A Scandalous Secret (26 page)

As their taxi pulled into Fatehpur Sikri, Sonya and Estella jumped with fright when a whole variety of touts gathered around the car to thump on the bonnet and windows. In order to shake them off, the driver ignored the red light, narrowly missing a rickshaw in the process. Sonya looked out of her window at one boy who was pursuing the car with a few others, clearly desperate for her business. He looked no more than twelve and was weaving maniacally through the town's traffic as he tried to keep up with them. Sonya wondered if she should warn the driver of the possibility of one of their wheels going over the lad's foot but thought better of it. When they drew up outside the fort, Sonya almost did not want to get out of the safety of the locked car and eyed with trepidation the army of brown faces that were surrounding the vehicle again.

‘This is crazy, we can't keep sitting here,' Estella said, reaching for the door handle. ‘Ready? Shall we go for it?' she asked.

Sonya nodded and, as they got out, the driver emerged from his seat, yelling what sounded like Hindi's choicest abuse to send the touts scattering. Some of them ran off, laughing, but a few persisted.

‘Five hundred rupee only, I will be guide,' one wheedled
while another jostled him, flicking a packet of postcards showing the sights of Agra and Fatehpur Sikri. ‘Buy, madam, hundred rupees only, whole pack, only for you.'

‘No guide, no postcards,' Estella said loudly, waving her guide book. ‘We have book, see? No needing guides.'

‘I thought we'd promised each other we wouldn't slip into pidgin English,' Sonya panted, trying to keep up with her friend who was striding in a determined fashion up a steep set of steps in an effort to lose the touts. Sonya looked over her shoulder as they climbed. Most of the men had fallen by the wayside, although one pair of boys remained in hot pursuit.

‘Please, madam, take me as your guide, I know everything, I show you all the historic things,' the smaller one whined as he caught Sonya's eye.

‘You can't know everything, you look about ten! I'll bet I know more Indian history than you do,' Sonya admonished.

‘No, no, madam, you ask me any question, I will answer,' came the confident response. Then the boy added, more helpfully, ‘You have to take shoes off over here. Inside is mosque.'

Sonya slipped off her sandals, hoping she would not return to find them missing. Following Estella, she stepped in through a massive archway to find a courtyard bustling with tourists and worshippers. They followed the crowd, who seemed to be gravitating to a small marble mosque situated at the centre of the courtyard, still tailed by the two boys bearing grubby satchels full of postcards and maps.

‘You must cover head,' the smaller one advised, ‘is like mosque. Salim Chishti's dargah. Salim Chishti was Sufisaint. Emperor Akbar prayed to him for a son and, when
he got son, he name his son Salim and also build this dargah for Salim Chishti. Caalabrooney also came to pray for son.'

Sonya smiled, amused not just by the practised patter but also the breezy pronunciation of Carla Bruni's name. Estella, following directions from her well-thumbed copy of the
Lonely Planet
, was already fumbling around in her bag to come up with a pair of scarves, one of which she handed to Sonya before tying the other around her own head. Suitably clad, they stepped into the darkened interior of the mausoleum. An old man in Muslim garb was fanning a tombstone that was covered in flowers with a horsehair whisk, while another stood taking squares of glittering cloth off the queuing worshippers to place them on the tomb. The cloth squares all had tinsel borders and appeared to be some kind of offering. Sonya wished she had thought of bringing one along too. Instead she took a small piece of red thread that another man was handing out and, following the lead set by others in the mausoleum, she tied it alongside thousands of other little threads that were knotted onto a marble trellised wall.

She jumped as a sibilant whisper emerged from the vicinity of her elbow, ‘
Make wish!
' Turning, she saw that the ten-year-old guide had followed her indoors. Though tempted to tell him off for startling her, Sonya closed her eyes in order to concentrate. If it had worked for the Emperor Akbar, it was certainly worth a try. What should she ask for, she wondered, her mind going blank for a minute before she suddenly thought of it. ‘Please make Keshav see sense and stop blackmailing us. Please don't let what I have done ruin anyone's life. Whoever you are, Mr Chishti.'

Opening her eyes again, she saw the urchin face looking
up at her. ‘Make wish?' he asked. Sonya nodded. ‘It will come true. Definitely,' he said with an air of utmost solemnity and faith. Sonya followed him around a narrow corridor and, together, they stepped out into the sunshine.

Estella, following her out, asked, ‘Is he bothering you?' gesturing to the pair of boys who were hovering nearby.

‘Naah, not really. He's cute, our pint-sized guide.'

‘Don't!' Estella warned, laughing. ‘My fingers are still smoking from our recent experience with Keshav. Be years before I start suffering from a bleeding heart again!'

 

An hour later, the girls were wandering around the Emperor's abandoned living quarters, enjoying the respite from the crowds in the neighbouring mosque complex.

‘Phew, far nicer here,' Estella said, fanning her face with her scarf as she sat on a stone bench to pull out her book again. ‘And I think we've managed to shake off Oliver and the Artful Dodger too.'

‘Well, the rupee payment at the door will have put them off following us here,' Sonya said. ‘But don't be surprised if you see them waiting right outside when we come out! I think we may have no choice but to pay them off handsomely, you know.'

Estella grinned. ‘Such cheek,' she said, ‘paying for the privilege of being left alone!' She returned to her guide book. ‘Hey, did you know that the Emperor Akbar and his retinue only lived here for four years? This palace was specially commissioned and built so he could move here from Agra with his harem. And then, weirdly, it was abandoned just four years later when they all decamped back to Agra.'

‘Really? Well, no wonder it's so pristine,' Sonya observed, looking around at the red sandstone complex of buildings that looked no more than a few years old.

‘Ran out of water, apparently,' Estella continued reading. ‘They got the whole place up and running before discovering that the local supply of water was brackish and undrinkable. Quite the modern-day ecological nightmare, eh? Like a B-grade disaster film.'

‘I did notice that the tea we had back at the lodge tasted a bit funny, actually. Kinda salty. So there may well be truth in the theory.'

‘Yikes, I'd have hoped they'd have had time to sort out the water supply since the sixteenth century. Else, I'm on that plane to Kerala pretty damned quick! Plenty of water there, going by the pics.'

‘I guess the Mahajans will always take us back if we want to return to Delhi in a hurry,' Sonya said.

‘True. She mentioned having no other bookings till next weekend, didn't she? But let's not panic just yet. The lodging house here did look a bit dicey but we don't have to stay. If we finish seeing what we need to, we could actually head off to Agra tonight, rather than wait till tomorrow.'

Sonya nodded in agreement. ‘Be nice to get a bit of extra time in Agra, I reckon. Two days may not be enough to see all the sights, especially if you want to see the Taj by moonlight.'

‘I sure do. I think I'd like to come back to India again someday but heaven knows when that'll be, and if Agra will figure in that. Okay, that's decided that. Let's get moving from here asap and try and blag our way into the Agra hotel one night early. We'll get exactly two and a half days that way before we get to Delhi Airport to catch our Cochin flight.'

Back in Delhi, Keshav was sprawled on Gopal's mattress, sharing half a bottle of rum with his friend, when the phone rang. He pulled the jangling instrument out of his shirt pocket and saw an unfamiliar number. The caller identified himself as Assistant Constable Daulat Ram of the Sainik Farms police
chowki
. Keshav could not think what the man could want from him but it soon became evident as the policeman spoke in fluent, elegant Hindi, his tone high and his language peppered with a selection of the choicest abuse. He told Keshav in no mean terms of what was done to blackmailers when the police got their hands on them. Keshav started to sweat. The names Neha and Sharat Chaturvedi were never specifically mentioned, Daulat Ram saying only that Inspector General Ashok Mitra had called the station, concerned at reports of a young blackmailer operating in the Sainik Farms area. From the name and description, the culprit was clearly identified as Keshav Jha, son of the driver who was working at Number Twenty-Nine, the residence of one Mr Mahajan of Allied Advertisers.

Assistant Constable Daulat Ram finally paused in his tirade to ask Keshav if he intended going to the media as he had threatened. Keshav hesitated momentarily, opening
his mouth to reply with some kind of explanation but, before he could speak, the constable informed him of what would be done to him if he did. The words ‘lock-up' and ‘laathi' and ‘beating' were mentioned and repeated. Details of the kind of injuries offenders were often left with were described in detail and with immense relish. The constable appeared to be enjoying himself by this stage, his voice getting shriller and more aggressive. Suddenly, however, he drew his loud delivery to a swift end, hanging up as abruptly as he had begun.

Hands shaking from fear, Keshav looked at the blank screen of his phone, unable to believe what he had just heard. As this new development started to make sense, he flung the instrument down on the mattress almost as though it would burn him if he held onto it any longer. Beads of perspiration dotted his upper lip as he looked at his friend with fear darkening his eyes.

Gopal, who had not gathered much from the rather one-sided conversation, looked on in consternation. ‘
Kya hua? Kaun tha?
' he enquired of the caller's identity. But Keshav was suddenly too nauseated by fright to even speak.

After checking in at Delhi Airport on their return from Agra, Sonya and Estella went upstairs to the food court. Sonya, scanning the names of the dishes on the colourful wall menus, marvelled at how quickly so many of them had become familiar to her. Thanks to the few meals she had eaten at the Mahajan table, she was now well familiar with everyday names like ‘roti' and ‘paapad'.

‘Well, what do you fancy?' Estella asked, coming up behind her.

‘It's nearly lunchtime … something a bit substantial, I guess. You do get used to full-blown lunches here in India and, we won't get given nosh for hours yet,' Sonya replied.

‘Too right. Substantial always sounds good to me. But, y'know what, I think I'm a bit Indianed out as far as food goes. Feel like sinking my gnashers into something solid and comforting, like a foot-long Subway or something. Salami and jalapenos – yum yum! Although, d'you know what I could happily murder right now? A steak! Medium rare – ah, now you're talking!' Estella halted her momentary reverie to return to reality and the offerings at Delhi Airport's food court. ‘Well you get what you want from here, hon, while I grab a table.'

Estella wandered off and Sonya went up to the Indian counter to order a masala dosa. Mrs Mahajan had made dosas for breakfast on their very first morning and Sonya had thought that the savoury pancakes stuffed with spicy potatoes were about the most delicious thing she had ever eaten. Unfortunately, they hadn't been made again, Mrs Mahajan obviously trying to vary her menus as much as possible. On their last morning, rather disappointingly, they had eaten eggs on toast!

After paying with her dwindling collection of torn and dirty rupee notes, Sonya collected a token before going to the table where Estella was standing guard over their bags and camera equipment. ‘Mine will be served here apparently,' Sonya said. ‘So, why don't you go off and get yours. Oh, and while you're at Subway, could I have a can of Diet Pepsi, please?'

She sat down while Estella disappeared in search of food and then took out her mobile phone. Neha's number had been saved in her contacts list and Sonya scrolled slowly down to her name. She looked at it for a few seconds before pressing the green button. After a few rings, she heard the soft, now familiar voice say, ‘Hello'.

‘Hi, it's Sonya.'

‘Hello, Sonya. I recognized your number. I have it saved now.'

‘Well, it wasn't working very well in Agra, for some reason. Perhaps it was only some sort of local sim card, I don't know. We bought it cheaply just after we got to Delhi.'

‘You are back in Delhi now?'

‘Yes, but only for another couple of hours. We took our cab straight to the airport, where we're now awaiting
our flight to Kerala … we're there for four days and then it's back to London, via Dubai. I just called to say goodbye.'

There was a pause before Neha replied. ‘I didn't realize you were going so soon'. Her voice was so quiet that Sonya was unable to detect the emotion with which she might have spoken.

‘I couldn't remember if either Estella or I had mentioned our plans … we did leave your house rather hastily that day …'

‘No, no, you hadn't mentioned it,' Neha replied. ‘There wasn't the time, as you say … but I guessed you would visit Agra since it's so near Delhi.'

After another short awkward silence, Sonya asked, ‘I wanted to know … there hasn't been anything more from Keshav, has there?'

Neha's reply was thankfully in the negative and Sonya heaved a silent sigh of relief when Neha added firmly, ‘My husband is very sure we should not cave in to the demands of a blackmailer. I think he's dealing with it so don't worry about that.'

Sonya did not think it her place to ask how Neha's husband planned to deal with it, or what he could possibly do to stop Keshav from selling his story to the tabloids. Nor did she feel able to enquire whether he had come to terms with Neha's dramatic disclosure about having had a daughter before her marriage to him. Although Sonya had been the catalyst in causing the truth to emerge, the secrets in the Chaturvedi marriage were nothing to do with her.

Instead Sonya said, ‘Well, thank goodness Keshav's gone silent. I really do hope he won't call and bother you any more.' After a moment's hesitation, she added, ‘I feel I must apologize again for the part I played in that whole
mess. But thank you for hearing us out that day … and thank you for understanding how much I needed to hear your explanation of what happened with me in the past.' Sonya was aware of how stiff she must sound. There was a great deal more she wanted to say then she thought the better of it. After all, she and Neha were, all said and done, still strangers.

‘No, it's you I must thank, Sonya,' Neha replied. ‘Not many youngsters your age would show the maturity you have done in accepting what I did. So … I thank you for that from the bottom of my heart …'

‘Well, I guess it's goodbye from me, then,' Sonya said, her awkwardness exacerbated by Estella having returned to the table with a tray full of food and drink which she was trying to make room for with one hand.

‘Goodbye, Sonya. And have a safe trip,' Neha said.

Sonya clicked off the phone and nodded as Estella cocked a sympathetic brow at her. ‘Neha?' she asked. ‘Wasn't too difficult, I hope?'

Sonya shook her head and avoided eye contact as she got up to put their bags and camera on the floor. ‘No. It was okay. And Keshav hasn't called her again, thank God.'

‘Good. I hope that's the last any of us hear from him!' Estella said with vehemence before turning her attention to her generously stuffed baguette. She peeled the paper off one end and took a bite with a satisfied ‘Mmmm …'

Sonya looked around at the hundreds of people sitting around the food court, eating and drinking. There was the usual sprinkling of foreigners but most of them were prosperous-looking Indians. ‘I feel totally mortified at how easily I was taken in by Keshav. Just can't seem to forget it,' Sonya said as her dosa was brought to the table.

‘You taken in? We
both
were. You keep forgetting what an expert swindler he was, hon!' Estella's indignation spilt out even through a mouthful of bread.

Sonya hesitated. ‘And yet – yet there's a part of me that wants to make excuses for him, you know, Stel –'

‘You gotta be kidding!' Estella cried, halting her chewing to gaze horrified at Sonya.

‘No, just think about it, Stel. It's all very well for us – y'know, rich Western kids with the world at their feet. Easiest thing in the world to judge Keshav and be angry at what he's done. But I'm not sure it's right to expect someone who's poor and desperate to be motivated by the exact same things as us. You know? I mean, you saw the desperation of those touts back in Agra, didn't you? No more than babies and already at it.'

Estella countered her theory. ‘That makes it sound like we would expect all poor people living in third world countries to be criminal.'

‘No, I'm not saying that at all. But, I don't know, it just seems
wrong
to judge someone who is desperately poor and lacking opportunities by the kind of airy-fairy moral standards we set for ourselves.'

Estella took another bite of her baguette, shaking her head. ‘Criminal behaviour
is
criminal behaviour in my view. And blackmail's pretty damned criminal, you've gotta admit. Being rich or poor should have nothing to do with the ethics of it. And Keshav's had some pretty decent opportunities too. Nothing like those kids at Fatehpur Sikri. The Mahajans have educated him, don't forget.'

‘Imagine, though, what it must be like growing up with the burden of that kind of gratitude. Never knowing whether you're overstepping the mark laid down by your benefactors …'

Estella did not argue any more but the expression on her face remained clearly unconvinced as she continued to put away her meal in typically hearty fashion. Sonya ladled a bit of coconut chutney onto her plate but she had lost her appetite for her now limp and soggy dosa. Nevertheless, she put a forkful of food into her mouth and chewed mechanically. Outside the window of the café she could see aircraft in various colours and sizes waiting to take off to their many different destinations. Beyond them, shimmering in a heat haze, lay Delhi's typical scrubby brown land. Sonya wondered whether she would ever come back. It hadn't exactly been a pleasurable trip but the city had sure knocked a lot of her corners off in the past few days. Perhaps it was true what all the hippies had said about India and self-discovery when they started flocking here in the sixties. Her own experiences had certainly taught her a few useful lessons, and Sonya guessed she ought to be grateful for them. It was no exaggeration to state that she felt years older than the girl who had first set out on this trip.