Chapter 15: The Tools of Fate

I returned to the car for the other tools and had Priya bring Sneha over. Hearing I’d really found it, Priya didn’t know whether to be happy or afraid, trembling all over. But she was strong, holding her daughter tightly as she got out.

Priya kept her sari pulled tight, whispering a mantra with every step. Sneha followed, half-dragged, half-walking, her feet barely touching the ground. The tools felt heavier now, as if they too sensed what was about to happen.

When I grabbed my tools, I saw the soul-beating whip again. For some reason, though it had been coiled on the seat, now it was stretched straight, all eleven neem wood sections tightly linked, the tip pointing directly at the neems outside the window.

The metal of the crowbar was hot to the touch, and the neem whip gave off a faint, bitter scent that reminded me of childhood summers in the village. My hands trembled for a second—old superstitions rising up from childhood. I muttered, “Baba ki kasam,” and tucked the whip into my waistband, feeling its cool wood against my side.

For a fleeting second, I wondered what I’d do if things turned ugly. But I remembered my wife’s last words and squared my shoulders, ready for anything.