The old woman brings two steaming glasses of tea. Anand Bhai and Chamdi sit on the steps outside Darzi’s room. Chamdi notices that there are three steps, the same number as at the orphanage. How he loved walking down those steps and being greeted by the bougainvilleas. Anand Bhai’s adda lacks colour. Perhaps it is not possible for plants and flowers to grow in the presence of such a human being.
Darzi gave Guddi a pill for the pain and she is asleep again. Chamdi liked the way Darzi read out the name of the white pill—Comb-bee-flaam-as though it were a magic seed. He wishes he had parents like Darzi and the old woman. He would use Father and Mother because those are words he has never been able to say in his life.
Anand Bhai sips his tea and stares at the wall that separates his adda from the school. Two sparrows peck at the ground in front of them.
“Drink your tea,” says Anand Bhai.
“It’s very hot,” says Chamdi. “The cut on my tongue burns.”
Anand Bhai places the glass of tea down and puts his arm around Chamdi.
Chamdi is uncomfortable—Anand Bhai’s touch is not warm. Mrs. Sadiq was the only person whose touch comforted Chamdi, but he never let her know that.
“Do you know what injustice is?” asks Anand Bhai.
“I … yes.”
“Explain to me.”
“If someone good suffers, then it’s wrong. Like that?”
Anand Bhai takes his hand off Chamdi’s shoulder. He removes a packet of Gold Flake cigarettes from the pocket of his white shirt. He taps the cigarette three times on the pack. Chamdi asks himself what Anand Bhai is thinking about—perhaps his own childhood, when he ran around the adda and played cricket with boys his age. It is hard for Chamdi to imagine that Anand Bhai was once a child. Anand Bhai lights the cigarette with his gold lighter and lets out streaks of smoke through his lips.
“Do you remember what I told you about Radhabai Chawl?”
“Yes,” says Chamdi.
But Anand Bhai continues as though he did not want his question to be answered.
“It was a burning of innocents, a grave injustice. Do you understand? Also, what happened at the temple … your friend Sumdi. There was no need for him to die. Even my brother Navin got hurt.”
“Yes …” says Chamdi. “But there’s nothing we can do.”
Anand Bhai takes a deep drag from his cigarette and bares his teeth to Chamdi. As he exhales, the sparrows that were picking on food crumbs fly right above his head.
“There is something we can do,” he says. “We must let the Muslims know that God is on our side, not theirs.”
The mention of God once again reminds Chamdi of the gaping hole in the temple, of Ganesha’s trunk lying helpless on the street, unable to rise and spray water on the flames. Chamdi has seen the gods that the old woman makes too and they are so small, they fit in a wooden box. He has seen Jesus, who is life-sized, but even Jesus is powerless.
“What do you think?” asks Anand Bhai.
“I … about what?”
“What do you think we should do?”
“I don’t know,” says Chamdi. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? Your friend died and you want to just sit there? You don’t want revenge? If anyone harms my Hindu brothers, I will rip that person to shreds.”
Anand Bhai flicks his cigarette to the ground. Chamdi looks at the sparking butt of the cigarette.
“We will replicate Radhabai Chawl for the Muslims,” says Anand Bhai. “And it will happen in many parts of the city at the same time, not only here.”
Chamdi does not understand exactly what Anand Bhai means. Anand Bhai scratches his chest, grits his teeth as he does this.
“You will come along. Be part of our gang. It will be training for you. I want my men to see you, that even though you are so small you are not scared in the face of danger. They will be impressed. That’s how you earn your place in the gang. The future is in you young boys. If I have fifty Chamdis, then think of how much power I will have in a few years.”
“But …”
“You will do as I say, Chamdi. You work for me now,” says Anand Bhai.
Anand Bhai stands up and throws away the tea that remains in his glass. It lands on the gravel. He smoothes his beard and looks down at the map the spilt tea has made.
“I own you,” says Anand Bhai. “Remember that.”
Chamdi does not know what to do. He understands now why Mrs. Sadiq was so against the children going out into the city, why she wanted everyone to leave Bombay.
More than ever, he yearns for Mrs. Sadiq, for her long, bony hands.