Ticket to India

by N. H. Senzai

  What about the other kids? She’d only been thinking of herself. Before she could ponder further, Jai grabbed Guddi’s hand and hurried past the hill of plastic toward the metal door. It had been left ajar to let in the cool night breeze, the building secured by locked gates and the surrounding fence. Shrugging aside the niggling guilt in her gut, Maya followed them outside. Cautiously, they descended the rickety steps and ran toward the padlocked gates. Maya climbed up the fence like she did her grandfather’s peepal tree, finding footholds along rusty joints, stopping on the top when one of the spikes snagged her shirt.

  “Help!” whispered Jai from below, where he stood with Guddi on his shoulders.

  Maya straddled the fence and leaned down to grab the little girl’s hands. As she pulled, Guddi found her footing and scampered up, Jai following behind. Making sure his little sister made it to the top, he slid down the other side to help her down.

  “Come,” said Maya, getting ready to go over the top.

  Guddi turned, ready to shimmy down, when her jacket caught on a spike, piercing the fabric and barely missing her chin.

  “Are you okay?” said Maya, steadying her.

  “Oh, no,” hissed Jai, staring toward the warehouse. “Hurry!”

  Maya squinted toward the building. A tiny figure came tumbling out the doorway.

  “Guddi . . . ,” wailed Mini. “Don’t leave me!”

  “Guddi, let’s go,” croaked Maya.

  “I can’t,” whimpered the little girl. “I’m stuck.”

  “Take it off,” Jai yelled from below.

  Maya leaned over and yanked on the thick fabric, but it remained entangled on the spike, tightening further as the little girl squirmed. From the corner of her eye, Maya saw lights flickering through the broken, toothless windows. The boys—they’re awake.

  “We have to go—now,” whispered Jai hoarsely as Mini reached the gate, sobbing.

  Maya desperately tugged the jacket, but it was no use.

  “They’re coming!” cried Jai, as the metal doors roared open.

  16

  Friendships Formed

  THROUGH THE SCRAGGLY FIELDS they ran, zigzagging around the trees. Veering in the opposite direction of the main road, they stumbled through the shadowy darkness until they came to a small clearing.

  Feeling as if her heart would burst from her chest, Maya stopped. She stood panting beside a protective clump of bushes. “Wait. . . . I can’t run anymore. . . .”

  Jai stood like a robot, stony-faced. “I can’t believe we left her . . . ,” he whispered.

  “We had to,” said Maya desperately. “If we stayed, they would have caught all of us. . . . What good would that have done?”

  Jai turned to her, fists clenched. “She’s my sister! I’m supposed to take care of her.”

  “We’ll find a way to get her, I promise,” said Maya, wincing at yet another oath she didn’t know she’d be able to keep.

  “You don’t understand,” he said. “I’ve wanted to leave for months. . . . The stuff Boss makes me do, it’s getting worse—I can’t do it anymore!” Maya stared at him in surprise as he continued, voice choked. “Every week I have had to bring in a certain amount of money—if I don’t, I get in trouble. Two months ago, I stole a thousand rupees from an old woman who’d asked me to help her across the street to the hospital. The money was for her granddaughter’s medicine. . . . I found out later that the little girl died.”

  “But why did you join Boss’s gang?” Maya asked, not able to help it.

  “When we first arrived in Agra, someone tried to take Guddi from me while we slept on the streets. It was too risky to be on our own. We needed protection and a safe place to stay.”

  Maya stared at him, reminded again how hard it was for street kids to survive.

  “A few days later, Ladu spotted me stealing bread from a corner shop. He told us about Boss’s gang and asked if we wanted to come check it out.”

  “But how did you get to Agra in the first place?” asked Maya.

  “My parents left our village last year to find work in the city, leaving Guddi and me with our aunt. In the beginning it was good. They sent money and we were able to go to school, get new clothes, and even have special things to eat, though we missed them like crazy. Then we got a letter. There was a fire at the factory where they worked . . . and they died.”

  “I’m so sorry . . . ,” whispered Maya.

  “When the money stopped coming, my aunt stopped caring about us. We were two unwelcome kids no one wanted around. So I took Guddi and I left. . . . And now that I’ve run away, they’re going to hurt her.”

  “No, no, they won’t,” said Maya, awkwardly patting him on the shoulder. “They’ll be mad at you, not her.”

  Jai became stony-faced again. “The world doesn’t care about you when you are poor and weak,” he said. Maya stared at his childish face, his eyes those of an old man who’d seen too much.

  “Look,” said Maya. “I swear I’ll help any way I can. Once we get to the train station, my sister and mother with help you get Guddi, and the other kids.”

  “It’s too far away,” said Jai, shaking his head. “We’d need a rickshaw.”

  Maya nodded, but there was no transportation to be found on the desolate patch of scrub they found themselves in, nor did they have any money. “Let’s keep walking, but out of sight from the road.”

  • • •

  Hidden by a copse of trees, the duo looked out across the parking lot over to a dhaba, a truck stop restaurant. The sun had risen above them an hour before, illuminating a line of trucks parked beside the gas pump. Each was laden with something different: bales of hay, electronic parts, squawking chickens, watermelons, and sugarcane. The rustic restaurant was packed with drivers and motorists, including several families sitting at wooden tables, tucking into breakfast.

  “No rickshaws or taxis,” murmured Jai.

  Maya paused by one of the trees. “Don’t worry, we’ll find one. But first I need to talk to my sister.”

  “There must be a phone down there,” said Jai, a calculating look in his eyes.

  Maya nodded, praying for the strength to do what she needed to do. She stared up at the leafy branches and was surprised to see that it was a peepal, a sacred fig tree, like the one she’d enjoyed climbing in her grandfather’s garden. Her grandfather had explained to her that according to legend, the Buddha had attained bodhi, or enlightenment, while meditating underneath such a tree. Desperately seeking enlightenment herself, she glanced at Jai, who was staring quizzically at her tennis shoes, which were caked in dirt. Kneeling down, he brushed away some dead leaves near her feet, revealing a black square of leather.

  With a wide grin, he flipped the wallet open and a thick wad of rupees spilled out into his palm. Thank you, God! Maya’s heart raced at this stroke of good fortune. As they stood trembling behind the tree, footsteps approached, accompanied by guttural mumbling. Maya pulled Jai back and peered around the trunk, where a tall, burly man in a sky-blue shalwar kameez paced, surveying the ground, hand clutching his green turban.

  “Aye, Guru,” he muttered, praying. “God is One. All victory is of the Wondrous Guru.” Maya and Jai shrank in the shadows as the man kicked stones with his sandaled feet. “Where is it?”

  As Jai clutched the wallet, a debate raged in Maya’s head. Keep it; you can take a taxi directly to Faizabad, said a voice, while another challenged, You can’t steal! After hesitating for more than a minute, she grabbed the wallet from Jai, whose eyebrows shot up. She crept from behind the tree, wallet outstretched.

  At first the man stared at her hand, then looked at her face, eyes puzzled. “Aye, how did you get this?” he asked in Punjabi, which Maya somewhat understood since the language was a cousin of Urdu and Hindi.

  “It was on the ground. . . . I found it,” she said, as Jai pop
ped out behind her.

  He looked at them, a thoughtful frown pulling his heavy eyebrows together. “Thank you,” he muttered, sticking it in the pocket of his kameez. “My wife would have my head if I arrived back home without my pay.” Then he turned to leave. Before Maya could retreat into the trees, he whipped back around. “Have you two eaten?”

  Maya shook her head.

  “My name’s Bhagat. Bhagat Singh. Come,” he said, and trudged toward the dhaba.

  Maya stood for a moment, frozen. Don’t talk to strangers, echoed her grandmother’s voice. But Jai was off, weaving through the tables where the families sat busily eating. It was better to think what to do on a full stomach, she reasoned. They sat across from each other at a picnic table as a waiter arrived, bearing a tray piled high with steaming puri (fried bread), potato curry, omelets studded with green chilies, sweet halwa, and tea, all piping hot. Without a word they dove in.

  “Are you a truck driver?” Maya asked a moment later, trying to make polite conversation while Jai sat blissfully stuffing his face with sticky, sweet halwa. Only a puri and some potatoes for her, and a sweet cup of tea.

  Bhagat nodded as he sopped up potatoes with puri. “Been driving for over ten years—I know the roads of India like the back of my hand.”

  “Are we close to Faizabad?” she asked eagerly, trying to gauge how far they had to go.

  “Faizabad is east of here, about seven hours away,” he said. “I’ve been there many times. It’s a nice city, but it’s had its share of trouble the past few years.”

  “Are you going there?” asked Maya hopefully.

  “No, I’m headed to Patna,” he said. “I’m delivering a load of sugarcane to the mill.”

  Patna, thought Maya with growing restlessness. She remembered seeing it on the map in the guidebook. It was the capital of the neighboring state of Bihar, probably another few hours east of Faizabad.

  “Where are your parents, your family?” Bhagat asked, eyes narrowed as he washed the tips of his ­fingers from a tin cup of water.

  Maya tensed. “Oh . . . they’re, uh, coming.”

  “Coming from where?” he probed.

  Before he could get more suspicious, she stood up. “Thanks so much for breakfast, but we have to go.”

  “Wait,” said Bhagat with a frown.

  But she and Jai were already scurrying away, back toward the trees. When they were safely hidden behind the tree trunks, Jai tucked a puri filled with egg into his pocket. But it was what was in his other hand that made Maya’s breath catch in her throat. “Where did you get that?”

  “From her,” he grinned, still chewing, pointing back toward the woman at the table across from Bhagat.

  It was a cell phone.

  • • •

  “Oh my God!” Zara screamed in her ear, making Maya wince. Then the questions began. “What happened to you? Where are you? How—”

  “I got kidnapped,” interrupted Maya.

  “What? Are you—”

  “I’m fine now, safe,” added Maya. “And I have our backpack, so all I need is a ride back to the train station.”

  “Maya,” said Zara, her voice falling multiple octaves. “I’m not at the train station.”

  “Where are you?” asked Maya.

  “A lot happened since you disappeared,” she said. “I’m at the police station.”

  “What?” Maya said, fear settling over her. “Why are you at a police station?”

  At the word “police,” Jai’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “Don’t trust the police,” he hissed.

  “When I couldn’t find you, I needed help,” explained Zara. “The stationmaster called the police. They looked all over for you, but you’d disappeared.”

  “Don’t trust the police,” said Maya.

  “What? Why?” said Zara.

  “The police, some of them are in on the kidnapping scheme,” said Maya.

  “What? Are you sure?” asked Zara, her voice falling lower.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” said Maya. “Just meet me at the train station. We need to get going if we’re going to find Naniamma’s chest.”

  “Wait, about that . . . ,” said Zara, her voice cracking. “After you disappeared, I kind of freaked out. I called Mom—she’d reached the hospital in Delhi. When she found out you were missing, she hired a car. She’ll be here soon.”

  “Mom’s here?” said Maya, giving Jai a thumbs-up. “That’s great; she can come with us.”

  After a second of silence, Zara said, “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  “What do you mean? Why not?” asked Maya.

  “Mom is furious,” said Zara. “She’s mad on top of mad: us sneaking off to India, Naniamma getting sick, us taking off, and then you disappearing. . . . There’s no way she’d go looking for the chest.”

  “What?” cried Maya. “But we’re so close.”

  “I know, I know,” cried Zara. “But I was wrong,” she continued, surprising Maya. “It was a stupid, dangerous idea to go running off by ourselves—look what happened to you.”

  “But I’m okay,” said Maya. “And Faizabad is only seven hours away. . . .”

  “Look, I nearly lost you,” said Zara. “You’re my little sister—I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”

  Maya’s eyes widened; she’d never heard her sister talk this way. “Nothing that bad happened to me,” she said, trying to make her sister feel better. “We’re meant to do this—to find Naniamma’s treasure.”

  “I know,” sighed Zara, “but we’re in enough ­trouble as it is. We can’t take off again.”

  Maya squeezed her eyes tight and took a deep breath. All her thoughts came into sharp focus. She knew what she had to do. “No,” she said forcefully.

  “Huh?” Zara said. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “We promised Naniamma we were going to get her chest. And that’s what I’m going to do,” she said adamantly.

  “Mom’s going to be here any minute,” said Zara, “and she’s not going to let us go anywhere.”

  Mom is going to be there. . . . Good, thought Maya, a plan materializing in her mind. “Zara,” she said, voice resolute. “I’m going to Faizabad, to the hotel Naniamma booked—Maurya—”

  “But—,” Zara tried to interrupt.

  “I’m going!” yelled Maya, shocking her sister into silence. “I will be at the hotel,” she repeated. “Mom won’t have any choice but to follow me there. Once we’re in Faizabad, it will make no sense not to go to Naniamma’s old house to look for the chest.”

  After a moment of silence, Zara whispered in a small voice, “Okay.”

  17

  Honorable Intentions

  THE HUM OF CARS from a nearby road broke through Maya’s dreamless sleep. We’ve stopped, she thought, disoriented. She peered past the cardboard boxes into the driver’s cabin. Empty. She shook Jai awake while slipping on her backpack. After her conversation with Zara, Maya had texted her the Maurya Hotel’s address, then turned to Jai and offered him a deal. If he helped her find her grandmother’s chest, she would do everything in her power to get Guddi and all the other little kids at the warehouse. Reluctant at first, Jai realized that with Maya and her family at his side, they would be far more successful. So he’d agreed. After a handshake, they’d watched Bhagat amble off to the bathroom after a third cup of tea. Quickly, they’d snuck over to the parked trucks, inspecting their contents: tomatoes, electronics, hay . . . sugarcane. They’d crawled into the back of the truck, fashioning a hiding spot under a stack of cardboard.

  From the map, they knew he’d be driving right past Faizabad. All they had to do was get him to stop so that they could get off. Minutes later, the engine had rumbled to life and they were on their way, passing fields covered in marigolds, kids fishing in a wide pond. . . . L
ulled by the sway of the truck, Maya dozed off, clutching the journal to her chest, the pink phone in her hand in case her sister called.

  Now, Maya scurried toward the back of the truck. “Something’s wrong,” she whispered as Jai followed, rubbing his eyes. Together they peered around the canvas flap, catching sight of a low-slung concrete building. A red-and-blue sign on top blazoned: POLICE STATION—LUCKNOW CENTRAL DISTRICT. “Oh, no,” said Maya.

  “We need to get out of here,” whispered Jai as Bhagat emerged through the front door, a slim, silver-haired police officer at his side.

  Maya glanced toward the main road, congested with traffic. If they ran that way, they’d be seen within seconds. She glanced down at the truck’s muddy tires and thought fast. Jai’s hand clasped in hers, they jumped, and slithered under the truck.

  “Good idea,” whispered Jai, wincing as pebbles dug into his knees.

  “They’re runaways, you’re sure?” came the officer’s voice a moment later.

  Mouth dry, Maya recalled the police officer at the warehouse. Don’t trust him.

  Bhagat’s sandals and hairy toes came into view, beside gleaming black boots. “Yes, I’m sure,” ­grumbled Bhagat. “Do you think I was born yesterday? She’s a foreigner—American or maybe British, I couldn’t tell which. She kept using English words and her Hindi was pretty bad. There’s a boy with her and he doesn’t look related.”

  “Maybe she’s lost?” queried the officer, contemplating the situation.

  “No. A lost kid would be upset, wanting to find her parents,” replied Bhagat. “For some strange reason she’s set on getting to Faizabad, and I got worried about her.”

  “It’s good you brought them here,” said the officer.

  “Well, I couldn’t let her go running around the country on her own; it can be dangerous,” said Bhagat. “They snuck into the back of my truck and I let them think I didn’t know they were there.”