‘See I know you aren’t used to doing investigations and I’ve done heaps, so if you need help, don’t hesitate to ask, okay?’ Ragini says.

‘Sure, thanks, but I might not do an investigation, I might—’

‘Sorry about this Pol, but I’ve got to go, catch you in office, all right?’ Ragini says and hangs up.

Before I can wonder what all that was about, and that Ragini was acting somewhat weirdly—my doorbell rings.

I open the door to find my housemaid Mini standing there with her three daughters. While I’ve met the younger ones before—fourteen-year-old Nikki and eight-year-old Cheeku—I’m meeting her oldest daughter for the first time today.

‘Namaste didi,’ Mini says. She folds her hands in the traditional greeting and the girls do the same. I notice a home-made bandage wrapped tightly around Mini’s swollen left hand. I also see bruise marks on her chin and neck.

‘I am sorry I’m late. Is it all right if my daughter helps me do some of the work today?’ Mini asks and pulls the oldest girl forward.

‘She is Simmi,’ Mini says.

I nod and ask all of them to come inside. Mini makes her younger kids sit on the outdoor plastic chairs in the courtyard. She and Simmi walk into the kitchen.

‘I’ll do the dishes and you start with the jhadoo-pocha,’ Mini tells Simmi. I can hear them over the clatter of dishes and the sound of running water.

‘How will you wash with that hand Mummy? You sit and mind Cheeku. Nikki can do the sweeping and I can do the dishes,’ Simmi suggests.

‘Nahi re, you’ll spoil your pretty hands,’ Mini counters.

I go into the kitchen and find Simmi trying to gently pry her mother away from the washbasin—the girl blushes when she sees me.

‘She’s training to be a beautician, didi,’ Mini says proudly. ‘A beautician cannot have rough hands, no?’

I notice that Simmi does have rather pretty hands—long-fingered, dainty and with beautifully painted nails. She smiles at me shyly, picks up the broom and goes into the drawing room.

‘What’s happened, Mini?’ I ask, once Simmi leaves.

I know the answer Mini will give me; I’ve heard it many times before.

‘Same story, didi. He drinks, he blames me for giving him daughters, he beats me—now I just hope he drinks too much so that he has less energy for beating,’ Mini says with a sigh.

‘Have you ever considered leaving the man? You could get him arrested,’ I say, trying to keep the anger out of my voice.

‘I wish I could do that, didi, but it isn’t easy where we live—not with three daughters and one of marriageable age,’ Mini says resignedly.