A month after he started at the factory, Abdul began to time his lunch break five minutes after Radha and I would start ours. He’d sit under a nearby tree and unwrap two small bananas and a roti from a big red kerchief. Every day, he ate the same food. It used to hurt my eyes to see him eat the same lunch day after day. I could sense him stealing quick looks at me, but I was careful never to draw Radha’s attention to him. Radha had a temper; there was no telling what she would say or do. Even at home, Radha had begun acting like she was the man of the house. Once, I even heard her order Arvind to polish her sandals if he wanted money for his daru. So I made sure to sit in a manner that blocked Radha from seeing Abdul looking at me while he ate. But even without a single word spoken, something began to grow between Abdul and me. When Radha and I would walk home after our shift, he would follow us at a distance. If Radha turned around, Abdul would quickly bend to tie his shoelaces or begin talking to some of the other workers who were also making their way home. About halfway from Vithalgaon, he would turn left and disappear down a side road. That was how I learned the direction to his village.
When the monsoons came, Radha took ill with typhoid fever. I wanted to stay home to take care of her, but she begged me to go to work. She was afraid that the foreman would fire us if we both were no-shows. And we needed my wages to pay for her medicine and the new house.
Because it was raining so hard, the foreman shut all the windows, and even with the ceiling fans running, the tin roof made the room as hot as a furnace. One day, the heat was so terrible I made two mistakes in one morning. I was so upset, I decided to go outdoors for lunch, rain or no rain. Luckily, the sun was out, even though the ground was still wet. But two minutes after I began to eat, Abdul appeared, standing under his own tree. And because there was no one else present on this day, he raised his hand and called out, “Salaam!” I made no reply, shocked at the liberty he had taken with me. If any of the Hindu workers heard his insult to me, they would break his legs. I thought about not finishing my lunch and going back inside, but just then, I heard the song of a koel—and the music the bird made was so beautiful that I decided to turn my back on Abdul and stay where I was.
I was almost finished with lunch when I heard a soft “Excuse me?” Startled, I turned around and there he was, standing next to me, looking as nervous as I felt, his eyes darting this way and that to make sure no one had seen us. “My brother just got back from Ratnagiri,” he said in a rush. “And he brought back some mangoes. I thought of you—and your sister.” His hand trembled as he held out two beautiful golden mangoes. Of course I could not accept them. If my hand were to accidentally touch the hand of a Muslim, God would surely chop it off before the end of the day.
“Please, ji,” he begged. “I carried them all the way here for you.”
I looked away, pulling the dupatta that covered my hair even more tightly to hide half of my face. What a risk he had taken. I was a respectable woman. Maybe Abdul had heard the rumors about Radha and me, how nobody in our village would speak to us, how Rupal had convinced them all that we were fallen women. Tears came in my eyes. Like the stink of a rotten fish, the odor of our reputations had followed us here. That could be the only reason why this boy had taken such a liberty with me. “You please go,” I said. “Before anybody sees or I tell the boss. The Hindu brothers in here will give you a proper thrashing if you don’t leave.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I meant no insult.” I heard him begin to walk away across the dusty compound, but I kept my head turned.
I waited until I was sure he had entered the factory, not wanting even his shadow to fall on me. Finally, I turned around. Abdul had left the two mangoes sitting on his red kerchief on the ground. For me. As a gift for me.
I looked around. There was no one else there. My fifteen minutes were already up. I knew I should leave the fruit on the ground. But then I remembered how his hand had trembled as he held them out. Quickly, I picked up the mangoes and shoved them inside my tiffin carrier. I knew that shutting the lid would flatten them, but what to do? Next, I picked up his kerchief, balled it up, and shoved it inside the pocket of my tunic. But just before I did this, I held it up to my nose, even as I prayed to God to forgive me for this blasphemy. I was hoping it would smell like him, but instead, it carried the faint scent of the mangoes.
When I got back inside, Abdul was already at his station. He looked up anxiously to catch my eye, then immediately looked back down. A secret passed between us, like a summer breeze. As I walked past him, I removed the handkerchief from my pocket and dropped it. I was so nervous, I thought I would faint. In my whole life, I had never acted this way with a man. What if someone saw? But we were paid by the number of items we stitched in a day, so everybody’s eyes were on the job in front of them. No one saw. After I sat down at my machine, Abdul casually leaned toward the floor and picked up the kerchief, dabbing his neck before putting it in his pocket.