INT. KOLKATA POLICE TRAINING CENTER—DAY
Ravi shakes the rain out of his hair and wipes his face with his shirtsleeve. A police officer is standing in the lobby, watching him. The man is wearing a starched, spotless white uniform that includes black boots, a black belt and holster, a pair of handcuffs, and a baton. Ravi doesn’t see a gun. The booted feet are firmly planted, arms crossed, stomach flat, and biceps bulging as if this dude’s about to enter a boxing ring.
South Asian badass in the flesh, Ravi thinks.
“Thumi ki Ravi Thornton?” the man asks.
Ravi recognizes exactly half the words—his name. “That’s me. But I don’t speak Bangla. Not yet, anyway. I’m taking lessons.”
“No Bangla? It’s your mother tongue. Why have you lost it?”
Ravi remembers what Arjun said in the car. “I’m an American,” he says.
“I am Sergeant Shen. But my men call me sir. You will do the same.” The man looks Ravi up and down. Then he whirls his index finger in the air. “Turn, please.”
Ravi obeys, wishing for the thousandth time that he had a different kind of build. Although the officer isn’t much taller than he is, he notices as he completes his 360 spin. He’s just … ten times more fit and strong.
“Follow me.”
They enter a musty-smelling locker room, where Shen tosses Ravi a pair of clean athletic shorts and a T-shirt. The building isn’t air-conditioned, but fans whirl overhead.
“Come to the gym in five minutes,” Shen says. “Did you bring running shoes?”
“No. I mean no, sir.”
“Then your bare feet must suffice.”
Shen heads to the back of the locker room and a door slams shut behind him. Ravi takes off his sandals and changes quickly. The shorts and shirt fit, although he wishes his bare legs and arms didn’t look so scrawny. Leaving his own clothes folded on the bench, he finds the door that Shen must have walked through.
The large, quiet gym is empty except for Shen and a bulky, round-faced young man. Or boy, maybe? Must be Shen’s nephew. He’s also wearing shorts and a T-shirt, but his are about four sizes bigger than Ravi’s.
The boy-man grins at Ravi. “Amar nam Bontu.”
They learned that phrase this morning in Bangla class, so Ravi knows how to answer. “Amar nam Ravi.”
Bontu looks him up and down. “Even though you’re an American, you are resembling a Bollywood actor. Are you a relative to Amit Biswas?”
“That’s the second time I’ve heard that, but no,” Ravi answers. At least he doesn’t think he’s related to that actor.
Shen blows his whistle, making them both jump. “I will evaluate you shortly, Thornton. Join me in five minutes. Bontu, show Thornton the stretching routine.” He lifts a barbell easily and takes it to a corner of the gym, where he starts arranging mats and weights.
“Touch your toes and hold for ten to stretch hamstrings,” Bontu tells Ravi, tapping his own shins and straightening up again immediately. “Then do side stretches like this.” He moves his hands up and down in front of him like a mime.
Ravi reaches down to his toes, counts to ten, and then shifts to side stretches. “How often do you train?”
“Every Monday through Thursday with Fridays off. This is session number three for me. Thirty-seven remaining.”
“Already counting down, huh?”
“I hate it. Let us do twists now.” Bontu’s slight movements from side to side make him look like he’s dancing.
“Why come, then?” Ravi asks, starting to twist his own torso.
“Because every man in our family has served with Kolkata police, and Baba is wanting me to do the same. My weight is over the qualifying limit for application, so he asked Uncle to make me fit. Take your right foot now and pull it up against your bottom.”
Ravi balances on his left foot, grabs his right foot, and stretches out his front right quad.
Bontu bends his knee, tries to reach his foot, misses, and gives up. “What about you? Do you want to be here, Ravi? Or is someone making you come?”
“It isn’t my idea,” Ravi admits, switching feet to stretch out his left quad. “But I’m here to volunteer with the Bengali Emancipation Society, and they sent me to Sergeant Shen. Why can’t you just tell your uncle you don’t want to train?”
Bontu sighs. “He knows I have other plans for my life. Big plans. But we both agreed to give it a try for the summer … to make my baba happy.”
“Bontu, bring the other barbell here,” Shen calls.
Ravi watches Bontu struggle to lift the weight that his uncle lifted so quickly. He can already tell that the kid’s easy to be around. Maybe they could be friends. It doesn’t look like he and Gracie are going to have as much time to see each other as he’d thought. No texting, either, their usual way to catch up during the day. Good thing he’ll have the evenings with her; being with Gracie’s the ultimate stress reliever. Much better than working out.
Bontu’s given up trying to lift the barbell and is rolling it instead to where his uncle is setting up. He trudges back to Ravi.
“Let’s get in shape together this summer,” Ravi says. “What do you think?”
“I shall watch you get in shape,” Bontu answers with a smile. “I am in fine condition just as I am.”
Shen blows his whistle.
“One whistle means ‘COME HERE IMMEDIATELY,’” Bontu tells Ravi.
“Stamina evaluation first,” Shen tells them. “I will time your laps around the perimeter of the gymnasium, Thornton. Give me eight laps. You might as well try again, too, Bontu, now that you have a training partner.”
He blows his whistle twice, and Bontu starts a slow jog.
Beep, BEEEEEEP! “Two means GO, Thornton.”
Ravi takes off running.
KAT
INT. ASHA HOUSE COMMON ROOM—DAY
Kat and Gracie follow Miss Shireen into a large, sunny common room lined with sofas, chairs, tables, and a flat-screen television attached to one wall. The speakers are blaring out Bangla music while on-screen a man and a sari-clad woman dance on a beach.
As soon as they walk in, someone switches it off and Kat and Gracie are surrounded by a dozen or so smiling girls. The youngest looks about ten; the oldest about seventeen. They’re all wearing the same yellow as Gracie, so she blends in easily. Meanwhile, Kat’s the only one dressed in black. And she’s a good head taller than everyone in sight.
“Naw-mosh-kar!”
“Hello!”
“Welcome!”
“We were not expecting such Indian-looking girls to visit us from America!”
“The tall one is looking exactly like a young Halle Berry!”
Kat’s heard that comparison before, but she didn’t expect it in India. And they speak English. Thank goodness. Some more than others, and with different accents than she’s used to, but Kat can understand them.
“Most of the American visitors who come are white,” Miss Shireen says.
This doesn’t surprise Kat. That’s who usually gets to come from America to volunteer—not three brown teenagers like Ravi, Gracie, and Kat.
“Are you both Americans?” a girl asks.
“Yes, but…” As Gracie tries to explain her Mexican heritage, Kat scans the circle for a girl who matches the size and shape of the Canary in the film. None of them look like her at first glance.
“Tell your names, girls,” Miss Shireen says. “And use Bangla, please. Our visitors need to practice.”
They take turns introducing themselves. Kat listens closely to their voices.
“Amar nam Amrita.”
Too tall. Deeper voice.
“Amar nam Dipika.”
Too short. And younger.
“Ami Charubala.”
Curvier than the girl in the film.
“Amar nam Rupa.”
Wait.
No. Too skinny.
And then a yellow-clad girl comes through a swinging door, exiting a room that looks like a k
itchen. Her face lights up, and she walks slowly over to Kat and Gracie.
“Amar nam Kavita,” she says, putting her hands together in a namaste.
Kat’s heart jumps at the sound of the distinctive, chirpy voice.
She’s listened to it share her story so many times. It’s her. The reason Kat is here, so far from home.
Kat manages to keep herself from throwing her arms around Kavita, remembering Miss Shireen’s instructions. “Amar nam Katina,” she answers instead, using the only Bangla phrase she learned this morning.
“Katina. Kavita. We sound like sisters.”
Kavita’s English has improved since the film was made. She puts her hand on her back, and that’s when Kat notices something else has changed.
Kavita’s body.
The shape of it!
Something—someone—has been growing inside her womb.
And judging by the size of her belly, it’s coming out soon.
The rest of the girls keep introducing themselves, but Kat’s stopped listening.
RAVI
INT. KOLKATA POLICE TRAINING CENTER—DAY
Bontu gives up after three laps and is sitting cross-legged on one of the foam mats in the gym. Ravi somehow manages the eight laps. He’s breathing heavily by the end.
“Quite slow,” Shen tells him. “What have you been doing for exercise to date?”
Working on my car, Ravi thinks. “Er, I walk here and there.”
“I can tell. Next, you will do as many push-ups and chin-ups as you can without stopping. And then I shall plan your daily workout from there.”
He’s never been able to run fast or long, but Ravi did do twenty push-ups by the end of his last required PE class at Metrowest. He hits the floor, eager to prove that he might have some badass potential. Sadly, he has to give up after five push-ups. And he can’t manage more than one chin-up. It’s been a long time since sophomore year, he thinks.
Bontu steadies Ravi as he lets go of the bar and drops to the floor. “Good try,” he says.
“Good? I’m pathetic.” Ravi turns to face Shen. “Is there really any hope to get in better shape this summer? For someone built like me?”
“I am built like you,” Shen says. “If you give it your full effort, you might begin to see results within seven or eight weeks. In ten weeks, given a high degree of self-discipline, we can transform any kind of body. But I require mandatory attendance. And full effort. I have only agreed to train you because Arjun asked this of me—I always repay my debts. Do you promise to attend regularly, and try your best?”
Ravi remembers what Arjun said: The young people he trains emerge head and shoulders above others. Ready to face anything. “I promise, sir.”
“Good. I don’t want to waste time and energy on someone with bad character. I train only men and women of integrity and honesty. The poorest and weakest of our citizens suffer most if we have a dishonest police force.”
Ravi has grown up hearing that. Sometimes his mother came home from court raving about a brave police officer who had defended someone powerless. But not every time. We need more good people in blue, she’s always saying.
“My parents raised me to be truthful, sir,” he says.
“I’m also looking for duty, loyalty, obedience to elders. These are our Bengali values. Can you manage those, Ravi Thornton from America?”
They must be American values, too. Because I’ve been practicing them my whole life. Ravi glances at Bontu, who nods encouragingly. “Yes. I will try, sir.”
“Let’s begin today’s training, then. Fifty crunches, please.”
Begin? Oh, wow. Ravi had thought they were done.
Beep, BEEP!
KAT
INT. ASHA HOUSE COMMON ROOM—DAY
Kat came all the way to India with a decent Plan A.
Or so she thought.
But there’s no way on earth she’ll be able to teach a Kimura to a pregnant person.
Disgusting Wolves. They wreck everything. Even the Golden Rule.
Kat collapses on the couch, trying to hide her disappointment.
Miss Shireen is sitting on the sofa, scrolling through texts on her phone. The other girls are clustering around Gracie, complimenting her silky hair and smooth skin, but Kavita comes over to sit beside Kat.
“I am fifteen years of age,” she says. “You?”
“I’m sixteen,” Kat answers. “You speak English well.”
“I am continuing to study English here. Before I left the village, I studied up to class six. I stopped after Baba died. That is when Ma sent me to the city.”
No questions, Kat reminds herself, even though she wants to find out everything about this girl. Her brain is beginning to recover after the shock of seeing Kavita pregnant. Now what? she thinks. What’s Plan B? “I saw you in the Bengali Emancipation Society film. You were wonderful.”
“Oh, thank you. That was before I knew I was having a baby.”
Another girl is near Kat now. The one named Amrita. She’s squinting at Kat’s arm through the billowy sleeve of Kat’s loose-fitting blouse.
“We are admiring your height and your strength, Kat Didi,” she says, and her English is even better than Kavita’s. “May we have a look at your muscles?”
Kat stands. “Of course.”
Folding up her sleeve and flinging Grandma Vee’s red chiffon scarf out of the way, she makes a fist with her hand and flexes her biceps. A few girls start clapping.
“Bap-re-bap,” says Amrita. “Arms like Wonder Woman.”
“Wait—you know that movie?” Kat asks.
“It is one of our favorite fillums from your country,” says the girl named Rupa. “But I think you have more muscles than her.”
Kat has to admit her upper arm is impressive. She doesn’t do dozens of push-ups and burpees every night for nothing. Not to mention training for five years to become Northern California’s reigning seventeen-and-under middleweight girls BJJ champion.
Dipika says something in Bangla, making the others laugh.
“What did she say?” Gracie asks.
Miss Shireen smiles as she translates: “Muscles like a man!”
“Muscles that can fight off a man,” Kat says.
“May I touch?” Kavita asks.
“Please,” Kat says.
Hesitantly, Kavita reaches up and taps Kat’s biceps with one finger. Then she gives it a squeeze.
“May we all touch?” Rupa asks.
“Sure.” Golden-Ruling Plan B is starting to form in Kat’s head. This always happens if you don’t tap out. If you stay on the mat.
“Line up, line up,” Amrita orders. To Kat, she seems like the oldest girl in the room, or the bossiest, judging by the way the others obey to wait their turn.
“Miss Shireen, may I borrow your phone for a minute?” Gracie asks.
Miss Shireen looks up. “I don’t hand my phone over, I’m sorry.”
Gracie gives the director her sweetest smile. “Will you put on the score from Wonder Woman, then?”
To Kat’s surprise, Miss Shireen returns the smile. She taps the screen a few times, the movie’s kickass music starts playing, and Kat starts to feel like she’s about to take Ares down.
One by one, the girls squeeze Kat’s arm. She keeps her biceps rock-hard. Last in line are two of the smallest Asha House residents, who look about ten years old or so. Kat bends, and they clutch her biceps at the same time. She raises her arm, lifting them so that their feet dangle a few inches above the floor. Her audience laughs and claps.
But then a baby starts wailing from somewhere in the building. Another joins in. They sound like police cars screaming down International Boulevard. Kat lowers her arm, and the swinging girls let go.
“That is my baby,” Amrita says, sighing. “Must be hungry. She’s always hungry.”
Kavita glances down at her belly. Her smile fades.
“And the other is mine,” adds another. Charubala, maybe? She looks about fourteen. Big shadows
under her eyes. “Miss Shireen says you’re here to help take care of him?”
“Yes, that’s what they’ll be doing,” Miss Shireen says, looking up from thumbing a text. She’s forgotten to turn off the music in the background app. “It’s time for your sewing class, girls. Kat and Gracie, the babies are waiting in that room.”
“We’ll take good care of them while you’re gone,” Gracie promises their mothers. “I helped raise four little sisters, so I have a lot of experience.”
“Oh, we are not worried,” says Amrita. “We share our babies freely here, just as they do in a village.”
The girls head out. The crying gets louder.
“Come on, Kat, that’s the sound of hunger,” Gracie says.
Here we go. Kat’s never even held a baby, let alone fed one. You don’t come across too many babies in jiu-jitsu circles. And the kits and cubs and calves and chicks she held at the zoo were probably not the best preparation for humans.
But the Wonder Woman score is still playing on Miss Shireen’s phone.
Kat follows Gracie into the Room of Wailing.
RAVI
INT. BOSE FLAT—NIGHT
Ravi said yes to Shen’s questions, but that was before two hours of nonstop grueling work that includes lifting, jump-roping, crunching, and burpeeing.
Or attempts at all of that, because Ravi sucks at everything.
Shen’s whistle is relentless, though, and when Ravi gets back to the Bose flat, he feels like crawling up the stairs. Does he really want to do this all summer?
PG is back, too, drinking tea with Mira and the boys.
“What happened to you?” PG asks as Ravi throws himself into a chair.
“I’ve been Shenned,” Ravi says.
PG and Mira listen to him describe how he spent his afternoon.
“Sounds like a great opportunity to me,” PG says.
“You’ll at least get a feel for how recruits become rescuers. Arjun said this Shen guy has a great reputation as a trainer.”
“I’m not sure I want to do it,” Ravi says. He didn’t sign up for this extreme training. It’s too hot. He’ll stay in the air-conditioned office and do more data entry instead. When he’s not following up on leads from his search, that is. “Shen’s letting his nephew come just to keep his older brother happy, but he isn’t seriously training him. And he only agreed to take me on as a favor to Arjun. I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear I’m out.”
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