Beads, Boys and Bangles (24 page)

‘This is Lakshmi,’ Sanjay says to Edie, as if that explains everything. He notices that we seem confused. ‘The sister,’ he continues. ‘Of Ganesh.’ He points to Crow’s sketchbook, which is lying open on her discarded satchel. Crow holds up the picture of the boy in the dress.

‘Ganesh?’ she asks.

They all nod. And it seems Sanjay wasn’t joking when he said he knew everyone. In a city of twenty million people, he knows the boy we’re looking for. He asks Lakshmi where Ganesh might be. She explains in rapid Hindi, her face alight with excitement. Then Sanjay sends his messengers off again and motions to Lakshmi to sit near us. She comes close gradually, like a little bird slowly gaining confidence, and picks a spot about a metre from me.

Edie notices Lakshmi’s hand, which is damaged, like her face.

‘What happened?’ she asks Sanjay quietly, gesturing at the girl.

He smiles and half-nods, half-shakes his head. Whatever it is, he doesn’t want to tell us.

Edie smiles back at him. ‘I understand. We’re just strangers. It’s OK.’

She goes back to watching the cricket and funnily enough, this makes Sanjay change his mind. He seems to prefer it when she’s hanging on his every word. He looks round and chats rapidly to some of the other boys. Gradually, they start clustering round us more closely. One boy starts shouting and others join in enthusiastically. We realise they’re telling Lakshmi’s story for her, while Sanjay translates.

The cricket match is quickly abandoned. The circle grows. The story is this.

Once upon a time, there were two children who lived in the countryside. They can’t remember exactly when, but one day they left their parents’ home with men who brought them on a long train journey, here to Mumbai, and put them to work in a small room. The men explained that it had cost money to take them on the journey, and to look after them in the small room, and it would take the children years to pay it back. They didn’t know why they were paying, when they didn’t want to be here in the first place, but they worked. From first light until bedtime. Ganesh was fast and strong and did what he could to protect his sister from the worst of the beatings, and to make sure she got extra food whenever he could steal it.

They were hidden away from police and ‘busybodies’ in rooms created between the floors of buildings, or in basements, moving every few months. They were taught embroidery and they became very good at it. But as he
grew older, Ganesh was given a new job. He became a messenger and courier for the bosses.

Last year, he was out collecting a parcel of new thread when there was a fire in the room where Lakshmi was working. Fires were common. One of the bosses cooked meals in a corner of the room and the stove got knocked over. The door was locked and there weren’t any windows. It took a while to escape the flames.

Which is why Lakshmi has only half her hair, and only one eye, and why the skin on her face and neck is scarred and two of her fingers are fused together. It’s why she can’t really sew any more and was sent out to beg instead. She was seven.

While the story is being told, Lakshmi edges closer to me. Why she picks me, I have no idea. Usually, people notice Edie or Crow. But by the end, she is sitting in my lap and I am stroking what’s left of her hair, which is long and silky. She’s playing with my bangles. I take several of them off and put them on her wrists. Her arms are so thin that they slide easily over her elbows and up to her armpits. We laugh. I take my scarf off and wrap it round her neck.

‘Beautiful,’ I say.

She turns round to look at me, surprised. ‘Beautiful’ is one of the few English words she knows. She must use it a lot to try and persuade tourists to give her money, but I don’t think she’s had it said to her before.

She’s very beautiful, though. Tiny and strong. The
eyelashes on her remaining eye are long and curved – like the fake ones I used on the First Kiss Disaster Date, but less unreliable. Her features are small and delicate. Her smile reminds me of Crow’s: sudden and blinding. It feels very natural for her to be sitting in my lap. I don’t want her to go.

A shout goes up. Ganesh is here. A tall boy compared with some of the others, with the body of a skinny ten-year-old and the wary eyes of a grown-up. He’s still wearing his dress as he approaches, watching us all unblinkingly, especially when he sees me with his precious sister.

Sanjay talks to him rapidly, indicating me and mentioning the word ‘beautiful’ and laughing. Ganesh seems slightly less wary after that. He joins the group and Sanjay translates for us as we ask him about what happened last year.

Did he see children making the dress that he’s wearing now? Is it a fake, or a real one? What happened?

At first he doesn’t want to answer, but the other children beg and plead with him. After all, they’ve told us the worst of it. Slowly, Ganesh agrees. He lets Crow examine what’s left of the dress and she’s convinced it’s too well made to be a fake. He lifts his shirt up to point out a mistake on the embroidery, which is why it was discarded. Then he explains how the panels for the dresses were made last autumn, after the rainy season, in a building not far from here. They were the last clothes
Lakshmi worked on before the fire. Ganesh thought they were some of the most beautiful things he had seen and was thrilled to get this one, despite remembering the beating of the boy who made the mistake with the embroidery. At the same time, some tee-shirts were brought in to be finished. They had crystals sewn on them to make English words.

Edie groans. ‘“Less Fashion More Compassion”. My first slogan.’

We hear spluttering behind us and turn round to see Harry grinning sheepishly. ‘You have to admit, it’s ironic.’

Sanjay spots Harry grinning and giggles without knowing why. The other children join him. They’ve told the story about Lakshmi the way I might describe an evening doing a difficult geography project. Not the most fun thing in the world, but hey, life goes on. At least they’re out here having a nice game of cricket and a chat with the funny, sunburned people and the girl who can draw.

‘Where does Lakshmi live now?’ I ask.

Sanjay looks surprised. ‘Live?’

‘Spend the night. Where is her home?’

He laughs and points beyond the railway tracks. ‘There are some old train carriages there that are OK, isn’t it? When they find us using them, they will beat us. We’ll find different ones. Five star!’

A couple of years ago, I might have asked why Lakshmi and Ganesh didn’t try and return to their
parents, but then I got to know Crow and now I understand that some things are more complicated than we can guess. Crow couldn’t go back home because her parents’ life was too dangerous. And now she stays because London is her home. Maybe Lakshmi’s parents can’t afford to look after her. Maybe they think she’s living a good life in Mumbai and that’s why they sent her away. Maybe she just doesn’t know where to find them. Her story will be different from Crow’s, but whatever it is, I know I can’t just click my fingers and make everything better. I wish I could, though. I really do.

The kids are still bubbling with curiosity, keen to find out everything about us. Lakshmi has sidled up to Crow and is examining the seams of her sari-fabric dungarees. Despite everything, she still can’t help being interested in the way beautiful clothes are made.

I picture her working on the Svetlana dress last autumn – and us having no idea she even existed. Crow looks across and catches my eye. I know what she’s thinking. We have to help them somehow. We have to do what we can.

We also have to catch our flight.

I spot Harry looking at his watch and we both realise that if we don’t go soon we’re not going to make the airport in time.

What do we do now?

‘Wait here,’ Harry says. Using Sanjay as our translator, he persuades Ganesh to take him to the building his
bosses are currently using to house their slave children. Ganesh is clear. He’ll point it out from a distance, but he won’t let Harry go close. There have been a lot of raids recently. If the bosses think they’re being watched, there will be trouble.

We watch Harry go, then sit in silence while the children go back to their cricket match. I’m playing with the bangles on Lakshmi’s arms, making her giggle and trying not to think too much about anything. Crow’s sketching a boy leaping gracefully to catch a ball. Edie’s restless and doesn’t know what to do with herself.

Eventually she says, ‘This is all my fault.’

‘No it isn’t,’ I tell her automatically. I realise I’m shivering, despite the heat, and try not to.

‘It’s good,’ Crow says quietly. ‘It was important to know this. But I hope Harry comes back soon.’

We all agree. Time passes. Someone scores a six.

And then he’s back. He’s looking very serious, but the main thing is, he’s safe. Now it really is time for us to get out of here.

Before we go, though, Harry gets his phone out of his pocket. The children cluster round and admire it. I half wonder if he’s going to give it to them, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes their pictures. He starts off with Sanjay and Ganesh and Lakshmi, but soon they’re all insisting on posing for him. Then he tells Sanjay the name of our hotel and instructs him to go there in a fortnight.

‘There will be an envelope for you. And this picture of
you will be attached, so the people will know to give it to you. Inside, we’ll tell you how we’ll help you. Get someone to read it for you. OK? Someone you trust.’

Who, I wonder. Walt Disney?

Sanjay looks at us all and shakes his head in the yes-no Indian way. I’m not sure he believes Harry. After all, what can four tourist kids who suddenly show up out of nowhere do? But Sanjay is obviously someone who likes to think that things will turn out well. And someone who likes going to big hotels on important missions.

‘Yes, sir,’ he agrees. He repeats the instructions. ‘This is very easy job. You can count on me, sir.’

We leave at last. I can hardly bear to say goodbye to Lakshmi. I hate the thought that I’ll probably never see her again. I wonder what else I can give her. Then I remember I’m wearing a gold chain Mum gave me ages ago. I quickly take it off and hand it over. Maybe she can sell it to buy a decent meal or something. I hug her and she hugs me back. Her arms are so light I can hardly feel her.

On the way back through the market I hardly notice the alleyways, the noise, the smell, the heat. Crow sticks close to me. I think she knows I need her comforting arm to hold.

‘What was your plan, by the way?’ Edie asks Harry.

‘Plan?’

‘Yes. Your plan for that envelope. The one Sanjay’s going to collect.’

‘Oh, that. No idea. What should we do? I was hoping we could have worked it out by then. Maybe your Phil guy can help us think of something.’

My brother. I love him so much. And now I know my habit of winging it is in the genes. I’m so glad it’s not just me.

‘
S
o, how was your trip to Agra? You didn’t call me again! Have you been OK? I want to hear
all
about it.’

I’m in the car with Mrs Patil, suddenly wishing we were doing mental maths.

We’d all forgotten that the Patils would be driving us back to the airport. And we’d certainly forgotten that they’d want a full report about what we’ve been up to. Of course, it’s worse for Harry and Crow, because they’re travelling in the other car with Mr Patil. And we simply don’t know if he knows about the slave children. It seems impossible to imagine that he does, having seen him in his shiny factory with all his happy, healthy, grown-up workers and his high-tech machinery, and having met his own cute children, with their amazing maths ability.

May be it was someone else who decided that the Svetlana dress was too complicated to make cheaply at the factory. Maybe it was some junior manager who
spoke to Ganesh’s bosses, arranged the deal and pocketed the profits. Maybe it was someone we’ve never met. Maybe if we tell the Patils what we’ve seen they’ll be horrified and get the bosses put in jail.

But maybe they won’t. One thing we’re sure of: we don’t know what we’re doing and we don’t know who to trust. It’s better if we say nothing until we get back to London. Then we can use Edie’s network of charity friends to help us out.

So I spend an hour talking about bangles and DS games and ice cream and sound like the ditziest teenager ever to visit Mumbai. Edie helps out with ten minutes on the fabulousness of the amazing architecture. When we get to the airport we practically fall out of the car in our eagerness to get to passport control, and safety.

It’s not till we’ve taken off that Harry manages to tell us about his trip with Ganesh.

‘You know the worst thing?’

No, we don’t.

‘The building he showed me. . . it was just a normal apartment block. Nothing special at all. There are thousands of them in Mumbai. If you’re looking, where do you start?’

Harry doesn’t say much more after that. He loses himself in his book. However, I do notice that he gives Edie a funny look, as if he’s finally realised that her saving-the-world obsession is actually more than just a
teenage hobby. I’m glad she doesn’t catch him looking at her. She’d be doing that waterfall thing with her hair, if she did, and going an intense shade of pink. Instead of REVISING FOR GEOGRAPHY, which is her chosen activity.