The Secret Keeper of Jaipur by Alka Joshi
14
LAKSHMI
Shimla
Jay wouldn’t let Nimmi and me go alone into the lower pasture in the dead of night to collect the gold. He’s already upset with me for going out to Canara Enterprises by myself.
Now he’s with us at the edge of the pasture as we call out, softly, to the sheep. We work as quietly as we can, but there is little we can do about their bleating. Nimmi grabs a sheep, I shine the flashlight on it and Jay cuts through the stitches to retrieve the gold bars.
I’ve stabled Chandra for the night and brought our other horse, a short blond pony. If our calculations are correct, the gold will weigh no more than twenty pounds, less than a small child, and the pony should be able to handle the burden.
The task is difficult because we’re working in the dark. We hear night animals around us: marmots and weasels going about their business in the recesses of the surrounding pine forest. Down here, in the lower meadow, the sheep are relatively safe from large predators. If a leopard or Himalayan bear were to attack the flock, it would leave us with fewer gold bars. I tell myself I mustn’t worry about what I can’t control; even so, my heart is racing and the blood is pounding in my ears. Although the night is cool and my fingers feel like ice, I’m sweating underneath my jacket. I’m still wearing the same clothes from this morning when I went to look for Nimmi up in the mountains.
From time to time we happen upon a sheep we’ve already worked on; we let her go and find another. Nimmi was smart to count the flock when she brought them to the lower pasture earlier. Once we’ve reached thirty-nine, we’ll know for certain that we’ve checked them all.
It takes two hours. We know we’re done when the total number of gold bars we’ve collected matches the number we calculated. As we predicted, every animal was carrying four bars. We put the gold in Nimmi’s flower basket, then tie the basket on the pony. I use the rajai I brought from home to cover our illicit cargo.
Nimmi casts an eye over the flock, the pockets of fleece hanging open on both sides of their bodies. “They should be sheared—really sheared. Then I could sell the wool and keep the money for my nephews.” Nimmi’s voice catches. “That’s what Vinay would have done.” She turns to me. “I can do it in the mornings little by little before I get to the clinic. I should be done in four days.”
I tilt my head. Of course.
It’s midnight before the three of us and the pony arrive at Nimmi’s house. Jay and I wait at a distance with the pony while Nimmi collects her children from the Aroras and brings them down to her lodging, one in each arm, both asleep.
She asks me to come inside with her as she settles Rekha and Chullu on the bedroll.
She whispers, “I won’t open my flower stall tomorrow. I’ll go with you to Canara instead, Ji.”
I understand why she doesn’t want Jay to hear; he’s upset enough at me for going alone today. “We can’t both be absent from the clinic for a second day. We’ve caused enough disruption. I would rather you go to the Healing Garden tomorrow. Pretend everything is normal. Tell the nurses you weren’t feeling well today or make some other excuse.” In the quiet of the evening, I’m careful not to speak of gold. “They know me now at Canara, so it’s better if I take it.”
Nimmi looks at me for a long moment, her face covered in shadow. I can see the white orbs of her eyes. It’s as if she wants to say something, but then she wags her head and closes the door after me.
I can tell when something’s bothering Jay. He stops teasing me. While I stable the pony next to our backyard corral, and give him food and water, Jay carries Nimmi’s gold-laden basket into the house.
When I come into the drawing room, he’s sitting in an armchair, rolling a glass of Laphroaig between his palms. He’s already poured a glass for me and holds it out for me to take.
I take the glass and smooth his hair. “You’re worried?”
“Who wouldn’t be, Lakshmi? Why would you risk your life—our lives—for someone else’s problem?” His voice is low and measured.
I let his words sit for a moment. Then I go to the side table where I keep letters and extract the most recent letter I received from Malik.
I return to Jay and hand him the letter. “Malik sent this to me a week ago.” I pick up my glass of scotch and leave him to read the letter alone.
Dear Nimmi and Auntie-Boss,
I’m learning a lot here in Jaipur. Like what materials are best for which type of building. The cost of buying land and the cost of building from the ground up. How foundations are laid. Manu Uncle has been sending me around to different departments within his facilities division so his people can teach me all parts of the business. By now I’m starting to see buildings being constructed in my dreams. (You would love Hakeem, the accountant I work with. He’s a funny little man. But I like him. He’s been here forever—probably since the Moghul Empire!)
The best part of this experience has been spending time with Nikhil. He’s just like Radha—twelve going on twenty! Boss, you would be so impressed with how Kanta Auntie and Manu Uncle have raised him. He’s a sweet, funny boy, and—more important, in my book—a phenomenal cricket player! We spend many Sundays batting and bowling. He’s almost as good as I am! (I’m sure he would disagree and say I’m pretty good for an old man.) I can’t wait until Chullu is old enough for me to put a cricket bat in his hand! Please tell Rekha that I haven’t forgotten about the rainbow I’m supposed to bring back for her from Jaipur. She thinks every city has its own rainbow, and I don’t have the heart to disappoint her!
Boss, the next part is just for you, so don’t read it to Nimmi!
I know you want the best for me. You always have. And for that, I’m grateful. But the longer I’m away from Nimmi, the more I realize how much I care for her. I miss her quiet ways. I admire how hard she works to feed and clothe Rekha and Chullu (both of whom I’ve come to love as my own). I help her out with a little money now and then, but—Hai Ram!—I have to practically force her to take it.
I realize that you might wish a different woman for me—more learned or more sophisticated—but I’m content with Nimmi. In the eight months I’ve known her, I’ve learned about the beauty of the Himalayas and the treasures the mountains hold. I know she’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but I would ask you for a favor.
Please treat Nimmi as you would a sister, as you’ve always treated Radha. Nimmi will never ask you for anything, so you might have to thrust your kindness on her. She has such a good, loyal heart. Her loss has been tragic—no one should have to lose a spouse so young. But it has been my gain and brought me much happiness.
Yours,
Malik
Jay finds me in the bath. I’m scrubbing the last of today’s grime, horse odor, dust and sweat from my skin. Jay sets the letter on the edge of the tub, puts his hands in his pockets and rattles the loose change he’s carrying in them.
“I know you think helping Nimmi is best because of Malik’s feelings for her, and you’ve always done what you thought best. But I’m uneasy.”
I stop scrubbing. “Jay, if you could do something to help your family—something that could possibly save their lives—wouldn’t you do it?”
“Yes. Of course, I would. But these are goondas—professional racketeers—you’re dealing with! I think that it’s too great a risk for you to get any more involved. I’ve talked to the local police—”
“Why?” I can feel myself getting angry. Talking to the authorities can be risky; you never know who’s on the take.
He motions with his hands, a gesture meant to calm me down. “I didn’t talk about this instance in particular, but I wanted to know more about the gold running taking place in the Shimla hills.”
“And, what did you learn?”
“They’re aware that there’s activity to the west, around Chandigarh and closer to Pakistan, but they don’t seem to think there’s any in this area.”
“They must have been curious about why you were asking.” Have you tipped them off to what we’re doing?
“Arré. I told them only that I’d read the article about smuggling in the paper and was concerned for the safety of my patients.” He’s jiggling the coins in his pants pocket again, another sign that he’s worried.
I press my lips together, trying not to let my irritation show. I learned early that talking to the police has never been a good idea.
After independence, when the British left and government posts needed to be filled, nepotism reigned. The higher-level posts, like police commissioner, went to friends and family, whether or not they were qualified for the job. The result? Incompetence and corruption. There’s always a chance that the police are colluding with the gold racketeers, pocketing protection money. And if the police commissioner suspects Jay spoke to them because he has information about the smuggling, he can use that to his advantage or, worse, decide he needs to keep Jay from revealing what he knows to anyone else.
Jay has put himself—and us—in danger. If the authorities were to find those half-shorn sheep at the bottom of the lower pasture, we’d all three of us be implicated.
Which means we have to sheer the sheep completely and as soon as possible. Tomorrow night at the latest. Nimmi’s timeline—three days—is now compressed into a single day. And it will take all three of us to make it happen. I’m already so exhausted from riding out to find Nimmi, then spending the evening removing gold from the sheep. I didn’t dare let Jay see how badly my knees were shaking.
I put my head underwater, drowning out Jay’s voice and my body’s protestations.
Early the next morning, I ride a rested Chandra the four miles outside Shimla to Canara Private Enterprises. Jay and I have put the gold bars in the saddlebags and covered them with a horse blanket. I’ve put on a clean pair of jodhpurs and Jay’s wool coat. I’ve wrapped a brown shawl around my head and shoulders. It’s a hazy morning, the mist curling lazily around the pine and cedar trees, hesitant to move on.
Convincing Jay to let me go alone was a battle. He wanted to go in my place. I refused because I don’t want him more involved than he already is. He has an important position at the hospital. And he has a full load of patients this morning, including two cesareans.
Today, the barbed entrance gate to Canara Enterprises is open. Inside, a lone woman in a sari and sweater blouse squats on the ground, patting clay into a wooden mold and dumping the formed brick onto the ground. She works quickly—probably because she gets paid by the brick—adding another row to a growing layer of bricks drying in the open air.
I dismount and walk Chandra into the clearing, stopping right next to her. She looks up but doesn’t stop her work.
I namaste her. “You’re an expert at this.”
Her overbite makes her self-conscious, so she puts her hand in front of her face as she smiles and wags her head from side to side, pleased to be acknowledged.
I notice all the bricks have rectangular indentations in the center. I wonder why. “Who buys these bricks?”
When she looks confused, I try again. “Who are the customers—”
She waves a hand. “I don’t know, Ji. I see a truck take them away. The driver says he’s taking them to Chandigarh.”
“Arré! What are you doing out here?” It’s the young man from yesterday, the one who sits behind the counter. He casts a dark look at the woman, who hastily returns to her brickmaking. To me, he says, “Go to the office.”
I try to look apologetic, but I can tell he’s suspicious. He watches me until I’ve led Chandra to the office door. The saddlebags filled with gold are heavy, but I’ve practiced lifting them so it looks like I know what I’m doing.
I bring in one saddlebag, and then the other, placing them on the counter. The older man from the back office comes to take the bags. He carries them to his desk and closes the inner office door so I can no longer see him.
“How did you get those blue eyes?” the young man says.
I’d been so focused on the boss that I’d forgotten the younger man guarding me. “What?”
“We see eyes like yours in Kashmir.”
In Jaipur I’d often been asked about my blue eyes. People thought I might be Anglo-Indian (a group that fell out of favor once the British left the country). Or perhaps I wasn’t Indian at all? Might I be Parsi, or Afghani? But I’m not about to get into a conversation with this man about my heritage or tell him that blue eyes have been common in my family for generations. I simply say, “I’m not Kashmiri.”
Now he puts his elbows on the counter, leaning forward with a sly smile on his face. “You shepherds never consider yourselves Kashmiri or Punjabi or Rajasthani, do you? It’s your tribe that matters. But I’ve never seen another tribal member with blue eyes.” He cocks his head, considering me seriously. Then he says something to me in a dialect that I don’t understand.
The fine hairs on my arms rise. He’s trying to suss out where I’m really from. I can’t respond convincingly in dialect. The risk I’m already taking becomes dangerous if I’m exposed. My best bet is to act embarrassed.
I cast my eyes downward, draw my shawl tighter around my neck. “Please,” I say, “I am married.”
He turns playful once again. “And your husband lets you do a man’s job?”
I think about Vinay, his body splayed on the ground. “Only because he’s injured. Badly.”
His smile is coy. “You must be needing comfort in that case. And I—”
The inner door swings open and the older man appears. The flimsy bracelet on his wrist is made of colored thread—one strand red, the other gold colored. It’s likely that a sister made the amulet for him so he would protect her for the remainder of her life. But when he drops the empty saddlebags onto the scarred wooden surface with a scowl on his face, I realize I can’t count on the softness he might show his sister. “You’re missing two,” he says.
I raise my chin in question.
“There are only one hundred and fifty-four bars. There should be a hundred fifty-six.”
I can feel the sweat begin to gather on my upper lip. But I keep my voice firm. “We took two as payment.”
“Kya? You took payment in gold?” He straightens, frowns. “That wasn’t the bargain.”
I look at the younger man, open my blue eyes wider, appeal to his softer approach. “It’s a dangerous route. My husband fell. Broke his back. We needed a hospital. That’s why we’re late. We had no money. We used the gold to pay our bill.”
Now the older man slams his hand on the counter, making me jump. “That is not a decision you get to make.” Spit flies out of his mouth. “What am I to tell the next courier?”
I sense the fear behind his anger. I level a gaze at him. “Tell him the Shimla authorities have heard rumors about the gold running at the edge of town. Tell him two bars is fair payment for carrying gold along the route that the police are watching.”
We lock eyes. I’m out of breath and feel as if I’m about to faint.
I turn when I hear a noise behind me. It’s the woman from the courtyard who was laying bricks. She says to the men behind the counter, “I’m out of clay. What do you want me to do?”
I choose this moment to grab the empty saddlebags, run to the door and jump on Chandra. In seconds, we are galloping down the winding path through the forest. I hear shouts behind me, but there were no vehicles in the yard, so I know they have no way to follow us as quickly as Chandra and I can travel.
In my ears I hear the rush of wind, the thrum of Chandra’s hooves pounding the earth and my own blood coursing through my veins. Would they really harm me for two bars of gold when they have most of the treasure in their possession? I hope not, but I can’t be sure. What I do know is that I need to get as far away as I can as quickly as I can.
I’ve traveled less than a mile when I realize Jay’s horse is riding beside mine. I slow Chandra to a canter. Only when I turn to look at Jay do I realize he must have followed me out here to make sure I’d be safe. My eyes fill. Slowly, I let the terror of the last hour drain from my body the way Madho Singh allows his feathers to settle onto his back after he realizes the loud noise that terrified him is no more.