What Maya Saw

by Shabnam Minwalla

  ‘Veda,’ she said. ‘I need to tell you something. Please.’

  ‘We have an assignment,’ Veda replied. ‘And I don’t know about you, but I care about my grades.’

  ‘Please,’ Maya repeated. ‘I’ll be quick. Just give me five minutes.’

  Veda fished out a Bisleri bottle from her sensible, not-quite-leather bag. She arranged the books that she had pulled out from Father Furtado’s cupboard into a neat pile on her orange lap. Then she relented, ‘Five minutes.’

  Maya took a deep breath and launched into her story. ‘It all began on the first day of the Summer School. I went to the library at lunchtime when I saw something strange …’

  Five minutes zoomed by – but Veda didn’t stop her.

  Twenty minutes later Maya was done and, after a moment of utter silence, Veda asked, ‘Will Professor Kekobad vouch for you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Maya said.

  ‘Do you believe all this yourself?’ Veda asked.

  ‘I think so,’ Maya murmured.

  ‘Then I’m glad you stopped me from telling Amara,’ Veda said. ‘Your story sounds insane. Something out of a bad fantasy book. But actually most cultures have tales about creatures like the Shadows. I always thought they were legends. But if Professor Kekobad believes that they exist …’

  ‘He’s not …’ Maya hesitated. ‘He’s not … senile … is he?’

  ‘He’s more clever and sane than you and me rolled into one,’ Veda snapped. ‘It’s tough for a schoolgirl to understand.’

  Maya bristled. Over the last hour, she’d forgotten quite how much she disliked Veda. ‘Cow,’ she thought. ‘Queen cow. Why do we have to be on the same side? It would be so much more fun to be hanging out with supermodels and superhunks and breaking benches under the banyan tree.’

  Veda, though, had quite forgotten her rudeness of 30 seconds ago. ‘If you possess perception and I possess knowledge,’ she mused, ‘I can think of only one person who represents vitality.’

  ‘Who?’ Maya asked. ‘It could be anybody.’

  ‘No,’ Veda snorted. ‘It’s hardly likely to be Mandira and Sharanya and that bunch that spends half their life in Zara. Or even that chattering, limping girl you hang out with. Or those moronic boys who only talk about Star Wars.’

  ‘Then who?’ asked Maya, though she had a bad feeling.

  ‘Aadil,’ Veda said. ‘We’ve been in school together since we were four years old. We’ve been together at St Paul’s for three years, and we are the two toppers. He asks the most incisive questions. He’s always the one who forces discussions in new directions. It has to be him.’

  Maya opened her mouth and then shut it again. She could hardly tell Veda that Aadil was smarmy and fake. That she found his affectations, his purple shirts and yellow suspenders irritating. Still, she tried. ‘By vitality, I think Father Lorenzo meant energy. I know Aadil is clever but I’m not sure …’

  Veda spoke over her tentative protests. ‘He’s full of drive and energy. You’ll see yourself. Let’s find him and then meet Professor Kekobad. There’s a lot we need to discuss.’

  Veda marched out of the Zoology department and Maya trailed behind her.

  She should have been relieved that Veda was taking charge. Instead, she felt irritated.

  ‘Epic summer holiday!’ she quipped to herself. ‘Meeting a bunch of beautiful people who turn out to be almost-zombies. Then becoming BFFs with the two most tedious people in the class. Then hanging around places filled with skeletons. Who wants to go to Goa, when you can have all this?’

  CHAPTER 10

  Lunch was a doleful affair. Maya was too distracted to be good company. Lola kept shooting her odd glances. And the Manchurian sandwiches were a soggy disaster.

  All around, students were munching on crisp dosas and drinking juice. The trackie gang was sprawled at the next table. Only, today they were wearing long, swirly skirts in jewel hues, tinkling with silver jewellery and sipping Cokes. Maya wistfully wondered whether they actually decided a dress code for each day. And a drinks code as well. What must it be like to be part of such a group? To be cool and popular and effortlessly pretty?

  ‘Apparently Owais has got an offer to act in a movie,’ orange skirt was saying.

  ‘Seriously?’ red-and-silver skirt asked. ‘He’s hunky enough but there’s something … I don’t know … something a bit spaced out about him. A little off.’

  ‘Grapes are sour?’

  ‘You’re so lame!’

  ‘Is he dating Minty? Or Amara?’

  ‘Minty the Model seems to have switched to Sri Lankan Sanath. She’s all over him these days. Thanath Thweety,’ aqua skirt mimicked, causing much merriment.

  Maya eavesdropped with all her might.

  So the girl with the soft brown hair and Beanie Boo eyes was called Minty. Minty the Model. The name suited her. She looked as sugary as candy. Enough to give St Paul’s diabetes.

  ‘I heard the weirdest thing in the world about that Pratik Purohit,’ Mandira was saying, looking around and lowering her voice, so Maya could only hear chortles and scandalised squeals.

  Maya wondered how they would react if she contributed her own tidbits about Owais and Amara to the gossip session. Not too well, she imagined.

  Amara and Owais were sitting on their usual bench under the banyan tree. Owais was laughing, but Amara looked upset. Her curls were tangled and unkempt – as if she’d raked them with furious fingers.

  Maya stared at the golden couple under the banyan tree. Today, they looked like regular teenagers – only more beautiful and sophisticated than most. There was no sign of blood. Or of bony, grey horns.

  Just then, Sanath walked up to Owais.

  Maya’s heart clenched. All day, a nasty doubt had rubbed at her mind like a pebble in a shoe. Try as she might, she couldn’t remove the hard, poky ball of suspicion.

  ‘Not that it makes a difference to me,’ she thought, as she chewed on a gingery, sludge-coated carrot. ‘It’s not as if Sanath will even notice me. I’m the mousy girl in the ugly yellow thing. But still, he can’t be a Shadow. Please, he mustn’t be a Shadow.’

  Maya sighed. Probably for the twentieth time in 15 minutes.

  ‘Is something the matter?’ Lola asked, breaking the strained silence. ‘You sounded so zoned out when I called you earlier to find out where you were. I couldn’t hear properly but you were saying really odd stuff. And now you seem like so upset. Maybe I can, like, help.’

  Maya’s eyes filled with unexpected tears. ‘Thanks, Lola,’ she said, flashing a weak smile. ‘I don’t know if I can talk about any of this right now. But I’ll tell you about it one of these days. Except that you’ll think I’m quite mad. And I … forget it …’

  ‘Mad doesn’t bother me one bit,’ Lola said, dusting the crumbs from her white dress. ‘But sad bothers me lots.’

  She opened her mouth to say something and closed it.

  ‘What?’ Maya asked.

  ‘Basically,’ Lola replied. ‘I was thinking of going shopping this afternoon to Colaba Causeway. Can you come? I’ve heard there’s some epic stuff available. I’ve never seen that part of Mumbai.’

  ‘Oh,’ Maya cried. ‘I would love, love, love to take you to Colaba Causeway. It would be such fun. But we have to meet Professor Kekobad after class.’

  ‘We do?’ Lola asked. ‘Why?’

  ‘Veda, Aadil and me,’ Maya mumbled.

  ‘Ooh, the Big Brain Club,’ Lola quipped as they stood up and strolled towards the classroom. ‘OK. Have fun with your new besties. What about tomorrow? It’s Saturday. You free?’

  Maya beamed. ‘Yessss. I’ll show you all the famous shops. The guy who sometimes has Abercrombie jackets. Then the shop that keeps Zara tops for 200 bucks. Then the shoe shop that has the coolest shoes in aqua and flu pink.’

  ‘How come you don’t wear any of that?’

  ‘It’s just that I’m never sure what will fit and look nice. So my mum ends up buying my clothes from her favourite sho
ps. And online. And her taste is a bit … a bit … staid.’

  ‘Never fear. Makeover Expert Lola is here. With 17 top tips on how to wear your hair, brighten up your wardrobe and change your image.’

  ‘Come over to my place after the shopping. It will be such fun. And we can stop at Theobroma for milkshake and a sandwich,’ Maya suggested, brightening up.

  ‘Okay. It’s a date,’ Lola declared as they bounced into Lecture Room 113. ‘There’s nothing that a little bit of shopping can’t cure. Agree?’

  ‘Oh, absolutely,’ Maya gurgled. And then looked up to see Veda and Aadil in a huddle.

  In an instant, her happy anticipation was clouded with foreboding. Before she could buy aqua slippers, try out funky hairstyles and eat strawberry tarts, she had an ordeal to survive.

  Maya really didn’t want to think about it.

  CHAPTER 11

  At 3 p.m., Maya stood outside Professor Kekobad’s study. She knocked on the door embedded with red and yellow glass squares, but no one answered. At the other end of the quadrangle, students streamed out in a relaxed procession.

  ‘Awesome …’

  ‘What film’s running at Metro?’

  ‘Did you see her red pants …’

  Maya wished she too could hurry away, hop into a taxi and return to safe, familiar Colaba. To a long shower, a tall glass of Duke’s Lemonade and her dog-eared copy of ‘Rebecca’. ‘Maybe they’ve all forgotten or changed their minds or something,’ she decided. ‘If nobody shows up in five minutes, I’m free.’

  The seconds ticked by slowly. For no real reason, Maya thought back to a time when she was 10 years old. She and Priti had believed that spotting a red mail van on the way to school was their very own lucky charm – and on red mail van days they felt invincible. Maybe today was a red mail van day, after all, and she would be able to get away from this creepy mess.

  Three minutes, four minutes, almost free. ‘In 30 seconds, I’m leaving,’ Maya told herself. ‘If nothing happens in 30 seconds, I’m released from all this nonsense. I’m going and never coming back.’

  At that moment, the heavy, wooden door of the chapel groaned and Maya knew she was trapped.

  ‘Here you are,’ Professor Kekobad said, poking his head out. ‘I thought it would best if we had our little discussion in the Chapel. Veda and Aadil are already here. Come in.’

  Maya stepped through the arched door, queasy with fear and Manchurian sludge. But as soon as she entered the chapel, with its arching vaults and honey-coloured floor, she felt soothed. Even Aadil and Veda couldn’t puncture its tranquility – and Maya gulped in the air tinged with incense, old stone and prayers.

  Professor Kekobad pointed to a handsome pew, and Maya sat down. He sank onto another pew and spoke. ‘I hardly need to tell you that what we discuss today stays strictly among us. If anybody asks about this—a concerned parent, an inquisitive friend—I will deny all knowledge. In fact, I will cast aspersions on your sanity and the repercussions will be ugly.’

  ‘Another caution,’ Professor Kekobad continued, ‘trust no one. No one at all. The Shadows may not possess attributes of fairy-tale monsters. They can’t fly. They do not have superhuman strength. But they read people. They sense their weaknesses – and they exploit those weaknesses to make those people their slaves. It may be easy to identify the Shadows. But not so easy to spot those who are under their spell and working on their behalf.’

  ‘Look with suspicion at everyone. At new friends. At strangers on the road. Even at teachers. The Shadows reinvent themselves every few years. They flit from one corner of the world to another. They are people without roots. So trust no one, especially those without an obvious history.’

  Maya blanched. How could you survive even a single day if you trusted no one? If you greeted every friendly overture with suspicion? How lonely it must be.

  ‘Maya?’ Professor Kekobad yanked her out of her reverie. ‘Pay attention. You are safer than us because you can see the souls of the Shadows, but you are also in graver danger because you can feel their anger and despair. You will need to guard yourself against that darkness, so that it doesn’t overwhelm you.’

  Professor Kekobad scrutinised Maya, as if she might have turned black-hearted during a single lunchtime, then returned to his tale. ‘I was telling Veda and Aadil the same story that I told you this morning.’

  ‘A rather Gothic tale,’ Aadil piped in. ‘House of Horrors meets ‘Himachal ki Bhootni’.’

  The professor disregarded the frivolous remark. ‘For many years, I wondered if what we heard that night was the rambling of a disordered mind. To be honest, it’s only over the last month that my doubts fell away. And today—finally—all that Father Lorenzo predicted has come to pass:

  “But there will come a time when the Shadows will gather

  When thirst and desperation will drive them out

  When Vitality, Knowledge and Perception must join hands

  Before the battle can be fought.”’

  Maya tried to banish the image that these words evoked – pale creatures with yawning mouths and frantic eyes, swarming into the chapel in the dead of night. Sprouting horns and leaking blood.

  ‘Are there many Shadows out there?’ she asked with a catch in her voice.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Professor Kekobad rasped. ‘There are so many questions that we never managed to ask. May I continue?’

  Maya subsided into silence. ‘Kekobad the Control Freak,’ she thought. ‘Has a very bossy streak.’ Professor Kekobad resumed his tale before Maya could complete her rude ditty (probably not a great loss to literature).

  ‘Only a handful of people knew about the glass bottle. Father Lorenzo’s superiors in Italy, and two colleagues in Mumbai. But someone betrayed him. Perhaps someone here. Perhaps someone there. Soon after the War ended, Father Lorenzo realised he was being watched. His room was ransacked twice. He sensed that the Shadows were waiting for him to carry the bottle back to Europe. So he took a bold decision. He created a hiding place in Bombay. In his chapel. Under the watchful gaze of his God.’

  Professor Kekobad paused, and Maya looked at the sturdy wooden cross on the wall. At the Latin phrases in the stained -glass windows. At the saints with upturned eyes. All unlikely security guards – but they seemed to have performed their task.

  ‘One day, Father Lorenzo sent notes to three young college students. Why he chose us we never knew. That night he told us his story and showed us a heavy, silver box from Tibet. The box had a unique locking and security mechanism. It needed three keys to be unlocked. Any attempt to force the box open would lead to the destruction of its contents.’

  ‘Furthermore, if the box fell or suffered any impact, the contents would be instantly destroyed. Which is why nobody has dared to carry the box away for the last 60 years. It was the perfect box for his purpose.’

  ‘Did he hide the box?’ Veda asked.

  ‘No,’ Professor Kekobad said, struggling to his feet and walking past the altar to a niche in the wall. With a trembling finger he pointed to a flat box about the size of an unabridged dictionary. ‘The box remains in full view and has done so for 60 years.’

  ‘But … but …’ Maya stuttered.

  ‘Father Lorenzo did something much more intelligent. He hid the keys instead.’

  ‘Where?’ Maya and Veda squawked in unison, staring at the silver box with its potent secret. ‘Where?’

  ‘That is for you to find out,’ Professor Kekobad replied in a matter-of-fact voice, almost as if he were asking them to buy a kilo of sugar.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Why?’

  The questions spilled out. But Professor Kekobad shook his head. ‘If I had answers I would give them to you. But my job is that of a caretaker. That of a bridge between divided generations. Father Lorenzo needed us only so that we could pass on his message to you.’

  Professor Kekobad’s little audience looked bewildered. For once, Aadil resorted to plain-speak. �
�Professor, we need to clarify many things. You said that you only started believing this story over the last month. Why? What happened to change your mind? Why didn’t you try to find the keys yourself?’

  ‘For many years, I half-dismissed this as mumbo jumbo,’ Professor Kekobad said. ‘But about a year ago, I got the feeling that I was being observed. Nothing definite. A faint suspicion. Then last month, inexplicable events began to take place at St Paul’s.’

  ‘A gargoyle was smashed one night. A student broke into the principal’s office and vanished the next day. All these could well have been unrelated. But then three weeks ago, one of the security men was walking through the college late at night. He saw a flicker of light in the chapel and went to investigate. He was found the next morning, unconscious on the floor of the Chapel with the silver box by his side. He had a serious head injury and still can’t remember what happened that night.’

  ‘It was then that I realised that the Shadows were gathering at St Paul’s.’

  Aadil held up a stubby hand. ‘Professor Kekobad, you say the potion has been sitting safely for more than 60 years in the chapel. So why now? Why are these elusive creatures of the night arriving at St Paul’s after so many years of silence? Also, why are they fixated on this bottle of liquid? Why don’t they just return to the Himachal village for gallons of the good stuff?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Veda nodded, ‘that’s exactly what I can’t understand.’

  Professor Kekobad took his time to answer. ‘In 1905,’ he finally said, ‘there was a deadly earthquake in Northern India. In the Kangra valley. You can read about it on the Internet. Around 20,000 people died. Entire villages were destroyed. The village that Father Lorenzo visited was wiped off the face of the earth. Most of the villagers were probably crushed to death.’

  ‘Weren’t they immortal?’ Veda asked.

  ‘Don’t confuse immortality with eternal youth,’ Professor Kekobad said. ‘My understanding is that this liquid gives good health, strength and youth. But it doesn’t offer protection from accidents, fires or earthquakes. I presume most of the villagers died in the earthquake of 1905. Devastating landslides transformed the area. It’s probable that the spring with the smoky, golden waters vanished.’