by Sonali Dev
Mamma stood and Kimi wrapped her arms around her. Her mother smelled as beautiful as she looked, like the tuberoses mali kaka planted in endless rows along the front wall of the garden.
“Were you careful in school?” she asked, stroking Kimi’s hair. “Have you been using your disinfectant gel?”
Kimi nodded. She was feeling a little achy in the head, so having Mamma stroke her head felt really good.
“Do you want me to come up and tuck you in?” But she was leading Kimi up the stairs even before she responded.
“Papa had promised to pick me up from school, but he never came. Did he have to leave town again?” Kimi asked as her mother tucked her quilt tightly around her. She really badly wanted to sneeze again, but she willed herself not to.
Mamma’s face paled. She had been a little distracted all afternoon. Kimi had thought it was because of her sneezes. Apparently, it wasn’t. Usually, Mamma’s face brightened at the mention of Papa. Sarika tai had once slipped up and told Kimi about Mamma and Papa’s grand love story that all of India had been envious of. This was discomforting, because, eww! But still, Mamma never looked like this when Papa was mentioned.
“He’ll be home soon. You rest up. He’ll need us to cheer him up when he comes home today. He’s had a horrid day.” Mamma closed her own eyes, indicating that Kimi should close her eyes too.
Sometimes Kimi wished Mamma would treat her like she was almost twelve and not five. She had a million questions. What did that even mean? What was a horrid day for Papa? From what Sarika tai told her, Papa got to be a king at his job. From what Papa told Kimi, he was a servant of the people. When she had asked him how he could be both those things, he had laughed and said, “In a democracy the public is the king, and the rulers the servants.”
Mamma said that meant he was a good man.
Despite the fact that Mamma’s head massages were always so comforting that Kimi’s eyes closed of their own will, she could not fall asleep. Not when she knew that something was wrong with Papa. Not when Mamma looked this worried. Not when her worry wasn’t about Kimi this time, but about Papa.
When she was convinced Kimi was asleep, Mamma dropped a kiss on Kimi’s forehead and left the room. There was no spring in her step, no bounce in her bobbed hair.
Why hadn’t Kimi tried harder not to sneeze? She knew this wasn’t about her, but it might have helped. She was used to the worry being focused on her. She knew how to handle that, had learned to work around it. Because Papa always said we had to know how to clean up our own messes. And her parents’ worry was entirely a mess of Kimi’s making.
Even her name was a reminder of it. Kimi was short for Kimaya, which means “miracle” in Sanskrit. She was her parents’ miracle, born after twelve years of penance. Prayers, fasting, denial, donation, every possible plea to every possible god. There was a corner outside the Babulnath temple named after Kimi—The Surviving Patil Baby Corner—where the homeless gathered every Thursday knowing there would be food. Her parents begging for blessings from the city’s beggars.
How many times had Kimi heard it? The saga of her parents’ pilgrimages around the world—from being blessed by the Pope, to being kissed by the Dalai Lama, to touching the holy wall of Babylon, to having laid their foreheads at Harmandir Sahib, the Golden Temple in Amritsar, to having hiked barefoot up to Vaishno Devi, and having stood through raging storms surrounded by the churning ocean at Haji Ali. In their desperation, her parents had found the ideal of the secularism those public service announcements kept preaching on TV. Any god. All religions. As long as they got what they wanted.
Maybe they had struck upon something, because it worked. Mamma became pregnant again. Kimi had heard Sarika tai call it her mother’s seven months of hell. A pregnancy spent waiting, barely moving, with a literal stitch sewed into her to keep Kimi inside until it was safe for her to be born.
“Your mother lost seven babies before you were born,” Papa had told her the first time she had thrown a tantrum because Mamma had refused to let her out of the house for a week after she coughed a few times. “You’re her miracle, so she wants to take care of you enough for all your brothers and sisters who are gone.”
It was the last time Kimi had ever thrown a tantrum.
Kimi didn’t move until she heard the car pull through the gates.
Usually, when Papa came home the house buzzed with anticipation before the doorbell rang. He would burst into the house and even before taking off his shoes he would bellow for Kimi and she’d fly down the stairs and into his arms.
She waited for the buzz of energy, the clang of the bell, the bellow of, “Where’s my princess?”
Nothing.
She slipped out her door and down the corridor.
Papa was sitting on the bottom step of the staircase by himself. None of the servants had dared to come anywhere near him. Mamma was nowhere to be seen either. Kimi tiptoed down the stairs and sank down next to him.
His quick intake of breath before he wiped his face on his sleeve was the only reason she knew that he had been crying. She sidled into him and he wrapped an arm around her. Until that day, Kimi had never seen her father cry. Unfortunately, it would not be the last time she would see him wet eyed with despair. All the fear she saw in his eyes that day when he pulled her close would appear there over and over again. But neither of them knew that then.
“I don’t think I could ever bear to lose you,” he said in a voice she had never before heard from him.
The only meaning the words lose you held for her then was her wandering off at the Mount Mary fair. Which could never happen because her mother never let her get out of the car when they drove past the rides and the stalls and went straight to the church where the parish priest led them right into the chapel through a back entrance so they could light their candles during the holy fair week. Kimi only ever saw the crowds from the car.
“I’ll be careful never to get lost, Papa,” she said, and he laughed through those tears and it was the scariest thing Kimi had ever seen.
“Sometimes it’s not in our hands,” he said and then went quiet for many minutes.
“Are you not feeling well?” she asked because the silence was starting to terrify her.
“I was just at the cremation of a policeman who did a very brave thing,” he said in that same unrecognizable voice.
Kimi squeezed in tighter.
“If not for his bravery, I may not have come home today.”
Kimi felt tears start to creep up her throat. Papa had to come home. What would Mamma and she do if he didn’t?
“The man has three children,” Papa said, as though he couldn’t believe that he was saying those words. There was a dull tremor in his voice, as though he had to force the words out, as though in telling her this he had just learned it himself.
“Who will take care of them?” The horror of losing Papa suddenly felt too real and Kimi wrapped her arms around him.
Papa seemed to feel her distress because he pulled away and met her gaze. He opened his mouth, straightened up, but he, who always took care of everything, couldn’t seem to form a response. He wiped his eyes on his shoulder again.
“You have to,” she said, feeling some sort of wild urgency. “You have to take care of them, Papa.”
The way he was looking at her changed. She had always seen delight in her father’s eyes; this was the first time she saw something she’d never seen before. It would be years before she knew that it was respect. He looked at her as though she had somehow saved him.
Years later, that look would become practically the only way he looked at her. Every time she fought for her life and won she would remember that this had been the first time.
Mamma hated when people ate or drank anywhere in the house except for the dining areas, but she brought Papa a cup of tea and sat down next to him on the stairs.
He took a sip. “Kimi thinks I should take care of the Savant kids.”
Mamma studied Papa, and one of th
ose looks passed between them, the kind they passed around anytime she said or did anything that amused them, or made them proud, or worried them. Kimi thought of it as their parent code language. Usually, it involved Papa trying to convince Mamma to let Kimi do something. She wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t one of those times.
Mamma then turned her gaze on Kimi, reaching across Papa to wipe her cheek. “And how do you expect him to do that?”
Kimi looked away from her mother and into her father’s eyes, because she knew he was listening, really listening, and she had a sense that he was asking for her help. “You have to do everything for them that you do for me. Everything their papa would have done. You have to.”
He plucked the handkerchief Mamma was holding out to him and dried his eyes again, then he dabbed Kimi’s cheeks. “You are my pride and joy,” he said, and she knew that he would do everything he could for that policeman’s children.
5
Rahul
Present day
The minister stood in the doorway of his office studying Rahul. When had Kirit turned into an old man? Rahul barely recognized him anymore, with his skin sallow and his still-thick hair almost all silver. This past year seemed to have wrung every remaining bit of youth from Kirit, sucking him dry when he finally had what he’d spent years fighting for—Kimi’s life.
“Do you know who Kimi’s donor was, sir?” Rahul asked.
Kirit swayed on his feet and sagged against the door frame. Rahul went to him, and taking his arm led him back to his chair.
“Do you want me to call a doctor? Where’s ma’am?”
“I’m fine. Rupa is on one of her pilgrimages, making sure we all stay in her beloved Krishna’s good graces.” Kirit pointed to a bottle on his desk and Rahul extracted one white pill from it and handed it to the minister.
Kirit placed the medication carefully under his tongue and leaned back. “Kimi was on a waiting list for heart recipients in Hong Kong and as soon as they brought in a brain-dead patient who was a match we flew her out. The donor wanted complete anonymity. That’s all there is to it.”
That had been two years ago. It had been the best and worst time. Kimi finding life and Jen losing her life. And Rahul hadn’t been able to help either one of them.
At least he had Jen’s killer in custody, even if he was hooked up to machines and no bloody use to anyone. All Rahul wanted to do right now was storm into the bastard’s hospital room and pull the plug. But that would leave too many questions unanswered. Who had protected Asif when he was killing all those people? Why had he come after Kimi? Her transplant surgery had taken place in Hong Kong. What possible interest did Asif have in it?
Kimi might have done the right thing in walking away from him, but that look in her eyes when she walked out that door meant Rahul could not rest until she had her answers.
“I’m going to lay down for a bit,” Kirit said, dismissing Rahul.
Rahul didn’t move. “Where did she go, sir?”
If Kirit was surprised that Rahul did not immediately comply with his wishes the way he usually did, he hid it well. “She made me promise not to tell you.”
Rahul’s heartbeat sped up. Over the past month Rahul’s team had dismantled most of Khan’s gang, but a part of it was still at large. Not keeping an eye on Kimi was not an option. “I won’t tell her you told me.”
“You know blood is thicker than water, right, son? She was serious this time. I think your involvement with the Jennifer Joshi case might have done your friendship with Kimi more damage than you know. I kept trying to tell you to back off, to not let your emotions get involved, but you didn’t listen.” With nothing more than that Kirit turned and left the room, dragging his feet in a way Rahul had never seen him do before.
Two people had walked out on him today, and it wasn’t even eight a.m. Not the most promising omen for his next task. Visiting Asif Khan and his doctors was always as much fun as having your fingernails plucked out. The doctors kept assuring Rahul that Asif was on the verge of waking up, that his body was healed and it was just a matter of his brain catching up. If they were right, Rahul had to figure out exactly where Kimi was headed.
He let himself out of The Mansion and took the marble steps that led down from the pillared porch. Bougainvillea spilled over the sandstone compound wall that was two heads taller than Rahul, who was only about an inch under six feet. The wrought-iron-trussed wooden gates were even higher so passersby could barely see any more than the sloping roof when they came around to look at it as part of the “Homes of Bollywood Stars” tour.
Tina, his Enfield Bullet and “other best friend,” as Kimi liked to call his motorbike, stood in wait. He took her off the stand and straddled her before noticing a folded piece of paper tucked into the seat. He picked it up and stared at his name scrawled across it. No one else wrote his name the way Kimi did. “Rahul” with the tail of the R too long and the back of the H too high, as though it were her signature, not his.
He unfolded the paper.
This time I mean it.
He knew that. It had been a long time coming. From that moment when he had told her he didn’t feel the same way she did or want the same things, he had known that he would have to let her go. Eventually.
If Asif had attacked her for a reason, then his men were still a threat to her. And if there was any chance she was in danger, he was going to make sure she stayed safe. She’d have to wait a little longer to leave him. That’s all there was to it. As soon as he kick-started his bike, his phone buzzed and he pulled it to his ear.
“Boss, are you close to Lilavati Hospital?” Maney, the best damn assistant in the world, said with enough desperation that Rahul knew what it was even before Maney finished.
“Did the bastard wake up?”
“Yes.”
Maney speaking in monosyllables was not a good thing. They didn’t call him Maney-Loose-Bowels for nothing. Generally, the man suffered verbal diarrhea and you had to cork him up.
Rahul popped in his Bluetooth earpiece and sped down the hill, automatically avoiding every pothole and putting all his focus on not hitting the crisscrossing pedestrians. Maney was breathing heavily on the phone. As though he had just run a mile. “Please tell me I’m going to find him at the hospital when I get there.”
Silence.
“Maney?”
“It happened too fast, boss. Two men held the children’s ward hostage. Khan walked out of there with another three men holding three doctors at gunpoint.”
“Fuck! The children?”
“No casualties in the children’s ward.”
That meant there were casualties elsewhere.
“They got Pandey and two constables. And one of the nurses got a bullet in her shoulder. But we got four of his men.”
“I want the entire department on this. Right now!”
“Every single chowki in the city is on alert, boss. Code Red. We have roadblocks everywhere. He’s not getting far. We’ll find him.”
“Where was he last sighted?”
“Koliwada. Abandoned Mahindra Jeep. I’m already here.”
“I’m almost there.”
Bloody fucking hell. Koliwada was a study in high-density housing. Shanty hutments and plastered brick-and-mortar buildings all piled on top of one another at the edge of the ocean. It was going to be damn near impossible to find the rat bastard. He could be camped out in any one of the half-million homes. No civilian in their right mind would hand a gangster with Asif Khan’s reputation over without the fear of losing every single member of their extended family.
His men had the immediate area surrounded. But Mumbai was a seamless mass of humanity with every neighborhood and suburb bleeding into the next. Within hours Asif could be anywhere in the city.
Kimi.
He dialed her number and got a message telling him her number had been switched off. Fantastic. He sent her a text message. But it went undelivered.
Next he dialed Nikhil’s number. Asif
Khan had attacked Jen’s husband, Nikhil Joshi, and his girlfriend, Nikki, two months ago, and Rahul had pumped Asif full of bullets and put him in a coma. The bastard was like a bloody earthworm; you could chop off parts of him and he kept regenerating back to life.
Rahul hadn’t expected to become such good friends with Nic and Nikki, but it must be true what they say about surviving near-death experiences together—it did create an instant bond.
Neither of them was answering their phones. They were set to leave for America this week, which meant they were out and about doing whatever it is people did before they traveled. Which meant they were exposed targets. Rahul dispatched men to Nikki’s flat and left messages on both their phones that made him sound as panicked as he felt. So much for Stonewall Savant. He hated that stupid nickname of Kimi’s.
Rahul wasn’t in uniform but Maney and the rest of the team were. Rahul felt a flash of pride, spotting the Mumbai Police badges shining on epaulets as they combed the crowded lanes. Civilians scattered in panic as they passed. Windows and shopfront shutters slammed around him as the public sensed danger.
He found Maney at the mouth of a narrow lane, about to lead three sub-inspectors into the alley, gun drawn. Rahul caught his eye and nodded, pulled his own pistol from his holster, unlocked the safety, and turned Tina around and into the parallel lane. “I’ll meet you on the other side,” he said into the earpiece.
“We just spotted three targets,” Maney responded. “One black kurta, two white, over jeans.”
“No civilian casualties. Draw them into the open toward the beach.”
Rahul pulled into the unpaved lane, raising dust around him, and hopped off Tina, as three gunshots went off and the three hunted men ran across the lane. He ran toward the beach across the road where he knew they were headed, his gun drawn, shouting at the crowds to get out of the way. “Get down!” The caked earth pounded beneath his shoes. Something good had come out of the monsoon playing hide-and-seek with Mumbai: Dry earth was so much better for running.
