The phone rang three times at three o’clock on Sunday afternoon when Shathi was in the

kitchen. She was making tea and snacks (samosas and pakoras – Javed’s favorite for the last thirty
years and he had the pot belly to prove it) when her ears perked up like a cat’s at the sound of a
prey treading. It wasn’t that it was unusual for the phone to ring at three o’clock on a Sunday
afternoon. After all, she was a woman of leisure now. Until Javed was back from the shops,
having closed for the night, the only company she had was some Indian soap opera on the telly
and Mrs Sen calling from the next lane.
Perhaps it was the way that the phone rang that was unusual, catching her attention. It was lazy –
seven-second intervals between each shrill ring – and it was consistent. Almost as if to say that the
person on the other end of the line had not only a purpose but also all the time in the world, and
so, was in no hurry.
The phone rang again. Shathi looked at it, away from the tea kettle. For an unknown reason –
ridiculous, she told herself internally – fear coiled like a snake in the pit of her stomach, ready to
strike at the first sign of trouble. She put away the kettle at moved slowly towards it. It was a ring,
just a ring, something so innocent and unbeguiling in the living room, splashed by the cold
afternoon sunlight. She reached out to pick up the receiver. It was just a phone ringing.
And then, the doorbell.
She was startled. Almost as though out of a daydream. On the one hand, the phone rang. And a
few feet away, the doorbell rang.
And on the telly, daughter arguing with her mother-in-law.
“Shathi?” a deep, impatient voice called from outside. “Open the door already. I’ve been waiting
long enough.”
And oddly enough, the phone stopped ringing right now.
Though relieved, Shathi frowned.
Though it was early November, Javed was sweating, beads glistening on his wide forehead as he
rushed inside. He almost shoved his wife aside as soon as he was in, slamming the door shut, and
then breathing a sigh of relief.
If Shathi had thought at any point that her husband’s arrival would soothe her fears, she was
dismayed.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Javed blinked at her and they regarded each other, long and careful, as though meeting for the
first time.
“N-nothing,” he replied gruffly, “nothing at all. Nothing’s wrong.”
This did nothing to quell Shathi’s fears but before she could speak, the fire alarm went off in the
kitchen.
***
The samosas were burnt beyond recognition, and what was supposed to be a pleasant afternoon of
red tea and oily, meaty, spicy snacks had just turned into a poor substitute of that very thing. Javed
sat silently at the table across Shathi, biting into some Danish butter cookies as his wife watched
him warily. His gaze, on the contrary, was resting towards his right side, on something distant,
faraway, a mirage in the burning sun.
The telephone kept ringing in the back of Shathi’s mind even now; the snake coiled in the pit of
her stomach was as tense as ever, getting ready to strike at any moment.
The sky had begun to darken; indigo, purple, gold, and red were bleeding behind the grey clouds.
The television blurred senselessly in the living room. And then Javed spoke:
“I received a phone call today.”
***
The rest of the evening was spent in exchanging hushed whispers, trying to calm down their
runaway hearts.
Shathi’s eyes widened in fear, suspicion, and disbelief. “You – you don’t really believe it’s her, do
you?” her voice sounded so frail, so helpless in her own ears and she hated it, hated the way panic
clenched its iron first around her heart and squeezed.
Javed glanced at her. His own eyes were emotionless, lips limp as though he’d lost the will to live.
“I don’t know, Shathi,” he answered quietly.
Silence. They’d turned off the television, almost as if they were afraid that someone was using it to
eavesdrop on their conversation.
She was afraid to ask the question. But she had to. “Didn’t they…didn’t they bury the body?”
Javed’s eyes met hers again and his lips looked parched. The question hung in the air like entrails
from meat hooks in a slaughterhouse. The blood had drained from his face, but Shathi keep his
gaze, desperately seeking an answer.
But before he could reply, the phone rang again.
Their hearts had been pounding all this time, but now they stopped. In the room, there was nothing
but pin drop silence. And the sound of their heavy breathing. And the telephone ringing.
He turned to his wife, pleading with his eyes, begging her to take the call. And with a trembling
hand, Shathi reached out and slowly picked up the receiver from its cradle, with the careful
tenderness a mother picked up her child. The cool plastic pressed against the side of her face but
did nothing to calm down the heat rising to her face. It was a moment before she could speak.
“H-hello?” Her voice was shaking and she had to struggle to maintain whatever calm she had left
in her. Because the next words – and that voice – just knocked the breath out of her.
“Mom? It’s me. I’m right outside. Won’t you open the door?”
***
Sonali looked the same way she had the last time they’d seen her. She was sitting across them from
the dining table, denim-clad long legs crossed at the ankles. Shathi kept staring at her, still trying to
believe her eyes.
It can’t be, she kept telling herself. It can’t be…
Beside her, mute, Javed looked like he was about to faint.
She kept searching her mind desperately for something to say, something that wouldn’t give the
game away, for that was how she felt – like a prey – as her daughter calmly held her gaze.
“So how’ve you been?” she finally croaked out. “We haven’t seen you in, like, three years, maybe?”
It was just she had disassociated from herself – there were two of her, one saying the most ridiculous
things and the other one judging her for it.
“Three and a half, actually,” Sonali didn’t flinch, didn’t bat an eyelid, her crisp British accent crystal
clear and confident. “And I’ve been good.”
Shathi waited for her daughter to say something. She waited for her husband to say something. But
all he could do was gape like a fish out of water.
And finally, just to call it a night, because there was nothing left to do: “Your room is still the way
you left it.”
***
It had happened about four years ago when that white boy with blond hair and a Brighton accent
moved into the house next lane, his hair swept back in a pony tail, leather jacket reflecting the
sunlight as he rode his motorbike past their place every other evening. Shathi should have known,
should have noticed Sonali’s straying eyes as she peeked out of the kitchen window, waiting for a
glimpse of him.
And one day, Shathi saw them flirting in broad daylight, her daughter drawn like a magnet to that
biker (he was beneath them, wasn’t he? How would they show their faces in society?). She heard
that boy address her daughter, her innocent daughter, asking with a smirk, “Why are you checking
out my jacket?”
And Sonali, with a smirk to mirror his, equally brazen: “Who said I was checking out your jacket?”
Despite her and Javed’s protests, Sonali kept seeing that boy (Luke, was it?) and her steel resolve
would not budge, no matter how many times Javed shouted at her, threatened her, no matter how
many times Shathi tearfully appealed to her, imploring her to think about the honor of their family.
And when things had gone too far, Javed’s nephews, two strong muscular young men with wives
from back home had decided to step in and save the family name from being sullied.
Looking back on the events of that night, when Sonali’s cousins took her from her home, Shathi
couldn’t recall what exactly she’d been thinking, what had been going on inside her mind. Javed
would say next to nothing, except that they would not be getting any trouble from her anymore.
When the police came, Shathi did her part to act confused and heartbroken. Javed looked shocked
and anxious. Finally, the police decided that she’d run away and made up her mind never to be
found.
Until now.
***
The newspaper headlines screamed. LONG LOST DAUGHTER RETURNS TO RECONCILE.
MISSING DAUGHTER COME BACK TO REUNITE WITH FAMILY. All the assumptions
about forgiveness and unity were making Shathi sick, even though Javed and she were the ones
who had given the impression that Sonali had left town to start a life with her boyfriend, never
wanting to exchange another word with neither her father nor her mother (you know how it is,
officer, kids these days with culture clash and generation gap and all).
When the police found out that Sonali was back, they urged the family to make a statement in front
of the press. Shathi felt like she was about to faint. Javed, tightlipped, said the press had no business
poking their noses into his family’s private matters.
Sonali, on the other hand, welcomed the idea with open arms.
And so, a few days later, Shathi found her and her family walking the plank towards flashing lights
and dizzying questions, all of which Sonali handled smoothly. Javed barely spoke, which led the
reporters to surmise that the return of his missing child had rendered him speechless and he was too
overcome with emotion to say a word to anyone. Shathi didn’t recall anything. There were big
black holes in her memory, actually, starting from that night when Javed’s nephews took Sonali
away.
Finally, one of the reporters asked Sonali, “How long are you in town? What are your plans for the
future?”
Sonali was quiet for a moment before her lips curled into a slow, enigmatic smile. “I’m not going
anywhere,” she said, looking from her mother to her father. “I’m not going anywhere for a long
time.”

Samira Aziz August 3, 2018