What Maya Saw

by Shabnam Minwalla

Find me wherever you look

  Then find me through the book’

  The shocked silence in the room was punctured by a peculiar, hiccuppy sound. Professor Kekobad was laughing as he wagged a finger at Father Lorenzo’s portrait, ‘How many more reels are you going to make us dance?’ he chuckled. ‘And where will it lead?’

  The portrait said nothing in response. But then portraits usually don’t.

  CHAPTER 21

  Maya left Professor Kekobad’s office feeling grimy and intrigued. She needed to wash off the dust and comb her hair. She needed a cold, sweet drink. And she needed to get away from Veda’s fluorescent green presence.

  It was a relief when Veda announced that she was going to the library. ‘My assignments are suffering,’ she complained. ‘I am used to getting top marks, and I don’t like anything to get in the way.’

  ‘Not even cold-blooded killers,’ Maya joked, and was rewarded with a death stare. Clearly, as far as Veda was concerned, a sense of humour too was an overrated quality.

  Veda marched off to the library and Maya braved the canteen. Even though she’d outwitted monsters and performed stunts on building terraces in recent times, Maya was still intimidated by that hub of hip teenagers. But she was frantic for an orange juice.

  Maya headed to the counter, fetched her juice, found a table at the very periphery of the canteen. She pulled out her pad, pretending to be busy, but she was too burnt and dehydrated to do more than stare at a blank page. The orange juice was cold and very sour, and Maya wondered if oranges were in season.

  That was the sort of information her mother had at her fingertips. Maya thought about her mother with a stab of envy. Mrs Anand was not the sort of person to get into predicaments or risk sunstroke hunting for Britannias with tridents.

  Britannia with her trident. What did it mean? Was there a statue or painting of Britannia at St Paul’s college? Professor Kekobad said he had never seen one, and he should know.

  Maya had copied down the mysterious stanzas on the last page of her pad, and though she knew it was risky, she couldn’t resist a peek.

  Britannia with her trident does rise

  Under warm blue skies

  We three sit at her feet

  Where many lands do meet

  A sheep represents Australia

  A pretty pagoda is China

  What am I?

  She read it once. Then twice. But it made no sense at all. Once she got home, Veda would check Father Lorenzo’s diary for references to pagodas and sheep. But Maya felt too restless to wait. ‘Britannia with her trident …’ she thought again. ‘There must be dozens of Britannias with tridents in London. But here in Mumbai? In St Paul’s College?’

  Britannia, Britannia, Britannia biscuits? Britannia Restaurant?

  Britannia Restaurant was her dad’s favourite, and when Mrs Anand had gone to Delhi for a family wedding, he’d taken Maya for berry pulao and fried Bombay duck. None of which was relevant to the current conundrum, of course.

  Maya was mulling over the sheep and pagodas when an eager voice called, ‘Maya, hi!!!!’ Startled, she banged the pad shut and almost knocked down her juice.

  ‘Are you hiding a love letter?’ Lola laughed as she came and flopped onto a red plastic chair next to Maya. ‘I haven’t seen you in like centuries! What’ve you been up to? Gosh, you look awful. The bump on your head is like purple. And your nose is all red. Have you been crying? Are you okay?’

  Lola reached across and squeezed her hand. Maya tried to smile, but her eyes filled with sudden tears. She scrubbed them away roughly.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Lola cried.

  ‘Mr Pinkwhistle … died,’ Maya blurted out. ‘He was poisoned.’

  ‘That darling dog with the goofy grin?’ Lola gasped. ‘But how … why …’

  ‘He was poisoned by somebody who knew he loved Cheeslings. I just can’t understand how it could have happened. Everything’s a big, fat mess,’ Maya replied, hunting in her bag for a tissue. She wiped her face, finished her juice and attempted a smile. ‘Sorry, I’m awful company at the moment.’

  ‘Maya, tell me what the matter is! You’ll feel better. And maybe I can help.’

  Maya thought about how wonderful it would be to unburden herself. But could she trust Lola? Did she know anything at all about Lola?

  She couldn’t take a risk now – when they were finally on their way to finding the keys. So she talked about Mr Pinkwhistle instead. ‘Somebody fed him rat poison mixed with Cheesling biscuits. The funny thing is Mr Pinkwhistle avoided strangers – at least strange adults. He was only really okay with children. So why did he suddenly accept food from a stranger?’

  ‘But why would anybody want to hurt him?’

  Maya just shook her head. ‘Who knows,’ she said in an unsteady voice. ‘But now you tell me, how was it to hang out with Owais and Amara yesterday?’

  Lola raised her eyebrows. ‘Gosh, you’re as interested in them as they’re in you. They wanted to know all sorts of stuff about you. Like where you live. Why a kid like you is in the programme. We hardly did any work. Went to Starbucks for a coffee instead. I had a Caramel Frappuccino. It was yummmmmm. Owais is pretty yummmmmm too.’

  ‘So, did he ask you out on a date?’ Maya quipped.

  She meant it as a joke, but Lola turned bougainvillea pink. ‘Ummm,’ she shrugged.

  ‘Are you going?’ Maya asked, feeling sick.

  ‘It was all a bit vague,’ Lola replied. ‘But I’m not sure I’ll go anyway.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because …’ Lola said. ‘Because I got the strangest feeling that they wanted something out of me. It was a bit spooky.’

  ‘Wanted something out of you?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Lola replied. ‘But I had the weirdest feeling it was about you. And I didn’t want to tell them stuff about you. I mean, we’re friends and all.’

  Maya looked hard at her friend. Lola was wearing a short skirt covered in sequins the colour of gunmetal, a sleeveless orange top and grey boots. She looked pretty and whimsical – and for the briefest moment she exuded a lambent glow. As if a bulb had lit up inside of her.

  Even years later, Maya never knew whether that momentary vision was the outcome of sunstroke or second sight. But on that confused mid-morning, she could only rub her head and wonder. How had Lola seen through Owais? How had she resisted his sly mix of flattery and bribery? Could she possibly be – ‘Ouch! What are you doing?’

  Startled by a sharp elbow jab, Maya looked up and saw Sanath standing a couple of tables away, holding a cup of coffee and a dosa. Maya felt fluttery and blushy before she remembered that he was the enemy. Or at least snuggling with the enemy.

  Lola didn’t know this, of course. So she unleashed her broadest smile and waved both arms at Sanath. ‘Hi,’ she called. ‘Come join us.’

  ‘Why did you do that?’ Maya hissed.

  ‘Because you don’t do anything for yourself,’ Lola replied.

  Sanath carried his coffee cup and dosa to the table, sat down and looked shocked when he saw Maya’s bruised and tear-streaked face. ‘Hi Lola,’ he said, before turning to Maya. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Maya said.

  ‘She’s not,’ Lola countered. ‘Somebody attacked her in St Paul’s yesterday. Then somebody else poisoned her dog. Then she seems to have survived an adventure that involved rolling around on an unswept floor with a couple of wild beasts for company. We haven’t got to that bit yet.’

  ‘What?’ Sanath looked horrified. ‘I know about the attack. But poisoned your dog? When? Why?’

  ‘Maya’ll tell you like everything,’ Lola said, jumping to her feet and waving. ‘I forgot I have a group meeting in the quad. Byeeee.’

  Lola rushed away, a whirlwind of jangles and meaningful glances. Sanath shook his head, and then looked intently at Maya. ‘What’s going on? Who attacked you yesterday? Who poisoned your dog? What kind of bunny-boiler stuff is this?’

  ‘I don’t
know,’ Maya snapped.

  ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘A little before lunchtime yesterday. But what difference does it make?’

  ‘Do you have any idea who did it?’ Sanath asked again. ‘Ummm, is this sort of thing normal in Mumbai?’

  Maya would gladly have slapped Sanath.

  ‘What a stupid question,’ she spat. ‘But I’ll answer it anyway. Nothing’s been normal since I stepped into this college and met you and your creepy friends. I don’t know whether you are one of them, or just their agent. But I have a message for them. They may be the coolest, most glamourous creatures around. They may sit in judgement over ordinary girls who don’t own MAC make-up and Miu Miu bags. Or whatever it takes to be all wow and popular and sit under the banyan tree and act all supercilious. But I can see through them. I can see their blood and bones and their wrinkles. And they are not a pretty sight.’

  Sanath looked at her for a long moment. His expression gave nothing away. ‘Go home and rest,’ he said finally.

  ‘Why?’ Maya retorted. ‘Because I sound like a loony? Or because you want me out of the way?’

  ‘Because you’re tired, and scared and sad. Because I want you to be safe. And because that bump looks painful.’

  He leaned over the table, reached out and lightly touched Maya’s forehead.

  Maya felt her eyes filling up again.

  ‘Not now,’ she told herself, blinking and trying to stare into Sanath’s soul. He looked back with anxious eyes. Nothing like the empty glance of the Shadows she had identified.

  ‘Are you a Shadow?’ Maya wondered. ‘Are you a Shadow?’

  Sanath straightened and asked, ‘Maya, do you think your dog—what I’m trying to—’

  ‘Sanathkins. I’ve been looking all over for you. You forgot our plan?’ a voice tinkled, sweet and clear. Sanath jumped.

  Minty the Model, adorable and cuddly in a lacy, off-shoulder dress, tripped to the table. ‘Naughty boy,’ she scolded. ‘Eating your breakfast so late.’

  ‘Uhh Minty,’ Sanath stumbled, ‘this is Maya.’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Minty cooed, before putting a possessive arm around Sanath. The red-tipped fingers stroked Sanath’s arm, and Maya looked away, remembering the bone beneath the flesh.

  She picked up her bag and got up to leave. She was almost out of earshot when she heard Minty snigger, ‘Sanathkins. Your new friend with the purple bump is positively scruffy. Somebody should tell her that purple’s not her colour.’

  ‘Purple is not your colour. Purple is not your colour.’ The words resounded in Maya’s throbbing head.

  Shaking with rage she turned. ‘Purple may not be my colour,’ she snarled. ‘But bare bones is not a great look either.’

  Minty blanched. The Little Miss Muffet smile remained fixed on her face, but something ancient and wicked fumed behind long-lashed, brown eyes.

  CHAPTER 22

  ‘You know you’re clutching at straws, don’t you?’ Veda asked. She looked a bit like a wilted lettuce, though no self-respecting vegetable would ever be caught dead in that particular shade of green.

  Veda and Maya were parked in the Computer Lab at St Paul’s – a dark, uninviting room with a bank of boxy computers and an unreliable Internet connection. They’d spent the last hour putting key words into Google. With no luck at all.

  ‘St Pauls Britannia trident’ took them straight to St Paul’s in London.

  ‘St Pauls Britannia pagoda sheep’ took them to a poorly-rated Chinese restaurant in Minneapolis. One of the reviews complained that the sesame chicken was just pieces of fried bread in a nasty sweet sauce.

  The entire poem took them nowhere at all.

  ‘I think we should stop for the day,’ Veda protested. ‘What’s gotten into you? Why’re you so frantic all of a sudden.’

  ‘I just want this to be over,’ Maya said. ‘I hate being scared all the time. I jump whenever my phone vibrates. And I’m terrified I’ll see another Shadow.’

  ‘In my opinion, we need some rest and inspiration,’ Veda snapped. ‘I’m going home and checking you-know-what. I’ve got a terrible headache. My allergies are flaring up, and my skirt has ripped.’

  Veda switched off the geriatric machine and winced when they stepped into the afternoon. ‘I hope I’m not heading for something,’ she said, making it sound as if the ripped skirt, troublesome allergies and headache were entirely Maya’s fault.

  Still, Maya plucked up courage as they walked towards the gate. ‘Veda,’ she said, ‘I’ve got something to ask you. Don’t bite my head off.’

  ‘What,’ Veda demanded, sounding as if she was sharpening her teeth.

  ‘You’re tired, I’m depressed. We really need some more positive energy. A new pair of eyes. I think I know who could really help us – you know, a shot of Vitality.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Don’t get hysterical when I tell you.’

  ‘WHO?’

  ‘Lola.’

  ‘Whoooooo?’

  Maya gurgled helplessly. ‘You really sounded like an owl,’ she squeaked. ‘Who? Who? Whooooo?’

  ‘Well, the question still stands. Who is Lola?’

  ‘Lola’s my friend,’ Maya said. ‘The small, pretty girl with the short hair. You jolly well know who she is. Don’t be a snob.’

  Veda stopped mid-stride and her already loud voice rose to an embarrassing crescendo. ‘I’m a snob?’ she asked. ‘Are you saying I’m a snob? For years and years, I’ve had to hear remarks from girls like your Lola about my size, my clothes, my nerdiness – and you call me a snob?’

  ‘Lola’s not like that at all. She is really … really … what my granny would call good-hearted.’

  ‘What, so now you can look into her heart? But, of course, you are Miss Perception so we have to listen to you.’

  ‘Veda, please …’

  ‘What do you know about your Lola? Do you know her family? Do you know where she stays? How do you know she’s not another Shadow?’

  Maya shrugged. ‘I trust her. And anyway you know everything about Aadil, where he stays, what he eats for breakfast. But he was still happy to betray us.’

  ‘He’s not betrayed us. He’s just opted out.’

  ‘OK whatever. But is it OK if I involve Lola?’

  ‘Do what you want,’ Veda barked. ‘Two of you can swan around, talking about clothes and hair colour and pedicures and whatever else you people talk about.’

  ‘Veda please—’

  ‘Oh forget it. Just do what you want.’

  Veda clomped towards her bus stop, and Maya found a taxi. She felt upset and restless and the traffic was dire. She fished out her phone and saw that there were messages from her mother, her classmate Dharini and an unknown number.

  Her mother wanted to know if she was fine.

  Dharini had an inane question about holiday homework.

  ‘R V supposed 2 do the English project on lined or coloured paper?’

  Maya stared blankly at the message for three long minutes. English projects and schoolmates seemed remote and irrelevant. A bit like an old photograph found at the back of a cupboard. Part of a faded, long-ago world.

  She wondered if she should ignore the unknown number, but finally clicked on the message. The tiniest smile crept onto her face as she read the message.

  ‘Hi, this is Sanath. You OK? Just to say sorry about today. See you tomorrow.’

  All through the traffic-choked ride to Pine View, Maya kept reminding herself that Sanath and Minty the Model were a couple. That he was keeping tabs on her for the Shadows. That he was possibly a Shadow himself.

  But still, she felt swoony and her headache loosened its vicious grip.

  When she got home, Maya had a long, hot shower, a quick cheese toast and a dark KitKat. Then she turned on some mushy music and sat in front of her computer, singing in a manner that could best be described as tuneless but heartfelt.

  ‘I really really really really really like you’

  �
��That is so … so … 2015,’ she could hear Lola protesting in her head. But she didn’t care. After all, she really, really, really, really liked Sanath.

  The sappy, green fragrance of her shampoo, the sugar in the KitKat and the message on her phone made her effervescent. ‘Time to look at things differently,’ she decided, bobbing to the schmaltzy music. ‘Maybe Britannia, the sheep and the pagoda are somewhere other than at St Paul’s.’

  ‘Britannia trident sheep pagoda,’ she typed and then hummed till Google threw up a screenful of results.

  Anything? She studied the screen and her optimism drained away.

  There was a Wikipedia entry on Britannia.

  A couple of articles about British coins.

  And then she spotted a heading that made her heart race. ‘Standard Chartered Bank Building, Bombay by Frederick William Stevens’.

  With fumbling fingers, Maya clicked on the website.

  The site was dedicated to Victorian architecture and took an eternity to load. But finally, Maya found herself staring at a photograph of a building of buff-coloured stone. The structure looked familiar – one of the many handsome buildings near Flora Fountain that she zipped past almost everyday. But what did this have to do with sheep and pagodas and Britannia with a trident?

  Maya scrolled down, and the second photograph answered her question.

  The picture was a close-up of a group of statues atop the building. Standing straight and holding a trident to the sky was a masterful marble figure wearing a helmet. ‘You must be Britannia,’ Maya exulted. ‘Glad to finally make your acquaintance.’

  Sitting near Britannia were three figures – two women and a boy. ‘Pediment with stone-carving by Mullins, showing a Britannia figure in Roman costume, with helmet, trident and shield, with three seated figures, one of them male and the other two female, representing China, India and Australia,’ read the caption.

  Maya examined the statues. China was a skinny boy. India was a slumped marble figure dressed in a saree. Australia was the female figure sprawled at the side.

  Maya scrolled down further. When she spotted the next photograph, she leapt off her chair and launched into a jig.