The Secret Keeper of Jaipur by Alka Joshi

10

NIMMI

Foothills of Himalayas, Northwest of Shimla

Chullu is strapped to my back, lulled to sleep by the rhythm of my steps. I’m using my husband’s walking stick on the trail up to the mountains. When I find the rest of Vinay’s flock, I’ll use the crook to herd them, the purpose for which it was intended. My baby’s weight, the bedroll and our few possessions steady me.

I’ve fashioned a smaller walking stick for Rekha from the branch of a poplar tree, and she’s doing her best to keep up. Every so often, I pause to let my daughter catch up to us on the path. When she does, I give her water from my goatskin bag.

We’ve been walking for an hour, climbing gradually through meadow and scrub. We left at first light when a thin layer of frost was still on the ground. Old habits die hard: our tribe always starts out early in the morning, when the temperatures are cooler, so we can walk longer distances without tiring. I can no longer see the city of Shimla, now that we’re in the forest. Without the children and Neela the sheep, who stops constantly to eat along the way, I would be making better time. But the animal is livelier and faring better since we cleaned her wounds.

From Shimla, I had turned northwest, in the direction the children at the clinic had told me to go. It’s the same route our tribe always takes to get to the Kangra Valley, and it makes sense my brother would have chosen this trail. When I arrive at the spot where the children told me they had found the sheep, I stop. I spot the tiny stone temple they told me to look for; it’s the size of an armoire. Hindus have erected many such miniature temples throughout the Himalayas. The path I’ve been on and the one before me are wide enough for ten goats or ten sheep to pass. But directly across from the temple, to my left, is a canyon separating two steep inclines. There, through a small gap, I spot a narrower, rougher trail, lined by boulders and rocks on either side. My instinct tells me that, for his purposes, my brother would have favored this smaller, more secluded trail over the wider, more exposed path. I look for sheep droppings, and when I find them, I poke them with my stick. They are slightly soft, which means the sheep have recently been on this trail. The droppings on the wider path are dry.

Neela bleats. I imagine she’s calling to the other sheep in the area. But there’s no answer. She starts toward the gap. I’m about to follow her when my ears catch the faint sound of hoofbeats. Sound can travel far in these mountains, and the rider may yet be miles away. Even so, I am a woman alone with my children on a deserted path—not something I’m used to. I know this is more dangerous than when I traveled with my tribe. I gently nudge Rekha forward through the gap, then urge her to move faster once we’re on the narrow trail. Chullu wakes up, and I pull a rag wet with my milk from my blouse to quiet him; there’s no time for me to nurse him.

Once we’re past the first few boulders, I look back. From here, we’re partially hidden, and I’m feeling safer. Rekha has gone ahead to keep up with Neela. We continue like this for a while, until I look ahead of me and see Rekha freeze. Her shoulders tense. Has she seen a snake?

I rush to catch up with her. “Rekha!” And then I see what looks like a sack of cloth up ahead. I grab Rekha by the shoulders, turn her round and tell her to stay back. I approach the bundle carefully. Neela follows me, bleating more insistently now.

It’s not a bundle. It’s a body, lying facedown. A shepherd, dressed like most male shepherds: a wool jacket and pants, his head wrapped in layers of cloth. His left leg juts out at an unnatural angle and there’s a large tear in his pants. One foot is bare, the bones flattened as if a giant boulder crushed them. All at once I’m cold and hot.

I squat, feel his neck for a pulse. It’s faint, but it’s there.

I say a prayer. Please don’t let it be Vinay.

Then I roll him over, gently, faceup. His nose is broken, caked with blood; there is a deep gash across his forehead. His eyes are swollen closed, his mouth slack.

It’s him.

To stop myself from crying out, I slap both hands over my mouth. I can’t speak, but the thoughts run through my head: Vinay! I didn’t want to believe it was you carrying the gold! Why? That’s the very thing we were taught not to do: smuggle gold and your family will pay the cost. What will become of Arjun and Sai?Who will keep your sons safe now?

Vinay had always been the dreamer, the one who felt the life he was born to was not the one that he deserved. He always wanted more than he was given. When my father died, as the younger of two brothers he received fewer animals than my older brother, Mahesh. And only sheep; the more expensive goats now belonged to Mahesh. Vinay received less silver, too.

No wonder Vinay always thought life was unfair. When Dev died, and I told my father-in-law that I would stay in Shimla instead of joining our tribe for their migration north, Vinay had uttered something under his breath. I’d pretended not to hear, but his words come back to haunt me now, clear and sharp: Well, you got away, didn’t you?

Was it my departure that had pushed Vinay to forswear his duty to our tribe? To carry gold for racketeers so he could live a life he felt would be superior to the one our tribe could offer him?

I put my mouth against his ear. “Bhai, can you hear me?”

His lips move. Quickly, I untie the sling holding Chullu and lay my son down next to me. I remove the goatskin bag, filled with water, from my waist and hold it up to Vinay’s parched lips with one hand. With my other hand, I lift his head carefully so he can drink. He gulps greedily but most of the water drips down the sides his mouth. I wipe it away with my hands.

“Tell me how this happened.”

No response.

How long has he been lying here? I’m wondering if I can move him, take him back with me to Shimla and the Lady Bradley Hospital?

Now he’s speaking. “Po—t,” he says.

I lean in so close I can smell the staleness of his breath. “We need to get you to the clinic. Dr. Kumar will take care of you.”

Vinay tries to shake his head, but the movement is too painful. He grimaces. “Poc—poc—t.”

I’m trying to think clearly, but my thoughts are jumbled. If his back is broken, I can’t carry him; he’s far too heavy. With the children, it would take me hours to walk back to Shimla. I can’t go on my own and leave the children with Vinay. What should I do?

“Pocket.” He says it with more force this time.

With shaking hands, I rifle through his pockets. He’s carrying his pouch of tobacco, and a few sharpened twigs to clean his teeth. I’m breathing hard, trying not to cry. “Bhai, what am I looking for?”

He tries to point, but he can barely move his arm. “Inside,” he manages to say.

I search until I feel the edge of something solid in the inside left pocket. I turn the pocket inside out and see a tiny home-sewn pouch attached to it. I tug and rip the pocket open with my fingernails and find a matchbox. Bright yellow, printed with an image of Lord Ganesh. I turn it over. I recognize the English script imprinted on the back, but I can’t read it.

“You wanted matches?” I ask, incredulous.

Before he speaks, he runs his tongue along his chapped lower lip. “The go—gold.”

“Vinay, I need to get the doctor.”

“Shee—p.”

I look around, but I see only Neela in the clearing. “I don’t see them, Vinay. Where are the sheep?”

“Keep...” he says. He’s using every ounce of energy he has left to talk. “My sons...”

His lips are moving, but he makes no sound. His body shudders once, and then again, before his mouth yawns open and the breath escapes.

I press my ear to Vinay’s nose, but now there isn’t any breath. Still, the air is thick with his spirit. My children feel it. Chullu starts to fuss. Rekha pulls on my sweater. “Maa?”

I pick Chullu up and stand, taking comfort from his body, from its warmth. I cup the back of Rekha’s head, and she holds tighter to me. There is no need to shield the child from death; we do not do that in my tribe. We want our young to understand that death is as natural as life for man and animals alike, and the sooner they’re aware of that, the better.

“You remember your uncle, bheti?”

She nods.

“He is no more.”

Rekha looks up at me, then back at her uncle’s body on the ground. She puts her thumb in her mouth, a habit she had shaken a year ago.

Chullu nuzzles my breasts. I should feed him, but first I must take care of something else. Again, I wet Chullu’s rag with my milk, and he takes it in his mouth and sucks on it. I set him down on the sling lying on the ground and tell Rekha to watch him. Then I sit next to Vinay, take his dusty hand in mine. I murmur incantations learned in the womb, long before I entered this world. I ask our gods to look after my brother in the realm of spirits, to give him the new life he deserves, to help his soul maintain harmony with those who came before him and those who will follow him. I repeat the words until they become one with the air we’re breathing.

The children watch me quietly. They seem mesmerized, as I once was, by this ritual. I don’t know how long we stay this way, the three of us.

Horse hooves, louder this time, closer. Then a whinny.

I turn to see the sleek head of a chestnut horse being jerked to a halt by his rider at the entrance to the gorge. I grab Chullu and snatch Rekha’s hand and lead us to the shelter of a nearby boulder.

“Nimmi!” My name echoes across the ravine.

Cautiously, I go back to the clearing. Across the way, I see Neela chewing grass. She stops and looks around to see where the noise is coming from.

It’s Lakshmi. The small mountain horse she’s riding is the color of wheat. As she gets closer to us, the horse sees Vinay’s mangled body, and rears back, startling Lakshmi. She bends to pat his neck, then dismounts, holding tightly to his reins. She looks over at the body, then at me, her eyebrows raised in a question.

I blink. “It’s Vinay,” I tell her.

She comes nearer and says, quietly, “I’m so sorry, Nimmi.”

Rekha is staring, openmouthed, at Lakshmi, who is wearing a man’s wool pants, the legs stuffed inside short boots. Her dark brown wool coat is too large for her frame; she must have borrowed her husband’s. She has a woolen shawl wrapped over her head and around her shoulders. I’ve only ever seen her in saris. I didn’t know she could ride a horse. But then I remember the day Dev died and Chullu came into the world. She and Dr. Jay must have ridden horses to reach us in the mountains.

Lakshmi’s face is flushed. She had to have been riding fast. She offers a reassuring smile to my daughter, then to my infant son, who has stopped fussing long enough to stare at her. I know that if she turns that steady, consoling gaze on me, I will start to cry. As if she senses this, she walks the horse to the other side of the clearing and ties him to a scrawny tree. Then she steps around me and approaches my brother’s body. As she crouches, she studies Vinay’s wounds—like I’ve seen her husband, Dr. Kumar, do.

Now I see that Vinay’s fingers have been gnawed on, by some animal, as he lay dying. There are bite marks on his ears. The toes of his exposed foot have been chewed.

I tremble, thinking of it. How much pain did he endure? How alone he was in his suffering!

Lakshmi raises her head and scans the steep slopes to the left and right of us. I follow her gaze.

“How do you think this happened?” she asks.

My mouth is dry. I ponder for a moment, take in the scene. “He might have stumbled—most likely, fell—and hit his head. This crevice is so rocky. His leg looks broken, and I think his hip might be broken. When I found him, he couldn’t move. I’d say he’s been here for at least a day or two. It’s possible his back is broken, too.”

It’s one thing to think these thoughts, another to say them out loud.

I wipe a hand across my mouth.

“Could bandits have done this to him?” Lakshmi asks.

Those of us who have grown up in the Himalayas have long known that gold is being carried through the mountains. Our elders always told us gold is the elixir of life for many people, and there is never enough to go around. Our country has so little of it that it has to be brought in from elsewhere—legally or illegally. Bandits and the authorities are always on the lookout for a lone shepherd who might be transporting the precious metal using his goats or sheep. Our people know this. My brother Vinay must have known the risks, which is why he would have taken this trail off the main path.

“The sheep droppings here are fresh,” I say, pointing to the ground away from my brother’s body to avoid looking at him. Then I see Neela, across the clearing, nibbling at the dry foliage growing between the rocks. “She knows this place. She’s been here before.” I look up at the ridge again, imagining how the accident would have happened. “See that pile of stones that reaches up to the top of the ridge? It looks like a rough path. Vinay could have been bringing the flock down from there. Or...maybe Neela slipped on that path, fell on her side and skidded all the way down. The gold bars have sharp edges, which would have gouged her skin. The wound on her side was deep.”

A memory comes to me, unbidden. Dev sliding down the ravine. I blink back my tears. “Vinay might have come down the slope to get to her. But, after falling, she was probably scared and might have bucked and kicked him. He could have lost his balance, fell and broken his nose along the way. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened.”

Lakshmi must know I’m talking about Dev. I’ve just described how my husband died last year, trying to save a goat from falling down the mountain. I look away from her, again, to keep from showing her how much this memory upsets me. I take Chullu’s milk rag from him and wet it again with my milk. He grins at me, flashing his tiny front teeth. At least he will never suffer a fate like his father’s—or his uncle’s.

I hear Lakshmi sigh. She stands, walks to the horse and pulls a goatskin bag from the saddlebag. She pulls the drawstring open and holds the bag in front of the horse’s mouth while he drinks.

“What will you do now?” she asks.

I don’t know how to answer her. I expected to find my brother and return the sheep to him. I hadn’t given any thought to what I would do next.

I smooth Chullu’s hair. I remember Vinay’s final words as if he’s standing next to me and realize I must act quickly now. I turn to Lakshmi.

“The flock,” I say. “I have to find them. Then I have to see that the gold is delivered to the next relay point.” How I’m going to make any of this happen isn’t clear to me.

Rekha looks up at me; again, she sucks her thumb. I stroke her hair to reassure her. In my arms, Chullu gurgles.

Lakshmi ties the goatskin bag closed and puts it back in the saddlebag. She’s facing away from me, when she says, “Is this about the gold or your brother’s family?”

I tighten my hold on Chullu. He squeals and wriggles, trying to get out of my arms. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She turns to face me. Her gaze is direct, but there is softness in her voice. “You could profit from the gold, couldn’t you?”

Does she think I’m doing this so I can sell the gold? That all I care about is me? “You think I’d take advantage of my brother’s death to claim the gold for myself?”

She answers in a gentle tone. “Or for your children. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“Those goondas would do to me what they’ve done to Vinay.” I glance at Vinay’s body sprawled a foot away. “My brother made a mistake. He must have been desperate. Our life is not easy. The work is hard and there’s no money in it. He wanted to send his sons to school, so they could have a different life, away from herding and shearing—” I have to stop myself from babbling. Tears have blurred my vision.

Lakshmi looks, again, at my brother’s body. “What about...” She pauses and lets her words hang in the air. Her expression tells me what she’s thinking.

“We burn our dead like all Hindus,” I say. “But...”

I look around me, at the rocky landscape. The proper thing to do would be to burn his body where he died. But there’s no way to make a platform, or to cut the wood. I have no tools with me. In this moment, I feel an intense longing for my tribe. If we were all together, we could have—would have—made it happen. It’s what we always do when someone dies on the trail. It’s what we did when Dev died.

If I were with my tribe, we’d have a proper funeral. The village elder would recite the prayers, and the women, all of them, including his wife, Selma, would bathe Vinay, and wrap him carefully, tenderly, in a freshly washed sheet. Tears again fill my eyes. Rekha reaches for my hand.

“Next to the hospital,” Lakshmi says, quietly. “There is a crematorium—where we burn those who have died.”

I feel as if I’ve walked a hundred miles. I don’t remember ever feeling this exhausted. I no longer try to hide my tears; they spill over my cheeks and down my chin. I’ve been holding Rekha’s hand to comfort myself as much as her. Now I let go and wipe my face with my free hand, pressing my knuckles into the sockets of my eyes until I see stars.

Why did you leave me, Dev? If you were still here, we’d be with our people, up in our summer home. None of this would be happening. And where are you, Malik? Why have you gone away? First Dev, then Malik, now Vinay. Must I lose everybody?

Lakshmi gently eases Chullu from my grasp. She combs his hair away from his forehead with her fingers and smiles at him. She holds her hand out to Rekha, who moves to take it. As if she knows what I’m thinking, Lakshmi says, so softly I think I might have imagined it, “It will be all right, Nimmi.”

I heave a sigh. After a moment, I remove the bedroll from my back and set it to one side of the clearing. Lakshmi flattens out the bedroll and sets Chullu down on it. I untie the bundle from my waist to take out a few chapatti and an onion. I break off a piece of bread and give it to my son to gnaw on with his baby teeth. The rest I hand to Rekha.

“Sit with Chullu for a bit, okay?” I say to her. My daughter sits next to her brother and feeds him another piece of chapatti.

I go over to my brother’s body. It hurts to look at him. I can’t stop thinking of the hours he was suffering before death relieved him. I start to undress him, thinking that he looks much younger in death than he did in life. Gone are the wrinkles around his eyes, the result of his habitual squinting. I see his cheeks are smoother now. I am embarrassed to look at him in his full nakedness. Our mother would be the one to bathe him if she were still alive, but, now, I’m the only family available to do this.

I untie my goatskin bag. I remove the chunni from my head and dampen it with water from the bag. I start with Vinay’s face, washing the blood from his nose, then I wipe the sweat from his arms and legs. Silently, I pray for the safety of his wife and sons. I am vaguely aware of Lakshmi, behind me, talking quietly to my children.

When I’ve finished cleaning Vinay’s body, I turn to Lakshmi and nod. She picks up Chullu and sets him to one side of the bedroll. Rekha follows, carrying the food. My children are quiet, watchful, as if they know something sacred is happening.

Lakshmi picks up the padded cloth we sleep on, shakes it off and lays it on the ground closer to Vinay’s body. When she grabs hold of my brother’s bare legs, I place my hands under his armpits.

“Ake, dho, theen,” she counts.

Together, we lift him. The men of our tribe are lean and stringy; they’ve spent their whole lives walking up and down these mountain trails. But they’re strong, and their muscles are surprisingly heavy. We struggle, at first, to balance Vinay’s body between us, and, then, to lay him on the bedroll. I should have a clean cotton sheet to wrap him in, but then I didn’t expect to be performing his last rites today. We wrap him in the bedroll as best as we can, then carry him to the horse, who prances and raises his head high, his eyes rimmed in white. He’s spooked by the dead body. Lakshmi motions to me to lay the body down again. She walks to the chestnut, strokes his muzzle, talking to him softly until he’s calm.

We try again to hoist Vinay’s body onto the saddle. It takes us several tries, but we manage. I watch as Lakshmi uses a coil of rope to secure the body to the saddle.

She has been quiet throughout this ordeal, leading me tenderly through every step. If she hadn’t come along, what would I have done? How could I have handled this—my brother’s dead body, my aloneness, my grief, my children—without her? Malik has told me about their time in Jaipur—when Lakshmi was such a sought-after henna artist. I can picture her—taking care of her clients, soothing them, comforting them, as she soothed and comforted me today.

Reluctantly, I pull the yellow matchbox from my skirt pocket and hold it up for her to see. “This has something to do with whatever Vinay was up to. I think that’s what he was trying to tell me before he...”

She takes the matchbox from me. “Canara Private Enterprises Limited, Shimla,” she reads aloud. She frowns and looks at me, a question in her eyes, but I can only shrug my shoulders in response.

She nods, understanding. “Mind if I keep this?” She puts it in the pocket of her coat, then turns and covers the Vinay’s shrouded body with a blanket she pulled out from her saddlebag.

I hoist Chullu into his sling again and position him on my back.

“What’s your horse’s name?” Much to my surprise, it’s Rekha, my quiet girl, talking to Lakshmi.

“Chandra,” Lakshmi says.

“Why did you name him that?”

“You see that mark on his forehead? Don’t you think it looks like the crescent moon?”

Rekha stares at the horse. “When I get a horse someday, I’ll name him Gooddu.”

Lakshmi smiles at my daughter. “That’s a fine name. How did you come up with it?”

“That’s what Malik calls me.”

Lakshmi glances at me, smiling. When she turns again to my daughter, she says, “But if you name him Gooddu, how will you know if Malik is calling you or your horse?”

Rekha frowns. Then her face brightens. “Well, I don’t have a horse yet, do I?”

Lakshmi’s pretty laughter echoes in the narrow crevice.

Gradually, we make our way out of the canyon and down the trail toward Shimla: Lakshmi leading the horse, Rekha chatting to Lakshmi, me carrying baby Chullu, Neela following behind. I’m heartbroken about Vinay, and I’m glad we found him, but I’m also relieved to be going back home. I hadn’t realized how much I’d depended on my people when I’d lived with my tribe. The mountains are no place for a woman—or man—alone. A sunny sky can turn gloomy in an instant; a leopard can gut a goat while your head is turned; a pit viper can paralyze a child in seconds. I reach around to pat Chullu’s head, to reassure myself that he’s still there.

We’ve been walking for only twenty minutes when we hear sheep bleating, and the jingle of the bells around their necks. Neela answers them. To our right, in the distance, and above the tree line, we see them: a flock of sheep far up on the mount. Before I can hold her back, Neela bounds up the hill. I follow. When I reach the top, I’m out of breath. I check the ears of one sheep, then the others: the markings on their ears are my brother’s. I probe their ribs to see if bars of gold are hidden underneath their fleece. They are. I return to the trail, where Lakshmi and Rekha are waiting, to tell them what I’ve found.

“Good. We can take the flock into town,” Lakshmi says.

I stare at her. “There must be thirty or forty of them. Where would we keep them?”

Lakshmi smiles. “The hill people who come to the Community Clinic. I’m sure one of them would be willing to shepherd a flock for a short while.” She surveys the horizon. “We have to move them now or we’ll lose the light. It will be much harder to keep track of the flock and protect them from wolves when it’s dark.”

She’s right.

“And the gold bars?” she asks.

“Still with the sheep.”

She nods. “Good. First thing tomorrow, we’ll start searching.” She takes the matchbox from her pocket and examines it again. “Canara Enterprises. Maybe they can tell us something.”

Do the furrows on her forehead mean she’s worried, or just curious? Is she really so confident, or is she just pretending for my sake? I rest my hand on my son’s head again. We’re in unfamiliar territory here. Neither of us knows the people Vinay was working for. How many of them there are. What my brother’s arrangement with them was.

I look at Vinay’s body draped over the horse. And I realize: I’m angry. At Vinay. He has made his responsibility mine—something I never bargained for. Now I’m the one who has to keep my family and his from being hurt. Vinay has threatened the lives of everyone in our tribe, too! How could he be so foolish? Why would he put everyone we love in danger?

The more I struggle to control my panic, the angrier I feel. And more confused. I know I shouldn’t be resentful when I’ve sought the same for my children, as Vinay wanted for his. Who am I to judge him when my bond to the tribe is now as fragile as a spiderweb?

I glance at Lakshmi. Her back is straight, one hand holding Chandra’s reins, and the other holding Rekha’s hand. To look at her you’d think she has this situation under her control. She’ll make sure Vinay is sent on to his next life as he should be. She’s come all this way and taken on a risk that Vinay thrust upon us, when she could have washed her hands of the whole affair.

A month ago, I was still angry with Lakshmi Kumar for telling me what to do, for sending Malik away from me, for being so bloody competent. But now I just feel a sense of relief that someone—anyone—is willing to take charge and help.

If only that someone were Malik.

I walk back up the hill to herd the sheep and bring them to Shimla.