Alan Foster: Sagramanda, a Novel of Near-Future India

Taneer stared at the weapon in his father's hand. It was not large, but guns these days did not have to be, often possessing as they did killing power all out of proportion to their size. So tightly was his father's hand gripping the weapon that the skin of his fingers had turned pale.

Looking tired but alert, as if he had come to the end of a long and difficult journey, the senior Buthlahee glanced in the direction of the door into the living room and inquired quietly, as if he had all the time in the world, "Where is the whore?"

"Please, don't do this." Calm in the face of Karlovy's bodyguard Punjab, fleet of foot in reaction to the attack of the tiger, in the presence of his father Taneer found himself shaking uncontrollably. He might have been shaking even if his father had come unarmed.

The fear he felt was not for himself, since he had been prepared to die ever since he had fled the company and absconded with its property, but for Depahli. Depahli, whom he loved more than the money he had been promised. Depahli, who had risen from nothing to devote herself to him, and to them. Depahli, who was trapped in the living room with no way to escape. To try for the front door, she would have to cross in front of the entrance to the bedroom.

"She's not here," he said quickly. Perhaps a bit too quickly. "She's shopping."

Anil Buthlahee grunted disappointedly. "Do you think I am nothing more than a dumb, ignorant merchant? I heard you talking." He gestured with the muzzle of the compact little pistol. "I will do what must be done, to salvage the honor of our family."

Within Taneer, fear was giving way slowly to anger. "Why, Father?" He gestured aimlessly. "Why do this? Why do you think this way? This isn't the seventeenth century. This is Sagramanda ; now, today. Enlightened people don't go around committing suttee any more, or honor killings! Caste is no longer what determines the worth of a human being. Things have changed ."

"Not all things," Anil replied unyieldingly. "I am my father's son. As such, I must honor him and preserve the reputation of the family, which you have so uncaringly desecrated." He blinked, as if he had something in his eye. "I only wish you were your father's son."

"I am , Father! I am."

"No! No," Anil added more quietly. "My son would not sleep with an Untouchable. That is abomination enough. But to contemplate marrying such a person, living with one…" He shook his head sharply. "Having children with one…"

Desperate, Taneer tried another tack. "If you would only set aside your outdated cultural baggage, Father, long enough to just meet Depahli, I'm sure you would come to-"

Moving the muzzle of the pistol slightly to one side, Anil fired. The muted puff of the silencer was followed by a crashing sound as the vase he had aimed at was blown to bits. It had the intended effect of shutting up his son. Words can be more powerful than bullets-but only when spoken or printed outside the range of the intended target.

The gun's aperture shifted back to point at the stunned scientist. "I will meet her, Taneer. And then I will kill her. Then I will kill you. Afterward, I will walk out of this room and this building and this sin-ridden city. I will go back to my business and the rest of my family, that respects me and our common history, and I will try for the rest of my life to heal the hole in my heart."

Taneer swallowed. "It doesn't have to be this way, Father."

Eyes that had seen those of the other when they had first opened onto the world locked on them. "Yes, it does, Taneer."

In the living room, Depahli had been standing pressed up against the other side of the bedroom wall, listening. Everything had been going so wonderfully well. From standing outside the gates of Nirvana, she had suddenly found herself thrust into the pit of hell.

She could not get across the room to the front door without Taneer's homicidal fanatic of a father seeing her. The communicator she could use to call the police was in the purse lying on the entryway side table. Not that calling the police would be a good idea or a final solution anyway. Even if by some miracle they could arrive in time to keep the senior Buthlahee from killing them both, she knew from experience that police had a habit of asking awkward questions. If they decided to do a quick search of the apartment and found the briefcase containing the equivalent of seven million American dollars, they might ask some that could not properly be answered.

She could not stand there forever, frozen against the wall, paralyzed by indecision. At any moment, the elder Buthlahee might decide it was time to stop talking to his son and walk into the living room. She could not even reach the bathroom to hide in there. Besides, she did not want to hide. As a child, she had tried hiding repeatedly to avoid her uncle. Each time, he had found her. Each time, her unhappy life had been made a little more miserable.

She remembered the tiger that had jumped out of the jungle to kill the enigmatic tracker. The tiger had concealed itself, only to attack with complete surprise when no one was looking at it. Frantically she searched the living room. There was nothing within reach she could use as a weapon; not even a letter opener. All she had were her hands and fists.

She remembered something else. Like the tiger, she was the master of her immediate environment. Maybe she could use that. Sucking in air, she screamed rather than spoke the familiar commands, spewing a steady stream of them into the air. Recognizing her voice, the instrumentation that had been installed in the bedroom responded accordingly.

A pair of naked apsaras appeared at the head of the bed and leaned forward, while two mightily thewed royal attendants whose origin could be traced to a passage from the Mahabharata rose from its mattress and straightened as they moved to engage the apsaras. Typically, she and Taneer would be kneeling on the bed between, awaiting the slightly warm but otherwise noncorporeal arrival. Instead, the apparitions closed on the preoccupied Anil Buthlahee. Startled and surprised, he whirled and fired wildly at the surrounding figures. Gun gas slammed miniature explosive shells into the wall, the headboard. In a moment, even the traditional merchant would recognize the quartet of unexpected visitants for what they were: high-tech, state-of-the-art virtuals.

Reacting as quickly and with as much presence of mind as he ever had in his life, Taneer scooped up the finely carved reconstituted stone statue of Ganesh from its alcove, rushed forward, and brought it down on his father's head just as the old man realized the deception and started to turn back to him. The blow was not hard enough to knock the merchant unconscious, but it was sufficient to stun him. Dazed, he fell to his knees.

"Depahli!" Still holding the statue, Taneer sprinted toward the doorway.

She met him there, slamming into him and wrapping her arms around her beloved tightly enough to squeeze the wind out of him. He forced himself to break the embrace. Both of them regarded the figure of the old man on the floor, who was moaning and struggling to rise. The muzzle of the gun he held wavered dangerously, like a drunken asp.

"Taneer…" Anil grunted. "No good, Taneer, no good. I'm… coming…"

"Run!" Pushing Depahli into the next room, the scientist fol lowed. A wild shot flared through the space he had just been occupying to blow a dark hole in the living room ceiling. Behind them, Anil Buthlahee could be heard cursing and stumbling into furniture as he fought to recover his equilibrium and reload.

As he set Ganesh aside to grab the case and its precious contents, Depahli snatched up her bag, which contained their passports and other critical documentation. Breathing hard, Taneer followed her out the door and into the hallway. Disdaining the elevator and ignoring the probing stares of the recently awakened, they raced down the fire stairs. The building lobby was deserted when they reached it, as was the street outside. Off to the east, the sun was now showing itself over the nearest structures.