Fifteen Lanes

by S. J. Laidlaw

  “The only victim here is a murdered boy under a bridge.”

  “She’s just told you that the child you’re looking for was raped and trafficked!” VJ’s mom exploded.

  “We have only her word, and what does she know of these things?”

  “I grew up in a house where minor girls do sex work,” snapped Noor.

  “And where would that be?” The officer leaned toward Noor, while one of his younger colleagues flipped open a notebook and prepared to write.

  Noor was slow to answer. She looked from the officers to me and back again.

  “What will you do if I tell you?”

  “We will raid the establishment.” He seemed to think this answer would please her. It didn’t. Her face was wreathed in anxiety.

  “What will you do with the women who are working there?”

  “If they’re not minors and haven’t been involved in trafficking, they’ll be released.”

  “They will not be charged for doing sex work?” she asked suspiciously.

  “No.”

  “I want to get Shami and Aamaal out,” she said to me. “Pran will be very angry at my escape. He may hurt them. And I need to save Lali-didi. What do you think I should do?”

  Though I didn’t entirely understand Noor’s distrust of police, I understood her struggle. Her mother and her community might disown her for instigating a police raid.

  “This may be your best chance to get justice.”

  Noor stood up and addressed the officers. “I will tell you where I live. But I must go too.”

  VJ and his parents stood as well. “I’ll go with you,” said VJ.

  “No, you won’t,” said his parents in unison.

  “I’ll go,” said VJ’s father. “Noor, you will ride with me.”

  The senior officer started to object but VJ’s father raised his hand. “It’s not negotiable.”

  “I’d like to come,” I said.

  “Your parents will be here any minute,” said VJ’s mom. “You must be here when they arrive.” My heart plummeted.

  I walked Noor to the front door and gave her a hug. “Good luck,” I said.

  “You too.” She gave me a meaningful look.

  I went back and sat down. VJ’s mom left the room, saying she was going to organize breakfast.

  “When my parents come, would you mind leaving us alone?” I asked VJ.

  “Of course,” he said. I was grateful he didn’t ask for an explanation.

  Minutes later we heard voices coming down the hall. A servant showed my parents in. They rushed to me, enveloping me in a family hug.

  “I’ll go see how my mom’s doing with that breakfast,” said VJ.

  We sat together on the couch, Mom and Dad on either side of me.

  “Gracie, why did you lie to us?” demanded my mom before I had a chance to speak. “You should have told us what was going on last night. You could have been killed.”

  This was so far from what I was worrying about that I was momentarily thrown.

  “Mom,” I said, taking a deep breath, “there are a lot of things that I should have told you.”

  I crossed my ankle over my thigh and hitched up my dress.

  Mom gasped. Dad was perfectly silent. I couldn’t bear to look at either of them, so I looked at what I’d done.

  I wondered if the scars would be there for the rest of my life, like my topless image on the Internet. Was it yet another thing I’d have to explain to my own teenage daughter someday?

  Finally I peeped at my mother. Her face was rigid with shock. She was barely holding it together. I put my arms around her and was relieved that she hugged me back.

  “I’m so sorry, Gracie. How did I let all this slip past me?”

  “Give me a little credit, Mom. I’m a teenager. Slipping things past you is what I live for.”

  “Grace, that’s not funny!” Her voice sounded more like her, though, so it couldn’t have been unfunny.

  I marshaled the courage to pull out of my mom’s arms and looked at my dad sitting silently on the other side of me.

  I wish I hadn’t.

  Tears were streaming down his face.

  “My baby girl,” he said miserably.

  “Aw, Dad, you’re such a dork.” We hugged, and stayed like that for a long time.

  Noor

  Freedom …

  The minute we entered the outskirts of Kamathipura I began to question whether I was doing the right thing. All my life experience told me police were the bad guys. I’d seen them take bribes from the overlords who controlled us, while arresting and abusing the people I cared about. How would this time be any different?

  As Sanjay Patel’s silver Porsche cruised down our narrow lane, I felt every person on the street watching me. Our small lane was already clogged with police cars. It seemed the entire force was converging on my home, though the ones who’d arrived before us had only the lane number. They milled about impatiently peering in every open doorway.

  I jumped out the second our car stopped, not even thanking Vijender’s father. My only thought was to disappear into the crowd in the vain hope that no one would know I was the traitor. Despite what the cops said, I knew the aunties, and even my own mother, would be arrested along with Pran and Binti-Ma’am, even if it was only temporary. Brothels were illegal. The cops weren’t going to take the time to figure out who were the victims and who were the criminals.

  Unfortunately, my role in the raid was not yet over. A cop caught me before I got very far and hauled me back to the officer in charge.

  “Is this your house?” he demanded.

  I was so terrified I could only nod.

  He put a loudspeaker to his mouth. “Let’s go!” he shouted to the legions of cops flanking him.

  It seemed impossible that so many people could fit inside our house but they stormed the door with purpose, rushing in like a rising tide. I tried to follow but was held back, so I watched in horror as, one after another, everyone I loved was dragged out in handcuffs. The women who shared my room were among the last. The awkward access, up and down our narrow ladder, must have slowed the cops, but it didn’t deter them.

  Prita-Auntie was first. She frothed at the mouth she was so enraged. It took three men to get her in a van. She kicked one of them in his private parts. I cringed to imagine how he might retaliate when they got her to the station.

  Ma was next. She was too weak to fight.

  “It’s my ma,” I screamed, struggling with the cop who was holding me. He seemed to understand and let me go. I rushed to her, putting my arms around her waist. It wasn’t my intention to impede her captors but only beg her forgiveness, but they pulled me off her and threw me to the ground.

  “Ma,” I cried, prostrate on the pavement, as she was hustled past. “I’m sorry, Ma!”

  “Find Aamaal and Shami!” she shouted. She struggled. One of the cops lost his grip. She looked back at me. “Keep them safe.”

  I scrambled to my feet and raced after her. “I’m sorry,” I cried. I needed her to understand. “I’m sorry.”

  Both cops had hold of her again. They half-pushed, half-lifted her into the back of the van to join Prita-Auntie. Prita-Auntie was crying now. She looked scared. Ma stumbled and fell to her knees, off balance with her hands cuffed behind her. For a moment she just sat on the floor, defeated, as if she hadn’t the energy to lift herself onto the bench. I tried to climb in to help her but one of the cops shoved me aside.

  “It’s my ma!” I screamed, but he held me fast.

  “Leave me,” Ma shouted. “I’m all right. Go!”

  “Noor!” It was Deepa-Auntie, suddenly beside me, also in cuffs. I hugged her, though she couldn’t hug me back.

  “It’s my fault,” I said.

  “You did well, Noor. Your ma’s right, go find your Shami and Aamaal now.”

  The cops hustled her away.

  Ma still hadn’t uttered a single word of forgiveness, but I left. My siblings were more important.
They were why I’d brought the police. I ran back to the entrance to our house. No more adults were coming out. I hadn’t seen Binti-Ma’am or Pran.

  Some children were already in vans, separated from their mothers and aunties. I raced back and forth on shaky legs from one vehicle to another. I couldn’t see Shami or Aamaal anywhere. I returned to our house, where two cops guarded the entrance.

  “I need to go inside,” I said. “My brother and sister haven’t come out yet.”

  “The house is clear,” said one of the cops. “There are only policemen in there now. Check the vans.”

  “I’ve checked them all. Please, let me past.”

  “No one’s allowed back in.”

  I looked wildly around for someone to help me. Finally, I spotted the cop who’d interviewed me at VJ’s house. I ran to him and explained the situation. I was hysterical. I’m not sure I made much sense, but he followed me back to the entrance and ordered the guards to let me through.

  The house felt strangely unfamiliar, though I’d left less than twenty-four hours before. The noises and smells that had filled my childhood were gone. It seemed impossible that my history could be expunged so quickly and completely. I crept down the hallway and peeked around the corner to make sure the coast was clear before rushing for the ladder. I was up it as fast as I’d ever climbed and found my siblings exactly where I knew they’d be, huddled under the bed, their arms wrapped around each other though poor Aamaal had one arm in a cast.

  “Come out now.” I knelt on the floor, leaned down and reached for the entwined mass of them. Aamaal shuffled them both out of reach.

  “Ma said to stay here,” she said.

  “She didn’t mean forever, Aamaal. Just until I came for you.”

  “That’s not what she said.”

  “I peed,” said Shami in a tiny voice.

  “It’s okay, Shami-baby, we’ll get you cleaned up. But you must come out now.”

  “Not till Ma comes,” said Aamaal.

  “She’s not coming back, Aamaal,” I said, with a mixture of guilt and exasperation.

  “Where’s Ma?” asked Shami, his voice trembling. He’d been holding back tears a long time.

  I did the only thing I could. I slid under the bed and lay next to them, pulling them into my arms. Shami was sandwiched between us. I rubbed Aamaal’s back. Her body shook as she finally let herself cry. Shami put his thumb in his mouth and burrowed into me. I felt his chest rise and fall against my own. I wished we could have stayed like that forever, but I could hear the officers banging around downstairs, their shouts filling the air. This wasn’t our home anymore. We had to leave.

  “Come on,” I said. Wiggling backwards, I dragged them with me, stood up and helped them both to their feet. “It’s time to go.”

  We walked cautiously to the ladder, listening for sounds before we wordlessly descended. I took a final look around, knowing I would never see this place again. I waited for the relief to wash over me but all I felt was sad. Whatever else it was, it was my childhood home. I could hear voices from the direction of the lounge—stern, joyless voices. I took each of my siblings by the hand and we walked in the opposite direction, past the washroom, the kitchen, to the small room at the end of the hall.

  I had to see it one last time, commit it to memory as one might revisit the scene of a murder. It was the site of so much sadness. Shami and Aamaal didn’t question where we were going. Their steps didn’t falter as we entered the outer room. My brave little siblings stood with me in front of the box.

  The noise was nearly imperceptible, yet unmistakable. All three of us held our breath as we strained to listen. It came again. The wooden crate, little more than a coffin, was not empty.

  It didn’t make sense. The door was closed but it wasn’t locked. Why would anyone choose to be inside? The light was off. Even with the morning sun filtering into the outer room, it would be pitch-black in there. Could a rat have got in? It wasn’t impossible. They got in everywhere else.

  I let go of my siblings’ hands, hopped up on the stool and opened the door. I jumped back quickly. If it was a rat, it would scurry away. I didn’t want to be in its path.

  We waited.

  Nothing.

  The noise had stopped. Yet I knew there was something in there. The hair rose on the back of my neck. The presence inside the box waited just as we did. My siblings’ hands found their way back into my own.

  “Hello,” I said.

  Silence.

  “Is someone there?”

  Suddenly I remembered that I hadn’t seen Pran or Binti-Ma’am outside. Was it possible they were hiding in the box? It made sense. The police wouldn’t think to look there. It was the perfect hiding place. Only someone very familiar with our home would think of it. I was ablaze with outrage that Pran or Binti-Ma’am would be saved from arrest by the very thing they’d used to destroy the souls of others. I let go of my siblings, got back up on the stool, switched on the light and climbed inside.

  I wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted me.

  Lali-didi sat on the filthy mattress, leaning back against the blood-spattered wall.

  “What are you doing in here?” I asked. There was something beyond the fact of finding her in such a strange place that made me uneasy.

  “Just resting.”

  “In here?” I couldn’t keep the astonishment out of my voice.

  She smiled weakly.

  “I’ve brought the police, Lali-didi. Everyone has been arrested, but you don’t need to worry. You’re a minor. You’ll get sent to a rescue home.”

  “Good for you. I knew you would save us.”

  “So you’ll come out now,” I said.

  “Not yet.”

  “But you’re free, Lali-didi. You don’t ever have to be in a place like this again. You’re free.”

  “Not yet.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Lali-didi had often been a mystery to me but I was more perplexed than usual. My disquiet grew.

  “You’re going to have a wonderful life. Everything’s going to be okay now.”

  “Do you know how many times I’ve been raped, Noor?”

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

  “Ha! Neither do I. I can’t count beyond one hundred. It was many hundreds though, I can tell you that.”

  “It’s over, Lali-didi.”

  “I can still feel their touch on my skin. I can still smell them, even after I bathe, like their stink seeps out of my own pores.”

  “You can go to school. You can be happy.” Tears were sliding down my face. Lali-didi’s eyes were dry.

  “I am happy, Noor. I’ve waited for this day a long time. You marched in just as I knew you would and closed the doors on this house of torture. I planned for this from the moment you escaped last night. You came more quickly than I expected. Thank you for that.” Blood dripped out of her nose. She wiped it away but it only seemed to make it bleed faster. “You should go now.”

  “Lali-didi, what’s going on? What have you done?”

  She held up a can of rat poison that had slipped down on the far side of her.

  “No,” I gasped. “Not now, Lali-didi. You’re going to get your freedom.”

  “Yes I am, Noor. Yes I am.”

  I crawled over and pulled at her arm. “We have to get you out of here. We’ll go to the hospital. There’s still time.”

  She wouldn’t budge.

  “Good-bye, Noor.” She crumpled before my eyes. For the first time I noticed blood leaking from her ear.

  “Lali-didi,” I sobbed. “Please don’t do this.” I pulled at her arms, even as I felt her limbs go limp.

  I don’t know when my siblings joined me in the box or how long we sat there. We didn’t hear the heavy footsteps enter the outer room or the voices urging us to come out. I don’t remember leaving Lali-didi, or climbing in a van. I don’t remember the police station or the day and night we spent in detention while our futures were being decided.

 
Everyone I loved was in prison, everyone but Lali-didi. Only she was free.

  Noor

  What I will remember …

  I’m woken by the mattress creaking above me. I slide out of bed, careful not to disturb Aamaal, and stand up. I have to climb up the first rung of the ladder to get my head high enough to see Shami on the top bunk. His eyes are wide open.

  “Are you okay, baby?”

  “My stomach hurts.”

  “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, let’s give it a try.”

  I pull down his cover and step off the ladder to give my seven-year-old brother space to climb down. I put my hands out to catch him in case he stumbles. He’s wobbly but manages to get down without mishap. His body is still adjusting to a new higher-dose medication. We’ve been through it all before, the diarrhea, nausea and fatigue.

  I follow him into the bathroom and sit cross-legged on the floor while he sits on the toilet. There’s no shyness between us. I’ve ministered to his ills since he was a baby. I’ll continue for as long as he’ll let me.

  “Do you think Ma is watching us?” asks Shami.

  “Well, hopefully not right now.” I smile.

  “Maybe she’s already been born again. She could be a baby bunny.”

  I chuckle. Shami can think of no better incarnation. He dotes on Aamaal’s rabbits.

  “Noor-di?”

  “Yes?”

  “I haven’t done much good in my life. If I died right now, I wouldn’t come back as a bunny, would I?”

  “You’re not going anywhere for a long time,” I say firmly.

  “I’d probably come back as a pigeon. No one likes pigeons. There’s too many and they all look the same. I bet a lot of naughty boys come back as pigeons. Noor, if I was a pigeon would you still recognize me?”

  “Of course.”

  There’s a quiet knock on the door. I stand up and open it.

  “Everything all right in here?” Karuna-Auntie pops her head round the door.

  “His stomach is giving him trouble again.”

  She walks in, leaving the door open, and strokes Shami’s hair. I only hope Varun-Uncle and Nanni are not behind her. It’s the hazard of living with a houseful of doctors; poor Shami has no privacy. If I’d had any idea what we were getting into I might have thought twice about moving in with them. I wouldn’t have refused—they’re our salvation—but I might have thought twice.