He could not look his aged father in the face until this matter was appropriately resolved.
Using the family business as collateral, Anil had obtained money that had allowed him to expand one store at a time. Now the Buthlahee family owned twelve such stores, the smallest being larger than his parents' original enterprise. The stores were scattered up and down the coast, following the main north-south road. They managed to compete with the big city stores on their own terms. As a student, the brilliant Taneer had helped his father and cousins set up a proprietary wireless system for controlling real-time inventory that had allowed them to stay one step ahead of their competitors. They served local people seeking food and household goods as well as tourists traveling down the coast and the eight thousand priests of Jagannath Temple, Vishnu be praised. The Buthlahees operated the second-biggest store on Puri's main street, Bada Danda, where they sold everything from sunblock to computer and box accessories.
All for nothing, if the disgraceful prospect Taneer had chosen for himself was allowed to come to fruition.
Via email and vit, Anil and his wife and Taneer's cousins had pleaded and argued, threatened and screamed at him to break off the relationship. All to no avail. Taneer had declared defiantly that not only was he going to remain with the Untouchable woman-thing, he fully intended to make her his wife. Finally, forced to an extreme no decent VyMohans father should be expected to endure, that was the moment when Anil had disowned him. It was the last time father and son had spoken.
But disowning him was not enough, Anil knew. He had talked to his own father, and to his own cousins, as well as to Chautara, the esteemed senior uncle of the family. Sorrowfully, the conclusion was the same among all. Taneer could not be allowed to bring the entire family into permanent disgrace.
More than one male cousin had offered to perform the necessary duty. A grim-visaged Anil had turned them all down. It was his son who was the offender. Therefore it was his, Anil's, responsibility to see to the cleansing of the family name.
Hands brushed at his lower limbs. Some of the beggars imploring him had no legs. Some had been ravaged by HIV-connected diseases. The face of one girl of about sixteen, who had clearly been born beautiful, was covered with open, running sores. Whitened cankers clung to her full lips. Her eyes were already vacant, dead; the rest of her body would follow soon enough. He ignored them all. He did not want to start a riot by handing out rupees.
Dominating the horizon above the crowded, busy street was the Harap Jain temple. Encrusted with tens of thousands of shards of lovingly hand-applied, electric-hued, dichrotic glass, its five-hundred-meter-tall tower dazzled all who raised their eyes to drink in its simple yet spectacular beauty. The full length of the glass-encrusted spire was visible for only five minutes each hour. The rest of the time it was shrouded, as the computer-driven mosaic glass panels rotated inward. Otherwise, the drivers of too many vehicles on the streets below would find themselves blinded by the thousands of individual reflections as the sun changed its position in the sky. Not to mention the pilots of small choppers and other commuter craft that made use of the skyways above the city streets. Like every other religion, the Jains had been compelled to adapt their tenets to the needs of the greater city.
Inquiries at the company where Taneer had worked had brought a faster response than Anil could have hoped for. It appeared that those who had employed his son were as anxious to find him as the father. Utilizing skills born of a life spent engaged in bargaining and business, Anil assured those with whom he spoke that he would be pleased to inform them should he manage to reestablish contact with his son. He did not tell them it would be after he had shot dead his offspring and the whore.
Sagramanda did not frighten him. Business had required that he visit suppliers in the great metropolis several times a year. He felt that he knew the city as well as any nonresident. The delight of the city's chronically overwhelmed administration, public transportation was its pride and joy. The subway and maglev, the fuel-cell-powered buses and electric rickshaws, made it easy even for someone who was not rich to get around with a modicum of efficiency. Having more resources at his disposal than the average visitor, Anil managed quite well.
Finding his son and his son's whore, however, was another matter entirely. For one thing, he had no idea what the trollop looked like. Before he had ceased communicating with his family Taneer could not stop from going on and on about her purported beauty. A bottle of mercury was also beautiful, Anil knew, and equally lethal if swallowed whole. The woman-thing was incidental to his search. Find Taneer, and he would find them both.
He had already posted his son's most recent picture, together with a substantial reward for information. The Net was a beautiful thing. For years now it had extended its reach even into the poorest villages. Illiterate farmers had learned how to use touch-screens to check the buying prices of various commodities. People who could not read could match portraits to memories, and vote. Sagramanda was home to many millions of technologically sophisticated people. Anil felt that if anyone saw his notice and reward offer and then caught a glimpse of Taneer on a city street, they would know how to respond.
So far, the communicator in his pocket had been silent on that score. He had programmed in a special ring for the line that would connect him to anyone having the information he sought. The device also enabled him to stay on top of business matters back home.
People in their hundreds swirled around him as he stopped outside a small food stall. It was one of dozens that lined the shady side of a wide sidewalk near the small but clean businessman's hotel where he was staying. Fragrant smoke filled the air as various kinds of meat and vegetables were rapidly turned on open gas and charcoal grills whose metal bars were burnt black from decades of charring thousands of meals. He had asked around before settling on this one as a regular hangout. Though he could afford much fancier food than roti and dal, that was the traditional fare he had grown up eating every day. It would not feel right to have anything else for his midday meal.
Gripping the insulated paper wrap that made it possible for him to hold the hot unleavened bread with its load of lentil puree (and a little chicken—he was particularly hungry today) in the thick fingers of his left hand, he seasoned it with some ambal and took a big bite as he turned up the street. He had several people to meet today. One worked for a private investigation agency that had been highly recommended to him by a fellow businessman back home. No avenue would be left unexplored in the search for his renegade offspring. The honor of the entire Buthlahee family was at stake and, as the family patriarch, everyone was relying on him to do the right thing.
Not for the first time, and in spite of himself, he found himself wondering just how this Dalit girl had managed to enchant his son. Taneer was intelligent, sharp, educated, and for a young man not yet thirty, quite sophisticated in the ways of the world. Yet he had thrown away everything, everything—future, family, honor—for this Untouchable woman. Perhaps hypnotism was involved, though Anil was not sure he believed in that. Considering himself a modern man, he did not lend much countenance to sorcery, either. Drugs seemed more likely. Had this mercenary whore turned his son into some kind of addict? When they had last spoken, and argued, Taneer had been angry. But he had not sounded drugged.
Could it just be natural attraction, then? Or rather, unnatural attraction. Could she be that beautiful, that seductive? Trying to imagine himself lying with an outcaste girl, he shuddered. It nearly put him off his lunch. He found himself eyeing other women on the street; some in Western dress, some in saris, others in the amalgamation attire that had recently become popular.
Get a hold of yourself, he thought firmly. You have a good wife, and other children. You are not here on holiday. Resolutely, he refocused his gaze on both the task and the street ahead. An overloaded donkey treading a fine line between sidewalk and motorized traffic was complaining about its load of electronic components. Past and future, Anil ruminated as he eyed the anc
ient beast of burden. Then the donkey let loose a flood of urine, and the determinedly homicidal businessman from Puri had to sidestep like an odissi dancer to avoid having his shoes drenched.
Sanjay could hardly believe his luck. First, he had escaped the unexpected late monsoon downpour simply by being aboard the transfer bus when the storm had struck. Then, it had let up just long enough for a silent electric transport to disgorge its load of tourists in front of the long line of shops of which his was one. When the intermittent storm had returned with full force the steaming, soaking gray downpour had driven the ill-prepared visitors into the shops, whose proprietors waited to greet them with open arms, wide smiles, hot tea, and hastily inflated prices.
Sanjay made out as well as any of his neighbor merchants. With so much tourist largesse to spread around, there was none of the occasional acrimony that bubbled up when one lucky shopkeeper succeeded in monopolizing the clientele. Not for the first time, Sanjay thought he should add some T-shirts to his inventory. It took a lot of space to display them properly, but the profit margin was substantial.
It was while he was contemplating this potential expansion of his stock that a local gentleman entered. Sanjay sized him up swiftly. About his own age, the visitor was dressed modestly but was exceedingly well groomed. It was almost as if he was deliberately dressing down. For what reason someone might do this, Sanjay could not imagine. In contemporary India, the style was to flaunt it if you had it. Sanjay himself had no compunctions about showing off his fine wrist communicator or designer running shoes. Perhaps this gentleman's better clothes were all with his laundry-wallah.
Though he pretended to inspect the shop's offerings, it was clear from the moment the man entered that he was no tourist. Feigning disinterest, Sanjay missed nothing as he followed the visitor's movements. Occasionally he would find himself diverted to attend to another potential customer. Interestingly, and strangely, each time someone else entered, it seemed to unsettle the man.
Shit or get off the pot, Sanjay thought, employing a favorite metaphor an American tourist lady had once explained to him in her careful English. If the man was too uneasy to approach him…
“Excuse me,” he said with a smile, “may I help you, sir? Are you looking possibly for something in particular? For a lady, perhaps?”
Unexpectedly, the man looked alarmed. “What makes you say that?” From his tone Sanjay could tell that this odd caller was an educated person.
“Is it such an unusual thing to ask, when a man looks at silver and amber jewelry for almost an hour without inquiring about anything?”
Sanjay had a smile that was all the more winning for being genuine, instead of manufactured like that of some of his fellow shop owners. It relaxed his edgy visitor—a little.
“No, I suppose it is not. I am not here shopping for a woman. I am, in a way, shopping for myself.” He glanced significantly at the door. “Would it be possible for us to have some privacy?”
Sanjay hesitated only briefly. He had owned his business long enough to recognize a potential robber on sight, and this peculiar visitor was not one. The man's look, his voice, even his clothing were all wrong. Sliding his fingertips over the appropriate contacts on his gold bracelet, Sanjay locked the door, darkened the windows, and activated the shop's security bubble.
“There,” he announced when he was done. “No one can see us; no one can hear us.” He indicated the window. “We are safe from infrared scopes, directional microphones, and all manner of eavesdropping equipment. Is that enough privacy for you?”
Tension leached out of the man like steam from a safety valve. “My friend was right. You are as vigilant as he claimed.”
“Please, have a seat.” Directing his guest to the chair opposite, Sanjay sat down behind his counter. Without thinking and despite his preliminary appraisal of the visitor, he made sure that the safety was off on the drawer that concealed the loaded pop-up gun. “What friend was that?”
“No need to bring his name into this.” Taneer had to fight not to keep glancing in the direction of the door. The shop owner's assurances notwithstanding, the street, after all, was still very close. “Or mine.”
Sanjay shrugged. Whatever game his visitor was playing, the rules would no doubt eventually be spelled out. “As you wish. What shall I call you?”
“‘Mohan’ will do.”
Sanjay had a quick response. “But you're not, are you?”
It brought the first hint of a smile, which did not linger long. “My friend told me that you have many interesting contacts on the street, and that you sometimes deal in items not usually found in tourist gift shops.” When Sanjay started to reach for the relevant hidden sample drawer, Taneer raised a hand. “That's not what I'm interested in. I need an intermediary. An honest broker.” The intensity in his voice matched that of his stare. “The most important thing is, my friend said you were discreet and reliable.”
“I am very much flattered, sir. I come from a small, poor village where sometimes all a man has to offer are such intangibles.” He indicated their surroundings. “I am convinced it has helped me to get where I am today. So. I take it, then, that you are not here to buy, but that you have something you wish to sell?”
Taneer nodded.
“Can I see it?” Sanjay prompted him. “What is it? Gold? Jewels? Pre-nineteenth-century artifacts? Please be at ease. I assure you that I can be most conveniently ambivalent where provenance is concerned.” He hesitated only momentarily. “Drugs? Restricted pornography?”
His visitor took a deep breath. Bending over in the chair, he reached down and removed his right shoe. The heel, interestingly, rotated sideways beneath his fingers to reveal a hidden compartment from which “Mohan” withdrew a tiny metal case. Utilizing his own control bracelet, he entered a combination that unlocked this. It contained a single molly-sphere. A small one, no bigger in diameter than the tip of Sanjay's little finger. The man handled it as if it were a flawless hot pink diamond.
“That tells me nothing.” When it came to business, Sanjay could be disarmingly direct. “I surmise it most probably contains information you desire to sell.” His visitor nodded confirmation. “I am sure you will tell me how and to whom you want it offered. But first you must tell me what you want for it. Your asking price.”
Taneer held out the molly. “Before we get to that, you need to know that this is a copy. Not to insult you, but without periodic electronic reactivation by me, the information it contains will simply evaporate. So there's no point in anyone trying to take it by force. As to potential buyers, I'll give you the names of several companies with offices or representatives in the city who I think will be interested in what I am offering.
“Your task will be to find a safe and respected means of engaging them through a third party. You will act as my primary agent in this. No one else is to be involved except yourself and whoever you choose to use as your own intermediary. That way, you will be in contact with me and this other individual, while they will have contact only with you and the eventual buyer. As I will never have any dealings with this third party, they will not be able to identify me to anyone else who might be looking for me. While I realize this arrangement is slightly cumbersome, it will put another level of separation between myself and the final purchaser. It will be more time-consuming, and will cost me more because two commissions will have to be paid, but the added distance provides a necessary additional level of safety.” Changing tack, he scanned the area behind the counter.
“Do you have an old-style, free-standing calculator? One with a simple built-in readout and no integrated projection unit?”
Removing the requested device from a drawer, Sanjay pushed it across the countertop. His visitor tapped on it briefly, then slid it back. “The information I have for sale will be sold by single bid, one chance only. No negotiations, no auction. The bids are to be submitted in a format and at a time I will specify later.” He tapped the calculator's faded readout screen. “This is the figu
re I expect to sell at. Your commission, if all goes as well as I hope, will be one percent.”
Sanjay almost rose angrily from his chair. What a waste of time this had been! he thought. An imposition on his hospitality and his good nature! Then he saw the figure the man had entered.
It nearly did not fit on the calculator's readout.
He sat back down, scowled at the figure. “There is a mistake. Your finger must have weighed too long on the zero.”
“No.” Taneer spoke quietly, folding his arms in front of him. “There is no mistake. That is the correct figure. In U.S. dollars.”
Now Sanjay knew it had to be a mistake. Either that, or his visitor was an exceptionally well-dressed escapee from one of the city's many asylums. The smile he had been wearing ever since the other man had entered was in danger of disappearing permanently. “You are most unkindly playing some kind of game with me. This is a joke.”
Taneer shook his head slowly from side to side. His expression was completely sober, dead serious. “Am I smiling? Have I been acting like someone with nothing better to do than spend my afternoons playing bad jokes on people I've never met before? Do you think I have spent as much time in this shop as I have already in order to leave with nothing more than a smile?”
Sanjay's mind was racing furiously. Though he was good with figures, he knew he was not a fast thinker, or a deep one. He was smart enough to know his limitations. What this stranger was proposing, if it indeed was not all part of some elaborate joke being played on him by a friend or acquaintance, or a reality vit show being recorded by a hidden camera, was so far beyond anything he had dealt with previously, even in his business with Bindar, as to border on the inconceivable.
So, in his usual direct manner, he said as much.
“That's why I'm here, presenting this proposition to you now,” his visitor explained. “There are others who were recommended to me that I could have gone to; more sophisticated, more knowledgeable, with access to more extensive resources than you and your little business.” Sanjay took no offense at these words. He had never regarded the truth as insulting. “But they are also much more likely to be watched, to be under observation.”
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