Free Up in Flames by Geraldine Evans Page A

said to be the most painful loss of all. Personally, I’ve always thought the opposite was true— that a child’s loss of his parents is far worse. Particularly if they were loving sort of parents.’
                  Surprised, Casey glanced at Catt. He said nothing. It was rare for Catt to mention something so close to the bone. Catt had told him he didn’t remember his parents; how could he, when they had abandoned him as a small child? Was he implying that Chandra had somehow lost her parents? Lost their love because of some action of her own? Casey asked him.
                  Catt nodded. ‘Her father said she was wilful and too westernised. He insisted the younger girl stayed away from her. Maybe, if her in-laws’ accusations were more than just their grief talking...?’
                  Casey wondered if Catt had been reading psychology books, but immediately rejected the idea. Catt was not a fan of such things, not since being labelled by a psychologist in his childhood. ThomCatt didn’t do labels or overly-simplistic conclusions about complex human emotions. He would be the last person to label a girl he had never met.
                  Thoughtfully, Casey half-turned in his seat to question Shazia Singh. ‘Did you catch any of the family’s Hindi conversation?’
                  She nodded. ‘The son, Devdan, said much the same as he said in English. The old lady was upset. She wanted to know how Chandra and the baby had died. Her son wouldn’t tell her, of course. Maybe he couldn’t see that it might have comforted her to know that Chandra had died in such a traditional way, burning in a fire, so soon after her husband’s death.’
                  Casey couldn’t imagine how anyone might find comfort in such a death, but he assumed Shazia Singh knew what she was talking about. And now he changed the subject. ‘We’ve heard what Hindu widows can expect. What about Hindu widowers?’ he asked her. ‘Are they allowed to remarry?’
                  Pretty, bold-eyed Shazia gave him a smile that had a touch of Catt’s cynicism. ‘It’s a man’s world, Inspector, which is something Chandra’s brother seems to have  forgotten. Naturally they can remarry. But for a Hindu woman, her husband is her career. Her obligation is to serve her husband and his family and provide him with children, especially sons.’
                  ‘Like something out of The Stepford Wives,’ commented Catt.
                  ‘But with much more emotion felt, obviously,’ was Shazia’s tart rejoinder. ‘The sole joy of the Hindu wife is meant to be to please her husband and to perform whatever services he demands. Even after his death, she is attached to him, bonded to him. A widow is expected to wear white, the colour of death, purity and grief and mourn her husband for the rest of her days. She must give up all forms of personal adornment, such as the wearing of jewellery or make-up. She is forbidden from attending social events, even the weddings of her own children.’
                  ‘But surely, all those taboos wouldn’t apply here and now?’ Casey questioned. ‘We’re in the second millennium, after all.’
                  Shazia shrugged. ‘Religious teaching takes little notice of the time or the place, Inspector. Doesn’t the Catholic Church still hold medieval views on homosexuality? On sin? On carnality? Sex, not for pleasure, but for the procreation of children?’
                  ‘Thank God I’m with the C of E,’ Catt put in irreverently. ‘My lot don’t even seem to believe in God, never mind sin.’
                  ‘Anyway, go on,’ Casey encouraged Shazia. ‘What other experiences await a Hindu widow?’
                  ‘In India they are often hounded from their home villages and lose all their possessions. Much of their