Something rustled, and then a tiny animal flung itself at Mohan.
Smita screamed, then covered her mouth with her hand. A startled laugh escaped her lips. Of course. It was little Abru, hugging Mohan’s legs. They had found her.
“Oi, little one,” Mohan said, bending down to pick up the girl. “Where’s Ammi?”
The child pointed vaguely behind her. “Ammi!” Mohan called again, a little loudly. “Where are you? We need to get out of here.”
They heard a groan, and then Ammi lifted herself from the ground and tottered toward them. “Ya Allah,” she said, when she reached them. “Is it really you? Are those mad dogs gone?”
Ammi looked toward the smoldering hut. “They burned it,” she said to no one in particular. “A second time.” She took Smita’s hands in hers. “I heard her. I heard her screams. They tortured her like an animal in the slaughterhouse.” She glanced at her granddaughter. “I covered the child’s mouth before I remembered she doesn’t speak. So I covered my own mouth. But what I should’ve done is covered my ears. So that I didn’t hear what I heard.”
Smita fought against the nausea gathering in her again. “Get in the car,” she said to Ammi. “We have to leave here.”
In the car, Smita took Abru from Mohan and held her in her lap. No matter what happened from this point on, even if those bastards were waiting for them down the road, she would never let them have Abru. She had failed Meena; she would not fail her daughter.
Mohan locked the car doors as they pulled away. They drove down the country road with the headlights turned low, one excruciating kilometer after another. When they had gone past the crossroads where Govind and his crew could have waited for them, Smita exhaled. They were gone. She could scarcely believe that they’d managed to make it out of there alive with Ammi and Abru. Once she knew they were safe, Smita began to shake uncontrollably, the horror of the evening catching up with her. She tried to control herself, but from Abru’s expression, she knew that the child was feeling her anxiety. She forced herself to smile at the girl in what she hoped was a reassuring manner.
“Do you think we should go register a complaint at the local police station?” Smita asked. “While there still might be some evidence?”
“No way I’m taking that chance,” Mohan said. “The police will more than likely turn the child over to the brothers.”
Ammi spoke from the back seat. “Where are you taking me, seth?” she asked, in her nasally voice.
“Where would you like me to take you? I’m assuming no one in the village will give you shelter?”
Ammi snorted. “Those cowards? No. In this age, who will stick their neck out to help an old woman?” Suddenly, she struck herself forcefully on her forehead. “Why did my Abdul go and marry that heifer? Ruined my life. Look at me now, driven out of my own home and community.”
“Please,” Smita said sharply. “Your daughter-in-law has just been killed.” She glanced quickly at the child, wondering how much she understood. “Show some decency.”
Ammi fell into a stunned silence. Then, the wailing began. “Better if those animals had killed me, also!” Ammi cried. “What am I going to do now with this child? With this burden around my neck, I’ll have to spend my days begging for a living. As it is, that Meena was eating me out of house and home.”
Involuntarily, Smita kissed the top of Abru’s head. The girl continued looking at her silently. “No need for you to concern yourself about the child,” she heard herself say. “We will take care of her.”
The wailing stopped. It’s like she’s the toddler, Smita thought, at last acknowledging her dislike for the woman. But Ammi did have a point. Where would she go?
“You will come with us to my family home in Surat tonight, Ammi,” Mohan said. “Tomorrow, we can decide what you will do.”
“Allah has brought you into my life, beta,” Ammi said. “May He bless you and your children’s children.” The old woman sobbed in gratitude. “Perhaps you can drive me tomorrow morning to my employer’s home? If I don’t have to worry about the child, they may give me a live-in position.”
“Let’s see,” Mohan said, and Smita was thankful that he was not encouraging Ammi. Meena’s body was likely still smoldering in the straw hut. It felt indecent to make plans about any of their futures so soon. Even as she was dying, Meena had saved the lives of her daughter and mother-in-law. But no use telling this to Ammi. Smita lowered her window a little as she struggled to keep her nausea at bay. The night air blew in, warm and innocuous, and the sweet, cloying perfume of harsingar, night jasmine, filled the car. It made Smita furious, that fragrance, how it masked the sinister enmities that defiled this land.