Part 7 (2/2)

*Bhanu, I came here to talk to you about something important,' Genevive continues. She looks down at the floor purposefully, as if about to do something foolishly heroic, like jump in front of a bus to save a kitten. *I don't know how to start this conversation so I'll say it right out. Bhanu, I want you to take my baby and raise her as your own.'

*What?' Bhanu says. Her heart starts beating so loudly that she wonders if there's nothing else inside her. *What?' she says again at the top of her voice, so she doesn't have to listen to her heart.

*Please, let me finish or I'll lose my nerve. I've thought about this a lot. You want a child more than I ever have. You'll be a better mother than I will. Bhanu, we are dearer to each other than sisters, so I know that you will treat my daughter as your own. All these are good reasons, I think, for you to keep my baby.'

Bhanu is so angry that she starts laughing.

*I cannot believe what you're saying,' she says, her hands mimicking her feelings in furious gestures. *It never fails to amaze me how you take it for granted that I'll solve all your problems. You get yourself knocked up by G.o.d knows who, you decide to keep this child against my advice, and now that you're scared you come running to me to cover up for your mistakes!'

On becoming pregnant, Genevive had refused to tell Bhanu who the father was. This hurt Bhanu, who'd never kept anything from Genevive, and the sting of the betrayal grew as the baby did.

*You're misunderstanding me.'

*I am not misunderstanding you. I know you for exactly what you are: irresponsible, selfish and weak.'

*Bhanu!'

*Fine, if you want me to raise your child, then at least tell me who the father is? How do I know that it's not another smuggler? Do you want me to bring bad blood into my family?'

*I can explain ... the doctor-'

Bhanu notices that Genevive's round eyes are drooping and she has dark circles the size of horseshoes. Is she not taking care of herself because she is pregnant, like the last time? This infuriates Bhanu further and she interrupts Genevive, *I don't care for your excuses, Genevive. I am not going to look after your unwanted child again.'

Genevive was nineteen when her college boyfriend Vikram got her pregnant. She didn't tell anyone except Bhanu, because she bravely thought that no one would find out; she would have an abortion. But it was a futile proposition, for what could they do? They didn't know any other pregnant girls, the doctors they knew were acquainted with their families, and it was illegal to walk into a clinic and ask for an abortion. Worse still, neither of them had any money.

It was Bhanu who came up with an idea; an idea so bold for her that she blushed thinking about it even now. Her brother had written a dissertation on the s.e.x trade for his Sociology major, and Bhanu remembered him saying that the s.e.x workers he encountered had unwanted pregnancies, for which they didn't have the money to go to a clinic. Surely, Genevive and she could go to Kamathipura, where her brother used to go for his research, and ask one of the s.e.x workers for help.

A week later-after much deliberation-the two girls, under the pretext of attending a college function, took a bus to Grant Road. Too embarra.s.sed to get off at the actual stop, they walked to Falkland Road. There was still light outside when they reached and no women plied the streets, so they walked around aimlessly, holding each other's hands, starting at any noise in the unexpected silence. Finally, they pa.s.sed a dilapidated one-storey building with peeling paint, outside which sat a middleaged prost.i.tute wearing a blouse and petticoat, gajra in her hair.

They went up to her. The woman scowled at them, her leg up on a stool, breaking suparis with a nutcracker. The girls hesitantly told her their problem.

*What the h.e.l.l should I do about that?' she asked gruffly.

Bhanu's reply stopped in her throat, but Genevive answered, *Maybe you can give us the name of a cheap doctor?' Her voice was laced with fear.

*Don't know any,' the woman said, and tossed three suparis into her mouth.

*Please, I have nowhere else to go,' Genevive said.

Moving her paan-stained lips in slow deliberation, the woman leered at the girls, her eyes hovering over their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, as if a.s.sessing how much they'd be worth in the market. Bhanu crossed her arms over her chest, while Genevive stared brazenly back at the woman.

*How much money you have?' she finally asked.

The girls looked at each other.

*I have six hundred rupees,' Genevive said humbly. She'd been stealing money from her mother's purse over the last few weeks to pay for her abortion.

*Not enough,' said the woman.

*I have three hundred more,' Bhanu said. *And some change.'

*Where did you get the money from?' Genevive asked her.

*It's the money I was saving to buy a guitar.'

Genevive squeezed Bhanu's hand in grat.i.tude.

They emptied their purses and gave the prost.i.tute all their money. The woman shoved the notes into her lowcut blouse, next to a threadlike gold chain, and said, *Wait here.' She got up and disappeared into the building.

Genevive and Bhanu ducked behind a thin wall to avoid being seen, and waited. Thirty minutes pa.s.sed, then an hour. They came out from their hiding place and looked around the road, not daring to talk to one another. Women were stepping out, dressed in flimsy saris, garish rouge, fake moles and big red bindis already smudged by the humidity. Men pa.s.sed by on motorcycles and in cars, staring and honking at the two girls. The last of the sun's rays began to disappear.

A man with a ma.s.s of hair on his knuckles stopped his car in front of Genevive, rolled down his window and asked, *You, how much for one hour?'

*That's it,' Genevive shouted. *I'm going upstairs.'

*Are you crazy? You don't know what kind of people are in there,' Bhanu said, frightened.

*I don't care,' Genevive said. *She's taken all our money and disappeared. And it's my fault. I should've asked her name and followed her inside. Now I'll never get rid of this baby and you'll never get your guitar.'

Genevive stormed into the building and started climbing the stairs. *Stop!' Bhanu said, and used all her weight to pull Genevive back. Just then, the prost.i.tute came walking down the stairs. She was dressed up luridly, with a silver paranda coiled around her large head and body glitter gleaming from the fat rolls beneath her arms.

*Oof! I'd forgotten about you,' she said on seeing them. *Now which one of you is pregnant?' Before they could reply, she looked at Genevive and added, *You're the pretty one, so it must be you.'

Bhanu didn't know what came over her, but she said, *Me. It's me.'

*Here,' the woman said, pulling out a yellow plastic bag from her blouse that contained a few white pills. *Have two right now, and one every hour after that, till they're all finished.'

Bhanu extended her hand, but Genevive yelled, *These look like headache pills. You can't cheat us like this!'

In a huff, the prost.i.tute threw the pills on the floor and walked off.

Bhanu ran after the woman, *What will these do?'

*What you want them to do,' the woman replied. *Just don't sit down once you've taken them.'

Genevive came running behind Bhanu and shouted, *Give us back our money or I'll report you to the police.'

The prost.i.tute hopped into a car and was gone.

Genevive and Bhanu went back home, disheartened and unable to do anything for a few days. Then, Genevive vomited on three consecutive mornings and her mother asked if she'd been bringing her boyfriend home. So, the next day, while Carla was at work and Bhanu's family was taking a siesta, Genevive-following the prost.i.tute's cryptic instructions-swallowed two pills.

Nothing happened for an hour. Genevive took another pill. She kept standing, pacing Bhanu's bedroom, becoming increasingly irritable.

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