sign of anyone. He wiped his brow with the sleeve of his T-shirt. He hadn’t even known that Trilok-bhai had a daughter, and now he was out hunting for this girl, who for some odd reason had decided to take an excursion on this burning hot day. She was probably “bored” like the twins always claimed to be, but at least he didn’t have to waste his time searching for them all over the countryside.

  He walked on, swatting at gnats that greeted him. Soon the fields petered out and a clump of trees provided shade. The grove ended suddenly and he was back in the fields. It was quiet, even the hawks hunted in silence up above. He couldn’t imagine some girl having walked all the way out here by herself. This may be her father’s land, but it was foolhardy to be out this far alone; anything could happen and there was no one around to hear her screams. He turned back, looking for another path. Spotting a lookout tower not too far away, he decided to check there.

  The wooden tower had a few rungs missing from its ladder but the platform above seemed sturdy enough. Madan looked up and around and thought he saw something glinting in the sunlight.

  He tested one of the rungs before climbing up to the platform. The moment he swung up and onto it, he saw the girl curled in a shady corner, her head resting on a small backpack, her face hidden under her arm. Her scuffed and grass-stained jeans made him wonder how long she had been out. Maybe she’s hurt, he thought, and then decided she was probably asleep.

  He stood there, not knowing what to do. Should he call out to her and wake her up? He moved closer, but before he could say anything she said, “Were you sent to get me?”

  “Yes,” he said, “your mother wants you back at the house.”

  Her arm slid slowly off her face and she got up in one fluid movement, lifting her arms to capture her flyaway hair and twisting it into a knot at the nape of her neck. Her shirt lifted a little as she did this, and Madan turned his gaze to the small lake in the distance.

  When he looked back at her she was holding her backpack out to him. He took it and she smiled. “Thanks,” she said, startling him enough that he looked straight at her. No one had actually thanked him before; not the twins or their family, and he never expected them to either.

  Flecks of copper lit the muddy darkness of her eyes and for an instant he thought it was a reflection of the yellow flowers sprinkled in the fields. She lowered her lids, and when she looked back up, the twinkling specks beckoned once again.

  He turned abruptly to the ladder, in part to clear the sudden light-headed feeling that came upon him. Too much sun; he was getting dehydrated. He climbed down and then looked up to make sure she was following. She was nearly to the ground when she lost her footing on a missing rung and slid the next few rungs down. Madan dropped the backpack and caught her firmly by the waist before she fell too far.

  She found a sure footing, yet he didn’t let go, his arms feeling heavy and lethargic like he had been unloading trucks all day. He was reluctant to move them ever again. She turned slowly and put her hands on his shoulder. He lifted her up, placing her gently on the ground.

  “Careful,” he said, and then felt silly about the warning, as she had already slipped.

  They walked back on the same path he had taken earlier, Madan a few steps behind, the backpack thumping against his side. Her hair came undone again and it swung long and straight as she picked her way forward, her hands gliding over the tops of the stalks.

  Her mother was outside; she had probably spotted them walking back. She was angry. As they stepped onto the driveway, she grabbed Neha’s arm and pulled her up the stairs. “Look at you! Filthy.” Still holding her arm, her mother began to dust her jeans and T-shirt. Neha squirmed as she tried to avoid her mother’s quick slaps. Finally, her mother ran her fingers through Neha’s unraveled hair and twisted it tightly away from her face. Neha’s hands went up to her head as a tiny cry of pain escaped.

  “Go clean up. I want you in the drawing room looking presentable in five minutes. Don’t embarrass me in front of these people.” Neeta memsaab pushed her into the house, leaving Madan outside still holding the backpack.

  A few seconds later the door swung open and Neha rushed out, extending her arm for the bag. He handed it to her; she looked distracted and didn’t say anything. Madan returned to the car, felt under the seat for his bottle of water and took a long, cold drink. He opened his book, letting it claim his attention.

  Then, sliding onto the page, obscuring the words and making him reread the same sentence over and over again, came the memory of those eyes speckled with copper and the smile that had lifted him off the ground, if only for a moment.

  CHAPTER 9

  THE GROUNDS OF GORAPUR ACADEMY WERE QUIET IN THE weak early morning sun, and some students clamored around the notice board in front of the principal’s office. “There it is,” said Madan, pointing to Jaggu’s name. His own name had been easier to spot; it was on the top of the list.

  “Second division,” said Jaggu, surprised. He’d only agreed to stay on in school to give Madan company. Getting an education was a bonus.

  At the factory, Avtaar Singh sent for a big box of ladoos. “Listen,” his voice boomed across the factory floor, bringing work to a stop. “First division, again,” he said, his arm around Madan’s shoulder. “Remember when he came here with short pants and not a whisker above his lips?” His eyes swept the floor. “You fools will still be here years from now, gray hair and all, but the world will say, ‘He is the son of Gorapur,’ and each and every one of you will be made proud.”

  The speech was a variation of the one Avtaar Singh gave every year at this time, when Madan’s results came out. It never failed to rouse the factory workers, and they clapped, even those who were new and did not understand why Madan was the focus of all this attention. Madan distributed the ladoos, fresh and fragrant, to the workers, accepting their congratulations.

  “I heard, I heard,” said a voice behind him. Pandit Bansi Lal picked his way between the machines in his white kurta and dhoti; a long saffron scarf draped around his neck and shoulders reached his knees. Jaggu followed, carrying his walking stick and making fu
nny faces behind the pandit’s back, imitating his shuffling stride.

  Avtaar Singh spotted Pandit Bansi Lal too. “Welcome, Pandit-ji, you’ve come at a most fortunate time. Madan, give Pandit-ji the biggest ladoo in the box.”

  Madan bent to touch Pandit Bansi Lal’s feet and the pandit laid a cold hand on his head in blessing. He proffered the box to Pandit Bansi Lal, who sniffed at it and, seeing Avtaar Singh’s attention elsewhere, delicately picked a small crumb, touching it to his lips.

  “Om,” said Pandit Bansi Lal, slapping his own chest as if there were no other way to get the name of God out of him. Avtaar Singh swept them all into his office and Pandit Bansi Lal collapsed into his favorite corner of the sofa, where he could rest an arm on one side and wave the other one around.

  “You’re truly a great man, Avtaar Singh-ji. In the final act, when we’re judged by our actions, your bountiful spirit will get its rewards. I’ve said it many times, that this boy should be kissing your feet.” Pandit Bansi Lal dispensed his wisdom like playing cards. “You’ve changed his life! Like Lord Krishna who counseled Arjun on the Kurukshetra battlefield not too far from here, you have transformed this boy too.”

  Madan wanted to poke Pandit Bansi Lal’s eyes out with the incense sticks burning under the portrait of Avtaar Singh’s father. He hated when the priest talked about him like he was invisible.

  “Like Lord Krishna?” Avtaar Singh laughed. “That’s too much, Pandit-ji. You’re the one who is too kind. But look at him again—he’s not a boy anymore,” he said as the phone rang.

  “Yes.” Pandit Bansi Lal turned to consider Madan. “And a black pot remains black no matter how many layers of silver paint you decorate it with.” He tried to stare Madan down. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction, Madan began to excuse himself to Avtaar Singh, but there was a knock on the door.

  “Ah, Mr. Kishore! Come in, come in,” said Avtaar Singh, ending his phone call and getting up to greet the man in the safari suit.

  “So glad to finally meet you, Avtaar Singh-ji,” Mr. Kishore said as they shook hands. “I came straight from the train station.”

  “Come,” said Avtaar Singh. “Meet Pandit Bansi Lal. He’s here to show me the astrological charts for my new factory. We’re looking for an auspicious day to begin. This is Madan,” he said. “Madan, this is Mr. Kishore of Sapna Builders.”

  Madan recognized the name as one of their buyers; he folded his hands in greeting.

  “Good to meet you, young man,” Mr. Kishore said. “You never mentioned your son before, Avtaar Singh-ji.”

  Mr. Kishore beamed at the three of them but they were frozen in place, Pandit Bansi Lal’s little finger halfway up his nostril, Avtaar Singh’s hand on Madan’s shoulder. The silence went on for an awkward moment until Pandit Bansi Lal said, “Avtaar Singh has no son.”

  “Oh!” Mr. Kishore looked confused. “I’m sorry . . .”

  “Yes . . . well,” Avtaar Singh murmured, the sound forced, as though he’d been punched in the stomach. Madan felt the weight of his hand on his shoulder as he leaned on him for support.

  “Well . . .” said Avtaar Singh again.

  “He’s only the maidservant’s son,” said Pandit Bansi Lal, defying either of them to refute the truth.

  Mr. Kishore looked even more uncomfortable, but the pandit’s words seemed to bring Avtaar Singh out of the mist. Collecting himself, he walked determinedly around to his chair. “Sit, please, Mr. Kishore. What can we get you?” Avtaar Singh picked up the phone and called for tea while Madan slipped from the room. There would come a day when even Avtaar Singh would not be able to protect Pandit Bansi Lal’s neck from Madan’s bare hands.

  Later, Madan ran into Feroze and Harish from the evening gang. They were early, probably running a quick errand, and Madan was offering them the last of the ladoos when Avtaar Singh came out of his office looking for his driver, Ganesh.

  “Saab,” said Feroze, indicating the bathrooms. “You know.” Ganesh’s ongoing struggle with piles was common knowledge.

  “Oh,” said Avtaar Singh. “He was supposed to drive us this evening to Trilok-bhai’s house for dinner, but memsaab and the girls want to go now. When he returns tell him to pick them up at home. I’ll need one of you,” he said, pointing to Feroze and Harish, “to drive me there tonight. Madan needs a day off.”

  “No, saab, no need. I can take them right now,” Madan said, the words out of his mouth before he realized he was speaking. They all looked at him with surprise.

  “No, no,” Avtaar Singh said. “Today you go have fun. I’m sure you and your friends have all sorts of celebrations planned for this evening.”

  Turning to him, the men grinned, but Madan found he could not stop himself. “Nothing really planned, saab. I can take them now and Ganesh can bring you later.”

  “No, no,” said Avtaar Singh again, but Madan saw him hesitate. He knew Avtaar Singh would rather Madan or Ganesh do the driving than these men who forgot the cars were not guided missiles. “You know, the girls want to keep going there, now that Trilok-bhai’s daughter is back; they’re all the same age,” Avtaar Singh said, more to himself than to Madan.

  Madan did not want to give him a chance to think about it longer. He spoke quickly and firmly. “I’ll go home right away. I have to tell my mother about my results too. I can do my celebrating tomorrow.”

  At last, Avtaar Singh agreed, looking relieved. Before he returned to his office, he called Madan to the side. Taking out a couple hundred-rupee notes from his wallet, he gave them to Madan.

  “For your celebration tomorrow,” he said.

  “No, saab, I need only your blessings.” Madan pushed the money back, but Avtaar Singh was firm.

  “You have those always. This is for fun.”

  Madan nodded, touching Avtaar Singh’s feet before leaving.

  “What?” Jaggu would not let it go. “But I got this case of ThunderBolt, Madan. A whole case of beer, and what about . . .” He searched for a way to persuade Madan. “We were thinking about going to the canal or a movie and . . .”

  Madan placed his hand on Jaggu’s shoulder and made an effort to look contrite. “I know. I’m sorry. But Avtaar Singh wanted me to take them, no one else.” He bit his lip on the lie. “You know how he is about his daughters.”

  “Oh . . . okay,” said Jaggu, his brow furrowing. “But today? One day he could not use someone else?”

  Madan shrugged. “What do you want me to do? I can’t say no when he asks, can I?”

  “No, you can’t,” Jaggu agreed.

  “We can do all this tomorrow,” Madan promised. “And we can even go to that movie you wanted to see. What’s the name?”

  “Maine Pyar Kiya,” said Jaggu. “What a love story, what songs . . .” His voice trailed off. Madan looked away from Jaggu’s piercing disappointment.

  Ignoring the thread of guilt knotting tighter in his stomach, Madan patted Jaggu’s shoulder again and moved with quick precision to the front of the house.

  As Madan unloaded the fruit baskets Minnu memsaab brought along, he noticed a familiar jeep parked in the corner. Trilok-bhai’s sons must be home. He placed the huge baskets of fruit by the two ladies sitting out under the veranda’s fan. Neeta memsaab said, “Really Minnu, you shouldn’t do all this. I’m just happy that the twins are here. Your girls will be a good influence on Neha.”

  Minnu memsaab took a long sip of her cola, the ice clinking as she drank. “Don’t worry, Neeta, even Sunita Rampal of Fine Paper and Pulp—you know her—she said the other day what a good example Rimpy and Dimpy set for all the girls. I don’t know why you sent Neha away in the first place. With girls you need to keep them close and under tight control.”

  Neeta memsaab sighed, but Madan didn’t hear her reply as he walked to the car.

  After what seemed like hours, Madan checked his watch. Less than an hour had passed. He got up and stretched. It was quiet out front. The twins were so excited on their way here that they rushed into the house
on their arrival, as if Trilok-bhai’s daughter were a visiting pop star.

  Madan walked around to the kitchen. One of the servants poured him some tea. He stood there looking out at the endless fields, sipping slowly and methodically.

  “You’ve come from town?” asked the cook. He rolled and flipped chapattis on the tava, while on the stove several pots boiled and simmered.

  “My saab’s daughters have come to visit. I didn’t know Trilok-bhai had a daughter. I just found out,” he said.

  Scooping a handful of chopped onions, the cook threw them into the pot nearest to him. When the hissing and sizzling subsided, he said, “She used to go to school in Delhi, but it seems there was a problem.”

  They talked about common acquaintances in Gorapur and soon lunch was served, first to those inside and then to those waiting outside.

  Madan went back to the car after lunch. He was dozing off when a commotion snapped him awake. Everyone was outside and Rimpy and Dimpy were calling to him.

  Trilok-bhai’s sons came down the steps and shook Madan’s hand, acknowledging their association. The three older brothers, Rohan, Mohan and Sohan, appeared as a single unit. Something had keyed them up and Rimpy was eager to share.

  “Madan, we’re going to Maneswar Forest for hunting,” she said. “Wow, this will be so great.”

  “Nothing as delicious as deer pickle,” said Mohan, smacking his lips.

  “I want to ride in the jeep,” said Dimpy, and Sohan next to her grinned and swung his rifle onto his shoulder. She tossed her head back and giggled. Rohan was revving up the jeep. He backed up, turned it around and the other two brothers jumped in.

  Madan looked from one twin to the other, but thankfully Minnu memsaab came down to join them and said, “You girls ride with Madan if you want to go.”