Sweating, and not only from the relentless sun beating down on them, Olivia trudged along beside Ms. Vanya. Confused did not begin to describe her mindset. She liked Ms. Vanya—the woman had always been kind and friendly to her and all the teachers. But why did the woman seem so determined to help her find a suitable location for her business endeavor? Mildly suspicious of Ms. Vanya’s motive and extremely skeptical of her ability to assist, Olivia nonetheless wasn’t about to turn down an offer of help. She knew she needed it.
Still, as she plodded down the packed-dirt pathway, she wondered if Ms. Vanya had any idea why she wanted a building. Would the older woman be upset when she saw the product produced by Mukesh’s machine? After Ms. Vanya’s offer—no, insistence—that she would help, following the dinner fiasco where Aubra basically accused her of single-handedly destroying the school, Olivia had politely told her she didn’t need to do that. She’d assumed the woman couldn’t stand to see Olivia so discouraged and hoped to lift her spirits by promising help. But Ms. Vanya refused to be let off the hook and kept insisting she would help. The woman had a job cooking for the teachers at the English school. What incentive could she possibly have?
Flummoxed, she followed the older woman, unwilling to upset her. After all, if she pointed out the woman had no reason to help her, Ms. Vanya might realize she was absolutely right and walk away.
Ms. Vanya, who hadn’t spoken a word as they walked, adjusted the veil on her head and used the edge to daub sweat from her face. “I am mad dog, you are Englishman.”
Olivia laughed along with her at the reference to the old Indian saying: Only mad dogs and Englishmen went outside in the heat of the day. Or something along those lines.
Indeed, the empty streets proved the truth of the old adage that dated to British Imperialist days. Indians knew better how to navigate their environment despite the old Imperialist belief the British knew best for foreign people. How ironic that British Aubra had lectured her to stay out of their business.
Ms. Vanya led her through an opening between a cinder-block wall. A tiny, square concrete building with a corrugated metal roof stood on a square of bare earth. If the building had been painted, Olivia couldn’t tell what color. The dismal, gray-streaked walls cried out for attention.
“Come. Come!” Ms. Vanya motioned her to follow.
Oh, they were going inside? Olivia glanced about, feeling like a trespasser, but even if they weren’t allowed on the property, no one was around to catch them.
The unlocked door squeaked open when Ms. Vanya pushed it. Olivia followed her up a few steps and crossed into the building. If she thought outside was hot, it had nothing on the interior of the building. Rivulets of sweat turned into steady streams in the oven-like box. Her bra, already soaked with sweat, felt like she could wring it out.
The interior of the building was as plain and drab as the exterior, though inside she could tell had definitely been painted a grayish-white color, despite patches having chipped off and fallen to the bare concrete floor. Nothing much to look at, but it was clean enough, she noted. Ms. Vanya proudly pointed out it was equipped with electricity and water.
She looked around. Only a couple of windows, but they let in light and potentially could be opened to allow a breeze. This wasn’t what she’d envisioned, but then again, her options were extremely limited and if the owner could truly be convinced to sell to her, well, beggars can’t be choosers. They might be a bit cramped in the space, but it should be adequate to hold the machine and allow the women a little bit of elbow room as they worked.
She met Ms. Vanya’s exuberant but questioning eyes and nodded. “I think you’ve found our place.”
Ms. Vanya broke into a grin and appeared relieved, almost grateful. Strange.
“Of course, whoever owns it might not sell to me. That happened last time,” she reminded Ms. Vanya.
“You will see,” Ms. Vanya smiled. “We can see him.”
“Right now?”
“We go now.”
She fell in beside the woman for a second time and followed her to a series of small concrete dwellings. She’d never been inside the home of anyone in the town and hesitated before entering. Painted a lovely blue, this well-maintained home did not show signs of weathering or neglect. The corrugated metal roof even gleamed bright silver in the midday sun, rather than the crusty brown rust many roofs took on with time.
Ms. Vanya leaned back out and gestured her in. “Come, Miss Olivia. This is my home. You are welcome.”
Her home? What was happening? She crept inside the darkened interior and into a small sitting room. As her eyes adjusted to the lower light, she saw the bare concrete floor was covered with a rug. To the side, she glimpsed an open door to a tiny space with a squat toilet in the floor and a bucket sitting beside it. The scent of heavy spices drifted from the kitchen area of the house, where a pot simmered on a simple stove, stirred by a woman who appeared to be about Ms. Vanya’s age. Exposed pipes led from the wall to a sink, and a plain spigot perched above the basin. A hallway led away to what she assumed was the bedroom. But she also noticed a jumble of pillows and bedding off in the corner.
A silver-haired man pushed himself up from the couch and approached to greet her.
Ms. Vanya introduced the man. “Miss Olivia, my brother-in-law, Rahul.”
She shook hands. “Hello. Nice to meet you.”
“Olivia.” The man nodded to the kitchen. “My wife.”
She waited but that was it. The woman made eye contact from her place at the stove but didn’t join them. She couldn’t read the woman’s expression either. Irritation? Curiosity?
“My husband is no more,” Ms. Vanya told her, casting her eyes downward.
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Our parents are no more, but Rahul let me come live with him and his wife, since I have no more relatives.”
Here was another example of how difficult things were for women who lost their husbands. Although Ms. Vanya had a job. But perhaps the job didn’t pay enough for her to support herself. She would never be so rude as to ask. Mukesh had told her he’d been forced to drop out of school to contribute to the family income after his father passed away. The money his mother made as a cleaner had not been enough to keep them housed and fed. This was probably a similar situation. Without a working son, perhaps Ms. Vanya had been forced to accept Rahul’s offer. Did Ms. Vanya think her new business might make more money? Is that what drew her to help?
“Sit! Sit!” Ms. Vanya directed, pulling her to the couch. A stick of incense burned on a small table, the smoke curling languidly toward the ceiling. So many scents assaulted her.
Rahul joined her. Facing the kitchen, he called something to his wife, who nodded and lifted a teapot, which she proceeded to fill from the spigot. Was the water okay to drink from the faucet here?
She held up her hands. “It’s okay. I don’t need tea.”
They looked at her like she was crazy. Rahul gestured to his wife, who continued filling the pot. “Yes, tea.”
Ms. Vanya sat on her other side, beaming. Rahul leaned back and laced his fingers across the paunch beneath his ample shalwar, quite obviously sizing up Olivia. What was happening? Though she didn’t feel threatened or uncomfortable, she had absolutely no idea what was going on. She glanced around the room, her eyes landing on the bedding again. Did Ms. Vanya sleep on the floor? She hoped at least perhaps the couch. She never would have suspected this about the always cheerful, smiling woman. She also noted a sheet hung across one corner of the tiny room. Perhaps that was to allow their permanent guest some privacy?
Rahul seemed to arrive at some conclusion and Olivia got the feeling it wasn’t good. His facial features scrunched into a dubious and disappointed expression. He scratched the back of his head. “You would buy building?”
“That’s . . . your building? You own the building we just looked at?” His lack of enthusiasm further confounded her. If he owned it and wanted to sell, why was he so reluctant? She glanced at Ms. Vanya, beaming and nodding, clearly certain she’d found the solution.
He tipped his head to the side.
“Yes. I have money! I do want to buy it. It’s for sale?”
He tipped his head again, this time so quickly and so slightly she worried it translated to, Yes, it’s for sale, but not to you.
She’d been through that and had no intention of repeating the experience. She sat up straight and leaned forward. “How much?”
Rahul shrugged a shoulder noncommittally.
Ms. Vanya switched to another language, speaking rapidly, her tone and volume rising as she went. She gestured to Olivia several times. Whatever the woman said, her appeal seemed to fall on deaf ears. Rahul remained stoic, jerking his head slightly as if dismissing Ms. Vanya’s argument. Olivia longed to know what was being said. Ms. Vanya nearly leaned across her lap by the time Rahul’s wife carried a tray of teacups into the room, settling it on the table in front of them. Olivia caught her eyes and started to thank the woman, but she glanced away as if caught doing something she shouldn’t be. The woman scurried back into the kitchen area.
Ms. Vanya appeared to be pleading. Rahul leaned forward to pluck a cup of tea from the tray. He sat back and slurped loudly, peering over the cup’s edge at Olivia. He lowered the cup and called, “Navya!”
The curtain twitched and a young woman slid from behind it, toddler on her hip wrapped snuggly in her veil. The woman’s veil partially obscured her face. Slightly shocked that another person had remained unannounced behind the curtain this entire time, Olivia struggled not to appear unnerved.
Ms. Vanya gestured emphatically toward Olivia but continued to speak in a language Olivia couldn’t understand.
The young woman’s gaze never left the floor. “Hello.”
“Hi. I’m Olivia,” she greeted the newcomer in her most encouraging, upbeat tone.
Ms. Vanya continued to speak, but the younger woman appeared next to tears and only jerked her head sideways. Olivia thought that gesture meant no, but she still struggled to differentiate between the head wobble that meant yes and the slight jerk that meant no. Not to be confused with the sideways jerk employed by rickshaw drivers and vendors that meant go ahead.
Ms. Vanya clucked her tongue in a manner easily understood as sheer frustration, then turned to Olivia. “My daughter.”
“Oh! This is your daughter?” She freshly appraised the young woman and reevaluated her assessment of Ms. Vanya. She’d had no clue the older woman had a daughter. But how would she have known? They didn’t know each other.
Ms. Vanya nodded. “Navya. And her daughter Jaanvi.”
“You have a granddaughter?”
Navya pulled her veil away from the little one so she could see the baby clearly. Dark hair clung closely to the little girl’s head. Dark eyes peered back at Olivia. The baby lifted one fist to her mouth and hiccuped before burying her face in Navya’s shoulder.
Ms. Vanya laughed. “Shy!”
“That’s okay,” Olivia assured her. Her arms reached out, without any thought, longing to hold the child. “Can I . . . will she let me hold her?”
Navya looked to her mother for guidance. Ms. Vanya held out her own arms and gestured for her to hand over the baby. Jaanvi leaned into the more familiar arms, but Ms. Vanya settled her onto Olivia’s lap. The little one squirmed but only glanced back and forth from her grandmother to Olivia, seeming to draw comfort from proximity.
“She is so beautiful,” Olivia gushed, fighting tears as she thought about the baby girl she never got to hold on her lap this way—who never learned to sit up or crawl or toddle. “Her chubby little cheeks are so cute!”
Jaanvi fussed a bit, clearly unsure what to think of the stranger on whose lap she had been deposited. Olivia clutched the baby under the armpits and bounced her, hoping to entertain if not delight. One of the little girl’s arms hung at a funny angle.
Ms. Vanya patted the arm. “Father hurt her.”
Her head whipped to face the older woman. “What?”
The woman nodded and then gestured to Navya, who sighed deeply but obeyed the command her mother gave her. The young woman shifted her veil, revealing a disfiguring scar across one side of her face. Deep red and puckered, the skin seemed shriveled.
Olivia sucked in her breath but fought not to outright gasp. The poor girl had probably suffered enough shocked reactions to last a lifetime. “What happened?”
Ms. Vanya, her voice hard and cold, answered. “Her husband.”
An abusive husband and father. And worse even than the man at whose hands Olivia herself had suffered. Though she’d been scarred on the inside, and she’d seen him hurt her mother, neither of them had been hurt physically so badly.
“What did he do?” she asked, drawing the baby against her chest in a tight hug, as if she could protect against the horrible events that had already marred her.
“He beat them both. He made little money. He spent it all to get drunk, then hurt them. I wanted her to leave, but she stayed. Until he threw hot oil in her face while she tried to cook his dinner.”
The young woman’s voice quavered as she finally spoke, barely above a whisper. “He wanted more money for alcohol. I had no money to give him.” She dropped her head as if in shame.
“While Navya screamed in pain, her face burning from the oil, he picked up Jaanvi by one arm and shook her, then threw her against the wall.”
“Oh my God.” Olivia stopped trying to fight tears and allowed them to flow freely down her cheeks onto the top of Jaanvi’s little head.
“She finally left him. But no man will take her now. She cannot go out. She is lower than untouchable. No one will hire her even to pick trash or clean toilets. What will happen to my daughter and my granddaughter when I am gone? When Rahul is gone?”
Olivia’s head snapped up. This was why Ms. Vanya so desperately wanted her to succeed. She turned to Rahul, who had watched the entire scene unfold without saying a word.
He leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees, hands clasped. His gray hair shimmered in the dim light. “I went with Vanya and took Navya from her husband. We brought her here. They are all welcome to stay with me, and her husband will not come looking for her. I made sure of that.”
When he clenched his fists, she wondered if Rahul had simply put the fear of God into the man or if he had perhaps strangled the abusive drunk. She herself would not blame him one bit if he had permanently put an end to the threat to his family.
“But Vanya is right. What will happen to them when we are gone?” He patted Jaanvi’s head and looked directly at Olivia, piercing her with his intense dark eyes. “Will you let her work if I sell to you?”
This was the cause of his hesitation? Did he really question whether or not she would employ Navya? “Yes. Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
Rahul gestured to one side of his face.
A fire in her stomach burned, an angry fury that kindled from her very core. They may have gotten Navya out of her abusive situation, but the ex-husband still won, since the community ostracized and punished the victim of abuse. No more. “I don’t care about that. At all. Not one bit. Why would I punish her because someone hurt her? And the baby. Has she seen a doctor for her arm?”
Heads shook. Was it access? Financial restrictions? Olivia swore she would get the baby to a doctor and do whatever she could to ensure the use of both arms in the future.
“Yes. Navya is welcome to work for me, as soon as the machine is installed.”
Rahul nodded once and held out a hand. “It is yours.”
She shook hands, and elation filled every fiber of her being. Let Aubra criticize her. Or anyone else. She would go to the mat for this young woman and her baby. And Meena. And Aditi. And every other woman in this town who needed help.
She had her building, and she had her first employee.