Bala quickly shut the door behind him. “How dare he? I knew your Papa-ji didn’t like him for a reason. Terrible, terrible man!”

Deepa asked Bala why she couldn’t live with her here, in the house.

“Oh, beta,” Bala said, clutching her tighter. “I’m going back to my village. It’s only a two-day journey by foot. I can’t bear living here in Delhi anymore. This rotten, evil place.”

Deepa inched further into the corner of the room, curled her body into a ball, willed herself to shrink, to filter between the cracks into the damp, crumbling stucco, the darkness.

“I’ll put your meal on the floor by your bed,” Bala said. “I have to go purchase more vegetables. There may be a few more guests coming this afternoon and evening to pay their respects. I need to go now, while I can.” She paused. “Deepa? Can you go next door to Nina Aunty’s house and wait for my return?”

Deepa shook her head. She’d never leave this bed again, hadn’t even bathed since the priest performed the poojas for her parents.

“Shall I let you stay here then?” Bala said. She touched Deepa’s cheek. “Beta? What do you think?”

“Go,” Deepa mumbled. She rolled onto her stomach. Her braid flopped over her face. What could possibly occur in Bala’s absence? The worst thing she could imagine, her parents’ deaths, had already happened.

“Or you could come with me,” Bala said, brightening. She smoothed Deepa’s hair behind her ear. “Fresh air might do you good.”

“No,” Deepa said. “I just want to stay here. Please go.”

“I’ll be back shortly.” Bala tucked Deepa back under the sheet. “Promise to take a bite of food while I’m gone.”

She padded down the hallway. A few moments later, the front door opened and shut.

Deepa tossed from side to side, crossed her knees. She couldn’t fall back asleep now. She needed to use the toilet. She pushed up to sitting. Gray matter and white streaks flecked her vision. Silhouettes appeared before her. Her parents, huddled together in a burning building, eyes locked on her. Gradually, they faded away.

She wobbled to her desk, braced herself. Blisters pinched her heels, the skin between her toes. Her kneecaps stung with scrapes that hadn’t quite healed. Her head felt like lead.