She stormed up to Sanath, but he was too focused on his call to notice. ‘Please,’ he was saying. ‘Please meet me. Only for 10 minutes. Only once. After that, you can go on with your life. I’ll never trouble you again. But just once … I need to see you.’
Feeling like she had been pummeled in her chest, Maya backed away with clattering steps. Sanath turned around and, when he saw Maya, grasped her elbow.
Furious though Maya was, she couldn’t wrench herself from his gentle grip. Despite herself, she waited.
Sanath was still and silent as he listened to the voice at the other end. ‘Please. I’ll be waiting for your call,’ he said finally, and looked at the instrument in his hand with wounded eyes.
‘Was that your girlfriend?’ Maya snapped, red spots on her cheeks.
‘What?’ Sanath asked. ‘What girlfriend? Maya, are you OK?’
‘No, I’m certainly not OK,’ Maya screamed, words emerging like hot lava. ‘Why did you invite me for the dance if you like someone else so much? Why’re you wasting your time with a shy, geeky schoolgirl when all the cool crowd loves you so much?’
Sanath looked closely at Maya and released her elbow. ‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ he said. ‘I was not talking to a girlfriend.’
‘Then who?’ Maya demanded in a flinty voice. ‘Who were you talking to? Who’s making you so miserable? I’m sick of this. Why did you pretend to like me? I need to know. Did … did … Owais and Minty and the rest of them … did they tell you to become my friend?’
Sanath looked away, and in that heartbreaking moment Maya knew she was right. Tears filled her eyes, and she turned to leave.
‘Maya, I’m sorry,’ Sanath said, putting an arm around Maya’s heaving shoulders. ‘Please listen for a minute. Owais, Amara and Minty asked me to … well … to become your friend. That’s how it began. But then everything changed. Every time I spoke to you, I liked you more and more. I promise I’m not pretending anymore. Oh God, don’t cry Maya. Sit down for a minute.’
Maya wanted to storm off, slam doors, smash plates. But she wanted to know as well, and this might be her only chance.
‘How can I believe anything you say?’ she asked, plonking down on the verandah floor and slumping against the parapet. ‘And why? Why did you listen to them? Why would you do such a wretched thing?’
Sanath sat next to her, bowed his head and traced a pattern on the smooth Kota floor. ‘When you heard me just now, I wasn’t talking to a girlfriend,’ he said so quietly that Maya had to strain her ears. ‘I was talking to my mother.’
‘Your mother?’ Maya gaped.
‘I’ve never told another soul, but I’d like to tell you,’ Sanath said. ‘So that you understand.’
‘You once asked me why I came to Mumbai. The answer is very simple and has nothing to do with academics and summer schools. I came to find my mother.’
Maya shivered. A grey premonition filled her head.
‘I was born in Colombo. My father’s from a very rich family, and he spent his life partying rather than working. I never knew my mother. She vanished one day, when I was about six months old. I was brought up by nannies. As I grew up I felt more and more alone and became obsessed with the idea of finding my mother.’
‘I started asking questions about her when I was about 12. But there was a wall of mystery around her. My grandmother hated her. My father had loved her – but couldn’t forgive her for leaving. Nobody could tell me much. Where she was from. Why she had left. Apparently she had just vanished one day, with all her clothes and jewellery. It was as if she had never been.’
‘That’s awful,’ Maya whispered, forgetting that she officially loathed Sanath.
‘It was and it wasn’t,’ Sanath said. ‘There were patches when I was too busy with my life to care. I read books, I played cricket. But there were periods when I was desperate to find her. To meet her for five minutes even. To know where I had come from. To feel connected.’
‘My father had many girlfriends and travelled all the time. When the political situation in Sri Lanka was bad, we would just move to London or Los Angeles or wherever his new girlfriend wanted to go. But three years ago, he fell very sick and began spending some time with me. One day—quite out of the blue —he started talking about my mother. He told me that she was from North India. That she had been beautiful and charming and that she had an older daughter from an earlier marriage. The child was around seven when they both disappeared.’
Sanath stopped, swallowed and stared at the scuffed wall of the verandah. The amber shafts of sunlight had disappeared, the traffic outside had abated, and the birds were busy preparing for bedtime. ‘You can’t imagine how I felt when I found out I had a sister. I was furious that nobody had told me about her. I felt excited that I was not alone. But more than anything, I wanted to meet her.’
‘My father searched for my mother and half-sister when they left, but he never found a trace of them. Not in Sri Lanka, not in India. The only thing of any importance that my mother left behind was a sheet of paper. It had gotten caught at the back of her dressing table drawer and the maid found it months later when she was cleaning out all the half-used lipsticks and brushes and things.’
‘That was one of the only other things I knew about my mother,’ Sanath added with a caustic laugh. ‘That she loved make-up.’
‘What did the paper say?’
Sanath reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He clicked on an image of a grubby, crumpled sheet of paper scrawled with hasty notes in a black marker pen. It looked as if the notes had been jotted during a phone call. The sheet was jagged at the side, as if snatched out of a diary or notebook.
‘This sheet of paper brought me to St Paul’s,’ he said, handing the phone to Maya.
Maya looked down at the picture, but it took her some time to understand what she was reading.
111 — April 2016
If no message earlier – meet at St Paul’s College – Bombay, India
Owais
Carminta
Aniruddh
Amara
C
Pieces of a sinister puzzle began to shift into place. Unable to look Sanath in the eye, Maya stared at the words and willed herself to be wrong.
‘What did you do?’ she asked, as twilight tiptoed into the verandah.
‘I decided that whatever else I did with my life, I would come to St Paul’s College in the summer of 2016. Even if it was futile. Even if I was clutching at straws. It was the only chance I had of ever meeting my mother and sister. I had to seize it.’
‘I arrived in Mumbai around two weeks ago.’
Maya was holding her breath without realising it. ‘Then?’ she exhaled.
‘The funny thing is that almost the first person I met on campus was Owais. By some quirk of fate, I was his roommate. The next day I met Amara and Minty.’
‘Carminta. So Minty’s real name in Carminta,’ Maya said.
Sanath sighed. ‘I knew I was in the right place. For the first time, I allowed myself to really hope.’
‘What did you do?’ Maya asked.
‘Owais and I became friendly,’ Sanath replied, lapsing into a distracted silence before picking up the thread of his narrative. ‘After a couple of days, I asked him if he knew my mother. He denied it. So I asked Minty, who also denied it. But she seemed to know something.’
‘Then?’ Maya demanded.
‘Then, three or four days later, Amara and Minty had a chat with me. They said that if I really wanted to find my mother, they would help, but I had to do a small favour for them. I had to pretend to like you and date you. Maybe find out a few things about you. They seemed to think it was a huge joke.’
‘Oh,’ Maya said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Sanath put a hand on her knee, and again she felt soothed by his citrusy scent and crisp cotton. ‘But the funny thing is, the minute I got to know you, I really liked you. Every time I met you, I felt a pull. You are funny and smart and so p
retty. When I asked you out, I really wanted to be with you.’
‘That’s convenient,’ Maya retorted. She remembered the way her heart had soared when she’d hobbled next to Sanath on her way to the cobbler. How overjoyed she’d been when he sent her messages. What a fool she’d been. ‘I’m glad your chore didn’t disgust you. And I hope you were well paid for your efforts.’
Sanath sighed again. ‘I deserve that,’ he said. ‘It was wrong of me, Maya. But I was in it too deep.’
‘But I really started worrying when those terrible things started happening to you. You were attacked in the college. Then your dog was poisoned. I began to suspect that their interest in you was more than a silly joke. And when I heard them laughing over Aniruddh, and what he did to you in the chapel, I wanted to kill them.’
Sanath clenched his sinewy hands and looked at Maya with a tormented expression. ‘I really understood how low they were, and how far I was sinking. But I also wanted to find my mother. And my sister.’
‘Did they tell you to invite me to the social?’ Maya asked abruptly. She had to know this more than anything else.
‘No. I invited you because I like you. I can’t forget the feel of you when we walked to that cobbler. I can’t forget your face when you screamed at Minty. And when you said you’d come to the social, I felt the first moment of happiness in a long time. I realised that—even if I never met my mother and sister—the world wouldn’t end.’
Maya turned her face because she didn’t want him to see the glow on her cheeks. ‘And did you get to meet your mother?’ she asked instead.
‘I’ve spoken to her on the phone thrice,’ Sanath said. ‘She keeps promising to meet me, but every time I try to force it, she withdraws. I can’t understand why. But there are other things I can’t understand, either.’
‘What?’
Sanath paused and collected his thoughts. ‘Just think. That sheet of paper that I showed you is 17 years old. How did my mother know, all that time ago, that Owais, Amara, Minty and Aniruddh would be here in the summer of 2016? How do all of them know my mother? And why do they hate you so much?’
‘Hate you. Hate you.’
The words fell like pebbles on the smooth stone floor of the verandah. Maya didn’t dare answer Sanath’s questions. Not now. Maybe not ever.
Instead, she asked a question of her own. ‘What is your mother’s name?’
‘Chhaya,’ Sanath replied. ‘Her name is Chhaya. And she has green eyes.’
CHAPTER 44
Maya was so distraught when she got home that her mother insisted on taking her temperature and force-feeding her Electral. ‘Why are you falling sick so often?’ she asked. ‘Maybe your father’s right. I’ve been pushing you too hard.’
Maya looked up astonished. Mr Anand was never right – at least in the world according to Mrs Anand.
Mrs Anand was dressed in full artillery. A mustard silk saree with a golden border, a thick gold choker, four fat bangles and dark-pink lipstick. The cheerful colours and glitter clashed with her strained expression and dark circles.
Maya’s raw silk churidar kurta was ironed and waiting. But Maya couldn’t bring herself to go to the wedding reception. The thought of the fairy lights and music and double-edged bonhomie turned her stomach. ‘I wish we didn’t have to go either,’ Mrs Anand said for the 20th time. ‘But Mr Vaidya would feel so hurt. I wish you would come along. Or, at least, that Lakshmi bai could come and keep you company when we’re away.’
Maya rolled her eyes. ‘I’m almost 15, mummy. I’m used to staying alone.’
‘Yes. But the entire building will be at the wedding tonight. Somehow, I don’t feel good. Whatever can possibly go wrong is going wrong. Your father’s office problems. Your health. All those falls you’ve been having. Your Mr Pinkwhistle. Even the washing machine is giving trouble.’
Maya felt horribly guilty. Every single thing was her fault – except, perhaps, the washing machine.
Maya drank her chicken soup and retreated to her room. She got ready for bed, haunted by the image of a poor little rich boy in Sri Lanka who pined for his mother. Then she thought about the mother in question, and her hair stood on end.
‘Maya, we’re leaving,’ her mother called from outside the bedroom door. ‘Be careful. Go to sleep early.’
The front door banged shut and Maya picked up her phone, steeling herself for more bad news.
Lola was going nuts.
‘So much 2 tell.’
‘Where u?’
‘Raz is a cutie. He’s coming for the social.’
‘Call!!!!!’
‘U found it?’
‘What top u wearing with skirt 2morrow?’
‘We dress 2gether?’
Maya knew she should call Lola and hear all about the hakka noodles encounter. But she needed to sort things out in her own mind first. So she tapped out a brief message. ‘Come for lunch tomorrow. Aloo parathas OK? Then we can dress and chat.’
‘Have lots to tell u 2’ she wrote. Then deleted it. She had lots to tell – but daren’t tell a soul.
Veda, too, was hysterical.
‘Call me.’
‘Where are you? Can’t get through.’
‘Has something happened????’
‘Need to tell you what prof said.’
‘Urgent. Urgent. Urgent.’
The next set of messages were from the 8787 number.
‘Have you found it?’
‘For your father’s sake, give us the key.’
‘Tomorrow is your last chance.’
‘Pratik leaves on Tuesday. After that too late.’
‘Your father will pay the price.’
Maya sensed desperation behind the bluster. The Shadows knew their allotted time was trickling away. The thought filled her with wicked delight. ‘Shiver, stay awake at night,’ she exulted. ‘Wonder what it will feel like when your skin starts to shrivel and shred. When creatures of the grave start feasting on you.’
Maya could feel herself tumbling into a pit of scalding poison. Hatred and anger bubbled around her. ‘The darkness will become a part of you,’ Maya could hear the professor’s warning from a distance. ‘Be careful.’
Clutching onto her old self with the tips of slippery fingers, Maya pulled herself away from the loathing and triumph. She thought of Goddess Lakshmi standing sentinel over the roofs of Mumbai. She visualised the white Haji Ali Dargah, like a pearl against the pewter waters of the Arabian Sea. She recalled the saints glowing in the luminous windows of the St Paul’s Chapel.
She thought of The African Tulip tree, with its fat flowers like red Pichkaris. And of Lola’s infectious giggle and Veda’s encyclopedic mind. ‘Don’t let me become like the Shadows,’ she begged. ‘Don’t let them take me away from me.’
Jumping up, Maya splashed her face with cold water. Then she brushed her teeth and plaited her hair. Then, because she could push it no longer, she picked up her phone, called Veda and winced when an angry voice bawled in all caps. ‘WHERE ON EARTH HAVE YOU BEEN? I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD.’
‘I … uh … was unwell.’
‘‘That’s rather self-indulgent of you. Things are falling apart, and you are worrying about a headache or a cold or whatever.’
‘I’m sorry, Veda. What did Professor Kekobad say?’ Maya felt like an actress playing a part that was only half-learnt. She really didn’t care about what the professor had said, or about anything beyond her conversation with Sanath.
Sanath and his mother with the green eyes.
‘Professor Kekobad was dismayed,’ Veda said primly. ‘He’s also afraid that the Shadows might realise that we’ve tricked them and come after you. He’s very worried about your safety.’
‘I’m fine,’ Maya replied automatically.
‘Maya, listen to me. Just get the keys to college tomorrow night when you come for the social. It’s just better if they are hidden somewhere neutral. Both the professor and I agree.’
Maya reached out and gave
Donkey Do a protective hug. She would feel much easier if the keys were anywhere other than her bedroom. But what about the promise she had made to Father Lorenzo? To Wagle, Mr Pinkwhistle and Father Furtado? What about her father and his troubles? How could she just opt out now?
‘One more thing,’ Veda was saying. ‘Professor Kekobad thinks he knows who has the third key. I’m not supposed to tell you, but I can’t keep it to myself. I’m too upset. But remember, it’s all in the realm of conjecture.’
‘Who?’ Maya snapped to attention.
‘Remember, he is innocent until proven guilty.’
‘Veda, much as I appreciate your brains, this is not the time to talk like some pompous chatshow. Is it anybody we know? Just give me a name.’
Veda was silent for a beat and then blurted out her weighty secret.
‘Father D’Gama.’
‘What?’ Maya’s synapses went on strike. ‘But, but, Father D’Gama is a proper historian. He’s written books. He’s not a Shadow.’
‘Yes,’ Veda sounded disillusioned. ‘I really, really respected him. I thought he was a great teacher.’
‘But why does Professor Kekobad suspect him? I know they don’t like each other, but what’s the proof?’
‘There’s no real proof, which is why Professor Kekobad hasn’t said anything. But I begged him to tell us whatever he suspected,’ Veda said. ‘Apparently Father D’Gama’s been in and out of the chapel for the past couple of weeks, tinkering with the piano and shifting heavy objects. Professor Kekobad can hear things through the door that connects his office with the chapel.’
‘But that could be anything,’ Maya countered, and then wondered why she was standing up for Father D’Gama, of all people.
‘Just listen Maya, instead of acting like Theodore Boone,’ Veda snapped. ‘Apparently, Father D’Gama is most interested in you. He got all your details from the college office – your address, your parents’ details. Professor Kekobad finds it strange and irregular. Which you have to admit, it is.’
‘Oh,’ Maya said, feeling exposed. Suddenly the house felt empty and ominous. She wished her parents would hurry home.
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