The Secret Keeper of Jaipur by Alka Joshi

22

MALIK

Jaipur

The clerk on the other end of the phone at Chandigarh Ironworks sounds like he’s about my age. When I introduce myself as the assistant to the accountant of the Jaipur Palace, I can almost hear him sit up straighter.

“Bhai,” I say, “I’m hoping you can help me.”

I clear my throat as if I am reluctant to begin. “This is my first important job, you see, and I’m embarrassed to admit that I have misplaced several documents.”

I follow this up with a nervous laugh.

He seems to be an agreeable sort of fellow. He chuckles. “I’ve done the same myself.” I imagine him as conscientious, understanding, popular among his friends.

I exaggerate my sigh to make sure he understands how grateful I am. “The palace has so many projects going on, and what I need I’ve probably filed in the wrong drawer.” I’m giving him my hail-fellow-well-met act—a holdover from Bishop Cotton. “Without your assistance, it could take me hours to find those documents. But, bhai, think we could keep this between ourselves?”

“No bother.” He lowers his voice. “Which documents exactly? I’ll mail a copy of them out to you.”

Mail from Chandigarh might take a week. Maharani Latika has given us three days. “So very kind of you,” I say. “Alas, my boss...he needs them right away, you see. He will have my head on a platter and serve it to the maharani unless I get them to him within the hour.”

“But you’re calling from Jaipur. How can I get them to you in an hour?”

“I only need the numbers. Maybe you could send them to me in a telegram?”

Now I hear him falter. “I would have to justify the expense, bhai. Telegrams are expensive.”

I chuckle. “Send it collect, and the palace will pay! I can always find a place to bury the expense. Accounting always has a way to work around these things, hahn-nah?” That gets an appreciative laugh out of him.

I tell him to send the telegram to the Jaipur post office and give him all the necessary details. Then I get up and grab some random invoices from my desk, so that when I pass Hakeem’s office, it looks as if I’m taking care of some official, necessary work.

“Abbas?”

I had not expected him to stop me. I turn my head, but not my body, as if I’m in a hurry. “Yes, Sahib?”

“The theater floor reconstruction? I still haven’t seen the estimate.”

I hold up the papers in my hand. “One last thing to verify. I’ve not yet received the cost of the seating. I think Singh-Sharma hasn’t figured out what needs to be replaced, and what can be repaired.”

He stares at me, trying to look stern, and glides his fingers under his mustache. “Make sure it’s done by end of day.”

I nod. Then I head out the front doors and make my way to the Jaipur post office. Now that I know he tattled about me to Samir Singh, I’m giving Hakeem a wide berth. Apparently, he’s not as dull as I thought, but neither is he the diligent accountant I’ve assumed him to be. Why would Hakeem do the Singhs’ bidding? Is Samir paying him to be his spy within the palace organization?

On my way to the post office, I’m thinking about Auntie-Boss telling me the bricks she saw in Shimla are similar to the ones I’ve seen here at the site of the balcony collapse. I knew, then, that I needed to find out if the two are related and how.

I’m also thinking of the argument I witnessed yesterday at the Agarwal house between Auntie-Boss and Manu.

Kanta and Niki had gone to the sweetshop to get dessert. Manu, Lakshmi and I were in the Agarwal drawing room. When Lakshmi told Manu what I’d found, and that she’d gone, on his behalf, to visit the Maharani Latika, he exploded. “You went behind my back? Her Highness will think I have no spine. That I have to send a—a—”

“A woman?” Auntie-Boss was speaking in her calm voice, the one she always used when placating her more difficult henna clients.

Manu said, “Don’t you see how it looks? It’s like you’ve cut my legs out from under me! All of Jaipur will know Manu Agarwal is a coward, not to mention an embezzler of the highest order!”

He turned to look at me in the armchair. “And you, Malik! I took you on in good faith, and you’re trying to dig up—dirty laundry? You’re talking about this project to all and sundry without my knowledge?”

I had never seen Uncle so angry. I didn’t think he was capable of it. I watched him pace round and round his drawing room, his arms flailing, his hair flying about as if it, too, was gesticulating. If I hadn’t known him since I was a child, I’d think he was about to have a nervous breakdown, just as my English master at Bishop Cotton did when he found out his wife was cheating on him with the math tutor.

Boss’s soothing tone never wavered. “I’d never want Niki to hear his father called either of those things,” she said. “That’s why I went to see Her Highness.”

The mention of his son’s name stopped him in his tracks. When he looked at her, Manu’s face was contorted in anguish.

Auntie-Boss patted the sofa cushion next to her. “Come sit, Manu-ji. Please. You’re making me dizzy.” He pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose and did as he was told, suddenly contrite.

“What Malik found is nothing you would ever have discovered yourself. You’re an overseer. It’s not your job to scrutinize details such as receipts and invoices. Your people report to you. They come to you with summaries of what they’ve done. You listen, question and discuss, then sign off on what they’ve recommended.”

“Are you saying that my people—my handpicked staff—could have been lying?”

She had put her hand on his shoulder, as if she were talking to a younger brother. “Your employees have been with you a long time. Naturally, you trust them to do the right thing. Perhaps their recommendations in this instance were based on information that was incorrect? And, having worked with Singh-Sharma so long, you’ve come to trust them, too. Nothing you were aware of would have made you think that they were doing anything...untoward.”

Manu was staring at the Persian rug beneath his feet. He puffed up his cheeks and blew out air, as if letting go of something. He turned to Lakshmi.

“This—alleged—conspiracy. Tell me that isn’t just your way of getting back at Samir Singh for that business between Radha and Ravi. Retaliation for the way he left you in a lurch.”

I could tell that Auntie-Boss hadn’t seen this accusation coming, but she didn’t hesitate to answer. “Don’t even think it, bhai. All of that is in the past. I never waste a minute dwelling on it. But the past does color my impression of that family and the things they’re capable of. If you look at what Malik has found, you might conclude they bear some measure of responsibility for all that’s happened.”

Manu looked conflicted. He frowned at me. “Samir paid for your education at Bishop Cotton. Don’t you owe him any loyalty? How could you accuse his company of fraud and recklessness when Samir opened doors for you?”

Manu looked so lost; I wished that I had words to help him. He was no longer in control of what was happening around him. He’d been raised to never question his superiors. Since he’d always been an honest broker, he couldn’t imagine that others might not be the same. For fifteen years, the royal family had employed him. He’d sooner cut his arm off than question their decisions or blame them for anything inappropriate.

“I would never make such a charge lightly, Uncle,” I said as gently as I could. “But I know what I saw, and it’s wrong for the palace to terminate you for something you didn’t do. The Singhs may buy a lot of favors, but I don’t consider myself one of their purchases. Samir Singh paid for my education to make amends for the heartache his family caused Auntie-Boss. What happened twelve years ago forced her to leave Jaipur and abandon her successful henna business. I never asked Samir to pay for anything. And I won’t be indebted to him because he chose to do that. My only loyalty is to you, to Kanta Auntie, to Auntie-Boss and to Nikhil.”

Manu looked chastened. I could see we were starting to get through to him. He stood up and started pacing the room again, this time more slowly. He was pulling at his lip, deep in thought.

Auntie-Boss sent me a look. Just wait.

Finally, Manu said, “I can’t condone what you’re doing. I still have a code of ethics to honor. But as long as I’m not aware of how you go about making your case, I promise not to get in the way. Theek hai?”

I go straight from the post office to the Agarwals’ to show the telegram to Auntie-Boss.

Lakshmi looks over the telegram, before she says, “So Chandigarh Ironworks supplied class four bricks when they were supposed to supply class one. What’s the difference in quality?”

“Class four are used for decorative purposes. Not for load bearing. Never should have been used on the cinema project.”

She reads the telegram again. “And the quantities noted here—for bricks and cement—they were reversed in the ledger?”

“Also on the doctored receipts.”

She sets the telegram on the Agarwals’ coffee table.

“The more I think about it, Malik, the less I think Samir initiated the fraud. He’s involved in it, but I think it started with someone else. It didn’t take a great deal of effort for you to identify the discrepancy. Samir has been in business a long time, and he has a lot to lose. He’s not an amateur. The palace is not his only client. His company has taken on several contracts outside of Rajasthan. Why would he risk ruining his reputation?”

I agree. I think back to Ravi telling me how his father is old-school. Ravi has grander plans for his future. He told me he doesn’t want to keep doing things the same way his father has always done them. What does he consider to be a more innovative way of doing business? Substituting inferior materials but charging full price and pocketing the difference? The palace pays well, but Ravi isn’t satisfied? He already lives in a mansion. He has a beautiful, clever wife who adores him. What more could he want?

Lakshmi sighs. “Let me take it from here.” I hear the resignation in her voice when she says, “Can you get word to Samir that I need to see him? As soon as possible.”