A Walk Across the Sun by Corban Addison Page A

attempts, she sat on the floor beside Sita and stroked her hair.
    â€œThere has to be a way out,” she said.
    â€œBut where would we go?” Sita whispered. “We are strangers in Bombay.”
    Ahalya had no answer. Each night, she lay awake, listening to the sounds drifting up from below. Her imagination turned her into an insomniac. She thought of the girls and the men who visited them. She was a virgin, but she was not naive. She understood the mechanics of sex. She knew what women had that men wanted. What she couldn’t comprehend was why a man would pay a prostitute, or beshya , for sex.
    As the days dragged by, Ahalya began to wonder if Suchir would ever come for them. It was Friday, three days after their arrival, and no man had been brought to their room. Ahalya’s only explanation was that the brothel owner was planning something for them. The thought of it terrified her. Sometimes when she heard Suchir’s voice through the floorboards, a wave of vertigo came upon her. Her only remedy was to lie flat on her back. Sita worried over her, but Ahalya blamed the heat. Inside, however, her heart was consumed with fear.
    The hour came when Ahalya least expected it. It was in the middle of the night on New Year’s Eve, and she had been drifting in and out of sleep. The sounds of festivity were everywhere on the street, and the moans coming from downstairs struggled to keep pace. The doorknob turned without a sound, but the hinges creaked and startled her awake. The light came on suddenly and Sumeera stood at the foot of the bed holding a burlap sack.
    â€œWake up, children,” she said nervously. “It’s time to dress.”
    Ahalya’s heart began to pound, but she knew better than to ask questions. She could still feel the sting of the young man’s hand on her cheek the morning they arrived. Sumeera held out a beautiful crimson and gold churidaar and directed Ahalya to put it on. She gave Sita a sari the color of peacock feathers. Bangles came next and then anklets. Sumeera brushed the girls’ hair and adorned it with garlands. Then she applied a light coat of foundation and thin black eyeliner. Standing back, she appraised them. After a moment, Suchir appeared in the doorway and grunted his approval.
    â€œCome,” he said. “Shankar is waiting.”
    The sisters descended the steps behind Sumeera and Suchir and entered the hallway. There were perhaps twenty girls in the narrow space. Some were leaning against walls; others were sitting on the floor in open door frames. A few snickered when they appeared, but the rest were watchful. To Ahalya’s surprise, most of the beshyas were plainlooking. Only two or three could pass for pretty, and only one girl was truly beautiful.
    Ahalya caught a few whispers as she walked past.
    â€œFifty thousand,” a tall girl guessed.
    â€œMore,” said her neighbor.
    Suchir silenced them with a glare. He directed Sita to wait at the door and then ushered Sumeera and Ahalya into the brothel lobby. A man sat on one of the couches facing the mirror. He was forty-something, with a head of black curls and a gold watch on his wrist. He eyed Ahalya appraisingly while Suchir pulled the window shades. Sumeera, meanwhile, took her seat on the other couch and bowed her head.
    Suchir flipped a switch, and a bank of recessed bulbs installed above the mirror flooded the room with light. In a gentle voice, he directed Ahalya to stand beneath the glare and to look at the man. Ahalya obeyed for a brief moment, and then her eyes fell to the floor.
    â€œShankar, my friend,” said the brothel owner, “I have something delectable for you tonight. Two girls—both sealed pack. This is the older one.”
    Shankar murmured his delight. He stood up and walked toward Ahalya. He admired her skin, touched her hair, and grazed her left breast with the back of his hand.
    â€œRavas,” he said with a sigh. “Magnificent. I