by Sheela Chari
“Already up and about?” he said in Tamil. Ravi dipped his sponge inside the bucket of soapy water, the suds running onto the cement. He had been the driver for her grandparents for as long as Neela could remember. She wanted to talk to him the night before, but it had been impossible with her parents there.
“I like being here,” she replied in Tamil. Behind them, the morning traffic droned with the sound of car horns, rattling bullock carts, and people. It seemed as if there was always traffic in Chennai. Neela watched as a vegetable vendor, several women carrying water jugs on their heads, a few stray dogs, and a group of schoolgirls with their hair in neat braids walked by. She decided there was no other way but to ask directly.
“Ravi, I need you to do a big, big favor for me.” Neela showed him the address to the music store. “Could you take my friend and me there? Please?”
He glanced at the address. “Of course. Find out from your parents when to go.”
“You don’t understand.…” She stopped. She realized that Ravi would never take her anywhere without her parents’ permission. “I have to go without them,” she said slowly, “because…it’s their wedding anniversary…and I’m surprising them with a gift.”
Ravi shook his head. “Neela, what would they say with me driving you around by yourself? I would get sacked from my job.”
“But it’s just to my friend’s house and the store down the street.”
Ravi was firm. “I cannot risk upsetting your family. They have been so good to me.”
Neela frowned. There had to be a way to convince him. He was her only hope unless she took an auto-rickshaw, which sounded scary, especially when she didn’t know her way around the city. Or wait. Maybe that was it. “If you can’t take me, maybe I can take an auto-rickshaw. I’ve never done it before, but how hard can it be?”
Ravi looked alarmed. “Don’t! You don’t know those auto-rickshaw drivers. It isn’t safe for a young lady, and they’ll spot you as a foreigner immediately.”
Neela tried to look crushed. “If you can’t take me, I don’t have any other choice.”
Ravi scowled. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. I should tell your parents right now.”
“Please don’t,” Neela begged. “It’s a short ride. I’ll be done in an hour.”
“But what will you tell them?”
“I’ll say I’m going to the neighbor’s to play computer games. I’ll be back before they find me gone. And they’ll be so surprised with the gift I’m bringing home.”
Ravi scowled even more, but at last he relented. “It better be an extra-special gift.”
Neela thought of the veena. “It is,” she said.
On the way to Pavi’s house, Neela trembled with excitement. She had felt awful lying to her parents and grandfather. Her parents had barely looked up to say yes to the neighbor’s house. Little did they dream that their daughter was actually heading down a dusty road to Royapettah.
When Neela had phoned Govindar, he sounded as if he was expecting her call.
“When can I come?” she asked, her heart thudding in her throat.
“Four o’clock. The same time as the other gentleman. You must resolve this problem together.”
“Of course,” she said. But she decided to go an hour early.
If she could talk to Govindar, she might convince him to give the veena to her. After all, all the things Pavi had said were true: Neela was a musician who would play the veena, not Hal. And wasn’t Lalitha Patti a good friend of Govindar’s? Didn’t he owe something to their friendship? The important thing was to get him on her side. Then maybe he would let her take the veena home before Hal even got to the store. Because Hal was the last person Neela wanted to see. She wasn’t sure how much resolve she would have if she looked into his eyes and saw them filled with the memory of his dead daughter.
Ravi turned down a narrow street lined with coconut trees and houses on either side. Neela peered out the window until she spotted her friend standing outside a pale green house. “There she is,” Neela said to Ravi.
Pavi climbed in after the car came to a stop. She was wearing a lemon-colored kurta-pajama set with a thin, gauzy veil wrapped around her neck.
“What did you tell your parents?” Neela asked.
Pavi hesitated, looking at Ravi.
“He doesn’t speak English,” Neela said.
“I said I was taking a nap. They never check up on me when I’m sleeping.” She readjusted her veil.
Neela yawned, starting to feel the effects of jetlag. “What’s with the outfit?”
“Well, you know the saying: When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” She eyed Neela’s Disney World T-shirt and jeans. “Your clothing screams ‘foreigner’ to me.”
Neela let out her breath. “Pavi, we’re not going undercover. Govindar knows we’re coming.” She clutched her backpack, in which she had brought her “clues.” She wasn’t sure she needed them, but it was comforting to have them just the same. She had also brought her passport, in case Govindar asked for proof of who she was.
Outside, Ravi pulled onto a busy commercial street with shops. At the end of the street, between Meera’s House of Saris and an auto-rickshaw stand, they saw it. The sign for the Chennai Music Palace was done in big, decorative writing. They were really here.
“We’ll be back soon,” she said to Ravi in Tamil. “Thanks for taking us.”
Ravi glowered. “You both hurry. If Thatha finds out, I’m a dead man.”
Neela resisted the urge to hug him, because he would get embarrassed. So instead she smiled and thanked him again as she and Pavi shuffled out of the car. Outside, the air was heavy with the smell of exhaust fumes and the sound of engines puttering noisily from the auto-rickshaw stand.
“Ever heard of mufflers?” Pavi muttered as they walked by. The auto drivers peered back curiously at the sight of two young girls alone on a busy commercial street.
The ground was littered with candy wrappers, scraps of food, old cigarette butts, and a stray animal or two. “Watch out,” Neela said as Pavi almost stepped on the tail of a dog sitting next to the store. They walked up the front steps, past a window display of violins, veenas, flutes, a set of drums called mridangams, and a few instruments that looked like inverted clay jugs.
“How does anyone wear this?” Pavi grumbled, readjusting her veil.
“Here, give it to me.” Neela took it from Pavi and stuffed it into her backpack. As they were about to go inside, they heard another car door slam behind them. Neela turned around. Just a few feet away, a car pulled away from the curb as a girl made her way toward the shop. She stopped when she saw Neela.
“What are you doing here?” Neela blurted.
Pavi turned to Neela. “Who’s that?”
“That’s Lynne.”
For a moment, no one said anything. Neela stared at Lynne, who was also dressed in a kurta-pajama set, hers a navy blue with multicolored embroidery along the neckline. Her curly hair was tied back, and she wore a bindi. Where had Lynne learned to dress like an Indian? And what was she doing in front of the Chennai Music Palace, thousands of miles away from home?
At last Neela found her voice. “You’re here because you want to steal the veena again.” When she spoke, she was surprised by how angry she sounded.
Lynne stood very still. “I know you’re mad at me. I’m sorry about what happened. But I don’t think you know the whole story.”
Neela crossed her arms. “I know Hal is Veronica Wyvern’s father, and he thinks my veena belonged to his daughter. So I kind of feel sorry for him. But you just took advantage of him because he was your neighbor, and he thought he could trust you.”
“That’s not true.” Lynne’s shoulders gave way, and she seemed suddenly small and frail.
Pavi, who had been listening, spoke up. “Neela, maybe you should hear her side. You know, like why she’s here in India?”
Lynne pushed up her tortoiseshell glasses. “Um, who are you?”
Pavi tossed her head. “I’m Neela’s friend. I know all about the veena mystery.”
“I thought you told me everything you knew,” Neela said to Lynne.
Lynne motioned to the door. “Let’s talk inside.”
Neela blocked her way. “Why can’t we talk out here? There’s plenty of room.” Behind them, Ravi was staring from the car in puzzlement. He signaled to Neela, but she shook her head.
Lynne sighed. “Because it’s noisy and dusty out here. I’m not sneaking in and running off with the veena, if that’s what you’re worried about!”
Neela followed her inside—though, of course, Lynne stealing the veena was exactly what she was worried about. The three girls found themselves inside a small lobby. Neela and Pavi waited while Lynne took a deep breath and began.
“You’re right about Hal being Veronica’s father,” she said. “Ever since she died, he’s been heartbroken. Sometimes he blamed himself because he was the one who found a veena teacher for her, and the veena was what brought her to India, where she died. It doesn’t make any sense for him to blame himself, but that’s the sort of person he is. And it might be because his wife passed away just a few years after Veronica Wyvern died. So he felt alone in the world without his wife and daughter. Well, almost. But I’m getting to that.
“Anyway, it wasn’t until a year ago that someone sent him a newspaper clipping from India about a veena that kept disappearing and reappearing at the Chennai Music Palace. Some people thought it was haunted, some said it once belonged to Veronica Wyvern. When he read that, he flipped. How could the veena be hers when she died in a train wreck with her veena?”
“I wondered that, too,” Neela said. “Unless she had some other veena with her that day.”
Lynne shook her head. “No, she only owned one. So Hal got to wondering about this veena. Because the article was also about the woman who owned the veena now, a woman in Chennai.”
“My grandmother,” Neela said. “She said she later reported to the newspaper that she had sold the instrument. But she actually mailed it to me.” Her eyes narrowed. “So how did Hal find that out?”
“The person who sent the article—it was the father of the man married to Veronica, her father-in-law—he met somebody at a concert here who knew your grandmother, and that person told him the veena had been secretly mailed off to her granddaughter in Boston. So when Veronica’s father-in-law sent the clipping, he added a note that the veena was really in Boston, owned by a young girl.”
“Where Hal lived,” Neela said.
“Right,” Lynne said. “But Hal had no idea how to find the veena or the girl. Boston’s a big place. So he started looking for music recitals—anywhere a student learning the veena might perform. Finally he saw a listing at the temple last summer.”
“My recital,” Neela said. “With the snapping string.” So even Hal had been there. Was there no one who hadn’t?
“He got your name from the program list. Your mom was one of the volunteers, so her name was on it, too. Then just a quick look through the phone books for a ‘Lakshmi Krishnan,’ and he found your family in Arlington. Which, if you think about it, is a strange coincidence, since this whole time he had a granddaughter the same age, and the two of them were living over in just the next town, Somerville.”
Neela instantly thought of her mother’s saying: There are no coincidences. But then something much bigger struck her. “Granddaughter?” she repeated.
Lynne flushed. “Yeah, granddaughter.”
A look of understanding crossed Neela’s face. “You’re not Hal’s neighbor, are you?”
Lynne shook her head.
“What? What?” Pavi wanted to know. “What are you guys talking about?”
Neela turned to Pavi. “Don’t you get it?”
“I’m the granddaughter,” Lynne finished flatly. “And Veronica Wyvern’s daughter.”
Neela let out her breath. “I’ve got to sit down.” She looked around and found no place to sit. “Veronica Wyvern had a child. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“I was a year old when the train wreck happened,” Lynne said. “And I’ve lived with my grandfather ever since.”
Neela kept shaking her head.
“I wanted to tell you,” Lynne continued. “But my grandfather made me swear to keep quiet. It was all part of his plan to get back the veena from you. I thought it was whacked-out, especially getting me to switch schools so I’d be in the same class with you. He thought if you and I became friends, you’d somehow give the instrument back to us.”
“Why didn’t you just ask? Why did your grandfather have to steal my veena?”
“He tried, he really did, but your grandmother said no.”
“My grandmother?” Neela asked, confused.
Lynne nodded. “Ask her; I’m not lying. And stealing was never in the plan. I mean, I never thought my grandfather would do it. I didn’t want to switch schools…I liked Somerville. But then I guess I wanted to meet you, too. I wanted to see if you really had the veena. Because, well, you know, maybe it belonged to my mom.” She swallowed.
“Don’t you know?” Neela asked, surprised.
Lynne shook her head. “None of our pictures are all that clear, because the dragon part is always facing back, or someone is in the way. I don’t remember her veena, of course, and neither does Grandpa. But he’s convinced it’s the same one because as soon as he saw your veena at your recital, he knew the dragon on it was a wyvern. I guess I want more proof than that, like someone who knew my mom to say, yeah, this is the same veena.”
“Actually, there is someone. His name is Professor Tannenbaum. He knew your mom. He saw the photo in the magazine and recognized it right away.” Neela felt suddenly sad.
Lynne’s eyes grew wide. “So…it’s hers?”
Neela nodded. The sick feeling that had been with her for days had returned. So now it wasn’t just Hal, the long-lost father, but Lynne, the long-lost daughter, too.
Just then, the door to the lobby opened and Ravi appeared, looking cross. “What’s going on? I’ve been waiting, and you haven’t even gone inside; you’re just standing here, talking, talking. Do you have something to do in the store, or do you just want me fired?”
Neela gulped. “I’m so sorry. We’re going in. Please, wait just a few minutes more.”
Ravi glared. “I cannot wait here. I must attend to the car. But be back soon. Time is ticking.” He said the last sentence in English and left the lobby in a huff.
“Hmm, and I thought he didn’t know any English,” Neela remarked. She turned to the girls. “According to my watch, we’ve got about a half hour before Govindar expects us and…Wait a minute. Why are you already here?” she asked Lynne.
“I answered the phone when Govindar called,” Lynne replied. “My grandfather doesn’t even know I’m here. And I wanted to get here early because…”
“You wanted to talk to Govindar alone?” Neela finished. She smiled. “I guess great minds think alike.”
“Well, let’s go, then,” Pavi said. “Time is ticking.”
With that, the three girls entered the store.
Inside, instruments hung along the walls, arranged in a semicircle around the showroom. The room was lit overhead with fluorescent bulbs that flickered, making a thin buzzing sound. There was a man at the counter, punching numbers into a calculator and entering them into a logbook. He turned when he heard the door open, but upon seeing three girls, he returned to his work as if they weren’t worth his time.
Neela cleared her throat. “Excuse me.”
“One minute, miss.” He continued with his calculator.
Several minutes went by, and Neela began to wonder if he had forgotten them.
“Are you Mr. Govindar?” Pavi asked.
At the sound of the name, the man stopped. “You are looking for him?”
“We’re a bit early,” Neela said, “but he asked us to come. Can we talk to him?”
“H
e is not here, but you may talk to his son.” He disappeared through a door behind him.
“Son?” Neela wondered.
Pavi was looking at a framed news clipping on the wall. “And you’ll never guess what his name is,” she said.
Neela and Lynne went to see what she meant. The article was about the Chennai Music Palace and the owners, K.R. Govindar and K.R. Mohan.
“Father and son,” Pavi said. “They own the store.”
“K.R. Mohan!” Neela said. “The expert from the magazine article.”
“But if they’re father and son,” Lynne said, “why don’t they have the same last name?”
“They do, it’s just the order that’s reversed,” Pavi explained. “That’s how it’s done in South India. K.R. are the initials of their surname, and Govindar and Mohan are their first names.”
“I’ve always found that confusing,” Neela said.
“Mohan,” Lynne said slowly. “You know what, I remember that name. I think he was at the photo shoot.”
“Elizabeth Bones must have brought him along,” Neela said. “I guess that makes sense. Though I’m not sure why you need an expert to take a photo of a veena.”
Before anyone could say more, the door to the back room opened and a young man stepped out. He wore a tan-colored shirt that looked freshly starched and pressed, setting off his thin, delicate face. Behind him, the man they first saw came out, headed for the front door.
“I met you at the concert,” Neela exclaimed. She was about to add, You’re the guy with the ruby ring, but decided it might be weird to say that to a stranger.
“You were at the photo shoot,” Lynne said next.
Mohan was just as surprised as them. “What are you all doing here?” He peered from one face to another. Neela saw the ruby ring on his finger shine under the fluorescent lights.
