Revolutionary Hearts (8 page)

He looked down at his mirrors and then back up at the road. She gulped as he revved the engine faster. “Hold on,
pagal ladki.
”

Parineeta wanted to reprimand him for his terrible nickname again, but their motorcycle zoomed down the road with a sudden ferocity that clamped her mouth shut. The roar of new engines edged nearer.

Two motorcycles emerged from both sides of her line of vision as the soldiers tried to approach them. She checked the distance between them out of the corner of her eye, watching with alarm as the barrier of space seemed to close. The night air blew against the folds of her sari. She pressed her arms tighter around Warren until her chest lay flat against his back.

He zipped through the wide entrance of the town and through the narrow alley streets. The soldiers surely could not follow them from both sides as soon as the road tapered. Yet they chased after them through the backstreets, one motorcycle after the other.

Warren skidded against one side of the alley, knocking over a wooden table holding brass pots and tin pans that went clattering to the ground and leaving a trail of metal in their wake. Her own form fell back around the turn and then lurched forward against his body as he settled back into a straight path.

The mess made one of the motorcyclists brake suddenly, which flipped over his bike. The soldier went flying into the air, landing a safe distance from Parineeta and Warren. She watched as the other bike crashed into the one laid on the ground, causing its rider to hurtle off his seat like the first.

She turned back around. “They’re gone.”

The motorcycle screeched to a halt. Parineeta gritted her teeth and struggled to hold on as gravity attempted to pull her off the bike. She leaned her whole body to the left as the bike swerved to a sharp right.

Once the vehicle slowed to a complete stop, Warren inclined his head toward her. “It’s been a while since I could ride like that.”

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and smoothed out the loose
pallu
of her sari. With the threat of capture removed, she rolled her eyes at Warren. “How they teach you that and not how to build a proper fire, I will never understand. Americans.”

One leg over the other and she was off the bike and back on the ground. Warren stepped off the motorcycle after her and then laid the vehicle by a nearby alley wall. The only sounds that could be heard among the alleys were the crunch of their own footsteps against the dirt.

She readjusted the pallu of her sari, shifting the cloth to further cover her bare midriff. “How fast were you planning to go? Kill us by crashing into a wall before the soldiers get to us first?”

“We’re here, aren’t we?” Even as he spoke, she could hear the uncertainty in his tone.

“Ha! And what do you propose will happen to us when the soldiers report back to the lieutenant colonel?” Did this man never think of consequences?

“So says the revolutionary. And what do you have planned?” He flattened out the edges of his collared shirt.

“Explain to Aunt Ankita that I need a place to stay for the night.” Parineeta peered around the corner. The houses were starting to look more familiar. She hadn’t been back to the town in years, but her aunt had always welcomed her whenever she’d visited.

A tap on her shoulder brought her attention back to Warren. “You mean
we
need a place to stay for the night. I will speak with your aunt.”

“You?” She arched an eyebrow at him. He stood there in the remnants of his uniform regalia: beige pants ripped at the bottom of his thighs, a once-white shirt covered in splotches of dust, a leather belt with a brass buckle as wide as his neck, and long black boots that were faded brown at the toes and extended up to his knees. If her aunt didn’t think he had been robbed, she would assume he was a mad beggar. “Not in this state, you aren’t.”

• • •

He was definitely imagining things. He had to be. There was absolutely no way on earth the man he saw before him was … well, him.

Parineeta had swept his unruly dark hair into a turban, placed him in a tan kameez shirt and added some white shalvar pants.

If she hadn’t insisted on dressing him in traditional garb, he would have stayed in his button-up and khaki pants. But the disguising effect had worked. The past few days of walking under the hot sun’s rays had tanned his skin darker than it had ever been back in Hathras. He stared at himself through alternating sides of the mirror, examining his reflection from different angles.

“No one will recognize you as a British general now,” she said from behind him. She’d read his mind. “Or an American spy.”

“What did you say?” The voice of an older woman speaking in Hindi drifted through the fabric curtain.

“Nothing!” Parineeta replied. “Don’t worry, aunt.”

He raised an eyebrow at her through the mirror. “And does your brother know we’re coming with his men?”

She brushed off the top of his seamless kameez. “No, Raj does not.” She didn’t meet his gaze in the mirror. Her eyes remained fixed on the cloth instead; she was clearly admiring her handiwork. “I know where he will be hiding, though. And I sincerely doubt he will turn away his sister and the man who saved his life.”

The sizzle of the frying pan from the kitchen caught Warren’s attention. His stomach growled as the scent of fresh eggs and fried naan and creamy butter chicken filled the air.

Parineeta smiled at the sound. “Come, eat with us.”

He didn’t need to be commanded twice.

His guide led the way, and he followed, brushing aside the thin cloth sheet that acted as a door between the main room and the kitchen. The lack of ventilation in the kitchen caused the hot air from cooking to remain trapped in the room. Tiny wooden stools were perched against the table, and the bowls ranged from battered tin to chipped marbled clay. No silverware lay spread on the table, yet the sight before him seemed grander than any five-course feast he’d ever attended in the queen’s honor.

Warren sat down and began eating. His stomach yearned for more food after each bite. He reached for the fried naan, swirled it around in the butter chicken, and polished off all the pieces of paneer in his bowl.

“Your husband is quite hungry!” Parineeta’s Aunt Ankita exclaimed.

She gasped. “Oh, he’s not my…”

“Thank you. This woman does not feed me enough at home.” He felt a swift kick to his left shin beneath the table. He tried to stifle a smirk. “I appreciate you allowing us to stay in your home for the night.”

“No inconvenience at all.” Ankita set another tin bowl on the table for Parineeta. “I wish this girl would visit me more. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you and Raj.” She threw her arms into the air, exasperated with her niece. “You’ve even married a nice man and haven’t told me!”

“He is not your son-in-law.” She corrected her aunt with an insistent tone but not before she shot a warning look at Warren.

Her aunt’s jaw dropped. “You mean without marriage … you two already…”

“She jokes, of course.” He nearly laughed aloud when he saw Parineeta flush with embarrassment. She looked mortified. He picked up another piece of naan and bit off a section of the delicious flatbread. “We are married, aren’t we,
pagal ladki
?”

Ankita giggled, shoving Warren’s shoulder in a playful way. “You shouldn’t call your wife such names.”

His “wife” crossed the floor to the other side of the room. She lifted the cloth separating the two rooms and left the kitchen without another word.

“Oh!” Ankita frowned. “Was it something I said?”

He pursed his lips and set his bread back down in his bowl. If he’d learned anything from living among the British gentry, it was that it was always best to apologize first.

He found her leaning against one of the walls and staring out the window at the dusty, narrow street.

“Parineeta, I’m sorry.” Warren stepped forward, his brown sandals slapping against the dirt floor. He placed a hand on her arm, and her shoulders stiffened underneath his touch. “I shouldn’t have joked about your marriage.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Her voice stretched tight, firm and defiant. All traces of warmth had left her tone. “You, the white male, can have any woman you want.”

The white male? He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

He was sure that if he could take one look at her face, he’d see the return of her familiar fiery gaze. “You can have any white woman and any Indian woman, just as you please. You don’t care at all about their feelings, so long as your own needs are met.”

He furrowed his brow. “I am not like that, Parineeta.”

She whirled around. “Yes, you are. You’re all the same. My father abandoned my mother, just like you would abandon any woman…”

“Parineeta!” He grabbed both of her shoulders. She stood there, silent before him. That proud chin of hers tilted upward. The last time she’d given him such a fierce gaze was right before they’d entered the ballroom back at his mansion. “Not all men are the same. Not all men will betray you.”

“Yes? Then what do you plan to do once you reach Lucknow?”

Warren dropped his hands. His chest ached at the thought of keeping more information from her. He couldn’t reveal everything … not yet. There was too much to explain.
Raj.
He couldn’t forget to keep tabs on her brother, nor could he afford to let Parineeta know.

“It doesn’t matter.” Her gaze had fallen from his face and was fixed on something behind him.

She probably thought the worst of him. Humidity surrounded them all on sides, trapping his untold secrets in the heat. If he did have reason to suspect her brother of anarchist influence, he would have no choice but to inform his bureau chief. Would she even speak to him if she discovered his true reason for spying?

“Warren.” Her voice sounded clipped, and her wide eyes filled with panic. “Go to the kitchen. Don’t turn around, and get back into the other room right now.”

“Why?” He stepped forward, but her outstretched hand pushed him back.

“Soldiers. Outside.” She inclined her head toward the kitchen, all the while keeping her eyes trained on the scene outside the window. “Now
go.
”

Of course the lieutenant colonel would send more soldiers to the village where they had last been seen. He swallowed hard and marched toward the kitchen. They should’ve left earlier in the morning. Damn him for getting too comfortable in one place. Within seconds, she was inside the room as well.

Parineeta’s aunt was in the process of pouring water over some of the dishes. She moved with a slow pace, oblivious to the soldiers outside her home.

He watched the woman beside him march toward her aunt and place a gentle hand on her arm. “Aunty, we have to leave.”

Ankita sighed and set aside one of the tin bowls. “You just arrived.”

Warren placed his back flat against one wall and twisted his shoulders to peer through the glass window. Five British soldiers marched down the street in a pack of pith helmets and pressed brown uniforms, asking questions of Indian men passing by. The Indians they talked to were well-dressed in newsboy caps and collared shirts with gray pants fit for a proper suit. There was little fear in their postures, unlike the poorer villagers he had seen before. Maybe it had nothing to do with their level of wealth. Perhaps the revolutionary fever merely coated this village thicker than the others.

Each Indian in the group shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, but the soldiers still seemed to be walking in his and Parineeta’s direction all the same.

His attention flickered from the soldiers to the scene inside the kitchen once Parineeta spoke again. “It’s urgent. I will be in contact with you soon. Don’t worry.”

He turned around and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s no time to lose.”

Ankita grabbed one of his hands and surrounded his palm with both of hers. Wrinkles pulled up against the sides of her mouth as she smiled at him. Her touch was warm. “I hope your journey to Lucknow will be safe.”

“I hope so, too. I cannot thank you enough for your kindness and hospitality,” he said in Hindi. He placed his other palm over the top of the woman’s weathered hands.

She leaned in closer. Her green veil fell forward on her forehead until it covered her gray hair. “Take good care of my Parineeta, won’t you?”

He didn’t need to think twice. “I will protect her with my life.”

An unceremonious snort echoed from the other room. When had Parineeta left the kitchen?

“He needs my protection as well!”

“That I do!” The corner of his mouth quirked upward as he left the room to join her.

Crazy girl.

• • •

Parineeta pushed aside one of the low swinging branches of the mango tree. The sticky air around her smelled damp, cool, and fresh. Even after she’d disguised Warren, she felt much more comfortable traveling through the dense jungle than through populous towns and villages. The last problem they needed was someone recognizing either of them on the main road.

“Look what I found!”

She turned around at the sound of his excited voice. He stood a few feet away from her, pointing to a mango tree. A plethora of ripe, juicy mangoes drooped down from the branches, just above his head.

She frowned. “All you think about is your stomach.” She searched the branches above the mangoes for any other signs of life up there. “There will be food when we find my brother. Let us continue on for now.”

But Warren jumped up anyway, grabbing a mango and yanking the fruit off the tree. He grabbed another and another. She walked over to him and placed both of her hands on his shoulders.

“Stop!”

He halted with a jerky motion. The confusion etched across his brow almost made her laugh. His hands clenched around the reddish-orange fruits. “Why should I?”

As if on cue, she heard the familiar sound of the tree’s inhabitants and felt dread sink into the pit of her stomach. She swiped at the fruits to try to knock them out of his hands, but he extended his arm up and away to keep the mangoes just out of her reach. “Because those do not belong to you.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Warren held up his fruit to the light, admiring his prize as if it had been given to him from Vishnu himself. “Who else could they belong to?”