Asif saw the offer as a lifeline that could pull his family out of India. He accepted immediately, then approached his real estate broker. Find me a new buyer, he said. I will lower the price. Next, he invited Sushil to dinner. Nowhere too fancy, like the Taj or Oberoi, which would have made the young man envious and resentful. He took him to Khyber, a good restaurant and better than anything Sushil could afford on his mechanic’s salary. Asif ordered a beer for each of them and then a lavish meal. As soon as the waiter left with their order, he took out a large envelope and pushed it across the table. “What is this?” Sushil asked.
“It’s twenty-five thousand rupees.” He heard Sushil’s intake of breath. “And it’s only a partial payment.”
“For what?
“For your help. In convincing one of my neighbors.”
Sushil waited.
“I am going to confide in you.” Asif forced himself to look directly into Sushil’s face. “Because I believe you are a man of honor.”
Sushil’s eye twitched. Still, he waited.
“I am leaving India. I am taking my family and going.” He raised his hand to stop Sushil from interrupting. “Wait. My wife has a brother in America,” he lied. “We are moving there.”
“But—”
“But I need your help. Dilip Pandit, you know him? Yes, well, he’s the head of our building association. He’s blocking me from selling my apartment at a fair price.” Asif leaned forward. “I want you to go see him. Persuade him. I know how persuasive you can be.” He smiled a no-hard-feelings smile. “And after the sale, there will be another twenty-five thousand waiting for you. As a thank-you gift.”
Sushil stared at him for so long that Asif suddenly worried that he had made a huge mistake. He could imagine Zenobia’s wrath when she found out. “Two hundred thousand,” Sushil said at last. “That’s what it will cost you.”
“Arre, Sushil, be reasonable . . .”
“Reasonable? Okay, two hundred and fifty thousand.”
Asif knew he had lost. Swallowing his distaste for the man sitting across from him, he forced a grin upon his face. “Baba, you are a tough negotiator.” He offered his hand. “Okay, you win.”
But Sushil didn’t take the offered hand. “There’s one more thing.”
Asif closed his eyes briefly before opening them. “Tell me.”
“You must promise that you will not convert back after you leave India. That you will live your life as a Hindu.”
With his intellectual curiosity piqued, Asif examined the man sitting before him. “Why does this matter so much to you?” he asked.
Sushil looked offended. “Because it’s my dharma. My faith.”
“I see,” Asif said, nodding. Even though he didn’t quite see. Still, he had no choice other than to say, “Accha. We have a deal.”
“I don’t want a deal. I want your word.”
What a strange and complicated creature Man was. Here was a man who had just extorted a larger bribe from him. And yet, here he sat, completely sincere in his efforts to gain four converts to his religion.
Distrust was gathering on Sushil’s face. “So? Do you promise or not?”
“I promise.”
But Sushil shook his head. “Swear on your children’s heads. Swear.”
Under the table, Asif’s hand curled into a fist. But he kept his face blank. “I swear.”
Later, after they’d sold the apartment and most of their possessions, after they’d left Mumbai at night and arrived in America during the day, after he’d settled his family in America and started his job, Asif had thought about converting back to Islam. And found that he couldn’t. First of all, his passport bore his new name, as did his visa and immigration papers. Secondly, between new modes of teaching, enrolling his children in new schools, getting used to doing housework that had previously been done by servants, he had his hands full. And truth to tell, given his area of scholarship, it was better to publish under a Hindu name.
But the most important reason for not changing his name a second time was the promise he had made in that restaurant that day. The best way to honor the religion of his forefathers was to keep his word, even to a man who had extracted it under duress.
“Wah.”Mohan exhaled. “Your father is a remarkable man. Imagine honoring a promise made to a thug.”
Smita remembered how angry she and her brother had been at their father for uprooting the family and moving them to America. And how, as they adjusted to their new life, that anger had softened into gratitude. “He is,” she said simply. “The most remarkable man I know. Present company excluded.”