Page 30 of The Secret Keeper of Jaipur

“You see that mark on his forehead? Don’t you think it looks like the crescent moon?”

Rekha stares at the horse. “When I get a horse someday, I’ll name him Gooddu.”

Lakshmi smiles at my daughter. “That’s a fine name. How did you come up with it?”

“That’s what Malik calls me.”

Lakshmi glances at me, smiling. When she turns again to my daughter, she says, “But if you name him Gooddu, how will you know if Malik is calling you or your horse?”

Rekha frowns. Then her face brightens. “Well, I don’t have a horse yet, do I?”

Lakshmi’s pretty laughter echoes in the narrow crevice.

Gradually, we make our way out of the canyon and down the trail toward Shimla: Lakshmi leading the horse, Rekha chatting to Lakshmi, me carrying baby Chullu, Neela following behind. I’m heartbroken about Vinay, and I’m glad we found him, but I’m also relieved to be going back home. I hadn’t realized how much I’d depended on my people when I’d lived with my tribe. The mountains are no place for a woman—or man—alone. A sunny sky can turn gloomy in an instant; a leopard can gut a goat while your head is turned; a pit viper can paralyze a child in seconds. I reach around to pat Chullu’s head, to reassure myself that he’s still there.

We’ve been walking for only twenty minutes when we hear sheep bleating, and the jingle of the bells around their necks. Neela answers them. To our right, in the distance, and above the tree line, we see them: a flock of sheep far up on the mount. Before I can hold her back, Neela bounds up the hill. I follow. When I reach the top, I’m out of breath. I check the ears of one sheep, then the others: the markings on their ears are my brother’s. I probe their ribs to see if bars of gold are hidden underneath their fleece. They are. I return to the trail, where Lakshmi and Rekha are waiting, to tell them what I’ve found.

“Good. We can take the flock into town,” Lakshmi says.

I stare at her. “There must be thirty or forty of them. Where would we keep them?”

Lakshmi smiles. “The hill people who come to the Community Clinic. I’m sure one of them would be willing to shepherd a flock for a short while.” She surveys the horizon. “We have to move them now or we’ll lose the light. It will be much harder to keep track of the flock and protect them from wolves when it’s dark.”

She’s right.

“And the gold bars?” she asks.

“Still with the sheep.”

She nods. “Good. First thing tomorrow, we’ll start searching.” She takes the matchbox from her pocket and examines it again. “Canara Enterprises. Maybe they can tell us something.”

Do the furrows on her forehead mean she’s worried, or just curious? Is she really so confident, or is she just pretending for my sake? I rest my hand on my son’s head again. We’re in unfamiliar territory here. Neither of us knows the people Vinay was working for. How many of them there are. What my brother’s arrangement with them was.

I look at Vinay’s body draped over the horse. And I realize: I’m angry. At Vinay. He has made his responsibility mine—something I never bargained for. Now I’m the one who has to keep my familyandhis from being hurt. Vinay has threatened the lives of everyone in our tribe, too! How could he be so foolish? Why would he put everyone we love in danger?

The more I struggle to control my panic, the angrier I feel. And more confused. I know I shouldn’t be resentful when I’ve sought the same for my children, as Vinay wanted for his. Who am I to judge him when my bond to the tribe is now as fragile as a spiderweb?

I glance at Lakshmi. Her back is straight, one hand holding Chandra’s reins, and the other holding Rekha’s hand. To look at her you’d think she has this situation under her control. She’ll make sure Vinay is sent on to his next life as he should be. She’s come all this way and taken on a risk that Vinay thrust upon us, when she could have washed her hands of the whole affair.

A month ago, I was still angry with Lakshmi Kumar for telling me what to do, for sending Malik away from me, for being so bloody competent. But now I just feel a sense of relief that someone—anyone—is willing to take charge and help.

If only that someone were Malik.

I walk back up the hill to herd the sheep and bring them to Shimla.

11

LAKSHMI

Foothills of Himalayas, Northwest of Shimla

We’re quiet on our way back to Shimla. We stop from time to time to let the sheep graze. I sounded confident enough when I told Nimmi we would find someone to keep the sheep, but now I’m wondering how we’ll manage. Sheep need to be moved every few days to find fresh grass. I had to suggest we take the sheep back with us; otherwise, Nimmi might have insisted on staying with the flock overnight and keeping the children with her, waiting until I could return to help her. In these hills, sheep are a valuable commodity. And this herd is carrying gold on their flanks! Leaving Nimmi and the children in the foothills would be far too dangerous.

Rekha walks beside me, alternately speaking when an idea comes to her, and staying quiet when she’s pondering. Earlier, when she’d been watching the white clouds floating overhead, she asked me why we don’t just ride the clouds.

“Clouds could get us to Shimla faster, Auntie,” she says. “Remember the clouds in that book about the birds?” She’s referring to a picture book about Himalayan birds we read last week.

“Clouds are tricky, Rekha,” I tell her. “The moment you get close to them, they disappear.” She looks up at me, her eyebrows raised, and I explain that while the clouds might look like fuzzy cotton from far away, they’re actually made of water—mist. “If we got close enough to them,” I tell her, “we would go right through.”

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