Excerpt from Moth by Melody Razak, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

He looks at her serious expression and tries not to laugh. "Where did you hear that?"

"At school. Ruby Patel said that her second cousin who was a communist was shot in the head."

"I went to a few meetings. Read some pamphlets when I was a student. It was a long time ago now."

"But why?"

"You know how I feel about the caste system?"

"It divides our society. That's what you always said," she says, looking up for his approval.

"It's a cruel system. When I was a boy, older than you, communism offered an alternative."

In Bappu's first week at university, a student at a rally had handed him a home-printed pamphlet. Something about the tilt of the boy's head, the red bandana across his forehead: Bappu had accepted the pamphlet at once. It wasn't so much that he wanted to be friends with the boy, more that he had wanted to be the boy. Less sensitive. Bolder. Brighter.

"But you're not a communist now, are you?" says Alma. "I don't want you to get shot in the head and I don't want the boy's family to hear rumours that might put them off."

"Quite right," says Bappu laughing. "No one wants a communist in the family."

"Seriously Bappu. It's not funny."

"No, it's not and I am not."

"Promise me?"

"Yes. Hand on my heart. To be honest, Alma, I can't condone extreme beliefs anymore, no matter how I might try to understand them. When explosive ideas are no longer just ideas, yet they become the foundation for new political parties, they can feel quite dangerous. Do you understand, my love?"

"Do you mean like the HRWP?" asks Alma. She smoothes down the tulle layers of her lilac tutu. The so-fair-boy is standing on the shores of the Jamuna, and she can tell by the tilt of his head he's impressed by her questions. "I've seen them walking round, all puffed up and slinging their guns."

"The HRWP claim to be defending our Indian humanity, our pride and independence, but really?" He shakes his head.

"They're modelled on fascist soldiers, aren't they?"

"How do you know?"

Alma looks down sheepishly. "I might have read it in The Times of India: 'cloaked in nationalism but inciting hatred,'" she quotes.

"Should I be impressed or worried that you know that?"

"Impressed, of course," she says, looking up and smiling. "So what do you believe in now, Bappu?"

"Ahimsa."

Ahimsa, Gandhi's policy of non-violence, is something Alma thinks about often. Is it like turning the other cheek? She worries that if pushed too far, she would hit back. "I believe in it too," she says now, for Bappu's sake, and presses her body to his, rumples his beige shirt with her hands. "Bappu, when I am married, I can still come home, can't I? Once a week? On Sundays for kheer, and Fatima Begum will still do my hair?"

"It depends," he says slowly. "You might be needed in your new home. Your mother-in-law and husband will have lots for you to do."

"But then you will have to come and see me?"

"You might not want us to; you'll be so busy being a new wife."

"Don't be silly, Bappu, I will always want to see you." She observes him carefully. "Bappu, you don't seem very happy I'm getting married?"

"It's not that." He looks up at her with a rueful smile. "It's just that it's all happening so fast."

He can't bring himself to tell her that he is ashamed for agreeing to the wedding so quickly. That for a moment, encouraged by Daadee Ma, losing sight of rationale and logic, he was caught up in the terror that the things happening to girls throughout the nation—abduction-rape-murder—might happen to her. That she would be safer, after all, with a husband than without.

"Who will look after the flowers when you go?" he says instead, feeling wholly inadequate and small.

"Don't be silly, Bappu. I will show Roop how to do it. You can't be upset about that, surely?" She is quiet for a minute, mulling it over. "You're nervous about Independence Day, aren't you? But, Bappu, it's not for another year. And, you're worried that the troubles in Bengal and Punjab will come here." She looks at him straight. "There's no point hiding it from me, I've been listening to you and Ma talk."

Excerpted from Moth by Melody Razak. Copyright © 2022 by Melody Razak. Excerpted by permission of Harper. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.