Mohan did a double take. “Wow, yaar,” he said. “That is high praise.”
“I mean it.” She felt sad as she said those words. Mohan and Papa would never meet.
“Will you come to America someday?” she said. “To see me?”
“Definitely,” he said at once. “Inshallah.”
“God willing,” she translated. “My papa says ‘inshallah’ all the time.”
They fell silent. After they’d driven a few more kilometers, Mohan reached for a Kishore Kumar CD and played it. He sang along under his breath.
“Zindagi ek safar hai suhana / Yahan kal kya ho kisne jaana?”
“It’s a pretty song,” Smita said.
“You don’t know it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“It was a very popular Hindi film song. The lyrics say, ‘Life is a beautiful journey / Who knows what will happen tomorrow?’ ”
They played the song on repeat as they drove toward the courthouse, knowing that they were coming to the end of their journey together.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Gothic exterior of the courthouse had lulled Smita into anticipating an equally gorgeous interior. But the crowds that packed the long hallway that led to the individual rooms made it impossible to linger as they inched their way to courtroom 6B. “This is more like a train station at rush hour,” she said. “I don’t know how we’ll ever find Anjali.”
When they passed a storage room, Smita gasped. Stacks of yellowing documents tied in string were piled from floor to ceiling. Small fragments of paper lay ground up into the floor. “Don’t they computerize their records?” she asked. But instead of answering, Mohan grabbed her hand and pulled her along, positioning his body so that no male hand brushed against hers.
They entered the large, cavernous courtroom. It appeared as if every chair was occupied, and people were constantly rushing in and out. Had they arrived too late? Anjali had said that it was possible that their verdict would be announced first, given the severity of the charges. Smita looked to the front of the room and was relieved to see that the judge had not yet arrived. But how would she find Anjali in this commotion?
She was about to dial Anjali’s number when Smita heard her name being called. She spun around to see Meena hurrying toward her. The girl threw herself into Smita’s arms. “Oh, Didi,” she said. “I am so happy you are here. I am so nervous.”
Smita returned Meena’s hug, then pulled away from her. Her heart sank. Meena looked as if she could barely stand up on her own. Perspiration coated her face, and her eye was wide with terror. “It’s okay,” Smita whispered, looking for Mohan, needing his help, and irritated to find him gone.
“Where did you go?” she hissed at him as he hurried up to her.
Mohan gestured to the woman standing next to him. “This is Anjali,” he said.
Anjali Banerjee was in her early forties, with short curly hair. She wore a small, worried frown that Smita imagined was etched in place. She gave Smita a quick smile; her handshake was as firm and brisk as her phone conversations had been. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she said. “I was just looking at the docket. They’ve postponed the judge’s appearance by half an hour or so.” She spotted the cowering Meena. “Hi, Meena, how are you?”
Without waiting for an answer, Anjali began to walk away, leaving the others to exchange puzzled looks before following her. Mohan caught up with her, the two of them walking ahead while Meena linked her fingers with Smita’s as they hurried behind. Smita didn’t mind. She was way past the point of trying to remain dispassionate about Meena’s fate.
They were almost at the door when she felt Meena’s hand go limp. Smita tensed as Govind sauntered up to them. Arvind was nowhere to be seen. “Whore,” Govind said to his sister without preamble. “Cocksucker. We will show you.”
Meena made a piteous noise.
“The judge is in our pocket,” someone said from behind them, startling Smita. It was Rupal. “We are going to win. Mark my words.”
“Anjali. Mohan!” Smita called, but the noise in the corridor overpowered her voice. “Mohan!” she called again, and he turned around, a puzzled look on his face. She saw him take in the scene as he hurried back, Anjali at his heels.
“Don’t you dare talk to my client,” Anjali barked as soon as she reached them. “I will let the judge know and you’ll be . . . ”
To Smita’s mortification, Rupal chuckled. “Come,” he said to Govind. “Let’s leave these big-city folk alone. God has already ruled in your favor.”