Veda cleared her throat. ‘Aadil,’ she declared. ‘He has an amazing visual sense. A filmmaker’s eye. If the stained glass shows places in Mumbai, Aadil will figure them out. So why are we trying to reinvent the wheel?’
‘Because we don’t trust him. Because he doesn’t want to help us.’
‘That’s not fair,’ Veda retorted. ‘He’s a bit afraid. But he’ll help us identify those structures in the photograph. He can do in 10 minutes what will take us 10 hours. And honestly, I don’t have those 10 hours.’
Maya knew that was true. But she couldn’t bring herself to trust Aadil. Something about the way he spoke and dressed gave her the helly-jellies. ‘Have you been telling him … about what we’ve been doing?’ she blurted out. ‘You know … about going to the Zoology lab and finding the key …’
‘A few things,’ Veda retorted. ‘So what? I’ve known him forever. I trust him. And he’s intelligent. Unlike some others.’
Maya refused to rise to the bait. ‘Did Aadil know we would be in the Zoology lab that day?’ she asked, slicing through Veda’s monologue.
‘Uh … ummm … I’m not sure,’ Veda mumbled. ‘I just might have mentioned it.’
The hard knob of hurt and suspicion lodged in Maya’s stomach began to dissolve. Maybe it was not Lola who had betrayed them that day, but Aadil. Or somebody else. ‘Please,’ she thought. ‘Let it not be Lola. Or Sanath. Anybody else but not them.’
‘I don’t know if we should ask Aadil,’ she told Veda firmly. ‘Let me think about it, and I’ll call you.’
CHAPTER 33
Dinner was a miserable meal. Mrs Anand’s signature Leek and Cheese Pasta was as moist and delicious as ever, but nobody had seconds.
Mr Anand tried hard to behave normal, but the effort showed.
Mrs Anand kept glancing around the dining room and shaking her head. The Anands had their own apartment in Mumbai, but it was in the suburb of Goregaon. They’d moved into Pine View when Maya was three, and this was home.
Mrs Anand couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. She didn’t want to live anywhere else. She enjoyed her tiffs with Mrs Mirpuri and her surreptitious chats with Mr Ranglani. She loved Colaba, with its church bells and fishy breeze and abundant trees.
Maya couldn’t bear to see her parents so devastated. ‘All my fault,’ the words pounded in her head like a drum beat. ‘All my fault. All my fault.’
Somewhere between the pasta and the caramel custard she made up her mind. Back in her room, she sent Veda a brief message. ‘Ask Aadil.’
The reply came suspiciously quickly. ‘Tmrw at 10. Asiatic Steps.’
Five minutes later, the phone vibrated again.
‘Find one key by 4 tmrw. Inquiry will be cancelled. Apology given. After that not poss.’
The next morning, Maya arrived at the Asiatic Library with gritty eyes and a sore heart. She trudged listlessly up the wide steps leading to the former Town Hall, with its eight imposing columns.
The Asiatic Steps were the perfect setting for romantic encounters and ice cream breaks with friends. They were the backdrop for fashion shows, photo shoots and happy, bouncy-haired advertisements. But, on a summer morning, only the foolhardy and frantic would dare perch on the baking steps under the merciless sun.
Maya was frantic. So frantic that she barely noticed the heat. Her thoughts ran in her head on a loop. ‘Just six hours to find the key. Is it possible even? Just six hours. And we are not even close.’
A tall, lanky boy crossed the road talking on his mobile, and for a heart-lurching moment Maya thought it was Sanath. But, of course, it wasn’t. Whatever else this Saturday morning brought, it wasn’t blushes and soaring violins.
Instead, the morning brought Veda and Aadil in a dented silver car.
‘Hop onto my trusty steed,’ Aadil said, and Maya gawped when she saw that today he was dressed like a cowboy, complete with hat and tasseled jacket. So much for discretion and unobtrusive detective work.
Aadil found a parking spot along Horniman’s Circle and wedged the car at an alarming angle. ‘I hope this is legal,’ he sighed petulantly. ‘The policemen are in a rapacious mood on Saturday mornings, and I am a magnet for parking tickets. Veda, my pear, please note my many sacrifices at your altar. Now how can I help you ladies? I’ve seen the photographs of the stained glass windows on Veda’s phone. But you have some jottings as well.’
Maya opened her mouth to explain, but Aadil held up a firm hand. ‘On one condition. Nobody must guess my involvement.’
‘We only want you to identify the buildings on the stained- glass windows,’ Veda wheedled. ‘Then you leave.’
‘Turncoat, traitor, coward,’ Maya wanted to shout. But there was no time for bickering. Also, she had the sinking feeling that the same words would soon apply to her. After all, she was planning to hand over the key to the Shadows. What could be worse?
So she plastered a smile on her face and pulled out the stapled sheets. She handed them to Aadil, who studied each image with careful attention.
For the first time, Maya caught a glimpse of the person behind the theatrical mannerisms and flamboyant clothes. After five contemplative minutes, Aadil pulled out a picture from the bunch and tapped it with a stubby finger. ‘Who’s this gentleman with the unflattering headgear? What’s his story?’
‘Why? Do you recognise something?’ Veda demanded. ‘It’s that Saint Hom something or the other.’
Maya leafed through her notes. ‘St Homobonus. Generous merchant. Patron saint of tailors, merchants and businesspeople,’ she rattled out. ‘His window shows a market scene. Also a large, brown building with a small, pointed tower that’s standing in an open space.’
Aadil nodded. ‘Merchants. Market. I have a theory. Let’s test it. Whoops.’
He turned on the ignition and ploughed straight into the car parked in front of him. There was a loud crash, but Aadil exhibited little remorse. He extricated the car without further misadventure, and they hiccupped along as Prince blared from the music system. Unperturbed that he was missing toes and elbows by mere millimeters, Aadil sped past VT Station, cut across two lanes of traffic and screeched to a sudden halt.
‘Careful, careful,’ Maya moaned from the backseat. But Prince drowned out her protests:
‘I only wanted to see you
Bathing in the Purple Rain’
In any case, Aadil was staring straight ahead with laser-sharp eyes. ‘What do you think?’ he asked.
Both his passengers looked out of the window at lumbering buses, swarms of pedestrians and hoardings for umbrellas and shoes. ‘What exactly are you talking about?’ Veda asked.
‘Crawford Market, of course,’ Aadil said, pointing to the sprawling brown building looming behind a sea of cars. ‘Do you think your saint with the fetching red cap and unpronounceable name is offering patronage to Crawford Market?’
Both girls stared at the grimy, brown building with its patches of blue plastic and veil of scaffolding. It was marooned in a vast parking lot, aswarm with trucks, mango-sellers and Saturday shoppers.
The stained-glass window dedicated to St Homobonus featured a handsome, brown building with gables and towers that stood in stately isolation on open ground.
Still, there was no doubt about it. It was the same building.
Saint Homobonus had brought them to Crawford Market.
Maya looked at the substantial building with fresh eyes. ‘I only think of Crawford Market as a place filled with rats, and cheap peanut butter and pickpockets. I never even realised that it had all those slopy roofs and arches or even a tower.’
‘A clock tower,’ Veda corrected.
‘Yes, my precise papaya,’ Aadil said. ‘Now where? A policeman is heading straight towards us with a mercenary smirk. My Marathi isn’t up to an explanation about dead priests and zombies and suchlike. So let’s roll.’
The car spluttered to life and Aadil joined the river of traffic. ‘Were you able to recognise any of the other pictures?’ Veda asked.
‘Not immediately,’ Aadil replied. ‘I wouldn’t have recognised this either, but the business about merchants gave me a nudge. I visualised the brown building in the picture with traffic and people and merchants everywhere, and suddenly the answer emerged.’
Aadil nosed the car into a Definitely-No-Parking spot near Bombay Gym and stopped. ‘Let’s look at the other pictures,’ he said. ‘Now that we know how Father Lorenzo’s mind worked …’
Maya handed him a picture of the first window. ‘St Andrew and St Peter,’ she said, checking her notes. ‘The picture shows the sea, fishing boats and a strange white structure – half gate, half building with a sloping roof and a short tower. It looks very familiar but—’
‘All right,’ Aadil said, abruptly dropping his languor. ‘Look at the picture closely. Then imagine it swarming with people. Fisherwomen and their baskets of fish. Cars and buses. Imagine driving past it.’
Veda snorted rudely. But Maya focused on the white structure and embellished it in her imagination. ‘How dumb I am!’ she yelped suddenly. ‘I pass it every single day. How could I not have recognised Sassoon Dock?’
‘Are you sure?’ Veda wailed. ‘Sassoon Dock? That’s the place where the fishermen bring their catch every morning. I’m not going there. The place stinks. I am pure vegetarian.’
‘Well … almost sure,’ Maya hesitated.
Aadil didn’t wait for further discussions. He started the car and raced through Fountain and Colaba Causeway. As the car approached the briny, shrimpy environs of Sassoon Dock, Maya’s phone vibrated. With trembling hands she pulled it out and noticed that it was almost noon. Only four hours to deadline.
The message was from Lola. ‘When r v shopping and dropping?’
Maya didn’t have a chance to answer.
Veda was protesting loudly, clamping a yellow hanky onto her nose. So Maya pulled out the little perfume bottle that Lola had given her, and dabbed a drop on Veda’s hanky.
Then she concentrated.
Sassoon Dock was where fishermen landed with their silvery hauls every single morning. It was where you went to buy the best pomfrets and Bombay Duck and shrimp. It was busiest at dawn but, even now, drippy, odiferous baskets were being stuffed into taxis by rude women in bright saris. Maya didn’t notice any of this.
She was staring at the long, white gate bisected by a squat, squarish tower. ‘It’s the same,’ she exhaled. ‘See.’
Veda grabbed the picture, forgetting about her vegetarian sensibilities and compared the picture with the reality. ‘Another clock tower,’ she remarked. ‘I didn’t realise that there were so many clock towers in Mumbai. Did you?’
‘Oh, there’re quite a few,’ Aadil replied. ‘They were erected at a time when most people didn’t have watches. The public clocks helped people to get to places on time. A photographer’s done a really nice series about the clocks in the city. Rajabhai Clocktower, obviously. And another in the Naval Dockyard. You, know, near Lion’s Gate. And … what did I say?’
Maya and Veda were goggling at him. With that one sentence Aadil had cracked the clue wide open.
‘A clocktower in the Naval Dockyards? Are you sure?’ Maya demanded. ‘Saint Brendan. Patron saint of sailors, mariners and the Navy! Maybe that long, white wall behind him is the Naval Dockyard.’
It took less than a minute on Google to confirm that Maya was right. Saint Brendan had led them to the Naval Dockyards. And its round, white clocktower.
‘We are getting hotter and hotter,’ Aadil exulted.
‘Only one more left. Saint Jerome,’ Veda agreed. ‘Patron saints of scholars, librarians, libraries, archaeologists, students.’
‘In short, patron saint of Veda,’ Aadil quipped, glancing at the picture of the erudite saint reading a book. In the background, there was a substantial brown mansion with arched windows. And a short tower.
‘Another clock tower?’ Veda asked.
Aadil was already tapping away on his phone. ‘Looks familiar?’ he sang, displaying a picture of a brown building with arched windows and blue, white and orange tilework. ‘It’s the David Sassoon Library at Kala Ghoda and it has a clock tower.’
‘Four out of four,’ Veda beamed. ‘Okay, let’s organise this in our heads. The stained-glass windows show Crawford Market, Sassoon Dock, the Naval Dockyard and David Sassoon Library. They all have a clock tower. So what does it mean? Is the second key hidden in a clock tower?’
‘Is there a clock tower in St Paul’s?’ Maya wondered.
‘Plenty of clocks, half of them not working,’ Aadil replied. ‘But I’ve never seen a clock tower at St Paul’s.’
‘So now what?’ Maya said, overwhelmed by that awful so-near-yet-so-far feeling. And the sense that time was ticking by. ‘What do we do now?’
‘We’re missing something,’ Veda said. ‘Be quiet for a minute. Let me think. Why are you so jumpy today, Maya? I can’t think if you keep hurrying me … the Latin inscriptions. That’s what I wanted to see. Maybe they will point us in the right direction.’
Maya leafed through the pad and found the inscriptions. Outside the car, traffic whizzed past and fisherwomen went about their business. Inside the car, there was nervous silence while the two girls read the inscriptions.
To you I will give the keys of heaven
All things have their time
Raise your face to the stars.
Seek and you shall find
If you seek a monument, look around you
‘All things have their time,’ Veda exclaimed. ‘This is clearly about clocks. Maybe we need to look at a particular clock in college?’
‘Yes Veda, my Totapuri. But which one?’
‘I’m not the one with x-ray vision or the big filmmaker,’ Veda shrugged, while Maya reread the translations and began ticking each with a black ballpoint pen.
‘All the inscriptions make sense now,’ she said finally. ‘Except the third one. What does that mean? Raise your face to the stars?’
Veda snorted. ‘Don’t look at me. I think we should go home and wrap up our homework. Haven’t you heard the quote, “Ideas are like wandering sons. They show up when you least expect them.”’
‘Veda, please—’
‘Raise your face to the stars … which saintly soul does that inspiration come with?’ Aadil asked. ‘The fisherman? The sailor? The librarian?’
Maya shuffled the increasingly grimy stack of papers and fished out the least rumpled of the bunch. ‘Saint Anthony,’ she said. ‘The Saint of Lost Objects. The middle window. The one without an obvious clue.’
‘Yes,’ Veda nodded. ‘All the other windows show docks and boats and markets and things. But there’s nothing behind Saint Anthony. Only a mosaic of black and yellow stars.’
‘Stars,’ Maya exclaimed.
‘Raise your face to the stars,’ Aadil repeated.
All three examined the stained-glass pattern behind St Anthony. It was an intricate design created by black and yellow interlocking stars.’
Looking at it, Maya felt a tug of recognition. ‘I’ve seen this recently,’ she murmured, half to herself. ‘But where … at St Paul’s …’
‘St Paul’s is full of this sort of stuff,’ Veda dismissed. ‘Patterns with crosses and flowers and leaves. You could be thinking about anything.’
‘Oh,’ Maya said, starting to feel unsure. ‘I’m sure it was black and yellow stars. But where. Not in the chapel … I don’t know … somewhere filled with light …’
Aadil suddenly let out a whistle. ‘Black and yellow stars. Veda, my blind banana, shame on you. Of all the people in the world, you should recognise this. Your feet have trodden on these very stars a few thousand times.’
‘In college?’ Veda demanded.
Aadil shook his head. ‘I’m not sure I want to wade any deeper into these murky waters,’ he said. ‘I’m heading home now for a nice mutton dhansak and a nap.’
‘Aadil, tell us,’ Veda said sternly. ‘Then go home and do what you want. But tell us
first.’
‘Who is this Gaucho Amigo / Why is he standing in his spangled leather poncho …’ Aadil sang with Steely Dan on the music system, while he started the car.
‘Aadil, why—’
‘I’m going to drop you two near that kaala-pila taxi and go my way,’ Aadil announced.
‘No. I won’t get out of your car till you tell us,’ Veda challenged.
‘You’re welcome to partake of my mutton dhansak,’ Aadil quipped. ‘Have you changed your herbivorous ways?’
‘Aadil—’
‘Aadil please,’ Maya said in a voice heavy with tears. ‘Please. This is important.’
Aadil turned to look at Maya and shook his head. ‘The floor of the St Paul’s library. Look at the pattern.’
Maya’s eyes widened. ‘You’re right. That’s where I saw it. On the first day my pen fell and … the tiles are black and yellow and in a star pattern …’
‘OK,’ Aadil interjected. ‘Not another word. I don’t want to know anything. I’ll drop you near Regal and then it’s farewell.’
Veda and Maya got out of the car near Café Mondegar and waved. Aadil waved back. ‘I hope I won’t be reading your obituaries tomorrow.’
As wishes go, it was a good one.
Maya’s phone vibrated and she checked the message. Two words that filled her with dread.
‘Tick tock.’
CHAPTER 34
‘Will the library be open on Saturday afternoon in the middle of the summer holidays?’ Maya asked Veda for the millionth time as they walked along Azad Maidan towards St Paul’s.
Maya was trying her best to hustle Veda, who plodded along blathering about the heat and her allergies. ‘The afternoon sun is really bad for my migraine,’ she panted as they crossed the road. ‘Couldn’t we have done this on Monday?’
Veda had insisted on eating an idli at a clamorous Udipi restaurant near VT. Then she’d sipped slowly on a coffee and lingered over fruit custard. It was a minor miracle that Maya hadn’t stabbed her with the greasy cutlery.
It was already 2.30 p.m.
Tick tock.
What Maya Saw Page 21