Chapter 7: Scene 1
The packet, a small white box tied with red string, sat on the counter between them like an uninvited guest. Priyanka stared at it, the fog of her sleepless night making the simple act of processing his words feel laborious. The kitchen smelled of ginger from the chai and the faint, ever-present scent of ghee from last night’s cooking.
“Special sandesh?” she echoed, her voice still rough with morning. She adjusted the pallu of her sari, pulling it tighter across her chest. “Kaku, you shouldn’t have. Really.”
Sujit Ghosh waved a dismissive hand, his eyes crinkling in that practiced, avuncular smile. His gaze, however, didn’t lift to her face. It lingered on the knot of her sari at her shoulder, then dipped briefly, appreciatively. “Arre, it’s nothing! The shopkeeper is a friend. Makes it with pure, rich milk. He said it’s very… strengthening. For new mothers.” He leaned a hip against the refrigerator, making himself comfortable. “You look tired, Priyanka. Not sleeping well? The baby?”
The concern in his tone was like a thin varnish over something else. Priyanka felt a familiar prickle of discomfort, the same one she felt when feeding Rohan in the living room and seeing Sujit Kaku’s shadow fall across the patterned sunlight of the doorway. She turned back to the simmering chai, giving the pot a stir more vigorous than necessary.
“Rohan is fine. Just… the heat,” she lied.
“Ah,” Sujit said, as if she’d revealed a great truth. He tapped the box. “This will help. Cool the body. Give you energy.” He paused. “You should try one now. Fresh is best.”
A logy dread, separate from her fatigue, settled in her stomach. Refusing would be rude. He was an elder neighbor, her husband’s father’s friend. In the intricate social web of the apartment building, a direct refusal was a small tear that could grow. She heard her mother-in-law’s voice in her head: ‘We must maintain good relations. What will people think?’
With fingers that felt clumsy, she untied the string and opened the box. Six perfect, white cubes of sandesh sat inside, each imprinted with a delicate swirl. They smelled overwhelmingly sweet, of sugared paneer and a faint, floral note she couldn’t place.
“They look expensive,” she said, hedging.
“Only the best for you,” Sujit replied smoothly. His voice had dropped to a confidential murmur. “You work so hard. So much responsibility in this big house. A young girl like you… you deserve sweetness.”
The word ‘girl’ hung in the air. She was a wife, a mother, but to him, in that moment, she was something else entirely. The silence stretched, filled only by the bubble of the chai and the distant sound of a toilet flushing somewhere else in the flat. Her in-laws were still asleep. The corridor outside was empty.
Feeling trapped by courtesy, she picked up a piece. It was soft, yielding under her slight pressure.
“Go on,” Sujit urged, his eyes bright.
She took a small bite. The sweetness was immediate and cloying, coating her tongue. But beneath it was a subtle, bitter aftertaste, a chemical tang that seemed out of place. She chewed slowly, forcing a smile.
“It’s… very sweet.”
“Have the whole piece. For the effect,” he said, watching her mouth.
She ate the rest, the bitterness more pronounced as she swallowed. To clear the taste, she poured two cups of chai, handing him one. He took it, his fingers brushing against hers. A deliberate, dry touch.
They stood in the quiet kitchen, drinking. Sujit began talking about his shop, a tedious complaint about a supplier. Priyanka nodded along, but her focus was turning inward. A strange warmth was spreading from her core, a flush that was not entirely unpleasant. The heavy weight of her sleeplessness began to feel less like an anchor and more like a soft, enveloping blanket. The edges of the room softened.
His voice seemed to be coming from farther away. “…and you know, Priyanka, sometimes a woman needs to think of her own health. Her own… needs.”
The words slithered into her ear. She blinked, trying to concentrate. The floral scent from the sweet seemed to be coming from her own skin now. She felt a sudden, unwelcome looseness in her limbs, a drop in her usual guarded posture.
“I… I should check on Rohan,” she said, but her voice sounded dreamy, unconvincing even to herself.
“He’s sleeping, no?” Sujit said, not moving from his perch. He set his cup down. The clink of the china was unnaturally loud. “You have time. Sit. Rest for a moment. You are always running.”
Her body, against her will, listened. She leaned back against the counter, the cool granite a shock against her lower back. The world tilted gently. Sujit’s face swam before her. The plastic smile was gone, replaced by an expression of keen, hungry scrutiny. He was looking at her—really looking—and for the first time, there was no pretense of neighborly concern in it.
“Better?” he asked, the word thick with meaning.
Priyanka’s mind, swimming in a warm, syrupy sea, sent up a final, desperate flare of alarm. The bitter aftertaste. The ‘strengthening’ sweet. The timing of his visit. The look in his eyes. The pieces, sluggish and distorted, began to click into a terrible, undeniable picture.
A deep, biological chill cut through the artificial warmth. Fear, cold and pure, doused her from the inside.
But her body was not her own. It felt heavy, pliant. Distant. She opened her mouth to call for her mother-in-law, to scream, but all that emerged was a soft, sighing breath.
Sujit Ghosh took a step forward, closing the small, safe distance of the kitchen. He was so close now she could smell the tobacco on his clothes, see the pores on his nose.
“See?” he whispered, his voice a dry rustle in the silent apartment. “I told you it was special.”