“And you can call me Rakesh. I must apologize in advance, but we are still on a soft open status until the grand opening in a few days’ time.”
Nick laughed. “No problem with me. I got this vacation for free so I won’t complain.”
“You’ll find everything in order, except the live shows and the movie theatre. I’m afraid our performers are still in the process of final rehearsals for the upcoming official opening ceremonies. And the casino is still under construction and won’t be open for another month, at least.”
“Not a problem,” Nick said as he placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “As long as there’s air-conditioning in the rooms and internet for my wife, it’s all good.”
Rakesh nodded. “We definitely have that. Your luggage is being sent over to your three-room cottage by the beach.” He beamed at the boy. “Do you like water sports, Scott?”
“I heard you’ve got scuba diving here,” Scott said. “Is that true?”
“Yes, we do. Would you like to participate in our Open Water Diver course? It only takes three days for you to become a certified diver,” Rakesh said.
Nick was surprised. “Isn’t he too young for that?”
“Ten years is the minimum age, so I think he qualifies.”
Scott looked up at his father. “Can I? Please?”
Nick took a deep breath. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask your mother.”
Scott gave him a dejected look before walking away. “Aww, man.”
16
AFTER BIDDING HIS NIECE at the counter a pleasant goodbye, Prakash Menon sat by the concrete steps leading up to the store, putting his sandals on. The sun would be setting in a few hours, and he had plenty of time to return to his house for early evening prayers and then dinner.
Kavaratti served as the capital and most developed island in Lakshadweep, though still rustic when it came to modern standards. The island was mostly blanketed by palm trees, and coconut products remained its main source of income, right after tourism. Prakash had lived on the island for most of his sixty years, and he saw no reason to leave it.
Prakash smiled at a group of small children playing by the side of the sandy path towards his home. He had once been destined to take over his family’s fishing boat, for his father felt the winds of change sweeping over the Indian mainland would never come all the way out here. Time seemed to stand still in the archipelago, and the way of life had barely changed since the olden days.
His father was eventually proven wrong, but never lived to see it. Just ten years ago, the tourism industry had begun to boom. Where there were once a number of primitive thatched roof huts erected along the white sandy beaches for the mainland visitors, now there were multi-story hotels being constructed along Kavaratti Shore Way, the island’s single main road by the beach. Along with the decreasing population of tuna, the local fishing industry quickly declined into a mere shadow of its former self.
Prakash had been lucky. He had already gotten too old to fish by then, and he had managed to sell his late father’s boat and used its meager earnings to buy a corner store at the main street for his extended family. The proceeds over the succeeding years weren’t much, but it kept everyone fed and educated, and that was good enough for him.
When he got close to the house, his old tired eyes were able to spot his wife and daughter having an animated conversation by the front porch. The two women immediately stopped talking when they noticed him coming closer. Prakash wondered what was happening as he shuffled up the three steps and sat down on his prized wooden rocking chair and started to remove his sandals.
His wife Fathima pushed her graying hair behind her neck while staring worriedly at her daughter. She was about to say something, but instead looked down at the red painted stone floor and shook her head slowly.
Prakash leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The long days had begun to make him more exhausted due to his age, and he liked to take a little nap just before prayers and dinner. “What is it?”
His eldest daughter Sita hovered near him. “Father, how was your day at the store?”
Prakash kept his eyes closed as he tried to relax. “It was like the other days—peaceful and pleasant. Now will one of you tell me what you are both so excited about?”
Sita gathered up her courage before speaking. “Vaikom has returned. He is here. In his old room.”
Prakash instantly sat up, blinking his eyes open. The sudden news made his heart pound like a jackhammer. “W-what did you say?”
His daughter quickly knelt down beside him. “Father, please do not throw him out of the house again.”
Prakash was breathing heavily. “Why was I not told of his return to the island?”
“We… we did not know either,” Sita said softly, looking towards her mother for support. “He… he told us he will not be staying for long anyway.”
Fathima looked away and silently padded over towards the kitchen. She needed to start cooking dinner, and wasn’t in any mood for an argument with her husband.
Prakash gritted his worn, yellowed teeth. “He has shamed the family, and he expects us to just allow him to stay? If the authorities knew he was here, they would no doubt come over and arrest him again.”
Sita made a whimpering cry as she placed her forehead on his brown leathery hand and held it tightly with both her own hands. “Father, I beg you! Please don’t say anything to the police. Vaikom has done nothing, yet they took him away.”
Prakash gripped the sides of the rocking chair to help himself up. “He has dishonored me and this family.”
“He did no such thing! He stood up for what he believed in.”
“Your brother mocked the law and got in trouble for it.”
“He did what he felt was right!”
Prakash pulled his hand away from her. “Enough. I will talk to him first before I decide.”
Sita knew there was nothing else she could do. Tradition held the father as the patriarch, and his word was always final. She wiped a tear from her cheek before walking into the kitchen to help her mother prepare dinner.
Prakash walked past the doorway and into the narrow corridor inside the house. Standing in front of the entryway of his son’s room, he pushed the rickety wooden door open and stepped inside.
Vaikom was lying with his back on the floor, staring straight up at the whitewashed ceiling, the shadows of dusk from the window slowly darkening the small bedroom. Prakash could see his son had grown a thick moustache on his upper lip, and still retained a full head of dark curly hair. When Vaikom flicked a glance in his direction and failed to get up and greet him, Prakash knew that his son had now been truly lost.
Placing his hands on his hips, Prakash loomed over the young man. “You enter my house without even giving your compliments to me?”
Vaikom sat up and stretched his arms. “You seemed determined to throw me out, Father. Should I thank you for it first?”
Prakash crossed his arms and sighed. Vaikom had grown up to be a dutiful son to him at first, but the sudden acquisition of Cherbaniani Reef by the rich and its subsequent dredging into the artificial island of Lemuria transformed the youth into an angry radical. Vaikom and his friends became sullen and disrespectful to their elders, and they began staging protests. Their rallies soon spread to the other islands and they organized even further, sending out boats to harass and intimidate the construction crews working on Lemuria.
Their last major protest had occurred just two years before, when the resort facilities of Lemuria had first been erected. His ever-increasing rage against the corrupt authorities finally getting the better of him, Vaikom led a handpicked group of disaffected young men and firebombed the shelters of the construction crews during a daring nighttime raid. Two workers died in the subsequent fire. When Vaikom and the other men got back on their boat and returned to Kavaratti Island half a day later, the authorities were waiting for them.