19-09-2026, 09:11 PM
The auto went down the main road. The driver did not use the mirror on my body. He watched the traffic. His face was dark-skinned and ugly, the jaw heavy, the mouth strict. I sat with the cloth bag on my lap and did not know how to open my mouth. After the five men at the stand, even a question felt dangerous. I gathered all the strength I had and leaned a little forward.
“Anna, have you heard of Market Ravi?” I said.
His hands tightened on the handle. He did not look back at once.
“Why are you asking?” he said.
I kept my voice light, as if it was only street talk.
“Nothing. I am only hearing a lot about him. In the bus, in the market. That is all.” I said.
He did not answer. The auto bumped over a patch and my pallu slipped. I pulled it back across my chest and waited. The silence sat between us. I tried again, smaller.
“Is he still in the market, or is he hiding from the cops?” I said.
That was what broke the strict face. He shouted without turning fully, the word hitting the roof of the auto.
“Ravi Anna is not a coward.” he said.
I sat back. My heart jumped. He had said Anna. Not Market Ravi like the women in the bus. Ravi Anna. The word told me he knew him personally. I held the bag tighter and let the fear mix with a thin hope. I began to say all the nice things I had, carefully, so his anger would not come back on me.
“I did not mean coward. I have only heard good things. He solves what the market will not solve. He even helped my friend Kamala. A broker named Venkatesh cheated her, and Ravi Anna beat him and paralyzed him, and Kamala got her money back. People say that with respect.” I said.
He did not answer. He kept riding, eyes on the road, jaw tight. I watched the back of his khaki shirt and did not push again. The Anna was enough. Somewhere in that silence I believed this ugly, strict man could take me where the five smiling ones could not.
I asked again, because the silence was worse than a no.
“Anna, if you know Ravi Anna, even a little, you can tell me where I should stand. I will not trouble you after that.” I said.
He did not respond. His shoulders stayed hard. The auto went past two signals. I looked at the ugly, strict line of his jaw and understood that casual talk would not open him. I decided to tell him what had happened, and why I needed help.
My voice came out uneven. I held the cloth bag like a support.
“It is not curiosity. Yesterday we put moulding on the fourth floor. My husband’s cousin Santosh lives next to that plot. Every floor he has called the cops and stopped the work. Yesterday it was not only him. His whole family came out. They humiliated my husband in the street, in front of the workers, in front of the Mesthri. They forgot every time my husband helped their family finally. Santosh abused him. He used my husband’s mother’s name. He said my husband’s mother raised a dog, not a man. My husband came home broken. At night he put his head in my lap and cried. I have never seen him like that.” I said.
The tears came while I was still talking. I wiped them with the pallu of my yellow chiffon saree, then they came again. I did not care if the strict driver saw.
“I am only a housewife. I cannot stand in that street and return that abuse. I need Market Ravi. I need him to get my revenge on that bastard Santosh. If Ravi Anna could get Kamala’s money back, he can teach Santosh. That is why I sat in your auto. That is why I asked.” I said.
I wiped my face again and looked at the floor of the auto. For a stretch he said nothing, but the silence had changed. His hands loosened on the handle. He glanced once at the mirror, not at my blouse, at my wet eyes. Sympathy sat on that ugly, strict face as if it did not know how to sit there. He kept riding and did not speak.
The sympathy on his face did not cool me. The more I sat with the story in my mouth, the more Santosh came back. The street. The workers looking down. My husband’s mother’s name. My hands closed on the cloth bag until the handle hurt.
“I want to kill that bastard. I am saying it plainly. I want Santosh to feel what he poured on my husband. I cannot do it. I need Ravi Anna’s help. If you know him, you have to take me to him. I did not come out for vegetables.” I said.
My voice shook with anger, not only tears. I wiped my face with the pallu and stared at the back of his khaki shirt, waiting.
He rode a little further, then spoke without raising his voice this time.
“Ravi Anna will not help now. He is in hiding from the cops. After Venkatesh, the security officer started coming to the market every other day, asking shops, asking autos, asking who saw him last. He is not sitting in the open. He is not meeting people. He is not in the mood to help anyone. A man who is dodging jeeps will not come out to settle a street fight for a woman he has not even seen. If you go to the market and say his name, you will only bring trouble on your own head. He will not come out for this.” the auto driver said.
I sat back as if the seat had gone thin. The hope I had carried from Kamala’s call and from the word Anna sank in my chest. I looked at his ugly, strict face in the side of the mirror and did not know whether he was protecting Ravi Anna or closing the door on me.
The door he had closed did not sit in me. I started crying again, not politely, the kind of crying that made my chest jerk under the yellow blouse. I needed Ravi Anna. I needed revenge on Santosh. The two things had become one thing.
“If Ravi Anna could help my friend Kamala, why can he not help me? I am asking you properly, Anna. Kamala is a housewife like me. She also went with a problem, and he listened, and he did something. My husband was humiliated in the street. Santosh used his mother’s name. So why is Kamala’s pain worth a beating and mine is not?” I said.
The auto driver kept quiet and rode faster. The shops began to blur. I held the side bar and wiped my face with the pallu, then asked again because the quiet was like another insult.
“Anna, answer me. Why Kamala and not me? Take me to him. Let him say no to my face if he wants to say no. I cannot go home with my husband sitting on that sofa and Santosh laughing in the next house.” I said.
He jammed the brake. The auto stopped so hard I had to catch the seat. He turned, ugly face dark with anger, and the strictness came back like a slap.
“Your friend Kamala must have slept with Ravi Anna. That is why he helped her. That is why Venkatesh is sitting paralyzed. Don’t come in my auto and talk as if help is free. Are you ready to sleep with Ravi? Say that first. Then talk about revenge.” the auto driver said.
The words shut me down. My mouth opened and nothing came. Tears were still on my face. The market noise went on around a stopped auto, and I sat in it with his question sitting on my chest like a hand.
He started the auto again. The brake came off with a metal knock and the road took us. Hot air from the engine came back under the seat and sat on my thighs through the yellow chiffon saree. I sat with his question still on my chest and did not answer it at once.
I thought of my husband’s face in the street, white, the workers looking at their feet. I thought of Santosh’s face, the mouth that had opened on a respected man’s name. I thought of Santosh’s mother’s face at the gate, laughing with the rest of them, as if my husband’s help had never happened. I thought of my husband in my lap at night, crying, the wet of his tears through my nighty, his shoulders shaking against my thighs. The insult sat in me heavier than shame. Revenge sat heavier than the priest, heavier than the five men, heavier than what this auto driver had just asked.
A horn passed on the left. Dust came into my mouth. I wiped my face with the pallu of my yellow chiffon saree and tasted salt. The pallu came away dark at the edge. My hands were shaking on the bag handle. The vinyl seat stuck to the back of my thighs. I looked at the sweat line on the back of his khaki shirt and made the choice. The word Anna had done something in me. I was talking to this ugly, strict man as if he was an elder brother who had stopped the road to listen. I trusted that silence more than I had trusted the smiling men at the stand. When I spoke, the words did not come like a bargain. They came like something I had already buried and dug up again.
“I am ready.” I said.
He did not turn. The auto hit a stone and my breasts lifted inside my white bra, then settled under my yellow blouse. I swallowed the tightness in my throat and gave him the rest, because one line would sound like fear.
“Anna, listen to me. I am telling you this the way I would tell an elder brother. I sat in your auto and I opened my house to you. I am not saying this to sound brave. I sat with my husband’s head in my lap last night and I listened to him cry over his own mother’s name. I can carry shame. I cannot carry that. If Ravi Anna helped Kamala because she paid with her body, then I will pay the same. I want Santosh to pay. I want my husband to lift his face in that street again. The rest I can take home and hide. I am trusting you with this because you said Anna, and because you stopped when I cried.” I said.
The elder brother landed on him. I saw it from behind. His shoulders dropped. The tight line of his neck loosened. His hands eased on the handle as if the iron had gone soft. He looked into the mirror, and the ugly, strict face had melted. The anger that had stopped the auto was not sitting there anymore. For a second he was only a man who had been called Anna by a crying woman, and he did not know where to put his eyes.
He still did not speak at once. He rode as if the road needed care now. I sat back with the bag on my lap, the yellow chiffon saree over my knees, the wet pallu of my yellow chiffon saree cooling against my neck, and waited.
He rode a little longer with that melted face. The handle sat loose in his hands. Once he lifted his fingers as if he was going to speak and put them back. I watched the sweat on the back of his khaki shirt and waited, my own hands locked on the bag, my wet lashes sticking to the skin under my eyes.
Then he spoke, still looking at the road, as if looking at me would make the words harder.
“Think one more time, sister, don’t say ready because you are crying and your face is wet and you want the anger to leave your body today itself. Sleeping with him is not enough. Ravi Anna will not move for a woman who lies there and waits for it to finish, because he has security officer on his back and he is not in the mood to help a stranger for one night that means nothing to him. You have to cooperate with him fully, whatever he asks, however he takes you, and you cannot pull back in the middle and remember your house and your husband and decide you are a decent woman again. If you cannot do that, get down now, before I take you any further.” the auto driver said.
I did not get down. My knees stayed pressed together under the yellow chiffon saree. I saw Santosh’s face instead, the mouth in the street, the laugh at the gate, and I wanted that face broken. I wanted revenge sitting on him the way humiliation had sat on my husband. A shiver went through my shoulders. I wiped the pallu of my yellow chiffon saree across my mouth, then across my eyes, and I answered him with my throat tight.
“I have thought, brother, I am not getting down. Santosh’s face has to break, that is the only thought I have left, and I will cooperate with Ravi Anna fully. I will not lie there like a stone. I will give him all the pleasure he wants, and if that is the price for my husband’s name I will pay it and take the rest home and hide it.” I said.
The auto did not stop. His hands stayed easy on the handle. I sat with my yellow blouse tight across my breasts and my yellow chiffon saree over my knees, breathing through my mouth, and the word cooperate stayed in the air between us.
He stopped the auto in an isolated place. No shops. No other autos. A stretch of empty ground and a few trees. He got down with the phone already in his hand and walked a few steps away. I sat inside and looked at him.
His face was dark-skinned and ugly in the open light, heavier than it had been in the mirror. The jaw, the mouth, the strict eyes. I caught myself thinking how ugly a man could be, then I shut myself up. He had melted when I called him brother. He had listened when I cried. I told myself he was like my brother and I had no work measuring his face.
He talked to someone over the phone. I could not hear the other side of the conversation. I only heard him, low, then a little clearer when he turned toward the auto.
He came closer, the phone still at his ear, and looked at me.
“Sister, he is asking. Are you okay getting fucked with a blindfold on?” the auto driver said.
I sat with the bag on my lap and thought. Blindfold. Fucked. I thought of Santosh. I thought of my husband on the sofa. I thought of cooperate.
“I am okay.” I said.
He put the phone back to his mouth. I still could not hear the other person, only him.
“Pictures of her? Okay.” the auto driver said.
He hung up. He came to the auto and tapped the side.
“Get down, sister.” the auto driver said.
I got down. My yellow chiffon saree moved around my ankles. He stood back and lifted his phone and took my full-size pictures, from my face to my feet, the yellow blouse, the pallu, the tuck at my waist, the bag still in my hand. He sent them without letting me see the screen.
“Get inside.” the auto driver said.
I sat again. He started the auto. We left the isolated stretch and went towards a remote location, the road getting quieter, and I still thought the man on the phone was Ravi Anna.
The remote road had only just begun when his phone rang again, and he did not stop. He steered with one hand and answered with the other while hot air from the engine came back under the seat and sat on my thighs through the yellow chiffon saree, and I watched his shoulders because I could not hear the other man, only the low shape of his voice and the way my fingers would not stay still on the bag.
A hard wind came in from the side and lifted my yellow chiffon saree with my white petticoat, both of them rising together till my knee, and I pressed them down too fast, almost tearing the pleats, while the inner skin of my thigh felt the air. He noticed it in the mirror, his face tightening, not hungry, and eased the auto a little until I had the saree and the petticoat back in place, and I was breathing through my mouth by then as he kept talking into the phone.
Then he hung up, turned his face half toward me, and spoke over his shoulder.
“Sister, Market Ravi is in a slum nearby. I know the house. I know the exact lane. I will take you there now.” the auto driver said.
The handle of the bag bit my palm and my stomach dropped and then lifted, because tonight had been sitting in me from the way he had listened and now it had a place, and I had to swallow before I could speak.
“Take me, brother.” I said.
He turned off the main road and the lanes grew narrower around wet drains and low roofs, children shouting and then going quiet, and every turn made my heart knock against my yellow blouse because I kept thinking the next door would be the one and then it was not, my feet pressing the floor of the auto as if I could stop us with my toes. He stopped in front of a small slum house with a tin sheet over the door and the smell of smoke and damp cloth, and I did not get down at once because my knees had gone soft.
“This is it. Come.” the auto driver said.
I got down with the bag, my yellow chiffon saree holding the dust of the road at the hem, and the ground was uneven so I held the side of the auto for a second before he opened the small door and waited like a brother. I stepped inside and the dark after the street made me blink. The room was low, one cot, one plastic chair, a curtain instead of a wall, and I could hear my own swallowing. I still thought Ravi Anna was behind that curtain, or on his way, and I stood in my yellow blouse with my heart so loud I was afraid the room would hear it.
I was still standing in the low room when his phone rang. He answered it near the curtain, turned his back, and I could not hear the other side, only the short way he said yes. The cot was so close my yellow chiffon saree brushed the rough wood. Sweat sat in the valley between my breasts, inside my white bra, under my yellow blouse, and the blouse stuck there when I breathed. Then he hung up and came to me with that same brother face.
“Ravi Anna will be here in five minutes, sister.” the auto driver said.
My hands tightened on the bag until the plastic handle bit my palm and left a groove. Five minutes. The words went down my throat and opened something in my stomach that was fear and heat together. This would be the first time a man other than my husband put his body on mine. I was doing it for my husband, for the way he had cried in my lap, and that thought did not stop my knees from going soft. He set the bag on the plastic chair and the chair scbangd. Then he lifted both hands and held my face, his palms warm on my cheeks, his thumbs near the wet under my eyes.
“Don’t worry. I am your brother here and I will protect you. I did not bring you to throw you into a room and walk away. I will be there for you, and through Ravi Anna I will help you avenge Santosh, so keep your face up for these five minutes and trust me.” the auto driver said.
The hold on my face undid me. Tears came again, not only from fear. I put my hands over his wrists and held them there. I trusted him completely. The five men at the stand had wanted my body. This ugly strict man had slowed the auto for my saree and held my face like family.
“Thank you, brother. I have no one else with me today. I am doing this for my husband and I am frightened, and still I am putting myself in your hands because I know you will not leave me.” I said.
He nodded with my face still in his hands, then he let go and spoke as if a brother was telling his sister how to get through a hard thing, not as if he was sending her to a bed.
“When he comes, don’t be afraid of him, enjoy yourself if you can, and make sure Ravi Anna enjoys fucking you so the help does not slip. Don’t go stiff and don’t lie there thinking of the street. Give him all the pleasure you promised in the auto. I will be right outside. If anything goes wrong you call and I am at the door.” the auto driver said.
My throat was dry. I thought of Santosh, of my husband’s head in my lap, of the word cooperate, and under that I thought of a stranger coming through that door to fuck me in five minutes. Nervousness ran down my inner thighs until the skin there felt wet against itself. Excitement sat with it, unwanted, warm, where my maroon panties were already close on my pussy.
“I will give him everything I promised, brother. Stay where I can call you if I lose my nerve.” I said.
“I will be right outside the door. I am not going anywhere. You don’t have to hold that fear alone.” the auto driver said.
He took the kerchief from his neck. It was warm from his skin and smelled of sweat and sun, the cloth slightly rough, damp at the fold. When he lifted it toward my eyes I did not step back. The blindfold was good for me. If I did not see Ravi Anna’s face I would not carry that face home to my husband. I could give my body and keep the memory without eyes. I trusted the hands that tied it. He put it over my eyes and the first touch was heat, then darkness. He tied the blindfold behind my head, over my hair, and the knot pulled a few strands. My lashes brushed the kerchief every time I blinked. I heard my own breathing, loud. He turned me a little by the waist. His palm sat on the tuck of my yellow chiffon saree, over my white petticoat, over the string below my navel, and the string pressed into my skin under his hand. He left me standing in the middle of the room, alone, the cot somewhere to my left. The floor was uneven under my feet. Without sight my breasts felt heavier in the yellow blouse. Without sight the air on my neck felt like a mouth that had not yet arrived.
“One more thing before I go, and I am telling you this so you don’t get frightened. Ravi Anna will not speak a word to you while he is fucking you, that is his way, he will come, he will take you, he will leave. Don’t pull the blindfold. I am outside. You already agreed, and I am still your brother.” the auto driver said.
I swallowed behind the kerchief and held the pallu of my yellow chiffon saree without knowing I was holding it. The chiffon slid between my fingers. My knees were not steady. My pussy had gone warm inside my maroon panties and the panties had crept a little with the standing, and I stood there ashamed of that warmth and still waiting for it, glad I would not have a face to remember, glad the man I trusted was on the other side of the tin.
“I understand, I will not take it off, it is better I don’t see him. Tell him I am ready.” I said.
I heard his feet on the floor, then the small door, then the tin sheet scbanging and settling. Then I was alone in the dark, counting five minutes that would not stay still, listening for a man who would not speak, my yellow blouse rising and falling too fast over my breasts, the underarms of the blouse wet, the string of my white petticoat marking my waist, telling myself this first time with another man was for my husband, and that my brother was just outside.
The tin sheet settled and I was alone. I stood in the middle of the dark room with the blindfold on my eyes and my yellow chiffon saree still tucked the way I had left the house, and I spoke to my husband as if he could hear me through the walls.
“Forgive me, I am doing this for you, I have no other choice, because if I go home without this Santosh will keep that mouth and you will keep that sofa, and I cannot watch that again. I want him paid back, and if I cannot kill him I want him paralyzed like Venkatesh, sitting in a chair with his pride gone, that is why I am standing here in a room I cannot see.” I said.
My voice came out thick inside the kerchief. I pressed the pallu of my yellow chiffon saree to my mouth after I said it, as if I had to hide the apology from the empty room.
I prepared myself mentally to sleep with Market Ravi. I told my mind that a man would come through that door in a few minutes, that he would not speak, that he would fuck me and leave, and that I would give him everything because the auto driver, my new brother, the man I trusted so much, had asked me to make sure Ravi Anna enjoyed it. I was going to satisfy him the way I satisfied my husband when he was tired from the construction, only this time I would not see the face.
My body did not wait for my mind to finish. Excitement ran under the yellow blouse. My nipples stayed tight against the bra cups of my white bra and scbangd when I breathed. Heat gathered at my waist under the string of my white petticoat. Between my thighs my maroon panties were already damp on my pussy, close, warm, and I felt ashamed of that wetness and still I felt it grow. This was the first time I would be with another man. The newness of that sat in my stomach like a drop of hot oil. I was nervous enough that my knees kept wanting to fold, and I was excited enough that I shifted my weight so the maroon panties moved on my pussy. I wanted the door to open and I wanted the five minutes to last. I wanted Ravi Anna to take me so the revenge would start, and I wanted to give him pleasure because my brother outside the tin had told me that was how the help would come.
I stood there in the dark, first time, for my husband, wet inside my maroon panties, listening for feet that would not speak, and I did not lift the blindfold.
The tin sheet moved. Feet came in and stopped so close I felt the heat of a body before I felt a hand. I turned my face toward the sound and did not lift the blindfold. I told myself Market Ravi had entered, the man who would not speak.
He stood in front of me. I smelled sweat and sun and the same morning heat that had sat in the auto, smoke from the slum mixed into it. His breath touched my forehead. My yellow chiffon saree was still on me the way I had tucked it at home, pallu on my left shoulder, pleats at my waist, the hem holding the dust of the road.
His fingers found the pallu of my yellow chiffon saree first. They were hard at the palm, rough at the tips, and they closed on the pallu where it lay over my breast. I lifted my left arm to help him. I took the pallu off my own shoulder and put it into his hand, the yellow chiffon saree sliding over my upper arm and the inside of my elbow, leaving that skin uncovered. The pallu had been covering the neckline of my yellow blouse. When it left, air sat on the top of my breasts, on the yellow blouse, on the shape of my white bra underneath. Together we drew the pallu across my chest. The yellow chiffon saree whispered. It caught for a second on the front hooks of my yellow blouse, then came free. This was the first time another man was taking a saree off me, and I was helping him do it. My breath went short inside the kerchief. Heat sat in my maroon panties. I felt the maroon panties cling to my pussy when I shifted my feet to give him the pallu.
He gathered the loose pallu of my yellow chiffon saree and I put my own hand to the tuck at my waist so he would not have to search. My fingers found the tucked end under the pleats. His knuckles covered my fingers and pressed my belly through the yellow chiffon saree and through the white petticoat. We pulled the tuck out together. The pleats at my waist loosened and the yellow chiffon saree slipped a finger’s width down my hip. I felt the string of my white petticoat then, sitting below my navel, no longer fully hidden. His hand stayed at that place longer than the tuck needed. I did not move his hand. I was doing this for my husband. I was also wet.
I turned when he began to walk the yellow chiffon saree off my hips, helping him unwind it, my palm holding the pleats so they would not tangle. Each turn took more of the yellow chiffon saree off me. The saree dragged across my ass, across the white petticoat, and I felt my ass cheeks move under the petticoat as the yellow chiffon saree left them. The pleats opened down my thighs. Air found the back of my knees and the inner skin above them. I held his forearm once to keep my balance, and the forearm was thick, work-hard, warm. He brought the last of the yellow chiffon saree down my calves. I lifted one foot, then the other, and he took the yellow chiffon saree off my insteps. I heard it fall near the chair.
I stood in my yellow blouse, my white petticoat, my white bra, my maroon panties, blind. Without the yellow chiffon saree my waist felt naked even though the white petticoat was still on. Without the yellow chiffon saree my breasts sat more honestly in the yellow blouse. The smell of him was closer now. I stepped a little toward it without meaning to, first time, for my husband, my hands still open from helping him, waiting for the next thing those hard hands would take.
“Anna, have you heard of Market Ravi?” I said.
His hands tightened on the handle. He did not look back at once.
“Why are you asking?” he said.
I kept my voice light, as if it was only street talk.
“Nothing. I am only hearing a lot about him. In the bus, in the market. That is all.” I said.
He did not answer. The auto bumped over a patch and my pallu slipped. I pulled it back across my chest and waited. The silence sat between us. I tried again, smaller.
“Is he still in the market, or is he hiding from the cops?” I said.
That was what broke the strict face. He shouted without turning fully, the word hitting the roof of the auto.
“Ravi Anna is not a coward.” he said.
I sat back. My heart jumped. He had said Anna. Not Market Ravi like the women in the bus. Ravi Anna. The word told me he knew him personally. I held the bag tighter and let the fear mix with a thin hope. I began to say all the nice things I had, carefully, so his anger would not come back on me.
“I did not mean coward. I have only heard good things. He solves what the market will not solve. He even helped my friend Kamala. A broker named Venkatesh cheated her, and Ravi Anna beat him and paralyzed him, and Kamala got her money back. People say that with respect.” I said.
He did not answer. He kept riding, eyes on the road, jaw tight. I watched the back of his khaki shirt and did not push again. The Anna was enough. Somewhere in that silence I believed this ugly, strict man could take me where the five smiling ones could not.
I asked again, because the silence was worse than a no.
“Anna, if you know Ravi Anna, even a little, you can tell me where I should stand. I will not trouble you after that.” I said.
He did not respond. His shoulders stayed hard. The auto went past two signals. I looked at the ugly, strict line of his jaw and understood that casual talk would not open him. I decided to tell him what had happened, and why I needed help.
My voice came out uneven. I held the cloth bag like a support.
“It is not curiosity. Yesterday we put moulding on the fourth floor. My husband’s cousin Santosh lives next to that plot. Every floor he has called the cops and stopped the work. Yesterday it was not only him. His whole family came out. They humiliated my husband in the street, in front of the workers, in front of the Mesthri. They forgot every time my husband helped their family finally. Santosh abused him. He used my husband’s mother’s name. He said my husband’s mother raised a dog, not a man. My husband came home broken. At night he put his head in my lap and cried. I have never seen him like that.” I said.
The tears came while I was still talking. I wiped them with the pallu of my yellow chiffon saree, then they came again. I did not care if the strict driver saw.
“I am only a housewife. I cannot stand in that street and return that abuse. I need Market Ravi. I need him to get my revenge on that bastard Santosh. If Ravi Anna could get Kamala’s money back, he can teach Santosh. That is why I sat in your auto. That is why I asked.” I said.
I wiped my face again and looked at the floor of the auto. For a stretch he said nothing, but the silence had changed. His hands loosened on the handle. He glanced once at the mirror, not at my blouse, at my wet eyes. Sympathy sat on that ugly, strict face as if it did not know how to sit there. He kept riding and did not speak.
The sympathy on his face did not cool me. The more I sat with the story in my mouth, the more Santosh came back. The street. The workers looking down. My husband’s mother’s name. My hands closed on the cloth bag until the handle hurt.
“I want to kill that bastard. I am saying it plainly. I want Santosh to feel what he poured on my husband. I cannot do it. I need Ravi Anna’s help. If you know him, you have to take me to him. I did not come out for vegetables.” I said.
My voice shook with anger, not only tears. I wiped my face with the pallu and stared at the back of his khaki shirt, waiting.
He rode a little further, then spoke without raising his voice this time.
“Ravi Anna will not help now. He is in hiding from the cops. After Venkatesh, the security officer started coming to the market every other day, asking shops, asking autos, asking who saw him last. He is not sitting in the open. He is not meeting people. He is not in the mood to help anyone. A man who is dodging jeeps will not come out to settle a street fight for a woman he has not even seen. If you go to the market and say his name, you will only bring trouble on your own head. He will not come out for this.” the auto driver said.
I sat back as if the seat had gone thin. The hope I had carried from Kamala’s call and from the word Anna sank in my chest. I looked at his ugly, strict face in the side of the mirror and did not know whether he was protecting Ravi Anna or closing the door on me.
The door he had closed did not sit in me. I started crying again, not politely, the kind of crying that made my chest jerk under the yellow blouse. I needed Ravi Anna. I needed revenge on Santosh. The two things had become one thing.
“If Ravi Anna could help my friend Kamala, why can he not help me? I am asking you properly, Anna. Kamala is a housewife like me. She also went with a problem, and he listened, and he did something. My husband was humiliated in the street. Santosh used his mother’s name. So why is Kamala’s pain worth a beating and mine is not?” I said.
The auto driver kept quiet and rode faster. The shops began to blur. I held the side bar and wiped my face with the pallu, then asked again because the quiet was like another insult.
“Anna, answer me. Why Kamala and not me? Take me to him. Let him say no to my face if he wants to say no. I cannot go home with my husband sitting on that sofa and Santosh laughing in the next house.” I said.
He jammed the brake. The auto stopped so hard I had to catch the seat. He turned, ugly face dark with anger, and the strictness came back like a slap.
“Your friend Kamala must have slept with Ravi Anna. That is why he helped her. That is why Venkatesh is sitting paralyzed. Don’t come in my auto and talk as if help is free. Are you ready to sleep with Ravi? Say that first. Then talk about revenge.” the auto driver said.
The words shut me down. My mouth opened and nothing came. Tears were still on my face. The market noise went on around a stopped auto, and I sat in it with his question sitting on my chest like a hand.
He started the auto again. The brake came off with a metal knock and the road took us. Hot air from the engine came back under the seat and sat on my thighs through the yellow chiffon saree. I sat with his question still on my chest and did not answer it at once.
I thought of my husband’s face in the street, white, the workers looking at their feet. I thought of Santosh’s face, the mouth that had opened on a respected man’s name. I thought of Santosh’s mother’s face at the gate, laughing with the rest of them, as if my husband’s help had never happened. I thought of my husband in my lap at night, crying, the wet of his tears through my nighty, his shoulders shaking against my thighs. The insult sat in me heavier than shame. Revenge sat heavier than the priest, heavier than the five men, heavier than what this auto driver had just asked.
A horn passed on the left. Dust came into my mouth. I wiped my face with the pallu of my yellow chiffon saree and tasted salt. The pallu came away dark at the edge. My hands were shaking on the bag handle. The vinyl seat stuck to the back of my thighs. I looked at the sweat line on the back of his khaki shirt and made the choice. The word Anna had done something in me. I was talking to this ugly, strict man as if he was an elder brother who had stopped the road to listen. I trusted that silence more than I had trusted the smiling men at the stand. When I spoke, the words did not come like a bargain. They came like something I had already buried and dug up again.
“I am ready.” I said.
He did not turn. The auto hit a stone and my breasts lifted inside my white bra, then settled under my yellow blouse. I swallowed the tightness in my throat and gave him the rest, because one line would sound like fear.
“Anna, listen to me. I am telling you this the way I would tell an elder brother. I sat in your auto and I opened my house to you. I am not saying this to sound brave. I sat with my husband’s head in my lap last night and I listened to him cry over his own mother’s name. I can carry shame. I cannot carry that. If Ravi Anna helped Kamala because she paid with her body, then I will pay the same. I want Santosh to pay. I want my husband to lift his face in that street again. The rest I can take home and hide. I am trusting you with this because you said Anna, and because you stopped when I cried.” I said.
The elder brother landed on him. I saw it from behind. His shoulders dropped. The tight line of his neck loosened. His hands eased on the handle as if the iron had gone soft. He looked into the mirror, and the ugly, strict face had melted. The anger that had stopped the auto was not sitting there anymore. For a second he was only a man who had been called Anna by a crying woman, and he did not know where to put his eyes.
He still did not speak at once. He rode as if the road needed care now. I sat back with the bag on my lap, the yellow chiffon saree over my knees, the wet pallu of my yellow chiffon saree cooling against my neck, and waited.
He rode a little longer with that melted face. The handle sat loose in his hands. Once he lifted his fingers as if he was going to speak and put them back. I watched the sweat on the back of his khaki shirt and waited, my own hands locked on the bag, my wet lashes sticking to the skin under my eyes.
Then he spoke, still looking at the road, as if looking at me would make the words harder.
“Think one more time, sister, don’t say ready because you are crying and your face is wet and you want the anger to leave your body today itself. Sleeping with him is not enough. Ravi Anna will not move for a woman who lies there and waits for it to finish, because he has security officer on his back and he is not in the mood to help a stranger for one night that means nothing to him. You have to cooperate with him fully, whatever he asks, however he takes you, and you cannot pull back in the middle and remember your house and your husband and decide you are a decent woman again. If you cannot do that, get down now, before I take you any further.” the auto driver said.
I did not get down. My knees stayed pressed together under the yellow chiffon saree. I saw Santosh’s face instead, the mouth in the street, the laugh at the gate, and I wanted that face broken. I wanted revenge sitting on him the way humiliation had sat on my husband. A shiver went through my shoulders. I wiped the pallu of my yellow chiffon saree across my mouth, then across my eyes, and I answered him with my throat tight.
“I have thought, brother, I am not getting down. Santosh’s face has to break, that is the only thought I have left, and I will cooperate with Ravi Anna fully. I will not lie there like a stone. I will give him all the pleasure he wants, and if that is the price for my husband’s name I will pay it and take the rest home and hide it.” I said.
The auto did not stop. His hands stayed easy on the handle. I sat with my yellow blouse tight across my breasts and my yellow chiffon saree over my knees, breathing through my mouth, and the word cooperate stayed in the air between us.
He stopped the auto in an isolated place. No shops. No other autos. A stretch of empty ground and a few trees. He got down with the phone already in his hand and walked a few steps away. I sat inside and looked at him.
His face was dark-skinned and ugly in the open light, heavier than it had been in the mirror. The jaw, the mouth, the strict eyes. I caught myself thinking how ugly a man could be, then I shut myself up. He had melted when I called him brother. He had listened when I cried. I told myself he was like my brother and I had no work measuring his face.
He talked to someone over the phone. I could not hear the other side of the conversation. I only heard him, low, then a little clearer when he turned toward the auto.
He came closer, the phone still at his ear, and looked at me.
“Sister, he is asking. Are you okay getting fucked with a blindfold on?” the auto driver said.
I sat with the bag on my lap and thought. Blindfold. Fucked. I thought of Santosh. I thought of my husband on the sofa. I thought of cooperate.
“I am okay.” I said.
He put the phone back to his mouth. I still could not hear the other person, only him.
“Pictures of her? Okay.” the auto driver said.
He hung up. He came to the auto and tapped the side.
“Get down, sister.” the auto driver said.
I got down. My yellow chiffon saree moved around my ankles. He stood back and lifted his phone and took my full-size pictures, from my face to my feet, the yellow blouse, the pallu, the tuck at my waist, the bag still in my hand. He sent them without letting me see the screen.
“Get inside.” the auto driver said.
I sat again. He started the auto. We left the isolated stretch and went towards a remote location, the road getting quieter, and I still thought the man on the phone was Ravi Anna.
The remote road had only just begun when his phone rang again, and he did not stop. He steered with one hand and answered with the other while hot air from the engine came back under the seat and sat on my thighs through the yellow chiffon saree, and I watched his shoulders because I could not hear the other man, only the low shape of his voice and the way my fingers would not stay still on the bag.
A hard wind came in from the side and lifted my yellow chiffon saree with my white petticoat, both of them rising together till my knee, and I pressed them down too fast, almost tearing the pleats, while the inner skin of my thigh felt the air. He noticed it in the mirror, his face tightening, not hungry, and eased the auto a little until I had the saree and the petticoat back in place, and I was breathing through my mouth by then as he kept talking into the phone.
Then he hung up, turned his face half toward me, and spoke over his shoulder.
“Sister, Market Ravi is in a slum nearby. I know the house. I know the exact lane. I will take you there now.” the auto driver said.
The handle of the bag bit my palm and my stomach dropped and then lifted, because tonight had been sitting in me from the way he had listened and now it had a place, and I had to swallow before I could speak.
“Take me, brother.” I said.
He turned off the main road and the lanes grew narrower around wet drains and low roofs, children shouting and then going quiet, and every turn made my heart knock against my yellow blouse because I kept thinking the next door would be the one and then it was not, my feet pressing the floor of the auto as if I could stop us with my toes. He stopped in front of a small slum house with a tin sheet over the door and the smell of smoke and damp cloth, and I did not get down at once because my knees had gone soft.
“This is it. Come.” the auto driver said.
I got down with the bag, my yellow chiffon saree holding the dust of the road at the hem, and the ground was uneven so I held the side of the auto for a second before he opened the small door and waited like a brother. I stepped inside and the dark after the street made me blink. The room was low, one cot, one plastic chair, a curtain instead of a wall, and I could hear my own swallowing. I still thought Ravi Anna was behind that curtain, or on his way, and I stood in my yellow blouse with my heart so loud I was afraid the room would hear it.
I was still standing in the low room when his phone rang. He answered it near the curtain, turned his back, and I could not hear the other side, only the short way he said yes. The cot was so close my yellow chiffon saree brushed the rough wood. Sweat sat in the valley between my breasts, inside my white bra, under my yellow blouse, and the blouse stuck there when I breathed. Then he hung up and came to me with that same brother face.
“Ravi Anna will be here in five minutes, sister.” the auto driver said.
My hands tightened on the bag until the plastic handle bit my palm and left a groove. Five minutes. The words went down my throat and opened something in my stomach that was fear and heat together. This would be the first time a man other than my husband put his body on mine. I was doing it for my husband, for the way he had cried in my lap, and that thought did not stop my knees from going soft. He set the bag on the plastic chair and the chair scbangd. Then he lifted both hands and held my face, his palms warm on my cheeks, his thumbs near the wet under my eyes.
“Don’t worry. I am your brother here and I will protect you. I did not bring you to throw you into a room and walk away. I will be there for you, and through Ravi Anna I will help you avenge Santosh, so keep your face up for these five minutes and trust me.” the auto driver said.
The hold on my face undid me. Tears came again, not only from fear. I put my hands over his wrists and held them there. I trusted him completely. The five men at the stand had wanted my body. This ugly strict man had slowed the auto for my saree and held my face like family.
“Thank you, brother. I have no one else with me today. I am doing this for my husband and I am frightened, and still I am putting myself in your hands because I know you will not leave me.” I said.
He nodded with my face still in his hands, then he let go and spoke as if a brother was telling his sister how to get through a hard thing, not as if he was sending her to a bed.
“When he comes, don’t be afraid of him, enjoy yourself if you can, and make sure Ravi Anna enjoys fucking you so the help does not slip. Don’t go stiff and don’t lie there thinking of the street. Give him all the pleasure you promised in the auto. I will be right outside. If anything goes wrong you call and I am at the door.” the auto driver said.
My throat was dry. I thought of Santosh, of my husband’s head in my lap, of the word cooperate, and under that I thought of a stranger coming through that door to fuck me in five minutes. Nervousness ran down my inner thighs until the skin there felt wet against itself. Excitement sat with it, unwanted, warm, where my maroon panties were already close on my pussy.
“I will give him everything I promised, brother. Stay where I can call you if I lose my nerve.” I said.
“I will be right outside the door. I am not going anywhere. You don’t have to hold that fear alone.” the auto driver said.
He took the kerchief from his neck. It was warm from his skin and smelled of sweat and sun, the cloth slightly rough, damp at the fold. When he lifted it toward my eyes I did not step back. The blindfold was good for me. If I did not see Ravi Anna’s face I would not carry that face home to my husband. I could give my body and keep the memory without eyes. I trusted the hands that tied it. He put it over my eyes and the first touch was heat, then darkness. He tied the blindfold behind my head, over my hair, and the knot pulled a few strands. My lashes brushed the kerchief every time I blinked. I heard my own breathing, loud. He turned me a little by the waist. His palm sat on the tuck of my yellow chiffon saree, over my white petticoat, over the string below my navel, and the string pressed into my skin under his hand. He left me standing in the middle of the room, alone, the cot somewhere to my left. The floor was uneven under my feet. Without sight my breasts felt heavier in the yellow blouse. Without sight the air on my neck felt like a mouth that had not yet arrived.
“One more thing before I go, and I am telling you this so you don’t get frightened. Ravi Anna will not speak a word to you while he is fucking you, that is his way, he will come, he will take you, he will leave. Don’t pull the blindfold. I am outside. You already agreed, and I am still your brother.” the auto driver said.
I swallowed behind the kerchief and held the pallu of my yellow chiffon saree without knowing I was holding it. The chiffon slid between my fingers. My knees were not steady. My pussy had gone warm inside my maroon panties and the panties had crept a little with the standing, and I stood there ashamed of that warmth and still waiting for it, glad I would not have a face to remember, glad the man I trusted was on the other side of the tin.
“I understand, I will not take it off, it is better I don’t see him. Tell him I am ready.” I said.
I heard his feet on the floor, then the small door, then the tin sheet scbanging and settling. Then I was alone in the dark, counting five minutes that would not stay still, listening for a man who would not speak, my yellow blouse rising and falling too fast over my breasts, the underarms of the blouse wet, the string of my white petticoat marking my waist, telling myself this first time with another man was for my husband, and that my brother was just outside.
The tin sheet settled and I was alone. I stood in the middle of the dark room with the blindfold on my eyes and my yellow chiffon saree still tucked the way I had left the house, and I spoke to my husband as if he could hear me through the walls.
“Forgive me, I am doing this for you, I have no other choice, because if I go home without this Santosh will keep that mouth and you will keep that sofa, and I cannot watch that again. I want him paid back, and if I cannot kill him I want him paralyzed like Venkatesh, sitting in a chair with his pride gone, that is why I am standing here in a room I cannot see.” I said.
My voice came out thick inside the kerchief. I pressed the pallu of my yellow chiffon saree to my mouth after I said it, as if I had to hide the apology from the empty room.
I prepared myself mentally to sleep with Market Ravi. I told my mind that a man would come through that door in a few minutes, that he would not speak, that he would fuck me and leave, and that I would give him everything because the auto driver, my new brother, the man I trusted so much, had asked me to make sure Ravi Anna enjoyed it. I was going to satisfy him the way I satisfied my husband when he was tired from the construction, only this time I would not see the face.
My body did not wait for my mind to finish. Excitement ran under the yellow blouse. My nipples stayed tight against the bra cups of my white bra and scbangd when I breathed. Heat gathered at my waist under the string of my white petticoat. Between my thighs my maroon panties were already damp on my pussy, close, warm, and I felt ashamed of that wetness and still I felt it grow. This was the first time I would be with another man. The newness of that sat in my stomach like a drop of hot oil. I was nervous enough that my knees kept wanting to fold, and I was excited enough that I shifted my weight so the maroon panties moved on my pussy. I wanted the door to open and I wanted the five minutes to last. I wanted Ravi Anna to take me so the revenge would start, and I wanted to give him pleasure because my brother outside the tin had told me that was how the help would come.
I stood there in the dark, first time, for my husband, wet inside my maroon panties, listening for feet that would not speak, and I did not lift the blindfold.
The tin sheet moved. Feet came in and stopped so close I felt the heat of a body before I felt a hand. I turned my face toward the sound and did not lift the blindfold. I told myself Market Ravi had entered, the man who would not speak.
He stood in front of me. I smelled sweat and sun and the same morning heat that had sat in the auto, smoke from the slum mixed into it. His breath touched my forehead. My yellow chiffon saree was still on me the way I had tucked it at home, pallu on my left shoulder, pleats at my waist, the hem holding the dust of the road.
His fingers found the pallu of my yellow chiffon saree first. They were hard at the palm, rough at the tips, and they closed on the pallu where it lay over my breast. I lifted my left arm to help him. I took the pallu off my own shoulder and put it into his hand, the yellow chiffon saree sliding over my upper arm and the inside of my elbow, leaving that skin uncovered. The pallu had been covering the neckline of my yellow blouse. When it left, air sat on the top of my breasts, on the yellow blouse, on the shape of my white bra underneath. Together we drew the pallu across my chest. The yellow chiffon saree whispered. It caught for a second on the front hooks of my yellow blouse, then came free. This was the first time another man was taking a saree off me, and I was helping him do it. My breath went short inside the kerchief. Heat sat in my maroon panties. I felt the maroon panties cling to my pussy when I shifted my feet to give him the pallu.
He gathered the loose pallu of my yellow chiffon saree and I put my own hand to the tuck at my waist so he would not have to search. My fingers found the tucked end under the pleats. His knuckles covered my fingers and pressed my belly through the yellow chiffon saree and through the white petticoat. We pulled the tuck out together. The pleats at my waist loosened and the yellow chiffon saree slipped a finger’s width down my hip. I felt the string of my white petticoat then, sitting below my navel, no longer fully hidden. His hand stayed at that place longer than the tuck needed. I did not move his hand. I was doing this for my husband. I was also wet.
I turned when he began to walk the yellow chiffon saree off my hips, helping him unwind it, my palm holding the pleats so they would not tangle. Each turn took more of the yellow chiffon saree off me. The saree dragged across my ass, across the white petticoat, and I felt my ass cheeks move under the petticoat as the yellow chiffon saree left them. The pleats opened down my thighs. Air found the back of my knees and the inner skin above them. I held his forearm once to keep my balance, and the forearm was thick, work-hard, warm. He brought the last of the yellow chiffon saree down my calves. I lifted one foot, then the other, and he took the yellow chiffon saree off my insteps. I heard it fall near the chair.
I stood in my yellow blouse, my white petticoat, my white bra, my maroon panties, blind. Without the yellow chiffon saree my waist felt naked even though the white petticoat was still on. Without the yellow chiffon saree my breasts sat more honestly in the yellow blouse. The smell of him was closer now. I stepped a little toward it without meaning to, first time, for my husband, my hands still open from helping him, waiting for the next thing those hard hands would take.
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