Chapter Forty-Eight Homecoming
Chapter Forty-Eight
Homecoming
The morning after the inauguration, Hasan waited outside the Marnapur jail, every limb taut.
In one hand, he clutched the envelope Poppy gave him, his grip so strong that it had creased the paper.
Printed in neat script on the page inside was an official pardon, from the new vicereine to one Paranjay Devar.
When the door swung open, his heart jumped painfully.
An officer walked out first, followed by Paranjay, holding only the clothes and shoes he’d been arrested in, dressed in his prison uniform.
A lump swelled in Hasan’s throat. His brother was gaunt, dark circles prominent on his ashen face.
For the first time in Hasan’s memory, Paranjay no longer smelled like the sea he so loved.
Paranjay wasn’t merely haunted by this experience; he had become a wraith himself.
The sight landed like a kick to the ribs.
Hasan could live a hundred years, but he would never forgive himself for every single day that his brother had been a prisoner and he had failed to rescue him.
His hands shook as he reached forward to take Paranjay’s clothes from him. “Let me get those.”
Paranjay didn’t protest. He let Hasan take the clothes, then moved obediently as Hasan draped one of his arms around his shoulders so that he could lean on him.
“Watch yourselves, Devars,” the officer warned. His stare could have melted iron. “Weak leadership never lasts. And when we have a real viceroy in office, we’ll come for you first. Don’t forget; we have your number.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Hasan told Paranjay, but deep down, the pig’s words made his stomach twist. Clarence Sutherland had signed the Registry Act, one of the last things he’d done before he’d passed away, and Paranjay was now on there.
Hasan himself had not yet been registered, as the police had not yet gathered enough evidence on him, but it was only a matter of time.
He did not regret saving Paranjay’s life—how could he?
—but he wished fervently that he had been able to stop the Act from passing too.
Once they were out on the streets, Hasan paused so that Paranjay could tilt his face up to the sun.
His elder brother closed his eyes, basking in fresh air for the first time in months.
“I’m free,” he said quietly. “I would think I’m dreaming, but my dreams of the sun were never this good in prison. ”
Hasan pulled him into a hug. He tried not to squeeze too hard, not until Ma had a chance to examine him for lasting injuries, but he held Paranjay close. “You’re free. It’s over now.”
Paranjay nodded, sunken eyes shining. “I know,” he said. “I . . . I can’t believe it.” Then he spotted the empty car parked curbside. His face fell. “Why didn’t Zeyar come?”
The innocent question wrenched at Hasan’s heart. He couldn’t meet his brother’s eyes. Now that Paranjay was free, there was no keeping the news from him. Silently, he cursed his bastard of an eldest brother for sullying Paranjay’s first day of freedom like this.
“Get in the car,” he said. “I’ll explain it on the way to Ma’s. She’s positively frantic to see you.”
“Gods”—Paranjay tilted his head back, smiling—“I hope she made fish curry.”
Hasan chuckled at that. Their mother had been up since dawn, preparing every single one of Paranjay’s favorite foods. Knowing her, there would be at least three different kinds of fish curry.
As they pulled away from the curb, Paranjay asked about Zeyar again. “Where is he? I thought he’d come.”
Hasan sighed. He opened his mouth, trying and failing to find the right words. Finally, he said, “Zeyar’s left our business, Paranjay.”
Briefly, Hasan explained all that had taken place between himself and Zeyar. Paranjay listened mutely, which was unlike him. Normally, he’d chime in, always full of opinions and questions. But he stared at Hasan with haunted eyes, saying nothing until, finally, Hasan prompted, “Well?”
“It sounds like he didn’t leave,” Paranjay said. “It sounds more like you sent him away because you were upset with him.”
Hasan bristled at the accusation in Paranjay’s tone. “Because he betrayed us!”
How did Paranjay not get that? He’d been the prisoner. Was Paranjay not angry that Zeyar had bargained for himself instead of his brother’s freedom?
Paranjay flinched at Hasan’s raised voice, his hands shaking, the first sign of his invisible injuries.
Hasan lowered his voice hurriedly. “Sorry. I shouldn’t shout at you. But are you honestly taking his side right now?”
“I’m not taking sides. I’m making an observation,” Paranjay said. “I agree—Zeyar should have never made that bargain without you, just as you should have never agreed to back Poppy without asking him.”
Hasan tightened his grip on the wheel. “Those aren’t the same, and you know it.”
“Maybe not in magnitude, but at its core, both of you made the same decision: to take matters into your own hands, and ask for forgiveness instead of permission. Did you try to see it from his point of view?”
“I would have understood if it had actually worked,” Hasan said. “Hell, I’d have packed Poppy’s bags myself if I knew it would bring you back. But in the end, it was me who had to free you. The only thing he gained from this was power.”
“Okay, and I’m back now.” Paranjay’s voice wavered as he asked, “Can’t we move past it?”
Hasan couldn’t believe this. He almost wanted to remind Paranjay that he was free because of him, not Zeyar, so no, they could not just move past it.
But he looked at Paranjay again, and wondered if it might be worth it, if it would help him recover his spirits quicker.
Then he remembered the way that Zeyar had restrained him when Richard had arrived at Sanivali, Poppy’s feet stumbling out of his line of sight before he’d blacked out.
“You can’t forgive someone where there’s no remorse,” Hasan said, his jaw set. “If you want to talk to him, you can. But I’m done. I don’t trust him anymore.”
“Hasan—”
“No, Paranjay.” Hasan stared ahead resolutely.
He couldn’t look at his brother, couldn’t bear to see his sunken face crumple, couldn’t watch his bony shoulders slump, or his resolve would crumble.
“I’ve made up my mind. If Zeyar wants to be forgiven, he’ll come and ask me.
If it takes us until our senior years for him to humble himself, then so be it. Until then, I’ll keep my distance.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Paranjay said.
“The chasm will only widen with time, and with our line of work, growing old isn’t guaranteed.
Baba is proof of that.” He struggled for a moment, searching for words or courage—maybe both.
“When I was in jail, I was certain they would execute me. All I could think about was the things I had said—and the things I hadn’t—to the people I loved, things I thought I’d never get to rectify.
You don’t want to have regrets like that, Hasan. ”
“I won’t have any regrets.”
Paranjay only sighed. “You’re too stubborn,” he said. “I won’t push this issue any further. But think about it. Right now, he’s out there missing you as much as you miss him. All it takes is one call.”
“I don’t miss him,” Hasan lied. “Can we not talk about it?”
When they arrived at their mother’s house, she ran out onto the lawn, tears streaking her face as she buried Paranjay in a tight embrace. “My son has come home,” she wept. “I’ve invited the entire village to celebrate.”
As Hasan surveyed the tables and chairs set out in the backyard, he reconsidered what he’d said to Paranjay.
If he’d forgiven Zeyar, then Zeyar would have been here to welcome home Paranjay.
It seemed unfair that everyone in Sanivali was here, but the trio was still incomplete.
Hasan could have fixed this, if he’d forgiven Zeyar.
Hasan shook his head, casting off the thought. If Zeyar wanted to be here, then he shouldn’t have betrayed them. It wasn’t Hasan’s responsibility to rebuild the bridge that Zeyar had burned. Zeyar would realize that, eventually.
And then he would come back and beg him for forgiveness, and the three of them would be together once more.