Going home

The jeep drove out of Kanpur, past sugarcane fields that gleamed green along the roadside.

The jeep's air conditioning barely cooled the air. Aditya rolled down the window, and hot wind swept dust straight into the car, choking him so badly that he immediately rolled it back up.

On the back seat lay fabric produced by Diya, which he had specially prepared.

Aditya was alone. He had left Dipti, Madan, and Raju in Kanpur; Diya had only just begun production and still needed them.

After three in the afternoon, the jeep reached Varanasi. The sun had left Aditya dizzy.

The sacred cows were as imperious as ever, leisurely occupying the middle of the road to piss. Unfortunately, no Indian bros were nearby to see it, so all that precious holy water went to waste.

Aditya honked, but the cow did not react. Resigned to his fate, he turned the wheel and drove around it.

As he drove along the road through the fields, the farmers in the countryside stared at the jeep as though they had seen an alien, gathering along the roadside to watch.

Only when Aditya lowered the window and revealed his face did these Dalits, who had never seen a car in their lives, hurriedly drop to their knees. They had never seen a car, but they recognized the sacred thread across Aditya's chest. This was India.

Aditya returned to the Mishra Family's courtyard.

His mother, Sushila, was lighting a lamp before the shrine. It was a small brass lamp, its cotton wick soaked in ghee, wisps of black smoke drifting above a flame the size of a soybean.

"Mother, I'm back," Aditya called.

"Aditya!" Startled, Sushila nearly dropped the lamp. She turned around, her voice full of delight.

"Go wash up. Your grandfather is in the prayer room, and you need to perform the evening worship too." Sushila set the lamp down securely and pressed her palms together.

Aditya knew the rules. Though the Mishra Family had fallen on hard times, its morning and evening worship of God Shiva had never ceased.

He washed his hands and feet, changed into clean clothes, and entered the prayer room.

His grandfather, Patil, was already seated there. A brass tray on the floor held rice, flowers, and vermilion powder. The small statue of Shiva against the wall had been passed down by their ancestors. It was blackened, as though it had been burned.

"You're back. Sit down first." Hearing him, Patil turned to see his grandson and spoke calmly.

Aditya sat cross-legged behind him. Patil began reciting scripture, his hoarse voice rising.

Aditya scattered rice before the statue, then dipped a fingertip into a little vermilion and dotted his forehead.

Naturally, he did not believe in any of this, but Aditya did. Since he was Aditya, he had to go through the whole routine.

After the worship ended, Aditya chatted with his grandfather, Patil, for a while.

Patil asked about the Diya Textile Factory: whether the workers obeyed him, how the machines were, and whether the fabric had sold.

Aditya answered each question. His grandfather's expression remained unchanged; he merely nodded.

At dinner, Sushila brought over sweet flatbread.

His grandfather, Patil, had returned to his room. Sushila was a traditional Brahmin woman and would not eat with her son, so Aditya sat alone at the table.

A little later, Dipali also came in carrying pigeon pea mash and set it on the table.

"Baba, you're finally back."

Dipali was very happy to see Aditya. She put down the food and winked at him.

At the maid's little gesture, an itch immediately stirred in Aditya's heart. He quickly caught the hem of Dipali's clothes and pulled her back.

Aditya pressed Dipali down onto his lap.

Dipali dared not struggle hard. She sat there looking flustered, glancing toward the doorway from time to time. Fortunately, the door swung shut on its own, letting her secretly breathe a sigh of relief.

Aditya looked at his maid. Dipali's face was crimson, her long eyelashes interlaced, her breathing quick. Every so often, she stole another glance at the door.

Aditya felt a little amused. Tightening both arms, he lifted the maid bodily into his embrace.

He patted Dipali's tense thigh, signaling her to relax a little.

Aditya dipped the flatbread in the pea mash and stuffed it into his mouth.

Dipali pressed her lips together without speaking.

"Dipali, have you missed your young master all these days?" Aditya asked with a wicked grin.

"Yes, I thought about you every day, Baba!"

Dipali spoke. As soon as she finished, she squeezed her eyes shut.

Aditya slowly chewed the flatbread. It had a rich wheat fragrance.

Dipali clamped a hand over her mouth and collapsed into Aditya's arms as though drained of strength.

Before long, Dipali left with a flushed face, pulling the door shut behind her.

Aditya ate very slowly. Sushila's flatbread was sweet, and Dipali's pea mash was sticky. Aditya needed to savor them slowly.

The nights in Varanasi were still very hot.

Aditya lay in his room, tossing and turning. There was only one old fan in the room, and it turned so slowly that it provided no coolness at all.

Bang! Bang!

Someone knocked on the door.

"Baba, are you asleep?"

Dipali's voice drifted through the crack in the door, very, very softly.

"No," Aditya said, sitting up.

The door opened, and Dipali came in carrying a brass cup filled with cool tea.

She set the tea beside the bed and slowly sat down, only half her rounded bottom resting on the mattress, pressing a full curve into it.

Moonlight shone through the window, illuminating half her face while the other half remained hidden in the darkness. Dipali sat quietly, twisting the hem of her skirt between her fingers.

"Are you ready? It's all right if you don't want to," Aditya asked.

Dipali hesitated. She raised her head to glance at Aditya, then abruptly ducked her head and shrank back as though pricked by a needle.

"Yes, I just finished washing." Dipali could barely get the words out, her voice seeming to escape through the gaps between her teeth.

Aditya heard her clearly and pulled Dipali down onto the bed.

"Ah!" Dipali cried as her body tipped sideways.

"I... I'm a little scared," Dipali suddenly said.

"Scared of what?"

"Will you stop wanting me someday, Baba? You don't seem to like staying in Varanasi."

Aditya reached out and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. Dipali trembled but did not pull away.

"No. You can come with me in the future," he said.

Dipali said nothing more. She slowly stood up, then knelt beside Aditya.

Dipali massaged Aditya's temples with both hands.

The massage felt very comfortable. Aditya let out a soft breath. He was almost asleep, as though the entire day's fatigue had melted away.

He caught a quiet, warm scent, carrying the smell of old clothes and soap pods.

Dipali massaged Aditya for a full ten-odd minutes. Her arms grew sore, and keeping her waist bent was uncomfortable too.

The nights in Varanasi were still far too hot. The air was humid, with a faint slickness to it, and oppressively muggy.

Aditya was sweating all over from the heat, as though tongues of flame were about to burst out from inside him.

The room was so hot that both of them were sweating. Aditya turned the old fan up to its highest setting.

That fan had been running for many years. Its gears lacked lubrication and creaked as they turned. The blades spun too fast, producing a piercing noise.

Half an hour later, the fan seemed to reach its limit. Unable to bear the strain, it stopped abruptly.

The old fan had suddenly broken down just like that. Aditya did nothing about it, even though he knew that was wrong.

Aditya ignored the fan. He did not stop to inspect it.

Aditya's mind was clear, in stark contrast to Dipali.

At that moment, he was not the factory's boss, nor the Mishra Family's grandson, but simply a nineteen-year-old man.

Dipali buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder, like a kitten that had found a warm nest in winter.

Dipali fell silent. Aditya drank the tea in the cup. It was cool, chilling him all the way from his throat to his stomach.

At daybreak, Aditya woke. Dipali lay in his arms still, her eyes half-closed.

The clothes that had been folded beside the bed lay scattered.

Aditya recalled what had happened the night before. He felt no regret, only a little more weight upon him.