“Missus Mina Rupaka Bhramana, formerly Miss Mina Rupaka Jadia?” The postman’s bicycle leaned against the wall of her house.
“Y- yes?”
“Good – Ishaan though it must be you at the post office – though – well, it’s not too long until Mr. Bhramana will be back, is it?”
“At some point they’ll force him to take a break whether the rains fall or not. The need some downtime to repair the tent.”
“Of course, of course – It is a little odd, though, that somebody would give your maiden name to the e-mail service.”
She couldn’t help but smirk a little, at the suggestion Jadia was her maiden name, “E… mail. That’s the type computers do, isn’t it?”
“It is. But they can also be sent to us for printing and delivery – That’s why this looks so official – no proper signature. Think of it as… the newest incarnation of a telegram. Postage paid by sender. And – she will be informed you received it, electronically,” He offered the letter.
“Ah-” Mina took the business-looking envelope, “Then thank you, Mr. Singh.”
She watched as the postman mounted his bike and peddled off, before opening the side flap – it did look a lot like a telegram, though obviously they printed it by a different means. And – oh. She counted off years. Yeah, this counted as an older friend.
Things must be going well if she was announcing herself.
Mina, of course, could not really trust the time stated on the letter, even if she felt safe with the date. Which meant… she had to get up early. Porridge, hot. Tea, hot. Loom, doing it’s usual thing, back and forth, back and forth. No radio.
Because, obviously, she had to listen.
A truck went by – sputtering but alive. Came, some shouts of greeting, and went. A woodpecker was getting aggressive – rattling just who knows where.
The sun cleared the windows shades. She didn’t bother to open them. It would not be a cool day, keep what little shaded air in until afternoon.
And then- another engine. Cleaner, but louder than it should be. Driving by slowly.
She put down the silk-wrapped shuttle, but didn’t bother to stand up – Mina had plenty of ways to look without doing so. She closed her eyes – to to concentrate on the sound, but to reduce the disorientation – her left arm bunched up for a moment, skin folding like the leg of a pair of trousers discarded for the evening – be fore smoothing to a normal length.
And her fist opened to reveal – well, her face from the perspective in the eye now located in her palm, three fingers still cupped above it to act like the eyelid it had been forced to abandon. Yes, she looked fine enough for her visitor, but that wasn’t the point of the exercise. The palm turned to the rafters, the connecting arm thinning behind it, to gain a secure vantage point to the road outside her door.
A Black Car. Fine. Shaded windows. Bangladesh plates. One of those taller cars that did not have a truck bed.
A driver? And a guard beside him. The motor was left running as the two got out – the driver surveying the area, while the other turning towards the back door. They both wore some sort of military uniform, but she couldn’t make out any identification – not that there wasn’t any, but one of many disadvantages of doing this was not having her glasses available. And It would be quite odd to have a single-lensed glass for your hand.
She could invest in a monocle. Were those still things people made?
But just what was Sardari wearing? There was a hole in the thigh – the inside of the thigh. Over one shoulder was a saree looking thing, but – it just barely covered a shoulder. Some sort of jumpsuit? The hair – well, straight, that hadn’t changed, the bangs, the braids – that bit of eccentricity she remembered, being a little eccentric in her role made sense. But. The rest of the outfit.
Oh, right, keep the loom going. Mina picked the rhythm of the petals back up. Keep the noise up a minute longer, even if she’d have to re-wind it a bit latter.
A firm knock. Mina’s extended arm quickly reeled back through the rafters, scruncing for a crutial moment before bouncing back to a normal set of dimensions. She blinked her restored pair of eyes. Ok, her vision was clear enough to not to quickly grab a different pair of glasses.
She did turn back on her kerosene burner – full tea kettle sitting ready on it – before answering the door.
The guards stood in front of her. Their bearing told Mina everything she needed to know; For a moment she had to act honored, submissive even. Sardari instructed Mina to take a briefcase from one of them, before instructing them to wait in the car. She would need time for a few words.
And the two soldier-types retreated to the air conditioning.
Mina carefully closed the door after she entered, then relaxed.
“Is this leather?”
“Water Buffalo, I think. They won’t. Fucking. Let me carry my own briefcase of money. This is not a good part of the job.”
“Is this all of it? 30 years and you’re finally paying me back?”
“I couldn’t do gold, obviously. But no Taka, at least. All Indian Rupies – and my calculations, for your approval.”
“Alright then. Let’s- Wait, I assume you want tea. Assam?”
“Yes – please – but let me handle that.”
The kettle whistle breaks the grumble of the car running outside, as Mina counted out stacks of notes of various denominations. The steeping of leaves concluded while she critiqued the accounting before her.
“Well, I have no way to confirm the price of gold while you’re here, but – this is going to be enough work to get to the bank.”
“Really. You trust the banks?”
“As much as you trust paper money to satisfy me. But, British-backed ones, yes. By the time they charge for converting to pounds sterling…” She tried to remember exchange fees, not that they mattered at the moment, “Yes. I’ll call it even.”
“Thank you,” a cup of black Assam tea and it’s accompanying saucer was placed between her and her figures. “Of course, on my official books you’re another temple, but honestly I’m glad I was able to pay you back a little earlier than expected.”
“You could have made partial payments at ant time in the past-” Mina checked the calculation again, “32 years. But, sure – the papers are concerned with the economy lately. But the border rearrangement – that sped collection up, of all things?”
“So, officially I’m a Bangladeshi citizen now, but rumors are that’s going to be pretty much open door. But alms… yes, those actually went up, since the rates don’t have to be lowered for all the enclaves now. There’s just one to get the ‘special deal’ anymore,” Sardari sighed, allowing herself a sip, “Fighting all the anti-corruption tweeting is endless, though. I’ve got to work myself up in front of at least two … officials … today, while I’m in the country – about the difference between a living wage and what the government pays-“
“And how many times does the word ‘bribe’ enter into these conversations?”
“That and the extra coke fees,” She paused for a moment, waiting for something to register on Mina’s face. It didn’t. “You know, snorting coke like the kids do these days? Kenyans? Corrupting-”
“So ‘bribe’ is still an avoided word, even in private?”
Sardari sighed, as seemed to be her momentary wont, “It’s as poison now as it ever has been. Can hardly ever bring up ‘partiality’, even. ‘Levels of service’ sometimes works,” Sip, “Worse case, I start questioning what gods they are trying to buy off – which almost always can be counted on for the proper sort of discomfort. But. For sure, you’re getting the biggest wad of cash today. Debts before bribes.”
“Oh, you have more? Maybe I should check-“
“Don’t,” Sardari had an incredulous look on her face, “If either of us cared that much about every single Naya I’d have planned to be here for days.”
“True,” Mina leaned back from her tea and sums, “But seriously, what is that outfit?”
“This outfit?” She took what looked to be a practiced sitting pose, the hole into her pant leg and possibly garter belt being very visible, “I’ve got to differentiate from movie stars, ok? Maybe if you had a television you’d see how bad our representations are…”
“Our? I’m pretty sure I should be thrilled with any representation at all. But I do see enough movies,” sip, “It just seems… drafty. In the wrong way.”
“I still have other clothes around, believe me – though -” she looked at the loom in the other room, saree sitting half-done inside it, “If you’re really that short on money, I could email you some other designs that have been proposed. Like this one was. What is your email?” She took out a cell phone.
“Oh, I don’t have a computer. Or a cordless phone.”
“You…”
“I have the fax number of the store off the highway…” Mina looked towards her kitchen, eyes settling nowhere, “somewhere around here. I’m sure they charge less than postage. For black and white.”
“Why don’t you have a phone? Your husband travels, doesn’t he? And it’s not like you can’t afford it?”
“Uddyam seems to think cordlees phones will corrupt me or somthing. And I think he likes writing. Gives him more to do while the films are showing.”
Sardari zoned out for a moment, imagining what Mina might do if she knew what Tiktok was, “I mean, I can sort of see it-” she trailed off for a moment, “And if you want a quiet life anyways… yeah, I could get you an estimate by mail. Now that I have the ri- current name.”
“Then I’ll wait for more mail after you get back – though you’ll probably want to come for a fitting, too, at some point. It shouldn’t be too hard to declare- no, you’re probably more knowledgeable about getting things across the border than I am.”
“You better believe it. Bare minimum… things that aren’t nude,” Sardari got a grin on her face.
“Please. Yes we both know that story. Big whoop. I sure you would have easily found… now that I think of that, do you not carry the jar anymore? Or are you hiding it somewhere?”
“The whole ‘sealing evil’ gig doesn’t get called for much these days. Though,” she grabbed at and held up one of the two plugs the braids of her hair wrapped around, “these will do in a pinch, even if it does take a little longer. And,” she paused for a moment, then pulled a stack of bills from what seemed to be thin air, “they are filled at the moment. I did say I had plans for later today,” The air seemed to vibrate, and the money was gone again, “These gain a different sort of attention than the jar would.”
“Fair enough.”
“And I figured you might like a suitcase, as I never returned the trunk the gold was in.”
“I would have just assumed you could use the furniture anyways,” Mina took another long sip of tea, it was cooling quickly.
They listened to the rumble of the engine for a bit.
Sardari was looking uncomfortable in her current comfort, “Do you miss the jar? Did you want another ride?”
“If I needed to get over the border – IF i needed to – I’d ask for bigger jar, not a smaller one,” Mina shivered a little, “Maybe if I were to visit your temple one day. Or maybe you’d just need to talk with the border guards first.”
“Whichever is more fun,” She glanced at the clock on her phone, “I’ve got enough time to loop back after my second appointment, if-“
“No.”
What had she said about …. Coke? Snorting it?
Mina had opted for a nap after Sardari left, to make up for lost sleep. Come to think of it, Sardari could very well had taken a nap during her visit – you never knew with her. Sardari could slip into a dark place to doze for a while and have only a second pass on the clock.
It was unnerving. Never seeing her sleep. All the more reason to give the loan and keep her from becoming a house-guest.
Coke, though. The sound of her voice made it sound like opium. Or maybe somebody had banned sugar water.
Snorting it, though?
Was it supposed to be some new Jala Neti Kriya thing?
Mina didn’t even think about not heading to the store by the highway that same afternoon – it wasn’t too far from the bus stop. She had to get their fax number, anyways. On the way there, she passed two groups of children going the other way. One with Green uniforms. Mina stopped in some shade for a few moments as they passed – the girls would be in there. No reason to keep them from their mother.
The dry market had Coca Cola. Of course they did. Though the shopkeeper didn’t quite understand her question if Kenyans had sold it to him – but if it was illegal, why would he even know – secret supply lines, smuggling business. She dropped the issue, and took half a dozen glass bottles home.
Of course, there was screaming around the village when she got there – the to groups of kids had dropped off their books, and collided in play. Two of them- not properly hers – but of course little Usha and Virika saw she had something. And suddenly her six bottles were down to two – because of course little Kayam was too young to get his own bottle. Maybe, just maybe, their parents would see theirs. Not Mina’s problem.
Mina was left to retire to the shade of her back stoop – to the sunflower field starting to bow over to the weight of seed, and to two bottles. And a coincidental knife to pry off a bottle cap.
A tentative sniff – it fizzed. It smelled of sugar. Was it supposed to be boiled? No, why would it have a date printed on it then. Of course, if it came from Kenya, they would have boiled it there, otherwise there would be no point in bottling it, they’d just sell loose coca leaves.
Well, on to the snorting th-
Ku████ of a F███ it burns
She gagged. She shuddered. She clenched. If she had managed to do these thing in a different order, she might not have shoved half a bottle of Coke up her nose.
She managed to cough so hard it seemed her tears were brown.
She finally managed to yank the half-empty bottle from her nose and threw it at the ground. Coughing. Hard. She was pretty sure she had almost drowned. She found herself gasping for air, oozing brown snot from an oversized nostril that was slowly trying to recover it’s normal dimensions.
She considered just breaking the bottles. She did pop the top off the second one, immediately dumping it’s contents into the grass. Would it kill the grass? She didn’t care.
It was a few days later when Jyoti thanked her for the gift.
The only reply Mina had was, “Just don’t. Just don’t.”
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