Slumdog Millionaire: A Novel (32 page)

tomatoes from the vegetable market. And I knew in my heart of hearts that she was my princess.

The burning ambition of my life was to marry her one day. The consuming worry of my life was whether she would agree.

* * *

A jeep with a flashing red light has come to the outhouse. An inspector and two constables alight from it. My heart lurches. A cold knot of fear forms in the pit of my stomach. My crimes have finally caught up with me. This is the pattern of my life. Just when I begin to feel on top of things, fate yanks the rug from under my feet. So it is to be expected that just when I have discovered true love, I should be taken away to a jail where, like Emperor Shahjahan, I will sit in solitary confinement and pine for Nita, my own Mumtaz Mahal.

The Inspector takes out a megaphone from the jeep to make an announcement. I expect him to say, 'Will Ram Mohammad Thomas, alias Raju Sharma, come out with his hands in the air?' But he says instead, 'Will all the residents of the outhouse come out? There has been a robbery in the Bank of Agra and we have reason to believe that the thief is here. I have to conduct a search of the premises.' When I hear this, I feel a heavy weight lift from my heart. I am so happy, I want to go out and hug the Inspector.

The constables enter each room in turn and conduct a thorough search. They come to my room and ask me for my name, my age, my occupation, whether I have seen any suspicious characters lurking about in the area. I don't tell them that I am an unauthorized guide. I say I am a student at the University and am new to the outhouse. This satisfies them. They look under my bed. They peer into the kitchen, tap the pots and pans, overturn the mattress and then move on to the next room. The Inspector joins the constables.

They are now in Shankar's room. 'Yes, what is your name?' the Inspector asks Shankar gruffly.

'Hu Ixhz Qo Odxifxn,' Shankar replies, slightly confused.

'What? Can you repeat that?'

'Odxifxn.'

'Bloody bastard, you are making fun of me?' the Inspector says angrily, and raises his baton to hit Shankar. I quickly intervene. 'Inspector Sahib, Shankar has a mental problem. He cannot speak.'

'Then why didn't you say so before?' He turns to his constables. 'Let's go to the next room. We won't get anything out of a lunatic.'

They search all thirty rooms during the next three hours, and eventually unearth a cache of currency in the room belonging to Najmi, the bearded poet, who claimed to be a Bollywood

songwriter. We are all astonished to discover that our young poet is a part-time bank robber as well. Just goes to show that appearances can be deceptive. Well, I can hardly complain. The outhouse
wallahs
would be just as scandalized if they found out about my own chequered past!

* * *

Lajwanti has come to my room to offer some crumbly fresh
laddoos
from the nearby Durga Temple. She is very excited.

'Arrey,
Lajwanti, what are the sweets in aid of? Have you got a raise?' I ask her.

'This is the happiest day of my life. With Goddess Durga's blessings, the Sugarcane Officer has finally agreed to marry Lakshmi. My sister will now live like a queen. I am preparing for a wedding to beat all weddings.'

'But what about dowry? Hasn't the groom's family made any demands?'

'No, not at all. They are a very decent family. They do not want any cash. They have only requested some very small things.'

'Like what?'

'Like a Bajaj scooter, a Sumeet Mixer, five Raymond suits and some gold jewellery. I was, in any case, going to give all this to Lakshmi.'

I am scandalized. 'But Lajwanti, this will cost you a packet – at least a lakh rupees. Where will you get this money from?'

'I have been saving up for Lakshmi's wedding. I have accumulated nearly fifty thousand rupees.

And will borrow another fifty thousand from Rani Sahiba.'

'Are you sure she will give you such a large sum of money?'

'Of course. I am the best maid she has ever had.'

'Well, good luck then.'

* * *

I continue to meet Nita, but the atmosphere inside the brothel stifles me. And I hate dealing with that shifty-eyed pimp Shyam. So on Nita's suggestion we start meeting outside. She goes alone to see films every Friday. I join her. She loves popcorn. I buy her a big packet and we sit in the back row of the dark and dingy Akash Talkies. She eats popcorn and giggles when I slip my hand through her thin muslin dress to feel her soft breasts. At the end of the film, I come out of the hall hot and flushed, not knowing whether I've seen a family drama, a comedy or a thriller.

Because I have eyes only for Nita, and I hope that our own story will turn slowly but surely into an epic romance.

* * *

Shankar enters my room crying.

'What's the matter?' I ask.

He points to his knee. It is cut and bruised. I immediately become concerned. 'How did you get hurt, Shankar? Did you fall down?'

Shankar shakes his head. 'X Akc Wqp Hz,' he says.

For once, I wish he could speak sense. 'I am sorry, I don't understand. Why don't you come outside and show me how you got hurt?'

Shankar takes me out and points to where the cobbled courtyard joins the main road. There is a little parapet in the corner, from which the kids in the outhouse are always jumping up and down.

'Yxi Ukj Ozz Pdxp Akc? Dq Wqp Hz Dznz,' Shankar says and indicates his knee.

I trace the direction of his finger and nod in understanding. I reckon that he must have jumped down from the parapet and grazed himself. 'Come, Lajwanti has a medical kit in her room. I will get her to put a dressing on your wound.'

I fail to see the mangy little street dog with black spots huffing on the cobbled pavement just below the parapet, spit dribbling from its sharp white teeth.

* * *

A new year has dawned, bringing with it new hopes and new dreams. Nita and I have both turned eighteen – the legal age for marriage. For the first time, I begin to think about the future and to believe I might even have one. With Nita by my side. I stop lending money to people in the outhouse. I need every penny now.

Today is a Friday, and also a night of the full moon, a very rare combination indeed. I persuade Nita not to go to the movies, but instead to come with me to the Taj Mahal. We sit on the marble pedestal late in the evening and wait for the moon to appear beyond the jets of fountains and the rows of dark-green cypresses. First comes a glimmer of silver through the tall trees on our right, as the moon struggles to break free of the cluster of low buildings and foliage, and then, suddenly, it rises majestically in the sky. The curtain of the night is pushed aside and the Taj Mahal stands revealed in all its glory. Nita and I are awestruck. The Taj appears like a vision of paradise, a silvery apparition risen from the Yamuna river. We clasp hands, oblivious to the hordes of foreign tourists who have paid fifty dollars each for the privilege of seeing the Taj by the light of the full moon.

I gaze at the Taj and then I gaze at Nita. The sterile perfection of the Taj begins to pale in comparison with the flawless beauty of her face. And tears start falling from my eyes as all the love I have bottled up in my heart for eighteen long years comes out in a tumultuous rush. I sense an emotional release like the bursting of a dam, and experience for the first time what Emperor Shahjahan must have felt for Mumtaz Mahal.

This is the moment I have been waiting for all my life and I have practised for it well. Najmi, the bearded poet, left a book of Urdu poetry for me before going to jail, and I have memorized several romantic verses. In a burst of inspiration, Najmi had even composed an original ghazal in praise of Nita, for my use. It went something like this:

Your beauty is an elixir,

Which has given an orphan life,

Lovesick I will die, from the grave I will cry,

Should you decline to become my wife.

I also recall many immortal dialogues from famous celluloid love stories. But sitting with Nita under the moonlit Taj Mahal, I forsake the world of poetry and films. I look into her eyes and ask her simply, 'Do you love me?' And she replies with just one word, 'Yes.' That one word holds more meaning for me than all the books on poetry and all the guidebooks on Agra. And when I hear it, my heart takes a joyous leap. My mighty love breaks free of the earth, takes wing and soars into the sky, like a kite. And then, for the first time, the Taj Mahal feels like a living house instead of an impersonal tomb; the full moon over our heads becomes a personal satellite, shining a private light, and we feel blessed to be bathed in its celestial glow, in our own exclusive heaven.

* * *

Shankar comes running to my room. 'Ykhz Mjqyfgu. Gxesqipq qo ynuqic,' he announces and

directs me to Lajwanti's room.

Lajwanti is crying on the bed. The drops falling from her eyes like little pearls and darkening the fabric of her creaseless bed cover seem out of place in the spartan neatness of her room. 'What's wrong, Lajwanti? Why are you weeping?' I ask her.

'Because of that bitch Swapna Devi. She has refused to give me a loan. Now how will I pay for my sister's wedding?' she says and wails again.

'Look, nobody in the outhouse has that kind of money. Can't you get a loan from a bank?'

'Huh, which bank will lend to a poor maid like me? No, now I have only one alternative.'

'What? To cancel your sister's wedding?'

Anger flashes in her eyes. 'No. I will never do that. Perhaps I will have to do what our poet Najmi did. Steal the money.'

I jump up from my chair. 'Are you out of your mind, Lajwanti? Don't even think about it. Didn't you see how the police took Najmi away?'

'That is because Najmi was a fool. I have a foolproof plan, which I am going to share with you because you are like my younger brother. Don't mention this to anyone, not even to Shankar.

You see, I have seen the location of the safe where Swapna stashes all her precious things. In her bedroom there is a huge framed painting on the left wall. Behind the painting is a hole where a steel safe is embedded. She keeps the keys to the safe underneath her mattress, in the left-hand corner. I secretly observed her opening the safe once. It is full of money and jewellery. I am not going to steal money, because that will be detected immediately, but I am thinking of making off with a necklace. She has so many in that safe, she wouldn't even notice. What do you think?'

'Lajwanti, Lajwanti, listen to me. If you consider me to be your brother, then follow my advice.

Don't even think about this idea. Trust me, I have had many brushes with the law and I know your crime will eventually catch up with you. And then, instead of participating in your sister's wedding, you will be grinding a mill in some jail.'

'Oh, you men are all sissies,' she says in disgust. 'I don't care what you say. I will do what I have to do.'

In desperation, I turn to my trusted old coin. 'Look, Lajwanti, if you don't believe me, that's fine.

But believe in the power of this magic coin. It never sends you the wrong way. So let us see what it says. I am going to toss it. Heads, you don't carry out your plan, tails, you do what you want.

OK?'

'OK.'

I flip the coin. It is heads. Lajwanti sighs. 'It looks like even luck is against me. OK, I will go to my village and try to raise funds from the headman, who knows me. Forget that we spoke.'

Three days later, Lajwanti locks up her room, takes a week's leave and departs for her village.

* * *

'I want you to stop working as a prostitute,' I tell Nita.

Nita agrees. 'I don't want to die before I am twenty like Radha. Take me away from here, Raju.'

'I will. Should I have a chat with Shyam about this?'

'Yes, we must get his agreement.'

I speak to the pimp the same evening. 'Look, Shyam, I am in love with Nita and I want to marry her. She will no longer work in the brothel.'

Shyam looks me up and down as if I am an insect. 'I see, so you have been giving her all these stupid ideas. Listen, you bastard, nobody tells Nita to stop working. Only I can tell her that. And I don't want her to stop working. She is the goose which lays the golden eggs. And I want those eggs to keep coming for a long, long time.'

'That means you will never allow her to marry?'

'I can allow her to marry, but only on one condition. That the man who marries her agrees to compensate me for my loss of earnings.'

'And how much is your estimated loss of earnings?'

'Let's say . . . four lakh rupees. Can you get me that sum of money?' He laughs and dismisses me.

I check my savings that night. I have a total of 480 rupees. Leaving a shortfall of only Rs.

399,520.

I feel so angry I want to strangle the pimp. 'Shyam will never agree to you marrying me,' I tell Nita the next day. 'The only option for us is to run away.'

'No,' Nita says fearfully. 'The brothel people are bound to find us. Champa tried to run away last year with a man. They found her, broke the man's legs and starved her for ten days.'

'In that case I will just have to kill Shyam,' I say with a malevolent glint in my eyes.

'No,' Nita says vehemently. 'Promise me you will never do that.'

I am taken by surprise. 'But why?'

'Because Shyam is my brother.'

* * *

A jeep with a flashing red light has come to the outhouse. Constables pour out. This time there is a new Inspector. We are all called out again. 'Listen, all you good-for-nothings, something very serious has happened. Someone has stolen a very precious emerald necklace from Swapna Devi's house. I have a strong suspicion that the thief is one of you bastards. So I am giving you an opportunity to make a clean breast of it, otherwise when I catch the thief I am going to give him a hiding.'

I am immediately concerned about Lajwanti, but when I see the lock on her room and remember that she is in her village, I heave a sigh of relief. It is good she dropped that ridiculous idea of stealing a necklace. She thought Swapna Devi wouldn't notice the loss, and now the police are on to it in a flash.

One by one all of us are questioned. When Shankar's turn comes, the same scene is re-enacted.