The Secret Keeper of Jaipur by Alka Joshi

28

LAKSHMI

Jaipur

I watch Niki’s cricket game from the front seat of the Agarwals’ car. On the sidelines of the cricket patch, Malik stands next to Kanta, cheering Niki on. I watch my nephew as he cleverly skirts the second spin bowl to cross the pitch. He’s good at this game. Jay is the cricket fan in our house, but I’m thinking I could learn to love this game, too.

After the maharanis visited the Royal Jewel Cinema yesterday, Manu told us that Maharani Latika has given Singh-Sharma Construction three days to shore up the balcony and open up all the columns for inspection, even the ones they recently rebuilt and plastered. Almost immediately, Manu lost his look of defeat, growing hopeful that he would be vindicated. He’s returned to work. The tension in the Agarwal household has dissipated. Niki will be returning to school tomorrow.

It’s early evening and the sun has eased its relentless assault, giving way to a sweet breeze. Once again, Malik has settled me in the car with a thermos of creamy chai.

Earlier today, I called Jay with the update. He had news of his own. Yesterday, he’d called up his alma mater, Bishop Cotton, and asked if there were any high-ranking police commissioners among the alumni. Turns out there is one in Chandigarh. Jay called to tell him about the gold we’d found on the sheep. The deputy commissioner said they’d been hoping for a break like this because they’d been looking for a link to Chandigarh Ironworks, which they’d been watching for a while. Within a day, the commissioner had arranged for the Canara offices to be raided. They were able to seize a shipment of gold. But they weren’t able to get the names of the traffickers.

“Would that include Ravi Singh?” I asked.

“Yes, but the paper trail is not clean. They won’t be able to make it stick.”

“At least Nimmi is safe now, hahn-nah?”

He said yes. Nimmi had returned to working in the Healing Garden but her children were still staying at the convent during the day, and all three of them were sleeping there at night, at least until I came home.

What a relief that had been. When I told Malik, he bent down to touch my feet, which made me laugh! Jay is the real hero here, though. I think of that one unruly lock of hair that never behaves, the one I love to push back into place.

I’m so absorbed in my thoughts that I don’t hear the back door of the car opening and closing.

“Like father, like son.”

Samir’s voice in my ear almost makes me upend the cup of chai in my hands. My heart is hammering in my chest, my fingers shaking. I crane my neck around to see him perched on the back seat, his elbows now resting on the top of the front seat. His face is inches from mine.

He’s smiling at me with those marble-brown eyes of his, amused by my confusion. The scent of his cigarettes, the cardamom seeds he chews and his sweet aftershave fill the car. I haven’t been this close to Samir in twelve years. I sensed his eyes on me when we were at the Royal Jewel Cinema with the maharanis, but I refused to look at him. His family has once again tried to damage those I love.

But Samir has a palpable energy that’s hard to ignore when he’s this close. Is my heart beating this wildly from fear or excitement? I used to wonder what it would be like to kiss those brown lips, the lower lip exposing a crescent of pink inside. And then, one day, I found out.

“Why are you here?” I manage to ask when I’ve found my voice.

“Same reason you are.” He lifts a finger to point to the game. “Did you know I never missed one of Ravi’s games at Mayo? I taught both my boys in the backyard. Ravi had the same natural confidence as Niki. In a split second, he knew if the ball was worth hitting or missing. And sometimes, even when he knew he should give it a miss, he’d strike. And, would you believe it, Lakshmi, he’d hit it dead-on. Score a point or two.”

Snap!A roar goes up from the crowd on the sidelines. I turn around to look at the field. Niki has scored. I see Malik put two fingers in his mouth to whistle. Kanta’s arms are raised above her head in a clap.

Samir is speaking again. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Ralph Waldo Emerson said that in 1839. But I think it’s been true since time immemorial, don’t you? Niki Agarwal has Ravi’s build. He’s the same height as Ravi was at that age. And the way he runs! It’s almost like watching Ravi lope across the field.”

So Kanta had not imagined Samir watching Niki play at the cricket grounds. He’s worked it out. He knows Niki is Ravi’s son. Is Radha’s son.

If we hadn’t lied to the palace and to Samir about the baby’s heartbeat, Niki would now be the crown prince and the next maharaja of Jaipur. But telling them his heartbeat was too slow was the only way we could nullify the palace adoption and Radha could keep her baby.

How had Samir found out about my lie?

“When did you learn?” I say it slowly, so I don’t betray my nervousness.

My gaze is still focused on the game, but from the corner of my eye, I see his chin rest on his closed fist. His stance is so relaxed we could be talking about the weather.

“I stopped by last summer. Happened to see him playing. I was feeling nostalgic for my old life. Before my boys were full grown. When Ravi used to play cricket here. Back when I was just an architect designing the buildings I wanted to build. Before I got into the big business of construction. Before you suggested the Singhs marry into the Sharma family.” He turns his head ever so slightly so that I can now feel his breath on my cheek.

I shift in my seat, leaning against the passenger door now, so I can see him better. Or perhaps to get away from the nearness of him. “You seemed happy enough to make the business and personal connection, if I remember correctly.” I’m relieved to be off the topic of Niki.

“Oh, I was. I just didn’t know then what it would ultimately lead to.”

“Meaning?”

“I thought what a great opportunity it was to expand,” Samir says now. “So my sons could join my business as architects, builders, engineers—whatever they wanted. I’d planned for Govind to join us when he finished his schooling in the States. I could leave the boys my business as a legacy.” He sounds wistful.

“Well, isn’t that what’s happened? Ravi works with you. And Govind—when is he coming back from America?” I can no longer hear the game. It’s as if every cell of my being is tuned only to Samir’s voice.

Instead of answering, he reaches in his pants pocket. I think he’s going to show me photos of his younger son, but he shows me a battered illustration of Ganesh-ji, the elephant god. The paper is heavy card stock, about the size of a playing card. It’s obviously been handled a lot. “Last time I had my horoscope done, I was twelve. I didn’t want to believe the chart that my parents had done at my birth, so I went to a Brahmin pandit here in the Pink City.”

He turns the card over. There’s a circle in the middle filled with a grid of sorts and triangles on every corner. Each space has a number written on it. “Of course, only the pandit knows what all these numbers mean, but I still remember what he said.”

He stops.

“What?”

“He said I would travel abroad. I would accomplish great things. I would make a lot of money. But I would never be able to hold on to it.” He looks into my eyes. “It was the same prediction as my baby horoscope.”

“You were disappointed?”

“Well, I went abroad—to Oxford. True. I started my own firm, then grew it with Sharma. True. I’ve made piles of money. True. And I’m about to lose it all.”

Samir slips the card back into his pants pocket.

“Last night, I asked Ravi what we’ll find if we open up the other columns underneath the balcony. He said that we’ll find cheap bricks and badly mixed cement mortar. I said, ‘You lied to me?’ He said I didn’t go into the Indian army like my father, so why should he go into the same business as me? Said he wanted to prove he could succeed at something on his own.”

He sighs. “I think you know the rest, don’t you?” He lays his cheek on his hand, turning his head toward me.

I should feel triumphant, but I only feel sadness. “He bought cheaper materials for the Royal Jewel Cinema and forged the invoices to show higher amounts, didn’t he? Then he used the money he saved to finance a gold route to Jaipur. And he used those cheap bricks to transport the gold.”

Samir wags his head.

“But how did he fool the inspectors?”

Samir rubs his thumb and two fingers of his free hand together. Baksheesh.

A bee flies into the car from the open window. It lands on Samir’s shirtsleeve. For the first time I notice that Samir’s shirt, while clean, is rumpled, which is unusual for him. His tie, which he’s never without, has been carelessly stuffed inside his shirt pocket. I smell something else on him: scotch. I remember how much he enjoyed playing cards and having a drink or two at the pleasure houses. Is that where he’s been?

Samir watches the bee walking around in a circle on his arm and carefully flicks it in the direction of the window. It flies out.

“Are the columns of the balcony the only part of the cinema house that are compromised?”

He shakes his head, pushing away from the front seat. He slouches in the back, surveys the roof of the car. “We will have to take that place apart. Salvage what we can. But we have to rebuild it pretty much from scratch.” His gaze comes back to me. “It will ruin the business, but I want to leave with my reputation intact. Ravi will not destroy that. In fact, whatever he made selling that gold is going back into rebuilding the Royal Jewel Cinema.”

“You’re going to fold Singh-Sharma?”

“No choice. MemSahib has spoken. Parvati—of course she was there when Ravi confessed—says we stop operation after the cinema house is rebuilt and go to America. She’s heard from friends that there is a great retirement community in Los Angeles.”

“Retirement? But you’re only—”

“Fifty-two. Don’t remind me. She’s got it all figured out.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“We’re going to go into real estate.” He scratches the bristles on his chin. “I can’t be an architect in America without getting licensed there, and I’m too old to go back to school. So real estate it is.”

“What about Ravi? Govind?”

He inches forward and leans his arms on the top of the front seat again. “Govind has already told us he is going into finance in New York, not engineering. He has an American girlfriend. Doesn’t want to come back for an arranged marriage. And Ravi...well, he’ll probably do real estate with me in Los Angeles.” He gives me a lopsided smile. “Looks like Sheela will be living in a joint family whether she wants to or not.”

I take a deep breath and turn my body so I’m facing forward again. It looks like the game is winding down. We watch it for a while.

“You owe Manu Agarwal an apology,” I say.

There’s a pause.

“I’ve told the Maharani Latika what Ravi said. She’s disappointed, naturally, and upset that, no matter what, the disaster will be remembered as the fault of the palace. But Manu’s job is safe.”

Samir is not going to personally apologize to Manu. Had I really expected him to? Do the Singhs ever apologize to anyone? At least the maharanis know Manu was not to blame.

I feel Samir’s finger graze my cheek. I tilt my head away from him.

“Marriage to Jay suits you. I miss his friendship, but you can’t be friends when you’re in love with the same woman.”

My mouth falls open. Blood pounds in my ears. But I don’t dare turn around.

Twelve years ago, I would have welcomed those words. To know that he cared this much. Not today.

I can’t be having this conversation. I love my husband. I could have loved Samir, but Parvati staked her claim on him a long time ago. She makes the key decisions in their lives. And he lets her. Does that make him weak? Has he always been the less powerful Singh and I just never noticed? Or is he more perceptive than I give him credit for? After all, isn’t Parvati the one who always manages the disasters in the family?

I clear my throat. “Don’t try to contact Nikhil. Ever.”

From the back seat, I hear rustling. He’s opening a fresh pack of cigarettes. “Moving to America will help with that.”

I hear the flicking of the gold lighter. A stream of cigarette smoke fills the front of the car when he exhales.

Out on the cricket field, the game is over. The players are shaking hands with one another. Private-school etiquette. In the distance, Malik and Kanta are all smiles waiting for Niki to join them.

I hear the back door open. In the side mirror, I see Samir get out of the car and come to stand by my window.

“Samir?”

“Um?”

“If Manu is any indication of what Niki will grow up to be, Ralph Waldo Emerson was right. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

I look up at him. He’s smiling at me. He gives me an army salute and ambles away.