The Secret Keeper of Jaipur by Alka Joshi
27
MALIK
Jaipur
I had a feeling that if anyone could convince the palace to take a second look at what happened at the Royal Jewel Cinema, it would be Auntie-Boss. She has that ability. She speaks to people in a way that encourages them to listen.
What I didn’t know was that, after her visit, the dowager queen would come to our rescue.
We are standing at the site now: Samir, Ravi, Mr. Reddy, Manu, two Singh-Sharma foremen, a few palace engineers, Auntie-Boss and me.
To my surprise, Sheela is here as well, standing a few feet from Ravi. She’s not in a dress but a proper sari—a red-violet silk—perhaps out of respect for the occasion. With her dark sunglasses, Sheela’s affect is cool and somewhat haughty in an old familiar way. Her chin is lifted as if in defiance of something. She says nothing, speaks to no one.
I have no idea what she said to Ravi about us or if Ravi made up the insinuations. I’d like to think the few moments Sheela and I shared that felt real, intimate, were just that, but I don’t know anymore. Was she only playing up to me to give Ravi ammunition?
In anticipation of the Maharani Latika’s arrival, a narrow strip of red carpet has been laid from the hardscape of the courtyard to the foyer and straight into the theater. The reconstruction seems to be in hiatus. The women and men who carry debris or mix cement are nowhere in sight. The area has been swept clean. The remnants of the accident—bricks, pebbles, dust, cement chunks—all gone. It’s hard to imagine that only four days ago this was the site of the worst disaster Jaipur had seen in years.
Has everything inside also been cleaned up? Without any of the original materials to examine, how will we convince the palace a fraud has been perpetrated?
Samir looks calm. Ravi looks nonplussed. They’re talking quietly together.
As he listens to Samir, Ravi keeps digging his heel in the mosaic tile of the courtyard. Manu stands closer to Mr. Reddy, Lakshmi and me. It’s as if we’ve all chosen sides.
I see Samir glancing at Lakshmi now and then, but Auntie-Boss seems determined not to make eye contact with him.
Kanta must have made Manu shave, bathe and cut his hair for this meeting. He looks thinner, but a lot more presentable than he has since the collapse. He even has a hopeful air about him, a child waiting to see if he will be granted a present for Diwali.
Maharani Latika’s Bentley arrives. Her Highness is behind the wheel. To my surprise, the dowager maharani is in the passenger’s seat. A lady-in-waiting sits in the back. The Bentley is followed by another sedan from which two attendants emerge to assist the older queen. One unfolds a wheelchair; the other lifts the dowager out of the seat and settles her carefully into the chair. Maharani Latika walks slowly beside the wheelchair as one of the attendants pushes the elder maharani.
The dowager’s face lights up when she spots me. “Malik! My boy. Come here, young man.”
The old queen is the only one who has not been instructed to call me Abbas. Automatically, I glance at Sheela. She removes her sunglasses and stares at me, as if she’s hearing Auntie-Boss calling my name all those years ago. Does she finally recognize me as the boy she spurned? I turn away.
I catch a glimpse of Ravi’s frown. He looks at his father as if to ask how I could possibly know the queens of Jaipur so well. It’s a small satisfaction, and I feel a deep pleasure as I approach Her Highness.
Auntie-Boss has prepared me for the diminished state of the cancer-ridden queen, but it is still a shock to hear her robust voice coming from that shriveled frame. I hurry to touch her feet. As I straighten, the older queen puts her hands on either side of my face and peers into my eyes. Her smile is wide and joyous. She looks at Auntie-Boss and says, “Shabash!” I can tell Boss is pleased with the queen’s assessment, if a trifle embarrassed. For my part, I’m touched—and impressed—that she recognizes me from a past when I paid more attention to her talking parakeet than I did to Her Highness. When I was eight, Madho Singh fascinated me far more than royalty. At twenty, I’m honored to be in the dowager’s presence.
Everyone else in our party takes their turns touching the feet of both queens. The younger queen greets Sheela, who was a first-rate student at her private school, warmly. The elder queen fawns over Samir and Ravi, telling the father how absolutely his handsome son takes after him, chastising them both for not paying her a visit. She smiles graciously throughout.
Now the younger queen casts a critical eye over the assembly. “Let’s be clear about what we are here to accomplish today. We’ve been hearing rumors about low-grade materials being used for the construction of the collapsed balcony columns. We need to verify if that is the case. If we can verify it, we will determine how or why they were purchased or used. What matters most to the palace is the trust of the public. We built this structure for public enjoyment. It’s important that their trust in us is warranted and we can guarantee their future safety. I understand all parties have agreed to cooperate?”
There are a few nodding heads. Ravi’s eyes are focused on the carpet below his feet.
“Malik,” says the dowager. She crooks a finger at me and then behind her. Evidently, I am to push her.
When I place a hand on the back of her wheelchair, she reaches behind with her clawlike hand and pats it. I see now that Auntie-Boss had decorated it beautifully with henna.
“What fun!” I hear her say. It’s as if she’s treating this meeting as a Sunday outing. Chances are she hasn’t had many of those recently.
The maharanis and I lead the procession on the red carpet. Everyone else follows us into the lobby and then the theater itself. I hear Auntie-Boss exclaim in awe at the lobby’s grandeur, which has remained intact; the destruction was to the theater space inside.
I want to turn and say to Boss, “Isn’t it exactly as I described it to you in my letters?”
And, as I often have on other occasions, I think of how wide Nimmi’s eyes would grow taking in all this finery. But for the first time, I also think: Would she be comfortable amid all this glamour?
The engineers and foremen form a tunnel through which the maharanis travel. They’re directing us to the far entrance doors where the theater shows no signs of destruction. They all bow as the maharanis go past.
“My, my!” The dowager says when she sees the size of the cinema screen, the graceful fall of the theater curtains and how the orchestra seats angle down as we get closer to the stage so everyone has a good view of the movie. With her illness, I doubt she’s had a chance see the cinema house before today.
She glances at Ravi. “A touch of the Pantages, eh?”
He blushes, pleased that she recognized the architectural reference.
I push the wheelchair farther down the aisle to the stage and then turn it around so we can examine the ruined balcony. Everyone follows except Samir, Ravi and Sheela, who remain standing at the theater entrance.
Something’s wrong. Everything has been replaced. The balcony has been returned to its original state. The columns have been replastered. The mohair seats in the balcony and down below are in mint condition. So is the carpet. It’s as if the accident never happened.
Samir is running his thumb across his lips, his eyes downcast, as if in apology. “We weren’t aware that you would want to see the column in its original state. We’ve been following an aggressive reconstruction schedule. The final plaster went up yesterday.” He looks at the younger maharani. “Your Highness had instructed us to get the cinema house up and running as quickly as possible.”
He holds his arms out. “I’m sorry if there’s nothing to see.”
I leave the wheelchair and walk up to the column that had collapsed. I rub my palm on the cool plaster. Turning toward the group, I look at Auntie-Boss, who looks as surprised as I feel. Manu and Mr. Reddy also wear the same dumfounded expression. While we were still putting the damage estimates together at the facilities office, Singh-Sharma must have been working day and night to repair the damage. Or did they accomplish all this since yesterday evening, when they learned the maharanis were coming to inspect the premises?
It’s the dowager queen who speaks as if nothing is amiss. “What a marvelous job you’ve done, Samir. Every detail. So elegant. So appropriate. Don’t you think, Latika?” Her voice echoes in the empty theater.
The Maharani Latika nods her assent. She opens her mouth to speak but the dowager interrupts her. The older woman turns her gaze on Samir.
“Do you think, my dear, that you could tear down one of the other columns?”
Auntie-Boss and I exchange a look: What is the dowager up to?
“The other columns?” Samir frowns.
“Um. Just so we can see how they were constructed? I would assume they were all built the same way originally?”
I’ve never known the elder maharani to be agreeable (indeed, she always prided herself in being a contrarian), but she is speaking in such soft, sweet tones to Samir.
The Maharani Latika is looking at her as if she has lost her mind.
Samir is half smiling, half frowning, his glance alternating between the two maharanis. “You want us to tear down one of the other columns? The ones that are fine?”
“Oh, I know it’s a bother. But just so we can stop all this fussing.”
“I don’t wish to be petty, Your Highnesses, but who will pay for the time spent on the demolition and reconstruction of the column that has nothing wrong with it?”
He sounds incredulous. He looks to the younger queen for support. But her face is inscrutable. In private, the two queens may at times disagree, but in public, the queens show a united front.
The dowager smiles graciously, “We will, won’t we, Latika? You see, it’s the only way to solve this disagreement. And I don’t like disagreements, do you?”
Ravi steps forward. He clears his throat. “But, Your Highnesses, it will mean the cinema house won’t open for another week or two! That’s a lot of ticket sales the palace will lose. And the film’s been rented for only a month. The rental fee will also be lost.”
“Pity.” That’s all the dowager says.
An understanding passes between the queens. While the dowager is in residence at the palace, she controls the purse. Maharani Latika signals her acquiescence with a nod to Samir. He and Ravi exchange a look. They are not pleased.
“Let’s hope it’s all tickety-boo,” the older queen says. “If it’s not, we may have to take the whole building apart. And we really don’t want to have to do that, do we?”
As if the matter is now firmly settled, Maharani Indira beckons me with that commanding finger. The next thing I know, I’m escorting her wheelchair out of the theater. We are almost at the lobby exit when she says, her voice much weaker now, “Tell my attendant to come here, will you, dear boy?”
I lean to one side to look at her. She has slunk down in the chair and she’s fighting to keep her eyelids open. She’s not quite as spry as she would like for the assembly to believe; she’s been putting on a brave face.
I notice Auntie-Boss has joined us at the entrance now. She has taken one of the maharani’s hands and is massaging those pulse points, as she calls them.
I whistle at the attendants, who are waiting right there by the car. They come running. The first lifts her from the chair effortlessly, as if she’s as light as a bird; the other collapses the wheelchair and off they go. They put her in the back seat of the second sedan that accompanied the Bentley. The lady-in-waiting climbs out of the Bentley and joins the maharani in the back of the sedan. I watch as she removes a syringe from a medical bag and plunges it into the old queen’s arm. She bundles the old woman in blankets and the sedan speeds away.
The whole scene, so quickly carried out, has filled me with sorrow. I look behind me, inside the dark lobby. The younger maharani is in a huddle with Samir, Manu and Ravi, probably discussing the timeline for knocking down one of the undamaged columns. The balcony will have to be supported while the column is removed and rebuilt. Mr. Reddy and Sheela stand off to the side, as do the engineers and foremen.
We won a victory, of sorts, today. If the other columns have been constructed with substandard materials, we will get what we came for. We may save Manu’s job yet.
But the dowager queen, who once gave me her precious Madho Singh and always appeared delighted to see me when I was a boy and now, today, clearly will not live out this year. And that depresses me in a way nothing has in a long time. It makes me long for Nimmi and the way she looks at me when she knows I need the comfort of her arms.
Last night, when I visited the Agarwals, Boss gave me the number to the convent. When I asked to speak to Nimmi, the novice said she would ask the mother superior. I waited for what seemed like eternity. Then I heard the phone being picked up.
“Please identify yourself,” commanded a sonorous voice. The mother superior. I told her who I was, that I was the former ward of Dr. Jay and Lakshmi Kumar. I gave her the Shimla address where we lived.
“What are the children’s names?” she asked.
“Chullu and Rekha.”
She asked me to wait a moment. I heard shuffling in the background, the murmur of voices and then a long inhale.
“Nimmi?” No answer. I tried again. “Hello?”
“Hahn?”
It was her! My heart sped up. “Theek hai?”
“Hahn.”Then, silence.
“Is something wrong?”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve never used a phone before! Am I doing it right?”
I smiled to myself, charmed. “Zaroor! Lakshmi told me you’ve been having quite an adventure.”
“The doctor has been so good to us, Malik. Now we are with the nuns. It’s nice. Peaceful. I work on their garden. Rekha and Chullu like it here, too.” At the mention of her name, I heard Rekha mumble something. “She wants to talk to you. She watches the nuns use the phone, and she’s been dying to try it out,” Nimmi says.
When Rekha came on, she asked, “Are you bringing me a rainbow? When? Will it be soon? Auntie Lakshmi told me if we live inside the rainbow, we won’t be able to see how pretty it is. Is that true?”
Before I had a chance to decide which question to answer first, Nimmi took the phone from her. “Are you coming home soon?”
“I need to talk to Boss about that.”
“I see.” She sounded resigned. We’ve talked about it before. Nimmi feels that Lakshmi gets too much of me while she doesn’t get enough. I’ve tried to humor her out of her jealousy, but that only seems to infuriate her. “I’ve been thinking, Malik, how much safer I was with my tribe. Perhaps I was wrong to leave them, to think life in town would be better. It has only gotten worse for us.”
This sounded like a different Nimmi, not the one Lakshmi had described. That Nimmi had followed the trail of her brother’s sheep into the mountains; she had brought her brother’s dead body back; she had sheared his flock. That Nimmi had made a life for herself in Shimla, using her knowledge of Himalayan plants, her intelligence and sheer will. She had left behind everything she had known—her tribal ways, her native tongue, people she loved. She had kept her children healthy and well-fed. Yet, how utterly alone she was—akelee.
“I love you,” I blurted out. I hadn’t realized until then how strongly I felt about her. But the moment I said it, I knew I needed to tell her; she needed to hear it.
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
“We will be together, Nimmi. You must trust me.”