“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?