Dogs of India

by Polly McGee

  ‘Drop your weapon!’ The policewoman’s voice echoed through the loudhailer.

  The police were in formation. Gaurav grinned at the assembled crowd.

  ‘Sir, I repeat: put your weapon down.’

  Gaurav was finding the gun he was brandishing really heavy now. It slipped down in his grasp, until it was pointed directly at Preity and Rocky, who was sitting at her feet. Gaurav delivered her his best line, the one that he knew would lead the teaser for episode one: ‘My darling, I’ll never let you leave again.’

  ***

  With an almighty growl, Rocky launched himself at Gaurav, aiming to inflict maximum damage and protect his mistress – for good this time. Rocky, like Gaurav, was weaker than he thought. Legs that once would have launched him at Gaurav’s throat didn’t have the spring. He did make it to the next closest point he could grab onto. Rocky sank his teeth deep into Gaurav’s erection. Tearing at the skin, Rocky’s canines punctured the groin, nicking Gaurav’s femoral artery.

  ***

  The police officers weren’t quite sure what to do. None of them were game to shoot the popular hero dog, especially in front of Preity, the media and an audience of fans. Most of the assembled police were quite enjoying the spectacle after the tale they had just heard Preity tell of Gaurav’s cruelty and abuse. From above the crowd, the window shattered dramatically as Paksheet burst through, clutching a kitchen knife in his hands. Unlike Rocky, Paksheet was armed and dangerous. That was enough for the police to take immediate action.

  An officer fired off a round, piercing the monkey’s heart as he fell. Paksheet dropped like a stone, landing on top of Rocky and embedding the knife in the dog’s spine … killing him instantly.

  There was stunned silence. A dark-red pool was growing underneath Gaurav, his shirt soaked in blood. Rocky was on top, teeth still locked onto Gaurav’s now very flaccid penis. Paksheet’s body rolled off Rocky, over Gaurav’s gun-clutching arm and onto the terrace. Paksheet lay on his back, teeth bared in the frozen victory of war. From the safety of the gate, the chief of police glanced at the dead kamikaze monkey and thought a cigar wouldn’t have looked out of place in its mouth.

  ***

  Lola sat in her room with a flickering candle for company. Her backpack was packed, her backup pashmina laid across the top. She threw it round her shoulders, stroking its soft fabric. This was the one Baj had given her as a present, back when he still blushed when he saw her. Now he just avoided her.

  She looked at her watch. Ten pm. Fourteen hours to go. The thought was so depressing, it made her slump further under the pashmina security blanket. She checked her bag again to make sure everything was ready. Poona had given her a fat envelope for Choti Diwali to say thanks. Lola tore off a little corner and saw it was full of rupees. She felt guiltier and sicker than ever. The Sheenas had been so kind to her, so open and welcoming. She felt like part of their family. More than she ever had in her own. Now she was about to sneak off to her sham wedding in the morning, and then go to the airport to fly back to Australia. She couldn’t even say goodbye. If she did, she’d have to tell them why she was going, and that would take courage.

  When Lola had arrived, she was full of anger and fear: of the world, of people, of love, of herself. In almost three months, she had begun to embrace the full gamut of all of those things. Now she felt like she was back where she’d started – alone, afraid and, worse, a coward. More strangely still, Lola could stop the process. She could simply say no to the wedding, pull the pin. What could Niz and Amit do? She would have to work and save up to get back to Australia, but that was possible. There was something more confusing and contrary behind her decision.

  Lola was tortured with guilt about the death of Malina. If she hadn’t been stationed in the lean-to off the kitchen waiting for Geet to come home and marry her, then Geet wouldn’t have run away and Malina would still be alive, Gajrup would be sober and sweet and life would have been as it always was downstairs in Hastinapuri Estate. For her own ill-conceived, selfish fantasy revenge motive against Roshan, she had engineered death and disaster. She had willingly signed on to be a human visa and give Geet a better life in Australia. How could she deny his father the same opportunity after ruining his life with her selfishness?

  Gajrup had been nothing but kind to Lola before Malina’s death. She was pretty sure she could put up with three more months of cohabitating in Australia until her part of the contract was up and she was free to go. Maybe the brothers could give him a job at the restaurant. Lola would make it right this time. She needed to stop going over it in her mind. She was choosing the karma she had created. Decision made.

  That still left Lola with the shame of leaving Poona and Chatura like a sneak. The white lie of omission she had started about why she was in India had become a tsunami, with so much damage and drama in her wake. She hoped that they would understand the decision she had made, and forgive her.

  The lion’s share of her pain was saved for Baj. The mere thought of him, and that terrible moment when he saw the text from Niz, made her sick. That look on his face: confusion mixed with disbelief. Baj had managed to dodge every attempt at contact she had made since that night, and had been ill with a virus for the past couple of days. Lola dared not go and see how he was, even though she was longing to make sure he was okay, and to try to explain.

  Her phone vibrated on her lap. It was Poona. Lola was wondering where she and Sita and that Preity had got to; it was hours since the three of them had left on their media crusade.

  Turn on the news, still with police, we are all okay, the text said. It’s going to be a late night.

  Lola flicked on the television. The local news station was broadcasting a breaking-news feed. The sound was in Hindi, but she could see footage of a man with a gun, half his body pixelated. Rocky seemed to be attacking him in a place that was not suitable for public broadcast. The whole event had been captured – it was like a horror film. Poona and Preity were in the background, clearly distressed. The vision cut to some footage of an animated Sita giving a press conference, and the chief of police looking stern, his arm around a tear-stained, but still beautiful, Preity.

  Lola turned the sound off. Maybe she should tell Baj what was going on. She was fishing for a reason to contact him. Poona would have already texted him. With this added drama, the Choti Diwali celebrations would be off tomorrow, so no one was even likely to know she was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Choti Diwali

  Poona looked at the text she had just sent Lola.

  ‘I feel so mean deceiving her.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. Cruel to be kind, that’s the expression, isn’t it?’ said Chatura.

  Sita made a strange noise between a laugh and a sigh. ‘Thank God we have something to distract us other than what happened today.’

  The four of them sat silently for a moment.

  ‘That protest did not pan out like I expected,’ said Sita.

  ‘I’m not sure that anyone could’ve expected that their husband would have his penis mauled in front of live TV cameras before their dog was killed by a kamikaze monkey.’ Preity’s eyes were swimming with tears. Poona put her arm round her.

  ‘Poor Rocky. I can’t believe he’s dead!’ Preity let the tears loose.

  ‘He was a beautiful boy, and if ever God made an animal to do justice for others, it was that one,’ said Poona.

  Preity nodded sadly.

  ‘Can someone explain the erection again – it was rabies, right? No offence, Preity,’ Sita said.

  ‘Classic symptom,’ said Chatura, filling the kettle and sneaking a ladoo while Poona was looking away. ‘The delusions, the madness, all part of the process.’

  ‘But how could it have happened so fast? Rocky only bit him a few days ago. I thought it took longer,’ said Sita.

  ‘One of the vets told me it can happen really fast, sometimes the infected dogs show no symptoms at all,’ said Poona.

  ‘Oh, Go
d – it wasn’t the bite from when you were there, Sita, it was the bite when I left, Rocky went for his hand to stop him hitting me.’ Preity’s head sunk into her hands. ‘Gaurav kept refusing to get Rocky vaccinated, said he wasn’t worth the money.’

  ‘Really false economy, na,’ said Chatura.

  ‘That explains the timing, then,’ said Poona.

  Sita nodded. ‘And the batshit crazy.’

  Her phone was beeping continuously with texts and emails. She was responding to them while watching the coverage on the television and adding her two rupees’ worth to the conversation. Poona watched the effortless multi-tasking with fondness. Sita was the real hero in all of this. If it hadn’t been for her persistence towards finding the truth about the strangely linked incidents, they may well have been facing a catastrophic Diwali with the wholesale slaughter of dogs and monkeys. Poona took a deep breath in and out, and tried to shake off the sadness of the day.

  ‘Sita, are you going to take the network anchor job?’

  Sita smiled back at Poona with uncontained excitement. ‘Already given the paper my notice.’

  She nodded to another small top-up of wine from Chatura.

  ‘What’s a girl to do? Good jobs in television don’t sit around in cafés sipping chai and waiting for the right time.’

  They clinked glasses. It had been a long day. Preity was exhausted and emotional. Even Sita yawned widely.

  ‘Aunty, shall I drop off the bangles for Operation Lola on my way to bed?’ Preity asked.

  Poona nodded and handed her the package. ‘She’s in the room across from you, Preity. Just lay them quietly outside the door.’ Preity took the package.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay to help out tomorrow? I totally understand if it’s too much.’ Poona looked at Preity with concern.

  Preity shook her head. ‘I’d love to. It’s all organised with the Hauz Kaus crew. All I need is a good sleep.’

  ‘Is this a cultural scoop I need to know about, Preity?’ Sita was always on.

  ‘No, Ms TV journalist star, just my BFF and her café. They do make proper coffee though, which you might need when you start living the celebrity high life.’

  Sita laughed and poked out her tongue at Preity.

  ‘Are you sure this plan of yours is going to work, Poona?’ Sita seemed unconvinced. ‘It’s a little complex.’

  Chatura looked at Poona. They shrugged. After what they had all been through lately, this seemed relatively simple.

  Chatura stood behind Poona, gently rubbing her neck. ‘I’ve done my bit,’ he said, tucking the loose hair behind Poona’s ears.

  ‘You’ve done your part, I’ve done my part, I’m trusting God to do His part for the rest.’ Poona smiled confidently.

  ***

  Baj pushed his way out of the narrow alley of small shopfronts in Chandni Chowk. The street was teeming with people. For a space that was no wider than a cow, it was surprising that the bodies just didn’t get stuck at some point in an impasse of limbs. He felt in his jacket pocket for a folded manila envelope, pushing it in deep for safety from nimble fingers. Chatura had passed it to him earlier that day with a firm handshake that had sealed a deal and Baj’s fate. He had let Baj know with words as well as a significant financial incentive how important he was to the business, and to them. It had been a big conversation. Chatura was under no illusions about the debt of gratitude he owed Baj for rescuing Poona and ensuring that the Hastinapuri tourism empire has stayed imperceptibly well run. Chatura Sheena was a man who honoured loyalty and his debts.

  He and Poona had offered him a share of the hotel. He was to work there for the year they were in London. All his expenses were to be covered, and his salary would be a twenty-percent equity stake. When they returned after a year he would be back on salary as the General Manager, with a parcel of shares given for each year he stayed. It was a generous and sustainable deal for Baj’s life and career. Baj really was a businessman now.

  He hailed an auto-rickshaw. He was confusingly feeling euphoric and sick with nerves. The driver pulled over. His vehicle was a flashy number, so festooned with lights and decorations for Diwali that Baj was unsurprised the driver was wearing his Roy Bons at night.

  ‘Good evening, sir. I am Raj, where are we taking each other?’

  ‘Namaskar, Raj-ji, happy Diwali.’ Baj climbed in. ‘First Ghantewala, I need mithai, then back to Civil Lines and then I have a proposition for you.’

  The mirrors on Raj’s sunglasses flashed with reflected light. ‘I am open to your sweet buying and proposing, sir.’

  Raj revved the auto-rickshaw impressively and sped off. Baj bounced along in the back, watching without seeing the activity of the street. The envelope dug into his chest whenever the taxi navigated a pothole, like a reminder of his luck. Poona and Chatura had become his surrogate parents. He felt his eyes fill with tears at the kindness and faith they showed in him. He couldn’t have dreamed of the life he had now when he had been the one behind the wheel of the auto-rickshaw. He pressed the envelope to his heart, feeling its precious contents and thinking through all he had to do. Baj leaned against the glittery vinyl seats and rested his head from his monumental thinking. It was too big to contemplate. Almost.

  ***

  Lola woke with a start. Had she missed the alarm? She was going to be late for the breakfast shift. Then she remembered: no kitchen shift today. The hotel was empty for Choti Diwali, the staff had gone to their families and homes, and the remaining Diwali orphans rested at Hastinapuri.

  She checked the clock. It was seven am. Ages before she had to be at the Civil Lines police station. She got up, showered and began to get ready. She dressed in the festive-looking shalwar kameez Poona had bought her at the local craft fair just before her attack. They had spent the afternoon shopping together, picking up gifts, Poona chatting and waving, seemingly knowing everyone. Poona had chosen the outfit for her, brutally bargaining with the poor stallholder who had eventually crumbled in the face of a fiercer adversary. The fabric was a deep-red floral pattern with sequins hand sewn over the bodice, and elegant gold thread shot around the neck and sleeves. She was meant to be wearing it for her first Diwali.

  Lola slipped on the pair of golden sandals Poona had given her to match. She gazed at herself in the mirror. What had Poona called her? More Indian than Indians. It seemed fitting. The outfit was like a farewell hug from Poona. Lola could feel tears welling up already at the thought of leaving Aunty and Hastinapuri Estate behind. She gave herself a stern talking-to, but she was not going to cry. She was going to hold her head high and get through the day. Today, she would do the right thing.

  Lola checked the room. It was clear of all signs of her. She could leave now before anyone was up. Lola lifted the backpack over her shoulders and opened the door. In the corridor lying on the ground was a small gift-wrapped package with her name on it. She picked it up and went back inside. It was a box of gold bracelets. There was a hand-written note from Poona and Chatura that said, Happy Diwali to a valued staff member. The note was somewhat impersonal. Perhaps that’s all she was to them: another staff member. The bracelets were beautiful. Lola put them on, and they jangled up her wrists, sparkling and shimmering.

  She made her way out and nodded to the guard on the front gate. He silently pushed the door open and sat back on his stool. The deep lines around his rheumy eyes didn’t move with a smile or a frown. Lola walked onto Hastinapuri Marg. She tried to silence the voices in her head cataloguing the ‘last times’ she would do and see things at this place she loved. She looked up and down the road for a cab. As if by magic, an auto-rickshaw rolled around the corner. She waved to get the driver’s attention and he beeped his horn musically at her. She climbed in.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Preity, who seemed to appear out of nowhere, ‘can I get a ride downtown?’

  Before Lola could respond, Preity was in the back of the cab, squeezing in and smiling with her perfect white teeth. The driver leaned around his seat. �
�Hello, ladies. My name is Raj, where can I be taking you?’

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Mahabrata Weddings

  Lola sat in the back of the cab, silently panicking. The last person she had expected or wanted to see was the object of Baj’s celebrity fantasies. Preity did seem very nice, however, and not at all up herself like Lola wanted her to be. She was friendly and polite to the driver, who had recognised Preity from TV and remembered Lola from her arrival in India. Lola wondered what the odds were of getting the same auto-rickshaw driver twice in India.

  ‘Where am I taking you, Aussie and Preity?’ Raj asked.

  ‘Sorry, I just barged in on your ride – are you going somewhere?’ Preity took in Lola and her backpack. Lola assured her she was in no hurry and was just heading off on her next adventure. Preity obviously thought Lola was another guest like her.

  ‘I’m desperate for a coffee; you can join me if you like,’ Preity told her.

  Lola nodded, not knowing what to say, and shocked at the thought of even getting real coffee in New Delhi. It was just before eight am. She had time before her appointment.

  ‘Driver-ji, take us to Hauz Kaus.’

  The roads were surprisingly quiet, most of the transits having been made the night before. Preity talked to Lola, filling her in on Rocky’s death, the story of Gaurav and their relationship, her devastation about the breakup, the violence, Sita’s intervention and everything in between. It was a compelling story. Lola listened and, before she knew it, the driver was stopping in front of what resembled a pile of bricks and building rubble. Preity spoke to him in Hindi, giving him what looked like a generous fare.

  ‘He’s going to wait for you,’ said Preity. ‘Take you to the train or wherever you’re going. It’s a slow day today.’

  ‘Really, no problem, Aussie, I wait for you, mother promise,’ Raj said.