Читать книгу The Good Girls - Sonia Faleiro - Страница 24

Where Are They?

The phone that Padma had been carrying was now switched off.

Cousin Manju was shaken awake.

‘Did something happen at the fair?’

‘No,’ she replied groggily. Then she remembered something odd. ‘Padma didi was cursing at someone, but I don’t know whom.’

Jeevan Lal turned to his mother, ‘You sent the girls to the fair!’

This wasn’t true, of course; it was his sister-in-law Siya Devi who had given them permission to go.

‘I’m going to kill you,’ he screamed.

Then, because this was a matter far bigger than the sighting of thieves in the fields, far bigger than he could even imagine, he dialled his brother Sohan Lal, still many villages away.

As it turned out, the oil extraction machine had broken down and Sohan Lal was unable to immediately process his harvest. By the time the matter was dealt with and he had twelve litres of oil in cans, darkness had embraced the unfamiliar village. A relative named Harbans, who lived nearby, urged him to spend the night instead of returning immediately to Katra. They had eaten dinner and then climbed up to the roof to sleep.

‘Bhai!’

‘Hello?’

‘Brother, the girls have disappeared. Come home quick!’

‘Hello?’

‘Hello?’

Sohan Lal looked down at his phone. It was dead.

In Katra, Jeevan Lal tried dialling a few more times. Then he called Harbans. The reception this far out was so poor, the calls kept dropping, and it was past 10 p.m. when Lalli’s father heard the full story.

As was often the case, practical matters took priority. Sohan Lal needed to get home right away, but to wake early one went to bed early. And almost everyone around him was already asleep. So he called a cousin in Katra, the same man who had helped him buy his new phone.

‘I have to get home,’ he told Yogendra Singh, whose prosperous family owned several vehicles.

‘Is it an emergency?’

Yogendra Singh’s white Mahindra Bolero SUV had been giving him steering trouble. He had a motorcycle, but Sohan Lal and Harbans were with two others, and a motorcycle could hardly accommodate all five of them. Then he remembered a problem with the chain of his bike, which was just as well.

‘I won’t come out at night,’ he said.

There were no street lights in these parts. Some drivers compensated by turning on their high beams, even though it meant blinding oncoming traffic. But it was equally possible, Yogendra knew, that he might be waylaid, robbed and killed. What was an extreme scenario elsewhere was a legitimate concern here. Uttar Pradesh was the murder capital of India.16

Beside Yogendra lay his wife – and at her breast, suckling contentedly, was their newborn daughter swaddled in a piece of sari cloth.

‘I won’t come alone,’ he said firmly.

Sohan Lal hung up.

Then curiosity got the better of Yogendra. Why would his cousin venture out in the dark?

Taking along his father, Neksu Lal, and two brothers, he set off to investigate. The tall sturdy men carried torches to illuminate the inky night into which they now waded. Up and down, the unpaved streets were empty. All the doors were shut. Even the stray dogs that animated the hottest days with their relentless barks heaved with sleep.

There were a number of people milling about the Shakya courtyard. Their girls had gone to the toilet, the newcomers were told. They hadn’t returned.

The Shakyas didn’t say that someone had taken them.

Even with this limited information it was clear that the matter was of the utmost seriousness. Girls didn’t disappear into thin air. But not a single person present suggested walking over to the police chowki that was located not five minutes away. If they were aware that there was a number they could call for help, they didn’t dial it.

16 Uttar Pradesh was the murder capital of India: hindustantimes.com/lucknow/up-is-the-murder-capital-of-india/story-YXx35AZhrSvnXXHehbSNYP.html