Free The Parcel by Anosh Irani Page B

Navjeevan saw you hold my hand? I’m the bloody captain!”
    “I’m sorry…I was only trying to shake it…”
    Perhaps it was because he crawled away that Madhu was saved from being beaten further. But he understood something valuableas he hid under a bush for the next hour. He would not be allowed to walk tall, to make friends like normal boys did. He had been sent to this earth to grovel, to make his acquaintance with the worms and the weeds, and when he longed for company or support from the outside world, only a stray dog would show up, the way it had that day, raising its hind leg, showering upon that bush something pungent and acidic, preparing Madhu for the taste that his life would have in the years to come.
    —
    Gajja had passed out with his head on the desk at Porno Parlour. Madhu left him there and walked to Padma’s brothel with Salma. On the rare occasion that Padma was unwell, Salma ran the day-to-day activities of the place and was hoping to someday occupy a full-time managerial position. But until then, she continued to take whoever paid her.
    Madhu understood the detachment that a prostitute required. After so many years of service, Salma had learned how to disassociate herself from her body. It was the same for Madhu. She remembered how once, when a man was inside her, she had seen both him and herself from a distance. She had been so outside herself she thought she had died. But she had come back into her body the minute he was done, and once again felt its agonies and petty complaints.
    “This new parcel…when should I meet her?” asked Salma.
    “Not yet. But we both have to be prepared. If she is to be transported, I am her adopted mother. But once she’s opened, you will be in charge of her. That’s what madam said.”
    “Things are so complicated now. Before, there was no mother. I was just left in the dark. If the cops found me, theyfucked me or took a bribe. It was so simple. Why is madam doing all this?”
    “The cops are turning honest.”
    “And I’m a virgin,” said Salma, “who has never even
seen
a cock.”
    At 3:00 a.m., most of the sex workers were wrapping things up for the night. They sat on the brothel steps, lifting their hair to wipe the sweat off their necks. They looked like factory workers with aching muscles. Young men in tight jeans and spiky haircuts stood around motorcycles and spoke about their exploits, boasting about which prostitute they had slept with, or how many. Salma went up the stairs to join the snoring of several others. The women’s dreams would criss-cross in the dark, and they would all wake up at around noon, when the designated chai maker would prepare the morning brew.
    Madhu climbed the stairs to the third floor, wondering if she should feed the parcel. She decided against it. It was too soon for her to provide any comfort. The first night was all about submission.
    The parcel was crouched into a ball in the cage, more in a collapsed state of exhaustion than sleep. Even when Madhu aimed the flashlight at her, she did not move. Madhu felt disoriented as she studied the parcel. She would have to tread carefully with this one. Sometimes the parcels lost their minds sooner than expected. Sometimes they never came back. Some clients were okay with sleeping with a drugged doll; others were not.
    The smell was very strong. The parcel had urinated in the cage. Madhu hated this part, the stripping away of all human dignity. But it had to be done. It was for the parcel’s own good. The more useless she felt, the more she would listen, and thatwould enable Madhu to get through to her. It would help Madhu save her from greater pains and indignities.
    It was time for Madhu and the parcel to meet. Madhu rattled the cage bars with the flashlight. The parcel snapped awake, as though injected with adrenaline. She tried to sit up but her elbow gave way. Slowly, Madhu turned the flashlight away from the parcel and detected the stream of urine that had trickled