But the hotel owner steps back into the room he came out of and slams the door.
Ravi hears the fastening of a bolt and chain. He runs behind the reception desk and pounds on the door. No answer.
Dashing out into the street again, he hails an auto-rickshaw. “Police training center,” he tells the driver. “And make it fast. Joldi joldi!”
KAT
INT. MISS SHIREEN’S COTTAGE—NIGHT
On Friday, after Gracie’s done with her phone call home and supper’s all cleaned up, Kat and Gracie collapse on the sofa.
“I talked to all six of them,” Gracie says. “But PG’s right; once a week is probably a good idea. Hearing their voices only makes me more homesick.”
Kat takes a deep breath of the pungent night-blooming jasmine aroma wafting in through the windows. She, too, misses home even more after hearing Mom’s voice. But though they’ve only been in Kolkata a couple of weeks, this cottage is starting to feel a bit like home, too. Her list of homes away from home is growing. It’s up to two now. She’s been emailing Grandma Vee in Boston regularly, keeping her up to speed.
Miss Shireen joins them on the couch, turns on the television, and toggles to the channel that streams nonstop Bengali music videos—or Bangla gaan, as she calls them—and Gracie and Kat watch with her. Feels like we’ve been doing this for years, Kat thinks. At home in Oakland, though, she’d put her feet up on the couch. Here, she knows how rude that would seem to Miss Shireen, so she keeps them on the carpet.
On-screen, a sari-clad woman leans back into a man wearing tight pants and a shirt unbuttoned to his navel.
“Steamy,” Kat says.
“Oh, yes,” Miss Shireen says. “But they rarely kiss or take off any clothes.”
“It’s actually more romantic that way,” Gracie says, fanning her face with all ten fingers.
Next, they watch a soap opera that’s Miss Shireen’s favorite. Lots of over-the-top gestures and big dramatic pauses make it easy for her to translate and the girls to understand. A much better way to learn Bangla than studying it in the classroom, if you ask me, Kat thinks.
After Miss Shireen says good night, Kat does her usual routine of burpees, push-ups, planks, and crunches. Gracie watches, her eyes narrowed. “You do that every night,” she says. It’s a statement, not a question.
“Yep. I change it up to challenge my body.”
“Maybe I should join you. It might help me on the mat.”
“Okay, but don’t get too ripped. We need to show Miss Shireen and the girls that you can fight off an attacker without muscles like mine.” Gracie gets on her knees and manages three push-ups.
“Oh, Kat.” Gracie sits back on her heels and sighs. “I hope I can actually learn those moves.”
“You will! I promise. We’d better get to bed; tomorrow’s another Bontu outing, remember?”
Gracie shrugs. “I don’t know if I like being in public with Ravi. So many girls come after him. It’s going to be nice to be back in Boston, where nobody’s heard of that dumb Amit Biswas.”
“It’s only a matter of time for the two of you, Gracie. Be ready. He’ll get there.”
“I don’t know,” Gracie says. “He’s acting like his old zombie self again. After he stood up to Brian that day—your first day with us, remember?—and decided to go to India, it was like he … woke up. I think that was when I fell hard, even though I’ve always liked him.”
“I know. He does seem sort of … back in a daze. He’s grieving, like Grandma Vee said.”
“It’s heartbreaking. I wish he’d talk to me about it. He used to tell me everything, Kat. I miss texting him.”
Kat sighs. “All we can do is be there for him—and be ready to help if he needs us. Now come on, one plank and then we’ll call it a night.”
Gracie manages a plank but her whole body starts trembling after about ten seconds. After twenty more seconds, she collapses facedown on the rug. “I’m so tired right now, I don’t think I could fight off a baby.”
“All you have to do is fight off a big dude who looks like a baby.”
“He does, doesn’t he? You’re okay being around Bontu, Kat?”
“He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Literally. I watched him roll down the window and let one out of his car last Saturday. We’ll have to help him act mean for the demo.”
RAVI
INT. KOLKATA POLICE TRAINING CENTER—DAY
Ravi takes the stairs of the police training center two at a time and bursts into Shen’s office.
Shen looks up. So do the two uniformed men who are meeting with him.
“Thornton! What are you doing here? You don’t train on Fridays. And don’t they teach you to knock in America?”
“Shen—”
“Sir.”
“Sir, I’ve discovered a trafficking center! It’s in a hotel. The Royal Diadem. You have to send some men there to catch a perp named Mr. Sarker. I just saw him—”
Shen stands and comes around the desk. Slowly, menacingly, he walks over until he’s about a foot from Ravi. “Keep. Away. From. That. Hotel. Do you hear me?”
Ravi doesn’t step back; anger is still powering him. “But why? I know what that man looks like. He had a girl with him, she looked trapped—”
“Stay away. If you go near that hotel again, I’ll have Arjun put you on the next plane back to America. Do you understand?”
The two other men exchange looks. “This boy’s an American, sir?”
“Can’t you tell?” Shen asks.
Ravi doesn’t give up. “But that hotel’s a trafficking location—I promise you. I saw how he treated her. We have to help that girl!”
Shen sneers. “Ehhh. So is that why you came to Kolkata? Typical. Americans come for a short time, know nothing about our culture, and want to become heroes to tell their friends how they saved the ‘poor Indians.’”
“That’s not what I’m doing—”
“That’s exactly what you’re doing. Now leave this office. Immediately.”
“But—”
“I gave you a command, Thornton. Did you hear me?”
It’s no use. The man’s not listening. “Yes. Yes, sir. I did.”
Ravi shuts the door, stumbles out to the sidewalk, and hails another auto-rickshaw. But as he climbs in, rage makes him thump the leather seat so hard with both fists that the driver twists his head to see what happened.
“Sorry,” Ravi mumbles. “I’m fine.”
But he isn’t. He wants to turn over every table in Kolkata.
INT. BOSE FLAT—NIGHT
Ravi can’t sleep.
He can’t get Sarker’s face out of his mind. Or the girl’s terrified eyes.
Evil, evil man. Damaging something so valuable—a child!
A girl who deserves kindness and safety and a life of loving and being loved.
Ravi gets up. Paces the room.
Anger lashes through him, again and again.
By midnight, the depth of what he’s feeling is scaring him. At first he thinks this is nothing like the brief flash he felt when he yelled at Brian in small group.
It’s full-on FURY.
But after a while he sees it isn’t new. This rage he’s feeling at Sarker, his anger at Brian—they’re louder expressions of an emotion that’s been around for a long time. Just like the grief he’d recognized after visiting the orphanage.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Ravi puts his head in his hands. Anger and sadness. Sadness and anger. The sorrow he understands now. But who has he been mad at for all of these years? God? Maybe a bit. But Ravi knows Jesus too well to think that being God’s child means you never suffer.
No, if he’s going to be honest, for his entire life he’s been angry at two people.
First, the person who gave him life. The question had always lurked beneath the static of numbness: How could she abandon her own flesh and blood? But now—maybe because he imagined her desperation so clearly in the hotel—Ravi can guess why she made that choice. S
he might have been too young, like Kavita. Or in some kind of trouble, like the girl Sarker’s under control. How can anyone be mad at them?
And second, there’s himself. Somewhere even deeper inside, he’s suspected that something about him made her give him up. Did he cry too much? His file said he was premature; maybe she had thought he wouldn’t survive. With a shock he sees the truth: His entire life, he’s blamed himself in secret. If you hadn’t been so weak, she might have kept you. No wonder he could hardly look at the infant version of himself in that first photo from the orphanage.
The sky is finally starting to lighten, and Ravi empties the glass of water on his nightstand. He goes to the window. It’s not raining, but the air is fresh and cool, and the sun is rising behind the tall coconut trees. As the first rays pour over the city of his birth, he takes stock of the emotions that are still lingering. The grief’s still there, of course; the loss of her will always be with him. But after this long, sleepless night of confession, he’s not really angry at her anymore, even in the unseen corners of his heart.
And you can’t be mad at a baby, either. Ravi deserves love, too. It’s not your fault, he thinks, feeling a rush of compassion for the big-eyed baby he used to be.
Love your neighbor as yourself.
Maybe that’s why Kat was trying to talk to him about the Golden Rule.
Ravi picks up the folded bulletin on his nightstand. She’s written something there in red crayon. GOLDEN-RULING by Viola Jones. “When people I love are out of reach, I offer some kindness to another that I can’t give my dear ones. It brings peace to me.”
He reads it again, through blurry eyes.
The Royal Diadem Society Guesthouse is the last place on earth Ravi was with his first mother, and now it’s being used to hurt others.
He has to act. He’s not mad at her. He’s not mad at himself. But he’s still angry. He has to do something, no matter what Shen said.
He reads Kat’s note for a third time, and it’s almost like he can hear Ms. Vee’s voice saying the words out loud. “When people I love are out of reach, I offer some kindness to another that I can’t give my dear ones. It brings peace to me.”
Even if his first mother is out of reach, he can still offer kindness in her honor. Maybe Golden-Ruling means trying to help that girl, and others like her. Maybe it even means overturning tables.
Sarker said he’d return on Fridays to do his evil work.
Shen told Ravi not to go to the hotel.
But the chai shop across the street’s not forbidden. And it’s the perfect place to keep watch on the Royal Diadem.
KAT
EXT. KOLKATA—DAY
“Next stop, Mother House and the Missionaries of Charity,” Bontu says, holding the back door open as Ravi and Gracie climb in. Kat’s already in the passenger seat.
“These women still spend their time serving the dead and dying?” Kat asks.
“They do,” Bontu answers. “And it’s a lot tougher than beating up bad guys in Gotham, if you ask me.”
“This city seems to have as many bad guys as Gotham,” says Ravi. “I’ve been reading through files in the office.”
“Sadly, all big cities come with their fair share of villains,” says Bontu. “But your American bad guys seem to use guns more often than ours.”
“True,” Ravi says. “Most of your police don’t even have guns. Your uncle might need one to stop these traffickers.”
“He has already captured quite a few—without the use of guns,” Bontu retorts.
“So I hear,” says Gracie. “Miss Shireen says he’s legendary when it comes to taking down bad guys.”
“You have to come after them hard,” says Ravi. “Jesus said that anyone who hurts a child should have a MILLSTONE hung around his neck and be THROWN into the ocean to DROWN.”
Kat turns and looks at his face. He certainly said THAT with passion. What’s going on?
“If you hurt a child, Jesus said a millstone would actually be better than facing God,” Gracie corrects him gently.
There’s a pause.
“You sound … energized about it, anyway, Ravi,” Kat says.
“You do sound different,” Gracie says. “Did something happen yesterday?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “Ummm … No, not really. Maybe it helped to have the day to myself. What did you guys do?”
It’s Gracie’s turn to hesitate. “Not much. Just … well, Kat and I spent time at the office in the morning. And I called my parents again last night. At least they’re not laughing at me anymore. When I first told them about my baby assignment, they laughed so hysterically I thought Mom might go into early labor.”
“Sticking with baby care this summer is your ‘act of service,’ I guess,” Ravi says.
“That’s not all Gracie’s doing to serve,” Kat says.
“Hush, Kat,” says Gracie. “We’re here. Mother House. I can’t believe it.”
As they climb out of the car and walk to the four-storied, gray building, Kat notices that Ravi does seem much more animated than he has all week. His steps look more purposeful, somehow.
She follows Gracie into the quiet building and takes off her shoes.
RAVI
EXT. MOTHER HOUSE—DAY
Bontu and Ravi sit in the car outside the Missionaries of Charity building, waiting for Kat and Gracie to finish up.
After everything that happened yesterday, Ravi’s worried Shen will kick him out of his training sessions. He’s still mad at the guy for not dispatching his team in pursuit of Sarker, but Shen’s a master at getting recruits ready to hit the streets. Ravi can tell his own body is starting to respond after only six sessions. And if he’s going to watch for Sarker in that chai shop, Ravi needs to stick with Shen’s regimen.
“Have you heard from your uncle?” Ravi asks Bontu casually.
“He came to dinner last night,” Bontu says. “When Baba asked about my training, Uncle told him I was improving. Then he winked at me when Baba wasn’t looking. Thank God he understands.”
“Did he say anything about my stopping by yesterday afternoon?”
“You saw him?” Bontu answers. “He didn’t tell us that. But I’m glad you’re beginning to trust him, Ravi. Uncle likes you. I told him we were going out today, and he wanted me to tell you that he always keeps his word and repays his favors, whatever that means. And that he’ll see us both on Monday.”
Relief floods through Ravi. And determination. Shen’s not firing him after all. If that perp shows up again at the Royal Diadem, Ravi’s body needs to be in badass shape.
“Hey, Bontu, what kind of an Indian name is ‘Michael Francis’?”
“Why? Did you meet someone with that name? Must be Anglo-Indian. Someone of British and Indian heritage. Legacy from colonial days. Older Anglo-Indians still speak only English, no Bangla, but that’s changing, too.”
“Oh.” That explained the pseudo-British accent of the hotel owner.
Kat and Gracie come out of Mother House, and Ravi notices that Gracie’s face almost looks like it’s glowing.
“She knelt for a half hour by the tomb,” Kat whispers to Ravi as she climbs into the car.
Beautiful Gracie, Ravi thinks as his best friend slides in next to him. Kind to me, kind to everyone.
Maybe he should tell her about his plan to stop Sarker. She’s certainly been a safe place for Ravi’s secrets in the past. But this is different. She might try to talk him out of it, saying it’s too risky. He’s not going to tell Kat, either. Or PG, that’s for sure. He doesn’t want to get sent back to Boston on the next plane and have his parents enroll him in intensive counseling sessions.
No, to execute this mission, he’s on his own.
KAT
INT. CINEMA HALL—NIGHT
They end their Saturday outing at the movies again, where the real Biswas plays a heroic police officer rescuing a raven-haired actress from the clutches of an evil movie mogul. The Bengali officer is Hindu, the Bengali
actress is Muslim.
“Like you and Amira,” Kat hears Ravi muttering to Bontu.
“Amira is much prettier than this actress,” Bontu answers loudly. His passionate declaration booms through the theater.
“This movie was on that billboard we saw coming from the airport,” Kat whispers to Gracie.
But Gracie’s not listening. She’s entranced.
Bollywood might just be better than Hollywood, Kat thinks. It’s probably because of the music and dancing—singing, dancing, love scenes, love scenes while singing and dancing, fight scenes, heroes battling villains while singing and dancing.
RAVI
In this “fillum,” even Ravi has to admit that Biswas resembles him. Especially if I keep working out with Shen, he thinks, picturing himself in a white uniform with a black belt and boots. Toward the end of the movie, the black-haired beauty rides into the sunset on the back of Biswas’s motorcycle, her orange sari billowing in the wind and highlighting her curves. It’s strangely close to his own fantasy.
“Doesn’t she look like Gracie?” Kat asks, leaning forward to catch Ravi’s eye.
“Maybe a little,” he says. Gracie would look much better in that orange sari than Biswas’s girl.
He whispers into Bontu’s ear. “Does Biswas ever kiss on-screen?”
“No, never,” Bontu answers.
Too bad, Ravi thinks.
In the car on the way home, Ravi sits shoulder to shoulder with Gracie. He can’t help inhaling the fragrant, flowery scent emanating from her hair.
“Why do you smell like a garden?” he asks. For some reason, he’s keeping his voice low so the two in front can’t hear him.
She turns her head to show him her braid. “Miss Shireen gave me a string of jasmine flowers for my hair this morning. Guess the fragrance lasts all day.”
Oh, so that’s it. He takes another deep breath. “Smells amazing.”
Just then, before Ravi has a chance to worry if he’s developing some kind of hair-sniffing fetish, Bontu spins around a curve and Gracie smashes into Ravi’s side.
Forward Me Back to You Page 21
