The Secret Keeper of Jaipur by Alka Joshi
29
MALIK
Jaipur
Once we all learn that Singh-Sharma is going make the Royal Jewel Cinema whole again and that Manu has been reinstated as director of Palace Facilities, we decide to celebrate with a feast. Saasuji has made her special chole subji and Niki’s favorite cake. Baju makes dal, rice, an okra subji and potato pakoras. Manu brings back besan laddus, cashew burfi and kheer with pistachios from the sweetshop. Neither Auntie-Boss nor I have had a chance to write letters back home this whole time, so we call Jay at home.
I hear Jay tell Boss that Nimmi and the kids are back home now because the heat is off; his commissioner chum has eliminated the danger.
I ask to speak to Nimmi.
“Today is Rekha’s birthday.” Nimmi sounds happy. In the background, I hear Rekha singing “Happy Birthday” to herself. “Dr. Jay and I have made a cake. And guess what?”
With a pang, I realize how much I’m missing not being in Shimla. “What?”
“I wrote Rekha’s name on it. In Hindi!” She laughs that lovely deep laugh of hers.
“You should see it! It’s so pretty!” Rekha has grabbed the phone from her mother. I laugh and tell her I have a present for her birthday. “A present?” she says before Nimmi takes the phone back.
“Please, Malik, no more crickets! We can’t find the one Rekha let out of the cage!”
I hear the smile in her voice and find myself grinning, imagining her face when I put the gold chain around her neck. Through the phone I hear Madho Singh exclaim, “Namaste! Bonjour! Welcome!” He must know they’re talking to me.
I hand the phone back to Auntie-Boss so she can say goodbye to her husband. She tells him, “We’re coming home tomorrow.”
As she hangs up, I say, “You said we.”
“I did.”
“I thought you wanted me to stay and learn with Manu Uncle?”
She laughs and takes my arm, leading me away from the family to the Agarwals’ front veranda. “Malik, why did I want you to come to Jaipur?”
“To learn the building trade.”
She lowers herself on the veranda porch swing and pats the seat next to her. I sit down. “Did you succeed?”
“Yes.”
She nods. “In your time here you learned enough about the business to know when something isn’t right. Why else did I want you to come?”
“To keep me from getting involved with...certain types of people.”
“Did you succeed?”
I narrow my eyes, not sure what she wants me to say. “Well, I know I don’t want to be involved with the likes of Ravi Singh. But I knew that way back when he first got involved with Radha.”
She smiles at me faintly. “So there’s no need for you to be here anymore. I don’t think there ever was. Nimmi asked me to let you go. She said you only do things because you feel an obligation to me.”
I’m about to object, but she places a hand on my arm to stop me. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and she’s right, Malik. You are your own man now. Have been for a long time. I think I overstepped. Maaf kar dijiye?”
“Why do you need to be forgiven, Auntie-Boss? If we hadn’t been here in Jaipur, think what might have happened to Manu. And Niki. I’m glad we came.”
She looks skeptical, as if she doesn’t quite believe me but wants to.
“But it is time to go home. I agree.”
Now her face breaks into a smile.
“Besides,” I say, “I’ve helped Niki become a star cricket player. I’m counting on him to help us make our millions.” We share a laugh.
Birds are twittering in the courtyard of the Agarwals’. In the evening twilight, the headlights of scooters and cars scissor between the spikes of the iron fence beyond. We listen to the honks of tongas, the twinkle of bicycle bells and the shouts of rickshaw drivers looking for passengers.
“What will you do when we’re back in Shimla, Malik?”
I’ve been giving this some thought. “Something Nimmi and I can do together.” I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, hands clasped. “Boss, I’d like to marry her. She’s exactly who she says she is. She has no pretensions.” Of course, I’m thinking of Sheela when I say this. As tempting as that attraction had been, I knew it wasn’t right for me. It would have made me miserable.
I turn my head sideways to look at my mentor. “I’m a nonpracticing Muslim with no caste status. I have no idea where my mother went after she abandoned me at Omi’s. And I never knew my father. Omi and her children were the closest I had to family, but her husband hasn’t allowed me to see any of them in years.” I look down at my hands. “Nimmi and I are alike. She’s Hindu but also has no caste. She’s no longer with her people, her tribe. The two of us—we understand what it is to be unmoored.”
“Unmoored? But, Malik, you’re a part of our family. Jay and Radha and me. And now Radha’s husband, Pierre, and their daughters—”
I put my hand on hers to calm her. “Nimmi and I don’t belong. Not truly. To one set of beliefs, one set of traditions. But we can create our own traditions. Observe those we like, abandon those we don’t.”
I can see from the tension around her eyes that she’s distressed. She’s still the handsome woman I started following around Jaipur when she was around Nimmi’s age. But now her temples are silver, and she has fine lines around her eyes and mouth.
“I don’t mean that I want to separate from you or Dr. Jay or Radha—not at all! I don’t know what I’d do without you. But I’m ready for my own family now, Auntie-Boss. I’m ready.”
She blinks. Looks out into the deepening night.
“I know you’d rather I married an educated woman. Someone posh. Grand. But that’s not who I am. Nimmi and I—we’re good together. We understand each other. And I love her children. And now that you’ve started her reading and writing in Hindi, who knows how far she can go?”
We sit through the pause, both of us thinking things we’re not saying.
“There’s something else I want to talk to you about.”
It takes her a moment, but she returns my gaze. I turn my body so I’m facing her.
“What if we turned your Healing Garden into a teaching center for other herbalists? What if we created a greenhouse for propagating the plants you’ve already grown and sell them to other herbal practitioners in India? I know something about business and can figure out the rest as I go. And—” I stand and start to pace the veranda. “I’ve learned enough about building to manage the construction of a greenhouse. Radha’s husband could help us design it. The hospital has land that we could build on. Nimmi can continue to help you with the garden and the greenhouse.”
I’m walking faster now, trying to keep up with my thoughts. “Your name is already well-known in herbal medicine circles. Once we begin teaching other practitioners and selling our own products, we can use the money we make to help expand the Community Clinic.”
Lakshmi’s eyes have grown large. “That’s a tall order, Malik. Where would we get the money for building the greenhouse?”
“That’s the easy part.”
I think of Moti-Lal. I think of Maharani Indira and Maharani Latika. I think of Kanta Auntie. How hard would it be to raise the initial investment? The hospital must have a capital fund that may kick in the rest—I’ll have to talk to Dr. Jay. I know how to source the best materials. Where to find the engineers. And Pierre is an accomplished architect. It can be done.
I stop pacing and stand in front of her. I bend at the waist to look directly into her blue-green eyes. “Remember how much you wanted to set up a business selling your lavender creams and the bawchi hair oil and the vetiver cooling water when we still lived in Jaipur? Well, we can make it happen. I want to make it happen for you. For me. For Nimmi. And Jay will get to expand his clinic.”
The face I know so well is alight with possibilities. Those bright eyes of hers are jumping—right, left, up, down—in their sockets as she tries to focus on one thought before another presents itself. It takes her a while, but she parts her lips in that smile that says I’ve made her happy.
“Let’s talk to Jay the moment we get home to Shimla,” she says.
We hire a tonga to take us to the Maharanis’ Palace, the way we used to so the guards wouldn’t mistake us for ara-garra-nathu-karas who couldn’t afford a horse-drawn carriage. We’re stopping here on our way to the Jaipur railway station to take the train home. The Agarwals wanted to take us in their car, but Auntie-Boss and I decided we needed to do this alone. One thing is for sure: we won’t wait another twelve years to see Manu, Kanta and Niki again.
When the carriage arrives at the entrance to the Maharanis’ Palace, we ask the driver to wait with our luggage. I help Auntie-Boss off the tonga and we carry our package to the guard station. The guard greets Auntie-Boss warmly—she’s been here several times already in the last few days. But, as he used to in the old days, he casts a baleful eye at me—more out of habit than because I appear unpresentable (which I don’t). I offer him a nod.
“Well, well. I have the pleasure of seeing you three days in a row. That’s something!” says the dowager maharani when we reach her rooms. Even though she is nestled in bed, she appears alert and ready to receive visitors in a vermillion silk sari and layers of pearl necklaces.
“We came to say goodbye, Your Highness,” Auntie-Boss says as she reaches for the queen’s feet and pulls the energy upward. I follow suit.
“Jaipur doesn’t have enough charms to hold you two for another day or two? And who will do my henna now?” She holds up her decorated hands for us to admire.
“Shimla awaits. We must get back to work.”
The old queen focuses her shrewd gaze on us. “Let me see. Lakshmi will be tending to the sick and to her plants. And you, Malik, will go back to your beloved. She must be waiting.”
I wonder how the dowager knew. I glance at Auntie-Boss but she makes a face to show me she has no idea. She may be imprisoned by her illness, but the maharani keeps herself apprised of all goings-on.
“We have brought Your Highness something to remember us by.” I give the beautifully wrapped package to her closest lady-in-waiting, who hands it to the maharani.
An attendant comes forward, no doubt to check the contents, but the queen waves him away with a slight gesture. She tears open the wrapping with gusto, handing the scented gardenia at the top to one of her ladies.
When she sees the elegant wooden box, she cries out with delight. Her arthritic fingers cannot open the lid of the box easily so the lady-in-waiting does it for her.
“Beefeater Gin! My dears, this is marvelous! Although my doctors won’t agree.” She instructs her bearer to bring three glasses, Indian tonic water and ice.
While her lady-in-waiting mixes the cocktails, the Maharani Indira says, “Did you know they used to throw patients headfirst into juniper bushes, thinking that malaria would magically disappear the moment their bodies brushed against the branches? Those English! So eccentric! Much better to drink the stuff!”
Auntie-Boss and I trade a private smile as we clink our glasses in a toast.
Her Highness closes her eyes in appreciation of her first sip. “Aah. Samir Singh—how I adore that man! He has come to see Latika and me. I am sorry the outcome does not favor him.” She takes another drink. “And you, my dear, have you achieved the resolution you were hoping for with the Royal Jewel Cinema?”
Auntie-Boss looks off to the side, as if she’s composing her thoughts. Then she says, “The ideal outcome is always the preservation of integrity. It’s painful when the consequence of the outcome is so severe. I understand that the Royal Jewel Cinema will have to be completely rebuilt. But it will stand as a reminder to thousands of people who cross its threshold that the right thing is worth doing.”
The old maharani grins, and a hundred wrinkles form at the corners of her lipsticked mouth as her hollowed cheeks lift, making her almost beautiful.
“A born politician. That’s what you are, Mrs. Kumar. If you’d been born into our family, you’d be in Parliament by now, my dear!”
Today, the dowager queen’s laugh is rich and strong. It fills up the room, floats through the door to the outside terrace and the maharanis’ garden below, forcing the tiny monkeys to look up from their half-eaten guavas and the sunbirds to scatter into the cloudless sky above.