Mohan nodded. “Yes.”
“And we didn’t accomplish anything at the police station.”
“I know.”
“Is it okay to sleep with you tonight?” Smita said. She tensed, waiting to regret her words, thinking she would be angry at herself for how blithely she had cast away her earlier resolution.
But Mohan was already pulling her toward him. “It’s the only thing that’s gotten me through this day.”
All through the next day, Smita worked on her article while Mohan made phone calls. First, he phoned a lawyer friend in Surat to find out what papers they needed for Ammi to give up her rights to Abru. The woman promised to courier the appropriate documents immediately. Next, he called Ammi’s employer to gauge her interest in hiring Ammi as a live-in maid. The woman said she needed to check with her husband. While Mohan awaited her reply, he phoned several of his relatives to ask if they were looking for an elderly servant.
Ultimately, he determined that Ammi was best off with her current bai. It turned out the employer lived so far away from Vithalgaon, poor Ammi took two buses to and from her job each day—which meant there was no threat to her safety. Ammi herself was pleased with this solution. With the matter decided, she seemed anxious to start her new life. Smita and Mohan went to the market in the evening and bought Ammi a small suitcase, six saris, and some toiletries. That night, Ammi signed the custody papers and gave her granddaughter a perfunctory hug, as if the parting was to last a few hours instead of a lifetime.
Abru was tottering around the back garden, gleefully pulling at the leaves and flowers. Smita watched her from the patio as she sipped her morning tea and waited for Mohan to return. He had woken up early to drive Ammi to her new home, putting Abru next to Smita in bed before leaving. Smita had not seen them off, having said her goodbyes to Ammi the night before.
Abru looked up sharply at the sky, and Smita’s hair stood on end. Had the child felt her dead mother’s presence? It was so hard to know what Abru understood and what she remembered. But then, Abru went back to pulling on the petals of a white flower, and Smita relaxed. After a few minutes, Abru came up to her. Smita could see that she was tired. Since crying for her mother during the ride back to Surat two nights before, Abru had lapsed into silence again. But Smita marveled at how much she was able to communicate without words.
She picked up the girl. “Do you want something to eat?” she asked, and Abru shook her head no. “Okay,” she said, carrying her back to the bed. They lay on their sides, staring into each other’s eyes, a trickle of affection stirring in Smita’s breast. She stroked the child’s hair. Within minutes, Abru’s eyelids fluttered, and she drifted off to sleep.
Smita fell asleep, too. She woke up when she heard Mohan’s car and then hurried to the door. Mohan walked in, looking exhausted. “How’d it go?” she asked.
He lifted an index finger, signaling her to hold her questions for a minute, and went into the kitchen to get a tall glass of ice water. Carrying the glass into the living room, he sat next to her. “It’s bloody hot outside,” he said. He looked around. “Where’s Abru?”
“Napping.” Smita said, then frowned. “Is this normal? She sleeps a lot.”
“I think so. She’s so little. Just a baby.”
“And so terribly undernourished.”
“That will change—now that we have her. Don’t worry. She will be fine.”
“Don’t you think it was odd,” Smita asked, “how Ammi just gave her a quick hug goodbye last night? As if she has no feelings for her own grandchild.”
Mohan was silent for several minutes. “We talked on the way to her bai’s house,” he said. “She asked me to adopt Abru.”
“Ha,” Smita said. “That’s rich.”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“What?” Smita said, startled.
He shrugged. “Why not? I’m not going to place her in a children’s home. Do you have any idea what orphanages are like here? What happens to the children?”
“But how? You have a job and—”
“Most people with children work for a living, Smita.”
She heard the reprimand in his voice, and it made her bristle. “You know, Meena asked me to take care of her. Me.”
“Well, Meena assumed we were married. But okay. If you want Abru, you take her. She’ll be safe with you.”
Mohan’s tone was reasonable, placid, but Smita detected a hint of impatience in his voice. She looked down at her hands, her nose turning red. “Are you mad at me?” she asked at last.