When I woke it was evening. The sun was setting, the birds outside were in full song. I was groggy. A sweet lady was bringing me a bowl of khichdi. I asked the woman where I was, but she didn’t say. When she left, I heard her lock the door from outside. So I was a prisoner. I didn’t try to escape. Chandra came back just before dark. It took him a moment to get into character. He must have caught that look in my eyes. He crossed his legs and smoothed his thighs with his palms. He said: You want to confess, I know. You want to go to the police and tell them everything. I didn’t agree or disagree. But what will you tell them? What will you actually say? And who will believe you? It had already come down to a question of belief. I asked where Sunny was. “Sunny? He’s on a business trip in Singapore. He has been for the last three days.” I saw where this was going. Gautam? “Mr. Rathore,” he replied, “is far away.” Ajay? He just smiled and shook his head. “Mr. Rathore’s driver is in jail.”
The light outside was almost gone, someone was turning lamps on around the garden, lighting dhoop. “And you’re driving back from Amritsar. You’ll be home soon.” He half stood and turned on the bedside lamp. It cast a deep shadow on his face. I asked him what’s going to happen to me? He said, what do you want to happen? I didn’t know what to say. I really didn’t know. So he told me. It’s time for you to leave, Neda. That’s what you always wanted. You wanted to go and study and live abroad. I said yes, I’m going to Japan. He said why? You can go anywhere now. He told me I’d been dragged into a situation not of my making, which I didn’t fully understand, and it could easily destroy me and my family. Or I could go anywhere. Anywhere at all. I would be given money, an apartment, my tuition would be paid for, the visas would be arranged. I could have a new life now. A happy life. How does that sound? Does that sound reasonable? I was so very tired. Does that sound like something you’d want to do? He handed me a handkerchief from his pocket for my tears. Does it? Neda, dear, does it sound reasonable? He was all kindness. He said all I had to do was forget this night, forget Sunny, forget the last year of my life, never speak about that night, never contact Sunny again. Wipe my slate clean. I was tired. I said yes . . .
I said London, that’s where I want to be. I still don’t know why. I don’t know anything anymore. I never did, but at least I could lie to myself, say something good was coming. Now. No. I’m hurt. The hurt won’t go. But what’s my hurt to those lives? Dean, what’s my hurt to the truth? What did Sunny do and why? That’s the question I’ve gone over a thousand times. Every night before I sleep and I don’t sleep until dawn. Why did he save Gautam? He made a decision on the road to save Gautam’s life, to sacrifice Ajay and me and himself in order to keep Gautam safe. Why? If he’d left Gautam to his fate, if he’d called the police, the ambulance, if he’d just driven off, he would have been free. He would have had his solution. Whatever Gautam claimed would be void. He’d have solved the unsolvable problem of his life. He could have left his father, he could have been with me, he could have not been with me. It was his father all along. I didn’t understand it before, even when he spoke about it, even when his father pushed him down into the darkness. It was his father from the start. He was the only thing he cared about. The clues were there. He said it to Gautam in front of me: I can’t prove myself to him. He couldn’t find the code, the combination, to unlock his father’s heart. And finally, by chance, by brute luck, there it was before him in the road. Gautam’s prone body. Sunny could display the ruthlessness he had lacked, which he found inexpressible through design. He could throw away all those things he loved in order to save the life of someone who meant nothing but a measure of profit to his father, and in doing so he could secure what had eluded him for so long. I wouldn’t ever call it love. I don’t know what it is. I didn’t think about this at the time. I can’t remember what I thought. I wanted to get away from the pain. I wanted to take the chance to escape.
It went so quickly after that. I had agreed, and everything was arranged, and I barely remember any of it. I was awarded a fake scholarship. I had the letter sent to me. Who knows, maybe the scholarship was even real. I opened the letter and I cried. My parents thought it was joy. They were overjoyed, they comforted me, and I fled to my room. I packed my bags and very soon after I left. Somewhere along the way they knew everything was wrong. I don’t remember half of it. What I know is this: a month later, I discovered I was pregnant with Sunny’s child. You must feel such revulsion. I was in London then. Chandra met me every few days, took me out to an expensive restaurant. He called me his niece to waiters, it was his joke. It was the seventh or eighth meeting. I started to cry, I’d just taken the test that morning. Taken it three times to be sure. It was only Sunny’s, no one else’s. Chandra tried to coax words from me. I confessed; though I wanted to keep it from him, how could I, they knew everything in the end. He wasn’t laughing. He was very serious. Tell Sunny, I said. Tell him. At least tell him, tell me what he says. I wanted to keep it if he did. I was still . . . He came back to me the next day. He was very sympathetic. He said, Sunny says it’s not his. He doesn’t want anything to do with it. And if you keep it, he’ll take all of this away . . .