The Other One

by HollyBodger

convince her to let Praney in. Sudasa knows and clearly doesn’t care. She’s probably sitting in her room composing another one of her poems where she’s some kind of symbolic animal in a state of misery. What is it with her and animals? I know she wants to show Papa that she’s a poet like him, but can she not feel like a girl for once?

  When Nani widens her eyes to a glare, Mummy makes her way down the corridor. She taps on Sudasa’s door as light as a dripping tap. Then she waits.

  The door does not open.

  Pressing her forehead to the door, she whispers something I cannot hear. I can see her smile though, and I know immediately that she will not succeed. When it comes to Sudasa, Mummy is a gentle breeze trying to masquerade as the cyclone Nani wants her to be. But she cannot be a cyclone. She’s soft where Nani is hard. Humble where Nani is proud. Forgiving where Nani is vindictive. Well, except when it comes to me. When it comes to me, Nani is the one who wants me to have the best while Mummy is the one who wants me to suffer.

  When Mummy’s request still does not elicit the response she desires, she just stands there and stares at the unmoving door. After several minutes pass, she turns to Nani with a shake of her head. Nani’s neck turns red all the way from her chin down to the opening of her white choli. She flicks her hand in the direction of the door, making her gold bangles jingle up and down her wrist.

  Mummy turns to Papa with a pleading look in her eyes. He’ll get Sudasa to come out. Everyone in the room knows that.

  It takes Mummy a moment to realize this fact and to look away because of it. She cannot possibly ask him to succeed at something she has failed. Not in front of Nani. Nani is all about the illusion of control. Even if you don’t have it, she says you should fake it until you do. That’s what the women in State Council did when Koyanagar first became its own country. They’d gone to the President of the Old Country with a theory on how to fix the problems caused by the gender imbalance that had grown to six boys for every girl. They’d hoped he would take their ideas about valuing girls and implement them across the country. They did not expect him to laugh at them and say, “If you think you know so much about running a country, how about you form one of your own?”

  Perhaps they should not have been surprised. He had a population of a billion and a half people, half of whom were starving in the slums or the jails. Perhaps he thought it would be easier to get rid of the hundred thousand people in Koyanagar. Or, perhaps he thought the women would fail. Perhaps he thought, “I’ll tell those crazy women to do what they want. They’ll be back begging this time next year.”

  He wasn’t the last man to learn that Nani never admits she’s wrong. Koyanagar could literally be crumbling into the Arabian Sea and she would still be acting like she had things under control. Like she said, it’s all about the illusion after all.

  Nani sighs again, only this time, it’s so exaggerated her white hair actually flickers on her wrinkled forehead. She might as well take a seat. It’s not like we’re going anywhere anytime soon. Sudasa knows they cannot start the Tests without her. I bet she’s reveling in the power. I bet she’s sitting in her room with a big smile on her face while the time ticks away. She always likes to tell everyone she’s the obedient one because that is the meaning of her name, but she’s only obedient when forced. Unlike Mummy, who always looks apologetic, or Papa, who always looks like he’s floated off to another world, when Sudasa concedes, you can tell she’s not happy about it. She’s like an unlit match. You just know that something, someday, is going to set her off.

  Mummy returns to Nani’s side. “You know how she is,” she says as if we all know and all think’s it’s adorable. “She’ll come out when she’s ready.”

  When she’s ready? The nausea I’ve been fighting all morning is replaced by a burst of rage. Everyone in the family woke up early to prepare for this day—this day that is all about her. It may be too much to ask her to be grateful for our support, but the least she could do is acknowledge it.

  I march over to her door and bang with my fist. “Can you stop thinking about yourself for five seconds?” I yell. “We’re all standing here waiting.”

  Sudasa’s door opens almost immediately. “I never said you had to come,” she says with her signature scowl.

  I look her up and down. Her hair is in the same braid she slept in, and although she’s wearing the navy blue sari that Nani had custom-made for the day, it doesn’t look like she put much effort into the draping. The intricate silver trim is twisted on her shoulder, and the folds that are supposed to fall between her feet are more like random bunches. It looks like she tossed the sari on the floor and then rolled into it like lamb into a kati roll. Come to think of it, she probably did.

  She pushes past me on her way to everyone else. I follow. “I never said I wanted to,” I call out.

  “Fine,” she snaps, glancing back at me. “Stay here then. I’d rather bring Asha anyway.”

  When Banevi opens his mouth—presumably to garner more points by offering to sacrifice his seat in the box—every muscle in my neck goes tense. I glare at him, hoping he will keep his mouth shut for once. He doesn’t see that his attempts to impress Nani are falling on deaf ears. Aside from giving her a great-granddaughter, nothing he can do will ever impress her. He’ll always be “that tanned market boy”—the one who ruined everything.

  There are times when I’m tempted to tell Nani it’s Mummy’s fault he’s here. I cannot do that though. I already know what Nani will say. She’ll say it was still my choice, not Mummy’s. And she’d be right. It was my decision to heed Mummy’s request. My decision to rip out my own heart and stomp it to the ground.

  Nani turns to Sudasa, speaking before Banevi gets the chance to embarrass me again. “The box has only five seats, and Surina must attend. If you want to bring that Asha girl, tell your father not to come. It’s not like he can help you.”

  That silences Sudasa for good. She may hate being separated from Asha, but she doesn’t hate it nearly enough to go to her Tests without Papa. She’s what the old country called A Daddy’s Girl. An oddity in our family—and country—for sure. His favoritism didn’t used to bother me because I thought she had Papa and I had Mummy.

  Now, I know that I have no one.

  Two

  We’re late arriving at Mehra Hall—the former theater that was recently renamed after Nani. Part of our tardiness is because of Sudasa’s antics at the penthouse, and part is because our carriage has to move slowly through the crowds. They’re not as thick as they were for my Tests, but they’re close. This must be because the President is here. The people of Koyanagar cannot possibly care what happens to Sudasa or to the seven other random girls whose Tests are today. Koyanagar has been running these Tests every two weeks for the past twelve years. They’re predictable and mundane now, much like my life.

  When Banevi opens the carriage door, four guards use their lathis to hold back the crowds. The guards are dressed in the standard regimental black uniforms with gold buttons and braiding. I cannot help scanning each of their faces. Even though my head knows it to be impossible, my heart cannot accept that I will not find Shahid's brown eyes smiling back at me. My heart is stupid. It should know as well as anyone that I will never see his eyes—his smile—again.

  Taking Sudasa’s arm, Nani leads our group down the red carpet that runs from the street to the building’s entrance. Men reach out toward Sudasa’s sari, desperate to make contact with the fabric. Many believe it’s good luck for their sons—that touching her sari will increase the chances of their sons being chosen as her husband. I’m tempted to tell them not to bother. Do they really want them to have the kind of future Banevi has with me? A nice home with a wife who dreams of another at night? I’m not sure it’s easier starving for love rather than food. It certainly doesn’t feel that way.

  A man behind the rope manages to slip his hand between the guards so he can tug the side of Sudasa’s skirt. He’s older and has deep scars under his cheekbones that
make his face look even hollower than it already is. Sudasa turns toward him as if about to shoo away a fly, but the guard jumps in front of the man, stopping her from seeing what happened. When she continues down the carpet, the guard slams the man back with his lathi. My stomach lurches as I hear the sharp crack of bone before the man is swallowed by the pushing crowd. I have to look away so I don’t get sick. I know the guards will take care of him later. When everyone else has gone inside, they’ll throw his body on a cart and take him to one of the anonymous funeral pyres by the sea. That’s what they always do with the casualties from the Tests, from the Wall.

  That’s what they told me they did with Shahid.

  Continuing down the carpet, we pass through the guarded door that’s reserved for the eight girls and their families. We stop in a large reception area that’s dimly lit with crystal chandeliers. There are red velvet chairs all around the outside of the room, and in the middle, there’s a round table covered with snacks and refreshments. I’m hungry—I’m always hungry lately—but when I inhale, the smell of something fishy brings my nausea back in full force. I cover my mouth with my hand and run to the bathroom so I can throw up again.

  After I’ve emptied my already