What Maya Saw

by Shabnam Minwalla

  ‘And the history that Bombay has seen

  On a verdant island I once lived

  Before I was smashed to bits.’

  ‘Yes, that one,’ Maya said. ‘Who do you think Father Lorenzo means? What consort and queen? We just can’t figure that out.’

  Professor Kekobad sipped from a cloudy glass of water and put it down with an unsteady hand, spilling drops onto his notes. ‘One of the Queens of Britain. Queen Elizabeth was already on the throne by 1956. While Queen Victoria has always been a major presence in the city. So one of them I imagine.’

  ‘Queen Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth Nursing Home,’ Maya muttered. ‘That’s where my mother was born.’

  ‘That is to do with Saint Elizabeth, the patron saint of pregnancy,’ Professor Kekobad corrected. ‘Not Queen Elizabeth.’

  ‘Oh,’ Maya said. ‘Saints, saints everywhere. But not a miracle to spare.’

  The other two stared and Maya reddened and muttered, ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Somehow I don’t think that in newly independent India, we would have named places after a new British queen,’ Professor Kekobad said. ‘It’s possible, of course, but not probable. But when we were young, Victoria was a formidable presence in the city. Railway terminals, colleges, gardens, statues. She was everywhere.’

  ‘VT Station,’ Veda chimed in. ‘Victoria Terminus.’

  ‘Victoria Jubilee Technical Institute,’ Professor Kekobad added. ‘All the names have been changed now, of course. It is the easiest way to shed our history and humiliations. To act as if our past never happened. I am touching upon this shifting nature of history in my book about Bombay.’

  ‘What about the consort?’ Maya asked. ‘Elizabeth is married to Philip, right? And Victoria was married to …’

  ‘Her beloved Albert,’ Professor Kekobad supplied. ‘She went into deep mourning after he died and wore black for 30-odd years of her life. So queen and consort would mean Victoria and Albert. Perhaps.’

  ‘Victoria and Albert,’ Veda said. ‘There’s a Victoria and Albert Museum in London. But is there a Victoria and Albert anything in Mumbai?’

  Maya was shaking her head blankly when Professor Kekobad banged his desk. ‘The Victoria and Albert Museum, of course,’ he coughed. ‘How could I have forgotten? Age is a terrible thing. It fogs the mind. How could I, a city historian, overlook it?’

  The professor coughed, groped in his desk for a small bottle, shook out an oversized yellow tablet and swallowed it.

  ‘Is there a Victoria and Albert Museum in Mumbai?’ Veda asked doubtfully. ‘I’ve never heard of it.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve heard of it, my girl,’ the professor said, choking. ‘But by its new name. The Bhau Daji Lad Museum. What did I tell you about changing names and obfuscating history? It’s happening before our very eyes.’

  Maya was eager to avert another coughing fit. ‘Do you mean the museum next to the zoo in Byculla?’ she asked quickly. ‘The one with all those small statues of fishermen and goldsmiths and old maps? We went from school once.’

  ‘I’ve been at least thrice,’ Veda agreed. ‘I never knew it was called the Victoria and Albert Museum. But actually, it’s a museum that documents the history and people of Bombay. So the second line of the stanza makes sense now.’

  ‘But what about the stuff about the verdant island and smashed to bits?’ Maya wondered. ‘Should we check on Google?’

  Professor Kekobad stood up, switched off the single light and grumbling fan. ‘I don’t understand your generation at all. Why would you stare at a phone screen when you can see the real thing? The museum is just 20 minutes away. Go now.’

  ‘Now?’ Veda asked, looking faint. ‘Is it okay if we miss your class?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ the professor said. ‘Today, I’m going to send the class out to identify objects of historical importance and to find the stories behind them. Your trip to the museum more than qualifies.’

  Veda swallowed and tried not to think of unconventional weapons—shock-giving wires and falling trees—that may be lying in wait for her. ‘I’ll go and get my bag from class and I need to check something with Father D’Gama,’ she muttered. ‘Maya, wait here. I’ll be back in five minutes.’

  ‘OK. I may pop into the chapel. I wanted to look at the saints once again.’

  ‘You and your saints,’ Veda snorted and rushed away.

  Professor Kekobad locked his office, while Maya pushed open the chapel door and stepped into the welcome hush. She wandered up to the five stained-glass windows and peered at the jewel-toned figures. The photographs that she had taken on her iPhone and printed at Ready Steady were too blurry and indistinct to yield miniscule details.

  One of the saints, she noticed, was holding a rod from which dangled a little fish.

  Another saint was sitting and reading a book.

  The middle window showed a young man with a serene face, holding a chubby baby.

  Another was wearing a flat, red cap and carrying a tiny bag.

  While the last of the saints seemed to be on a ship.

  Maya was so occupied with these glimmering glass portraits that she jumped when the chapel door opened. She turned, expecting Veda. But instead, a young man stepped inside, walked to a pew, knelt and bowed his head. He was attractive in a rugged, outdoorsy way.

  Trying not to stare, Maya turned to leave the chapel. Her phone vibrated so she fished it out and read the message from Lola.

  ‘Where r u?’

  ‘Chapel,’ Maya typed, wondering whether it was blasphemous to text in the presence of saints and worshippers. It felt wrong, somehow.

  She was about to drop her phone into her bag when she caught the first whiff. An odour, that was sweetish and sickening at the same time.

  Maya looked around but there was nothing to see. The curly-haired boy was still kneeling at his pew. The saints were still gazing down from their perch. The sins and virtues were still parading on the dusty screen behind the altar.

  The whiff vanished for a moment. Grateful, Maya opened her mouth to take a gulp of clean air and found herself swamped by the stench, as thick and clingy as tar. Gagging and filled with inexplicable terror, she clasped a hanky to her nose and hurried towards the door.

  Then two things happened all at once. The boy from the pew stood up and stepped into the aisle. And Maya identified the smell.

  The odour of a rotting corpse.

  Dumbstruck, she stared as the curly-haired boy grinned and strolled up to her. ‘Nice to finally meet you, Maya,’ he said, flashing white teeth in his sunburnt face. ‘I’ve heard so much about you. About how uncooperative you are.’

  He took a swift step forward, and held Maya with iron arms. She opened her mouth to shriek, and at that moment he leaned over and kissed her hard.

  His lips felt like a pulpy, decaying banana. Maya retched.

  The boy moved his head back a few millimeters and smiled, releasing gusts of rotten breath, ‘No more games. Give us the diary. Give us the clue you found in the gargoyle.’

  Maya struggled, but she was no match for the squelchy mouth and iron arms. ‘Help,’ she cried in her head to the saints, to the Goddess on the lotus, to Veda. ‘Please. Help.’

  No one rushed to the rescue. Like a burrowing maggot, the smell slithered deeper into Maya’s nose, her mouth, her eyes. Her head started filling with the thick silence of the grave. Her being was filled with a terrible hopelessness. She started to go limp.

  Just then, the chapel door creaked open and a voice exclaimed, ‘I’m so sorry.’

  The door began to creak shut again.

  Maya dragged herself out of the blackness. ‘Don’t go, don’t go,’ she tried to signal, and managed to kick a pew with a frantic foot. It made a feeble thuck thuck before her leg was pinned down. But that was enough to still the door. Once again the voice spoke. ‘Is everything OK?’

  Maya managed a glugging sound deep in her throat. ‘Is everything all right?’ The voice was a little sharper now. ‘I need to know
that the girl is fine.’

  ‘Of course, she’s fine,’ the boy lifted his dead lips for a moment but encircled her neck with a muscular hand. ‘I’ve just come back from Nepal and we’re happy to see each other again. That’s all.’

  Maya tried to scream, but all the oxygen seemed sucked out of the room, out of her lungs. Her vision blurred – when suddenly there was a loud thump and yells. The iron hands loosened their grip, the smell receded and Maya concentrated on breathing.

  When she opened her eyes, two anxious faces were gazing at her.

  Lola and Charles Brown.

  Lola spoke first. ‘Are you OK? Who was he? How dare he?’ she almost screamed. ‘I hope I hurt him badly.’

  ‘You hit him?’ Maya asked, retching at the memory of those spongy, sweetish lips.

  ‘She did, and it was most impressive,’ Charles Brown said with a faint smile. His British accent added to Maya’s disorientation, to the feeling that she was wandering through a dream.

  ‘Who was he?’ Lola asked again. ‘How could he like do this to you? In daylight? In a chapel?’

  ‘I’ve never seen him before,’ Maya whispered, scrubbing her mouth with her hanky. ‘It … was … disgusting … the smell … can you smell it?’

  Lola shook her head. ‘I can’t smell a thing,’ she said. ‘You’re just reacting to being attacked. It was like lucky I came in time. And Professor Brown was there too. So nothing like major happened.’

  Charles Brown shrugged, which made him look more like Hugh Grant than ever. ‘I’m sorry it took me a few moments to realise that you were … that you were … being imposed upon.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Maya said, through numb, sandpapered lips. ‘I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come.’

  ‘It’s a good thing that I was looking for Father D’Gama. But I expect your friend with the lethal handbag would have tackled him anyway. No thanks due to me. Perhaps, though, you should report this incident to the police. I can accompany you, if necessary.’

  ‘No, no,’ Maya said, trying to put on a normal, I’ve-bounced-back face. ‘The police will probably say it happened because I was wearing a sleeveless top. I don’t think they’d take a kiss very seriously. I just want to go home.’

  ‘But we can’t allow matters to end here,’ Professor Brown protested. ‘Maybe we should inform the college security. Or at least the teachers.’

  ‘I just want to go home,’ Maya said on a sob.

  Charles Brown backed away. ‘Yes, yes,’ he murmured, turning to Lola. ‘It’s been traumatic for her. If you need me as an eyewitness at any time, I’m more than happy to help.’

  ‘I’ll take her home,’ Lola said, and jumped to her feet.

  Maya stood up, gathered her bag and phone and snuck a last look at the saints. She owed them a Thank You.

  She waved at Charles Brown and forced her jelly-legs to take one tottery step at a time.

  Lola was silent till they reached the far end of the quadrangle. Then she turned to Maya with a grave expression. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked. ‘I know something’s been bothering you for like days and days. I haven’t known you long, but I feel I know you well. Please tell me, Maya. Maybe I can help. Come, you need to clean up and drink something. And then we need to talk.’

  Maya shivered. She wondered if she would ever be free of the stench clogging her mouth and the images of death that filled her head. She wondered if she would ever feel safe again.

  ‘Where’s Veda?’ she asked Lola, feeling panic-stricken. ‘She was supposed to be here ages ago? Could something have happened to her?’

  Lola looked puzzled. ‘I don’t think that creep was rampaging through the college attacking all the super brains in sight,’ she said. ‘Check your phone. Maybe she’s sent a message.’

  Maya pulled out her phone and felt both relieved and irritated when she spotted Veda’s curt message. ‘She’s gone home. But surely she could’ve popped into the chapel and told me.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Lola replied, leading the way to the canteen, ordering two watermelon juices and heading to a secluded corner table. ‘But I’m not letting you change the topic. Tell me what’s happening. Please, please, please. You’ll feel better.’

  Maya took two sips of the sweet, summery juice. Then she took a leap of faith.

  ‘It all began on the first day of the Summer School. It was lunchtime, and I was sitting in the library. I saw something moving at the far end of the library.’

  The words tumbled out till finally there was nothing left to say.

  For a moment, Lola was perfectly still. Then she got up from her chair and hugged Maya. ‘I don’t know if I’m Vitality or whatever,’ she said. ‘But I do know that I’m going to help. So come on, what are we waiting for? Let’s go to the zoo!’

  CHAPTER 25

  The zoo and the Bhau Daji Lad Museum were closed on Wednesdays.

  Lola figured this out with help from Google. But after bemoaning their luck for a bit, she bounced back. ‘Let’s crack the other clue. The one about the Goddess,’ she suggested. ‘My family’s full of temple-hoppers. And Lakshmi’s like a favourite. For obvio reasons. Read out the clue.’

  Maya hesitated. ‘Shall we go to my place?’ she suggested. ‘I’d feel safer there. And … well … I’d really like a long shower. You can’t imagine how yucky I feel.’

  ‘Oh Maya,’ Lola reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘It was bad enough when I thought you had been attacked by an ordinary guy. But the thought of being kissed by a ghoul-thing with jackfruit lips, it’s beyond gross. Of course we’ll go to your place. You shower, I’ll talk to my devi-loving family. And maybe your mum can make us her world-famous-in-Colaba nimbu pani!’

  ‘She’ll do better than that,’ Maya promised. ‘She’ll make her world-famous-in-Colaba-Post-Office pav bhaji.’

  Maya made a quick call home. Then the two girls flagged down a cab – one with an especially unlovely, unShadowlike driver. ‘Sorry,’ Maya said. ‘I’m a bit paranoid.’

  ‘I understand,’ Lola chortled. ‘But did you have to choose a cab in its terminal stages? Will it make it past the next signal? I bet not.’

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to be an optimist?’ Maya asked as the taxi’s door handle fell to the floor with a clatter.

  ‘An optimist is not the same thing as a moron,’ Lola pointed out, trying hard to suppress a guffaw. ‘Oh wait. Before I forget. I have something for you.’

  She plunged her hand into her sequined satchel and pulled out a tiny perfume bottle. ‘They were giving out free samples in the mall on Sunday, and I picked this one specially for you. Read what it says. I think it describes you perfectly. Whatever that Priti of yours says.’

  Maya turned the tiny bottle in her hand and read the orange card that came with it. ‘Vivace: For the intelligent woman, with a spring in her step and a sparkle in her eye.’ ‘Thank you Lola,’ Maya said, inhaling the joyous fragrance of orange-blossom. ‘I really, really love it.’

  ‘No big deal,’ Lola laughed. ‘Okay, now we can get down to business.’

  Dumping her bag on the sagging seat of the taxi, Maya dug out her pad, flipped to the last page and read the second stanza of the clue:

  The Goddess of Wealth stands so high

  A lotus grand raises her to the sky

  She grants favours to the building below

  While I watch all those who come and go

  Lola pondered for a moment, then said, ‘It doesn’t sound like a temple, does it? Still, let me ask around. Someone’s bound to know.’

  ‘Definitely,’ Maya agreed.

  An hour later, Maya and Lola had to admit that their confidence had been misplaced. Lola had spoken to one aunt, two uncles and a cousin. Maya had spoken to her mother, who had unearthed a Very Knowledgeable Priest. No one knew anything about a Lakshmi statue raised to the sky. At least not in Mumbai.

  ‘Now what?’ Lola asked, after getting off the phone with a garrulous great-uncle who had just delivered an
extempore lecture on the symbolism of the lotus. ‘If my Girgaum uncle didn’t know and your Matunga priest didn’t know, then this statue is not religious. It’s something else. I think we need to talk to a different kind of person.’

  ‘Like whom?’ Maya asked, toweling her wet, leaf-scented hair and flopping onto her bed.

  ‘Like a kulfiwala or a knife grinder or someone,’ Lola said.

  ‘Who?’ Maya squawked. ‘A knife grinder? I really wish Veda was here. She would have tackled you with a knife – perfectly ground or grinded or whatever.’

  Lola giggled. ‘Obviously you’re feeling better. But what I mean is that we need someone who goes all around the city. You know, someone who wanders all over the place and sees things. It would have been easy to find someone like that in Bangalore. Mumbai is just too hectic. Nobody looks anywhere except at the bumps and puddles. And at their phones. Not a single person has even heard of this statue!’

  ‘You don’t think it’s been demolished, do you?’ Maya asked, agitated. ‘After all, this was 60 years ago.’

  ‘It’s there,’ Lola replied with stainless steel determination. ‘We just have to ask the right person. In Father Lorenzo’s time, it may have been very visible. Maybe now it’s hidden behind buildings and advertisements. But someone will know.’

  ‘Maybe a travelling salesman.’

  ‘Maybe a courier.’

  ‘Maybe a crow!’

  Lola and Maya racked their brains for a bit. ‘Who would know?’ Lola asked for the hundredth time, as Mrs Anand slid warm golden pavs onto their plates. ‘Aunty, this pav bhaji is amazing. Thank you so much.’

  ‘Most welcome,’ Mrs Anand said. ‘Still no luck with the Lakshmi statue? What random homework they give you. We are not a religious family, which makes it even more difficult.’

  ‘No luck at all,’ Lola said. ‘We’re trying to think of people who might have noticed it while they are, like, moving around the city.’

  ‘Like a knife grinder,’ Maya supplied with a snigger.

  ‘Hmmmm. Taxi drivers,’ her mother said. ‘Or delivery boys. Is this assignment for many marks?’

  ‘It’s a matter of life and death,’ Lola said. ‘Taxi driver is not a bad idea.’