The Hope Factory A Novel - By Lavanya Sankaran Page 0,116
fifty thousand rupees! Could you not have just asked me for that money?”
“Amma,” said Kamala, truly frightened. “Narayan has not taken any necklace. I went to sell my own jewelry. I promise you. He is a good boy. Amma, everyone knows that!”
“Good? Rubbish! He might be able to fool Anand-sir, but I have been told about his character! He may look innocent, but he hangs about with all manner of ruffians. I was told this!
“No, do not tell me you know nothing of this. How dare you! After all my care and concern. Do not tell me this!
“Shanta tells me you often lie.
“Now, you go and you bring that necklace back to me. Get it back from the pawnbroker! And if you don’t, I will tell the police and they will put your son straight in jail. Oh, god, that little thief. How freely I have allowed him in this house!
“Oh, god.” Vidya-ma began to weep again. “Who knows what else he is planning to steal? Awful, wicked boy.”
Kamala stared at the sobbing, raving woman, and an old hidden anger emerged, like a serpent, coiled, taut, ready to attack.
Stop it! she shouted, the volume of her voice easily competing with Vidya-ma’s.
Stop it. My son is not a thief and he never will be. Do you hear me?
She could hear the thudding of feet, the hasty collection of an astonished audience: Valmika, Thangam, Shanta.
Kamala, awash with a glittering, righteous anger, did not care.
twenty-nine
THE FIRST TEXT MESSAGE FROM Valmika said: Pls call mama necklace trouble. The second, sent minutes after the first, said: call!!!!
Anand checked his phone. There were no missed calls from his wife.
Around him, the noise of the factory resonated reassuringly. The machines were running; administrative staff were filing in. Kamath had arrived early, his concern evident as he surveyed his unshaved, sleep-deprived boss.
“Don’t worry, Kamath,” said Anand. “Everything will be fine. Don’t worry.”
He projected a similar confidence to Ananthamurthy. He did not want his team demoralized further. He himself desperately wanted a bath, to cleanse his mind and spirit with buckets of hot water. A bath, and something to eat.
He didn’t want to return home for either.
He received Valmika’s messages as he walked out to the car. He called her—but he didn’t have to ask why she was calling. Over his daughter’s nervous, thankful “Appa?” he could hear Vidya’s voice in the background, crying, hysterical, shouting. “I’ll be there,” he told his daughter. “Kutty, I’m leaving right away. I’ll be there.”
VALMIKA MET HIM AT the entrance of the house. He placed a comforting arm about her, this beautiful girl, his daughter, already taller than he was, with Harry Chinappa’s genes unfolding inside her. “It’s that necklace,” she said. “Appa, there was a huge uproar this morning.”
That seemed to be an understatement. His arrival appeared to trigger a Brownian motion of people about the house. Thangam and Shanta came tumbling down the stairs and scurried into the kitchen. His father emerged from his bedroom to say, “Something has happened … I don’t know what….”
“Kutty, what is it?” He could see Valmika hesitating, not used to broaching discussions about her parents’ affairs. “It’s okay,” Anand encouraged her gently. “Tell me what happened.”
“That necklace,” she said. “Mama has been … sick … in bed….” He could see the tears rising in her eyes.
“It’s okay, tell me. Mama has been upset, I know….”
“Yes. And yesterday, the necklace went missing. Remember? From Thatha’s family, really old, priceless. I’m not sure, I don’t know why, maybe the other maids said something, but when Kamala came to work this morning, Mama shouted at her. Something about Narayan taking it—and, Appa! Kamala got so angry.… She shouted back at Mama. She picked up an empty water glass and threw it against the wall. Even Shanta screamed. Then she left the house, and Mama …”
Ruby Chinappa appeared on the landing. They had spoken with each other on the telephone early that morning, but they had not discussed her daughter at that time. Now, she did not seem to know how to proceed. “Oh, Anand,” she said and burst into tears. He pushed past her into the bedroom.
The shouting he had heard over the phone had died down. Vidya had subsided into silence. She was sitting in bed, still wearing the same T-shirt and pajamas he had seen her in two nights ago, surrounded by snot- and tear-filled tissues. Her features appeared dead, drowned, distended. She would not look directly at him.