Page 93 of The Henna Artist

I whirled around.

Lala, Parvati’s former servant, was looking at me with concern. She led me away from the sewage, then used the end of her sari to wipe a corner of my mouth.

I put my hand on her wrist to stop her, using my ownpalluto wipe my mouth.

“It’s a hard habit to break,” she said, smiling, “after raising MemSahib’s boys all those years.”

Her dark face was leaner than I remembered, the cheeks sunken. I took in her patched sari.

“Where did you go after...?” I couldn’t complete the question. I already knew why she and her niece had been fired from the Singhs’. Samir had confirmed it.

The woman ran a tongue over her teeth. “To my brother’s at first. He’s a big man, a builder, and he has means. But he refused because she was with child. Finally, he arranged a marriage for her.”

I remembered that Naraya had been arranging a hasty marriage for his pregnant daughter. “Your brother—is he called Naraya?”

Her eyes welled with tears.“Hahn.”She wiped them with her sari. “A harder man you will not find. Called his own daughter a whore, a she-dog.”

I already knew the answer but I had to ask, “And Master Ravi—”

“I raised him, but I spoiled him, too. We all did. Such a beautiful boy he was. I told my niece he wasn’t for her, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“Where is she now?”

Tears rolled down the old woman’s wrinkled cheeks. “Her new husband locked her out of the house when he found out she was already pregnant. She sat in the courtyard,Ji, and put herself on fire. They both died—her and the baby.”

My legs gave way. I would have fallen if Lala hadn’t supported me.

“I had heard about your sachets. They could have helped her.” That day, a year ago, at Parvati’s. I remembered Lala standing on the veranda. I had a sense that she wanted to talk, but she seemed to lose her nerve. I should have sought her out and asked what she needed. It’s the kind of thing mysaaswould have done. How far I’d come from everything my mother-in-law stood for!

I looked at Lala. Here I’d been feeling sorry for myself, when this woman had given everything—even her livelihood—to take care of her niece.

“And you, Lala? How...?”

“I tried other ladies, but MemSahib made sure they wouldn’t hire me. I clean houses now. Here, in this neighborhood.”

Parvati had ruined Lala, too, to protect her son from scandal.

I stood up, leaning on Lala for support, dizzy from the effort. “I wish—I’m so sorry—”

“We are powerless against God’s will,Ji.”

She rubbed my back, as she might have comforted a child.

Mysaaswouldn’t have scolded me for my actions, or lack thereof, either; she would have patted my arm pityingly, as Lala was doing now, which was worse. I wanted to shed my skin and start over.

I mumbled another apology before turning toward home.

Malik caught up with me a mile from Rajnagar. He stank of cigarettes.

I edged away. I stank, too, of sick and shame.

I was holding a piece of my henna pot in one hand. He looked at it.

“I’ll take you home,” he said.

“I have no money for a rickshaw.”

“Ido.”

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