The lady came with me in the car, and it was night. We sat in the back seat. It was a big nice car, but most of the time it was stuck in traffic. Bombay streets are full of cars. Cars everywhere and they move so slowly and always blowing horns. It would be quicker to walk, I thought, but maybe it was too far.
The streets got narrower and narrower and then the driver stopped and the lady said we have to get out. She got out first and grabbed my wrist and almost pulled me out. She did not let go of my wrist. Come with me, she said, and led me into a narrow street. It was too narrow for the car – that was why we had to walk. It was a strange street. The houses loomed over the road and the upstairs windows were lit with red lights. And women sat at these windows, behind bars, looking down at the street. On the street practically everyone was a man. Except in the doorways to the houses. There was a horrible smell everywhere and loud music coming from the doorways. People stared at us as the lady led me down the street, still tightly holding my wrist. I wanted to run away and she must have known that and that was why she held my wrist so tightly.
I will show you what happens to bad girls, she had told me earlier that day. I will show you. You have a week to reconsider. Mr Chaudhuri is a good man; you are such a fortunate girl, why are you being so stubborn? I will show you what will happen to you if you do not behave. You will live in that place for a week. If you do not learn to behave and obey that is where you will stay for ever.
I had such a bad feeling about that place, that street, those houses. People kept staring at me and I did not like it. A rat ran across the road and almost ran across my feet. I screamed and the lady shouted at me. Shut up, she said. You asked for this. You think a rat on the street is bad? What about a rat in your room, licking your fingers when you sleep because it smells the food you have been eating with your bare hands, and you did not have enough water to wash? What about the cockroaches scurrying across the floor and you hear their tiny footprints in your dreams? When you have been here just one night you will be begging me to go back to Mr Chaudhuri. It is then you will appreciate how fortunate you are that he wants you.
But I did not feel fortunate to have the choice between the Bengali and this terrible place. What kind of a choice was that? I did not belong here. I belonged with Janiki. And all the time I screamed for Janiki. But it was a silent scream.
I felt all cold inside and scared. The place seemed to be closing in on me and I could not escape because it was all around and the lady was holding my wrist so tightly. And people were looking at me and pointing and laughing and the smell was so strong I could hardly breathe.
And then we entered a house, a narrow doorway where a woman squatting in the entrance spoke to the lady in Hindi and handed her something, I didn’t see what it was, and we went in. We passed by some other women standing or sitting on the floor in that narrow corridor. It was lit by a string of small blinking red lights. At the back there was a staircase leading up. The staircase was very narrow so she walked sideways, in front of me, still grabbing my wrist. Her fingernails were long and they dug into my flesh. It hurt.
And then up another staircase and another. We had to be at the top of the house by now. And then a narrow hallway, and then we stopped at a door. There was a padlock on it. The lady produced a key and unlocked the door and opened it, and pulled me in behind her. The lady pressed a switch on the wall and a bulb hanging from the ceiling lit up the place behind the door.
It was a small narrow room with some old bedding on the floor in a corner, and a pot with a cover on it. That was all there was in the room. The floor was dirty. It had not been swept for months or years. There were piles of dust on the floor and red smears on the floor, which was of old faded lino. There was no window. All the light came from that single light bulb, which was dirty. And the air was close and stinking.
This is your new home, she said. Isn’t it lovely? And she laughed.
She pointed to the covered pot. That is your toilet. Someone will bring meals. Now while you sit here pondering your life you can consider whether you prefer to go to Mr Chaudhuri and be nice to him, speak English and just be kind and loving and feminine the way he wants. Think about it. You have seven days. But of course if you want to return to him tomorrow, because you cannot stand this place, you are welcome. Just tell one of your keepers, and I will come and get you. Mr Chaudhuri will be so pleased.
And she left me there in that room and it was just as she had said with the rats and the cockroaches. But I did not say I wanted to go to Mr Chaudhuri. How could I ever be nice to a man like that?