Fifteen Lanes

by S. J. Laidlaw

  “Your mom and I could take you all out tonight for something super-special.”

  “We’ve already made plans, Dad. I’ll do something with you guys tomorrow.”

  “It won’t be your birthday tomorrow.”

  Mom made big eyes at him across the table.

  “I’m sixteen now, Dad. Sometimes I want to be with my friends.”

  “You’ll always be my baby girl.”

  “John!” said Mom in a reproving voice, though she was no better.

  “You’re such a dork, Dad.”

  I gave him a final hug before I pulled away and headed for the door. Both my parents jumped up to follow.

  “If you run into any trouble, or if anyone says or does something that makes you feel uncomfortable, just call us,” said Mom, hugging me at the door. I’d already told her VJ was gay. It was probably the only reason she was letting me go.

  “We’re just going to get pizza, Mom. Nothing is going to go wrong.”

  Dad opened the door and gave me another hug. “Happy birthday, my girl.”

  “Thanks, Dad. Love you.”

  I walked to the elevator. I didn’t need to look back to know they were still at the door watching me.

  I walked down the block before hailing a taxi. I’d already lied to my parents that VJ lived just around the corner. It would be just like them to watch out the front window.

  The drive to Kamathipura took an hour, which was longer than usual. Friday night traffic in Mumbai was always terrible. I had trouble spotting the falafel place Noor had described. It was smaller than I’d expected but also a bit nicer. Most of the food outlets in Kamathipura were little more than counters with no place to sit. This one looked like a proper restaurant though it was open to the air, with just a few large overhead fans for cooling.

  I was a few minutes late and disappointed that Noor wasn’t already there. There wasn’t a single woman in the place. I sat down at a table as close as I could get to the door, though there were only eight tightly packed tables and most were occupied. I’d been sitting about fifteen minutes when I noticed the server behind the counter staring at me. It was one of those places where you have to go up to the counter to order. He must have been wondering what I was waiting for. I got out my phone.

  already at restaurant. U far? I texted.

  I waited for an answer. A group of men came in and took the last empty table. I could feel the counter guy’s eyes on me, though I was careful not to look his way. Men from other tables were gawping at me as well. I suddenly felt exposed in my flimsy Indian frock. I should have just worn jeans. My face burned with embarrassment. I looked at my phone again. Noor was almost thirty minutes late. I’d never felt so pathetic.

  restaurant crowded. u here soon? I typed.

  I waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  Another fifteen minutes passed.

  Nothing.

  So far this was the worst birthday ever. Maybe I should have gone to her house but I didn’t have the courage to walk through Kamathipura alone at night. Surely if she’d had to cancel she’d have let me know. I couldn’t continue to sit there if I didn’t get food. The counter clerk was clearly talking about me with one of his servers, gesturing angrily. I flushed with embarrassment. They were going to throw me out any minute. I got up and went to the counter to order a falafel and water, though I really only wanted the water. The heat, combined with my anxiety, was making me queasy.

  I couldn’t bear the thought of going home and giving up on this night, though it was obvious Noor wasn’t coming. I’d had such stupidly high hopes, not only for my birthday but for our friendship. I took my food back to the table and proceeded to consume it as slowly as possible. It was close to eight, two hours after we were meant to meet, when I sent one final text.

  can only wait a few more minutes. hope u ok

  The last statement was both true and not. I was genuinely worried about Noor. She lived a precarious life. Maybe something bad had happened to her. At the same time, it seemed too coincidental that she’d have a serious problem the very same night we’d agreed to meet. A far more likely explanation was that she’d decided she didn’t want to have dinner with me. On reflection, she hadn’t seemed that keen. I was the loser trying to force my friendship on her. Why should she want to be my friend? No one else did.

  So, on my sixteenth birthday, I sat alone in a run-down restaurant, surrounded by men openly ogling me, wishing I could disappear.

  Noor didn’t like me.

  I felt foolish that I’d expected anything more and betrayed because I really did like her and Shami and Aamaal. What was so wrong with me? My eyes stung with unshed tears. I only wanted to be her friend. Was that too much to ask? I felt like screaming or hurling my half-eaten falafel across the room.

  I didn’t.

  I had a better way to release tension.

  The washroom sign was to the right. I picked up my bag and headed over. I was grateful to find the door unlocked, but disappointed, when I stepped inside, to discover it filthy and foul-smelling. I took the knife from my bag. Fortunately, I was wearing a dress—easier access. I hiked it up, gingerly leaned against the wall and bent my leg, bringing my canvas within reach. The first letter was an obvious choice.

  T

  It couldn’t be anything else. My poem was almost complete.

  I thought long and hard about the next letter. I wanted to write traitor, an indictment of Noor. But this was my epitaph, not hers. It needed to describe me, and when I realized that, I came to another realization. The word was obvious, as obvious as what I needed to do next. I’d known all along it would come to this. Even the location felt somehow right. My parents wouldn’t find me. Strangers would clear me away like so much debris.

  I etched an E.

  My father’s face, his disappointment as I’d left the house this evening swam into view.

  The R took more time. My hand was shaking.

  I looked around the small room. Maybe I should leave a note.

  I started on the M but my hands were shaking so badly now I had to stop. I felt light-headed.

  My phone buzzed. I looked at my bag. Who could be calling at a time like this?

  “You’re too late,” I said grimly.

  I finished the M.

  My phone rang again. What if it was my mother checking up on me?

  I glared at the bag. The ringing was interminable. Every time it ran through the limit of rings, it would start afresh moments later. In my frustration I’d made the downstroke on the M too deep. Blood dripped down my leg.

  Whoever it was, they weren’t giving up on me. It had to be my parents. It would be typical of my mom to somehow intuit something was wrong. Or maybe it was my dad making a last-ditch effort to convince me to spend my birthday with them. It could even be Kyle or Tina, wishing me a happy birthday. I put the knife under the tap and rinsed it off. The phone continued to ring as I dried the knife, reached for my bag and dropped it in. My phone, nestled inside, glowed and bleated like a living thing. I took it out and checked the caller ID.

  It was Noor.

  I put the phone to my ear and answered.

  “Hello.”

  Noor

  A small triumph …

  The only light switch for the box was on the outside. It would have cost Pran nothing to turn it on. He didn’t. In the silent darkness, with no room to move, the smell of sweat mingled with sex and blood was magnified. I thought I might suffocate. It would be some kind of victory if he found me dead. Too bad I wouldn’t be around to enjoy it.

  There was no need to explore the limits of my prison; I’d seen it often enough. I could do nothing but wait. My own thoughts were an unwelcome companion. I worried about Aamaal. Would they be able to fix her arm? Could Ma afford it? I worried about Shami. Before Pran took me away I’d told him to go to Deepa-Auntie. I could only hope that he had.

  I worried about myself. My life was over. I would rather be dead than s
ubmit to the men who used Ma. I didn’t give in to tears. I was beyond them.

  “Noor-di?” It was Shami.

  “What are you doing here, baby? I told you to go to Deepa-Auntie.”

  “Should I bring her here, Noor-di?”

  “No, Shami, that would only get her in trouble. Just tell her where I am. Tell her Pran has broken his promise to Ma.”

  “Okay,” said Shami. I heard the faintest footsteps as he left.

  Only a few minutes had passed when I heard noises again.

  “Noor, what has he done to you? What are you doing in there?” Joy coursed through me at the sound of Deepa-Auntie’s voice.

  “He’s going to sell me. Nishikar-Sir has ordered it.”

  “No! That can’t be. Your ma would never allow it.” It was Lali-didi this time. It was good to hear her voice, but they had to leave before Pran caught them. How had they got rid of their customers so quickly? Surely that would arouse suspicion.

  “Pran hurt Aamaal. Ma took her to hospital. He plans to hand me over to Nishikar-Sir before she returns.”

  “I won’t allow it!” said Deepa-Auntie.

  “No, you mustn’t confront him! He’ll hurt you.”

  There was silence, followed by whispering between Deepa-Auntie and Lali-didi.

  “Noor, do you still have Parvati’s phone?” asked Deepa-Auntie.

  “It’s in my pocket.”

  “You must call the foreigner. We have a plan.”

  Over the next ten minutes, we talked through their idea. It was outrageous, and I wasn’t sure Grace or Vijender Patel would agree. There was only a small chance it would even work, but it was my only chance.

  It was already almost eight o’clock. We had agreed to meet for dinner at six. Grace would be back home by now. Would she even be allowed to come out again?

  She didn’t pick up the first time I called. I tried again. It rang and rang then went to voice mail. She had to answer. I couldn’t give up. Maybe she didn’t keep her phone with her all the time like I did. She lived in a proper house where her valuables weren’t in constant threat of being stolen.

  The seventh time I called, Grace answered.

  “Hello.” Her voice was wary.

  “Grace, you have to help me.” The words spilled out. “I’m locked in a box. You need to come here and bring Vijender Patel.”

  “Noor, what did you say?” The phone crackled. I could hardly hear her.

  “A box. He’ll need to pretend he wants a prostitute and then come and break the door. He should ask for a young girl, that’s important. Do you remember I told you about Lali-didi? He must get to her.”

  “Noor, I don’t understand—”

  “He’s going to sell me tonight, Grace.” I was in tears now.

  “Who’s going to sell you?” The line crackled, beeped and went dead.

  I hit redial several times and repeatedly got the recorded message telling me the caller was out of range. I cried as quietly as I could.

  “Are they coming?” asked Deepa-Auntie. I could hear the doubt in her voice.

  “I don’t think so. I couldn’t make her understand.”

  “I’ll find your ma, Noor. I’ll check every hospital.”

  “No, you can’t. Pran will punish you if you take the night off.”

  “When your ma finds out, Pran will have bigger problems than me. I’ll go down the street talking to men. He won’t realize what I’m up to until I’m long gone.”

  “It’s too dangerous, Deepa-Auntie. Please, don’t.”

  Her bark of laughter was harsh and unlike her. “I’ve lived with danger since the day the men came to my village, Noor. The only thing that kept me going was you and your brother and sister. You give us all something to hope for. If you can escape, maybe someday we all can.”

  “It’s true, Noor,” agreed Lali-didi. “Some day you’ll be an important person, more powerful than Pran or Binti-Ma’am, or even Nishikar-Sir. On that day we will laugh in their faces and walk out the front door.”

  The weight of their expectations could have felt like a burden, but it had the opposite effect. Their dreams only strengthened my own.

  “Be careful, Deepa-Auntie.”

  “Don’t worry, Noor-baby, I’ll be back before you know it.”

  I leaned my head against the wooden wall and prepared to wait. The time passed slowly. Shami kept vigil outside. For a while we played a guessing game. As the hour grew late, his responses became more infrequent and his words jumbled. Finally, I ordered him to go to sleep. His silence, after wishing me good night, was almost immediate. At first it was comfort enough that I could picture his small body curled up beside the stool under my prison door.

  I checked the time on the phone many times and chided myself for wasting the battery. I wished I could have slept as well. Some ninety minutes after Deepa-Auntie’s departure the phone rang. My fingers trembled as I answered it.

  “Noor?” It was Grace. “I’m outside your building.” Her voice was as clear as if she were just outside the box. “VJ has headed inside.”

  “He’s inside?” All at once I realized the rashness of my plan. VJ might be a rich film star, but he was a boy, sheltered and inexperienced. He didn’t even like girls. If I could figure that out, surely a man with Pran’s experience would realize.

  “Shami!” I called through the wall.

  “Yes?” I was surprised by how quickly he woke up.

  “You must go tell Lali-didi that the plan is happening. VJ Patel will be asking for her.”

  “I’ll tell her, Noor-di,” he said eagerly. The patter of his feet retreated.

  I looked at my phone. It was nearly ten o’clock.

  I checked it a dozen times over the next thirty minutes. Finally, I heard the approach of footsteps and whispers.

  “Are you in there, Noor?”

  It was Vijender. I broke into a cold sweat. I was relieved and terrified at the same time.

  “Hurry,” I said. “Pran could show up at any moment.”

  “I bought us some time. Pran recognized me but I used it to our advantage. I promised him five times Lali’s price to clear your room and I said if anyone disturbed me before I was finished, then the deal was off.” There was a loud scraping along the doorframe.

  “Are you okay in there, Noor?” It was Lali-didi. My heart pounded as I considered the danger I’d placed her in.

  “You must come with us, Lali-didi,” I told her, though the racket from VJ hammering a wedge between the door and frame may have drowned out my words.

  “I need to go back to the lounge, Noor. You know how suspicious Pran is. He’ll be worried about his money. Sooner or later he’ll come looking to make sure VJ hasn’t snuck away without paying. VJ has given me money for him. Perhaps it will be enough to distract him awhile longer. Should I take Shami with me?” she asked.

  “No!” I couldn’t bear to not see Shami before I left. “I want to take him with me.”

  “We can’t take him tonight, Noor. It’s too dangerous,” said VJ.

  “I promise I’ll keep him safe,” said Lali-didi.

  “Shami want to go with Noor-di.” I didn’t know if he was pleading with me or them. My heart ached. What had I been thinking? I couldn’t leave Shami.

  “Good luck, Noor. We’re going now …”

  “No!”

  “Bye-bye, Noor-di.” I knew him so well. He was holding in his tears, as he had so many times before. I reached out to him in the darkness.

  “Make us proud,” said Lali-didi. They were her final words to me.

  I shoved my fist in my mouth to stifle the sound of the sobs that wracked my body.

  Minutes later, with a shattering of wood, the door fell open and VJ’s head appeared in the opening. He registered surprise when he saw the state of me but quickly recovered. There was no time to delay.

  VJ extended his hand to help me down. “Hurry. We haven’t much time.”

  “Shami?” Grief overshadowed my fear.

 
; “We’ll come back for him, but we must go now.”

  He didn’t need to tell me that, but where could we go? There was only one exit, and it meant getting past the lounge without being seen. We’d never make it.

  “Follow me,” said VJ. He ran in the only possible direction. I followed but was still shocked when he got to the ladder that led to our room. Suddenly we heard distant shouts coming from the direction of the lounge.

  “Quick, Noor!” said VJ, taking the rungs of the ladder two at a time.

  We were going to get caught. There was no way out from the second floor. Still I followed him, scaling the ladder faster than I’d ever done. I stopped in my tracks when I got to the top. Adit was waiting there.

  “Come on, Noor.” Adit gave me an impatient look. “I did what you asked,” he said, turning to VJ, who was running across the room to the window.

  “Good man.” VJ dug in his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, tossing it onto the nearest bed. Adit trotted over, snatched it up and pocketed it.

  VJ was leaning out the window, where the metal cage prevented escape. I could hear the sound of running feet from the floor below. I raced over to join VJ. It took me a moment to realize there was something different about the window. The screws had been removed from one side and the metal bars pushed out from the wall, creating an opening just large enough to squeeze through.

  I shot a look at Adit, who smiled proudly.

  “Pran will beat you for this if he doesn’t kill you,” I said.

  “Maybe I won’t give him the chance. You were right when you said there’s a whole world beyond these fifteen lanes. Why should you be the only one to escape?”

  “Enough talking,” snapped VJ. “You need to go first, Noor.”

  “We’re going to jump?” I said, aghast.

  “Not exactly.” VJ picked up a bundle from the floor. Only then did I realize it was a rope made out of knotted dupattas. Some were so tattered it would be a miracle if they didn’t tear and break.

  “You go first,” he said. “I’m heavier. This might not hold my weight.”

  I took it from him, steeling myself not to look down as I swung my legs out the window and squeezed through the bars. It took every ounce of my courage to push off and drop. For just a second I panicked and hung helplessly, my feet dangling in midair. I didn’t know what to do, but suddenly I heard Pran’s voice. He was in our room. It spurred me to action. Planting my feet against the wall, I leaned out and scuttled down.