Dahanu Road: A novel by Anosh Irani Page B

wait for the mango season to arrive so he could sink his teeth into that juicy yellow. “The juice of the sun,” he would say to Banu. “This is sun juice you’re drinking.”
    Ejaz finally came into sight, dragging a man along the ground. The man was crying and pleading, but Ejaz was a rhinoceros who dragged his victim through the soil. It was one of the farm workers, Vithal. About forty, a man in a white loincloth, with taut stomach muscles, good forearms, thin hair, thin legs, and a deep voice.
    “Seth, I did not do anything,” said Vithal.
    “Did anyone ask you to speak?” shouted Ejaz.
    Ejaz led Vithal to the foot of the mango tree. Shapur Irani wiped the sweat off his face with the sleeve of his shirt.
    “It was him,” said Ejaz. “Vithal is the thief.”
    “Are you sure?” asked Shapur Irani.
    “I’m sure.” Ejaz stroked his beard as he said this, as though that was enough.
    “Did you find the money in his hut?”
    “No, I did not find any money. But don’t worry, seth. In a few moments, he will talk.”
    Shapur Irani wished Ejaz had proof.
    By now, three workers had gathered around the tree. Men of similar stature, their heads low, darting scared glances towards Vithal from time to time. They did not have the guts to say anything. Vithal did not look up at Shapur Irani. He lay on the ground face down and stared at the soil.
    “Did you take the money?” asked Shapur Irani.
    “No, seth,” said Vithal. “I did not steal.”
    “Seth, his wife works on the farm,” said Ejaz. “Shall I call for her?”
    “Yes,” said Shapur Irani.
    It would buy time. He hoped that by then the man would confess, and Shapur Irani could go home. He wanted to place his feet in warm water and release all the tension; he longed to smell his wife’s hair, especially soon after she had washed it. Violence was not what he wanted on his land. As a landlord, he had never administered a single beating.
    Ejaz barked orders at one of the men gathered there. He fled immediately, the power of Ejaz’s voice giving him fearful wings. In the meantime, Ejaz tied Vithal to the mango tree. Ejaz’s black figure was a complete contrast to the sun and blue sky. Shapur Irani wondered why, even when it was hot, Ejaz wore black.
    Vithal kept pleading his innocence. He kept on begging to be released, saying that he did not know what Ejaz was talkingabout, that the Pathan was a dishonest man, and the seth should not believe the Pathan, and ever since the Pathan came to the farm, the workers had been unhappy and he ill treated the workers and took their wives for his own pleasure.
    But that was not Shapur Irani’s problem. Ejaz was a lusty man and, who knows, the Warli women might secretly enjoy being taken by a big Pathan. Shapur Irani employed Ejaz because the Warlis were beginning to rebel. They were staging rallies at the instigation of a communist party called the Red Flag and they needed to be taught a lesson. Fear needed to be instilled in them; they needed to be reminded who was king, and the Pathan did a great job of making them fearful. At least four landowners had enquired about the Pathan. They too wanted someone as ferocious as him to protect their land. But the Pathan was loyal to his employer because in his very first week, Shapur Irani had asked him an important question: “How many children do you have in Bombay?” “I have only one child,” answered the Pathan proudly. “A son.” And Shapur Irani had replied, “From now on, he is my son too.”
    Within a few minutes, Vithal’s wife arrived at the scene. She was followed by most of the workers on the farm— about ten men and seven women. As soon as Vithal’s wife saw her husband tied to a tree, she ran to Shapur Irani and fell at his feet.
    “Please don’t hurt him,” she said. “He hasn’t done anything.”
    “I didn’t say he’s done anything,” replied Shapur Irani.
    “Seth …” said the wife, and failed to add anything else.
    “I haven’t seen