Free After the Storm by Sangeeta Bhargava

the right. It looked like a firstclass compartment in a train rather than the interior of a house. Vicky looked around the living room – at the heavy teak furniture, the velvet curtains, the beautiful mosaics and tapestry on the floor and the walls. It definitely looked like the house of the Collector.
    ‘You know, the last time I saw Vicky, she was only three,’ Aunt Ethel was saying to Mili. ‘She had lined up all her dolls and was saying to them, “I’m your princess and it’s your duty to obey me.”’
    Mili grinned at Vicky. ‘I didn’t know you wanted to be a princess like me,’ she chuckled.
    ‘But we never got a chance to go to Mohanagar again,’ Aunt Ethel whispered, as she rearranged the flowers on the table.
    Vicky stared at her for a minute, then looked away. Grown-ups were terrible liars. It wasn’t because they had never gone to Mohanagar again. It was because Uncle George wanted to have nothing to do with his native relatives after Papa’s death.
    Aunt Ethel chatted with them for a long time. She asked them about the hostel, the teachers, the food, Mummum, the clinic, her sisters, how long Mili and she had been friends …
    ‘Can you two run to the shops and get me some fresh strawberries while I fix lunch?’ Aunt Ethel was now asking.
    Nodding, Vicky and Mili headed off towards the Mall. As they passed one of the shops, Vicky noticed some packets of cigarettes. She winked at Mili. Then turning to the shopkeeper, she pointed to the cigarettes. ‘One of those for my uncle. And a box of matches please.’
    As soon as they left the shop, Mili pounced on her. ‘What do you need cigarettes for?’
    ‘Mili, I’m sixteen. And you’re seventeen. About time we tried it. Claudia and Michelle had it when they were twelve.’
    ‘I don’t think—’ Mili began to protest.
    ‘Shh,’ hissed Vicky as she put a finger to her lip and pulled Mili to the back of Uncle George’s cottage. She took out two cigarettes, gave one to Mili and held the other one to her nose. Ah, the ethereal smell of tobacco. She then put it between her lips. Her hands shook as she lit hers first and then Mili’s. She lifted her chin in the air, feeling all grown-up and glamorous. She winked at Mili and together they drew their first puff.
    And then she coughed and coughed. ‘What the devil!’ she spluttered and coughed some more. Tears were now rolling down her cheeks and she did not feel that glamorous any more.
    ‘I feel giddy,’ Mili said as she began to retch.
    Vicky looked up with a start as a shadow fell across her. A burly middle-aged man had appeared out of nowhere and stood towering over them. He had to be Uncle George.
    ‘Get inside the house, you two,’ he barked.
    The two girls scuttled indoors.
    ‘So which one of you is Victoria?’ he asked, his lips curling in disgust.
    ‘I am,’ Vicky answered quietly.
    ‘I should have known,’ he said. ‘How could I have expected anything better from that heathen’s daughter?’
    Vicky shot him a venomous look. How dare he speak of Mummum like that? If Mili hadn’t put a restraining hand on her arm and implored, ‘Don’t say anything, Vicky, please,’ she might have hit him.

Chapter Seven
    Raven thrust his hands in his pockets as he walked across the fields. The fields in Kishangarh were not flat like in the plains. They were terraced – in the form of giant steps cut into the hillside. He could see the hill women, singing as they tended their fields, in their blue gypsy skirts and heavy gold jewellery around their necks, arms and ankles. They were hard-working – hardy, stoic but always smiling. Some of them even had their little ones tied to their backs – fair-skinned, chubby babies with runny noses and red cheeks. And grime on their hands and mouth.
    He looked down and espied two girls walking down the Mall. They looked familiar. He turned to Jatin who was walking beside him. ‘Aren’t they Malvika and Victoria?’ he asked.
    Jatin followed his