with increasing intensity. ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’
‘Then I am happy.’ She got up and turned to go into the kitchen, towards the sink where the dishes lay. His voice came to her when she was in the doorway.
‘Will you?’
She paused. ‘Will I what?’
‘Promise that you—’
‘Did not kill her?’
‘Yes.’
She looked back at him over her shoulder and smiled. ‘Of course, dear. I promise.’
In the other wing of the house, in the first-floor living room, the television was blaring. Kamala sat in her chair, one leg folded, foot thrust under the thigh of the other leg, and balanced a big bowl of rice on her lap. With deft, practised movements of her fingers, she flicked at the grains of rice, separating the stones and casting them away. After each flick she looked up and surveyed the television screen before lowering her head again. In the chair opposite, leaning over the glass coffee table with a sheaf of papers underneath his arm, Venkataramana sat, scowling from behind his glasses.
‘Are you listening?’ said Kamala. For years now, wife and husband had come to agree upon that question as a conversation starter.
So Venkataramana said, ‘Hmm?’ without looking up from the papers.
Kamala’s fingers did not stop while she spoke. She said, ‘Have you talked to Swami saab about the old woman’s will? The plot near Vijaya Talkies ought to be ours by right. Did you tell him that?’
‘Hmm,’ said Venkataramana, and adjusted his glasses so he could read the print better.
‘If you continue to be like this, brother and sister will put in your hands the worthless land in Pegadapalli and keep the Vijaya Talkies plots for themselves. Did you ask them who is going to keep this house?’
‘Hmm.’ He scrawled something on the paper and scowled at it again.
‘Are you listening?’
‘Hmm.’
‘Koteshwar Rao and his family have come and settled down in this house. Who is going to drive them out? You? I won’t stand for their getting a single part of the old woman’s wealth. As if it isn’t enough with the three of you, now we have Prameelamma clawing for a share, and as if that is not enough we have Kotesh as well.’ She popped a few grains into her mouth and chewed intensely. ‘Are you listening?’ Her eyes darted between the television and her husband.
‘Hmm,’ Venkataramana said, and started folding the sheets of paper.
‘And then there is Karuna. Wherever there is money being divided, she is there, shameless woman. She doesn’t even have any right to Prameelamma’s property, let alone the old woman’s. And yet here she is, striving away in the kitchen—anyone who looks at her now would think she loves all of us with all her heart. I wonder how much Swami saab is going to give her.’ Then, after another bout of chewing, she said: ‘Are you listening?’
Venkataramana put the papers away, folded his glasses into his shirt-pocket, and said, ‘Kamala, I know you did not like my mother. But can we not wait until the tenth day is finished before we bring up matters of property?’
‘There you go. I am just asking you to be careful and you’re telling me to shut up.’
‘I am not telling you to shut up,’ he said patiently. ‘But there is a time and place for everything. Now is not the time. Let’s wait till the function is finished on the tenth day—it is no more than a week away—and then we can talk about this.’
‘By then all the decisions will have been made and you will be left with nothing.’
Venkataramana smiled at his wife. ‘Why do you think that?’
‘Because Prameelamma and Karuna are already here, spinning their webs around Swami and Raja. They’re already forming a group, and we’re being excluded. Don’t you see? You and I and Lakshman and Praveen—’
‘Nobody,’ Venkataramana said, raising his voice just enough to subdue his wife’s, ‘nobody can influence Mother’s will. It is made, and no matter what ploy Karuna comes up with, she cannot
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