by Tikiri
I’d squeezed her hand tightly, the same way she’d squeezed mine on my first bus ride home in Goa.
“It’s okay, Aunty Shilpa,” I said. “That’s not going to happen. Everything’s going to be okay. I promise we’ll find a way.”
“Your grandma knew all along what she was putting me into,” Aunty Shilpa said, looking at me with sad eyes. “She never said a word, not before or after the wedding. When she found out I’d lost a baby boy, a boy, she said I was trying to sabotage the family. My husband hit me the hardest that night.”
I had no understanding of these horrors she was describing, but I knew in my bones I was never going to face the same things she was talking about.
“Oh Asha, you are much too young to understand. You shouldn’t be hearing this.”
I leaned over and gave her a hug. Whatever nightmares she was reliving, there was no going back and changing them, but I knew one thing for sure. I was not going to marry that monster who lived upstairs. No matter what, I was going to get away. And I was going to take Aunty Shilpa, Preeti, and Grandma with me.
“So,” Franky said, putting his teacup on his desk. “Here’s what we can do, my dear ladies. I can take out a bank loan on your behalf and add it to Asha’s parents’ funds. You can then use that to pay off the marriage broker, and anything else you need, er, emergencies and all that, including keeping Kristadasa off your back legally.”
“That’s good,” I said, feeling relieved.
“Yes, but how are you going to pay the loan back?” Franky said, giving me a serious look. “No one gives money away for free, miss. That is a problem we have to solve.”
“I’ll take another shift at the hotel,” Aunty Shilpa said. “They need help and they like my work.”
“No, Aunty, you can’t do extra work. Not in your con—” I swallowed quickly.
She turned to give me a puzzled look.
“Because—” I grasped for words. “Because I’m going to make fairy cakes. I’ll make hundreds and hundreds. The girls at school love them, even my principal likes them.”
“Ha, my dear ladies. I am afraid that working at the local hotel and making fancy cakes will not be enough. It will take a lifetime to pay off this loan and even then, you won’t be finished.”
We looked at him in dismay.
“But, what I want to tell you is that I have connections all over the world,” Franky said slowly.
He paused. We waited.
“What are you trying to say, Franky?” Aunty Shilpa said warily.
“You see, madam,” he said, nodding his head from side to side, “I can arrange to send Asha to work for very rich family, overseas.”
Chapter Twenty
“Never!” Aunty Shilpa jumped from her chair.
“But madam—”
“What nonsense is this!”
“Calm down, madam,” Franky said, motioning gently with his arms. “Take your seat, please.”
“How can you tell me to calm down when you tell me you will sell my niece?” Aunty Shilpa was furious. I looked at her in surprise. I’d never seen her this angry before.
“Madam,” Franky said, in a dead serious but calm tone, “am I offering you any money?”
Aunty Shilpa was too agitated to hear him. “This is blasphemy!” she cried, waving her arms in the air.
“Am I offering you any cash, madam?” Franky repeated with more force in his voice.
Aunty Shilpa glared at him.
“If I was offering you money for Miss Asha, then, yes, you would definitely be selling her. What I am proposing is only to broker a contract for her to work as a contractor. Then she can make enough good money to solve all of your problems.” He paused before adding, “All of your problems. I am only trying to help you here.”
I cleared my throat to speak, but Franky continued quickly.
“She speaks English, and is very good in school. She will make the perfect candidate. Not to worry, this is nothing like those mangy dogs on the street who steal girls and sell them to the rich Arabs. I am a professional businessman. I only work with professionals.”
Aunty Shilpa didn’t say a word. She was watching Franky like a wary cat would watch a husky walk toward her.
“What I am proposing is a serious and formal business contract that we will sign and that will be upheld in any Indian court.” Franky’s smile widened. “Miss Asha will be paid very well to work for a respectable family. A very good family. I will assure you of that.”
Aunty Shilpa was still standing, but her face was not as red as before. “Madam, please sit,” Franky pleaded with his arms outstretched. “Sit and have another cup of chai and we can discuss this.”
He turned to his son in the corner and raised his voice. “Oy! Go get two more sweet teas for these ladies.” Fartybag shot us a nasty look and got up reluctantly.
Fartybag no longer bothered me. He sat in his dark corner watching pirated movies and pretending to ignore us, but I knew my presence bothered him. His father was treating me like an adult, and I was no longer “the stupid foreign girl” but “miss.” I didn’t rub it in Fartybag’s face, but I made sure to only drink the tea if Franky had poured it into my cup. I didn’t want to take any chances.
Aunty Shilpa sank slowly back in her chair. I could see she was shaking.
“I am only trying to help your good family, madam,” Franky said, giving her a pleading look, his palms open, his shoulders reverently hunched.
“What will Mother say?” Aunty Shilpa asked, worried. “I won’t be able to live with myself if Asha leaves us. She’s just a child.”
“Even if she goes back to Tanzania?” Franky said.
“Tanzania?” I said, sitting up.
“No!” Aunty Shilpa said, half standing again. “Not back to Africa.”
“Why not?” I said, turning to her. “That’s my home.”
“That was your home. Your home is here now,” Aunty Shilpa said, giving me a stern look. “Besides, you’re only fifteen.”
“Grandma says I’m old enough to marry that nasty old man and have tons of babies, so how come I’m not old enough to travel to my home country? How come, huh?”
Aunty Shilpa had nothing to say to that. Franky watched us with a slight smile curled on his lips.
“What about school?” I asked, remembering my promise to my father. “Do I have to go to my international school in Tanzania?” I half wondered if the bully girls were still there and if I’d have to face them again.
“Ah, but this will be a short break for you. Only for one very short year, miss,” Franky said, leaning toward me. “You’re such a smart girl, you won’t even realize you missed a year. In fact, let me tell you the work you will be doing will be like getting a degree. You will come back even smarter than your classmates. How good will that be?”
I sat back in my chair to consider this. I was relieved I wouldn’t have to face my childhood bullies again. Taking one year off to save Aunty Shilpa and myself was not breaking any promises to my father. All I was doing was slightly stretching time, and for a good cause. Plus, it sounded like the experience would move me further ahead in school. This proposal was good, any way I looked at it.
“Will you promise the wedding will be stopped and all those other things will be taken care of, if I do this?” I asked, with an emphasis on the word “all.” “One hundred percent?”
“Two thousand percent.” Franky nodded vigorously. “I will personally have a talk with Kristadasa and everyone else myself. They will listen to me. You can rest assured of this.”
“I can do this,” I said, getting excited at the thought of returning. I turned to Aunty Shilpa with a wide smile, my heart beating a tick faster. “I can do this, Aunty! This is such a great idea.” She didn’t smile back.
“Miss Asha is the best person for the job, madam,” Franky said. “She can even read and write in English. She has traveled all around the world. She has even her own legitimate passport. She has qualifications that everybod
y wants. Finding a well-paying office job will not be a problem at all. You’re, in fact, very lucky to have her. She will be paid well, I can very much assure you of that, madam.”
“I know what happens to girls that leave India,” Aunty Shilpa said in a quiet voice. “They become slaves. They get beaten. They die.”
“Not in Tanzania,” I said, shaking my head. “I never saw bad things happen there. Except for my schoolmates, everybody was super nice. It’s the best place in the world.”
“What kind of job is this?” Aunty Shilpa asked Franky.
“Not to worry so much, madam. It is like office work for a family business,” Franky said, bobbing his head from side to side. “She doesn’t have to dirty her hands like a lowly maid, and they will take care of her very well. And if Miss Asha wants to return any time, she can do so. But I am sure she will stay and do a very excellent job and make a lot of good money for you.”
“Of course I will,” I said quickly.
My heart had begun to beat faster and faster as the conversation played out. My mind whirred. I’d left a part of me on the African continent and I couldn’t wait to go back. I’d get to talk to Mr. Mudenda again and ask what truly happened to my parents, a worrying question that kept me up at night. I’d get to see Chanda. I’d get to visit the market and get my hair done by Mrs. Ngozi again and eat her delicious pumpkin stew. Most of all, I’d get to visit my parents’ graves and give them a proper farewell.
“Imagine, madam,” Franky said with a wide yellow grin. “In one year, you will not only be relieved of this marriage burden, but you will be able to send the girls to school, get new uniforms, get a fancy big television even. You will not need to work at the hotel anymore. Think about all this before you say no.”
“Who will take care of her in Tanzania?” Aunty Shilpa said, turning to me with a frown.
“Mrs. Ngozi,” I replied. “She’s my best friend’s mother. She said I can come and stay whenever I wanted. I also know Mr. Mudenda from the hospital. He’s the one who arranged Mama and Papa’s funeral. He said I can come back anytime too. They’re the nicest people you will ever meet.”
“She will make in one month what you make at the hotel in ten years, madam. Do you really want to let this chance slip?”
“No,” I jumped in. “Of course not.”
“Look, her own parents went to Africa to build a better life there, and they did very well,” Franky said.
“Mama and Papa loved it there,” I said. “Once I’ve settled in, you and Preeti and Grandma can join me.”
Aunty Shilpa cowered at the thought.
Franky got up and picked up one of the teapots Fartybag had just brought in. Fartybag had got fed up being asked to troop up and down the stairs for us, so he was bringing two teapots now. Franky poured a cup for Aunty Shilpa.
“You are worrying too much, madam. All you have to do is sign and I can take care of it all for you.” Franky gently pushed the papers toward Aunty Shilpa.
“How do I know you won’t take the money and run?” Though illiterate, Aunty Shilpa was no pushover.
“How can you even think that, madam?” Franky said, throwing his hands up in the air with a look of distress. “How can you say that to your own good neighbor? I am an authentic businessman, a God-fearing Hindu. I attend the temple ceremonies every day, I tell you, every day. I even go to church. I have been in this business for twenty-five years and every year I give something back. This is what I live for.”
Franky stood up.
“To show you my full, honest integrity, I will swear on my dead mother’s grave,” he said, turning to the framed pictures behind his desk. He brought his hands together and bowed in front of the faded photo of the old woman on the wall. “I swear by my dead mother’s grave I will do my best to help these young women.”
“Now,” he said, clearing his throat. “I will also swear on the shrine of our great Lord Vishnu.” He turned to the poster of the blue Vishnu god behind his desk and bowed deeply. “May you throw a thunderbolt on me if what I am proposing does not help these ladies in any way whatsoever.”
A thundering sound rattled Franky’s desk. I looked up in alarm. Franky looked petrified.
“Oh, Lord Vishnu!” Aunty Shilpa cried, bringing her hand to her chest.
“It’s a bus, Appa,” Fartybag said from his corner. He was looking out the window. “The double-decker bus.”
Everyone sighed in relief. Franky took out a white handkerchief and wiped his brow.
“As I was saying,” he said, after clearing his throat. “I swear by all the ten thousand gods, Lord Shiva, Lord Vishnu, Lord Ganesha, Lord Devi, Lord Surya—”
“So what do we have to do?” I snapped. “Just tell us. I have seven days before my life ends and I become a beaten wife.”
Next to me, I felt Aunty Shilpa flinch at my words. She shook her head and gave an unhappy shrug, like she could not stop the inevitable.
With a self-satisfied smile, Franky rustled through the papers until he found what he was looking for and turned to Aunty Shilpa.
“Here, all you have to do is press your thumb right here. If you will permit me to hold your finger, madam,” he said with a slight bow to Aunty.
Franky dipped her right thumb in the ink jar, and pressed it delicately on the paper to create a bright purple smudge.
Chapter Twenty-one
The orange henna formed intricate patterns on me. They swirled through the curves of my feet and twisted around my ankles like barbed wire.
I sat quietly, trying not to move as the old woman squatted for hours in front of me, creating her artwork. She didn’t look at my face nor talk to me. I was just a canvas on which she did her work. When she finished, she offered a toothless grin to Grandma, who in turn offered her beetle nuts and money. I looked at my hands. To Grandma, this was the traditional beautification of a bride before an impending wedding. To me, it was a cobweb designed to entangle me.
Grandma was ready for the wedding scheduled for the next day. She’d already bought my special sari, a long piece of cheap fabric in a garish red and yellow, a cocoon in which I was going to be entombed. She’d even made me prepare plates of sweets and desserts to take to the groom’s family. What she didn’t know was I had other plans for that day.
Before the sun was even a glimmer in the sky the morning of my wedding day, I slipped outside our apartment and caught the first bus back to the place I’d first arrived in this city. There, I waited, hiding inside the main airport bookstore, lurking behind the bookshelves, praying no one would see me, waiting for Franky to arrive, my stomach in a knot, my mind filled with worry.
The only person I’d said a proper goodbye to was Meena at the station, where I had to switch to the airport bus. It had been a hurried and whispered goodbye. When I glanced back from inside the bus, I saw her face, a mixture of sadness and anxiety, like she was responsible for what I was doing. I waved as the bus pulled out. She put her hands together and bowed the traditional greeting. I hoped I’d see her again one day.
Franky’s instructions had been clear. “Pack your bag before dawn and take the first bus to the airport. I’ll come with your passport and ticket. Don’t breathe a word to anyone, not even your Aunty Shilpa, if you want to help her too.”
The day after Aunty Shilpa signed the bank documents, I returned to the Good and Fast Immigration Broker to make sure Franky had understood the urgency of Aunty Shilpa’s health situation.
“Not to worry, miss. I will take good care of it. The doctor will already be calling her and she won’t even know of this arrangement,” Franky had said, passing me a cup of chai. “With the money your parents left you, you’re going to be killing three birds.”
“Killing birds?” I’d looked at him, horrified.
“What I mean to say is,” Franky had said, holding up his fingers, “one, you will get out of this unwanted marriage, two, you will help your Aunty Shilpa get better and three, you will help Preeti finish school even. Three good
birds. Not bad, no?”
I let this sink in.
“That is exactly what your good parents would have expected you to do, miss.”
I nodded. That was true. They’d always told me to help others who were in greater need than I was. “I miss them.”
“Your esteemed father and mother would have been proud of you, miss,” Franky had said, leaning back in his chair, cradling his teacup. “They were very smart. They even went to school.”
“University.”
“That is exactly what I meant. I only wish I had a chance to meet them. What a loss. They were highly respectable, not like the riffraff you bump into around here.”
I had to agree. His own son, Fartybag, was one of those riffraff, but I couldn’t tell him that.
“Your grandmother was wrong to try and marry you off. She means well, so do not resent her. She is not educated like your parents, miss. Marrying off a girl child used to be the old tradition. But now, it is practically child abuse, that is what I say.” Franky had slurped loudly from his cup.
That’s true.
He leaned in and said in almost a whisper, “Now, if you were my own daughter, I will give you one piece of good advice. Is that fine?”
“Yes?”
“If your grandmother finds out what you’re trying to do, she will stop you immediately, and your aunty will not be able to help you. She may try to stop you herself.”
“But Aunty Shilpa signed the papers. She’s not as bad as Grandma. She’s smarter, too, and much nicer.”
“That is true, but she is an illiterate. She doesn’t think like you and me, you see.” Frankly had tapped his head. “Who knows? But I am only telling you for your own good.”
He had a point. Aunty Shilpa couldn’t even read the cartoons in the children’s section of the daily newspaper. I read them out loud to her every week. Though she was kind, she knew little about the world and its ways.
“You can’t educate everyone. What can you do? That is life. That is our karma,” Franky had said. “All I can ask is for you to do your job, so I can do my job to help you.”
