Handing her my backpack I said, “Please put these away and fetch my cell phone and something cool to drink.” Both of us knew that small chores were the best way to keep her from shredding her entire sari with nervous fingers.
I lowered myself into the rocking chair on the veranda, emotions running like gazelles. I’d never met Jotilal Sukkha, but knew he had a wife and children and a brother that loved him. I was heartsick. Then anger came over me, though I wasn’t even sure what I was angry at. Fate? God? Allah? Vishnu? I’d been angry at all of them for years now. Never changed a thing. All the cuss words I knew—English, Hindi, and the Spanish ones I learned from Lilia--poured out. Then a calmer thought took over. We had the photographs, and the pundits were so respected in the district that nobody, certainly not any Hindus, would question their need for a guard at the entrance of a cave. The tragedy would be seen as just that. I dropped my face into sweaty palms and drew my fingers through my hair.
The iced coffee Sahr handed me was rich and sugared, but didn’t clear the foulness from my mouth particularly well. I took another sip and scrolled through the three numbers stored in my cell phone.
C.G. coughed after the second ring, “Bhim. You have heard?”
“Yes, Punditji, just now. How is Rajneesh holding up?” I imagined my rickshaw friend scrambling frantically over the boulders near our picnic spot, clawing desperately at the rubble where his brother lay.
“Not very well, I’m afraid. He blames himself, saying that he should have arrived earlier, or that he shouldn’t have allowed Joti to stay alone. It is nonsense, of course. No one could have foreseen this. Devi and I are going to their family house this afternoon.” Guessing my next question, he asked, “Will you go to the cave in our stead? Mr. Muktendra and First Inspector Singh have asked to meet us there at four. There will likely be some official questions.” I’m sure there would be, and C. G. was asking me to answer them. It was the last thing I wanted to do. The clock on my phone blinked twenty after two. In an autorick I couldn’t possibly get there until five. With a car I might make it.
“I need to hire a car, and I don’t think I can get there until five at least.”
“Do not be concerned, Dear Boy. I will send my driver straightaway in the GC, and call the inspector and tell him to meet you there at five. Devi and I can taxi to the Sukkha house. It is quite close, you see.”
A little confused, I asked, “Punditji, what is a GC?”
“Of course, Bhim. You don’t know. GC is my Grand Cherokee. Quite new. I named him G.C., sort of a flip-flop of C.G., you see. And he is at your disposal.”
Twenty-Four
GC, complete with air-conditioning, Dolby sound, liquid suspension, and a driver named Ram, arrived at my gate ten minutes later. Lalji, who hadn’t shown his face the entire afternoon, and who I was certain had heard every word of my conversations, appeared out of nowhere. He stood proudly next to the SUV when it arrived, and from his stance, I knew that he was hoping his buddies were watching. Around the card table the exaggerations would expand like carnival balloons. Yes, of course the Cherokee was ours. And of course he drove it. Every day for Master Bhim.
I told Sahr of the dinner plans for the following evening and watched as a warm smile rippled up to her birthmark. Yes, Sahr, with a young woman, tomorrow evening. No, it is not a date. Well maybe, I heard myself say.
I warned Lalji that if he smeared the SUV’s windshield one more time with his oily fingers I was going to crack one of his un-splinted ones. I would be back after sunset, I said. Lock up and wait up for me. Sahr left for the market with a long list and a tall stack of rupees. Tragedy or not, I was going to entertain with fresh flowers, good wine, and the best meal my housekeeper could dream up.
Ram knew how to drive that beast. He rumbled out of the city, weaving through afternoon traffic like an F1 driver. He blasted the horn authoritatively and forced everything out of our path. Once we were beyond the congestion, I slid a CD into the player, reclined the seat and tried to take my mind off the sorrow with Sibelius. In the meantime, Ram revved up the eight cylinders and sped us northwest on NH56 and across the rock dust of the access road. At five minutes to five we turned sharply in front of the Imperial Holding gate and spewed some gravel in the general direction of the polished boots of two new guards.
Ram didn’t park next to the ancient Maruti automobile parked on the grass. With a touch of a button, he shifted us into four-wheel and bounced up the boulder field to the bottom of the incline. From there I hiked the final hundred meters and arrived one minute ahead of schedule. Master would have been proud.
As I mentioned, during my year with Lilia she had taught me to swear in Spanish. I had been pretty fluent in it before, but she taught me how to really curse. I muttered every ugly word I knew when I saw the two men standing just below the cone of rock. Inspector Gupta Singh wasn’t there. Madru Ralki was, cupping a match to light a beedee. He looked sweaty, bored, and generally irritated that he had to be standing in the middle of god-awful nowhere in the afternoon heat. Robert Muktendra, the owner of the property, was fidgeting nervously at his side.
Instantly, I pictured Ralki’s hand groping Soma’s breast and entertained the idea of kicking him very solidly in the groin when I got within three feet.
Muktendra I had met once. He was a moderately wealthy cloth merchant with shops in Agra and Varanasi. The prices were fair, silks of good quality, and his clerks always served good tea to their customers. Using profits and family inheritance, he'd purchased a house and parcels of land on both sides of the river. Why he owned this piece in the middle of nowhere, I couldn’t guess. Whether he owned the mining company’s land, was also a guess.
Muktendra had helped me select the right color of sari to send to my mother. He was fidgety-nervous then and more so now.
The two of them looked like Mutt and Jeff at the top of the rise--total opposites. Muktendra was tall and thin, with clothes that hung loosely on his shoulders. His eyes twitched from me to his companion. Ralki was short, fat, and wore the condescending expression of authority--eyes showing the compassion of a dead carp in the fish market. Neither of them looked overly pleased to see me.
Ralki took a deep pull on his beedee, sent the smoke billowing in my direction, and in nasally English said, “Ah, Mr. Scott, I was not expecting you. The pundits Devamukti and Chandragupta will not be joining us today?”
I held out my hand to Muktendra for a quick shake and replied, “I really wasn’t expecting you either, Ralki. I was told your boss, Gupta Singh, would be here. The pundits apologize, but they thought it best to visit the Sukha family. I’m sure you understand.”
“Yes, I see. Well, I suppose we will have to make do with you. Let us get to this quickly then. Mr. Muktendra,” He nodded at his companion. “tells me that he leased this property to your friends, and that this man . . .” He glanced at a notepad to jog his memory. “Jotilal Sukkha was guarding it. For what purpose did you hire the guard? There seems to be nothing but dust and bird shit out here.”
I was good at this game. Years of avoiding questions about my past had taught me how to dodge like a prizefighter. In a casual tone I replied, “As Muktendra has also undoubtedly told you, there is a cave just on the opposite side of that rock.” I pointed to my left. “and the pundits thought it might contain some writing in the old language. Jotilal Sukkha had been hired in case it did.”
“And did it?”
“Did it what?”
Ralki looked perturbed that I wasn’t following his bored line of questioning. “Did the cave have anything inside it?” Curveball number one.
“Well. . . I was told there was some writing, but no one thought it overly important.” Ralki nodded slowly. The fish-eyes didn’t reveal if he believed me or not.
“So you have not been inside yourself then?” Curveball number two.
“No, I came here with Master Devamukti on Sunday, but I waited at the entrance while he went in.”
“Why what?” I faked that one just to chaff him. It had the desired effect.
In a flash of anger he said, “Why didn’t you go inside with him, Mr. Scott?”
“Bhim.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Bhim. Everyone in the city calls me Bhim, Ralki. You know it and I know it, so let’s use my Benarsi name instead of the ferenghi Mr. Scott. I didn’t go inside because I really don’t like caves very much. Devi told me there were a few lines of script on the walls, nothing too important. He hired the guard until we could examine it further and preserve it for posterity, though he didn’t believe it was particularly valuable or important.” I looked right at him, daring him to doubt me.
While Ralki and I jousted, Muktendra fingered a mala of prayer beads at his side, eyes blinking incessantly. I suspected that he had never drawn up an authentic lease and now might feel some obligation to pay the dead man’s family a stipend. He finally joined in the fray. “Fellows, this sounds like simple and tragic accident. Let us see what we can do to help the poor man’s family and be done with this sad event.” With that lift of the carpet, he whisked everything neatly under.
Ralki was pinching the end of his beedee like a pot roach. Taking a last oily puff, he flicked it indifferently to the side, and turned angrily toward the rock spur. I watched the orange ember arc and bounce to the side of the path. I followed him over the outcropping, and when I came to the entrance, I pulled up with a jolt. The channel, opening, and cave were gone, filled with fifteen feet of shard. A hill of crumbled rock stood guard now. Immediately I thought of the man crushed underneath.
Ralki nonchalantly bent and picked up a fist-sized chunk of the same oily stone I had seen inside. He tossed it a few inches into the air, hefting its weight, letting it fall back into his palm. He observed it for a moment, as if its color or shape might provide a clue as to how it had managed to entomb a man whose name he couldn’t remember. He dropped it quickly and stared at the boulders. “Well . . . I don’t believe there is anything more to be done here. Even if this man were still alive inside that mess, he would be quite dead by the time we had gone to the trouble to dig him out. Simply bad timing for the poor chap.” With a sneer in my direction he dismissed the entire affair with, “Probably angered some god by pissing in the wrong direction or shitting too close to a holy shrine. Right, Mr. Scott? My report will be to the point. Stupid bastard chooses stupid place to nap, unfortunate accident results in one dead low caste. Another minor tragedy of karma.”
I prickled. It was an ugly remark, none of which felt right. Ralki was snapping this shut faster than the cave-in itself, swatting it away like an annoying gnat so everyone could return to searching for mythical terrorists. I remembered that he was rumored to be one of Qereshy’s spies and wondered again if it was he that had followed me the night before. Why me? I thought of Soma and the fact that he questioned her with such ferocity, asking what Devi and I were working on. He dug hard for those details, but now didn’t care to investigate the death of the man inside the cave? The entire thing smelled worse than a latrine gulley.
Dusting his hands off on the sides of his pants, he spat on a scorched weed and turned from the outcropping. I followed. Muktendra was shifting from foot to foot in the same spot, still flipping prayer beads.
Ralki wiped the sweat from his neck onto his sleeve and looked at me. “Well Bhim, I suppose I will have the pleasure of seeing you in three months again when you are Martin Scott, seeking his semi-annual visa. Good day.” With nothing else, he spun and left.
Muktendra looked as if he wanted to at least shake my hand or offer a conciliatory word, but with a shrug and a half-hearted namaste, he turned and followed his companion down the path. I stood and fumed as Ralki climbed into the Maruti. Somehow, I needed to find a way to cut that fat, little bureaucrat down to size. Nothing immediately came to mind.
Alone in the shadow of Jotilal Sukkha’s grave, I watched the sun slip behind the spur of jagged stone, the setting rays bathing our picnic tree in orange light. I thought sadly of the man under the stones. He'd died alone. I’d wondered if he had gone quickly with little pain. I hoped so. I hoped he had gotten to live a few of the right dreams in his life, hoped he had been given the chance to love deeply and been loved in return. That was important.
I picked up a small handful of rouge earth and tossed it into the evening breeze. As the motes drifted, I whispered a short requiem, May you be released from the wheel of all suffering, Jotilal Sukkha. May you find loving peace wherever you are now. It was the best my agnostic spirit could come up with.
As I slapped my palms together to cleanse the dust, I glanced at the ground where I had scooped the dirt. A meter away, lying in a shallow depression, was the burnt tip of Madru Ralki’s beedee. It wasn’t the cigarette that drew my attention, however, it was where it lay. That little cone of eucalyptus and tobacco had landed right in the center of a footprint, a vibram sole, deep-heeled, military-style, boot print.
Twenty-Five
Ram walked me from the Cherokee to my doorstep and sped off into the night. My body and brain were telling me it had been a month since I had sipped coffee at my gate and gone to the marigold fields to play Frisbee with Mej. My Casio told me it had been fourteen hours.
I dragged myself into the kitchen and dined on masala dosas, cheese sandwiches, and mango ice cream with coconut cookies. Sahr set everything out silently, not pressing any questions on me, though I knew she was ready to launch a salvo if I offered an opening. I didn’t. I needed to sort my thoughts.
The cave hadn't collapsed like a card house. I knew that from checking the ceiling, and even though I wasn’t a geologist, it had looked solid enough for me to stand below it.
I also came to the conclusion, sadly enough, that the pundits and I had been naive. If the boot print suggested what I thought it did, we had underestimated an opponent, one I couldn’t set a face or motive to. That was a mistake I didn’t like admitting. It came from a few lessons when I was eight in my first karate class. Never underestimate your adversary. Someone had taken note of our entry into the cave and done what they needed to keep us out. But why?
Other pieces nagged at me. Ralki’s intimidation of Soma and the questions about what I was working on. The quick dismissal of the cave's collapse. Then there was the boot print. A visit by one of the guards from Imperial Holding? I couldn’t be certain of it. Perhaps someone had merely wandered over to investigate why our rickshaw was parked so close to the mining operation. Or perhaps, as I was beginning to suspect, it portended something more sinister.
I knew why Ralki had chosen Soma to question--part of the five thousand-year-old social pyramid. She was low caste and female, and as a widow, easily manipulated. The pundits, on the other hand, as feeble as they might appear, were far more powerful than Ralki and his superiors. He had selected an easier prey to question. But why?
My eyes were drooping as I licked the last of the ice cream from my spoon. Sahr carried my bowl to the sink with the expression of a lolling puppy. Handing her the spoon, I said, “It was an accident, Sahr. The roof caved in, and there is no sign of Jotilal, and no way to get through. The authorities are going to say he died while he slept. Devi and C.G. will see to his family the best they can.”
She nodded, and rather than quoting from some Christian or Hindu scripture about his soul resting in eternal peace, she set her hand on my wrist and said, “Bhim, this afternoon I have thanked all the gods that it was not you in that place. I know it is not right to be thankful when someone has died, but I am. The gods must follow the laws of the constellations and my cards mirrors those laws. They are rarely wrong. There are no accidents. The gods tumbled that rock when the stars and planets directed them to. And even though I am sad for this man’s life being taken, I am also happy it was not you inside.”
I smiled weakly, though my thoughts were telling me that something other than meddling deities had killed the man
. With a brain feeling like day-old pudding, I decided not to enter into a discussion about cause and affect. Besides, Sahr’s beliefs were unchangeable. Or so I thought.
Before I rose to stretch out in complete nakedness below the coolness of my ceiling fan, she announced that tomorrow evening she was going to prepare a feast all the gods would be jealous of.
Twenty-Six
It took less than ten seconds for the lingering sweetness of my dream to be shattered the following morning. I had been strolling in the loveliest of gardens--streams of cool water percolated over round stones, periwinkle, and clover. A fine mist permeated the air. I followed the water down a gentle slope to the ocean, and before me a wide cove spread out with waves curling around a rocky point. Perched like a small tree in the sand, a new surfboard stood waxed and ready. I loved surfing dreams. They always beat the hell out of the other ones, the ones with the bloody bubble.
Above the murmur of the surf, I began to hear yelling, arguing, and an odd moaning. I woke and touched the droplets of mist still sprinkled upon my cheeks. Coming fully awake, I realized the mist was perspiration and the fan above my bed was idle, no electricity--a common occurrence in our part of the city. Sahr was moaning in the salon, an indication something else had gone wrong.
Wrapping a loongi around my middle, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, the sweat from my face, and stepped into the salon.
“Aiyeee. . .” She was yowling and clutching the edges of her sari again. Seeing me, it increased.
I had to almost yell to make myself heard. “What on earth is the matter?” I glanced out the front window, and not seeing Lalji in his hammock, began worrying again that he’d gotten himself into some sort of trouble.
“It is gone, Bhim. Gone! It was here, right here yesterday when I went to the market. I set it on the desk right after you left in the big car. I plugged the wire into the back exactly the way you taught me, and now it is gone.”
The PuppetMaster Page 11