A Kilo of Sugar

Content note: This story contains child grooming and implied abuse.

Sudeep was searching through his mathematics notes when his mother walked into the room.

“Go and bring a kilo of sugar. There’s nothing left in the house,” she said. “I need to make tea. My head’s been hurting since I got back from school.”

Sudeep gathered his notes and arranged them on the table. “Sir will be here in thirty minutes. Papa’s at the market. Tell him to bring it.” He pulled out the chair and picked up his pen, notebook still closed under his palm.

His mother came closer and stood beside him. “Papa went to your uncle’s house. He’ll return late. When your sir comes, I won’t even be able to make tea for him. Go now. Buy it from Udaya’s store. Don’t go to Jaju’s.”

Sudeep glanced at her, then pushed back the chair. He went to the kitchen to grab a cloth bag and left the house.

Months earlier, Jaju had opened a small kirana cabin at the corner of the street, a tiny wooden stall, where he sat up high and the customers stood below him on the dirt, on the route Sudeep and his friends took home from school. One afternoon Sudeep stopped there for a rubber ball hanging from the roof of the cabin. Jaju smiled down at him and handed it over. When Sudeep held out the coins, Jaju took the money but didn’t look away from Sudeep’s face. The smile never left his mouth. He reached into a glass jar, pulled out a candy, and held it toward him.

“Keep it,” Jaju said, still smiling. Sudeep took the candy and pushed the rubber ball into his pocket.

Before opening the cabin, Jaju used to sit for hours on the edge of the well near his house, head lowered, eyes half closed, rubbing a pinch of tobacco and lime in his palm before putting it in his mouth. Neighbors called to him from the road sometimes. When he didn’t get up, one of them would walk him home.

After that, Sudeep turned his head toward the cabin whenever he passed it. Jaju usually sat facing the street. He would raise his palm, motion him closer, open the jar, and hand him a candy. Sudeep never refused. When he walked home from school with his friends, he would slow down as they neared the cabin. He let them move ahead before going to the counter.

One Sunday, while gathering Sudeep’s school uniform to soak in detergent, his mother found two candy wrappers in his pocket. Sudeep was sitting in his room, playing a handheld video game.

She appeared in the doorway. “Why are you eating candy every day? I keep finding these wrappers when I clean your room. You’ll ruin your teeth.”

Sudeep tilted the console, leaning his body with it. “I don’t buy them,” he muttered, not looking up. “The man at the new cabin gives them to me when I walk home.”

She paused, then stepped into the room, the uniform still over her shoulder. “Why are you taking things from him? Should I tell your father?” Her voice rose.

A rough electronic beep came from the console. The game ended. Sudeep looked up. “He doesn’t take money.”

“What? Since when?”

“A few days.”

“From now on, no more candies. You’ll not go there.”

From the next day on, Sudeep opened the wrapper before entering the house and finished the candy on the way.

A few days later, he changed out of his school uniform and went to play cricket on the street. His friends were already there, wedging the wickets between two mud bricks.

Suvendu stood behind the wicket, keeping. “Sudeep, come behind me. Stand at slip,” he called out.

Sudeep ran over and crouched beside him. The bowler threw the ball, the bat cracked, and the ball rolled straight down the road. One of the boys ran after it. While they waited, Suvendu straightened and glanced down at Sudeep.

“Why do you stop at Jaju’s shop every day?” he asked quietly. “My daddy told me not to buy anything from him.”

The ball came flying back from the end of the road. Suvendu crouched behind the wickets again.

On the next delivery, the ball passed Sudeep before he could move.

Sudeep went to Udaya’s store. Customers crowded the entrance. Between their arms he could see a metal scoop pouring something into a paper packet on the weighing scale, then tapping the scoop against the rim of a tin container.

A gray layer of cloud covered the sky. Across from Udaya’s stood a temple. A bell sounded once inside. Sudeep turned from the store, glanced toward the temple entrance, and bowed his head. He looked at the crowd again. Then he walked toward the end of the street.

Jaju sat inside the cabin, staring out at the street, chewing something, fanning himself slowly with a folded newspaper. His brown tank top clung to his sweating chest, white flecks of dried limestone scattered across it.

Sudeep stood below the counter and looked up. “Give me a kilo of sugar.”

Jaju smiled. A red stain ran across his teeth. Sudeep passed the cloth bag over the row of glass jars. Jaju opened one, pulled out a candy, and handed it down. Then he bent to scoop the sugar.

When he finished packing it, he didn’t hand the bag back down. Instead he unlatched the half-door of the cabinet and jumped out of the shop, the bag of sugar in one hand.

“Come with me,” Jaju said.

“Mama is waiting for me at home,” Sudeep said. “I have class.”

Jaju smiled and reached for Sudeep’s hand. “We’ll go this way. I’ll show you something.”

He started walking. Sudeep said nothing. He didn’t pull away. He just kept walking, following him.

They passed Udaya’s store, still crowded. Udaya himself was visible now. A filled paper packet rested on his lap as he tied a thin string around it without looking up.

Jaju turned down the narrow lane beside the well, next to Udaya’s store and not far from Sudeep’s house. A tight row of thatched-roof houses lined the path, straw hanging loose from the edges of the roofs. Sudeep had always avoided this lane — it was too narrow. At its mouth, a single iron lamppost stood, a yellow bulb glowing at the top. Beneath it, a cow rubbed its head against the pole.

Jaju stopped at one house. He climbed the short stairs to the veranda, set the bag down, and asked Sudeep to come inside.

Sudeep didn’t move. He looked over his shoulder toward the mouth of the lane. The cow was still rubbing its head against the pole, half in the lamplight. Behind him, the rest of the lane had gone dark.

“Come inside,” Jaju said again.

Sudeep’s heart was beating fast. He stayed frozen at the foot of the stairs.

“Come inside,” Jaju repeated, softly. “It’s my house.”

Sudeep bowed his head and climbed onto the veranda.

A narrow, pitch-black passage ran from the front door to the back of the house. At the end, a flight of brick stairs led upward. Moss covered the steps, and there was no handrail. A dim bulb glowed at the bottom of the stairwell.

Beyond the foot of the stairs was an open veranda. A room opened onto it, where an old woman in a white saree leaned against the wall, watching television. Its murmur drifted through the passage.

Jaju started climbing. Sudeep followed in small steps, pressing one hand against the wall. The old woman kept her eyes on him and didn’t look away until he disappeared from sight.

At the top, Jaju stopped and looked down. “Come, don’t be scared.”

Sudeep climbed the last few steps. When he reached the terrace, it was fully dark.

When Sudeep came down, the television was still playing in the room. The old woman looked toward him as he passed. He picked his cloth bag up off the veranda and stepped down into the street. He never turned around.

He reached the streetlamp. The cow was still there, sitting beside the pole, chewing slowly with its eyes closed. Across the street, a young woman stepped down from Udaya’s store carrying a bag of groceries and walked toward the dark mouth of the lane.

Sudeep wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. The cloth bag hung from his other hand. He didn’t move.