As Ammi keened and beat her breast, Smita suspected that the theatrics were for their benefit and was reluctant to console her. Mohan, too, stood rooted in place, as if he was trying to figure out what to say or do, while Meena sat on the rope cot, staring down at her feet.
There was a sound, soft at first and then louder. Smita looked at Mohan, puzzled, then looked down. Abru, who was still holding Mohan’s hand, was making a funny noise, moving her tongue rapidly against her upper lip, and it took Smita a moment to realize that she was imitating Ammi’s keening. She fought to keep down her startled laughter but burst out laughing anyway. Ammi ceased her commotion abruptly. In that sudden silence, they all listened to the child and the half octave of sounds she was making. As it dawned on Ammi that she was being mocked, she rushed toward the girl, who turned and hid behind Mohan’s legs. “Oi, Ammi,” Mohan said in his most appeasing tone. “Let it go, yaar. The poor child is just having some fun.”
Even though Mohan’s tone was light, Ammi immediately lowered her hand. India, Smita thought, even as she was grateful to Mohan for his intervention. A country where a man of Mohan’s stature could prompt immediate deference from a woman twice his age. She hated thinking of what Ammi might say or do to Abru once they left.
There was no way to resume her conversation with Meena. “I’ll see you next week, okay?” she said gently. “After the verdict comes? We’ll need to talk then.”
Meena’s face was unreadable. “As you wish.”
“Listen,” Smita said quietly, “this is going to be behind you, soon. Once your brothers are sentenced, you’ll be able to . . . to make a fresh start.”
Meena looked at her with a strange smile on her face. “What good will that do, Didi? Will it bring my Abdul back? Will it give me the use of my left hand? Or give me back my looks?”
“But you filed . . .”
Meena shook her head. “I told you. I pursued this case for her sake.” She pointed to Abru.
Smita felt Mohan’s presence by her side. “Chalo, ji,” he said to Meena. “We will take your leave. But our prayers are with you.”
Meena rose immediately from the cot. She covered her head with her sari, then bowed her head and folded her hands. “God’s blessings to you, seth,” she said. “May He bless you with ten sons.”
Mohan laughed. “Arre, Meena ji, be careful with your prayers. I will have to work ten jobs to feed ten sons.”
Meena kept her gaze toward the ground, but Smita could see her smile.
“As-salamu alaikum, Ammi,” Smita said, as they walked past the old woman.
Ammi looked startled. “Wa alaikum assalaam, beti,” the old woman replied. “Be well.”
“Hats off to you, yaar,” Mohan said after they got in the car. “Where did you learn that Muslim greeting? I loved how casually you said it, too. Like it rolled off your tongue.”
Smita shrugged. “Don’t forget, I lived in this country for fourteen years.”
“I know. But that was a long time ago, dost.”
“True,” she said.
“Hey. How come your family left India when you were a teenager?”
“I told you,” she said. “My father got a job in America.”
“It’s an odd age to move, right?”
She shrugged. “I was happy to go.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why? Who doesn’t want to move to America?”
“I don’t. I don’t have the slightest desire.”
Smita eyed him cautiously. “Okay.”
Mohan looked as if he was about to say more but let the subject drop. “So, what did Meena say today?” he asked.
She told him about the coal pit. She described the raised, cordlike marks on Meena’s feet.
And was gratified to see Mohan’s hand tremble on the steering wheel when she was finished.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ammi is in a good mood. It makes me sad to see what a sack of sugar and a bag of rice can do for her. To remember that if Abdul had lived, Ammi would not be working at her age. The plan had been for Abdul and me to send money home from Mumbai to Birwad each month so that Kabir could leave his mechanic’s job and become a farmer. Then, after a few years, they would have shifted to Mumbai, also.
I look out at the fields behind my house, overgrown with grasses taller than a man. Kabir would have enjoyed cutting down those grasses and taming that land. Now, it is simply a field of buried dreams. Sometimes, I play hide-and-seek with Abru in the grass and speak to the ghosts of the two brothers. Other than this, the short distance between Ammi’s house and mine has become my country, my cage.