Hirsh Sawhney - South Haven

Oh honey, she says, walking toward him with open arms.

He stands there frozen, struck by how stupid she looks in that robe. This year Mohan Lal has given her a better gift, emerald earrings that had previously belonged to Siddharth’s mother. He hated it when Mohan Lal gave Ms. Farber those emerald earrings. But Arjun told him it was for the best. That their mother wouldn’t have minded.

She wraps her arms around him. But he is rigid.

She steps back. Looks him in the eye, grasps his shoulders. Says, I wanted to tell you last night, but I was asleep when you got home.

He stares at her messy head of curls, her small honeyed eyes that seem too far apart in this moment. She pulls him toward her, nestles his forehead against her neck. Her soft, small breasts press into his chest. A tear falls from his eye, moistens the silk on her shoulder. She places a hand on his back, starts rubbing it. Whispers, I need you to know this has nothing to do with you.

More tears fall. He knows this isn’t true. This has everything to do with him.

She says, You’re such a sensitive young man. Trust me, it was a complicated situation. You don’t know the half of it.

If he were to step away from her, he would fall to the ground. He would fall, because he knows he could have done something. Knows he could have been her friend.

Ms. Farber repeats her reassurances: Son, this has nothing to do with you. Poor, sweet Siddharth, this just isn’t your fault.

He gives her a squeeze, and she tightens her embrace. He likes the way she feels. Could remain in her arms for a very long time. Thinks, Maybe Ms. Farber is right. Maybe Ms. Farber’s not that bad. Maybe it’s time to start listening to her.

She keeps telling him he has done no wrong, and each time she does so, it is easier for him to believe her.

END

The account of the burning body in Professor Sengupta’s newspaper article is partially inspired by Suketu Mehta’s Maximum City: Bombay Lost and Found , and also by Omair Ahmad’s short story “Yesterday Man,” which originally appeared in Delhi Noir . Mohan Lal’s brand of Hindu extremism is entirely his own, but texts by Pankaj Mishra, Amartya Sen, and Perry Anderson helped me to clarify his sense of politics and history.

I am grateful to Johnny Temple, publisher of Akashic Books, for having so generously nurtured my writing career for the past decade. Ibrahim Ahmad is a gifted, fastidious, and enthusiastic editor, and he has helped me make this novel a better book. The folks at Akashic work tirelessly to create opportunities for a truly diverse set of authors, and to infuse an essential dose of iconoclasm into literary culture. They have enabled me to publish work that remains true to my ideals, and all of my experiences with them have been defined by a spirit of rigor, professionalism, and camaraderie. Thank you Johanna Ingalls, Aaron Petrovich, Susannah Lawrence, and Katie Martinez.

Thanks to Rutgers-Newark University, for two years of generous funding, and to my instructors there, H. Bruce Franklin, Alice Elliott Dark, and Tayari Jones. Jayne Anne Phillips has always been willing to lend her support and share opportunities.

Caryl Phillips has been a steadfast friend, mentor, and reader, and his fiction has been truly inspirational. So many individuals have offered me indispensable guidance, including Hartosh Singh Bal, Patrick Phillips, Kavita Bhanot, Michael Reynolds, Anjali Singh, Nicholas Pearson, and V.K. Karthika. Toby Lichtig and Jouni Kantola have been true friends and benevolent readers. Jared Cozza, Mario Buletić, and Vicente García Pérez have helped me in ways that I will not put into words. The Cozza family once loaned me their home in Vermont, in which I hammered out certain chapters of this book. A special thanks to Margarita Sawhney; Susan Shah; Jyoti, Rajeev, and Sanjeev Wason; Jonathan Geal; the entire Kapur Khandaan, especially Gullu and Prikshat Puri.

My mother, Rama Sawhney, and my late father, Shiv Sawhney, have been supportive and generous in uncountable ways, and they raised us in an environment filled with love, ideas, debate, and books. My brother Vik has been a second father, and he has taught me invaluable lessons about discipline and focus — two necessary elements in writing. My sister Aarti has been an unwavering friend and guide, and she has opened my heart to so many of the good things in life, including fiction.

This novel would not have been possible without my wife, Anjali Wason. She has carefully read each one of my drafts, despite what’s going on in her own life, and enhanced my prose with her acute sense of story and character. She has urged me to keep writing at the center of my life, regardless of its paltry material rewards, and even when my prose takes me away from her. I could not have asked for a more loving, sensitive, and wise partner.

HIRSH SAWHNEY’swriting has appeared in the New York Times Book Review , the Guardian , the Times Literary Supplement , the Financial Times, Outlook , and numerous other periodicals. He is the editor of Delhi Noir , a critically acclaimed anthology of original fiction, and is on the advisory board of Wasafiri , a London-based journal of international literature. He lives in New Haven, Connecticut, and teaches at Wesleyan University. South Haven is his debut novel.