‘Let’s not jump to conclusions now,’ Albert said.
‘But there is no other explanation.’
‘Diya, do you really think the Chakwa is trying to harm you?’ Albert looked into her eyes.
‘I am afraid so, Uncle Albert.’
‘Then pray, tell me, why would it only target Manu? Why has it not come after Sunny or me?’
‘Were you also there when they found Mrs Mishra’s body?’
‘I was never as curious as those two. I was in the group that waited outside the gate,’ Albert said.
‘Then you must know all about that day. Was it really the Chakwa?” Shelby asked.
‘I am sorry to disappoint you my dear, but like I said, there is no such thing as a Chakwa.’
Diya felt hopeful as she realized the wisdom of Albert’s words. The calm and no-nonsense, mildly mocking manner in which he was treating the whole Chakwa situation was comforting.
‘Then who killed Mrs Mishra?’ Ronnie asked.
‘Ah, I cannot tell you that, but I will give you a clue. If you follow Sunny on Saturday morning, you might be able to discover the truth about the Chakwa.’
Fear that was insidiously slithering through Diya’s thoughts, casting doubts on all that was rational, retreated in the face of Albert’s clinical dissection of facts. It was silly to assume the bloody marks were actually footprints. Her fears felt irrational, if not outright ridiculous.
LOVE BLOSSOMS IN THE WILD
T
here were only two days till Saturday but Diya felt impatient. ‘Ronnie, I am bored,’ she moaned. ‘I wish I could go somewhere, do something.’
She held his sleeve as they stood outside the house. She wanted to hold his hand but she was sure Rini and Shelby were watching from one of the dark windows.
‘Do you want to go out, just for a spin? We could grab some ice cream,’ Ronnie suggested.
Diya hesitated. What if Albert was wrong? A tentacle of fear once again tried to slither out, but Diya pushed it back. ‘Yes, but what about others?’
‘Leave it to me,’ Ronnie said.
‘Uncle Albert, you have not treated us for your wedding anniversary yet,’ Ronnie said.
‘Eh?’ Albert sounded confused. ‘Treat, what treat?’
‘Don’t tell me you have forgotten?’
‘Err ... no, I mean …’ Albert said.
‘It’s my treat, Uncle Albert,’ Diya added, poking Ronnie in the back.
‘You know what would be the best treat? Dhanu’s hand-churned whole milk ice cream with rose petals,’ Ronnie said.
‘But it’s the middle of winter!’ Albert protested.
‘Exactly, can you imagine bringing it from twenty kilometres away in summer?’
‘I had no idea this place was so far,’ Diya said as she climbed on the bike.
‘Relax, I know a shortcut. It won’t take us more than twenty minutes each way.’
‘That’s because you are always competing with the wind. I wish you would learn to drive slower.’
‘Now you sound just like my mother,’ he teased.
Diya rained blows on his back and Ronnie roared with laughter.
Shadows smudged the day’s colours as lights twinkled in the mountains. The air was redolent with wood smoke and tantalizing aromas of simple cooking.
Diya put her arms around Ronnie, her palms spread over his heart. She no longer pretended it was to maintain her balance or for warmth. Ronnie laced his fingers through hers and her heart raced with excitement. A sweet ache filled her body and she moved closer to Ronnie. She felt, rather than heard, him moan. The murmur of his heart picked up pace, lighting small fires of desire through her body.
Diya savoured every moment of their intimacy and the ache of desire that filled her body. She tried to rein in her heart but its thunder drowned the feeble voice of sanity. She tried, but couldn’t get herself to worry about the future.
Ronnie stopped the bike.
‘Diya, I just want you to know that you mean a lot to me.’
Ronnie leaned towards her, and Diya thought he was going to kiss her.
He tucked a strand of curly hair behind her ear. His hand lingered and his thumb traced a path of desire down her cheek to the tiny cleft in her chin.
Diya closed her eyes as the spark of Ronnie’s touch lit an electrical path of sensations through her body. She moaned and clutched his hand.
‘I hope you know that I feel the same way about you, Ronnie. But I don’t think the time is right …’
‘Shush …’
Ronnie placed a finger on Diya’s lips, filling her with longing. She opened her mouth and sucked on Ronnie’s fingertip.
Ronnie moaned as her wet mouth closed around his finger.
Diya stayed still, linked to Ronnie by the bridge of sensation. She was afraid to voice her feelings lest it ruin their friendship, even though her heart had already betrayed her.
On Saturday morning, Diya and Ronnie prepared to follow Sunny.
‘Don’t tell him I told you,’ Albert reminded them. ‘It’s for the best but he will disagree.’
Diya was still dizzy from the events of the previous night. She felt shy as she placed her hand on Ronnie’s shoulder. Ronnie stiffened at her touch. Had she made a mistake and ruined their friendship?
‘Will we reach in time?’ she asked waving back to Uncle Albert.
‘Don’t worry,’ Ronnie said.
The bike revved, picked up speed, and lurched down the road. Instead of turning left down the mountain, Ronnie turned right and they climbed up the mountains. Even this early in the morning, the roads were busy with trucks and tourist vehicles. Ronnie took a newly-tarred side road. It was free of traffic and potholes.
He slowed the bike. Diya moved closer, trying to ascertain if Ronnie was upset with her. He did not flinch at her touch, so she moved closer and wrapped her arms around his waist. Like the previous evening, he laced his fingers through hers and held her hand close to his chest. Earlier, she would have been worried that they would crash because Ronnie was driving with just one hand, but she was no longer afraid. Diya rested her forehead on his back, just below the nape of his neck. He smelled of the lavender bath soap they used at Albert’s home.
Diya remembered that morning when she had collided with Ronnie as he came out of the bathroom. That day, too, he had smelled the same.
Did fragrance sow seeds of desire, she wondered?
Diya was not sure if Ronnie had an immediate destination in mind and she did not care. She was content to remain in this warm cocoon. They drove along scenic mountain roads lined with tall trees. Diya caught fleeting glimpses of coffee plantations behind the trees. Soon they left the plantations behind; now there was only forest on either side.
Ronnie stopped the bike on a windswept plateau. Gossamer thin clouds were lazily parading around them sending delicious shivers up Diya’s arms.
‘Welcome to the most scenic spot in this part of the country,’ Ronnie said.
‘This is heavenly!’ Diya said. ‘But also cold.’
‘I have the remedy to beat the cold: Coffee,’ he announced. ‘In fact, the best coffee you will ever drink.’ He pointed to a tiny shop that Diya had not noticed until then.
‘Won’t we be late to follow Uncle Sunny?’ Diya did not want to miss the chance to clear the mystery of the Chakwa.
‘Relax.’ Ronnie smiled at her. ‘It’s only 8.30 a.m. My father won’t leave home before 10 a.m., I am planning to take a shortcut that will make sure we see him just as he enters town.’
‘Ok,’ Diya nodded.
They sat on sun-warmed boulders with steel coffee glasses in hand, looking down at the misty valley.
‘Looks like you know all the shortcuts and the best places,’ Diya said, looking at him over the rim of her glass.
‘Well, I was born here; this is like my backyard. I am sure you know your hometown well.’
‘Not this well. I will take you to some of my favourite places when you vis
it me, but none of them are as beautiful as these mountains.’
‘I would love to see your favourite places.’
He stroked her cold hand with his warm thumb.
‘Do you come here often?’ She could not resist asking.
Did he have a girlfriend?
‘I usually come with George when we are tired.’
‘What about friends?’ she persisted.
Diya’s emphasis on friends was not lost on Ronnie. He gave her a mischievous smile, pleased by her jealousy.
‘Do you mean if I ever bring my girlfriends here?’ he asked.
‘I don’t think I ever said girlfriends.’ Diya turned away in petulance.
Ronnie held her chin between his warm fingers and turned her face towards him, but Diya stiffened her neck in defiance and refused to look at him.
Ronnie traced the cleft in her chin, moved closer, and put his arm around Diya.
‘I don’t have a girlfriend, Diya,’ he said softly. ‘You are the first girl I have brought here.’
Diya turned towards him with a shy smile.
‘Honest?’
‘Yes.’
Ronnie leaned over and kissed her lips; a brief, tender kiss that tasted of coffee and fresh mountain air.
Pleasure coursed through Diya’s body and her breath turned ragged by the unexpected kiss.
Diya looked into Ronnie’s dark, almost black eyes. His pupils were dilated and he looked terrified, probably worried about her reaction.
Without breaking eye contact, Diya lifted his hand and kissed the hollow of his palm.
FOLLOWING SUNNY
A
fter finishing their coffee, they drove down the mountain whizzing past tiny colourful villages. By 10 a.m. they were waiting in a shady lane with a good view of the approach road.
Ten minutes later, they spotted Sunny’s paunchy silhouette atop the old-fashioned squat scooter.
‘What if your father sees us?’
‘In case you haven’t noticed, my father is short-sighted and hates wearing glasses. He also does not believe in rear-view mirrors; he thinks they are an invitation to young boys to damage his scooter.’
Sunny parked his scooter at the end of a broad tree-lined avenue and vanished down a narrow lane with a stack of newspapers under his arm.
‘What is this place?’ Diya asked.
‘It’s the district jail,’ Ronnie said.
‘Jail?’
‘Prison, you know where they lock up bad guys.’
‘I know what a jail is. I mean, why would your father be visiting the prison every Saturday?’
‘Maybe he reads to the prisoners, maybe it’s some kind of social work,’ Ronnie shrugged.
‘Are you sure he went inside the prison? Maybe there is some other place down that road; he could have gone there.’
‘Nope, just the prison.’
The minutes ticked away and there was no sign of Sunny. Ronnie made frequent trips to the prison gates to check for his father. He had to stop when one of the guards started giving him hostile stares.
Diya felt on edge, the way she always felt before a race; full of adrenaline and trepidation. Ronnie was leaning against a tree with his arms folded and a frown between his brows. Was he having misgivings about their mission or was he regretting their kiss in the mountains?
Ronnie must have felt her eyes on him. He uncoiled his body and walked to her.
His hair was in disarray. Diya wanted to run her fingers through it, feel its texture and his fragrance on her hand.
‘You need a haircut,’ she said, putting her hands in her pocket to resist the temptation of touching him.
‘Is it that bad?’
‘Soon you will start rivalling me,’ she laughed.
Ronnie touched her hair gently, rubbing it between his fingers. ‘I doubt it,’ he said gently, and went back to the tree.
Diya knew Ronnie was looking at her, but whenever she looked, he would be gazing somewhere else. She turned away hoping to trick him and catch him looking at her. When she turned back, he was nowhere in sight.
‘Diya.’ Ronnie was behind her.
Her heart raced.
‘Let’s hide, my father is back.’
Sunny seemed to be in a good mood. He had a smile on his face and was humming under his breath.
Diya’s eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘Hello, Uncle Sunny,’ she said, coming out from behind the tree.
Sunny gasped. ‘Diya! What are you doing here?’
‘The question is, what are you doing here?’ Ronnie came out and stood next to Diya.
‘Are you trying to kill me?’ Sunny leaned against the scooter with a hand on his heart.
‘Are you all right?’ Diya asked. ‘I am sorry. We didn’t mean to scare you.’
‘Well, no harm done; no harm done. Let’s go home. I am starving.’ Sunny fumbled in his pocket for the scooter keys.
‘What were you doing in jail?’ Ronnie asked.
‘It’s none of your business,’ Sunny scowled.
‘You are right. It’s none of my business, but Diya has a right to know,’ Ronnie said.
‘How did you find out I was here?’
Sunny saw the look Ronnie and Diya exchanged.
‘I suppose Albert is behind this,’ he sighed. ‘He could never keep a secret.’
TRUTH IS ALWAYS MUNDANE
‘D
iya, come with me,’ Sunny said. ‘Ronnie, you have to wait here. They don’t allow more than two visitors.’
Diya followed Sunny down a dark corridor. She tried to catch a glimpse of Sunny’s feet but he was walking uncharacteristically fast. Fear stirred in her heart.
What if it wasn’t Uncle Sunny? She cursed herself for not having taken this basic precaution before following him down what could be a rabbit hole of terror.
The corridor opened into a large, noisy room lined with wooden benches. Small groups of people were huddled together, trying to conduct their business in secrecy. Sunny was talking to a man in the far corner.
A tube light flickered overhead, throwing erratic shadows. The man’s features blurred into each other making him look young and old at the same time.
Diya hesitated.
‘Diya, come,’ Sunny called.
She took a deep breath and went closer. The man was old with a grizzled face and thick salt-and-pepper hair.
‘Baba, this is Diya,’ Sunny said.
‘But you said you will bring her next week,’ the old man said.
‘She outsmarted us both. She and Ronnie followed me here and were waiting outside.’
The old man threw back his head and guffawed so loudly that people stared at them with curiosity.
‘I am pleased to meet you, my child. I am pleased to meet you,’ he said. ‘Pardon me, but my English is a bit rusty. We don’t often get English speaking prisoners, you know.’
Diya was puzzled. Why did Sunny want her to meet this scruffy but apparently well-educated man?
‘Who are you?’
‘How remiss of me! I am Professor Anurag Mishra; your father Manu was my only child.’
Diya almost fell off the hard, wooden bench. ‘What?’ she exclaimed.
She tried to remember all that she knew about her father – things he had told her and the stories she’d heard from others. Her head whirled and she held on to the rough table to steady herself as she tried to separate facts from fiction.
It wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be.
Elizabeth had told her that her grandparents died when her father was young.
Diya stared at the old man who looked back, petrified.
Diya turned to Sunny, hoping he would contradict the old man and tell her it was a joke. The resigned expression on Sunny’s face gave her no hope.
‘You must be mistaken. My father’s name was Manu Mathur, not Manu Mishra,’ Diya said.
‘Names are what you make of them. Some can give you wings, while others can be like an albatross around your neck.’
Like her father, the man was tall and broad shouldered with a familiar hunch, but there were differences too. Her father had delicate hands while this man’s hands were broad with calloused palms. Her father’s fingers were slender but her grandfather had stubby, thick-knuckled fingers that ended in short dirt-rimmed nails. Her father was forty five, so her grandfather must be at least seventy. Despite the signs of age, he looked fit.
The clues were there; they had always been there, but she had not understood their significance. She had chosen the convenience of a happy upbringing after the grief of her father’s early childhood; the myth of her father, an orphaned waif adopted by his best friend’s family and raised as their son. She wasn’t ready, not yet.
‘Why are you in jail?’ Diya asked.
Sunny cleared his throat. ‘Your grandfather embezzled some money.’
‘I am paying for my crimes,’ the old man said. ‘But why are we talking about the past? The past is dead and buried. Let’s talk about you, you are the future.’
Professor Mishra did not ask Diya about her parents’ death. Instead, he asked her about her future plans to join Brown University and her preference for literature.
‘I am glad we share the love of great stories and storytelling,’ he said.
‘Is that what you taught? Literature?’ Diya asked.
‘Yes, English literature. It was fashionable in those days, now it’s all computers.’
The revelation surprised Diya. Based on her grandfather’s ability to communicate in English, she had surmised that he was an educated man, but his craggy face, framed with flyaway white hair, made him look like a grizzled old gardener.
‘You look surprised.’
Her grandfather’s eyes twinkled.
‘I am, a little,’ Diya admitted.
‘Well, come again tomorrow and we can talk more.’
The invitation hung between them on a thin thread of hope.
‘Are visitors allowed tomorrow?’
‘Yes, they are allowed on both Saturday and Sunday,’ Sunny said.
Diya looked at Sunny in surprise; for someone who had gone to great lengths to maintain the secret about her grandfather, this sudden helping hand seemed a little out of character.
‘What’s the point now? The secret is out and maybe it’s better this way,’ Sunny said. ‘Under the circumstances, I am sure Manu would have wanted you to know Baba.’
The Trickster Page 10
