by JC Ryan
“We do not know where she is.”
Sensing a story behind the words, Rex knew it might be polite to ask to hear it, but on the other hand the sadness could mean she was dead, and he didn’t want to make his host any sadder. He hesitated. But then Gyan began to tell the story without prompting.
“We have not seen her in months. You must understand, though the caste system has been outlawed, it is still very much honored. We are of the Vaishya caste, honest, but poor farmers. Rehka, however, wanted more. She was able to attend school, but we could not pay for her to go to a university.”
Rex followed the narrative, wondering how it would end. He made an appropriate noise of understanding.
Gyan continued. “She was stubborn. I blame myself. I indulged her, as she was my last child. She went without my knowledge to a money lender. She entered Kurukshetra University and graduated with top honors.” Gyan said the last with pride. “She got a respectable job but living in Mumbai is costly. She could not pay to live and pay her debts, too. She entered indentured servitude to work off her debt, and she is not allowed to visit us.”
Rex commiserated. He knew the practice was forbidden, but it was still alive and thriving and part of the Indian economy. “I’m sorry,” he said. The first thought was he could only hope the young woman would soon be free of her debt. The second was that it was unlikely. Unscrupulous creditors piled costs of housing and food as well as interest on top of the original debt to keep their virtual slaves indebted forever. Even worse, a woman as lovely as she would probably have been pushed into the sex trade in a city far from her home.
Bullying and exploiting the defenseless. Rex felt the rage building in him.
Gyan brightened. “She would have loved to meet your dog. If you are ever nearby again, please come to visit. Maybe my Rehka will be home by then.”
Rex took the statement to mean that he was now free to say goodbye. He thanked Gyan and promised to visit again.
He collected Digger from his place on the veranda and left.
Chapter Four
THE NEXT MORNING, Rex intended to continue the journey that had been interrupted the day before. Kapal Mochan was only a couple of miles up the road from where he had stopped for Digger’s needs the day before, but it was miles apart in atmosphere. Where Bilaspur gave every evidence of a modern city filled with cheaply-constructed apartment houses and a faltering economy, Kapal Mochan was a city steeped in history.
Before leaving, he had a breakfast brought up to his room, where he also tried again to feed Digger the prescribed dry food along with fresh water. Digger once again preferred Rex’s breakfast, but Rex was vigilant and managed to finish it himself without sharing. Digger crunched at his own food, but he punctuated the task with reproachful looks at Rex.
By nine a.m., late in the morning by Rex’s standards, they were on the road.
The temple of white stone or brick, Rex couldn’t tell which from his first sight of it, rose on the banks of a sacred pool, where pilgrims rid themselves of sin by taking a dip. Rex didn’t feel particularly sinful, as he’d always acted in support of his country’s freedom from terrorism and drug dependency. As far as he was concerned, he’d been justified in every killing.
Now he was a few weeks into a new life, no longer a soldier in that fight. He was burned as an undercover agent, he knew not by whom. So, his dip in the pool would symbolically mark the death of his old persona and the birth of the new. From this time forward, he’d be a nomad, searching out places that interested him because of their history, living nowhere and traveling where the wind blew him.
He didn’t intend to dip his entire body in the pool as devotees did. He was certain that such an action would mean Digger would want to join him, and that might be a serious offense to the Indian pilgrims who might consider dogs unclean. For his money, the pool might just as well make an unclean animal clean as wash away sin, but that was his opinion only. He was mindful that he was a guest in this country.
When he arrived at the parking lot, he considered leaving Digger in the van. More than a hundred vehicles were already parked there. However, the temperature was already rising. Rex reckoned he’d rather offend a few people than let Digger bake in a closed car. He apologized to Digger for putting the leash on him again. But Digger seemed okay with it.
Rather than walk through the building to the edge of the pool where hundreds of people were waiting their turn for a dip, Rex walked Digger around by a path that led through the parklike grounds and headed for an edge where he could dip just his hand – the right one – in the waters. By the time he got there, he felt a little silly.
He’d initially thought the gesture would mark his transformation from quasi-legal assassin to tourist without a plan. He didn’t consider his previous actions as sins, precisely. Certainly not on the order of killing a Brahmin, though he also didn’t think those hundreds of people he’d avoided on the other side of the pool had all killed Brahmins, or anyone else, for that matter.
The Brahmins were the top tier of the outlawed caste system. Like everything else he’d observed about India, the law that had made it illegal to discriminate against anyone because of their membership in a lower caste might work in principle. But in action, the caste system still ruled. The Brahmins, traditionally priests and teachers, were thought by the ancients to have sprung from the head of Brahma, the Creator.
Four main castes below the Brahmins were Kshatriyas, warriors and rulers originating from Brahma’s arms; Vaishyas, like Gyan’s family, were farmers, traders and merchants, originating from the Creator’s legs; and Shudras, or laborers, from his feet. The Dalits, or Untouchables were not considered a caste. They had the lowest, dirtiest jobs and for that reason were untouchable. Rex, in his insatiable quest for knowledge especially of history, knew it wasn’t that simple. Dozens of sub castes existed, especially those that were based on specific jobs, almost like unions.
Rex got on his knees and looked down into the water. An inexplicable feeling descended on Rex as he prepared to dip his hand in the water. It was not spiritual, it stirred some emotion in him, but he couldn’t quite define it yet. He shook himself from his reflection on the caste system. No, all those people were not killers. Bathing in this pool had come to mean washing all sin away, like baptism, not just the sin of killing someone.
But to Rex, now that he was right there, and he gave it some thought, he felt as if he were to go ahead and do it, it would wash away his oath of revenge on the terrorists who’d killed his family and hundreds of others at the railway bombing in Madrid in 2004. It meant going back on the oath he’d taken upon joining the Marines, to defend his country from enemies, and on the one he’d taken more recently next to Trevor, to avenge the deaths of his friends. There were still a lot that had to be done, evil people that had to be held accountable. He had names from the hard drives of the drug lord who’d arranged the ambush that night, and there was still much to be decrypted.
I’m not ready to wash away those oaths.
He sat back, unfolding his legs and then crossing them in front of him, still staring at the water. Digger watched with evident interest as Rex reviewed his life.
Have every one of my killings been justified?
There were many, and he remembered them all. Sometimes his near-perfect memory was a blessing, often a curse. He could recall in vivid detail, for example, the broken bodies and bloodied faces of his mother and sister as they lay dying.
Yes. Every one of them was justified.
Rex was not a religious man. He considered himself an agnostic, at best. If there was a God, He might have a different opinion of those acts, but Rex’s conscience was clear. Nevertheless, even though he had consciously set his life on a new course, he knew it was not the end of the path, at least not until he’d completely fulfilled all his oaths. Only then would he be ready to bathe in this pool.
Slowly, Rex pushed himself to his feet, turned away from the water, and started to retrace his steps along t
he path. About halfway to his van, Rex deep in thought, he and Digger met a lovely young woman with an entourage of several more. She was dressed in white traditional robes edged with red and richly jeweled. A veil of the same cloth draped her head, anchored by heavy pendants of what appeared to be rubies and diamonds, and a choker-style necklace of the same surrounded her throat. The other women were also dressed in traditional garb, all alike.
Rex took them to be a bride and her bridesmaids on some errand having to do with the wedding. He stepped politely off the path, leading Digger to his opposite side.
The bride smiled at him, and the bridesmaids tittered with delicate laughter.
Lucky man, the groom.
***
WHEN HE REACHED the van, Rex decided to let Digger have some time in the forest before they got on the road for a long trip. He still needed to decide where they were going next, anyway. A little time with a map and his list of other historic sites would give him some ideas. He took his lunch from the cooler and stashed it in a small knapsack, along with Digger’s bowls and food and extra water bottles. The map and notes he wanted to consult went into a pocket in his cargo shorts.
Digger had been on his best behavior, so as a reward, Rex let him off the leash. When they were ready, he said, “Let’s go play in the woods, buddy. Stay close.”
Digger for once had the same idea, so they made it to the edge of the woods without incident. Rex couldn’t help but compare this forest with the woods back in Connecticut, near his Sandy Hook childhood home, which were quiet, peaceful places. Back there, the only noises in the woods were birds, insects, and his family or other campers. In India, however, the howls and other utterances of the wild monkeys made a cacophony he didn’t find so peaceful. Nevertheless, he ignored the noise, certain it would fade into the background of white noise like the noise of a city did for its residents.
Rex found a fallen tree and used it for a place to sit, telling Digger he was free to go and explore and play. The dog immediately took off, nose in the air, taking in all the scents and stopping at trees to lift his leg and demarcate his domain. Rex took out the notes and map to decide where they were off to next. His stomach was beginning to growl when Digger came back, bringing a company of irritated monkeys with him.
“Digger, what did you do?” he asked. He was more than a little worried. Contrary to anything that made sense to him, Rex knew the monkeys were protected, considered sacred by the Hindu religion. There were signs everywhere saying that the monkeys were protected under the Wildlife Protection Act of 1972. It was a crime, punishable by fine, incarceration, or both to hunt, capture or kill them. Rex assumed he’d be in trouble for even trying to scare them, though, from what he had observed so far, the WPA was honored more in the breach than observation in the cities.
Digger had no answer for the irritating creatures. He crawled under the tree where Rex was sitting to get away from the monkeys. Some of them were so audacious they would run up pull his tail and then run away. Digger’s snarls and growls didn’t scare them. They followed him into his hiding place. He whined, no doubt expecting Rex to do something about it.
Rex laughed in spite of himself. He looked around, making sure no one was watching, took a chance and shooed the most persistent monkeys away. After that, the whole troop retreated to the high branches of nearby trees.
“Are you ready for lunch?” he asked Digger. He took off his knapsack and poured the usual feast for Digger – dog chow and water – and opened the bag with his own sandwich in it. Digger lapped at the water, but as usual disdained the food. Until a bold monkey swung down from the nearest tree and scrambled to the bowl. Digger barked fiercely at him.
Rex chuckled. “Come on Digger, you didn’t want it. Let the poor monkey have it then.”
Digger, though, was determined to protect what was his, even if he didn’t want it. He rushed at the monkey, snarling. Before Rex could intervene, the monkey retreated, chittering angrily. Digger sniffed the food and then turned away.
Rex was certain Digger wouldn’t eat the food, now that it had the monkey’s scent on it, but he didn’t remove the bowl right away. To do so would require him to put down his food, and he remembered what had happened yesterday. He continued eating his sandwich. But within seconds, the bold monkey was back with two companions.
Rex admired their tactics. Two of the monkeys tormented Digger, though they didn’t do anything that led Rex to believe they were about to hurt him. They worked in a team. One would snatch at his tail, then retreat when he whirled around. Then the other would do the tail thing and retreat. Meanwhile, the third monkey was stuffing his cheeks with the food from Digger’s bowl.
Rex couldn’t help but laugh loudly at the sight.
Digger must have been offended when he realized that Rex was entertained by his dilemma and was not going to do anything to help him. He stalked away, putting his back to a tree and sitting with his tail curled around his feet, just like a cat. And just like a cat, the end of his tail was twitching with irritation. But no monkey could get at it without risking Digger biting its head off.
Rex was so busy watching the comedy that he failed to notice one of the monkeys sneaking up on him, until it snatched the remainder of his sandwich right out of his hand.
“Hey!” he shouted. Whereupon the monkey with the stuffed cheeks began spitting soggy dog food into his paw and throwing it at Rex. Then it became a full-on attack. The monkeys surrounded him, separating him from Digger, and pelted him with dog food and other soggy stuff, the origin of which he didn’t want to know.
Abandoning his food, his knapsack, and Digger’s bowls, he beat a hasty retreat toward the van, shouting “Come Digger!”
He hadn’t gone ten steps before the leader of the unruly troop rushed up from behind and jumped on his back. Rex was not unaccustomed to a pack weighing thirty pounds or more hanging from his back, but an angry male monkey of the same weight, and ten or more following in support of the one on his back with bared teeth and making angry, high-pitched noises, was a different matter altogether. He didn’t even have time to worry the animal would bite him, before in the corner of his eye he caught something moving from his left side in a flash and hitting the monkey on his back, carrying it sideways.
Rex whirled to see Digger throwing the monkey on the ground.
“Digger, leave it!” he yelled, but it was too late.
Digger ripped the monkey’s throat out with one savage jerk of his head.
“Oh, shit!”
While all the other monkeys in the vicinity set up a howling like a whole herd of banshees, Rex looked around. There were no witnesses except the monkeys. He and Digger were in big trouble if they stayed. He didn’t even think to go back for the knapsack and bowls. They could be replaced. Digger couldn’t.
“Come on, boy, let’s get out of here!”
He ran for the van, with Digger on his heels. The monkeys followed, but at a respectful distance. They were still howling with rage. Rex opened the driver’s door, urged Digger to jump in, and jumped in after him. He peeled out of the parking lot like the devil was pursuing him, and indeed, the monkeys might have been possessed. Some of them chased the van, jumping from tree to tree at a rate Rex couldn’t believe. He was forced to slow for the speed limit and because he didn’t want a constable to stop him and inquire why twenty or thirty pissed-off monkeys were following him.
The monkeys gave up their pursuit, just as Rex entered the village of Bilaspur and pulled into the nearest parking lot to check on Digger to see if he came out of it unscathed. He was good.
While scratching him behind the ears to comfort him he said, “Digger, thanks buddy. But let’s not kill any more monkeys while we’re here, okay?”
As if he understood, Digger growled low in his throat which could have meant, “Okay, but only as long as they don't attack one of us.”
Rex looked around to get his bearings and noticed a restaurant across the street. “I can’t get you a steak in this count
ry where cows are holy animals, boy, but you deserve a chicken at least. I’ll be right back.”
A few minutes later, he was back, with two orders of chicken baked in a tandoor oven in a to-go bag. He drove leisurely to the park where they’d had lunch the day before, or rather where Digger had had Rex’s lunch the day before. Rex didn’t remember seeing any monkeys, but he took the precaution of eating inside the van, anyway. He took out his chicken and then handed Digger the other bag. Digger took it delicately in his teeth and jumped over the seats, into the cargo compartment, where he ripped the bag apart and devoured the chicken inside.
While he ate, Rex thought about his morning, which led him to think about families. He’d had a family – a mother, father, sister and brother. Terrorists killed them, as he’d remembered in depth he didn’t often afford himself today. It wasn’t just about oaths. He often felt isolated, alone in the world, and save for Digger, he literally was alone.
When he’d joined the military, his family had been his military brothers and a few sisters. The rigors of basic training had made them fast friends, even while it made them rivals. He’d lost those friends, except for Frank Millard, when he was plucked straight from basic and transferred to Delta Force training. He hadn’t known at the time just how extraordinary that had been, but he learned soon enough. It was unprecedented.
He’d made other friends during his Delta training, but fewer. All those men had been focused on surviving the toughest course there was, or so they thought. They saw him as a threat to their own successful journey to become elite Delta Force operators. When the time came for the survivors to be assigned to a squad, they’d become even closer than brothers, but that time never came for Rex. Once again, an inexplicable circumstance had washed him out. He’d spent more than half a week drunk before CRC caught up with him.
