Sea of Innocence

by Desai, Kishwar

  Amarjit looked at me carefully and kept his voice very low, so he couldn’t be overheard. ‘Take that suspicious look off your face. I swear I have no idea about any of this. All I know is that this disappearance has worried a lot of people. Seeing you with Marian might have made them wonder who you are and why you’re here. But I would really urge you to stay on, and help us find her. This is our only chance.’

  He sounded sincere. But I wasn’t convinced – these recent events appeared to be too much of a coincidence. If so, I wondered whether I could subvert his plans.

  Looking as noncommittal as I could, I went back to the table, where Durga appeared a little less unhappy, as were her friends. The thought of going back might have brought some comfort. In my present contrarian mood, I couldn’t resist one last try at keeping them all here and rescuing what was left of our holiday.

  ‘Perhaps,’ I said thoughtfully, ‘Durga and I could move to another hotel. We could even stay some place with a more private or secluded beach. And in case both of you – Renu and Sid – would like to stay on as well, I’ll see if we can manage a booking. That might make you feel secure. It’s also possible that there is nothing suspicious about all of this and that these two men had got information about us from the hotel or elsewhere. I know that Maggie, the receptionist here, is very chatty, always trying to find out more about us, but I’ve never given it a second thought. Next time anyone asks us anything we can always give innocuous replies!’

  My deliberately light and jocular tone did little to allay their fears.

  To my dismay, Durga seemed completely disenchanted with my suggestion. She looked at the other two who also shook their heads. It was obvious that they had discussed the possibility of staying on but the incident had really unsettled them.

  ‘I’d rather go back. We’ve had three-four days of fun, Ma, but I’m not feeling very happy about any of this.’

  Her tone made me wonder if something had happened to her too? Something she wasn’t telling me? The other possibility was that she had seen that dreadful video on my phone. Perhaps I should have told her more about Liza and Marian, after all. Events were moving far too quickly for my liking.

  Amarjit looked directly at me, using words whose real meaning only he and I would understand. ‘Now you know why I said what I did. It might be a random case, but we need to know what lay behind last night’s incident for sure. I don’t want to scare you – but perhaps the children should leave. But you could have a small holiday anyway. Why waste all the money spent on bookings? Meanwhile I’ll check up on those two men who approached the kids last night.’

  Irritated with his not-so-subtle attempt at getting me to stay on, I said as firmly as I could manage, ‘Let me discuss this with Durga in our room, since she may yet change her mind. But just in case all three of them want to leave can I call to ask you to pick them up from here a little later?’

  Amarjit made his exit. Leaving Renu and Siddharth at the table, finishing breakfast, Durga and I walked slowly up one flight of stairs to our room. To our surprise we found the door to our room was slightly ajar.

  ‘I shut it,’ whispered Durga, before I could say anything.

  Pressing my ear to the door, I heard a murmur of voices inside. I knew it couldn’t be the hotel staff as they cleaned the rooms in the afternoon. Perhaps it was the recent events which had put me on edge, but my instinct told me something was not quite right.

  I raised a finger to my lips, wondering if the men had now broken into our room.

  For a moment, I wanted to back away and leave. What if they had a gun, and ambushed us? But then, I thought logically, they would have shut the door and hidden within.

  Prepared for the worst, my heart racing, I shoved the door wide open. My breath was stuck in my throat and I could feel Durga’s fingers pressing into my arm while she followed close behind.

  As we entered, two figures swung around, surprised. But they were not who we had expected at all.

  Silhouetted against the window was Maggie, the receptionist whom I had just accused of taking too much interest in us. Half bent over the desk, a man was seemingly repairing the Wi-Fi socket to which my laptop was connected. The blood was still pounding in my head as they both looked towards us.

  I waited for them to speak. Why were they here? And what was the man doing with my laptop? I noticed that it was in the process of shutting down.

  Durga’s hand fell away from my arm and I heard her sharp intake of breath. I did not blame her; even if they were not whom we had feared we would find in our room, this was a strange couple.

  One side of the man’s face had been ravaged in some kind of accident: it was completely scarred, and there seemed to be fresh bruises on it, as well. It was difficult to look at him, but when he got to his feet and wished us ‘good morning’ in a soft voice, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.

  ‘Wh— what are you doing here? You gave us such a shock!’ I asked Maggie, who looked as nervous as we did.

  To calm myself down I picked up a glass of water and drank it quickly. The morning had been full of twists, I thought, glaring at the duo. The man now was swiftly picking up his tools and closing his bag.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t get any response from the room, and so I thought you may have left for the day,’ said Maggie in a pert and friendly way, belying my suspicions. ‘Someone complained about the Internet not functioning too well on this floor, and so I just wanted Vishnu to check if all the connections here were alright. He’s brilliant about all this. I apologize that we put your laptop on to check if the Internet was connecting.’

  ‘I finished, madam,’ said Vishnu. ‘One wire loose so repaired.’

  I nodded grudgingly, trying to show my appreciation, wondering why I hadn’t noticed any problems with the Internet. It had seemed fine to me last night when I had used it. Perhaps the problem had occurred early in the morning, after I had left the room.

  ‘Thank you,’ I responded automatically, still a little puzzled.

  We waited for them to leave and then I sat down on the bed, patting it so Durga came and sat next to me. Now that the fright was over, I felt a huge sense of relief. But there were still problems I needed to sort out with Durga.

  ‘Why did you sound so upset downstairs, when Sid and Renu told us their story? Is anything worrying you apart from what happened with those kids? Did those men bother you as well?’ I asked the last question with trepidation.

  ‘No, I never met them . . .’ Durga said, sighing again. ‘I don’t know. It’s all freaking me out. I think it began that day when Veeramma and those women told us about the beach boys who treat the girls like fish, remember? And then, yesterday while you were swimming, Veeramma spoke about some girl who’s disappeared. I guess it’s the same one that Amarjit wants you to find. And then this happens with Sid and Renu.’

  From what she had said, it was obvious that she might have seen some of the messages Amarjit had sent me. And the video. I didn’t want to ask her about that, though, as it might lead to too many other worries for her.

  I quickly picked up my phone from the desk and slipped it into my handbag.

  Out of everything that Durga said, one name jumped out at me. Veeramma.

  I wasn’t pleased that she had added to Durga’s present stress.

  However, that meant she might also be a possible source of information.

  Vendors like her were on the beach for a long time every day and knew everybody who came and left. I wondered if Liza had also been a ‘fish’, like the other girl we had seen on the beach. How much did Veeramma know about her?

  But I still had to try to change Durga’s mind, one last time.

  ‘Look, we can shift out, go to a hotel where you don’t even have to go down to the beach. A hotel with a swimming pool – how about that?’

  Durga sighed.

  ‘Apart from this thing that happened to Sid and Renu, I know it’s better I go home, because you’re going to try to find thi
s girl, anyway. If anyone can do it you can, and so it will be good if you are left alone to pursue it. I’ll feel bad if you don’t do this because I’m around.’

  I hugged her for her thoughtfulness. And I was moved by her faith in me.

  I also felt guilty that I could not protect her from the world as well as I wanted to.

  ‘Besides,’ she said with a rueful smile, Amarjit will haunt you till you agree. And, ultimately, you will.’

  She knew me too well.

  Can I really do this? I thought, as we called Amarjit and told him to pick up Durga and her friends from our hotel.

  After they left, I felt depressed and wanted to get away from the beach, which was taking on an increasingly sinister hue.

  I took a taxi to Old Goa and for a while walked around the ruins of the old sixteenth-century churches to calm down and remember that Goa had a history and a past which had seen many upheavals.

  This present world – a world of probable rape and murder – that I was being thrust into was only a minuscule part of Goa’s history of dramatic social change. Probably no one would even remember this contemporary episode, and it would not even be a footnote. Why did it upset me so much, then? Why did I feel so devastated when I thought of what was happening in this beautiful part of the country?

  So much of Goa was hidden from view, I thought. What I remembered from twenty years ago was not the Goa I saw today. And yet possibly it still existed somewhere, just as these churches spoke of a strong Catholic past, which was alive in many homes and villages. Alongside the beaches with their tourists, the drugs and the rave parties.

  On the surface the state seemed so peaceful. But from all accounts it too was torn between the ghosts of its Hindu, Muslim and Catholic history and the dreams of the future.

  It was apparent that the inhabitants of this richly resourced state often blamed all its ills on the foreigners and outsiders who, they alleged, had stolen their identity and wrecked their culture. And had done so for hundreds of years, even before the adventurer Alfonso de Albuquerque landed here.

  Yet the wonderful thing was that it had remained one of the most assimilative and secular states in India. The food, the clothes, the music – even the siesta in the afternoon – was more European than strictly Indian. But modernization had not been kind to Goa, and some of the evils of development visible everywhere in India – the slums, the garbage heaps and the haphazard growth – had also begun to stealthily mushroom here, even on the beaches.

  Along with rapid urbanization had arrived the desire for wealth and white-collar employment, especially among the youth, many of whom had found job opportunities abroad. The ones who were left behind flocked to the beaches to make their fortune, and also to have some fun. Their upbringing might have been strictly traditional, linked to the churches, the temples and the mosques, but their interaction with the outside world would change them. The holiday atmosphere of the beach, with its indolent and relaxed ambience, created a false image of life as it should be. And quite soon this indolence became the aspiration.

  Everything cannot be blamed on the outsider – and yet it is . . .

  Was the rape and murder of girls like Scarlett Keeling – as well as the vanishing of Liza – somehow linked to the volatile nature of the state? Or was life on the beach completely separate and distinct from that elsewhere in Goa – with its own rules and regulations, on account of the rumoured accessibility of drugs and the mafia associated with it?

  I also wondered if there would be any real sympathy towards Liza, if she had actually been killed. Or would she become just another young girl who died looking for the good life in Goa?

  Of course there were many young women who came to the beaches and survived. Some even stayed on; a few married the beach boys, setting up businesses and sometimes even taking the boys back to foreign shores. And who was I to be cynical about these relationships? If only I could find some love myself – that would make my mother happy, in any case.

  Though I hardly ever pray, I found my steps meandering till I had joined the group at the entrance of the church commemorating Goa’s most famous saint, St Francis Xavier, waiting to go in. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I wanted to find some solace in the high arches of this church. And I wanted to light a candle for Liza.

  Chapter 5

  On my return to the hotel, I was relieved that there was one less worry on my mind: the fear that something would happen to Durga had receded, as soon as she had got into the car with Amarjit.

  Whatever else our relationship was about, I knew he would see her safely home. I had asked her to call when she reached Delhi.

  It was early evening by now, and I decided to make my way down to the beach and meet up with Marian. I called on the number she had texted me, but there was no response, so, thinking she might be busy, I sent her a message asking her to meet me.

  I decided to look out for Veeramma and her group as well. They usually came around to the beach at about midday and stayed on till evening, as that was the period during which most tourists were likely to be on their deckchairs or in the sea. These were the best hours to convince them about the importance of a henna tattoo or a sarong or a piece of jewellery.

  I spotted the women fairly soon. They had surrounded a couple whose skin was slowly turning red in the hot sun, and were squatting on the sand around them, Veeramma in the lead as always. I smiled at the concerted attack under which any resistance from the two salmon-tinted bodies was visibly vanishing.

  I waved to get Veeramma’s attention and she waved back but made no effort to get up. She had new clients to seduce with her bantering and bargaining skills. I was history and unlikely to part with more money, so would have to wait.

  I walked up to the group and spoke to the woman closest to me, who was distractedly listening to Veeramma’s stories as she wooed the couple.

  ‘Tell Veeramma I want to speak to her when she is finished,’ I said.

  ‘Even speaking has cost, madam. This business-time,’ the young woman, obviously well tutored by Veeramma, replied with a wink.

  ‘You want talk, you pay!’ said another one, squinting into the sun, looking at me, and rubbing her thumb and forefinger together in an easily understandable gesture.

  I was astounded at the impudence but then simmered down rapidly. I needed information and it was true that while talking to me they would lose work and by implication money. So the best would be for me to buy Veeramma’s time.

  I raised a finger. ‘One hour. How much?’

  The second woman raised a matching finger. ‘One thousand rupees.’

  I didn’t bother to argue. The beach was an intensely well-connected microcosm. It was possible that bits of information had already gone out and some people were aware I was interested in Liza. It was also possible that Veeramma had some valuable information; after all, she had mentioned the missing girl to Durga. It might have been a deliberate attempt to lure me over.

  Other things might have been noticed as well: for instance, my meeting last night with Marian. Or Amarjit’s arrival and departure, even though he had taken care not to appear in uniform. He had been so tense each time we met that I had wondered if he thought someone would recognize him, or overhear us.

  Last night, Marian and I had also agreed that though we might informally ask about Liza, we should not speak about her disappearance to anyone, as it might endanger her life, wherever she might be. Since I now suspected that people were also interested in me as well, it could be riskier than I had imagined. I would have to be even more careful about what I said and to whom.

  ‘Tell Veeramma to meet me at the last shack at the other end of the beach. In around thirty minutes. She can send a message to me when she gets there, or call me.’

  I handed over my number on a piece of paper to the woman, knowing it would be better to meet as far away from my hotel as possible.

  ‘Yankee Doodle, madam?’

  For a moment I was startled by the strange
question, and then realized that she meant the name of the shack.

  ‘That’s right. At Yankee Doodle.’

  As casually as I could, I took a few photographs of the beach, and of Veeramma’s group, just in case I later needed to locate them again. Given the animosity between the beach-shack owners, the police and the beach vendors over their weekly collections or hafta, it might not always be easy to track down the group if I ever needed them.

  When I aimed the phone lens towards them, the women struck poses with their wares. Even the German couple who were being tattooed each put one arm around the woman closest to them, and gave a thumbs-up sign with the other.

  Looking at the smiling group, I battled sadness. Partly because I was missing Durga, and partly because I was searching for a young girl who should have been enjoying herself on the beach like the rest of the tourists. I just hoped she was safe. I thought of the sentimental candle I had lit inside the church a few hours earlier. Who could have ever imagined that I could get so maudlin?

  Trying not to get too depressed, I rolled up my trousers and walked briskly near the edge of the waves, skipping over sandcastles, enjoying the feel of the sand between my toes, before going to the shack. Just as I sat down at Yankee Doodle and ordered a beer, I received a message from Marian, at last saying she was on the beach, looking for me.

  ‘Yankee Doodle,’ I announced, calling her back, sipping my chilled beer. ‘That’s the place to be.’

  Within ten minutes I saw her swing into sight, her long blonde hair down, her eyes hidden behind dark glasses. For the first time, I realized (last night it had been too dark) that she was actually terribly thin. The short dress she wore today made it more obvious. Her bones stuck out everywhere and it was worrisome to see her knobbly knees, her almost painfully sticklike arms. Her neck looked like it might snap if she turned around too suddenly.

  We decided to share the beer and I called for another glass, making a mental note to ensure she ate and drank well whenever we met. She would look far better if she gained a bit of weight.