Page 63 of The Secret Keeper of Jaipur

“I know you planned on meeting Samir, but it’s me you really want to talk to,” Parvati says, brushing past me to the side corridor that leads to the threshold.

I’m so stunned to see her, here, that I can’t move.

Parvati has the front door unlocked now and turns to me. “Come,” she says.

I dumbly follow Samir’s wife inside. She goes around the room, turning on overhead lights and table lamps. I didn’t have the money, when I owned the house, to pay for electricity. To the left of the front door I see the entrance to a privy—the Western bathroom that I’d wanted but couldn’t afford.

Now that the lights are on, my handiwork, my crowning achievement, shines: themandalaon the floor, made of terrazzo, a fusion of Indian, Moroccan, Persian, Afghani and Egyptian henna designs that mean as much to me, today, as they did then. The Ashoka lion, symbol of my ambition—an ambition that led me from the village of my birth to the heights of Jaipur society, where I used my henna reed to help wealthy women realize their desires. And there!—baskets of saffron flowers, a sterile plant and symbol of my choice to remain childless. Jay and I talked about it, well before we married. We both love what we do, and given our long hours at the hospital, the clinic and the Healing Garden, we have little time for our own children. We’ve nurtured them in other ways: tended to their cuts, soothed their hurts, brought them into this world or coaxed them back to health.

Hidden in themandalaamong the swirls, and loops, and whorls is also my name. I’m looking at it now. Does Parvati know it’s there?

“I’ve taken good care of your masterpiece,” she says, and gestures to the floor. “I hope you approve.”

I keep my expression blank and brace myself for what’s coming. I’m never sure what Parvati has in store for me.

Since I saw her last, a dozen years ago, she’s put on weight; the sleeves of her coral blouse are tight around her arms and upper back, the flesh squeezed out, like toothpaste coming from a tube. She’ll need to have the seams taken out. Again.

But the elaborate goldpalluof her sari cascades gracefully from her shoulder down her back. She’s still a handsome woman with distinctive features, like her full lips, painted a bright pink to offset her royal blue sari. The kohl around her black eyes makes them appear to be wider, more appealing, more alert. Her cheeks have filled out and there’s the hint of a double chin, but these things are her birthright; symbols of a well-tended Indian woman of a certain age.

“I heard you married Jay Kumar. Quite a catch.” She’s smiling, but she sounds annoyed. “Still, it seems you just can’t stay away from Samir, can you?”

She’s alluding to a single night of passion years ago between Samir and me. Brief enough, but long in coming. Samir and I had danced around our attraction for ten years. I knew it would destroy my reputation if I ever acted on it, but Samir was patient. Eventually a night came when everything around me crumbled, and I needed to be comforted, desired and loved.

Parvati found out soon enough, and then the life I’d built in Jaipur, the financial independence I’d gained, fell apart.

Strange enough, remembering all of this, I find my voice. “You won’t like what I’m about to tell you, Parvati.”

The fact that I’ve dropped the respectfulJiis not lost on her.

She blinks. “Try me.”

“It’s about the Royal Jewel Cinema.”

She waves a hand, dismissive. “An accident. Unfortunate, but unforeseeable.”

Exactly what the newspapers and radio are calling it. It isn’t true, and I’m tired of it. “It could have been avoided.”

Now she rolls her eyes. “Everyaccident can be avoided, Lakshmi. That’s why we call them accidents. If everything had gone as planned, there would have been no mishap.”

“Except this ‘mishap’ is the consequence of something Samir’s company appears to have set in motion.”

Her mouth is set in a firm line. “What does any of this have to do with you? I understood that you are now a garden tender somewhere up there in the Himalayas. I can only guess that you want to bring our family down. Exactly like your sister.”

The mention of my sister makes me bristle, but I keep myself in check. “It isn’t personal, Parvati. An honest man is being falsely accused for what Singh-Sharma should have known about and could have prevented. I won’t let that happen. Manu Agarwal shouldn’t lose his job and his reputation for something he didn’t do.”

In the center of the terrazzo floor are four comfortable chairs upholstered in cream raw silk. In the middle of the grouping there’s a table set for four. A deck of cards lies on the table.

Parvati pulls one chair out and takes a seat. “My bridge group meets here. Samir never even enters this house.” She shoots a pointed look at me, as if I’m the one to blame for that.

She waves at the chair opposite, an invitation, or command, for me to sit. I go over to the chair and sit in it, wondering if Samir has seen my note asking him to meet me here, or if he knows Parvati has come in his place.

Now she leans forward and picks up the deck of cards. “You mentioned Manu Agarwal. He’s the head of all building projects for the palace, and, as such, he is responsible for anything that happens to the royal properties.” She meets my eyes. “That’s exactly what I told Latika. If Manu isn’t held responsible, she’ll never hear the end of it. The press, the magistrates, the lawyers—they all need someone they can hold accountable. She needs to fire someone or else she’ll be the one skewered.”

I should have known Parvati would have gone to see the Maharani Latika even before I did! She’s distantly related to Jaipur royalty, which gives her access to the palace and allows her to talk to Her Highnesses as a close friend and adviser—even to call them by their first names.

“Parvati, I have proof. Singh-Sharma bought and accepted materials for the cinema project that didn’t meet the engineering specs. How can Mr. Agarwal be held responsible for that? He would have nothing to gain by sabotaging a palace project.”

“How do you know this?”

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