Geeta frowned, mildly offended. “Did you tell Farah?”
“No, she still refuses to get involved. It’s fine; we don’t need her. I know we said we’d wait until after the distraction of Diwali, but I just realized: use the distraction! Most of the town will be at my party. Firecrackers will be going on all night. It’s the perfect time to strike.”
“Won’t Ramesh also be at your party?”
“Yes, that’s why I was looking for you. At the party, you need to send him back to your place for something you forgot. I’ll be waiting there—”
“Wait, but if you’re not at your own party, people will notice.”
“Nah, there’s so much work, I’m never at the party. Saurabh floats around and people just think they see us both.”
“Really?”
Saloni’s pointed look was softened by her smile. “You would know, if you ever came.”
“I didn’t think you wanted me there.”
“I did and I didn’t. I don’t know. Hard to explain, and no time anyhow. Anyway, it’s the perfect alibi for me. I’m usually so busy coordinating that I barely eat, much less mingle. You, on the other hand, have to make yourself seen by everyone, got it? Shit, that reminds me, I have to pick up the kaju katli—argh! There’s never enough time!”
“Saloni. If this party is so stressful, why do it?”
Saloni cocked her head, mouth parted in wonder. “Huh,” she finally said. “It never occurred to me to not do it.” She shrugged. “Where’re you off to?”
Geeta held up the milk container and Saloni nodded. “Tell Meenaben I say hi.”
“Who?”
Saloni pointed to the empty vessel. “The woman who sold you that.”
When Geeta relayed the message at the Rabari’s camp, Meena’s lined face broke into a smile at the mention of Saloni. “She convinced the panchayat to agree to a better barter this year.”
“She can be very persuasive.” Geeta handed Meena the container.
“And she pays attention. I like that. I asked around about your Lakha, by the way.”
“Oh?”
“She’s from Kutch, correct? She and her family had plans to meet last Diwali, but she never showed. They couldn’t get a hold of her after that.”
Geeta’s laugh was incredulous. “How did you find all this out so quickly?”
Meena waggled a Nokia mobile phone, her white bangles clacking.
“I can talk to her if that’d help? Next time I’m in Kohra, I mean.” Geeta wasn’t exactly sure how she’d manage it, but she’d concoct a plan, perhaps loiter around Bada-Bhai’s house until Lakha left for an errand. “Or I can get you her address. My friend Karem knows where she’s staying.”
Meena thought for a moment before saying, “Take my number, Geetaben. If she wants to see her family, we can help.”
“Sure, I— Hey, how do you know my name?”
Meena’s smile widened. “I pay attention, too.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Farah’s “art,” which even Geeta begrudgingly conceded was stunning, was showcased throughout Saloni’s New Year’s party. Nearly every woman in attendance swirled in a new sari or lengha stitched by Farah’s now-swollen hands. The neon trend had filtered in from the cities, and the women were swathed in glowing, fluorescent patches. Embroidered sequins and beads winked as guests circulated from Saloni’s sitting room to her porch. The designer herself, however, was half asleep, propped in a corner next to a Styrofoam plate piled with untouched snacks. All of Farah’s fingers were wrapped in white tape. She slumped on a wicker stool shaped like an hourglass, her head leaning against the wall. Unlike her vibrant art, she looked like death.
“Hey,” Geeta said. “You look like death.”
Farah blinked, too weary for a row. “I’d take dead over how I feel.”
“Why don’t you go home and rest?”
“No,” she said drowsily, arcing a bandaged hand around the party. “I want to see my creations.”
“Good god,” Geeta muttered. Pinching two fingers, she extracted a hunk of Farah’s hair from her lassi cup.
“Oh,” Farah said with little interest. “Whoops. By the way, I’m glad you’re not leaving the loan group. Samir was just like Ramesh, you know, he didn’t want me to join either.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I think he was scared. We’re pretty much the only Muslims here and he didn’t think we belonged. And I think he wanted me to be scared, too. So I’d stay home. So my world wouldn’t get any bigger.”
“What made him change his mind?”
“Booze was more important than fear, I guess. Turns out, he didn’t need to worry. It’s not like my world got any bigger with our loan group anyhow.”
Geeta nodded her sympathy. “They didn’t like me either.”
Despite her state, Farah’s snort of disagreement was energetic. “It’s totally different. You and Saloni had your thing—whatever it was—and the group revolved around your bickering. At least you were seen. Hated, but seen. I was just invisible.”
This measure of honesty was, Geeta assumed, owed to Farah’s exhaustion. Or perhaps the recent intervention at Geeta’s home had diluted their acrimony. “Is that why you blackmailed me?”
She shrugged. “If I was gonna be excluded, I might as well profit.”
Because then it turned circumstance into choice. Geeta knew a thing or two about recharacterizing events through the lens of pride. She asked Farah, “Have you talked to Saloni recently?”
“No, and I don’t want to know any details. But I promise not to tell anyone. Afterward, I mean.”
“Thanks.” Geeta was about to leave her, but she paused. Bending, she established eye contact with Farah, whose lids were ponderous. “You’ll remember this, right?”
“Remember what?”
“Seeing me here. That we talked. At”—Geeta checked the wall—“eight-thirty.”
“Yeah,” Farah yawned. “Got it.”
Though the night was cool—Geeta had walked here in a shawl she’d since misplaced—there were enough guests to warm the air. All the doors of Saloni’s home were propped wide open. Saurabh was dewy with the intoxication of being a successful host and, Geeta guessed, a few nips of the imported stuff. She’d given him a robust greeting and casually referenced seeing his wife working hard in the kitchen.
When Preity and some of the men had begun playing cards, Geeta sent Ramesh back home under the guise of coitus. It was more difficult than she’d anticipated to conjure a faux but feasible task for a blind man. First, she’d asked him to refill Bandit’s water bowl. Wouldn’t it be faster if you went? he’d not unreasonably asked. So she’d suggested meeting him there for an—ahem—private celebration. And off he scampered with his cane. Often the promise of sex was far more potent than intercourse itself.
Since he’d traipsed off on his fool’s errand, Geeta occupied herself with mingling as per Saloni’s instructions. She’d joined and lost a few rounds of teen patti. Now, upon leaving the somnolent Farah, she wandered near a snack table, searching for fresh guests to engage. Diya lamps and flowers decorated various plates of sweets. She pretended to survey them before wandering near the pani puri station, where Karem touched her elbow. He wore a black kurta and had shaved, which made him look younger despite the grey shot through his hair. “Geeta, can I speak with you?”