Maps for Lost Lovers

saw the words in the dewdrops and knew Jugnu had gone to buy breakfast. She left the door ajar and began to attend to the suitcases, carrying them upstairs and taking things out of them. Because they had left Pakistan unexpectedly, she had had to pull some of her wet clothing from the washing line in Sohni Dharti and put it in the suitcases still wet. She took out the damp garments—the shalwar-kameez s , the see-through head-veils, the chadors and wraps of thick cotton—and brought them down to spread them on the line strung across the room next to the kitchen: the washing line in the back garden had been out of use since spring because of the wren nest in the denim jacket that hung from it. She filled the room with the colourful garments and the long swathes of brilliantly dyed fabric. When the brothers came in, she had been oiling her hair upstairs, pouring the fragrant liquid onto the scalp as though she were adding oil to a curry—generously. She had used the same brand all her life, the same one as her mother’s. It smelled more beautiful than the fabled roses of Quetta, which she had had the chance to smell during her visit to Pakistan: she had gone to that mountain city with Jugnu in search of butterflies—they had seen the famous silhouette of the dead girl that appeared in the vast Koh-e-Murdar range of mountains outside Quetta at sunset, her dishevelled tresses, her face in profile, her torso with conical breasts.
    Her brothers dragged her back up the stairs but Jugnu wasn’t there. “Where is he, girl?” Barra shook her. The younger spat on the bed she had shared with Jugnu, the sheets awry, and said: “Where is he hiding?”
    She had lied to her brothers, of course: Jugnu still hadn’t returned from The Vision, but she thought they would be less abusive towards her if they knew her man was upstairs. “Get out,” she said in an even voice when she saw Chotta spit on the bed, “or we’ll call the police!”
    “Are you threatening us, you shameless whore?” said Barra as he slapped her.
    “You think the world is heart shaped?” Chotta said. “Some people aren’t as lucky as you, and have problems. Tell us where that Hindu bastard is!”
    The brothers checked the rooms but couldn’t find Jugnu. “Oh fuck!” Chotta exclaimed suddenly. “I don’t think he’s here. He’s still outside, bleeding. For all we know he hid behind the fans of the peacocks when he saw us and we walked right past him.”
    “Bleeding?” That her brothers had had a violent encounter with Jugnu somewhere out there was now obvious to Chanda and she was about to shout in panic when they all heard a sound from the gate at the entrance to the back garden. The horror of what might have happened to Jugnu earlier was clear to Chanda when Chotta pulled out the gun and held it to her head. “Shut up!” he whispered. A milk van went rattling by at the front of the house.
    After the noise receded, Chanda said: “Tell me where Jugnu is.”
    They told her they didn’t know where he was, that they hadn’t seen him since he left for Pakistan three weeks ago.
    She began to weep, aware that they were lying, and she made a lunge for the stairs, managing to get to the ground floor in a few seconds but they were soon beside her again, blocking her path to the outside door. She shouted that she would ring the police. To stop her shouts Barra blocked her mouth with his hand as they dragged her towards the cellar door. “We had to keep her there and go out to look for Jugnu. One minute she was struggling with us on the steps,” Chotta would say later in Pakistan, “the next she suddenly went limp. I didn’t connect this to the crack I’d heard only a moment ago. I couldn’t understand what had happened and thought she had fainted. But then I saw that her neck had a small protrusion. Barra had broken her neck.”
    “What’s done is done,” said Chotta after the next few moments had passed in silence. “Let’s stay calm.”
    Barra nodded, letting go of Chanda’s wrist. The limp hand fell to the floor beside her where she was lying. The girl’s eyes were open, their colour changing from second to second, very fast.
    “He’s out there somewhere,” said Chotta. “He could have called the police, and they could be on their way here.”
    There was a sound from Chanda’s mouth at this moment, the weakest of groans. Barra leaned to her face and said, “If you can hear me, beg Allah’s forgiveness for your sin before