by Sharon Maas
She did an Internet search for a Lotus Pond bar or club in Bombay, but there seemed not to be one. Maybe it was a secret place where these men met.
The next one down, sent four days ago, was from a Mr Chaudhuri. Janiki read it, sat up straight as a bolt, and read it again. It was curt, but compelling. And, thought Janiki in triumph, crucial:
She is lovely. I want her.
Janiki grinned to herself as she printed out the message. Just a little more fiddling on the computer, a few more of the tricks she had learned over the last few years, a search in the sent folder, a couple more printouts, and she was ready for the team meeting. She looked at her watch. Just after 2 p.m. Enough time for a short nap; the team meeting was at four, and she now had juice for them. Against one wall of the office was a charpai. She lay down. Sleep came in an instant.
* * *
‘Janiki! Janiki, wake up!’
She stirred, grunted and opened her eyes. A face hovered within the half-mist of wake-up. Grunting again, she sat up on the charpai, rubbing her eyes. ‘I could have slept for ever!’ she complained. ‘Why did you – oh!’
Looking at her watch, she sprang to her feet.
‘Exactly!’ said Gita. ‘Half past four. The rest of the team has been at it for a while – we’ve been discussing the HIV patients. But we’re moving on to Asha now, and you need to be there. Come on.’
‘I need a shower,’ Janiki said, ‘but I’ll make do with a splash. Where’s the bathroom in this place?’
They left the room and Gita pointed to the bathroom door. ‘When you’ve finished, join us in the conference room. It’s opposite the kitchen,’ she said. ‘Caroline and Kamal are both there already.’
Freshened up, Janiki returned to the office and collected the printouts before joining the others in the main room at the front of the house. There were almost twenty people in the room; Caroline and Kamal sat on a wooden bench at the back. Janiki edged her way in and Caroline moved to the side, making space for her. Dr Ganotra seemed to be leading a lively discussion, but when Janiki entered he looked up and changed the subject abruptly.
‘Here she is!’ he said. ‘We can move on to Asha now – we’ll get back to the mobile clinic schedule tomorrow. Team – I wanted you all to be here to meet our newcomers. This is Janiki, from Tamil Nadu; Caroline from America, and Kamal. And these…’ His arms swept around the room to indicate all the people sitting there, some on chairs, a few on an old sofa, a few on the floor. ‘These are the wonderful people working in the field, on the streets, in the brothels, trying to bring a bit of humanity and caring into the profession, a bit of relief into the suffering. Doctors, nurses, social workers… I won’t introduce them by name – you won’t remember the names. Some are here professionally, many as volunteers, but all fully dedicated. Now, friends: you’ve all heard the basics: a little girl, Asha, twelve years old, abducted, lost like so many others and the trail has led to Kamathipura. You know the story. Caroline is her mother and has come all the way from America to find her. Kamal – over there – is her father. She grew up in Tamil Nadu with foster-parents and after their death was mistakenly passed on and presumably sold to a pimp and she’s here, somewhere.
‘Now, all of you are active on the streets, in the houses. I want you to keep a sharp lookout for this girl. Ask questions; follow leads, however slight.’
‘A needle in a haystack,’ said a man near the back.
‘Yes, we all know that. But sometimes a miracle occurs and we find that needle, and we’re going to find this one. And now I’d like to know—’
‘Any photos?’ said a thin girl sitting near the front.
‘Yes,’ said Caroline, standing up. She passed a manila envelope to Dr Ganotra. ‘These are the most recent photos I have of her, taken a year ago, just before her eleventh birthday. I don’t have anything more recent, unfortunately. But—’
Janiki interrupted. ‘But I do!’ she said triumphantly. ‘I have this!’
She held up high an A4 sheet of paper. Everyone looked up. The page showed a grainy black-and-white print of a young girl dressed as a woman, a sari wrapped around her, bangles on her arm, dangling hoops hanging from her ears, studs in her nostrils. An ornate necklace lay beneath her throat. On her face an expression of utter confusion. Her eyes, wide open, showed cold, naked fear. Though Caroline had seen the photo before, during the email exchange with Janiki before they came to Bombay, it was still a shock. Asha, all dolled up. A prostitute in the making.
The photo was passed around, and when it came into her hands Caroline couldn’t help it: she burst into tears.
‘Where did you get hold of this photo?’ someone asked.
‘I did a bit of searching on the computer,’ Janiki explained. ‘It was easy, basically. I still have that Madras fellow’s email sign-in details. I checked his sent folder. He sent this photo to a Mr Chaudhuri just over a week ago. Mr Chaudhuri replied, saying he wants her. I checked Mr Chaudhuri’s IP: he’s in Bombay’
‘Well done, Janiki!’ said Dr Ganotra. ‘It’s something to go on – not really much, but something.’
‘It’s a common name,’ said the man at the back. ‘Do you know how many Chaudhuris are living in Mumbai? Hundreds, probably, if not thousands. Do you want to go through the entire telephone book?’
‘It would take days!’ said someone.
‘What’s an IP?’ said the same thin girl.
‘And how would we go about it?’ interjected the man at the back. ‘Call them on the phone and ask them if they molested a girl? Oh yes, that would work beautifully!’
Caroline, voice shaking with tears, said: ‘Can’t we just give this information to the police?’ The room exploded into laughter.
‘The police? Really?’ said someone. ‘You really believe the police will help find some girl? How much do you intend to pay them? More than the pimps are surely paying?’
‘Police are corrupt,’ said someone with finality. ‘No help there.’
The discussion swung around to police corruption and how if anything the police were to be avoided. Finding Asha was up to them, the people in this room. Strategies had to be offered, ideas, suggestions.
‘What about the American embassy?’ asked someone. ‘Surely it’s their responsibility to step in?’
Caroline, shaking off her emotion, shook her head. She remembered her resolve. She needed wits, and fortitude, not tears.
‘No. I already called them yesterday. They won’t help because Asha isn’t American. She’s Indian. So even though her mother is American it’s not their job. They said I have to go to the police.’
Everyone in the room groaned or chuckled or shook their heads or rolled their eyes. Holding the printout against her breast, Caroline stood up.
‘May I say something, please?’ she said, and without waiting for an answer, continued. ‘I think we need to step up our game. Put more effort and urgency into it. My daughter is out there, in jeopardy, and I need to find her. I need to find her, like, yesterday—’
‘Yesterday?’ interjected the thin girl, frowning. ‘How can you find her in the past?’
‘It’s just an expression,’ said Caroline impatiently. ‘It means we’re working against the clock. She’s out there, in danger, in someone’s hands, and I want her back. It’s all so leisurely here in India, people have no sense of time, it’s like a go-with-the-flow hippie thing. Lethargic. I’d like to see a bit more dynamism—’
‘Why? What’s so special about this girl?’ said the man at the back.
‘She’s my daughter and I want her back!’
‘Oh, because she’s American, white, or half-white, she’s special, is she? Actually every little girl out there is special. Asha is no more special than any other girl. Every girl is some mother’s daughter. You’re not the only mother who—’
Caroline was silent, but Janiki felt her jerk and cast a surreptitious glance at her; that was harsh. She reached out and took Caroline’s hand, lying on the bench between them. C
aroline squeezed her hand and Janiki squeezed back.
‘Enough, Giri!’ said Dr Ganotra, pushing his palm towards the speaker. ‘This isn’t the time for that. Fact is, Caroline’s here, now, and we have a lead. There might be hundreds of Chaudhuris in Mumbai, but not so many interested in young girls. I want you all to keep your ears open and your tongue loose. Ask everyone you meet out there if they’ve heard of this Chaudhuri. Keep asking.’
‘What I wanted to say just now, but I didn’t get to finish,’ said Caroline, ‘is that we need a strategy, a plan. We need ideas! I’d like to have a brainstorming session, and—’
‘What’s a brainstorming session?’ asked the thin girl.
‘Your ideas. All your ideas. For instance, my idea is to dye my hair black and get my skin darkened somehow. There must be a way to do that. Maybe a beautician would know, and—’
‘Nobody makes themselves darker in India,’ said the man at the back. ‘Now, if you want a skin-bleaching treatment…’
‘Caroline, why do you want to make yourself dark? I don’t understand!’ said Janiki.
‘Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? You saw what it was like. When I go out into the streets I stick out like a sore thumb. I can’t go looking for Asha looking like some tourist. I’m trying to Indianise myself. I even bought a shalwar kameez!’
She plucked at the shoulders of her tunic.
‘Yes, I saw that,’ said Janiki. ‘It suits you. But I still don’t understand how looking like an Indian is going to help. You don’t speak Hindi or even Tamil. How are you going to search if you can’t even talk to people?’
Caroline did not immediately answer, and in the gap Gita spoke up.
‘My idea actually is that you stay American, but we give you a legend. That’s what it’s called, isn’t it, in your spy novels. We say you’re a journalist, and one of us goes with you to the brothels where we know they keep young girls and say you are writing an article for an American magazine and want to talk to people about the work.’
‘But why would they talk to us? Surely they would be suspicious and tight-lipped?’
‘Not if you pay them! Find the right people, the ladies in charge of the younger girls, and offer them money. They’ll talk. I bet. Just use your wits.’
‘That’s an excellent idea,’ said Dr Ganotra. ‘Anything else? Kamal?’
‘I have two ideas,’ said Kamal slowly. ‘One is to hire a private detective. And the other – well, it’s not something I’m keen on doing. But it might work. What if I pose as a client looking for young girls myself? Ask to be put in touch with… girls like Asha?’ He grimaced as he said the last words, and Janiki felt for him. Their eyes locked.
‘It’s a good idea,’ she said, ‘if you can do it.’
‘I must,’ he said. ‘It’s about the only thing I can do.’
‘Sudesh, maybe you can help him there. Introduce him to your contacts, let him infiltrate the trade as a client.’
The man addressed as Sudesh nodded.
Others from Dr Ganotra’s team offered their own suggestions and wrote down addresses on pieces of paper; the man at the back threw cold water on every suggestion, and the thin girl asked question after question. The team members were to go out there and keep asking, find a lead to Mr Chaudhuri. Kamal would pose as a client looking for a sweet young virgin, superior quality. Caroline would go with Gita, posing as a journalist writing a story on Kamathipura, bribing her way into the brothels, asking for access to the youngest girls. Money, she said, would be no object; her husband Wayne was behind her all the way and would wire her as much as she needed. There were other suggestions. Each one was thoroughly discussed, considered, and either rejected or accepted as a possibility.
‘What will you do, Janiki?’ asked Caroline.
‘Since I don’t think I’ll be much use on the streets or in the brothels – I don’t even speak Hindi,’ said Janiki, ‘I’ll do what I’ve always done: surf the Internet, find clues there. I feel a bit cowardly…’
‘Janiki, you’re the only one here who’s made any progress at all, and it’s all been at the computer. Don’t feel bad; you’ve been great. Maybe you can crack the code. More and more detectives in America solve problems from the comfort of their own office. You’ve been great!’
‘Thanks,’ said Janiki. ‘So I guess that’s it. When do we start? Tonight?’
Dr Ganotra raised his voice.
‘Meeting’s over,’ he said. ‘I’d like to hold a short puja before we disperse. That our work may be blessed.’
Several people nodded; Dr Ganotra lit a small oil lamp at a shrine set into an alcove in the brick wall, and some sticks of incense. People stood up and gathered around him for arati, flame-waving worship. Dr Ganotra raised his voice, strong and deep, in the arati song, ‘Jai Jagadisha Hare’. Others joined in as he lit a piece of camphor on a metal plate, slowly waved the flame before the shrine, passed the plate on to the next person. The plate passed from person to person; each one waved it before the shrine. Caroline shook her head as it came to her, so Janiki took it. Waving the flame, she closed her eyes and spoke a silent prayer before passing on the plate.
The puja ceremony ended; people from the team began to mill around, checking their watches, saying their goodbyes. Through the open window the sounds of the Mumbai evening were growing louder: horns honking, sirens, the steady growl of traffic. The day was coming to a close. The team member called Sudesh approached Kamal and spoke a few words with him; Kamal said goodbye to Janiki and Caroline and the two men left together.
Gita said to Caroline, ‘Now isn’t a good time to start. Their work day is just about to begin; no good asking for interviews now. Go back to your hotel; get all the rest you can and we start work tomorrow.’
Caroline looked relieved, as if released from a nasty obligation. Janiki felt more and more respect for her. Clearly out of her depth in Bombay, Caroline was still doing her best to overcome her natural revulsion and sense of alienation. It was touching, how she had bought herself a shalwar kameez. And now, Janiki saw with a smile, Caroline had even smeared vibhuti, sacred ash, on her forehead, and wore a bindi, the red dot made of turmeric paste and lime, on her forehead. She was adjusting, adapting, shedding her American alienation to work with them all. The man at the back had been quite rude, and at times Caroline had seemed ready to either explode in anger or break down in tears. But she had rallied, calmed down, and now she was one of them.
Tomorrow their work would begin.
Their task seemed futile. Impossible. She closed her eyes again. Let the impossible be possible, she prayed. Her fingers itched; she flexed them, clawing the air. Back to the computer.
Chapter 39
Janiki
An hour later, Janiki shut down the computer and stood up, stretching her arms and legs. It was no good. She was hungry. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast time; she had simply forgotten to, but hunger now gnawed at her innards and she could no longer ignore it. She was tired, too. I’ll grab a bite, she said to herself, and then go home and use the hotel’s computer room and do some more research. It was all getting so interesting…
She had noticed a restaurant near her hotel, Ashaak; she’d go there.
Downstairs, the house was silent; but a murmur of sound came from the upper floor. Janiki decided to pay a quick visit to the girls up there, and to Subhadai, before going out. Where was Dr Ganotra? Out working in the field, no doubt. The man never seemed to rest.
The sounds grew louder as she climbed the stairs. The new girl, Sakhi, had been put into the room next to Ratna. The rooms had a connecting door, which was open so they could be together if they so wished. Both rooms were empty. The sounds came from behind the closed door of another room. Janiki knocked on the door, tried the handle, pushed gently. The door opened a crack; she put her head around it and saw what had been making the sounds: a TV set, on a table against the wall, with some kind of a romantic story unfolding across the flickering screen. Across the room, sitting o
n the floor, the three girls and Subhadai. The latter sprang to her feet as Janiki opened the door wider and stepped inside.
‘You want watch TV?’ she said. ‘Come, come, sit down, I have chair only. Bringing from kitchen.’
‘No, no, that’s all right. I just wanted to say goodbye, but…’ Janiki smiled and gestured to the girls, whose gazes had stayed glued to the screen. ‘I won’t disturb you. I’m going now; see you tomorrow. Goodbye! Goodbye everyone!’
She waved, but no one waved back; she and Subhadai exchanged pranaams and she walked back down the stairs. It was good for the girls to find distraction in videos, she thought, but ultimately what were they going to do with them? They still needed help: some kind of therapy, some kind of healing for the agony they had been through. She’d think of all that once they found Asha.
She opened the front door to step into the street, looking at her watch.
‘Hey, Janiki, look where you’re going!’ said a familiar voice, and she looked up. It was Kamal, standing in the street.
‘Oh. Hi!’ she said. ‘Sorry – I – are you back already? I thought…’
‘Tomorrow,’ said Kamal. ‘The fellow we were supposed to meet is busy tonight. Gives me a bit more time to prepare I suppose.’ He grimaced. ‘Where are you off to?’
