Where the Secret Lies (2 page)

‘Hello,’ she said out of breath.

‘Ari, is that you?’

‘Who else, Jai? What time do you
call this? It is early and a Sunday too. Why are you ringing?’

‘Ari, it is one in the
afternoon, trust you to sleep late.’

One in the afternoon? Wow, mum
is going to kill me! She was asked to pick up some dry cleaning when the shop
opened.
 
Arianna vaguely remembered her
mother talking to her sometime earlier when she was sleeping or was that a
dream? Nope, it is real. Arianna grabbed the note left on her dressing table.

 
‘Ari, are you there?’

‘Oh. Er, yes Jai. Sorry.’

‘I rang because I wanted to say
sorry. You know, for my strange behaviour the other day.’

‘About my holiday in India? It
is only for a few weeks, you know. Anyway, it is sweet. Thanks for being
concerned.’

Arianna absently played with the
hem of her cardigan, waiting for Jai to speak.

‘So are you coming on the trip?’
he said at last.

She smiled. ‘I’ll try my best.’

Arianna brushed her teeth and
changed after ending the call. It was Sunday but the dry cleaners may still be
open. She got into her car thinking about Jai and his worry over her holiday.
She felt guilty...whatever happens; she decided she would make it up to him.

As it turned out, Arianna’s mother was not keen on the idea of
her going on a weekend trip to Bournemouth but her father didn’t mind – much to
the envy of her younger sister. At least it made Jai happy but Arianna could
not shake the feeling that something was not quite right.

ANJALI

THREE

They waited silently in the dark. The men had long gone but
still the threat lingered, death lurking in every corner. The man held Anjali
by the arm like something of value. His beautiful face was visible even in the
gloom.

Anjali sensed an aura of
manliness about him, not one of the weak and faint-hearted – a survivor.
Minutes crawled by and then he spoke.

‘We are safe. We will proceed
out.’

Anjali nodded mutely. He
released her arm taking her hand instead; warmth spread through her. Once
outside the man kept vigil, expecting danger but the street was empty much to
Anjali’s relief.

The path was too quiet, eerie. Anjali heard no distant cries
or wails. No running or shouting, nethertheless she stayed close to this man.
Rounding a corner, she gasped and stopped in her tracks.

‘What is it?’ the man asked
sharply.

Anjali pointed to a trail of
blood. Tears sprang to her eyes.

‘Get used to it,’ he said.

‘How could they do this? Those
innocent people...’

‘Or not so innocent,’ he said
without emotion. ‘Get used to it.’

With no idea where they were headed, Anjali followed him.
They passed the railway station – Anjali noticed he didn’t look at the dead
like she did. The bodies lay

ruthlessly on the ground, their eyes open; arms and legs
angled and torso cut open. The stench made her retch.

‘Sorry,’ she said.

‘We have a long way to go,’ the
man showed no emotion or concern and walked on.

The rioting and merciless killing began almost straight away
after India and Pakistan gained their independence. The British Sahibs and
Memsahibs started moving out of India along with their families. The time of
Mass Immigration arrived.

 
Muslims moved their families, livestock, and a
few possessions to the newly formed country called Pakistan. Hindus moved out
of their homes in Pakistan and crossed the border to India. Some made it but
others didn’t.

‘What are you thinking?’ the man
asked lighting a cigarette.

‘About my family,’ Anjali lied.

‘Who is in your family?’

‘My sister and brother in law, his
younger sister Meera and their mother who is very much like my own,’ tears
filled Anjali’s eyes. Where were they? Were they safe?

 
‘Can I ask you your name?’ she said after a
while.

‘Mohan,’ he said, he eyes not
wavering from hers.

He moved a strand away from her
face making Anjali avert her eyes.

‘I am Anjali.’

‘Anjali, a gift, an offering?’
Mohan smiled.

‘Something like that...Mohan ji,
can we go back to the station? Perhaps my sister will be there.’

 
‘I’m sorry, we cannot. I don’t believe your
family will be at the station anymore.’

‘No,’ she whispered shaking her
head in denial.

‘That is not what I meant. They
may still be alive and I pray to God that to be true but for now we have to
move on.’

Tears threatened to fall again,
Anjali took a deep breath.

‘Do you have a family?’ she
asked.

‘Yes,’ Mohan cut the
conversation.

Anjali did not probe further.

Anjali and Mohan walked away from the city onto a lone road
that turned into an off track dirt road, leading into a wooded area. It was too
dark but Mohan helped her through, holding her hand all the while. She stepped
on brittle twigs and tripped a number of times but Mohan showed no sign of
anger or impatience.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.

Mohan gave her a half smile and
walked on. It was night but there was no moon. Anjali’s eyes slowly adjusted to
the darkness. She heard a river and wondered how far they walked. Mohan ji seemed
to know where he was going... he still held her hand.

‘You can let go of my hand now,’
she said.

Mohan let go. Upon release,
Anjali closed her warm, tingling palm and hugged both her arms to her chest.
She glowed inwards.

Thoughts of Neha, Sunil and
their distraught faces swirled in Anjali’s mind as they continued to walk. She
became tired; her legs hurt and the cold made her shiver. Wishing to lie down, her
eyes began to close...she stumbled and almost fell had Mohan not caught her.

‘You need to rest,’ he stated.
‘Will you be able to walk a little longer? We are near a motel where we can
recuperate for the night.’

‘Don’t worry about me, I will be
fine. I can walk,’ Anjali said.

This time Mohan didn’t leave her
hand.

Coming to the motel, Mohan told Anjali to wait outside; he
went inside and a few moments later came back.

‘We can sleep here for tonight
but the owner is reluctant. Do not worry; I managed to persuade him. He does
not want trouble and...he checked if we were Hindu.’

‘We are safe here, are we not?’
asked Anjali. ‘Should we expect trouble?’

‘I hope not. Anjali ji, we will
have to share a room. There are no other rooms available.’

‘That is not possible,’ Anjali
shook her head.

‘We don’t have a choice. I will
do nothing to harm your virtue, you have my word. I will sleep on the floor and
you can have the bed.’

‘I...’ Anjali hesitated. ‘I
trust you.’

The man behind the counter leered at Anjali, licking his
lips. He straightened his face when he saw Mohan’s thunderous look.

‘Keep your eyes to yourself,
bhaiya . She is like your sister,’ Mohan threatened.

‘Of course,’ the man said
apologetically. He took a key out from a drawer. ‘I will show you to your
room.’

Anjali chose to stay close to
Mohan; there was something unnerving about the man. The motel was large and a peculiar
smell hung around. Anjali pinched her nose.

‘I am sorry I couldn’t find anywhere
better,’ Mohan said, almost in a whisper.

The man took them along two dark
narrow corridors, lit by the oil lamp he carried.

Paintings illuminated briefly,
as they passed and instantly plunged back into darkness as they moved on. Anjali
was unable to take her eyes off those pictures; they seemed to be staring at
her as if they disapproved. At last, they arrived. The man left them handing
the keys to Mohan.

The room was basic and hot. A double
bed lay in a corner with a cupboard opposite and a hard chair near the window.
Anjali quickly closed the wooden shutters, which were in need of substantial
repair. Mohan took a pillow and leaned against it as he sat on the chair,
stretching his long legs. He closed his eyes.

Anjali bit her lip. ‘Mohan ji, I
feel terrible. Please take the bed.’

‘A lady should not be made
uncomfortable. Please,’ he said and gestured the bed. Anjali obliged.

Anjali tossed and turned
throughout the night. She dreamt of strange and frightening things but which
was all forgotten when she awoke to bright sunlight.

Mohan was looking out of the
window. Self-consciously, she slipped out of bed quietly and went to the
bathroom. Examining herself in the cracked mirror, she cringed.

Her colourless face showed signs
of fatigue and distress. Anjali opened the rusty tap and splashed her face with
freezing water, wiping it dry with the end of her scarf.

Mohan turned from the window as
she emerged moments later, and astounded her. His hair reached his shoulders
and she noticed a light hue radiated his otherwise, dark skin.

‘You must be hungry, let’s have
breakfast,’ Mohan said.

Anjali blushed. Why did he have
such an effect on her? Mohan did not say anymore and they walked in silence
down the corridor. Anjali avoided the paintings, clearly visible now. She still
felt their stares.

Mohan took her to a little off-road restaurant and Anjali
was suddenly ravenous. She ate everything on her plate and drank two cups of
chai. Mohan ate very little.

‘Are you not hungry?’ she asked.

‘Not so much,’ he said.

Oh, how could I be selfish?
Shame on me!

‘Mohan ji, I am very sorry...I
have been thinking of myself...you do not have enough money...’ her voice
trailed off as he started to laugh. ‘Mohan ji?’

‘I have enough money for the
both of us. Please do not worry. You needed the food more than I did,’ he
indicated her empty plate and she cringed in embarrassment.

 
‘I do not eat much,’ he said.

‘I am sorry to be a burden on
you. I must let you go home, to your family. I will look after myself,’ Anjali
felt guilty. ‘You have been good to me and I thank you.’

 
‘Do you know where you are? Do you know where and
how to get home? I cannot and will not let you go alone anywhere. It is
dangerous,’ Mohan sighed.

Anjali thought about what he
said. She did not know where she was and had no money.

‘Listen to me, I will take you
home myself, when the time is right. Where do you live?’ Mohan asked.

‘Rajkot.’

‘We are in the north, in
Haridwar. Reaching Rajkot may take us a few days, weeks perhaps. We cannot use
the trains, not until it is safe. You have seen the carnage.’

Yes, she had seen the carnage -
trains loaded with dead people who were arriving in India from Pakistan. The
Muslims didn’t spare anyone and neither did the Hindus and Sikhs. They sent
back dead Muslims; the partition of India should not have been agreed.

‘We need to get to Lucknow. I am
familiar with the city and we may be able to find help. Meanwhile, all we can
do is try to stay alive. One day, I promise you we will go back to Rajkot and
you shall be reunited with your family.’

Mohan was trying to be
optimistic but Anjali could not help but feel that hollow space in her stomach
– an ache that would not stop.

‘Shall we go?’ Mohan held out
his hand.
 

ARIANNA

FOUR

Arianna closed her eyes as the plane took off into the air,
muttering a prayer under her breath. Her fists clenched, she prayed faster as
the plane shuddered and rocked from side to side. Finally steadying, Arianna let
out a big sigh of relief. The seat belt sign switched off and the passengers unbuckled
their belts. Arianna kept hers on, just in case.

Tianna smirked. ‘It’s safe now
you know, Ari.’

‘I know,’ Arianna said through
clenched teeth.

Tianna calm and relaxed, opened
her book titled History of India. Arianna shook her head. Normal people her age
would read teen magazines or romances but her sister, oh no. She said she
wanted to be prepared for their trip.

‘No one is going to quiz you on
India’s history!’ Arianna pointed out at the bookshop.

Tianna simply shrugged. ‘You
never know.’

Arianna gave up trying to make
her see reason.

She now concentrated on her breathing. Her nerves became
erratic each time the plane flew less than smooth. Flights were never good for
her; they made her nervous ever since the 9/11 terrorist attacks. In fact, this
was the first time in so many years she braved a flight. She usually used
Eurostar or one of the coach tour companies for holidays.

‘Would you like something to
calm your nerves, dear?’ An old Indian woman said sympathetically. ‘I
understand how you feel. I was the same once.’

‘Thank-you, I’ll be fine,’
Arianna smiled sweetly as to not offend. Tianna giggled and Arianna elbowed
her.

‘Aww! What was that for?’ Tianna
rubbed her waist.

Arianna raised an eyebrow. ‘As
if you don’t know. Anyway, tell me something. How do you feel? You know, going
to India and meeting our distant cousins and all that? What about India? The dirt,
dust and grime?’

‘What’s with the twenty
questions? Anyway, why should I tell you after you assaulted me,’ Tianna
grumbled. Arianna waited. ‘Oh, alright. Well, India
is
a beautiful country. If all you do is look at the dirt and the
dust – ’

‘Don’t forget the heat.’

‘Oh and the heat – you will see
nothing else. Ari, the dirt, dust and heat is all part of India. Without it,
India just wouldn’t be India.’