Rakhi

The car window was half open, and the wind carried the smell of cow dung and river water.

Aditya held the steering wheel with one hand, his other resting on the window frame.

It was nearly eight by the time he entered Varanasi's old city. The lanes were too narrow for the jeep, so he parked at the end of the street.

When he reached the old apartment building where Solomon lived, the second-floor window was still lit, its yellow glow like a bundle of torches burning in the darkness, about to go out.

Mary stood at the entrance, waiting for him.

She wore a blue kurta, and the night wind blew her long chestnut hair against her face. Her face had little color, and she held her hands folded in front of her.

Aditya strode over.

Mary neither came forward nor asked, "You're here?" She glanced at Aditya with her slightly reddened eyes and said quietly, "He's still awake. He's waiting for you."

Only when Aditya came closer did he notice the tear tracks beneath Mary's eyes, as though she had just been crying. His heart tightened. "Upstairs?"

"Yes, and there's a lawyer." Mary paused, then said, "He arrived this afternoon, from Mumbai. My dad sent for him."

Aditya asked no more and headed straight upstairs. He knew Solomon's style: before dying, he would certainly put everything in order. The lawyer could hardly have rushed over from Mumbai just to see him off. Who knew what move the old man had waiting for him tonight?

Aditya pushed the door open. The room was quiet. The fan turned slowly, and an oil lamp burned by the bed, casting a dim yellow light.

Solomon leaned against the headboard, his body sunk into the two pillows propped behind him. His eyes were wide, the skin of his face hanging loose.

"You're here," Solomon rasped.

"I'm here." Aditya sat in the chair beside the bed. He had meant to ask, "How are you?" but swallowed the words before they left his mouth. With the man already in this state, asking something like that seemed rather pointless.

As though he had seen through him, Solomon said softly, "I've kept one last breath in me. I wanted to talk to you."

He raised his hand a little, and Mary came over to prop his pillows higher.

Solomon caught his breath for a while, then told Mary, "Sit down too. You're staying tonight as well."

Mary wiped her eyes with her sleeve and sat on the little stool at the foot of the bed. She looked up at Solomon, her hands wrung together on her knees.

"How much does your factory make a day now?" Solomon asked, wheezing.

Aditya froze for a moment. "Around two thousand rupees."

"Where are you selling the goods?"

"Lucknow, Allahabad. There are customers in Bihar too."

Solomon gave a soft grunt, as though he had guessed as much long ago.

"Mostly domestic sales," he said. "You're fighting those old factories in Uttar Pradesh for their rice bowls. Next year, when yarn prices rise and electricity rates go up again, all your money will be tied up in cloth. Once the cloth stops selling and you can't pay the workers, the factory could collapse at any moment."

Aditya said nothing. Solomon's assessment matched his own. The textile mills in Kanpur would go under in batches like this; anyone with eyes could see it coming.

Solomon continued, "I've worked in ports for thirty years. I've been watching your factory all along. You have a brain, but you need to find a way out for your cloth. If you only keep circling around Uttar Pradesh, in less than five years, you'll end up just like them: a sigh over someone else's after-dinner conversation."

"What exactly are you trying to tell me?" Aditya asked.

Solomon stared straight at him and said slowly, "I have a company in Mumbai. Port services and warehousing. It has two ships and ranks fourth at the Port of Mumbai. It isn't big, but it's enough to get your cloth aboard a ship."

Aditya was taken aback. Solomon had never told him about his business in detail. He only knew that the old man had spent time in Mumbai, had some money, and had a few connections.

Now that Solomon had brought up the company again today, Aditya had already begun to guess something.

"You still want to give me the company?" Aditya asked.

"Not give it to you," Solomon said. "Give your textile factory a way to survive."

He took several more labored breaths before continuing. "I'll leave the company to you and Mary. You'll hold seventy percent, and Mary will keep thirty. You're Indian, and a Brahmin at that. With the company in your name, the banks will recognize you, the port authority will recognize you, and so will the shipowners. Mary is a Jewish girl. In Mumbai, she couldn't even push open a bank's door. Thirty percent will be enough to provide for her in the future."

Aditya did not answer immediately after hearing this. He turned to look at Mary.

Mary remained in the same position, her expression unruffled, only her fingers twisting tighter together. It seemed she had known all along.

Aditya sighed inwardly. Solomon made it sound so nice, first offering a seventy-thirty split as though he were doing him a favor, when in fact he was still waiting for Aditya to speak.

The old Jewish man was as shrewd as ever. Every time, he had Aditya firmly in his grip, and every time, he managed to put his finger precisely on how Aditya's mind worked.

"I don't want it," Aditya said.

Solomon showed no surprise. He merely kept looking at him.

"The company will still bear the Cohen name. Mary gets seventy percent; thirty is enough for me," Aditya said, word by word. "If I take too much, those people in Mumbai won't accept me, and no one will trust Mary anymore either. She's the one who belongs to the Cohen family. I'll stand behind her and support her."

Solomon looked at him, breathing violently. After a long while, he forced an ugly smile onto his face and spoke.

"I told Mary earlier today that you wouldn't take seventy percent. She wasn't surprised at all. She said that although you're lustful, you aren't false, and you're someone worth trusting."

As Solomon spoke, he gave Aditya a strange look, as though waiting for an explanation.

Aditya immediately looked at Mary. Her head was bowed very low, and the tips of her ears were a little red.

Well, now yellow mud has fallen into my trousers. Aditya simply chose not to explain and fell silent.

"You're keeping too much distance. There's no need to be so polite with me," Solomon said.

"I'm looking out for myself," Aditya explained. "If I take seventy percent, then when I get to Mumbai, I'll be an outsider who seized the Cohen family's docks. Only with Mary holding seventy percent will I have a place to stand at the port. It's better for everyone this way."

Solomon nodded lightly and did not argue further.

"All right, then we'll do as you say. Mary gets seventy percent of the company, and you get thirty."

He rested for a while longer, then said to Mary, "Go and bring that iron box."

Mary rose, took a black iron box from the table, and opened it before setting it on the bed.

Aditya looked over. There was not much inside: a few old ship tickets, a dull gray silver ring, and a roll of red-and-white cotton thread.

Solomon's hand shook badly as he picked up the roll of cotton thread and set it on the edge of the bed.

Aditya's eyelid twitched.

"You grew up in Uttar Pradesh. I don't need to explain this to you, do I?" Solomon rasped, forcing a smile.

Aditya immediately guessed what Solomon intended. That cotton thread was a Rakhi-a protective knot.

A Rakhi was a thread a sister tied around her brother's wrist. It was neither jewelry nor decoration; it was a woman placing her life in your hands. Accepting it was the same as swearing before the gods that, for the rest of her life, you would share in her suffering. If she went hungry, you had to find her food. If someone bullied her, you had to stand in front of her. This was dharma, the rule of the Brahmins.

Aditya's eyelids twitched wildly as he stared at Solomon in disbelief.

"Mary has no brothers, and I have no sons," Solomon said. "Once I die, she won't have a single relative left in this world."

Aditya blinked and said nothing.

"I've lived here among you for thirty years," Solomon continued. "I know India's rules. Without a man standing in front of her, she won't even be able to enter the docks in Mumbai. I don't believe in your gods, but I believe in your rules. Consider this me begging you. Let her tie it on you."

There was a trace of pleading and some unease in the look Solomon gave him.

"Dad," Mary finally said, raising her head.

Her face was very pale, her lips pressed tightly together, her golden-green eyes moist.

"I can't have a say in the company's affairs. But let this go. Don't pressure Aditya anymore. He said he would help me, and I trust him." Mary's voice was low, but she spoke firmly.

Solomon was silent for a while, then panted out to Aditya, "I'm not trying to force you. It's all right if you don't want to."

"Dad, stop," Mary said, shaking her head.

Aditya moved then, rising from his chair. He picked up the bundle of cotton thread and walked over to Mary.

"Give me your hand," Aditya said.

Mary leaned back slightly and asked in confusion, "What are you doing?"

Aditya reached out and took her wrist directly. Mary's entire body stiffened, and she froze.

"Tie it! Tie it on me," Aditya said.

Mary stood dazed, not moving.

"Tie it," Aditya repeated. "I never said I wasn't willing."

Aditya had only been silent because Solomon's performance had bewildered him. As a transmigrator, he naturally did not care about this Rakhi business. This time, he genuinely admired Solomon's methods a little. For Mary's sake, a Jewish man like him could even make use of Hindu customs, and act as though he thoroughly endorsed them. At his age, the old man really did not have it easy.

Father and daughter had thought he was unwilling, and Mary had even spoken up for him. Aditya felt deeply helpless and simply decided to fulfill Solomon's wish.

Mary's tears fell at once. Without another word, she picked up the roll of thread and wound it around Aditya's wrist, loop after loop. Her hands were icy, as though frozen stiff, and she tied it very slowly.

When Mary finished, she bit through the end of the thread and stepped back.

"It's done," Mary said quietly.

Solomon looked at the thread on Aditya's wrist. It was only a few simple loops of red-and-white thread, yet he examined it closely, as though those threads could protect Mary in the future.

"Good." Solomon let out a long breath. "Now I can rest easy."

He slapped the sheet several times in succession, as though clapping with delight.

"Kulkarni," he said, signaling Mary with his eyes.

Mary opened the door and went out, then brought someone back in.

The man followed Mary inside, first setting down the leather bag in his hand, then pressing his palms together and saying softly, "Hello, Mr. Mishra. I'm Mr. Cohen's lawyer."

Aditya returned the greeting.

The lawyer picked up his bag, took out a document, and handed it to Aditya.

Cohen Shipping Services Company-"Deed of Share Transfer"

Transferor: Solomon Cohen

First transferee: Mary Cohen

Second transferee: Aditya Mishra

1. Solomon Cohen voluntarily transfers all his shares in the Cohen Shipping Services Company as follows:

Mary Cohen shall receive seventy percent of the shares, and Aditya Mishra shall receive thirty percent.

This transfer shall take effect on the date of signing by both parties.

2. Mary Cohen shall serve as chair of the company and exercise shareholder rights externally on the company's behalf.

Aditya Mishra shall serve as executive director, responsible for the company's daily operations, dock scheduling, business development, and personnel management.

3. The following matters shall be valid only upon the joint signatures of Mary Cohen and Aditya Mishra:

7. This deed shall be executed in triplicate, with the transferor and transferees each retaining a copy, and one copy retained by the company registry.

Aditya read through the detailed provisions in the document. There were no problems. He signed everywhere he needed to, and Mary stood beside him and signed her name as well.

Solomon leaned back against the pillows. His breathing grew slower and slower, his eyes half closed.

"Mary."

"I'm here."

"Aditya."

"Yes."

The corners of Solomon's mouth moved, as though he were smiling, or perhaps his muscles had merely relaxed. Then he gently exhaled and moved no more.

Mary knelt and pressed her forehead against her father's hand.

Aditya stood behind her. He did not look at Mary, only lowered his head to glance at the Rakhi on his wrist.

"You old bastard. You win this time," he said softly, then walked over and closed the window.