Tiger Hills (38 page)

There were more toys inside, and pretty blouses like the ones the local women wore. “You take one, heh?” the shopkeeper said, nudging a pile toward him. “Good for your woman.”

A delicious aroma wafted from the curtained-off back of the shop, and to his embarrassment Machu's stomach rumbled out loud. The shopkeeper laughed, his eyes almost disappearing into heavily wrinkled cheeks. Turning his head, he called out to whoever was there. A few moments later, a delicate hand appeared through the curtains, bearing a steaming plate. Machu gazed longingly at the naans and lamb kebabs, then shook his head. It would not be right.

The shopkeeper sighed. “From where do you come? Which part of Hindustan?”

“The south. In the mountains.”

“Very far from your home, I see. Well, sit. Talk with us awhile, heh, even if you will not eat with us.”

Machu hesitated, but the shopkeeper was already clearing the bales of goods, dragging a small stool in their place.

“I have been to Hindustan. Many times. Not recently, these legs have grown tired, but I have been. Great cities you have in your country, heh? Dilli. What a jewel. And Bombay. What a dariya the city has. I used to sit for hours on the rocks, watching the water. This home of yours, is it near Bombay?”

Machu shook his head. “No. Much farther south. Although I remember seeing your countrymen in my land as a boy. They used to come to sell us horses.”

“Ah, our horses. El Kheir, they are called, in the Koran.” The shopkeeper drew on his hookah. “El Kheir, the supreme blessing. It is said that before Allah created man from the dust, first he made the horse from the wind.” He waved his hand expansively in the air. “‘Condense,' Allah ordered the south wind. ‘I wish to make a creature from your essence.' The wind condensed, and such a creature Allah made from it! ‘I shall make you supreme among
animals,' Allah said to his creation. ‘You alone shall fly without wings. The blessings of all the world shall reside between your eyes and victory be eternally bound to your forelock.'”

The old man smiled. “There are beautiful horses in my village.”

“Where is it, your village? What is your tribe?” Machu asked.

“A small one, some miles from here.” He waved his hand. “That way, through the mountains.”

Machu knew that the Pashtuns were made up of many tribes. “It'll come to nothing,” Lieutenant Balmer maintained. “There are so many tribes, it won't take much for the allegiances to break.”

“So what do you think, Sepoy?” Balmer had asked Machu, as the latter drew his bath. “Am I not right? There is much infighting within the tribes; it will take only the slightest pressure from our forces to scatter them apart.”

Machu had hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Where I come from,” he said finally, “there was much fighting, too, in the old days, between the clans. Still, when the Mohammedan armies came from Mysore, we always stood side by side. War, forced circumcisions, abductions, mass executions … the rulers of Mysore stopped at nothing as they tried to break our spirit and tear us apart. It only served to bring us together. We fought off their armies, year after year, through generations of war.”

Balmer had yawned sleepily. “They will not band together,” he repeated. “Mark my words.”

Machu had said nothing more.

The old man was continuing. “They say so many things, the leaders. ‘Fight, we must fight,' they say. In the old days, when the blood still ran hot in this body, I would have been there myself, sword drawn. But now … when a man has seen enough mornings, fighting loses its luster. Honor, paradise … these things are for the young. Old age has simpler demands. A few more mornings I would like to see, bas. Once, just once more, maybe see the dariya in Bombay. And after that, I want to make my way home. To see all my family, my village again. To return where I belong.”

Machu looked down at the toy in his hands, running a thumb over its rich red coat. “The horse,” he said quietly at last, holding
it in front of him, “how much for this?”

The old man smiled. “Nothing. You are my guest. Give it to your child with my blessings.”

“I'll make a bargain with you,” Machu countered. “How about I take this, that blouse—that one there, in red and blue—for my wife, and that jacket for my little boy. These, I must pay for. However”—he pulled the plate of food that still lay untouched before him—“I would be honored to share your meal.” Wrapping the kebabs in the warm naans, Machu began to eat.

The days grew steadily hotter, and spring melted into the rolling boil of summer. The flowers were burned from their stalks, and the landscape acquired a bleached, desolate appearance, broken only by gossamer-winged butterflies whose colors shone in the sun like filaments of pellucid metal. And still the frontier remained peaceful.

Machu was granted permission to avail himself of his annual furlough. He headed back to Coorg with the gifts he had bought at the bazaar and two slabs of melted but precious Cadbury's chocolate that Lieutenant Balmer had sent for Appu.

He paused for a moment at the entrance to Coorg, stripping off his shirt and rolling out a kupya from his pack, trading pleasantries with the men at the outpost as they gathered about him in welcome. The men caught him up with the news of the past year—the paddy had grown well, and coffee prices were also up. A calf with six legs had been born in Makkandur village and two men had been gored by wild boar on a hunt. “Watch out for elephants,” they cautioned. “There is a herd this side of the forest. Not two days ago, we saw one going that way. A huge boulder, we thought it was, and then we saw it was an elephant, sitting on its haunches and sliding downhill.”

He listened happily, his heart gladdened by the leafy river scent rising from the soil of his land. Here too summer had arrived, the ferocity of the heat, however, tempered by the forest cover that dappled its glare. He looked up at the sky; it was clear as lake water,
smudged at its edge by faint rills of white. His ancestors, come to welcome him. Something shifted inside him, a piece falling into place once more as, adjusting the pack about his shoulders, he quickened his pace toward home.

The next weeks passed in a pleasant blur. Machu could hardly stop marveling at how much his son had grown in the past year. “He looks just like me,” he whispered to his wife, as they stood watching Appu sleep. She laughed softly.

“Down to his dimple. He is very good at sports, wins all the races in the village, even against much bigger boys.”

She watched as Machu opened the high neck of Appu's jacket a little wider so he might breathe more freely. The child insisted on wearing his father's gift all the time. His mother had scolded him at first; couldn't he see it was getting dirty? Machu had intervened. “It doesn't matter,” he said. “I will bring another one the next time.”

“He misses you a great deal,” she said now. A shadow passed over Machu's face as he smoothed the hair back from Appu's forehead.

“It isn't easy to be away. But what must be done must be done.”

“Yes … Did you hear, by the way, about that woman?”

Machu's eyes flickered toward her, but his voice was even. “Which woman?”

“Who else? Devi. People say her crop is extremely good this year as well. All kinds of things I have heard about her. That she called tantric magicians from Kerala and they have buried secret talismans in the soil. That she has had to pay for it with no more children, just the one boy.”

Machu chuckled. “Come now. People talk, that is all.”

“Some say that she has lain with white folk, and that is why they give her handsome prices.”

“Don't talk nonsense,” Machu said shortly. “She has worked hard and it has paid off.”

His wife's lips trembled. “Yes, take her side, why don't you? I am just telling you what people say. Don't other people work hard? Why is it that their crops have not been as good? Still, what
am I to you, only your wife… ”

Machu hooked a placatory arm about his wife's waist, drawing her to him. “Enough, woman. Why waste time talking when there are other things we could be doing?” He grinned. “The other children you keep talking of—how about we go make some now?”

That night, he lay in bed, staring out at the stars, his wife's body heavy against his chest. “So she has done well?”

“Who?”

“Devi … she has done well? What do people say?”

His wife stirred and looked at him. “Three estates she owns now.
Three!
” She paused, trying to read his face in the dim light. “And,” she added, “it all began with those first hundred acres.”

Machu said nothing more, but three days later, after he'd been to Mercara to buy a peechekathi as a gift for Lieutenant Balmer, he impulsively goaded his horse west. The gulmohar trees were in bloom, exploding along the dusty road in brilliant bursts of red and yellow. Machu barely noticed as he galloped along.
It has nothing to do with her, my visiting the estate,
he assured himself. He would pass by, just glance at the property. Surely he was entitled to this much curiosity?

In all likelihood, she will not even be there,
he thought, even as he spurred his mount faster down the road.

He drew in at the entrance, patting the horse's neck as he peered at the estate. A new gate had been installed, replacing the rough bamboo slats he remembered from years ago. Tall it was, the gate, handsomely carved and obviously expensive. He reached a hand toward its bars, and it gave under his touch, swinging slightly open. His horse tossed its mane, impatient to be off again, and he stroked its flank. “Ayy, El Kheir,” he murmured drily, “you may have foresight in your forehead, and victory in your mane, but a little patience in your hooves would have been fortuitous as well.”

He rubbed its forehead, calming the animal, suddenly unsettled himself.

The estate lay quiet and seemingly empty but for the low whirr of dragonflies. Rows of neatly pruned coffee bushes gleamed a
deep, glossy green in the shade, disappearing into the distance. Dismounting, Machu tied the reins of the horse to the gates and walked in. The overhead canopy was a lot thicker than in other estates, Machu noted, and yet this appeared deliberate, not a case of neglect. The path was meticulously trimmed, the earth beneath the coffee bushes denuded of weeds. She had done well. He walked on, heading deeper into the cool, silent plantation.

He spotted Tukra an instant before the Poleya saw him. “Who is it?” Tukra called sharply. Recognizing Machu, he lowered the bamboo pole he was brandishing. “Mistake happened, anna,” he said, relieved. “I could not see you clearly.”

“It is no matter,” Machu said genially. “My wife tells me that I have become brown as tree bark and quite unrecognizable. I was passing by, and thought I would … ” He cleared his throat. “Is anybody else here?” he asked nonchalantly.

Tukra shook his head and sullenly looked at the ground.

“Oh,” Machu said, unaccountably disappointed. “Well, no matter. I will have a look around and leave.”

“You should not be here,” Tukra blurted. “He … Devanna anna … it is not right.”

Machu turned around, his eyes cold. “What did you say?”

Tukra took an involuntary step back. “Nothing, nothing … anna, you should not be here!” The words came tumbling out, bumping against each other in his anxiety. “This is Devanna anna's property. Devi akka and you … I know that the two of you … ”

Machu stepped very close to Tukra, his features set. Sticking the barrel of his gun under the latter's chin, he forced his face upward. “Do you know what I can do to you, Poleya? I could shoot you right here for your impudence, and all of Coorg would applaud me. If you ever,
ever,
make the mistake of using your mistress's name improperly again, I will. Do you understand?”

Tukra crumpled in panic. “Mistake happened, anna, big mistake from Tukra's doings. I fall at your feet … it is just that Devi akka … she hardly even talks with Devanna anna … I too have a wife, of course she talks
too
much, a fisherwoman she used to be,
and now she keeps talking, talking, talking, but shouldn't Devi akka at least talk sometimes to Devanna anna? Devi akka … I used to dance in the grass for her as a boy, no place for that here in Mercara, but I am precious to her, I know. Why it was
me
she wanted to send after you, nobody else but me to go find you before their wedding? Of course you can walk through the estate, mistake happened.”

“What? What? Stop!” Machu shouted at Tukra. He lowered his gun. “Look. I am not going to harm you.”

Tukra collapsed in a sniveling heap.

“She
sent
you after me? When?”

“She wanted to. That morning. The day before the wedding. Tukra overheard them, Tayi and Devi akka. Tayi was crying, and Thimmaya anna, how he shouted. He
never
shouts, not like his son, always shouting, Tukra do this, do that … ”

He had left that morning for Kerala, Machu remembered, with grain for barter. “Why?” he asked, his voice flat as a stone. “Why did she want to send for me?”

“I don't know. She … ” Tukra paused. “No, no, Tukra is always talking nonsense, that's what everyone says. Come, I will show you the estate. Please anna, don't tell Devi akka I told you, I was never supposed to have heard. How Tayi cried that day, and Devi akka, so many tears…”

Machu was gone.

“Devi.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, the breath knocked from her. It had been nearly four years since they had said a word to one another, even stood within speaking distance. The sun had deepened the teak of his skin into a deep, forest-tree brown. The old ache immediately started again, her hands clamoring to reach up, to touch, to feel, to lay themselves against his jaw. She curled her fists inward, the nails digging into her palms. “I heard you were back.”