“Okay,” Saloni said after reading her watch. “Last one, Preity. She’s already bleeding.”
“I dunno! For Pihu, maybe? Ow!”
Priya ducked, protecting her face; Preity improvised deftly, grabbing a small slice of available flesh under Priya’s arm and twisting hard. Priya yowled.
“Shh!” Saloni said. “The kids!”
“Bahut ho gaya,” Geeta said. And to think, she’d once mourned her lack of siblings. “Enough. Last one.”
Saloni turned to Geeta while the twins combatted, sari pallus fluttering this way and that. “I mean,” Saloni said, “she did lie, take the earrings and, you know, mix her name with dirt and all.”
“Ugh! It all makes sense now! Mummy gave me the silent treatment for months, and I thought it was because my exam marks were low! Plus, she had all those ‘no one marries dheeli girls’ talks with me. God! You randi!”
“Really, this time. Last one, Preity!” Saloni said. When Preity ignored them, Saloni and Geeta intervened. Geeta guided the bleeding twin away while Saloni soothed Preity. “I know, I know, you didn’t even like the Sikh boy. If it makes you feel better, everyone knew it was really Priya who was dheeli. Always has been.”
Preity fumed. “I loved those earrings! And my mother!”
Priya was crying. Geeta tried to pry her hands away to assess whether the damage was convincing. She shushed Priya, instructing her to save something for her husband’s return. The four women convened near the foot of the bed. From her vantage point, Geeta could see the statue behind Saloni. She closed her eyes and saw Darshan’s sneering face, his hands on her as though he not only owned her but was extending her a favor. I know how you widows have needs. Her eyelids sprang open as realization washed down her spine. Her rage and adrenaline drained, leaving her weary. All this, she now knew, had been for nothing. She was in a worse soup than before.
“Remember: Geeta and I left right after Zubin did. Preity, go to the kids. Priya, go to your room and wait for Zubin. Everyone set?”
The women nodded. Saloni continued for Geeta’s benefit, “After things quiet down with the police, we’ll find Ramesh.”
Geeta exhaled. Her eyelids felt heavy. “No, no we won’t.”
“I don’t follow.”
“We can’t find him because they don’t know where he is.” Geeta looked at Preity, who suddenly found the floor fascinating. “Do you?”
Preity shook her head without looking up.
“Still not following.”
“He called me a widow,” said Geeta, pointing to Darshan’s body. “When he attacked me, he thought I was a widow. Which means you never saw Ramesh.”
Preity’s face scrunched in guilt. “I needed your help,” she said quietly. “When Saloni mentioned…I thought it was my chance.”
“You won’t tell, will you?” Priya whispered. “About Darshan?”
“How can I? I killed him. We’re all trapped in the same net.”
NINETEEN
“I didn’t know,” Saloni said as they left the twins’ house for Karem’s store. Just then, another power cut darkened the rows of homes on either side of them. The moonlight was strong and Geeta saw Saloni pinching her throat in a promise. “I swear, I didn’t know.”
“I believe you.”
“Geeta, really, seriously. I didn’t—”
“I said I believe you and I do.”
“You know, maybe it’s actually better that we can’t find Ramesh.”
“How so?”
“Because we’ve been on the defense when we should be increasing our offense instead. If we keep allowing Farah to believe that you killed Ramesh, then at least she thinks she’s dealing with an actual killer. If you threaten her—convincingly, mind you—she’ll back off.”
“I’m not threatening Farah. She’s a killer, too.” Geeta shrugged, resigned. While the events in the twins’ house seemed to whirl by, now time was molasses; she felt as though she were watching a film slowed by half. “Whatever happens now, happens. What good is proving my innocence with the Ramesh tamasha, when I have nine other sins tied to my neck?”
“What are you babbling about?”
But Geeta wasn’t babbling. Odd calm shrouded her. “I’ve killed not one but two men. If I land in jail, I can’t say I don’t deserve it.”
Saloni stopped in the road. “Listen to me. Darshan killed himself. No, listen to me. I’m serious. Sure, you’re not supposed to kill, but you’re not supposed to rape either, okay? He broke the contract first. Gandhiji had it wrong about some things. When someone threatens your body, you have every right to protect yourself. Satyagraha or passive resistance or whatever may be fine for freedom and salt marches, but not when someone’s trying to rape you. You don’t have to love the assholes oppressing you, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“Why aren’t we ever the oppressing assholes? Why is everything a reaction for us?”
“Because,” Saloni said. “Women were built to endure the rules men make.”
“But don’t we get to make choices, too?”
“You did, with Darshan. And you’re going to stand up for yourself with Farah, you hear me? You’re going to tell her that if she doesn’t get in line, she’ll go the same way as Ramesh and Samir, and who will feed her rude children then?”
“I just want this to be over.”
“Soon. You gotta meet crazy with crazy. ‘People like that don’t understand words, only kicks.’？” They were outside Karem’s store. “Ready?”
“Geeta!” Karem smiled, only catching himself when he saw Saloni, who observed him with shrewd interest. “Saloniben.” He coughed. “How’re you?”
“Fine, fine. We’d like some desi daru. The good stuff.”
Karem’s brow rose. “A kitty party, eh?”
“No, no.” Saloni laughed. “We’ll be giving it to the men.”
Karem nodded. He presented two of the same glass bottles Geeta had seen when she bought tharra for Samir. Saloni asked him to add it to her husband’s tab. Karem obliged, marking a note in his ledger. “I’m still waiting for that ‘vine,’ Karembhai.”
He grinned. “Oi madam, how will I keep it from spoiling? Not all of us have fridges.” He winked at Geeta, who immediately looked away. None of it escaped Saloni; Geeta knew this as surely as she knew her own name.
“How are you, Geetaben?”
“I am well.” It was so stilted it was suspicious. She tried to fix it with a “Thank you,” which was, of course, even more formal. Saloni’s smile was wider than India. She put the bottles in her jute bag with a telltale tinkle.
“Oh my god,” Saloni said as they left. “You like Karem.”
“What! No—I—that’s madness. I do not.”
“Yes, you do!” Saloni bumped her shoulder into Geeta’s. “You like-like him! You’re blushing!”
Geeta batted Saloni away. “I am not. I can’t blush. I’m brown. And you’re inappropriate.”