Page 49 of The Secret Keeper of Jaipur

It’s eighty-five degrees outside, but Manu is warming his hands on the steaming glass when I sit down opposite him. His skin is sallow. There’s a fresh cut on his cheek where he must have nicked himself shaving. He looks like a man being sent to his funeral pyre before his time. Does he think what happened yesterday is his fault?

He is staring at his tea as he says, “Last night was a tragedy no one could have anticipated. Kanta called Lakshmi to let her know what happened and that you were okay.”

I nod.

“Mr. Reddy confessed to selling far more tickets than the balcony could support. He’d been instructed to limit the number, but so many people wanted a glimpse of the actors onstage that he...” Manu throws up his hands as if he were the theater manager giving up on the situation. “Singh-Sharma will pay for a new balcony—time and materials—and replace anything else that was damaged, and the palace will pay the medical bills for the injured. They’ll also look at compensation for families of the deceased.Nevertheless...”

He downs his tea in one gulp, then sets his glass carefully on his desk as if he doesn’t want to mar the mahogany finish. Finally, he meets my eyes. “Everything is settled. We will make a formal announcement about who will pay for what. Reporters called my house last night for comment, but I had to clear what we’d say publicly with Her Highness.” He attempts a smile.

I can tell he feels enormous guilt. “It wasn’t your fault, Uncle. It sounds like the theater manager is to blame.”

Manu clears his throat and fiddles with the pens on his desk. He doesn’t look at me. “Well, the maharani is beside herself. And with good reason.” He scratches the top of his head delicately, with one finger, where a bald spot is growing. “Two casualties. One woman. And Rohit Seth—the actor. His fans are in an uproar. Can’t blame them. This shouldn’t have happened, Malik.”

Manu picks up the glass again, realizes it’s empty and sets it down. I haven’t taken a sip from mine, so I push it toward him. He clutches it as if it’s a lifeline.

“Uncle...” I pause delicately. “Wasn’t Mr. Reddy recommended by Singh-Sharma? If he let more people into the theater than was safe, why aren’t they paying the medical costs, as well?”

He shrugs. “We share the burden—that’s business.” He finishes the second cup of chai and pushes himself away from his desk, as if we’re finished. “Now go help Hakeem. He has work for you.”

“But...what about the bricks?”

He blinks and rubs his chin roughly. “What about them?”

“I noticed all these bricks in the debris after the collapse. What happened to the cement that was invoiced? And the bricks—they’re different than the ones your engineers recommended on the specs. The bricks I saw last night were lighter weight—more porous. With no logos stamped on them. Could the supplier be held accountable for delivering the wrong material?”

Manu frowns, waves his hand as if what I’ve said is of no consequence. “They are a small player in all of this. Even if we hold their feet to the fire, they won’t be able to compensate us for so much damage and injury.” He straightens some papers on his desk. “There will be an official inquiry, which could answer some questions. But nothing for you to worry about. Go work with Hakeem now.” He stands up.

As I turn to leave, he says, his voice shaky, “I hate what this is going to do to Kanta. To Niki. They’ve been so proud of me. Now...everywhere they go...people will ask them about what happened. The shame... I don’t want them to have to explain or apologize.” He wipes his forehead, sweaty from the tea, with the flat of his hand.

I want to comfort this gentle man who has always been kind to me, to Auntie-Boss and to Radha. But I’m twenty to his forty. It would be unseemly for me to pat his shoulder or tell him everything will be all right when I know so little about this business. Still, I’m touched that he’s treating me like a member of the family, entrusting me with his deepest fears.

“Kanta Auntie will manage. And given your son’s batting, I’d say Niki can more than take care of himself. Besides, you’ve got me on your team—don’t forget!” I chuckle lightly.

His smile is faint, but it’s there.

I pick up the tea glasses to return them to the chai-walla. My heart is heavy with Manu’s burden—the pain of the injured, the disappointment of the maharani.

I also realize I’m angry at the injustice of it all. Manu’s signature is on everything. He’ll be held responsible for the greatest calamity Jaipur has known in decades. The Singhs will walk away with only a portion of the blame. And Manu is right: Kanta and Niki will pay the price, too. Auntie-Boss always says gossip-eaters have sharp teeth. They will chew on this tragedy for years to come.

Manu has the air of a defeated man; he’s already given up. It doesn’t seem fair. Surely there’s something I can do to help.

Thank Bhagwan Auntie-Boss will be here tonight. I can talk all this over with her.

On the way to my desk, I knock on Hakeem’s office door.

“Uncle,” I say, “you’re in early.”

The accountant looks up from his ledger, the overhead light glinting off his eyeglasses. “Mr. Agarwal asked me to come in before regular hours. After last night, we have much to do.” He takes off his glasses to polish them with his spotless white handkerchief. “Such a tragedy! My daughters had nightmares last night.”

I hadn’t remembered seeing Hakeem with anyone but Mr. Reddy.

“Everyone got home safely, I trust?”

“Barely. Every rickshaw, motor,tonga—all were taken. So many people trying to escape! Fights were breaking out. I was afraid I’d lose one of my girls. We held hands and had to muscle our way through the crowds. It took us the better part of three hours.”

I lean against the door frame. “What do you think caused it?”

Hakeem runs a finger under his mustache. “Mr. Agarwal tells me there were too many people on the balcony. Yes?”

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