“I’m sorry.”
“It’s nice to hear you say that, Sri Ythen. Pity more of your people don’t feel that way.”
I thought it was a bad time to bring up what my brother had said. “Mallika is listed as the mother of the twins.”
“Yes, but that sometimes happened in adoptions. I see Birati never married. ‘Birati’ is the Kelon version of the indigenous name, ‘Bharati’, which tends to support the idea of adoption. If she really was biracial, it would be most unusual for her not to have married.”
“You think she did and it’s another unregistered marriage?”
She smiled. “Unregistered by the Kelon, perhaps. Let me look. You have time for me to do this now, or would you prefer to come back?”
“No, please, carry on. I’d really like to know.”
She fairly glowed with energy as she looked through her records, both digital and paper. I itched to leaf through the books on her shelves, just because they looked so old they had to be interesting. Only they were in Nihani, which I couldn’t read, and I doubted she wanted a Kelon trawling through her people’s records. My people? Shardul said not. Why did I care about it anyway?
She suddenly gave a crow of triumph. “Found it. Just as I thought. Come and look.”
Her screen was full of Nihani words, but her notes were in Kelon. “Your ancestor Udy married a indigenous woman a year before his twin daughters were born. His name’s recorded in the Nihani form, ‘Uday Thrishna Dhiren’, naming his parents. His wife was Kala Lekha Tejas. She died four years later. A fire, the record says.”
“Wow.” I tried to imagine losing a wife in a tragic accident, left with three year old twins to raise. “So he married a Kelon woman, and she adopted the children?”
“Yes. But here’s the interesting bit. Twenty years later, there’s another marriage record for Udy, this time to a Trupti Veena Kanha.”
“But there’s no divorce noted in the Kelon records.”
“No. But there is a bill of separation filed with Udy’s putative clan head—the one he would have sworn allegiance to at the time of his first marriage. And the interesting thing is that it’s with the consent of his Kelon wife. I’ve never seen that before. She also gave her consent to his remarriage, which is unusual even for us.”
“What does it mean, do you think?”
“I can only guess at this stage, though I might find some more evidence by digging, but I think the marriage to Mallika was one of convenience. Maybe she was homosexual, or had a lover, or just wanted her family off her back. Then he fell in love again, and she let him go. I think he probably kept strong ties to the indigenous community, and she was a cover to give himself a bit of respectability with the Kelons. I’ve seen something similar before, though not with the wife’s consent to remarry.”
“And the banis—I mean, indigenous—wouldn’t mind he was already married?”
“Since the Kelon ignored our marriages, we thought it only right to ignore yours when it suited.”
“And Birati?”
“I was right—she married under her Nihani name, Bharati Kala Uday. Had five children, twin boys. Twins run in your family?”
“They certainly do. This is incredible. Thank you.”
“Not every Kelon client is happy to find the connection.”
“No, this is great. My grandfather will be so pleased.”
“Want me to keep digging?” Her fingers hovered over the screen—itching, I could tell, to keep going.
“Sure. Um, up to another two hours? See how far it gets you?”
“Done. I’ll send you a proper report, certificates if you’d like. All printed so you can show people. Or not.”
“Or not. I didn’t expect to get results so fast.”
“We have always kept detailed genealogical records. We have offered to merge them with the Kelon system many times, but they always refuse, saying amateur records would ‘contaminate’ theirs.” She shrugged. “Their loss.”
“Insulting to you.”
“Yes, but we’re used to it from the guko.”
I blinked, shocked at her using the term. “Er, isn’t that a rude word?”
She raised an eyebrow. “‘Guko’? It’s an insult to one of us, but it shouldn’t offend you. It simply means those who are ignorant of the teachings of the Seeker. It applies to non-udawatha Nihani as much as Kelons.”
It figured Shardul’s worst insult would be about religion. “This is all pretty confusing.”
“Yes, I know, but I think it’s wonderful you’re prepared to learn more. Now, my cousin wanted a word with you before you left.”
“Shardul? Out here?”
“Yes. He’s talking to my husband. Come with me.”
What the hell was Shardul doing out here? I only asked him to call, not see me in person.
He was out in the yard, talking to a tall, heavily-built banis man, standing in front of a kolija pen and looking for all the world like a farmer himself in a Nihani lungi and sleeveless shirt, showing off surprisingly muscled arms. He looked fantastic, but I doubted he could look anything but.
He greeted Rupa in Nihani, and only acknowledged me with a nod. “I take it you’re finished,” he asked her.
“For now. Quite a fascinating history there. I’m sure Sri Ythen wants to tell you all about it.”
“Yes, I’m sure. For some reason he insists on sharing such things with me.” I screwed my nose up at him but he ignored it. “Do you mind if I commandeer your yard a little longer for a chat with him?”
“Go right ahead.” She turned and offered me her hand. “Nice to meet you, Sri Ythen.”
“‘Javen’, please.”
“Javen. And thank you for sharing your history. Shardul might pretend to be uninterested but these are facts which help to weave the tapestry recording our existence in the Spirit’s world. The Seeker teaches that to learn the past enlightens the future. I firmly believe that.”
“Uh...sounds like a good philosophy.” Behind her, Shardul rolled his eyes. Rupa’s husband smirked at him and me both. She took her spouse’s arm and led him away, leaving me with a dangerous beast, and the kolija.
“So you found what you were looking for,” Shardul said, apparently only interested in looking at the animals in the pen. “The drop of magical banis blood that washes away the sins of your people towards mine.”
“Could you tell me exactly when I implied I believe that? Like it or not, your people intermarried with my family, and that fact has an impact on me. I’m not making a single claim based on it.”
“You wouldn’t be the first if you did. What did you learn today?”
“Tanmay Kly knows exactly what the gatha are, even claims to know what they look like. So does this Gagan guy. Someone in your community is a chatterbox. Kly’s also desperate to get his hands on them, even though he says the shirt is a fake.”
“It is a fake. A very good one though. Did you think I would give you a picture of the real sawret?”
Of course he wouldn’t. “Then he was right? But he wanted it. He said there’s an upcoming exhibition at the museum on fake artefacts.”
“There is.”
I scratched my head, bewildered. “So...he’s genuine? But why be so fascinated by a fake, he damn near had a heart attack when I showed him the picture?”
Shardul declined to explain. “Tell me everything else.”
So I did, including the fact the man knew my father.
“Is he likely to ask about your aunt?” he asked.
“Dad and Aunt Tanvi aren’t close, and he knows she’s barking mad. He’ll put it down to my eccentricity. If Kly contacts him, I’ll get a call telling me off for shaming the family but nothing more.”
“You’re certainly your family’s derda wass.”
“What?”
“You would say, ‘black sheep.”
I suspected the phrase was ruder than that. “Yeah. So I know a little of what it’s like to be indigenous and discriminated agains
t.”
He rounded on me, eyes flashing. “You know nothing, you pathetic guko! You, with your brown skin, brown eyes, the governor father, the elite education, the independent income, the good name—you say you know what it’s like because a few people are suspicious of your empathy? A gift you can hide and reveal at will, unlike this?” He flicked his flame-red hair. “Do youngsters in your community paint brown makeup on their faces so they can be like all the other children at school? Do they come home weeping in fear and rage because little Kelon thugs have held them down, torn their braids apart and cut their hair down to the scalp? Are your women assumed to have permanently open legs because of their race? Are your people routinely denied entrance to the private schools which are the path to power in this country, despite them being technically open to all? Do you pay more interest on loans to Kelon banks because you’re assumed to be a bad risk, even if you have a solid job? Tell me, Ythen, exactly what discrimination do you face?”
“I lost my job and my lover,” I answered hotly, as angry as him. “And even yesterday the clerk at the Records office treated me as if I’d contaminated her because I mentioned my empathy.”
“Something you chose to do. We don’t have the choice. You can pass through life as pure blood Kelon as you wish to be.”
“Unless I want to be a cop, or a civil servant, or a lawyer.”
“Your path is limited in the most minor way entirely due to your own people’s prejudice against mine, and yet you complain and whine like a spoiled child. You have no idea how privileged you are, and you have no idea how insulting it is to hear claims of discrimination come out of your mouth.” He actually spat on the ground. “You mock the suffering of my people, and the limits on their ambitions, health and wealth, placed purely by bigotry. Poor little rich boy.”
I flushed and turned away. “Find someone else to find your damn monuwel, Shardul. I quit. No charge either. Pick whatever hell you want and go there.”
He let me walk almost all the way back to my car before he drawled, “The Kelon are such thin-skinned people. Experts at dishing out the constant slights and hurts, but let not their hides be pricked at all.”
I spun around, still furious. “Why did you even hire me when you hate me this much?”
“I don’t hate you, guko. I’d have to expect better of you to hate you for being like every other Kelon. I don’t respect you, especially now you’ve discovered a minor connection to the udawathei and think that makes you one of us, or special.” He stood up from leaning on the fence, walked over and got in my face. “Your people are atheists. You can’t be udawatha even if you are as pure blood as I am, if you do not accept the way of the Spirit. Your people don’t understand us, what makes us. They have no interest in learning, and neither do you.”
“Then teach me.”
“Sorry, better things to do.”
“All the books about your people are in Kelon, by Kelons.”
“No they’re not, and even so there are plenty of history texts in your language you can read. Scan them without your prejudiced filters and you can learn. There are Nihani-Kelon dictionaries, so you could teach yourself the language. Our temples and libraries are full of books written about our beliefs, our history.” He looked me up and down. “But it’s so much easier to be spoon-fed, isn’t it?”
“I’ve never been good at languages.”
“You know enough to insult me, beto. You can surely pick up enough to read a children’s introduction to the Spirit’s teachings.”
“I guess.”
I turned away again, needing a respite from my emotions and his, and to keep a physical distance from him. My head felt like the top was about to blow off. I hated being an empath.
“You think me rude and arrogant, don’t you?” he said. “Tell me. When you were a policeman, how did you treat our people? Be honest.”
I clenched my fists, willing myself not to let them fly. “Maybe sometimes we weren’t always completely fair.”
“Sometimes. In my experience, it’s one hundred percent of the time, and that’s even with me having the professional status to make the police behave. A status paid for by my entire family, who scraped together the funds to send me to university. No scholarships for the indigenous because that would be discriminatory. You don’t live in my world, and you don’t see things as I do. Don’t ever pretend to me that you can.”
“I’m sorry...for making that comparison. It was stupid of me. I apologise.”
He lifted an eyebrow as I faced him. “Well, at least you didn’t say ‘if I was offended’. I accept, but I’ll expect more of the same. You can’t help it. You don’t even know what you don’t know about us.”
“Do you want me to keep working on this or not? I’ll offend you again. You said it yourself.”
“Yes, you will. You’re sure Kly is seriously ill?”
“I’m no doctor but that’s what it looked like to me. What difference does it make?”
“It might be why he wants the gatha. Describe the assistant with him?”
“Young, slim. Very beautiful, at least to me. Sullen but attentive.”
“Hair braided in what manner?”
I did my best to describe it. He grunted. “Induma. His mistress.”
“Really? He treated her like a maid.”
“Yes.”
“And she hates him.”
“Yes.” I felt a wave of sorrow from him. “She made poor choices. But I can’t believe she would betray our people’s trust by telling him about the gatha.”
“Would she help retrieve the monuwel?”
“I don’t know. I need to contact her, and investigate this Gagan. You should continue your enquiries.”
I took it I was rehired. “And if he suddenly wants all these artefacts?”
“If he’s the thief, we need to use the fake sawret as a bait. So keep him dangling but interested.”
“Have you given any thought to how you’ll extract the monuwel from whoever it is? These guys take security seriously, and I do not do burglary. We should take any evidence to the police, once we confirm where the object is.”
He sniffed. “Your faith in your former comrades is touching, but quite misplaced. We will deal with retrieval once we know where it is and who has it. And why.”
“Don’t trust me?”
“Don’t need you. Not the same thing. Does it bother you that we’re not without resources of our own, Ythen?”
“Why would it? If I wanted to care for something helpless and stupid, I’d own a gulen.”
“I’m much prettier than a gulen.”
“Yeah, but if you were too much bother, I couldn’t take you to the vet and have you put down.”
He laughed. “But you’d try. Good day, Ythen.”
“Javen.”
“No. We’re not friends. Keep me up to date.”
And with that, he walked back inside the house, leaving me with the kolija and the urge to kick something small that went squeak.
~~~~~~~~
My cousin on Kelon received a message from Kly expressing what he’d said in the meeting. She replied with a stiffly formal note saying I was her agent here and she’d appreciate all communications going through me. However, she would give his offer due consideration, after receiving my advice. That, hopefully, would keep him interested and well behaved.
Shardul went quiet. I continued to contact dealers, made three more meetings with people from Shardul’s list, getting the same reaction as I have from Duadi. None reacted as strongly as Kly had to my hints about the shirt. I was more and more convinced we’d found our thief, or at least, the thief’s customer, but I had nothing I could take to a cop. I needed someone reliable prepared to swear they’d seen the monuwel in Kly’s possession, at the very least. Even then, the force wouldn’t tangle with someone of Kly’s reputation and status on the word of a banis. Ideally, I needed to see the thing in his possession. But his collection of artefacts weren’t on show, at least in the part o
f the house I’d visited.
Rupa was quiet too, although she sent me the preliminary report as promised and said she was digging. “Enjoying herself,” were her exact words. I called Granddad and told him what I’d found. He was thrilled, and said he’d pay any of my costs, which of course I dismissed. I was glad I hadn’t waited longer to visit him, or to chase down Grandma’s history. And I kept the pressure up on Yashi until he made firm plans to visit at the next school break. The only people I didn’t contact were my parents. After Shardul’s stinging slapdown I didn’t have the courage to face another excoriation. I hadn’t fully recovered from the last hissy fit my mother had thrown over my empathy and the entire ‘racial contamination’ thing.
A week after my meeting with Rupa and then Shardul, he sent me a message asking me to come, incognito, to his aunt’s house late at night. Clearly he didn’t want any of his people seeing me nosing around, or anyone who might be watching the community. I figured I would kill the time until the meeting at the library and catch supper in town. Since business was still slow, I’d been using the free time to read the available books on indigenous history and culture. I’d tried to do what Shardul demanded, and set aside my Kelon blinkers, looking at the narratives as if I was indigenous, not Kelon.
It wasn’t easy, and the process opened up more questions for which I had no answers, and no one to ask. I knew I was missing stuff because I didn’t know what was important, what was not. The librarians tried to help but they said, to their knowledge, the commentaries on the colonisation by indigenous historians were all in Nihani. They did offer me a language course though. In a year or so I might be able to read simple textbooks, they said. Spectacular.
Incognito for me meant a generic coat, a Nihani scarf I’d found in a second-hand store that afternoon, and keeping my head down. And not taking my own auto, of course, so once I’d had my supper, I walked down to the transit centre to hail a taxi. Before I’d walked a dozen steps, a sleek black auto pulled alongside me. “Sri Ythen, do you need a lift?”
I recognised the driver, though not his companion. “I’m fine, Sri Vishva. Thank you.”
Different Senses Page 16
