Indian Maidens Bust Loose, page 25
“Losing job is the good fortune, yes?” said Ma.
Papa slammed a fist on the table. “Yes! How I could be managing cow and job same time?”
“Payments due Monday,” said Ma, bypassing logic and serving up reality.
A pall settled over Papa.
The gimmick arrived in the morning as the family was finishing breakfast. Bhadresh showed up on the way to his office, a copy of the Gujarat Samachar in hand. There on the second page of the newspaper was a headline that translated as LOCAL MAN WINS CAR. That was news, but not big news unless one happened to be the winner.
“Listen to this,” said Bhadresh, who proceeded to translate for the benefit of the Americans. “‘On Wednesday, Mahesh Solanki, a pastiwallah working in the Gurukul area, was announced the winner of the Mirchi Tambola grand prize, a new Maruti sedan.’”
“Why I cares?” said Papa, still in the dumps.
“That’s one of the pastiwallahs who come through here, Papa,” I said. “Hooray for him.”
“A new car makes him think he’s too good for collecting paper,” said Ma.
“We don’t take the paper,” observed Vinita, bringing things back to the “why I cares?” starting point.
Bhadresh looked bewildered. “Please, I’m getting to the point.” He began translating again. “‘Mr. Solanki credited his good fortune to Kamadhenu, a cow belonging to a Mr. Rasik Desai of Mahatma Society. The cow has been known by locals to bring good fortune, and Mr. Solanki seems to have established that as fact.’”
“It’s the gimmick, Uncle Rasik,” said Lauren.
“Proof that the goddess is still around to kick butt,” said Amber, earning her a shocked look from Bhadresh.
Understanding came to Papa. “Ah, now people sees Kamadhenu can helps them to be winning things.”
“You have to spin that,” said Lauren.
Papa looked blank, an expression shared by Ma and Naani.
“You can’t have everyone expecting to win prizes,” explained Lauren, “or the vast majority will be disappointed and dissatisfied with your product.”
“Product?” said Papa.
“Cow.”
“That’s true,” said Bhadresh. “People expect the cow to give them what they want. Why pay if there is no delivery?”
“Bottom line,” admitted Lauren. “Greed triumphs over all.”
“But people don’t like to think of themselves as greedy, even if they are,” said Vinita. “If you put the emphasis on things that aren’t as clear cut as a contest, people will be more inclined to credit Kamadhenu with their good fortune.”
“Kamadhenu will helps them,” stated Papa.
Lauren ignored Papa. “So you’re suggesting things like better health, better relationships, stuff like that?”
“Yes,” said Vinita. “Things that leave room for...interpretation.”
This seemed to please Bhadresh. “One could say we are guiding the faithful toward worthy and beneficial communion with Kamadhenu.”
“That’s good,” said Lauren. “It has a very nice ring to it. We can even print up some ‘guides to devotion.’ As for the contest winner, that was just Kamadhenu’s way of announcing her return to earth in material form.”
Everyone beamed, except Ma and Damini. Ma predictably scowled, and Damini didn’t change expression at all. I assumed yin and yang were establishing some sort of balance in her view.
By noon, word of the pastiwallah’s good fortune had spread and was bringing a constant stream of cow enthusiasts. Papa was kept busy acquiring magic-free milk that Naani and Ma bottled up. Dung samples were holding up well—the garbage lady had nimble fingers—but it was clear a urine crisis was not far off.
“My kidneys are pooped,” said Amber, as we girls took a rest in the backyard. “If I was a blood donor, I’d be white as snow.”
“Why not make some fake cow urine?” suggested Vinita.
“Yeah, why not?” said Amber. “Nothing’s real anymore.”
“That sounds doable,” said Lauren. “A little yellow food coloring for starters. What else?”
“Aside from water, urine is mainly urea, which is available from chemicals dealers. Or an agricultural source, if purity isn’t a concern.” Vinita had excelled in chemistry.
“Is taste important?” asked Amber.
Lauren looked shocked. “Taste?”
“Amber’s right,” said Vinita. “Some Indians are urine drinkers.”
“Not us,” I quickly added.
“Jesus,” said Lauren. “So it has to meet the flavor test, just in case.”
Amber looked thoughtful. “Toss in a couple bouillon cubes?”
“Is there something I don’t know about you?” asked Lauren.
“I’m just thinking nobody’s gonna bitch if it has a little flavor. It probably does.”
“We could have Uncle Sindhu sample it,” I suggested. “Urine therapy was all he talked about before he was committed.”
“I can go by the mental hospital once we get some made up,” volunteered Vinita. “An A-B comparison of the artificial with the current product.”
And so Bogus Pee, Ltd. was born.
Chapter 31
Paranoia Grows with Little Care
That evening Papa went to a BSR meeting with Bhadresh. Naani, Ma, and Damini went to attend an evening of traditional dance, while the cousins went digital via the cyber café. A full report on budding cow mania would soon be streaming across the oceans. I began to understand why the cousins hadn’t cut the vacation short and dragged their mother back home. Their e-mails and photos were no doubt making them stars among their friends.
Since the taps were still dry, I decided to haul a bucket of water for my own luxury. When I returned, I saw Vinita helping to load something into the dickey of a man’s car. A computer. As I got closer, I saw it was hers.
The car drove off as I reached her.
“What on earth are you doing?” I asked.
“I sold my computer. To Mrs. Dhatri’s nephew.”
“Are you mad? That’s your most cherished possession.”
“I got the DNA collection kit. I’m going to have to pay for analysis. This will help.”
I didn’t know what to say. There remained no doubt in my mind that my sister had positioned herself at the deep end and was preparing to leap in.
“I need your help,” she said.
“My romance novel collection wouldn’t bring much, and I’m not going to sell it.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean with getting the samples. Tonight.”
“Obtaining samples?” I imagined some sort of amateur biopsy. “What do I have to do?”
“Not much. You’ll see.”
After everyone else was asleep, Vinita took a little plastic case from a bag and told me to come with her. By all reason I should have refused, but I thought someone should be there to intervene in case things went badly, or to record events for posterity in case they went very badly.
We tiptoed upstairs and down the darkened hallway, stopping outside our parents’ room.
“We can’t go in there,” I whispered.
“How else to get a sample?”
“This is obscene.”
“Not at their age, it isn’t,” countered Vinita. She listened at the door. “Good. They’re snoring.”
“Ma too?”
“Yes. That must come with age.”
I knew I should have found a way to record Vinita’s own raspy nighttime serenade.
Vinita opened the little case and removed a swab. “You hold the case and provide moral support.”
“But I don’t really approve of this.”
“You benefit as much as I do.” She put a hand on the doorknob. “Let’s go in.”
She opened the door very slowly and we slipped inside. With the door closed, just enough light came from the window for us to see our victims. They were lying facing in opposite directions, and as far apart as the bed allowed. Was this my marital future? Would Brock and Mercedes in Chains of Love settle into dullness or worse after a few years of marriage?
I snapped back to the present as Vinita moved stealthily toward Papa. His mouth was open. I assumed that was the mission’s target, and I was right. Vinita timed the snoring and slipped the swab into his mouth during the intake phase. Papa stopped snoring and closed his mouth. Vinita grimaced. A couple of snorts and Papa resumed snoring. Vinita completed her task, then replaced the swab in the case. I nodded in Ma’s direction—in for a rupee, in for a lakh—but Vinita shook her head.
We were halfway out the door when Ma mumbled something. We froze, but she resumed her snoring—a contralto to Papa’s bass—and we left.
Back in the basement, after submitting to a cheek swab, I asked Vinita what good it did to get a DNA sample from just one parent. Or non-parent, if I were to adopt her beliefs.
“I got both of them,” she said, opening the bag and removing another case. “Tampon.”
“Ugh. You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”
“Deadly. Aren’t you curious about what we’ll find?”
“Not really.” That wasn’t completely true. I did wonder what would happen when computerless Vinita discovered that Ma and Papa were indeed our parents. Which was extremely likely. It would be like betting everything on a racehorse and having it come in last. Or die on the track.
“Just be prepared for disappointment,” I told her. “Nothing’s for sure.”
“I feel it in my bones,” she said, and with that we turned in and fell asleep.
Our days were now divided into pre-cow time, cow time, and post-cow time. I awoke early to make the most of pre-cow time, to walk through the society and pretend Kamadhenu had not taken over our yards in the name of Lakshmi. But the four people I met asked how she was doing. They didn’t ask how I was doing.
I returned to a house that was silent except for the hushed voices of my parents coming from the kitchen. Papa in the kitchen? That was strange. Could he have started using the shrine? After all, palming purchased milk off as sacred stuff needed some explanation. If he found out about the fake urine, he and Ma would have to work shifts at the shrine. I crept closer to listen.
“Ungrateful girls,” Papa was saying. “Does good daughter ruins father’s name?”
“They are young.”
“But not childrens. First they goes to jail, then does the evil dance.”
“For that you can blame Damini.”
“And then they both makes the hair all fancy without asking me. They gives no respect. I gives them many years of food and clothes, school, even letting them to go to University, do high-high degrees. And what thanks I gets? I shows them many-many good suitors, but no, they are maharanis who thinks they can picks and choose.”
“They want the best, Rasik.”
“I gives them best. What they are without us? Without family to cares for them? Like Chikki, with nothing.”
Was it my imagination, or was Papa expressing dissatisfaction with his beloved daughters?
“Soon we are rich,” Papa continued. “Then are they being like Western childrens, wanting the fancy things, maybe one new car each? For what? Doing small work with cow is big trouble to them.”
“You worry too much, Rasik,” said Ma.
Ma was one to talk, but I tended to agree with her. I had no desire to do battle with the Ahmedabad traffic, so a car was far down on my list.
It was clear Papa would have to abandon the poverty excuse if the cow made him rich, and the idea of sharing wealth with his daughters probably struck him as being akin to giving a hundred rupee note to every beggar he met.
But the part about Chikki puzzled me. In spite of the cousins’ discovery of a last name, and Rini’s promised help, it seemed probable Chikki was an orphan. Was that what Papa meant? Without Ma and him, we would be orphans? Could there possibly be something to Vinita’s suspicions? I decided to keep this eavesdropping experience to myself.
The cousins came downstairs, having apparently skipped the jogging. Lauren set her laptop down on the dining table and showed me a shiny disc. “Flood scenes, courtesy of Rini. Chikki might recognize something.”
Amber brought Chikki and sat her at the table. I watched her reactions to the scenes, which varied from passive watching to minor distress at the sight of flooded communities. After several minutes, she pointed at the screen and spoke rapidly. Lauren identified the object of interest and zoomed in. It was a sign on a building, or perhaps the building bearing the sign. Something familiar, at any rate.
Lauren displayed a map on the screen. “Okay, we know where the picture was taken, a village named Alappad. So now we have to place it on the map.”
“Home, Chikki, home,” said Amber.
“Home might be kinda sad,” said Lauren. “But here’s the place. Alappad, in the state of Kerala.”
“Way down south. Must be hotter than hell there.”
“It’s hotter than hell here.”
“So what are you going to do now?” I asked.
“Have Rini see what info she can get on Alappad, maybe find out if a family named Narayan lived there and were flood victims.”
“Or not,” said Amber.
“Yeah, or not. Let’s hope not. I’m going to see if I can catch Rini.”
I wished them well. Now that the cow was paying off again, Papa was no longer looking daggers at Chikki, and I knew Naani considered her to be part of the family. Pinning down the existence of the parents, living or dead, would ease my remaining concern, that my family could be accused of kidnapping the girl. Sheltering a flood survivor might well be seen as an act of benevolence, even at this late date.
The rest of the family showed up for breakfast, and I began thinking of ways to keep things moving in a positive direction. The two families were closer than they had been since Damini and the girls arrived, and that couldn’t hurt my chances. But out there, somewhere, was something that could. I could count on that.
Chapter 32
Cow Under Fire
I sat on the front steps and watched as two hired men worked to construct a fancier enclosure for Kamadhenu. By nine o’clock this had taken the shape of a solid rear wall, with six wooden posts forming the side boundaries. Plastic flower garlands spanned the posts.
Across the upper part of the rear wall were depictions of Lakshmi and Kamadhenu. The original Kamadhenu, one presumed, but coincidentally looking much like our version, except lighter in color. Wheatish, actually. Apparently that was important in the old days, too.
Beneath that was a place to post testimonials, of which Papa already had seven, not counting the winner of the car. Quick-acting medicine, our cow.
Over all this was stretched a new, larger canopy, the original canopy now being used to shade the tables of products. Miniature cows and cow medallions had been added to the offerings by Bhadresh, and framed pictures were soon to arrive. To one accustomed to things happening much later than they should, this was dizzying progress.
But what really surprised me was the eager participation of the cousins. Unlike our perennially rupee-starved family, they had no monetary interest in the cow. Lauren had explained that the cow was a marketing challenge and that she wanted to do a study of our customers to better refine what she called “the pitch.”
That made her seem to be a complex creature, part foe of inequality, part shearer of sheep, and I wondered how she made peace with the two roles. Maybe she was like the scientists who had developed nuclear weapons. They were no doubt opposed to dropping one on babies and grandmothers, but the lure of building a big new toy was simply too great to resist.
Or maybe Lauren was feeling bad about causing Papa to lose his job, and was sacrificing her ideals to help us. Whatever the motivation, the activity suited Vinita’s statistical bent, and so together they were creating a database and spreadsheet on Lauren’s laptop. Such a spirit of cooperation was something I never thought I would live to see, but Vinita was steadily becoming a more agreeable person. Whether this was a forecast of more good behavior or simply the last gasp of sanity, I couldn’t say.
Amber’s interests didn’t include mathematics. She was more of a people person, as she put it, and enjoyed being photographed with the cow. She donned the sari she had worn for the wedding, guaranteeing no shortage of photographers—virtually all male—who paid a hefty hundred rupees to take pictures. Chikki got into the act by sitting on Kamadhenu’s back. The effect was that of a shrine that had joined a circus.
The monsoon continued to be fickle, having gone dry over most of the state after the initial downpours, but even though this brought rising temperatures, conditions were still excellent for a cow expo. As Lauren said, it was all systems go.
Rini arrived just as business was going full swing. She got off her moped and stared dumbfounded at our little operation. Dilip added to her shock by trying to sell her some grass as cow feed. I motioned her over.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I think I should pinch myself. How long has this been going on?”
“Three days.”
“Looks like good fortune can come to anyone, regardless.”
“We need it, whether we deserve it or not,” I said. “Now that Papa’s lost his job, it’s this or being hawkers at Lal Darwaja. But there’s no way to know how long it will last.”
“A while longer,” said Rini, pointing down the street. A car had stopped, and two men were walking toward the display. “They’re from the Sandesh. You’re about to get favorable exposure. Next comes TV coverage. Maybe my sister will cover it. I’ll make sure she’ll be sympathetic. Well, as much as she can be.”
One of the men commenced taking pictures, while the other began interviewing the cow faithful. All positive cow stuff until a woman with a loud voice addressed Papa.
“If your cow has the power for the good,” she boomed, “why we have no water yet?”
“A troublemaker,” whispered Rini.
“Yes. I wonder...” I looked past Rini and there, standing in front of her house, was Gita, grinning evilly. I knew she was behind the woman’s challenge. Probably behind the appearance of the reporters, as well, for the timing was too good.
