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scream split the silence open.
    Chandi pulled open the door behind him and ran inside the empty room, searching wildly for its windows. For a brief moment, he thought there weren’t any, and then he saw them, shrouded by curtains.
    The window hadn’t been opened in quite some time; after much struggling and a set of bruised fingers, he finally yanked it open, climbed out and let himself drop down to the ground below.
    The impact jarred him and the pain temporarily took precedence over his fear. He covered his face with his hands and sat there, wishing he hadn’t gone out in the rain, wishing he hadn’t taken off his clothes, wishing he hadn’t left his shorts on the croton hedge. Most of all, he wished he was back in their little room off the kitchen.
    After a minute or so, he opened his eyes, brushed away his tears and looked around. The first thing he saw was his shorts on the croton hedge, in plain view of the world. He ran over, grabbed them and flew around the outside passageway to the back garden. He didn’t stop running until he was inside their little room.
    â€œChandi, what happened?”
    He yelled in fright, and spun around to see Leela sitting in a dark corner of the room.
    â€œNothing, nothing. Buster scared me, that’s all,” he managed, trying to hide his wet shorts behind him.
    â€œYou’re all wet. You shouldn’t have gone out in the rain,” she said.
    He looked down at himself. She was right. He was wet and he didn’t even remember getting wet. Then he looked at her. She didn’t sound loud and bossy like she usually did. This was a softer Leela. A frightened Leela, he realized suddenly.
    He dropped his shorts in a soggy heap behind the door and went over to sit with her. She absently rubbed his wet head, not seeming to mind that the sleeve of her dress was getting damp from his shirt. They sat there for a while, each with their own thoughts, united by their individual fears. He was afraid even to speak, but he had to know.
    â€œLeela.”
    â€œHmmm?”
    â€œWhat’s happening? Where’s Ammi?”
    She still rubbed his head. “With the Sudu Nona.”
    â€œIs she all right?” he asked.
    â€œWho, Amma?”
    â€œNo, the Sudu Nona,” he said.
    â€œI think so,” she said uncertainly.
    He looked up at her.
    â€œDid you hear?” he asked.
    â€œHear what?”
    â€œYou know, the noises,” he said, “like when Krishna kills the turkey at Christmastime.”
    â€œYes,” she murmured.
    â€œWere you afraid?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDon’t be afraid,” he said. “I’ll look after you.”
    She laughed shakily.
    He sat quietly, relieved that she hadn’t asked how he had heard the noises. He breathed in the smell of her deeply, as if that would unwind the impossibly tight coil of fear that hurt his stomach. Her smell was like Ammi’s: a mixture of freshly washed clothes, Pond’s talcum powder and coconut oil.
    He smelled of urine.
    â€œLeela! Leela! Where is that girl!”
    It was their mother. Leela jumped up and ran into the kitchen, Chandi at her heels. Ammi was standing there impatiently with another bundle of bedsheets in her arms, checking the kettle, which was boiling once again.
    Had it been that long? he wondered.
    â€œPut these with the others to soak and give that child something to eat,” Ammi said, thrusting the sheets into Leela’s arms at the same time. She picked up the kettle and started back down the corridor. Leela rushed to the door.
    â€œAmma?” she said questioningly.
    She suddenly smiled and nodded. “A girl,” she said.
    Leela had long gone. Chandi still stood there, his thoughts in a whirl. A girl! Was that what all the noises had been about? A girl born to the screams of her mother. A new baby, not yet taken by anybody. He would show her all his secret places. Show her all his secret things. A best friend.