Three Bargains: A Novel Page 13

  “But Mama!” said Rimpy. Minnu memsaab’s expression forbade any argument.

  Minnu memsaab went back up, smiling at Neeta. “The girls should ride with Madan,” she said. “That way they’ll have two cars if someone wants to come back. He’s Avtaar’s boy from the factory. We’ve had him since he was a child, very responsible. He’ll take care of them.”

  Neeta memsaab nodded in agreement. She poked her head into the doorway and shouted, “Neha!”

  It was like water had frozen to ice in his throat. He couldn’t breathe. Dimpy was saying something to him and he nodded, not listening to what she said, his eyes fixed on the door.

  She walked by the two women at the top of the steps, her navy backpack, with its red stripe like a slash of sindoor hanging at her side.

  “Have a good time, all you girls,” her mother said.

  “Sure, Ma.” Neha’s gaze fell on Madan and she smiled. “You again,” she said.

  He didn’t say anything, couldn’t. The twins were calling her to the car, “Let’s go,” and her brothers were shouting from their jeep to hurry up. One of the other servants placed bottled water, soft drinks and snacks in the car’s trunk, and before Madan knew it, he was in the driver’s seat, maneuvering out of the driveway, following the jeep and trying to keep from glancing to the rearview mirror.

  Maneswar was less than an hour away, but the narrow one-lane road slowed their progress to the lush forest.

  Rimpy leaned forward and asked Madan to insert a cassette into the player. Right away the twins were singing along, miming the words to a popular English song. Madan had had front-row seats to this show many times before.

  He stole a quick glance at Neha sitting between them. She was nodding to the beat, smiling and laughing with the twins. When Dimpy held out her fist like a microphone, Neha good-naturedly injected the main refrain from the song, belting out “faith” at the appropriate moment.

  When there was a lull in the music, Neha said, “So . . . Madan?”

  Madan nodded, and the twins quieted down, turning their attention to her.

  “Madan, I hear you work at the factory?”

  “Yes,” he said, happy she was talking to him, not stopping to wonder why she was asking the question.

  “So do you feel that it’s fair that you and your fellow workers do all the work, and yet it is Avtaar Uncle who reaps the ultimate benefit? Don’t you feel you should have the same rights as the man you serve, that you should get the same rewards?”

  “Huh?” said Rimpy. Madan himself nearly let go of the wheel to turn around in surprise, unsure if he’d heard her correctly.

  “Don’t worry,” she continued, not skipping a beat, “it may look like our country is losing its socialist leanings, but change is inevitable. Sooner or later the struggle for all of us will come to a head. How long can the moneyed few suck the blood from the hardworking majority? Karl Marx said, ‘The history of existing society is the history of class struggles.’ It will happen, Madan, sooner or later.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Neha?” Rimpy said. “This is why Trilok Uncle brought you back from Delhi, isn’t it? We heard you got mixed up in some political stuff, rallies and all that.”

  “I didn’t get mixed up, Rimpy. I saw the injustices that the upper classes perpetuate and I chose to take action. It was the Youth Communist Party,” she said.

  Madan was sure these were too many words for the twins to take in, but Neha wasn’t done yet.

  “More than ever there is a need to end the class differences in our country. The clear answer to this is the end of private property. The profit of labor should be shared by all, not limited to a handful.”

  “Madan is not like that,” said Dimpy, belatedly. “He works with Papa and he takes care of us. He’s been with us forever.”

  “What do you say, Madan?” Neha asked.

  There was much Madan wanted to say, and it had nothing to do with Karl Marx. For now he said, “I’m satisfied with my work and grateful to be working with Avtaar Singh saab.”

  “See?” said Rimpy. “And by the way, isn’t your father the owner of all these lands we just passed?”

  “Exactly!” said Dimpy, though she still looked like she had run into a glass door.

  “My father and your father are among those who will realize that no more can they live off the hard work of those less fortunate; they will all suffer the same fate.”

  “Okay, okay, enough,” said Dimpy, already looking exhausted. “We’re here.”

  The jeep in front honked and Madan turned to follow it off the road. They got to the border of the forest and parked in a clearing. In the distance, the roar of the Yamuna River echoed back at them.

  Madan opened the trunk to take out the picnic blanket, the drinks and snacks. The twins went over to the boys, squealing over the rifles and the ammunition lying around the jeep. Neha appeared at Madan’s side and helped unload the picnic from the car.

  Now that he had her to himself, for this moment at least, he felt the need to say something. She said something disagreeable about Avtaar Singh but he couldn’t remember what exactly, so he said, “I’ve never met anyone who has such strong beliefs . . . about communism, I mean.”

  She looked up at him in surprise. It was unusual. He was sure that when she spoke to any of the other workers, they gave her the same answer of being happy with their lot and left it at that.

  “Not in these parts,” she said, recovering quickly. “But it’ll change soon.”

  “I don’t know,” said Madan, catching himself. What was he doing, offering a rebuttal, when the last thing he wanted to do was disagree with her? But it was too late. She looked at him curiously.

  “I don’t know,” he said again. “You’re supposing that we’re all unhappy, but that’s not so. I’d rather work for someone, rise or fall on my own merit, than work for some bureaucrats who wouldn’t allow me to be my own boss one day, if I want to be.”

  He couldn’t tell from her expression whether she was offended or pleased, so he continued. “Besides, I know the full form of KGB and I don’t know if I want those sort of people in my country.”

  “Really?” Her smile was dazzling. “What is it?”

  “Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti,” he reeled off, thanks to all those spy novels he devoured.

  Her eyes opened wide. She laughed, the flecks of copper dancing with her delight.

  “What’s going on?” Her eldest brother, Rohan, came up to them and his gaze shifted from his sister to Madan. Neha at once looked somber and went to join the girls on the picnic blanket. Rohan gave Madan a probing look before joining her.

  They talked and bantered while they ate. Madan leaned against the car and waited, trying not to let his gaze linger on her. He shouldn’t have said anything. Why couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut instead of starting a conversation? He should have let it go. After all, who knew about these girls, what they might take offense to?

  “Ready?” The brothers shouldered their rifles once done with the picnic, and the twins twittered like baby birds.

  “This is so exciting,” said Rimpy.

  “Too much,” agreed Dimpy.

  “Okay, girls,” said Rohan. “Follow us quietly and obey whatever we say; hunting is serious business.”

  Neha made a derisive sound but the twins nodded, entranced.

  “Madan, you follow us,” ordered Sohan. “We’ll need help carrying back whatever we get.”

  He off-loaded the extra rounds of ammunition on Madan; they had enough to kill not only all the deer in the forest but all the fish in the river as well.

  They walked through groves of trees, the leaves crunching and stirring underfoot. The brothers stopped now and again, dramatically indicating that everyone should get down and be quiet, but it led to nothing.

  “This is stupid,” said Neha, and the twins shushed her. After a while, they missed one deer and had not done much else than walk in circles. They stopped to catch t
heir breath, and in that moment of silence they heard a distinct sound behind the bushes, not too far away.

  Again, one of the brothers flailed his arms around to tell them to remain quiet and watch. Rohan and Mohan raised their rifles and advanced slowly, separating as they approached so they could catch their quarry in the cross fire, whether it ran left or right.

  Though they all expected the shots, when they rang out, the twins shrieked. The forest shook and mynahs and parrots flew out into the cloudless sky. Everyone but Madan ran forward. He was in no mood to see some helpless creature taking its last breath. But suddenly a scream rent the air, and Madan, realizing it was one of the twins, ran forward too.

  First, he saw the trees right in front splattered and dripping with blood, and then, as everyone swarmed around, he saw a man lying prostrate on the ground, his legs bent at an odd angle.

  The whites of his open eyes still looked wet and slick with life, but he was not moving. Madan knelt down, checking the man’s pulse. He looked like one of those poor travelers along the river; all he had on was a faded cotton dhoti, wound around his lower half, covering him from stomach to knees. Madan looked around, and sure enough, a walking stick lay nearby. The man was probably resting here, perhaps awoken from his nap.

  The brothers were certainly good shots; they both got him, one from either side. Rohan kicked the corpse.

  “What are you doing? What are you doing?” Neha dropped down beside the body, pushing her brother away.

  “What? It’s just some old man,” said one of the brothers.

  “ ‘Just some old man’?” she lashed out.

  “Relax,” said Mohan. “These people are all over the area. That’s what you get for living in a place for animals—you get shot like one.”

  Madan felt a throbbing begin at the base of his skull, and he was glad Neha spoke; the sound of her voice calmed him down. “What’re you going to do about this?” she asked her brothers.

  “Calm down, sis,” said Rohan this time. “Madan will take care of it. He knows just what to do. Familiar territory, eh, Madan?”

  Madan wanted to strangle him as Neha’s eyes, filling with tears, shifted their gaze to Madan.

  “Are you going to call the police?” she asked, confused. She was cradling the man’s head in her hands now.

  Madan wished he could give her another answer, but the police wouldn’t want to be bothered with this and he knew, ultimately, Avtaar Singh would want him to clear this matter up quietly, with the least amount of fuss. It was his responsibility, more so as Avtaar Singh’s daughters were here, too. Remembering the twins, he looked for them. They were huddled together off to the side.

  “I’m sorry,” said Madan, and Neha gave a small cry as she understood more than what he was saying. “Can you take them back to the car?” He tilted his head toward the twins. “Will you be able to find the way?”

  Neha nodded. She laid the man’s head back on the carpet of leaves and went to the twins. They began to walk back to the car.

  “The river isn’t too far,” said Madan. He grasped the man under his shoulders and Sohan took the man’s feet. They headed in the direction of the roar of the river, while Rohan and Mohan hauled the rifles, following them to the Yamuna.

  Though it was quiet around the banks of the river, Madan placed the body down and went ahead to make sure no one was there. When he returned, they picked up the body again, moving to where the waves lapped the shore. On Madan’s cue, he and Sohan swung the body in a short arc, launching it far into the churning river. It didn’t take long. The currents were strong and hurried, and the body turned over and under in a matter of minutes.

  They walked back, the brothers talking and joking. “He’ll be grateful we put him in the Yamuna. A holy river, he’ll go straight to heaven,” they said.

  The twins were in the car, and the brothers waved to them and jumped in the jeep. “Straight home for dinner, I’m starving,” said Rohan.

  Neha was pacing outside the car. Madan approached gingerly, not sure what to expect. “You were kind to him,” she said. “He had that.” Madan didn’t say anything. He opened the car door for her. “We live by their rules,” she said, waving at the departing jeep, but Madan knew she also meant her father and Avtaar Singh. “That’s all I’m saying. We’re helpless.”

  The drive home was quiet. With the heat of the summer, the days were longer, but night appeared unexpectedly, like a hand blotting out the sun. With no streetlights on the country roads, Madan drove carefully, the halos from the headlights sweeping the darkened road and keeping them steadily on solid tar.

  “You know who is often seen in this area?” Neha’s voice came sudden and strong from the back.

  When no one answered, she said, “The truck drivers tell this story of a woman who waves them down for a ride. She’s beautiful, but when they pick her up, they discover she’s a churail, because her feet are turned around, her toes facing back. And once she lays her eyes on you, it’s too late. After, they are usually visited by terrible bad luck, terrible disease, floods in their village, the death of their child.”

  Dimpy shivered and they all glanced out. It was pitch-black on the other side of their windows, concealing behind its dark screen a woman with turned feet, her sari flapping in the wind as she waved them down.

  At the house, the jeep was already parked in the corner, and next to it the Contessa. Avtaar Singh was here. The twins rushed into the house, but Neha got out slowly. Madan came around to empty out the trunk and when he inserted the key he found Neha standing beside him.

  “What did you do?” she asked.

  “The river,” said Madan. “It’s the easiest way.” If the twins had asked, he would never have told them.

  She sighed and looked down at her shoes. “There was so much blood. Is there . . . is there always so much blood?”

  Her impression of him, whatever it was, had changed now. He refused to allow the realization to concern him—what did it matter?

  “Someone once told me, after my first . . . encounter . . . ‘Blood is so common, everyone has blood, so why cry over it when it’s spilled?’ ”

  She made a choked sound. But what else could he say to her? He had nothing else. She fidgeted as if struggling with a decision, and then, taking a deep breath, gave a small smile. It comforted him, coaxing a half smile out of him too.

  They heard the door creak as Avtaar Singh came out.

  “Everything okay?” Avtaar Singh asked as she passed by him.

  “Yes, Uncle. I was collecting my things.”

  Avtaar Singh walked up to Madan. “They told us what happened. Good you were there to take care of it. These boys cannot afford any more attention. There comes a time when even the police cannot turn a blind eye anymore. Anyway, Trilok-bhai will be in our debt now. Good, good.” He smoothed out his mustache.

  Always assessing the situation from all angles; tweaking it so he gained in the end. Madan concurred, relieved to be back with that familiar philosophy and with Avtaar Singh’s stalwart reasoning.

  “Remember, you have the day off tomorrow.” Avtaar Singh wagged his finger at Madan. “No excuses. I don’t want to see you,” he shouted from the doorway, following Neha into the house.

  CHAPTER 10

  IT WAS EARLY, THE SUN BUT A PROMISE IN THE HAZE, WHEN Madan got to the factory after his time off. A few of the overnight workers were stirring, but the giant machines, usually deafening with their clatter, were quiet. The familiar aroma—a cocktail of kerosene, smoke from nearby cooking fires and fresh wood shavings—made him want to embrace every bit of the factory.

  The night watchman, looking heavy-eyed, saluted as he walked by. Madan made a mental note to check on him some night in case he was sleeping on the job.

  “What are you doing here so early?” The car door slammed and Avtaar Singh emerged from the Contessa, Ganesh yawning in the front. Madan didn’t know what to say. He was worn out, seized by an excruciating restlessness that filled the space of h
is days. He could hardly sleep, and found trouble following any conversation. Thankfully, Avtaar Singh didn’t wait for an answer.

  “Let’s have tea,” Avtaar Singh said, heading straight for his office.

  Madan wanted to run up and hold him close, inhale that sophisticated cologne so out of place in these crude settings and have Avtaar Singh reassure him that nothing had changed, that it never would. Avtaar Singh always knew what to say.

  Madan sent the watchman to the dhaba down the street with a couple of rupees and the tall glass tumbler kept especially for Avtaar Singh’s tea, for while he enjoyed the foamy sweet dhaba tea, Avtaar Singh did not trust the cleanliness of the glasses the dhaba used.

  When the tea arrived, Madan placed it on Avtaar Singh’s desk, retrieving from the side console the box of Marie biscuits. He lit the incense stick under the portrait of Avtaar Singh’s father and then took his seat across from him.

  “So, what’re you doing here so early?” he asked again.

  “Nothing, saab. Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Some problem with collections? With the boys?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Hmm,” said Avtaar Singh, taking a sip. “I was thinking . . .” Avtaar Singh leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Madan waited.

  Avtaar Singh sighed and opened his eyes. “What was I saying?”

  “You were thinking of something, saab.”

  “Yes, yes. You know Rimpy, Dimpy. They want to go out of town for a while . . . Mussoorie or someplace like that.”

  Madan nodded. The twins had brought up the idea of a trip to Mussoorie with him as well, saying, “We want to go somewhere. Gorapur has nothing, only movies and buffaloes.” Madan had left the confines of Gorapur a few times when driving Avtaar Singh to nearby towns for work and once to Delhi, and it was never more than overnight. Leaving Gorapur always left him drained and on edge, impatient to return. He was happiest here, and never saw the sense or the reason for wanting to spend time in places with unfamiliar bends in the roads and people who did not know who you were.