by Sana Shetty
“Just so you know I am not going anywhere. Not till I find some answers; about my brother and about Jay. They were the two people in the world who meant anything to me other than you, Dinuanna and I am not running away. Not again.” When the old man gave no indication of having heard him, he gently closed the door behind him.
Something had woken him, he wasn’t quite sure what. Vedant rubbed his eyes sleepily, staring into the darkness. Everything was quiet. It had started raining again. He could hear the soft drizzle on the glass pane. Perhaps that was what had woken him. He pushed himself off the bed, to go close the window, when a soft scratching at the door made him stop and listen. Was somebody trying to open the door? Turning quickly, he hurried towards it, meaning to pull it open and surprise whoever it was. But to his surprise, the door wouldn’t budge. They hadn’t been trying to get in. They were locking him in!
He banged at the door and rattled it but it was locked on the outside. Maybe the lock is stuck, he thought, rattling it louder.
“Hello! Please! Is someone out there? My door is locked,” he shouted and was greeted with complete silence. He glanced at his watch. It was only 2.13 a.m. He tried the door again, it still wouldn’t budge. For a long time, he tried the door again and again, but it still would not open. Finally he gave up. Who would lock him in and why? As far as he knew there were only two other people in the house, beside him. Dinkar and Divya. Why would any of them lock him in his room? He tried hard to listen to any noise outside but there was complete silence, except for the noise of the crickets, from outside the house.
He must have dosed off, because when he woke up again, it was seven in the morning and light was streaming in through his window. Quickly, he walked to the door and tried it. It opened easily. So somebody had locked him in. He decided he would talk to Dinkar again. After a quick shower, he went in search of Dinkar and found him setting the table for breakfast. Divya was nowhere to be seen. Seeing him walk in, Dinuanna smiled his crinkly smile and greeted him. There was no trace of the fear or the hostility of the night before.
“Dinuanna,” Vedant decided a straightforward question would perhaps elicit a proper answer. “What is going on here?”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Stop playing games, Dinuanna. You know what I am talking about.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Somebody locked me in my room in the middle of the night and I want to know why. You and Divya are the only two people in the house. So who bolted my door from the outside? Was it you or Divya?”
Dinkar stopped pouring the tea and looked up at him; his glance piercing. “Locked you? Why would any of us do that?” Though he sounded surprised, Vedant could see his hands had started to tremble.
“That is what I want to know, Dinuanna,” he stared back at him.
Dinkar lowered his eyes as if he was concentrating on pouring the tea. He slid the cup in front of him and said, “You must be mistaken, Ved. Who would want to lock you in?”
“Dinuanna, there was somebody outside the door at night and when I tried to open the door, it wouldn’t budge.”
“Maybe the lock was stuck,” Dinkar said, evasively.
“It opened quite easily now,” Vedant said angrily. It did not look like Dinkar was going to be of much help.
“Ved,” Dinkar started to say something, when Divya walked in, tinkling as usual. Immediately, Dinkar threw him a pleading look and shook his head imperceptibly, as if begging him not to say anything in front of her.
“Never mind,” Ved whispered. “I’ll find my own answers.”
After greeting Divya a formal, “Good morning,” he began to walk away, when Divya asked a little shyly, “Aren’t you having any breakfast?”
“No, I am in a bit of a hurry. See you later,” he hurried out. He did not want to be answering any more questions about where he was going. In fact, he wasn’t sure where he was going himself, anyway. He walked out of the house into the small garden. He needed to see Raunak. Raunak would know what was going on. He stood staring at the hotel, his mind leaping from one possibility to another. Perhaps, he ought to have a look around Tarun’s office first. The police would have obviously searched the place but maybe Tarun had left some clue to give him an idea of what was going on here. After that he could go to the village, meet Misha and Raunak.
His mind made up, he set out across the huge grounds. This part of the ground, just behind the ruins was badly maintained. The grass was a little overgrown and the walls of the ruins had deteriorated so much that the bricks were spread all over the ground, covered with moss. In the daylight it looked much worse. Only the outer structure stood erect.
As children, they had been forbidden to enter these ruins. “Too dangerous” his father had cautioned, knowing fully well their penchant for adventure. Also, the ground inside was crawling with lots of snakes and poisonous beetles, so he or his friends never ever ventured into it.
Now, as he skirted around the place, he was surprised to see that even though the grass and the weeds had grown all over the place, a well-worn path snaked through it disappearing into the ruins. Maybe he hadn’t imagined that flicker of light the previous night. Maybe Tarun had been using the place for something. He walked a little closer. Wires, rusted pipes, old crushed bricks and other trash were strewn around the place. The damp stink of moss and rotting wood was overpowering and he took a step back. If Tarun had been using this place it would have been cleared out of all the rubbish, he thought. Maybe he was wrong. Shrugging, he continued towards the hotel, passing through the open grounds, which was used for organising parties and then through the swimming pool area. There were hardly any guests around. This was not the tourist season. Even the workers took time off at this time of the year. As he entered the back gate of the hotel, he spotted a burly man in security uniform, strolling towards him.
He smiled pleasantly and saluted him, “Can I help you?” Clearly, he was mistaking him for a guest.
“Yes, I am Vedant Birajdar, Tarun Birajdar’s younger brother. I want you to show me to his office.”
The man looked taken aback, then quickly gathering himself, said, “Sure, sir. But you wouldn’t mind if I confirmed with his wife, do you sir? I mean, I don’t know you personally.” He looked nervously, towards the grounds, behind Vedant.
“Sure. You can check with her, I will wait here.”
The man ran inside the small cabin, next to the entrance and dialled a number. From outside the glass door, Vedant observed him, as he spoke frantically on the phone and then listened intently, before nodding his head. He then laid down the receiver and grabbing a key from the hook, he hurried out, giving him a broad smile.
“No offence, sir. Just doing my duty,” he said. Vedant assured him it was okay and followed the man into the hotel. When the palace had been renovated and made into a heritage hotel, his father had made sure he retained the old charm of the place. The paintings and the stone walls were left well alone. Even the balustrade made of stone was the same. The floors had been changed to modern day tiles and all the rooms were fitted with modern toilets and beds. The main hallway with its high painted ceilings had been restored and Vedant realised that Tarun had also carried out some work on his own, especially in the reception area. The old furniture had been replaced by new couches and a water fountain in the middle. The walls had been redone. Inscriptions in Sanskrit, with English translations were put up like framed pictures. In-between these framed inscriptions, were huge metal artefacts of birds and animals. On one side was the receptionist’s desk, in a semicircle, with glass cubicles behind them. Men sat inside these cubicles, immersed in their work.
He could feel a few eyes on him, as he followed the security man into the office area and he sensed them murmuring amongst themselves. His guide had stopped in front of a room marked, “Tarun Birajdar” in bold letters on its wooden door. Using the key he had brought, he opened the door. Vedant stepped in and thanked him. When the man hesitated, he told
him, “Give me a few minutes. Leave the keys here and I will return them to you, when I am done.” The man bowed and exited, closing the door behind him.
When he was alone, he looked around him quickly. Nothing had changed much, except for the huge framed picture behind the chair of himself and Tarun, their arms around each other’s shoulders, smiling at the camera. Vedant stared at it. Tarun had missed him! He locked the door behind him and walked to the desk. It was neat, no clutter. If the police had gone through all this, it had been cleaned up by someone; probably Dinkar. So the chances of him finding anything was that much more remote, he thought with a sigh. Still, he rifled through the files that were neatly stacked on one side, trying to find something that would tell him what Tarun had been up to. Anything that would give him a clue or at least an idea of the sort of trouble he was in. There was nothing here, just normal day to day accounts of the hotel. He started to search the drawers. Nothing here either.
Disappointed, he sank back into the soft leather chair, trying to think. There was not much he had not known about his brother or his life here. His brother had always been an open book, but now it looked to him like maybe he hadn’t known much of what was going on with him, lately. He had certainly not known about his marriage. And the message that Jay had left him hadn’t made sense either. He had said there was trouble brewing for Tarun. That was a little surprising considering that Tarun never got into trouble, not even as a teenager. Not that there was much scope for a careful person like Tarun to get into trouble, in a place like this. So what kind of trouble had Jay been talking about? Maybe Jay had said something to Misha. Misha. It was time to face her.
He should go see her for old times’ sake. Whatever her feelings for him now, they had once been close friends and she had just lost her brother. He pushed back the chair and strode across the room towards a small ornate table, standing next to the door. On it stood an ornamental vase. He put his hands into the vase, not sure if Tarun still kept the keys there. But it was there and he smiled. Tarun was predictable, that way.
Locking the office behind him, he left the keys on the front desk, making for the back entrance again. Instead, of going towards the house though, he took a small detour into the private garage, where Tarun parked his jeep. The old jeep and the bike stood next to each other, just as they had always been. As he was about to get onto his bike, he noticed another car standing a little away from the two vehicles, covered with a plastic sheet. The hotel guests were allotted another part of the estate for parking cars. This was their private family garage and that meant that car belonged to his brother. So Tarun had bought himself a new car after all. He walked towards it and pulled off the cover. Dust rose in the air, tickling his nose and making him sneeze.
A gleaming new, red Lexus stood there, its surface so smooth the overhead lights glinted off it. Vedant stared at it. This was definitely not Tarun’s. He could never afford such an expensive car and even if he did, he would never buy one of these. He preferred more sensible ones, like a jeep or a SUV. He hated these things. Whose car was this then? Divya’s? She did not look like a person of such tastes, but then what did he know about her? He carefully threw back the cover and mounted his bike, inserting the keys. The engine roared to life and a lump formed in his throat. He had ridden this bike so many times with Jay behind him. So many adventures! And many a time when they would get into trouble, Tarun would threaten to sell it off.
Vedant had loved this bike. He ran his hands over her, feeling the smooth, cool metal vibrating with life, under his fingers. Tarun, in spite of his disapproval, had maintained it. He could feel the tears sting the back of his eyes and he blinked rapidly. Where the hell are you? Give me some clue. Where do I start looking for you? He could feel the desperation, in the pit of his stomach. And unconsciously, he gripped the handle of the bike tight. Then revving her up, he zoomed past the jeep, skirted the car and exited out into the open.
He avoided going through the main gate, instead taking the small mud path that exited the hotel grounds, from the back. Soon he was racing along, towards the village. The wind whipped against his face, tearing into his clothes and almost chilling his bones. But he couldn’t care less. A short distance away, the mud path joined a broader tar road, going towards the village and ran parallel to the river, on his right and a light forest on his left. He could almost hear the sound of the flowing water, above the din of the motorbike under him. The rocky bank was deserted and the sun reflected off the wet rocks. It was bright today and the rains had left everything wet and clean. He could smell the damp smell of the woods and it cleared his head. He passed the temple, which was situated on a little higher ground, near the river bank. It appeared strangely deserted today.
A little ahead, the road forked again. The path straight ahead, skirted the village, going on further south and the smaller mud road, turning left, entered the village. Not much had changed. The roads had been inlaid with interlocking tiles and there were perhaps a few more shops, here and there, selling traditional masala and some of them sweets. But more or less, he could have picked his way around here, blindfolded. The first smell that assailed your senses here was the spices. Sweet, sour, spicy; everything rolled together. Tamara, the land of spices. And suddenly in spite of all his problems, he felt good to be back.
He slowed down the bike, cutting the engine, as he turned into the small by-lane, leading to Jay’s house. He could see the house now, nestled between the trees. It was a small two storey cottage, painted an off-white and rusty red. A newly painted white fence ran all around it, encompassing within, a few coconut trees in front and a fruit orchard at the back. Within the fruit orchard, sat the barn, just as he remembered it. He got off the bike and propping it against a mango tree, walked towards the small iron-gate and stopped. Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure what he was doing here. He hadn’t thought this through. Taking a deep breath, he tried to think of what he would say to her. But he could think of nothing and just stood there staring at the house, like a fool.
Just when he was about to turn away, he spied Misha, standing on the threshold of the back door, holding a huge basket in her hands. He quickly darted behind the small bush, to the left of the gate, not ready to face her yet. Peering from behind the bush, he watched, as she walked towards the orchard and put the basket down on the ground. From where he stood, he could see her clearly. She wore an old white t-shirt over frayed jeans. Her hair was roughly tied into a bun at the nape of her neck, with a thick white rubber band. She was even more beautiful than he could remember. His memories of her were of a teenager and now she had blossomed into a full grown woman. She looked a little tired though; as if she had not been sleeping well. The sad droop of her lips and the dark circles around her eyes reflected her mourning. Of course she was not sleeping well! She had lost the only person in her life, she could call family, he thought; his heart going out to her.
Involuntarily, he whispered her name and saw her stiffen. She turned around, her eyes searching as if she had heard him whisper and he tensed. She couldn’t have heard him from this far and she hadn’t. She was looking for the garden scissors that lay below a tree. When she had spotted it, she picked it up and got to work on the tomato plant, cutting out some of the fully ripened fruits and started to throw them into the basket. She then moved on to the chilly plant, examined it and moved forward. He watched her for a long time as she moved from one plant to the other. Finally, after she had plucked out the papaya and thrown it into the basket, she picked up the basket and walked into the house.
He was still standing there staring at the door, a long time after she was gone. Then slowly, he retreated to his bike and started to push it away from the house, silently, not wanting to draw attention to himself. There were not many houses around and he could see acres and acres of the spice fields around him. A little distance away, he propped his bike against another tree and plopped down near it, resting his back on the trunk of the tree. Just in front of him was a tea garden, sloping below an
d then rising up, covered in a lush green carpet of bushes. He had spent his childhood and adolescent years in these fields, with Jay and Misha. How life had changed!
Never, in his wildest dreams, had he ever thought that life would turn around like this. Jay was gone, forever and he did not even have the courage to go up and speak to Misha. Even when he had fled this village, to make a life for himself in the city he had thought he would one day come back and find them here waiting for him. What had happened to that happy, devil may care life that they had shared? He ran his fingers through his curls absently, blinking back tears, his mind flitting from one memory to the other.
He sat there staring at the fields a long time, unaware of the time passing by, until he realised he was hungry. Maybe that small restaurant around the corner, where they would stop to have tea was still up and running. He got up dusting the soil from his jeans and looked back towards the house. It looked small in the distance, silent. He mounted his bike again and kicking it to life, automatically manoeuvred the narrow lanes leading to the restaurant. It used to be run by a man named Vishal, whose son Sunil used to be one of their friends. There it was. The board had been painted new and a small section had been added in the front. As he walked in, he spotted Sunil bent over one of the tables talking to a customer, he did not recognise. In spite of himself, he smiled. As a kid, Sunil used to be very thin and short and was bullied by the rest of them. Now though, he had put on a few kilos, especially around the middle.
“Can a guy get a cup of tea around here?” Vedant asked coming up behind him. Sunil spun around and his face lit up as he recognised him.
“Vedant? Vedant Birajdar, is it you?” he hugged him, patting him on the back and appeared genuinely pleased to see him.
“Wow, look at you,” Vedant laughed. “You used to be so thin.” He teased.
Sunil patted his middle and grinned. “Got myself a wife, who feeds me well,” he winked.