Out of the Cages Read online

  ‘Not everything,’ Meena admitted. More afraid now by the distance Sarita was creating between them than anything Madam may have said.

  ‘It’s not safe for you here,’ Sarita seemed to be whispering the words to herself. ‘Once Vishnu comes back ... Your babu ...’

  ‘He’s not my babu.’

  Sarita turned now and looked at her. A single line of wetness slid slowly down her cheek. ‘You shouldn’t be here. You should never have been here. I won’t let them inject you. I won’t let them.’

  ‘But Madam ...’ Meena tried to argue, almost willing things back to the way they had been before she’d become sick. Sarita wiped a hand across her cheek and came to sit on the edge of the bed. She brushed the wisps of hair back from Meena’s forehead and quickly poured her another dose of the orange Cetamol. ‘Go back to sleep,’ she said. ‘I’ll figure something out.’

  ‘I don’t want to ... my dreams ... I can’t remember ... I don’t want to ...’ Meena felt the belt of fear tighten even further.

  ‘Shhhh.’ Sarita laid a hand on her forehead, clicking her tongue at the feel of it.

  Meena let her eyes close but wouldn’t allow herself to sleep until she’d found and gripped Sarita’s other hand. And for the first time that Meena could remember, Sarita didn’t shake it off.

  The two bikes swerve in unison, missing pot holes and taking the widest route around the bends from the settlement towards the city. They are like two birds on a wind current: swooping, diving, free. Meena glances across at Putali, smiling now, enjoying her first ride on a motorbike. Brave little Putali. Her best and only friend.

  When the boys had first mentioned the plan, Putali had been nervous. Meena saw it, in her hands as she made tea, or collected scraps of wood for the fire. But Meena had whispered long into the night, explaining how Rajit would smooth everything over. How Putali’s aama would be proud, not frightened, when she learned about the new jobs. Jobs in India. Jobs that could open new possibilities beyond the settlement. They would have a new life, Meena had whispered to Putali confidently. A new life where Meena’s drunk father could no longer reach her. Where rock-chipping bosses would no longer skimp on pay, where they had time and uniforms—with bright red ribbons—for the very best schools, and there would always be medicine to heal beloved mothers. Holding hands in the dark and safety of Putali’s one-room home they had dreamed and wondered and imagined together until even the settlement bottle shop fell silent. Then Putali finally agreed.

  ‘Pir na-garra, don’t be afraid.’ Meena had whispered as Putali’s head grew heavy with sleep against her shoulder. ‘We won’t be gone long.’

  Four

  Sarita was gone when Garud and a girl from the lower floors yanked Meena from wherever she had been into a sitting position.

  ‘What ...?’

  ‘You’ve got to get ready, Madam says,’ Garud stated as the girl undressed Meena roughly. He muttered something about Meena needing more than drugs to turn him on, but the girl just ignored him. She took a towel, wet with water and something sweet smelling, and wiped Meena down, lifting her arms to wash armpits, circling her breasts and cleaning sickness and sweat from her neck and back. Then she dressed Meena again, this time with a gaudy pink skirt and top that looked like it belonged to Devi.

  ‘Make up?’ she asked Meena without emotion. Meena couldn’t will herself to point, but the girl found what she needed on Sarita’s shelf anyway. She didn’t even bother asking if Meena could apply her own makeup, she just gripped her tightly by the chin and got to work.

  ‘Sarita?’ Meena managed to ask before red lipstick was applied.

  The girl just shrugged. Garud smirked in the background.

  Meena lowered herself back to the mattress and closed her eyes. The girl was fast. The kohl lines swift and confident. Soon she was made up. Ready. A lie of desirability painted on her face. Then the fussing stopped. Meena opened her eyes in time to see Garud nod in approval. ‘She’s ready. Go get Vishnu’.

  The girl disappeared.

  ‘Where’s Sarita?’ Meena tried again, her heart rate increasing at the mention of Vishnu’s name. But Garud turned and waited, holding the door curtain open.

  Pir na-garra. Don’t be afraid. The Nepali words sounded louder than memory in Meena’s mind. She tried to sit up again, unsuccessfully. She knew looks wouldn’t be enough to entertain tonight. Not enough to warrant a client’s payment and tip.

  She felt sick again. The perfume on her skin suddenly sour.

  ‘Sarita?!’ she tried to call.

  Footsteps rose on the stairwell. Not Sarita’s. The girl was back, with Madam in the lead, followed by Vishnu carrying a small plastic vial and a single syringe.

  ‘Give her enough to get working. The dog, Waman, will be here soon. Once I receive payment from him, we’ll decide whether to keep her.’ Meena dropped her eyes, the memory of Sarita’s surprising concern flooding in and colliding with the evening’s expectations.

  She knew who Waman was. He called himself her babu, her favourite client. He showered her with gifts and tips and exclusive attention whenever he visited the hotel, which was frequently. Sarita said she was stubborn for refusing his gifts, she said Meena could do well with a babu like Waman. But Meena couldn’t stand him. She gave all the gifts he left away.

  Vishnu snapped the top off the vial and approached her bed.

  ‘Give me your arm.’

  Meena didn’t move. She knew what Waman was like. She knew what he would do with her weakness and knew that what Vishnu offered would make it easier to bear—but she also remembered everything Sarita had been telling her lately about clean needles and staying safe and AIDS. The needle Vishnu held might give her the strength and enthusiasm to get through the evening, but it didn’t look clean.

  Madam strode across the short distance of floor and slapped her hard across the face. ‘Do what he says, or you’ll pay more than your debt!’

  Meena’s face stung. Madam rarely struck her girls, she usually left it to Vishnu or the other men. But in this instance, Vishnu was in charge of the needle. He tapped it like Meena had once seen someone else do, somewhere ... a long time ago, in a place that ached with betrayal—No! She forced her mind back to the room in front of her. She wouldn’t remember. She couldn’t. Not here. No matter what happened.

  ‘Get it done,’ Madam barked and marched from the room, taking Garud with her.

  Vishnu waited until she was gone then grabbed Meena’s arm and pulled it out straight.

  ‘Please ...’ Meena managed. ‘A clean needle.’

  But he just held the syringe between his teeth, tied his grubby handkerchief around her upper arm and began feeling for her veins. He had obviously done this many times before. Meena felt the world begin to spin. Against his strength and Madam’s will, there was nothing she could do.

  ‘Now hold still.’ He drove the needle into her vein and was about to inject what he’d been ordered into her when Garud clattered up the stairs.

  Meena recognised the urgency even before he spoke. The hushed tones, the way he tried to move without thudding the concrete floor. Something wasn’t right. Something was happening.

  ‘Forget about her! Get the little ones away—someone tipped off the police. It’s a raid.’

  Vishnu swore. He stood up and moved quickly from the room, leaving the needle hanging in the crook of Meena’s elbow. She could hear Garud telling him of the police breaking through the lower floor guards. Of the police knowing they had little ones, illegal ones. Of Madam trying to block them, stall them from coming upstairs, but it wouldn’t be long. Meena heard the panic in Garud’s voice. This one was serious. Vishnu took charge.

  ‘You do upstairs.’ His volume was carefully monitored. ‘I’ll do this floor.’

  Meena’s mind struggled for clarity. It must have been Devi’s Kamal. He must have told the police about the little
girls. Hidden, secret girls. Girls who’d once had dreams that swooped and dipped over rice fields. Meena felt the panic rise. Madam showed no compassion to girls who resisted being hidden during raids. She willed herself to the edge of the bed but her arm jabbed with pain. The syringe! It hung on an angle, the needle still injected, the plunger only partially depressed. A dull coolness was spreading around the entry point, a peculiar light headedness gathered around her. Must get it out ... Meena trembled, but she gripped the needle and pulled it free. A line of blood trickled from the wound and she held it tight.

  Noises from the hallway increased. Vishnu turned up the radio but it didn’t drown out the desperate shuffling as girls were herded from their working rooms to the hiding place. He’d be counting the girls now—counting little girls pressed between the false wall and the mildewed concrete. There were six of them on this floor. Lalita was the youngest. She still had a flat chest and barely spoke. But she never needed to win customers. Even without any fancy tricks, she brought in the most money. She had only been three weeks out of the special rooms upstairs.

  ‘Where’s Devi?’ Vishnu’s voice seemed slurred, or was that the effect of the drugs? She felt slightly better, somehow. Stronger, though still nauseous. She could hear a scuffling from the room next door. Devi’s room.

  ‘No, don’t go, there’s no need. Stay, stay with me ...’ But the bed creaked and a client hurried into the hall. Vishnu’s boots drew closer. Meena could hear them now, in Devi’s room.

  ‘Get!’ His tone was low but furious. Devi began to whimper—a strange brave whimper—and then there was a struggle as the silly girl tried to fight the inevitable. Meena tugged herself, dizzily, to the edge of the bed. She tried to pull herself up, to swing her legs down, but her muscles weren’t responding fast enough. She’d be next. Vishnu would come and grab her, squishing her into the hidden space; body against young body, the air thick with sweat, perfume and urine. She’d felt what Vishnu’s beatings were like for those who were too slow.

  ‘I won’t go! Not this time. Kamal’s coming for me. He said he loved me—’ Devi’s words were cut short as the sound of her head hit the partition.

  ‘But Kamal said—’

  ‘Shut up!’ Vishnu’s boots slammed against a tin box. Devi let out a desperate scream and then there was a deep whack. Meena could hear Vishnu back out in the hall, his feet heavy as if he was carrying something, dragging someone. She heard the click of the false wall as it slipped into place. There was no time now. Madam and the police were almost on their floor. She’d have to hide somewhere else.

  Meena scanned her room, the drugs making the place look brighter and her mind believe there was a hiding spot she hadn’t seen before, even though she knew no such place existed.

  The sound of hurried footsteps rose from the stairs. Madam’s voice came with them—she was hoarse from shouting. Meena struggled to sit up, to hide. Hide anywhere. Maybe under the bed ...

  She could feel her heart beating, as loud as the police baton striking doors. She was too late for the false wall but if she made it under the bed, perhaps Vishnu would not beat her so hard. He’d see, Madam would see, that she had tried. She groped the edge of the bed and stumbled forwards. But her legs buckled, not living up to the strength Vishnu’s drugs had promised. Concrete hit her face.

  ‘Out of the way!’ a police officer shouted. Madam protested. Meena looked up. She tasted blood—oddly sweet—and the police officer’s baton caught the curtain of her room and tugged it aside.

  Five

  ‘What about this one?’ The policeman stepped into the room and glared at her. ‘How old is she?’

  Meena lowered her eyes. A warm wetness spread from between her thighs and with it the smell of urine. Shame sat like a vulture in the room.

  ‘Her?’ Madam spat in frustration. Meena could tell the woman was trying to think fast. ‘She’s obviously of age, like all my girls. She’s just sick, bimar.’

  ‘And the syringe?’ the officer demanded.

  ‘Diabetic.’ Madam tossed the explanation aside as if irrelevant. A large frowning man in a suit came into view.

  ‘She fell off the bed. What’s the problem? Let’s leave her to clean up in privacy, ehh?’

  The officer strode past Madam and prodded Meena’s side with his baton. Meena cringed.

  ‘Roll over!’

  She forced herself onto her back. The sparkled skirt stung, tangled and wet, against her legs. She was the skinny goat left over at the end of a festival; far, far away from the hills it had grown up in. Two younger police officers peered past the suited man into the room. They all eyed Meena with disgust. She stared at the ceiling.

  ‘She’s too skinny. She looks too young,’ the officer growled, his words like the prods and squeezes of a greedy rich woman. ‘How old are you?’ This last question was directed at Meena but Madam hurried in. ‘Old enough! Can’t you tell what a woman looks like? She’s just sick and skinny. Am I not allowed to provide employment for sick women? Is that a new law? What next, no women at all? Then what would you do when you need some comfort ehh!?’ Madam laughed for the officers but Meena didn’t miss the cold, cruel glare aimed in her direction.

  The officer prodded Meena again, this time in the breasts.

  Madam tried again, ‘I’ve told you before, we have nothing to hide. But if you’ll follow me we can let this girl get cleaned up and I’ll show you the real loveliness on offer at my hotel, so that if you do visit here again, it will be for much more enjoyable reasons!’

  ‘I don’t see anything lovely here,’ one of the men at the doorway commented. Madam retucked her sari in frustration. She was losing control. ‘We have others!’

  ‘Like me,’ Sarita’s voice rang into the room. It was slightly puffed, as if Sarita had hurried up the stairs, but it was still her working voice, dripping with sensuality. Meena stared at Sarita as she squeezed between the onlookers to take in the scene before her; Meena on the floor, syringe on the bed, officers poking, prodding, sneering. Then Sarita made eye contact and Meena began to beg … silently. Sarita’s eyes read the slightest flash of agreement, then she turned to lean against the peeling door frame as if she had all the time in the world.

  ‘Do you find me lovely, officer?’ Sarita asked, suggestively. ‘Although, I don’t have to be lovely all the time ...’ Her words hit their mark. The policemen couldn’t help but look at her. Even the man in the suit stared at the flesh oozing from Sarita’s sari blouse. She grinned at them all, one by one, as if they were the only men on earth, then glanced at Meena again. A peculiar expression flickered across her face for the quickest moment. Her unspoken questions louder than any protest Madam could have made. Why are you on the floor? Are you alright? Did they inject you? What with?

  Meena groaned. I don’t know. I’m afraid. I know I’m not allowed to be. I know they’ll beat me. My mind feels funny. I don’t know ... She willed Sarita to read her thoughts. But if Sarita understood she didn’t show it. Instead her eyes shifted, almost hesitantly, to the wall where her leaving scarf hung. Its silver threads wishing for sunlight. Promising something different. Sarita clicked her tongue. Meena saw her take a deep breath as if about to dive into the dark, then she slid her tongue provocatively over her moist lips. She was really working now and Madam was beaming in triumph.

  ‘I’m going upstairs,’ the man in the suit announced after a cough and a struggle to avert his eyes from Sarita’s charm.

  ‘Certainly.’ Madam preened. ‘The girls upstairs are more suited to your tastes.’ She smiled showing her crooked front teeth. The suit man spun on his heel with a glare at the moustached officer Sarita was working up to. ‘Stay here,’ he spat. ‘But watch her.’ He jabbed his finger in Madam’s direction. Madam made a face of offence. The officer kept his eyes on Madam as instructed until the boots of the suit man and the younger policemen could be heard upstairs, and then let his eyes wander back t
o the curves of Sarita’s body that stretched up the door frame. Madam leaned forwards. ‘We normally charge extra for takeaways, but in your case I can waive that fee ...’

  Meena gagged. Her stomach threatened to heave.

  The officer made a face and stepped back, towards the door. ‘We were informed you had minors,’ he mumbled to Sarita, almost as if apologising. Sarita giggled, then darted Meena another look. One that was laced with meaning Meena couldn’t understand. I don’t know. I don’t know ...

  Sarita nodded ever so slightly, then tugged the police officer towards her fiercely until there was no gap between their bodies. She pushed herself against him until his face flushed.

  ‘I’m not a minor,’ Sarita whispered in the man’s ear. Then she leaned even closer and began to speak so softly that no one else could hear. The officer blushed again, desire almost choking him. Madam nodded and mouthed some instructions. But Sarita ignored her. She said something else. The police officer glanced briefly at Meena and then back to Sarita. He nodded. ‘I knew it!’ Sarita said, and she poked the policeman playfully in the chest. Meena was confused. She wasn’t the only one. Madam was glaring for an explanation, but before she could say anything the man in the suit and the other policemen returned. The officer quickly pulled himself from Sarita to stand alone in the hall.

  ‘Who told you we were coming?’ the suit man demanded, glaring at Madam.

  Meena watched Madam scowl like a stray cat.

  ‘Where have you hidden them?’ He came as close to Madam as his disgust would allow. She just sneered back at him, ‘I hope you’re happy, wasting our time and yours!’

  The suit man swore in a language Meena didn’t understand, then spun in his boots down the stairs.