look, he took her order, snatched the cash she held up and practically threw a bag of samosas at her.
Parvati returned, grinning all over her face. She handed me one samosa and broke off a small piece from another, holding it up to Shami. I felt rather than saw him turn his head away.
“Keep trying,” I said. “He’ll take it eventually.”
We started walking again and Parvati did her best to get Shami to eat, in between tucking into her own samosa. In the end he didn’t have more than a few bites but I still felt a measure of satisfaction. Every bit of food that went into him felt like a victory.
It was close to midnight by the time we reached the shanties under the bridge. I was ready to drop from exhaustion and wondered if we were really going to have to make this trek every night. Lots of girls didn’t. They just slept in doorways or on the sidewalk in our own neighborhood. Lots of them got attacked as well though. It was worth the walk to sleep surrounded by people we knew, even if they were Parvati’s friends more than mine.
Several people greeted her as we wove our way through the corrugated metal and tarpaulin structures looking for a few feet of empty pavement. Finally we came to a patch large enough for all three of us to stretch out. Parvati helped me ease Shami off my back. He’d fallen asleep after his small meal and we didn’t want to wake him. She held him while I spread the sari on the ground and then gently laid him on it. Without discussion, we settled ourselves on either side.
Kidnapping was another hazard of life on the street, though baby girls were more often stolen than boys. Boys could be sold to beggars, who used them as props to get bigger handouts, but girls could be sold to brothels. They were far more lucrative. Babies sometimes disappeared from the brothels themselves. No baby had ever been stolen from our home but I knew several aunties whose babies had gone missing. Everyone knew it was the brothel owners. They sold them to traffickers who resold them in distant cities far from the protection of their families. The brothel owners made money, and it was a powerful way to punish mothers who’d resisted allowing their children to follow them into the trade.
I was almost asleep when I was aroused by a thud, quickly followed by a shriek. I sat up to discover Parvati rubbing her shoulder and recoiling from the raised foot of a young man. The stubble on his face was as patchy as grass in the dry season. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen.
“Get up, thief,” he snarled.
Parvati scrambled to her feet, planting herself firmly between the boy and Shami. I jumped up too and reached down to pick up Shami, taking in our situation at the same time. There were half a dozen of them. The boy who kicked her was the oldest. The youngest looked to be about Adit’s age. I stepped closer to Parvati so our bodies were touching.
“Where’s my money,” demanded their leader. He seemed genuinely furious, but that didn’t impress me. From what I’d seen of life many people spent every moment of every day simmering with anger.
“I haven’t been working.” Parvati glared back at him defiantly.
Parvati never understood the value of pretending humility. I cast my eyes downward, trying to communicate my own respect.
He backhanded her across the face. Her head cracked sideways with the force of the blow. Blood spurted from her lip and hit my cheek. I caught her as she staggered into me, but she righted herself quickly and again met his gaze.
“Have you seen me begging?” she demanded. “I haven’t been working.”
I silently willed her to be quiet.
“We’ve all seen you throwing your money around. If you’re not begging for it, you must be stealing. Either way, you owe me my cut.”
What had Parvati done? Surely she wouldn’t steal from her fellow beggars. There was a hierarchy in every begging community, just as there was for sex workers. Beggars worked in teams under the supervision of middle-level lieutenants who reported to gang lords. Whatever beggars earned on the street had to be turned over to those they worked for. Parvati knew that. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe she had bought her jeans. Was that the meaning of her sly smile?
“What if I do have money? What’s