Free Three Bargains: A Novel by Tania Malik Page A

Avtaar Singh’s driver, Ganesh. “Saab said to take you to the hospital. The car is ready.”
    “Hospital? Hospital? What happened? Why the hospital? Why didn’t they bring her home?” Following Ganesh out, Madan’s mother tripped over her sari. Madan grabbed her elbow to keep her from falling but she shrugged him off.
    Only the streetlights warmed the darkness. Reaching to open the car, Ganesh turned around. “You are a good woman,” he said, “and I’m sorry for your girl.”
    “What do you mean?” Madan asked Ganesh. “Have you seen her?”
    “All I saw was blood. You need to be prepared.”
    Outside the hospital, Madan saw a few of Avtaar Singh’s men loitering about, and after dropping them off at the entrance, Ganesh went to join them. “I’ll be here in case you need me,” he said.
    In the waiting area, another of Avtaar Singh’s men was talking with a nurse. He beckoned them over. He was a young man, with eyes a strange shade of milky light green. He introduced himself as Feroze.
    “This is the girl’s family,” Feroze told the nurse. “They’re from Avtaar Singh’s house.”
    Like Ganesh before him, he said, “I am outside if you need me.” They followed the nurse down a long corridor, the subdued lights casting a sickly glow on the whitewashed walls. The empty corridors echoed with their footsteps and Ma’s constant keening. As they neared the door to Swati’s room, Madan felt his breath leave him. His muscles seized up as if to prevent him from going any farther. The nurse opened the door, putting a finger to her lips, then they were in the room.
    “We are waiting for the doctor,” the nurse said. “Avtaar Singh-ji called him personally.”
    The bed in the center of the room looked like no more than a pile of white sheets. Ma let out a shriek, throwing herself on the bed, pushing the sheets aside as if she were trying to dig Swati out of a deep well. Madan could not see Swati on the bed. Tears burned in his eyes for this horrible trick played on them, bringing them here and promising them Swati.
    “Stop!” The nurse pulled his mother away, and now Madan glimpsed his sister, uncovered by Ma, a thin line etched into the dip of the bed. A nurse cleaned her face with cotton balls that turned quickly from white to black, but they did not erase the odd dark tint of her skin or the black, puffy holes of her eyes. A kittenlike mew escaped when the nurse dabbed at her swollen, chapped lips.
    A smell rose from her, of rotting apples, cloying and acidic, with an underlying whiff of shit and dirt. She wore a ragged T-shirt, crusted with blood. It fell off her shoulders and reached past her knees. It was a man’s T-shirt.
    His mother had slipped to the floor. Gazing sightlessly up at the bed, she beat on her chest with her fists and wailed silently. Tears flowed down her cheeks.
    The doctor came in, patted Ma on the back and said he needed to examine Swati. Then he would talk to them. The nurse hustled them out, placing them on the bench outside the room. After the nurse left, Ma slid down to the floor again. She resumed her silent crying. Madan left her there and walked down to the end of the corridor. A row of windows looked out into a yard. He wanted to kick them all in, one by one.
    When the doctor came back out, Ma scooted forward from her place on the floor and grabbed his feet. “My child, Doctor-saab?”
    He pulled Ma up by her arm. “Stand up, woman,” he said. “If you can’t manage yourself, how will you manage your girl?” He was no longer the calm, steady man who had entered the room. “Do you know who did this?” he asked, his pen clicking an angry tap-tap on the clipboard.
    Madan’s mother whined and hit her head with her hands. Madan didn’t say anything. The doctor looked over his glasses at them. “The nurse cleaned her up for now,” he said, “but she will need many stitches, maybe an operation. To repair her.” He paused as if giving them a chance to ask a