Now the jeweler picks up a brick fragment and examines it before he puts it down, and then he does the same with all the others. When he’s set aside the final piece, he drums his fingers on his thigh. Today he’s clad in an expensive linen kurta pyjama. The large emerald ring on his pinkie finger catches, and reflects, the lights from the ceiling. He stops and looks at me—and keeps me in his gaze at least a minute. Then he picks up the receiver of the phone beside him and mumbles a few words—he’s speaking softly and the only words I hear are sona and dibba—then he puts the receiver back in place. Boss and I exchange a look.
His son-in-law, Mohan, comes in carrying two glossy rosewood boxes. He nods and smiles at me, then sits down next to Moti-Lal, who pulls out the long gold chain he wears around his neck. Several small keys are attached to the chain’s end. He uses a key to unlock the first box. Inside are several pristine bars of solid gold. About ten of them. They’re identical, same size, same shape, same markings: weight (one ounce), the manufacturer’s logo and, in the center, the numbers 999.9.
He instructs Mohan to unlock the second box. The gold bars in this box are uneven, unstamped, and slightly different in weight from one another.
In this brightly lit room, where Lal-ji examines jewels and stones, the glow from the gold bars is dazzling.
Moti-Lal points to the first box. “Legal.” Then, to the second. “Not legal.”
He takes a bar from the first box and sets it in the indentation of the broken brick. It’s a little too big to fit in the space. He does the same with the illegal gold, and this time the bar fills the space, not perfectly, but well enough. Next, he puts another fragment of brick on top and leaves it there. The gold is now concealed. He looks at us and grins.
“And that, young Malik, is how some gold is transported.” He guffaws, his balloon belly jiggling.
“But why hide it?” I ask him. “Why not just bring it through proper channels?”
The jeweler and his son-in-law trade a look. “Any jeweler will tell you that he buys very little gold through legitimate sources. Why? Last year’s Gold Act. It limits the amount of gold a jeweler like me can hold in my possession. But Mrs. Patel and Mrs. Chandralal and Mrs. Zameer want a lot more for their daughters’ bridal trousseaus than I’m allowed to carry.” Lal-ji raises his eyebrows at Boss. “Am I right, Mrs. Kumar?”
Lakshmi shuts her eyes for half a second. Yes.
He continues, “Also, the Indo-China War depleted our country’s gold reserves. Mrs. Patel, Mrs. Chandralal and Mrs. Zameer did their bit by donating their gold for the war effort. Well, the war is over and the ladies want their gold back. Only...it’s gone. It was used to purchase munitions from other countries. So where can suppliers replenish the gold customers want? Africa. Brazil. Wherever they can smuggle it from, they’re doing it.”
Moti-Lal rubs the back of his neck with his fleshy palm. “I’m doing the same thing every other jeweler’s doing. If I can buy gold being smuggled into India—gold I won’t declare to the authorities—why wouldn’t I? Otherwise, my shelves would be completely empty! Samaj-jao?”
I nod my understanding. But it still boggles the mind. Here we live in a country where the demand for gold is staggering. Yet, almost none of it is mined here. No wonder the illegal import business is thriving.
“Surely the government must have known what would happen when they passed the Gold Act.”
The jeweler laughs and rubs his hands together. “I’m sure they did. They understand human nature. Squeeze the mango from the bottom and the pulp comes out through the hole you’ve made at the top! No matter what obstacles you set before an Indian, he’ll find a way to get around it. People have to eat. The world keeps turning. But the government has to set limits. Otherwise, who knows how out of control the gold racket would get?”
Moti-Lal has taken up his hookah once again. He observes us through the smoke. That delicious scent of cherries and cloves fills the small room. He sees me looking and hands me the other hookah but not before he asks Lakshmi, “MemSahib is not bothered?”
She shakes her head.
I take a puff of chillum and a feeling of light-headedness comes over me. I start to wonder if I ought to reconsider Moti-Lal’s offer to work in his shop and learn the jewelry trade. What would it be like to sit here with him, scrutinizing gold bullion like that in front of us, the kundan necklaces, uncut rubies and emeralds, and bangles studded with pearls out in the main showroom—all while smoking this exquisite tobacco? To chat up beautiful brides-to-be about their wedding trousseaus? How seductive, tantalizing...dangerous!
Pointing to the bricks, Lal-ji asks, “Want to tell me where you found these?”
I blink, uncertain how much to reveal. I steal a glance at Auntie-Boss. She tilts her head ever so slightly.
Finally, I answer, “A construction site.”
Lal-ji runs his tongue over his large, wolflike teeth and looks at Mohan. The younger man immediately understands this signal. He removes the bar of gold Moti-Lal had placed inside the brick, places it in the second rosewood box and locks both boxes with his own set of keys. I realize that when Lal-ji suggested he would hire me and let Mohan go, he didn’t really mean it. The two men are a team. They work well together, seem to speak a silent language all their own.
Mohan gathers the boxes and stands, but before he leaves the room, Lal-ji calls out to him, “Make sure Mrs. Gupta buys the ruby and diamond kundan set, not the inferior one her cheapskate husband wants to buy.”
His son-in-law wags his head to indicate agreement, nods a respectful farewell to us and leaves the room.
Now that Mohan’s gone, Lali-ji says, “You told me you were working with the palace facilities office. Which means Singh-Sharma was most likely the contractor on the construction site.”
I keep my eyes on his, but don’t respond.
“The project that’s been in the news is the Royal Jewel Cinema.” He stops, inspects the bricks again. “So...you found these bricks after the...” Lal-ji’s brows draw together. “You know my wife and daughter and Mohan went to opening night at the cinema? They could have been killed.” The jeweler’s blood pressure is rising; his cheeks are an irritated red. “Hai Bhagwan! If the Singhs did something that caused that balcony to collapse, I’ll never let Parvati Singh darken my door again. She will buy no more from Moti-Lal Jewelers!”
It’s hot in the room, and not because the air-conditioning has been turned off. Lal-ji’s anger is generating the heat. He wipes his face with his palm. “There have been rumors. I heard one maybe a year ago. Another gold route being created. New supplier. Contraband, of course. The supplier was well financed. They could get gold—lots of it—guaranteed. I didn’t take the bait, though. I have my supplier and I’m happy. But I was curious and looked into it.”
He puffs a few scented clouds into the room. “Now, you must never say this information came from me. It could be false.” He studies Auntie-Boss again, as if he’s weighing whether to proceed.
She understands his hesitation, because, when she speaks to him, she uses her persuasive voice. “Lal-ji, I would never choose to bring you into this. But a dear friend will be blamed for something he didn’t do if we don’t find out more. And this relationship between the gold and these bricks may be at the heart of why he is being framed.”