Chapter 4: The Vanishing Game
Vasu, Day 8
The dawn broke for Vasu when Ashwin joined him in the front veranda. Both of them stood, watching Vishwa doing exercise near the fountain, his white sweatpants unnaturally vivid against the grass. The presence of Ashwin reminded Vasu how terrible the dinner had been the previous night. Excluding Vishwa and Ashwin, who ate like it was their last day on earth, the women hadn't touched his fish curry and he'd spent the better part of the dinner staring at the fish pieces floating in the gravy. Yamuna had some curd rice and excused herself. She hadn't asked for coffee either. Strange. And Ahalya had sat at the table, drawing circles in her rice until it turned cold. Something had been troubling her. Her eyes were swollen, lips parched. He hasn't had the closeness with her to inquire or provide comfort. So he'd left her alone, letting her get used to the house at her own pace. He realized it was the only logical thing to do.
"Is it Yoga he's doing?" Ashwin asked.
"He thinks it is," Vasu replied and they shared a short giggle.
Then Vasu stretched his hands, warding the laziness off his body. He took a step back to find Ashwin's trolley standing along with them. It's each wheel facing a different direction.
"Are you leaving already?"
Ashwin nodded.
"Your sister know about that?"
Ashwin shook his head.
"Do you want me to pack some quick breakfast?"
Ashwin chuckled, looking down. "Thanks, but I'll eat out."
Vasu had a lot of questions. Why would he come here at all if he's sneaking out like this? Why isn't he speaking a lot with his sister? How would Ahalya react to this? What exactly happened between them? He kept them inside his head, hidden and unanswered. He wanted to tell them to talk more; That losing a sibling wouldn't feel so good. But Vasu also knew both of them lost their mother lately. How strong her loss could've been to separate a brother and sister? He stored that question too. That was what he'd been doing ever since Bhanu had gone missing: storing his questions. Safe and sound. His head was a graveyard of unknowns.
Before Vasu could say anything he saw Vishwa marching towards them. Vasu thought he must've been hurrying to drop Ashwin at the railway station next town. He took out his phone to check the time and then, estimate the arrival of the train. But Whatsapp was the first thing that appeared as soon as he unlocked it. The photo he'd received from Ashwin stared back at him, and his fingers tightened around the phone.
"Thanks again, for the advertisement," Vasu said out loud, making Ashwin turn around.
"Really, it's not a big deal. You don't worry about this." Ashwin pulled up the zip of his hoodie and added, "Vishwa's determined to do everything to find Bhanu. And I believe he will find her."
Vasu nodded, swallowing a lump. It was easy for people to say: Don't worry. Like brushing one's teeth, it would occur without much consideration. He offered a final smile and watched Ashwin drag his trolley to the car shed in the back, not caring for a goodbye, which being unspoken, hung awkwardly in the air.
***
The iron shed glowed in the sickening white of the tube lights. Vasu ducked and entered the arena, walking past the row of squares divided by one-foot cement walls and inside, the buffaloes were silently resting in them like spaciously parked buses in a station. Their tails wiggled and jiggled. And as the rich odour of fresh milk caught his attention, Vasu squatted behind Suvarna, watching her milk a buffalo. The animal neither moved nor made a sound as if it wasn't its body. Vasu licked his lips, watching the bubbling milk.
"Do you want to drink some?" Suvarna asked.
"Yamuna says it won't digest."
"Eh, she's just making you soft." Suvarna grabbed a glass, milked it up to half, and shoved it in Vasu's hands.
He savoured its tang and gulped the content in one go. Then he shook his head, swallowing the raw, grassier taste. "That's not how I've hoped it would taste like," he said with his eyes shut.
"You will be fine. You are young and would digest a lot. Now, how many litres do you want?"
"Three litres."
"Wait outside. I'll milk a can and bring it to you."
The young boy nodded and walked out into the blue hue of the morning light. Suvarna was a forty-six-year-old woman who supplied milk in the village. She was short, hardly four and a half feet tall; and had round eyes, which she would use to bully people. Her properties would include fifteen buffaloes, two acres of paddy farm and one Mahindra tractor. There was a reason why people in Aranyavaram loved Suvarna. If one could see past her crass way of speaking, everything about her would scream loyalty. She never overpriced her milk or watered it down to gain profits. No high-end business conglomerate succeeded in winning over her business in the last two decades and that speaks volumes. She was one of the few women to win Yamuna's respect in this place.
And she was Bhanu's go-to person for sharing things. Vasu knew she played a role next to the mother in his sister's life. That was why she was the first person on his list. "Your sister's not been herself for a while. I could tell," Suvarna had said when he'd visited her after returning from the police station. "It was like she'd been stuck in a loop. She would come to see me but sit in silence. She troubled herself with a burden, and I wonder why she never told me anything. I don't know what monster lured her away, but if she's safe, I won't ask for more." A tear or two might have been lost during the conversation, but Vasu was too shaken to notice other people's emotions.
He inclined to a coconut tree, thinking how he should've slept more. A house sparrow chirped above him. A pandemonium of parrots flew in the distant sky, scarring it green. In intervals, he groaned as his back hurt like hell. He had no idea when he passed out whilst crying the previous night. It was a marvel Suvarna didn't notice his sleep-ridden eyes, or she did and chose not to pick the wound.
"Are you daydreaming, boy?"
Vasu saw Suvarna carrying a petite bucket with a thin neck and took it off her hands. Her distorted grey saree brightened outside the shed.
"Is that a bad thing to do?"
"Not if it's about a girl," she said. "Anything else is a health hazard."
Vasu chuckled dully, facing the floor.
"Tell Yamuna I didn't take money for the milk."
"What? No," he said, slipping his right hand into his pant pockets. "She would kill me. Take it."
"You put the money back, Vasudev." Suvarna pointed a finger at him and he froze. Then she stepped forward and cupped his face into her right hand, which reeked of dung and grass. "She's taking care of you while your sister's gone. Trust no one who says they pray for you. No one would do it around here. You are lucky to have that family."
Vasu stared into her eyes, which spoke a language he didn't understand. However, watching her, he decided to ask her the one thing he'd been holding back. He put down the milk can, scratched his nose and said, "Can I ask you something?"
"Do you want money?"
"No," he said. "Why would I want money?"
"Of course, why would you want money?"
"Have you seen Kalyani these days?" He almost bit his cheek.
"Meenakshi's daughter?"
"Yes. Have you seen her?"
"Not recently. She's working in the village head's house now. You know that place. It's like quicksand."
Vasu frowned, wrinkling his forehead. "But she goes to college."
"Not anymore. Just like Yamuna did for you, the village head's family paid for her college expenses. Then Meenakshi became too weak to work. So, when she was asked to replace her mother, she didn't deny it. She left her studies behind."
"When did this happen?"
"I heard it from tailor Subbaraju three days ago. What do you want from her?"
"Nothing much. I just want to talk to her. Do you think there's a way?"
"I deliver them milk and even I haven't seen much of their house. Now that they have a kid, the work only gets worse."
Vasu didn't care about the village head's child. His interest was in Kalyani, who had allegedly been the last person seeing his sister alive. She was the last person on his list. She got off the bus at the same time as Bhanu, but unlike his sister, she reached home safe and sound.
"I will find a way," Suvarna said. "But Vasu, if you ask me, stay away from that family. They never shied away from using their power to tear down people."
"I will stay away," he lied.
Suvarna pulled his cheek one last time before he strolled out, carrying the can. He wedged its handle to a hook in the space in front of his old TVS Wego. Yamuna let him use the scooter, which had been lying dormant in the shed. He thought it was weird how Kalyani became a housekeeper all of a sudden. That too, in the days following his sister's vanishing. His suspicions were only piling up, and he was afraid he would lose track of them. He found little difference between himself and Kalyani. He imagined her stuck in that house, hysterically running for chores, and wondering if she could have a life anymore. Fate put them on the same path. But, unlike him, she wasn't the last one to remain in her family. The word 'orphan' kicked him into nameless oblivion every time.
He remembered why he cried the previous night. He gripped the accelerator tighter, as his heartbeat gently elevated, matching the scooter's 60kmph speed. Ashwin had sent him a picture of an advertisement they put in the newspaper, showing a reward of twenty-thousand rupees for anyone who would provide the whereabouts of Bhanu. It was supposed to give him hope, not panic. Still, every new approach was only proving the difficulty of the task. He pitied himself for being unable to do anything. It irritated him to a point of driving madly until the road, people and the paddy fields—and everything—became a blur. And he precisely did that.
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