Fifteen Lanes (16 page)

I looked around and for the first time noticed how many people had stopped what they were doing to stare at us. It must have been hard for them to be confronted by our evident wealth. How could they not feel resentful? I was glad I’d followed Mr. Donleavy’s advice and left my schoolbag and phone in the car; though, come to think of it, if my phone got ripped off it wouldn’t be a disaster.

Mr. Donleavy was already weaving his way around a cart selling some kind of greasy fried dough and heading for an open doorway.

“Ready?” I asked VJ.

“Always,” he said.

Crocodile arms …

I waited for Parvati for over an hour outside our usual café at the train station. I’d come late and was worried I’d missed her. Our house was in an uproar because Lali-didi had disappeared. The night trade had just started and, as usual, Lali-didi was in great demand. Every night she had enough regular customers to meet her quota, but Pran forced her to take as many as turned up. They waited their turn in the lounge like passengers waiting for a train. No one knew how many customers she had each night. Only Binti-Ma’am saw the money that changed hands. She promised Lali-didi that one day soon her debt would be cleared, but everyone knew Binti-Ma’am was a liar. No one in our house cleared their debt while they were still young enough to fetch a high price.

Everyone in the house said Lali-didi was too young for the work. Prita-Auntie was particularly vocal. Lali-didi herself said little. Ma said she was resigned to her situation but I wasn’t so
sure. I saw the scars that snaked up her arm, horizontal lines, like the belly of a crocodile, and only on her left arm. Lali-didi was right-handed.

Her last day with us had seemed no different from the others. I’d been at school, so I didn’t see her until the early evening. She sat on her bed making preparations for the night, lining her eyes with kohl and painting her lips. As always I felt a stab of anxiety as I watched the transformation from the girl that she was, little older than me, to the object that she became. For weeks I’d seen something die in her each time she went through this process, and every day less of her returned. She rarely spoke, never laughed; it was as if she was dead already.

Pran discovered her bed empty only when he was ushering in yet another man. They’d passed Shami and me in the downstairs hallway as we were leaving for the night. Pran’s outcry drew me back. Her few possessions were in their usual place, as if she’d just stepped out to the latrine. Lali-didi didn’t have the freedom to step out anywhere—and yet she had. Like a bird slipping through the bars of her cage, Lali-didi was gone without so much as a whisper. Of course, someone must have helped her. That much was undeniable, though no one was admitting to it.

Pran flew into a rage. Deepa-Auntie was his first suspect, not because she was the most likely but because he wanted her to be guilty. “I’ll kill you!” he screamed, beating her until she was no longer able to rise from the ground. “Tell me where she’s gone!”

Ma ordered me out of the house. I wanted to leave—I didn’t want to witness any more—but I couldn’t. I feared Pran would
kill Deepa-Auntie. Finally Ma gave up trying to shoo me out and turned on Pran.

“Stop it, Pran,” Ma commanded.

He raised his fist to her too but she didn’t quail.

“That’s enough,” she said. “Deepa’s too stupid to have planned a betrayal like this. What do you think she did, squeeze Lali through the window bars? Deepa was with a customer. She couldn’t have helped.”

“Keep out of it, Ashmita. This is none of your business.”

“Isn’t it? How do you know I didn’t do it?”

“Because you’re not a fool. You understand how things work, and you have too much to lose. You’re already splitting your profits with my mother. In another year or two you’ll have enough money to rent a room for your family.”

“If I live that long,” said Ma, giving him a steely look.

Ma talked more and more of her own death these days. I wished she would stop. She ate little, even when I skipped my own dinner so I could afford her favorite biryani.

“Deepa knows something,” Pran insisted.

“She would have told you if she did. She’s little more than a child. Do you really think she could hold out against a man like you?”

I almost laughed. Behind his back, Ma called Pran “the little brown monkey” because he danced to Binti-Ma’am’s bidding.

“There will be trouble from this,” Pran threatened.

He didn’t say that the worst trouble would be for him. His ma was the brothel-keeper but they both worked for another man. Nishikar-Sir, the owner of our brothel, was the overlord of our world. Some say he owned twenty brothels in Kamathipura. We rarely saw him. The arrival of his black Mercedes was an event
greeted with equal measures of awe and dread. Stories of his temper were exceeded only by those of his violence. He wouldn’t let the loss of one of his most valuable girls go unpunished. As the enforcer in our home, Pran would be held accountable. I felt a shiver of anticipation and hoped I was around when the confrontation took place.

“Look what you’ve done to her face,” said Ma, gesturing to Deepa-Auntie, who was lying on the floor quietly moaning. “How is it going to help you to damage the girl who is now your top earner?” Ma must have been really frightened for Deepa-Auntie. Otherwise she’d never have admitted Deepa-Auntie was more desired than herself.

“Clean her up and get her back to work,” Pran snarled. “Everyone meets their quota tonight.” He turned on his heel and disappeared down the ladder.

Ma and I rushed to Deepa-Auntie, who was struggling to sit up.

“Help her wash,” ordered Ma.

“But what happened to Lali-didi?” I asked.

“Who can say?” said Ma, but a look passed between her and Deepa-Auntie. “The girl wouldn’t have lasted much longer. We’re well rid of her.”

Deepa-Auntie leaned heavily on me as I got her to her feet and over to the ladder. I went down ahead of her and was relieved to find Shami exactly where I’d left him, sitting against the wall near the bottom rung. Deepa-Auntie moved slowly. She was favoring one foot and hunched over, cradling her chest. I hoped nothing was broken. I helped her hobble to the washroom.

As soon as the door was closed she quickly filled me in on the basics. “The customer I was with had really come to rescue
Lali. He’s fallen in love with her and agreed to help her escape. She’s going to live with him now.”

“Did Ma help?” I was incredulous.

“Your ma planned the whole thing, Noor-baby. Lali wasn’t strong enough for this life.”

I helped her wash as quickly as I could but her pain was extreme. She must have had cracked ribs at the very least. I begged her to let me take her to a hospital but she refused. Her fear of Pran was far greater than her fear of a rib puncturing her lungs. It was more than an hour later before Shami and I were on our way again.

Standing outside the café, waiting for Parvati, I felt spent. The nervous energy that had seen me through the last hour had left me feeling hollow and weak. I just wanted to sleep but I didn’t want to bed down without Parvati. Pran’s recent viciousness was still vivid in my mind. The streets felt even more dangerous than usual. Without Parvati’s reassuring bravado I felt exposed and vulnerable. I tried to think where she might have gone. We’d recently found a quiet spot behind the train station but I’d checked there before I came to the café. There was no sign of her.

“What do you think, Shami?” I looked down at Shami, who was sitting on the pavement at my feet. He was too little to have an opinion but his presence comforted me. “Where’s Parvati? Should we try the bridge?”

“I want Par-di,” said Shami.

“Me too,” I said.

I hitched him up on my hip. His arms circled my neck and he rested his head against my chest. It didn’t make sense to me that she’d go back to the shantytown where we were attacked,
but it was the only place, other than our own street, where I knew she had friends. I was on the point of setting off when I heard a noise that froze me in place.

“Did you hear that, Shami?”

He cocked his head, his face scrunched with the effort of listening.

“Paru,” he confirmed.

It certainly sounded like someone calling my name, but the sound was so faint it might have been buzzing from the fluorescent streetlamp above us.

“Noor,” called the voice again. That time it was unmistakable.

I looked past the café to the narrow alley that separated it from the pawnshop next door. I wanted to run but my legs had gained twenty pounds in an instant. I was terrified of what I’d find. I put Shami down and took his hand. We followed the sound, running as quickly as we could. It felt as if we were moving in slow motion.

Rounding the corner of the building, we stepped into a dimly lit passageway. It was barely wide enough for the two of us to walk side by side, and it got darker with every step. Broken glass crunched under my sandals, and I almost slid on something with the distinctly foul smell of human waste. We moved cautiously, jumping at every shadow. Finally, we saw a mound on the ground that moved ever so slightly. We’d found her.

I cursed the darkness as I knelt beside her and tried to assess the damage. Curled up on her side, she raised one hand and touched my face, feeling my features like a blind person. That terrified me. Her blouse was ripped, exposing one shoulder. She
had no other clothes on. I gagged at the metallic smell of blood.

“Noor.” Her voice cracked. I could hear rather than see that she was crying. I took her hand and held it.

“Paru,” I said. “Were you …?” I couldn’t finish my question. I didn’t want to hear her answer.

“Yes. It was Suresh,” she said. “And he wasn’t alone.”

“We need to get you to a doctor.”

“No.”

For just a moment I felt a searing flash of anger toward Lali. If I hadn’t been delayed by her escape, I would have been on time to meet Parvati and this wouldn’t have happened. Deepa-Auntie and now Parvati; how many more victims would Lali claim with her selfish flight? I immediately felt guilty. Lali couldn’t have lasted much longer. But what could I do now for Parvati?

I pulled Parvati’s head and shoulders onto my lap and scanned the dark alley for her clothes. I could see a pile of something some distance off.

Shami crouched beside me and touched Parvati’s face.

“Is Par-di sick?” asked Shami, his voice etched with worry.

“She’ll be fine,” I said. “Go find her clothes, Shami.”

He set off with the resolve of a three-year-old on a mission. He crouched down at the pile then straightened up and kept going. My heart stopped for a minute when he disappeared around a huge heap of refuse. Seconds later he reappeared with something in his hands and ran back to us.

“Don’t run,” I scolded. The damp, uneven ground was littered with all manner of dangerous things. I felt a surge of hatred for Parvati’s attackers, who had discarded her in a dumping ground.

Shami handed me her clothing. Her pants were ripped as well. I wasn’t sure they would cover her. For the moment I laid them on top of her. She moaned at even that light pressure. Shami crouched down beside us and patted Parvati’s hair.

“It’s okay, Par-di. Me and Noor-di are here.”

She closed her eyes and gave the smallest of smiles, wincing with the effort.

“I know, baby,” she said. “I’m okay now. Don’t worry.”

After a time her breathing became deep and regular and I realized she’d fallen asleep. Only then did Shami settle himself on the other side of me, curling against my side, with one arm draped around my waist. He too fell asleep. If I’d only had Aamaal, my world would have been complete, surrounded by the people I loved. Then I thought of Ma and felt bad because I’d so easily forgotten her. And what of Deepa-Auntie?

Though it was now the early hours of the morning, the noise from the street beyond our alley still echoed inside our narrow refuge—a refuge where my best friend had been thrown away like trash. In my head, I made a list of all the people I would take with me if I could disappear like Lali had. I’d start over someplace clean and safe, where young girls slept without fear, and children never went hungry or were wasted by sickness.

Finally the events of the night caught up with me. My determination to remain on guard faltered. I too gave in to sleep.

Not many hours later I awoke to the coldness of Parvati’s absence. She hadn’t gone far. She’d pulled on her pants and was several feet away, near the garbage where Shami had found them. She didn’t notice I was awake, too intent on what she was doing. It was seconds before I realized what that was.

I leaped to my feet, startling Shami awake, and ran down the
passageway, dropping to the ground beside her. I grabbed the fist that was doing the slashing and wrenched the broken glass from her hand. There was so much blood it was hard to tell how many gashes she’d already made.

She gaped at me wordlessly as if she shared my horror at her handiwork.

“No, Paru,” I sobbed. I took off my dupatta and wrapped it tightly around her crocodile arm.