Three Bargains: A Novel Read online

  After a few moments, he turned to Madan. “I can’t believe . . . I just . . . how can you?” His voice cracked and he fell silent.

  Jaggu took a deep breath. “You’ll need one sensible person in all this madness,” he said. “I’ve come this far. What would I do without you now? Where’s the fun in that?”

  Relief coursed through Madan and he hugged Jaggu.

  “I need a drink,” said Jaggu, still trembling.

  “What about Pandit Bansi Lal?”

  “Oh, one of the guests was going back in that direction and said they would take him. Avtaar Singh said he would see us later, in the factory.”

  They headed to the servants’ compound, filling a couple of plates with food. Madan’s grandfather was napping and they went inside the room, where it was cooler. Jaggu retrieved a bottle of homemade rum from his bag.

  They ate and drank, the story coming out between mouthfuls until it was time to go to the factory. “Why can’t anything be easy with you?” marveled Jaggu as they cleaned up.

  Outside, Madan’s grandfather awoke, mumbling to himself in his tangled sheets. “What’s all the excitement?”

  Madan helped him sit up and left the remainder of the rum bottle with his grandfather. It would keep him occupied while Swati and Ma were busy up front, and the old man would enjoy the treat.

  “Off again?” his grandfather muttered, more to the speckled pigeons perched regally on the outer wall than to Jaggu and Madan exiting the compound gate. “Who’ll be with me, ha? Who’ll be with me when Shiva does his tandava and the world splits in half? Fuckers.”

  The heat of summer finally scaled high enough to peak, and when it broke, the monsoons rolled over Gorapur. Everywhere umbrellas blossomed and then were whipped into the air by petulant winds. Except for the children who splashed in warm puddles, everyone stayed indoors. Drains overflowed and streets flooded, but for Madan the sheets of rain offered a watery shield behind which everything was possible.

  Within the first few weeks of college beginning for both of them, Neha called. Madan slipped out, reaching the back gate of her college as she was tugging it open. He had borrowed a motorcycle from Feroze and they drove off, the puddles and misty rain washing away their trails as they headed out to the canal, farther down from where he usually met up with Jaggu, away from the bridges crossing over churning waters and the buffaloes standing unblinking in its muddy streams.

  If the rains flooded the banks of the canal they headed to the high-walled back booths of Karim’s Kebab Palace on the west side of town, isolated and smoky and far removed from the rest of the world. And if they could manage a longer time, to a room at the Barking Deer Inn, a rotund complex, some distance from Gorapur on the highway to Sirsa.

  The future overshadowed all their conversations. There was hope and excitement when she talked about the places where they would go when they got away. Their lives would spin off into the unknown, but where they ended up would be far better than the provincial alleyways of Gorapur.

  She did not know the name of the town she had told him about, and had no luck locating it on any map or book available in Gorapur. But Madan had made some discreet inquiries. There was a place that matched her description. A two-day train journey and four hours on a bus would take them away from these rented rooms and remote hangouts.

  “I can teach art there,” Neha said, “or I can take a course. I hear education is free. I’ve always wanted to study philosophy. And I want to learn another language, maybe German or French. What about you?” she asked Madan, the roughened bed sheets of the Barking Deer Inn tangled in their legs. “What will you do?”

  To choose of his own will was a luxury he never thought would be his. To her amusement, he could not make up his mind. “I’ll decide when we get there,” he said.

  Jaggu covered for him on those days, taking notes in college and good-naturedly complaining that he did not sign up for all this studying. Madan cheered him up with jokes and trips to the cinema hall.

  With the change of seasons the rain clouds lightened and the temperatures gradually fell, the colder nights and clear, sparkling days a precursor to the oncoming winter.

  “You know what next week is?” Neha asked, tracing the outline of his hand with her fingers. The kitchen doors of Karim’s Kebab Palace swung open and a babble of voices poured out. A server walked by with a tray of paper-thin rumali rotis drooping off its edge. Madan waited till it quieted down again.

  “What?”

  “Karva Chauth. And I’m going to keep the fast . . . for you. For your long life.”

  “For me?” No one ever did anything just for him.

  “And the best part is that Rimpy and Dimpy are going to keep the fast as well. It was decided that we’ll come to their house on Karva Chauth evening. Since we can only eat after we see the moon and then the face of the person we’re fasting for, it worked out perfectly for me.”

  “They agreed to fasting all day?” He couldn’t imagine the twins not eating for a whole day.

  “The real credit goes to Pandit Bansi Lal. He said that even though Karva Chauth was a fast for married women, we girls should fast as well, to pray for good husbands. I said it was a great idea and he persuaded Rimpy and Dimpy. I don’t think they realize how hard it will be.”

  He shook his head in amazement. For once Pandit Bansi Lal was of use.

  Neha slid out of the booth, kissed him quickly and ran out, pausing at the drooping banyan tree by the road. On a circular cement platform built around the tree’s base was a statue of the goddess Devi Mata on her tiger, her numerous arms swinging in all directions. Smears of vermillion dotted Devi Mata’s forehead like bursts of fireworks, and offerings of coins, food and strings of marigolds lay by her feet. It was just like one of the many temples that sprouted unbidden under the trees around town.

  Neha joined her hands and bowed her head at the shrine before hopping onto his motorcycle. She beckoned Madan to her, the copper specks glinting in the afternoon sun.

  Where else was there to go? As Avtaar Singh would say when they played teen patti to pass the time: When all the cards have been dealt in your favor, there is no risk and all reward.

  “Madan, go look again. It must be out by now.”

  For the twins, keeping the fast was indeed much more of a hardship than they had anticipated. The moon, as it usually did on Karva Chauth, was hiding, refusing to show its face this one evening when everyone would worship him instead of the sun.

  Madan had already gone out a couple of times to see if the moon was visible from anywhere. “It’ll be out in half an hour. The newspaper said moonrise is eight o’clock,” he said.

  “Half an hour more,” Dimpy repeated, moaning and clutching her stomach.

  “That stupid Bansi Lal,” said Rimpy, hunger loosening her tongue.

  “Shh . . .” said Neha. She was sitting on the steps while the twins fidgeted next to her. “He’s just inside, he might hear you.”

  Everyone was inside. Trilok-bhai and Avtaar Singh returned early from work, as their wives would break their fasts after feeding their husbands. Pandit Bansi Lal, who could not pass up the opportunity of ingratiating himself with the two most important families in town, was lolling about on the sofa until called upon to bless everyone. Neha’s brothers had already eaten, refusing to wait for the women to break their fast.

  The twins went inside, and Neha stood, dusting her lehenga. All the women were dressed up, their finery akin to that of brides, in lehengas of gold and green, pink and maroon, tinkling bangles on their arms. Madan thought Neha never looked more beautiful.

  Half an hour later, as promised, he and Jaggu spotted the moon. The front door swung open and the twins came rushing out.

  “You saw it?”

  He nodded from the bottom of the steps and they shouted to everyone inside, “Come on! Come on!”

  Both families collected at the stop of the steps. “It’s over there,” Madan said to Avtaar Singh. “Behind the trees. If you
walk to the end of the driveway you can see it.”

  They proceeded onward. As Neha stepped down, she missed a step, stumbling, but Avtaar Singh caught her elbow, breaking her fall.

  “Let’s go quickly,” he said. “This girl needs to eat something.”

  Neha returned his kind smile. “Just a little light-headed, Uncle,” she said.

  “She’s looking so pale,” said Neeta memsaab, coming over to take Neha’s hand. “Not eating anything these days . . .”

  Neha kept her head down and walked past Madan. They returned quickly, the prayers rushed, as everyone was hungry. The group repeated their actions in reverse, going back up the steps, chatting. Rohan, Mohan and Sohan complimented Minnu memsaab on all the delicious food they had just enjoyed. Avtaar Singh hung back to tell Madan and Jaggu that they could go home. “I don’t think we need anything else,” he said. Suddenly someone shouted from the top of the steps.

  Everyone stopped. Those by the door turned around, and Avtaar Singh, Madan and Jaggu looked up. Neha leaned over the wall of the front veranda, her body heaving and shaking as if racked by spasms. She abruptly straightened, and then crumpled to the floor, while Rimpy looked over her helplessly.

  Rohan ran over, gathered Neha in his arms and carried her into the house. Food forgotten, everyone followed behind them. Madan and Jaggu stood in the driveway looking at each other.

  Avtaar Singh came out a minute later and threw the car keys at Madan. “Go and get Dr. Kidwai,” he said. Madan and Jaggu raced for the car.

  “Don’t worry, just not used to fasting,” Jaggu said. Madan nodded, his mind blank.

  When they returned with Dr. Kidwai, Trilok-bhai ushered the doctor to one of the rooms adjoining the drawing room. Neeta memsaab’s voice floated out before the doors shut. People littered the drawing room, every sofa and every chair occupied by someone. Pandit Bansi Lal recited prayers, encouraging Sohan sitting next to him to join in, but Sohan ignored him, keeping his eyes on Trilok-bhai. Madan and Jaggu waited by the open doorway.

  The twins were discussing with their mother if Durga could arrange two plates for them when there was a cry from the room. The doors opened and Neeta memsaab came out, Dr. Kidwai behind her.

  “What is it?” Trilok-bhai rose, his voice echoing in the room. Everyone’s attention fell on him. “What is it?” he said again to his wife, who hid her face in her dupatta, her shoulders heaving.

  “I’m very sorry.” Dr. Kidwai glanced from one family to the other. “Trilok-bhai, maybe we can talk—”

  “Speak,” said Trilok-bhai, firm and impatient.

  “It’s a delicate matter,” said Dr. Kidwai, “and I have to do a blood test to be sure . . .” He stopped, as if not sure if he should go on.

  “What?” said Rohan. “Speak,” he said, imitating his father.

  “Well,” said Dr. Kidwai, clearing his throat. “It seems that Neha is expecting . . . with child,” he clarified, his gaze tentatively sweeping the room.

  Trilok-bhai’s roar overpowered his wife’s strangled cry. “What are you talking about, Doctor?”

  “Like I said,” Dr. Kidwai wiped his brow. “It seems she’s about halfway along, but I can only be sure after I do my . . . tests.” His all-knowing doctor’s voice wavered.

  Madan heard Jaggu breathing behind him, and Trilok-bhai’s roar of disbelief. He heard the doctor’s words but his ears seemed packed with sawdust. He shook his head to clear them. Music floated in from somewhere, and from the kitchen came the sound of dishes being washed.

  Trilok-bhai barged into the bedroom, dragging Neha out by her arm. She tried to stand as her father hauled her into the drawing room. She stumbled, tripping on the long skirt of her lehenga. Trilok-bhai pulled her into the drawing room on her knees.

  “What is this?” he demanded. “Is it true?”

  “Please, Papa,” she said. Her eyes were red and swollen.

  Madan made a move toward her, but Jaggu’s hand shot out, stopping him. “You’ll make it worse,” he whispered.

  Trilok-bhai was shaking her now. “Is this true?” he demanded again. He turned around. “How could we not know?”

  “In these cases, when girls are so thin, first-time pregnancy can be hard to tell,” Dr. Kidwai offered.

  “Trilok-bhai,” Avtaar Singh said, composed as always, assessing, planning. He went to Neha, picking her up and seating her on the sofa. “Let’s think about this calmly, let’s talk to Neha and find out—”

  “Calm? Calm? You want me to be calm, Avtaar Singh? You wouldn’t say this if it was one of your girls. My reputation, the name of my family, will be dragged through the mud. How will we ever show our faces in Gorapur again? This girl has ruined us, ruined us.”

  “Now, now,” said Avtaar Singh, “we are friends here. No one has to know. Let’s look at this calmly,” he tried once more, but Trilok-bhai was shaking Neha again.

  “Who did this?” he said. “Who did this?”

  Neha hid her face in her hands, moaning and curling into herself, away from everyone’s questioning eyes.

  “It’s Madan.” Rimpy’s voice rang out. From far away, Madan thought he heard angels scream as they fell into the fires of hell.

  “Madan?” said Trilok-bhai. “Who is Madan?”

  “Him,” said Rimpy, pointing to the doorway. “There’s been something going on. Now it makes sense . . . it’s him. I know it.” She turned to Avtaar Singh. “It’s him, Papa, it’s him!”

  Dimpy said, “No, Rimpy,” but it was so soft they barely heard her.

  Neha gave a choked cry and ran back toward the bedroom. Trilok-bhai caught her by her hair and pulled. She collapsed on the brightly patterned carpet, her sobs revealing the truth to everyone. In the corner chair, Pandit Bansi Lal perked up, his beady eyes surveying the room.

  Madan looked down at this feet; he could not feel them. When he looked up, Avtaar Singh’s gaze was on him.

  “Is this true?” Avtaar Singh asked.

  Before Madan could answer, Mohan punched him, and he reeled back as his mouth filled with blood. It took two more punches before Jaggu managed to get Mohan off.

  “Stop,” said Avtaar Singh, before the other brothers made a move.

  “A fucking servant. The bastard, I’m going to kill him,” said Rohan.

  “Stop,” said Avtaar Singh. Even now he had the power to make people listen. “Take him back to the quarters,” he ordered Jaggu.

  “Saab,” Madan said. “You are my father. I would do anything for you. Please, whatever you do, don’t turn away from me.”

  Avtaar Singh watched, silent and unmoving, as a patch of red soaked the front of Madan’s shirt. Madan struggled as Jaggu dragged him away. And Avtaar Singh turned his back, shutting the door.

  When Swati saw Madan and Jaggu entering the room, she dropped her sewing needle and rushed up to them.

  “Wet some towels, we need to clean him up,” said Jaggu. She ran out to the water pump.

  “This face is not going to look as handsome tomorrow,” said Jaggu, after he and Swati mopped up most of the blood and applied iodine to Madan’s split lip and the gash on his head.

  The door swung open, banging against the wall.

  “What have you done? What have you done?” His mother fell on him, shaking his shoulders and screeching like someone had twisted a knife in her stomach.

  Jaggu pulled her away. “It’s not all his fault, Mata-ji. It’s not just him.”

  She turned on Jaggu. “It’s always the man,” she spat out. “Does he even think of his mother? His . . . his . . .”—she reached out, pulling a crying Swati to her—“his sister? He has ruined everything. What are we going to do now? All my hard work—”

  She collapsed on the floor, holding her head, stuffing the end of her sari into her mouth to stop from screaming.

  “What happened at the house?” Jaggu asked

  “Memsaab came to the kitchen and spoke to me,” she cried, tears running down to her neck. “I knew this day would come.” She
shrieked, throwing her hands in the air.

  Through his partial vision, Madan watched his mother cry and pound the floor. A bone-deep disgust and rage overtook him. He thought of Neha crumpled on the floor, and Avtaar Singh, and now his mother.

  “Shut up,” he said to his mother. “Shut up with your crying.”

  “You’ve left me with nothing but tears,” she screamed.

  Outside his grandfather asked, “What’s going on? Will someone tell me what’s going on?”

  Except for Swati and his grandfather, no one slept that night. In the early hours, Jaggu went to get some tea and said he would find out what was going on. “It’s too quiet.”

  Madan barely heard him. He was trying to work out a way to see Neha. If he could see her, if they could talk, he could tell her he was not going to give her up; together they could make everyone see sense.

  The vegetable seller’s cart trundled outside and the world stirred. Soon Bahadur came around. “Memsaab wants to see you, Durga,” he said. She left, without looking at Madan.

  Jaggu came running in right after. “You’ve got to get out,” he said.

  “What?” said Madan.

  “You’ve got to get out, they’re coming for you.”

  “Who?”

  “Feroze, Gopal, all of them. They’re headed here.”

  “It can’t be,” said Madan. Had not promises been made? “I have to go to him.”

  “It’s too late. I know it’s too much for you to believe now,” said Jaggu. “But he’s washed his hands of you. He can’t overlook this; he can’t let you go without suffering any consequences. There’s nothing you can say to him.”

  Madan wasn’t listening. “If the men are on their way here, then no one is there,” he said.

  He ran out, Jaggu following him, arriving at the factory as the morning’s work began. Startled workers looked up as they ran past, into Avtaar Singh’s office.

  “Saab,” Madan said. The door shut behind them. Avtaar Singh didn’t look perturbed. His foamy tea rippled in the tall tumbler in front of him. The incense under the photo of his father perfumed the room.

  “Did you know about this?” Avtaar Singh spoke directly to Jaggu.