Page 118 of No Boss
“Crops for dry conditions. He wants to come back.”
“Tell him to meet me when he does.”
The man blinked, then bowed before he could stop himself.
When the others fell behind, Meera continued, “Part of their income goes into a reserve. For emergencies. Medical needs. Bad seasons. Rebuilding. Babuji manages it. The families track it. It’s not charity. It’s a system.”
Abhinav walked in silence for a moment. “My family built this.”
“Yes. This is what the Haveli does when it is being a Haveli. Not just a structure.”
He understood the rest.
The cooperative stood near the eastern boundary. Colour greeted them at the entrance.
Saris, dupattas, lengths of fabric stretched across the space. Indigo, yellow, reds that seemed to glow. Women worked at looms, spinning wheels, dyeing vats, hands moving with practiced ease.
They saw Meera. “Meera Bai Sa!”
She moved among them naturally. A hand on a shoulder. A glance at a half-finished piece. A word here. A nod there.
“Hukum,” she introduced, drawing Abhinav forward. “He wanted to see the work.”
They welcomed him. Showed him threads, patterns, dye. Brought him close to the looms.
He observed everything. The same way he had all week, fully, completely.
Meera stepped beside him. “Ten years ago this did not exist. The Haveli funded training. The first two years ran at a loss. Now it sustains itself. And contributes to the reserve.”
He studied the loom before him. Deep blue. A geometric border with a familiar pattern he could not quite place.
“Naina would want to see this.”
Meera looked at him.
“She has been looking for work like this. Real technique. Not imitation.” He turned toward her. “Bring her when you can.”
A few of the women caught that. Their faces lit up.
“I will,” Meera nodded.
She watched him for a moment, still absorbed in the fabric, and wondered how she was meant to get through the rest of the day with this growing inside her.
No answer came.
She turned back to the women.
???
They were on their way back when the sky changed. One moment it was blue. The next, grey, light draining out of the air.
Meera looked up, palm open. A drop hit her palm. Then another. Water pooled in her hand. She watched it, then at the sky again and then at him. A bright smile broke free across her face.
“It’s raining.”
The words dissolved into laughter.
The clouds opened. Rain fell in a rush, heavy, relentless, filling the space with sound and the deep scent of wet earth.
