I return to Jay and hand him the letter. “Malik sent this to me a week ago.” I pick up my glass of scotch and leave him to read the letter alone.
Dear Nimmi and Auntie-Boss,
I’m learning a lot here in Jaipur. Like what materials are best for which type of building. The cost of buying land and the cost of building from the ground up. How foundations are laid. Manu Uncle has been sending me around to different departments within his facilities division so his people can teach me all parts of the business. By now I’m starting to see buildings being constructed in my dreams. (You would love Hakeem, the accountant I work with. He’s a funny little man. But I like him. He’s been here forever—probably since the Moghul Empire!)
The best part of this experience has been spending time with Nikhil. He’s just like Radha—twelve going on twenty! Boss, you would be so impressed with how Kanta Auntie and Manu Uncle have raised him. He’s a sweet, funny boy, and—more important, in my book—a phenomenal cricket player! We spend many Sundays batting and bowling. He’s almost as good as I am! (I’m sure he would disagree and say I’m pretty good for an old man.) I can’t wait until Chullu is old enough for me to put a cricket bat in his hand! Please tell Rekha that I haven’t forgotten about the rainbow I’m supposed to bring back for her from Jaipur. She thinks every city has its own rainbow, and I don’t have the heart to disappoint her!
Boss, the next part is just for you, so don’t read it to Nimmi!
I know you want the best for me. You always have. And for that, I’m grateful. But the longer I’m away from Nimmi, the more I realize how much I care for her. I miss her quiet ways. I admire how hard she works to feed and clothe Rekha and Chullu (both of whom I’ve come to love as my own). I help her out with a little money now and then, but—Hai Ram!—I have to practically force her to take it.
I realize that you might wish a different woman for me—more learned or more sophisticated—but I’m content with Nimmi. In the eight months I’ve known her, I’ve learned about the beauty of the Himalayas and the treasures the mountains hold. I know she’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but I would ask you for a favor.
Please treat Nimmi as you would a sister, as you’ve always treated Radha. Nimmi will never ask you for anything, so you might have to thrust your kindness on her. She has such a good, loyal heart. Her loss has been tragic—no one should have to lose a spouse so young. But it has been my gain and brought me much happiness.
Yours,
Malik
Jay finds me in the bath. I’m scrubbing the last of today’s grime, horse odor, dust and sweat from my skin. Jay sets the letter on the edge of the tub, puts his hands in his pockets and rattles the loose change he’s carrying in them.
“I know you think helping Nimmi is best because of Malik’s feelings for her, and you’ve always done what you thought best. But I’m uneasy.”
I stop scrubbing. “Jay, if you could do something to help your family—something that could possibly save their lives—wouldn’t you do it?”
“Yes. Of course, I would. But these are goondas—professional racketeers—you’re dealing with! I think that it’s too great a risk for you to get any more involved. I’ve talked to the local police—”
“Why?” I can feel myself getting angry. Talking to the authorities can be risky; you never know who’s on the take.
He motions with his hands, a gesture meant to calm me down. “I didn’t talk about this instance in particular, but I wanted to know more about the gold running taking place in the Shimla hills.”
“And, what did you learn?”
“They’re aware that there’s activity to the west, around Chandigarh and closer to Pakistan, but they don’t seem to think there’s any in this area.”
“They must have been curious about why you were asking.” Have you tipped them off to what we’re doing?
“Arré. I told them only that I’d read the article about smuggling in the paper and was concerned for the safety of my patients.” He’s jiggling the coins in his pants pocket again, another sign that he’s worried.
I press my lips together, trying not to let my irritation show. I learned early that talking to the police has never been a good idea.
After independence, when the British left and government posts needed to be filled, nepotism reigned. The higher-level posts, like police commissioner, went to friends and family, whether or not they were qualified for the job. The result? Incompetence and corruption. There’s always a chance that the police are colluding with the gold racketeers, pocketing protection money. And if the police commissioner suspects Jay spoke to them because he has information about the smuggling, he can use that to his advantage or, worse, decide he needs to keep Jay from revealing what he knows to anyone else.
Jay has put himself—and us—in danger. If the authorities were to find those half-shorn sheep at the bottom of the lower pasture, we’d all three of us be implicated.
Which means we have to sheer the sheep completely and as soon as possible. Tomorrow night at the latest. Nimmi’s timeline—three days—is now compressed into a single day. And it will take all three of us to make it happen. I’m already so exhausted from riding out to find Nimmi, then spending the evening removing gold from the sheep. I didn’t dare let Jay see how badly my knees were shaking.
I put my head underwater, drowning out Jay’s voice and my body’s protestations.
Early the next morning, I ride a rested Chandra the four miles outside Shimla to Canara Private Enterprises. Jay and I have put the gold bars in the saddlebags and covered them with a horse blanket. I’ve put on a clean pair of jodhpurs and Jay’s wool coat. I’ve wrapped a brown shawl around my head and shoulders. It’s a hazy morning, the mist curling lazily around the pine and cedar trees, hesitant to move on.
Convincing Jay to let me go alone was a battle. He wanted to go in my place. I refused because I don’t want him more involved than he already is. He has an important position at the hospital. And he has a full load of patients this morning, including two cesareans.
Today, the barbed entrance gate to Canara Enterprises is open. Inside, a lone woman in a sari and sweater blouse squats on the ground, patting clay into a wooden mold and dumping the formed brick onto the ground. She works quickly—probably because she gets paid by the brick—adding another row to a growing layer of bricks drying in the open air.
I dismount and walk Chandra into the clearing, stopping right next to her. She looks up but doesn’t stop her work.
I namaste her. “You’re an expert at this.”
Her overbite makes her self-conscious, so she puts her hand in front of her face as she smiles and wags her head from side to side, pleased to be acknowledged.
I notice all the bricks have rectangular indentations in the center. I wonder why. “Who buys these bricks?”
When she looks confused, I try again. “Who are the customers—”
She waves a hand. “I don’t know, Ji. I see a truck take them away. The driver says he’s taking them to Chandigarh.”
“Arré! What are you doing out here?” It’s the young man from yesterday, the one who sits behind the counter. He casts a dark look at the woman, who hastily returns to her brickmaking. To me, he says, “Go to the office.”
I try to look apologetic, but I can tell he’s suspicious. He watches me until I’ve led Chandra to the office door. The saddlebags filled with gold are heavy, but I’ve practiced lifting them so it looks like I know what I’m doing.