Ticket to India (13 page)

19

A Spot of Tea

W
ITH THE AID OF
a cane, Sir Arthur led Maya and Jai down a dirt path and to the street, toward a sleek silver coupe parked under a baobab tree. When Maya had introduced Jai as a family servant, Sir Arthur hadn't blinked an eye. And when the old man had asked Jai in Hindi where Maya's aunt lived, Jai had given him the blank, addled look of a halfwit. Thinking fast, Maya had told Sir Arthur that Jai was a mute and didn't speak. So with a shrug he'd agreed to take them both.

“Here she is,” he said proudly. “She's a Yank too,” chuckled Sir Arthur. “A 1957 Studebaker Golden
Hawk. Used to race it with my friends, and no one, not even Dr. Manfred's Bentley or Nawab Patallia's Jaguar, could keep up with it.”

The driver's-side door swung open and out slid a hunched, white-haired man in a faded black suit. “Sir Arthur, you've finished early.”

“Well, Frank, I've run into a young lady who's in a spot of trouble,” said Sir Arthur. “I found her in the cemetery, quite lost. And she can't remember which hotel her family is staying in.”

With drooping, hound dog eyes set in a dark-­featured face with aquamarine eyes, Frank took in Maya's tangled hair and dirty clothes, a frown settling between his brows. “I see,” he murmured.

Maya had a sinking feeling Frank didn't quite believe her story, but it didn't matter; this was her ticket out of the Residency and away from Bhagat. Frank pulled open the passenger door and Maya and Jai slid inside, scooting along the springy leather seat toward the gearshift. Sir Arthur folded his frail body beside them and Frank revved the engine, reversed, and merged onto the road. Maya hunkered low, peering past Sir Arthur's hawkish profile toward the river, watching the multitiered building they'd passed barely an hour before.

“Magnificent, isn't it?” asked Sir Arthur.

Maya nodded, spotting the board she'd just run past. Written in bold letters was:
CENTRAL DRUG RESEARCH INSTITUTE
. Beneath was a plaque with smaller type:
ARCHAEOLOGICAL DEPARTMENT OF INDIA—CHATRI PALACE RENOVATION PROJECT.

Maya slid lower as they passed the bus station, catching the glint of the sun's rays across the water as it sank into the horizon. It would be dark within the hour. A hot breath expelled itself from her lungs as they passed the police station—no sign of Bhagat or the officer. A line of squat concrete apartment complexes floated by, and Frank took a right down a shadowy street lined with a row of genteel, aging Victorian bungalows, languishing behind overgrown hedges. Soon the car pulled up to a set of tall iron gates. In response to the bellowing horn, a wiry old man in shorts appeared to open them. The car purred up the path, past a rambling garden to a dilapidated two-story villa lined with dusty windows.

“Come, my dear,” said Sir Arthur, exiting the car.

Maya and Jai followed him up the steps to the porch, its sloping roof held up by engraved columns. She shared a worried look with Jai as the man in shorts efficiently locked the gates.

“Miss Smith, we have company,” Sir Arthur called out as they stepped into the expansive foyer. A dusty chandelier hung above, illuminating the rose-­patterned wallpaper, cracked and peeling. A wooden staircase curved up to the second floor, lined with a series of portraits of stern-faced men in fitted jackets and silk cravats.

A tiny old woman in old-fashioned black skirts popped in from a side door. “Sir Arthur, you're back early.”

“Yes, yes. I have a young lady joining me for tea. If you would be so kind as to tell the cook to have it served in the library.”

She stared at Maya quizzically, her blue eyes strikingly similar to Frank's.
They're brother and sister,
thought Maya. Anglo-Indian, a mix of English and Indian blood.

“The cook died five years ago and his son ran off with the silver,” Miss Smith reminded him, smoothing back strands of white hair that had escaped her bun.

“Oh, right,” said Sir Arthur.

“But I will get it,” she chirped, disappearing in a whirl of crinkling satin.

Jai's eyes widened as they stepped into the library,
which occupied half of the first floor of the house. Since passing through the front door, he'd hung back, following them like a ghost. He trailed behind as Sir Arthur led them over moth-eaten tiger pelts, past bookshelves crammed with leather spines, and below the mounted heads of big-horned sambar and smaller, spotted chital deer.

Against the window sat a heavy teak desk, designed with dozens of cubbies, filled with stationery and fountain pens. Leaning against a dictionary teetered an envelope. Maya squinted at it, catching a glimpse of multicolored paper, but before she could examine it further, Sir Arthur guided her toward a dusty grand piano, groaning under the weight of hundreds of framed photographs: shots of tennis matches, tea on the cricket field, and elephant hunts. One in particular caught her attention. A young couple in their wedding finery, smiling ear to ear, eyes sparkling.
Sir Arthur and Amelia.

“This one was taken in London,” said Sir Arthur, pointing to a miserable-looking young man with floppy ears, standing in front of Big Ben. “My father sent me to Cambridge to study law. I hated every minute of it—the awful headmaster, terrible food, querulous students, and the blasted, endless rain.”

Maya glanced behind the piano and saw a dreamy-eyed young man looking down at them, resplendent in a medal-encrusted uniform, crown, scepter, and sword.

“With old George at the helm, the Empire ­crumbled,” muttered Sir Arthur, catching her gaze.

“Who was he?” asked Maya as Jai surveyed the room, discreetly making his way toward the windows, looking for a way out, she hoped.

“King of England and the last emperor of the colonies,” grumbled Sir Arthur, pacing. “He never should have been king to begin with, but his older brother Edward abdicated for that divorced American, Wallis something or other. What a scandal that was.” Pensive, Sir Arthur moved toward the windows. “Everything had all been going so well till then—well, the second great war put pressure on things, but we had done so much for India.”

Maya stared at him, uneasy at his growing agitation. “We made agricultural reforms, built industries, and connected the country with rails, roads, and canals,” said Sir Arthur, staring at her with haunted eyes. “We brought law and order and rid the country of ­suttee—widow burning—female infanticide and child ­marriage. . . . I don't understand how things went so wrong . . . why the people turned against us. . . .”

He was interrupted when Miss Smith entered, carrying a heavy tray. Placing it on a table with a thump, she poured milk and steaming tea into delicate china cups marked with spidery cracks. A plate of limp cucumber sandwiches and cookies sat beside it. “Enjoy it before it gets cold,” she urged, and retreated from the library.

“Come, you must be famished,” said Sir Arthur, helping himself to a cookie. He settled into the sofa, while Maya took a rickety arm chair facing him.

Maya eyed the sandwich and took a cookie instead. It looked like it came out of a box from the store. She passed another two to Jai, who was sitting on the floor as if invisible. The steaming sugary tea slipped down her throat and pooled warmly in her belly. Naniamma
was right. It does make you feel better,
she thought, taking another calming sip.

Eyes clear again, Sir Arthur sheepishly brushed crumbs from his lap. “I must apologize. I've been a terrible host, burdening you with such things.”

“Nommmph,” Maya said through another slurp, which Sir Arthur took as an invitation to keep talking.

“Now, the weather, on the other hand, has been a breath of fresh air. . . .”

Maya half listened to him discuss the importance
of monsoon rains while she scanned the room, trying to figure out the best way to sneak away. The shadows outside were growing longer and it would be dark soon. With a sense of panic building in her chest, she glanced back at Sir Arthur, who'd gone strangely silent. He'd fallen asleep.

Jai tugged on her arm with urgency. “We need to leave now,” he whispered.

Maya nodded, about to rise, when Miss Smith appeared. She spotted Sir Arthur's slumped form and sighed. “Oh, the poor dear, he's nodded off. Won't be up till the morning,” she added, turning toward Maya. “Come, I'll set up a room for you upstairs.”

“Actually, I think we should be going,” stammered Maya.

“Considering Sir Arthur is asleep and Frank has locked the car for the night, I don't think that would be advisable,” said Miss Smith.

“It's okay,” said Maya. “Really, we don't want to be a bother. We can find our way back to the, er, hotel.”

Miss Smith gave her a worried look. “I'm afraid the streets aren't safe for children on their own. Sir Arthur would never forgive himself if something happened to you, or me for letting you leave.”

Maya stared at Jai with dread, but he gave her a
wink that seemed to say,
Go with the flow.
Gritting her teeth, she nodded with a forced smile.

The housekeeper guided them upstairs to one of the many rooms along the hall, old keys jutting from ancient locks. Pushing open the third door from the left, she ushered them into a musty room that looked like it had just recently been dusted, but not with much care. “The boy can sleep down in the kitchen,” she said, and bustled Jai toward the door. “Have a good night's rest. We'll find your people in the morning.”

Maya nodded, gingerly sitting on the edge of the bed. Jai would be back as soon as the housekeeper was asleep, she knew. With her journal and pencil in hand, she began to pace, the thoughts in her head falling into place in purple strokes, which she hoped would bring her a creative solution to the current pickle she was in.

Tuesday, September 20

Lucknow, India

Somehow I got away from Boss . . . and it was because of the boy who tried to steal my backpack. Jai. He helped me escape . . . but we had to do something terrible. We had to
leave his little sister behind. I think he is the bravest person I've ever met. He's had a rough life, dealt with things I can't even imagine, but he is so brave that being with him makes me feel that I can do brave things too.

I know it sounds crazy, especially after what I've been through—maybe it's because of what I went through—but I feel I totally HAVE to find
Naniamma
's chest. We promised her, and
Nanabba
can't be buried without his ring—he just CAN'T.

Also, I did something I couldn't have imagined I could do. I found the right words to tell Zara that we were going to find that chest, and that she and Mom were coming . . . and unbelievably, she said yes. With Jai's help I've continued on my journey, but I'm stuck again, in a city called Lucknow, eighty miles from Faizabad. . . . Now I just need to figure out how to get there.

•  •  •

A few hours later, the door opened with a soft click. Jai stood in the doorway, a grin on his face. In his hand he had a stack of multicolored bills—more than a thousand rupees.

20

Fighting Pink

T
HE MAIN BUS DEPOT
was abuzz in the predawn hours as Maya and Jai sat in an air-conditioned bus. Luckily, they'd gotten tickets for the first bus to Faizabad and as soon as she'd boarded, Maya had asked the driver if he knew where Maurya Hotel was located. With a smile of recognition lighting his warm ­features, he'd promised to drop them there, as it was down the road from the bus depot. They'd found seats directly behind the driver's seat. Maya pulled out the pink phone and called Zara, twice, but got voice mail both times. The battery was running low, so she turned it off, praying that her mother and
sister were on their way, or were already there.

She still couldn't quite believe they'd made it out of Sir Arthur's house without waking anyone. But before slipping out the front door, as Jai had begged her to do, she'd snuck back into the library, tiptoeing past Sir Arthur lying curled up on the sofa, where someone, probably Miss Smith, had taken off his boots and covered him with an afghan. Squashing the pang of guilt for taking his money, she stopped at the desk where Jai had taken the money. She ripped Sir Arthur's address from an envelope in a pile of mail, vowing to return the borrowed money as soon as she could. Finally, with a last glance at the old Englishman, they'd left.

The journey was coming to an end and she could feel
Naniamma
's chest within her grasp. But she wouldn't have been able to make it this far without Jai. She glanced over at him, heart swelling with grati­tude. His face pressed against the glass, he sat exhausted, staring out the window.

“Are you okay?” she asked, knowing that he was thinking of his sister.

“Yeah,” he muttered, running his finger along the foggy glass.

“It'll be okay,” said Maya, although she wasn't quite so sure herself. “My mom and sister will be at the
hotel, and once we find the chest at my grandmother's house, we'll head back to Agra . . . to Guddi.”

“Okay,” said Jai, apprehension still deep within his eyes. He pulled up his feet and curled up to sleep.

As the bus pulled away from the station, Maya glimpsed the police station and was filled with a deep misgiving about how things had ended with Bhagat. The truck driver had just been trying to help. Was he worried about them? She sighed. There was no way to tell him they were okay. She pulled
Naniamma
's memory map from her pocket and smoothed out the wrinkles. The precise handwriting instructed her to arrange for a car at Maurya Hotel that would take them to Aminpur Township. It sounded ­simple enough, but so far, nothing on this trip had been ­simple. With a sigh, she closed her eyes.

•  •  •

“Girl.” The driver's voice broke through Maya's sleep, jerking her awake. “We'll be at the hotel soon.”

“Thank you.” Maya smiled groggily.

Gently shaking Jai awake, Maya stood and pulled on her backpack. As she moved toward the door, a wiry dark hand grabbed her arm. The hand belonged to a white-bearded old man in a loincloth and saffron
kurta
. As she looked at him in bewilderment,
he angled his head out the window, toward the river running beside them. “That's the sacred Saket, you know,” he said, rheumy eyes intense. “This is where Lord Rama left the earth for the divine abode.”

“Oh . . . ,” mumbled Maya, not knowing what to say as she stared at the sign of the trident on his ­forehead—three lines of ash, marking him a
sadhu
, or a holy man who'd renounced worldly possessions to spend his life in prayer.

“I'm here to join the liberated souls that dwell here,” he said with a gap-toothed grin. “Even old Buddha came here, seeking enlightenment.”

He was about to say more when the driver interrupted. “Miss, your hotel is coming up.”

“Daughter,” said the
sadhu
, releasing his grip. “May you find what you seek, for I see a great longing in your soul.” And just as quick, he was back to ­staring out the window and counting his wooden prayer beads.

With a nod of thanks to the driver, Maya and Jai disembarked. Beside them rose Maurya Hotel, a cream stone building lined with glittering windows. It sat nestled on a street bordered by office buildings just coming to life. The pace in Faizabad was markedly quieter, less frenetic than Delhi or even Agra.

“We made it,” grinned Maya, flooded with relief.

Jai nodded a little less enthusiastically, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Come on,” said Maya. “Let's see if my mother is here. We can have a nice hot shower and a
big
­breakfast.”

At the word “breakfast” Jai perked up, and they headed through the main entrance. For a second Maya stumbled, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the glass doors. She was a mess: dust-smudged face, matted hair, dirty jeans, and a ripped shirt. Although she knew she looked like a street urchin, she made a beeline through the empty lobby to the front desk. With as much confidence as she could muster, she asked if a Mrs. Agha had checked in.

“No, I'm afraid not,” said the clerk, examining the computer screen.

Maya's shoulders sagged. She hadn't realized how desperately she'd been hoping to find her mother there—to be able to put down the burden she'd been carrying—and to find
Naniamma
's chest and help Jai get Guddi back. Hiding her disappointment, she combed through the backpack, looking for the hotel reservation slip, but it was missing. “Wait, did a Ms. Tauheed check in?” she blurted out, thinking her
mother might have used her grandmother's name.

Thin-lipped, the clerk examined her from head to toe, a frown settling between his brows. “I see that there is a reservation under that name,” he said. “But you were supposed to arrive two days ago, on September eighteenth.”

“Uh, well,” Maya mumbled, thinking fast, “we were detained in Delhi due to, er, food poisoning. Can we still have the room?”

“Yes, but I will need a little time to have one prepared,” he said.

As he typed on the computer, Maya pulled out the cell phone and turned it on to listen to the voice mails. Guilt filled her as she realized they were all for the poor woman they'd stolen the phone from. She dialed her sister's number, but after several rings it rolled over into voice mail. Frustrated, she left a message telling her they'd arrived at the hotel. She turned to Jai, who was watching two men having a heated discussion in the corner. Something niggled in the back of her mind.
This is too easy,
she thought.
Why didn't the desk clerk wonder why I was alone? Or ask for my passport like they did at the Taj Palace Hotel in Delhi?
She tried to relax, telling herself she was being paranoid.

Hanging up the phone, the clerk handed Maya two
coupons. “Please enjoy a complimentary breakfast at the hotel restaurant while your room is readied.”

Taking them gratefully, Maya and Jai washed up in a restroom off the lobby and headed to the restaurant across from the front desk, where a waiter seated them at a table nestled behind decorative trees strung with lights. A minute later they sat drinking steaming teas. As Maya took a soothing sip, she froze, then blinked.
It can't be.
She coughed, hot liquid burning her throat.

“Oh, no,” gasped Jai, eyes wide.

From across the lobby strode Babu. He tossed the clerk a fat envelope, which the man quickly pocketed, and headed toward the restaurant. Jai slid from his chair, dragging Maya with him.

As if watching a jigsaw puzzle coming together before her eyes, Maya realized what had happened.
Stupid, stupid,
she berated herself. The hotel reservation slip had fallen from her backpack in Boss's office, and they must have found it. On it were details of where they were headed—Maurya Hotel, Faizabad. Boss had sent the boys to find her. Perhaps they'd bribed the desk clerk to inform them of her arrival, then lain in wait.

“We can't use the front door,” hissed Jai.

“That way,” whispered Maya, glancing at the swinging doors to the kitchen used by the waiter.
They shot out from under the table and ran. Footsteps sounded behind them. A quick glimpse revealed Babu slipping into the restaurant.

The duo barreled through the swinging doors, startling two men chopping ginger and garlic.

“Exit—where's the exit?” she panted.

A cook paused in midstir, steam billowing up from the giant pots on the stove. He pointed his spoon past the fridge down the hall.

Without a thought to thank him, they careened past crates of onions and tomatoes and down the dark corridor toward the white rectangular door. With a quick push, Maya burst out into bright sunlight. As she paused, trying to orient herself, a hand clamped down on her shoulder. She turned and saw it was Ladu, and beside him stood weasely-faced Pinto, who grabbed Jai in a vicelike grip.

“Look what our net has caught,” said Babu, bursting from the back door a few seconds later. “A couple of fat little fish.”

Before she could scream, Ladu's calloused palm clamped across her lips. Fear coiled through her stomach as Babu flipped open his cell phone and dialed.

“Boss,” said Babu, “it was just like you said—she
was at the hotel.” After a moment, he concluded, “Okay, we should be back by late tonight.”

Maya twisted in Ladu's grasp, trying to wrest away, but his grip was too tight.

“Not this time, fish,” said Babu, giving her cheek a sharp pinch. “That's for making me look like a fool.”

“The car's coming around the back,” said Ladu, pushing Maya up the narrow alley, skirting piles of garbage.

Maya recoiled, heart racing as Pinto dragged along Jai.

As they neared the main road, Babu slowed. He angled his head, listening. Then Maya heard something that sounded like a roaring wave, like the Pacific Ocean back home.
Weird,
she thought as a cycle rickshaw passed in front of them. Before she could make eye contact with the driver, he picked up speed, as if trying to get away from the noise. Babu slipped out of the alley, waving at the boys to proceed with caution. As Ladu shoved Maya forward, she paused, openmouthed. It was as if a frothy pink sea had been painted using a wide brush. Like an impressionist painting coming into focus, the colors shifted, revealing coral saris, fuchsia
shalwar kameezes
, and rose-­colored veils. And for a second, the warm colors filled
her with hope. It was a group of women, all dressed in shades of pink.

“It's that blasted Gulabi Gang,” Babu growled, eyeing the women nervously.

Maya frowned.
Gulabi
meant “pink,” and
gulab
, “rose.” Whoever they were, they called themselves the Pink Rose Gang.
Rosa bourboniana
, her grand­father's favorite. The memory sent a flicker of sadness through her, but also a flash of anger—anger at being caught by the beastly boys again.

“We can't mess with them,” muttered Ladu.

“Where's the car I ordered?” growled Babu, peering down the road.

Whoever they are, the boys are scared of them,
Maya thought, as Pinto propelled them toward a shuttered stall and stood guard. Maya peered past Pinto, straining to see what was going on.

The leader of the gang knocked on the front door of a house across the street. “Open up!” she yelled, her long braid swinging. “We know you burned up your daughter-in-law because her family wouldn't pay you more dowry.”

Maya's blood ran cold; she'd heard of stories like this, of brides burned because they didn't have enough dowry—money or goods the bride's family gave to
the groom at the time of their marriage. She reached out and grabbed Jai's hand, staring at the inspiring waves of pink.

From somewhere deep inside her, a courage wound its way through her heart. “This is our chance,” she whispered into Jai's ear. “Just follow me, okay?”

Jai's eyes widened, but he nodded.

With a deep breath, Maya pulled back her foot and let it fly, catching Pinto at the back of his knee. As the boy toppled over with a cry of pain and surprise, Maya slipped past and ran into the sheltering sea of pink, dragging Jai behind her.