Page 78 of The Secret Keeper of Jaipur

“My aunt, the one who raised me, used to spend a month every year at a nearby convent. She wasn’t religious, she just found comfort in their silent ways. She’d help them with gardening and cooking, mending. Always came back refreshed. I talked to their mother superior and she agreed to house Nimmi and the children for a week until the heat dies down.”

He pauses.

“And the police?”

“So far, nothing. But I imagine Canara will shut down their operation for a while.”

I think of the brickmaker in her sari, slapping the mud mixture into the wooden forms. How will she earn her living now?

“Can you give Malik the phone number of the convent, Lakshmi? I think Nimmi would like to hear from him.”

27

MALIK

Jaipur

I had a feeling that if anyone could convince the palace to take a second look at what happened at the Royal Jewel Cinema, it would be Auntie-Boss. She has that ability. She speaks to people in a way that encourages them to listen.

What I didn’t know was that, after her visit, the dowager queen would come to our rescue.

We are standing at the site now: Samir, Ravi, Mr. Reddy, Manu, two Singh-Sharma foremen, a few palace engineers, Auntie-Boss and me.

To my surprise, Sheela is here as well, standing a few feet from Ravi. She’s not in a dress but a proper sari—a red-violet silk—perhaps out of respect for the occasion. With her dark sunglasses, Sheela’s affect is cool and somewhat haughty in an old familiar way. Her chin is lifted as if in defiance of something. She says nothing, speaks to no one.

I have no idea what she said to Ravi about us or if Ravi made up the insinuations. I’d like to think the few moments Sheela and I shared that felt real, intimate, were just that, but I don’t know anymore. Was she only playing up to me to give Ravi ammunition?

In anticipation of the Maharani Latika’s arrival, a narrow strip of red carpet has been laid from the hardscape of the courtyard to the foyer and straight into the theater. The reconstruction seems to be in hiatus. The women and men who carry debris or mix cement are nowhere in sight. The area has been swept clean. The remnants of the accident—bricks, pebbles, dust, cement chunks—all gone. It’s hard to imagine that only four days ago this was the site of the worst disaster Jaipur had seen in years.

Has everything inside also been cleaned up? Without any of the original materials to examine, how will we convince the palace a fraud has been perpetrated?

Samir looks calm. Ravi looks nonplussed. They’re talking quietly together.

As he listens to Samir, Ravi keeps digging his heel in the mosaic tile of the courtyard. Manu stands closer to Mr. Reddy, Lakshmi and me. It’s as if we’ve all chosen sides.

I see Samir glancing at Lakshmi now and then, but Auntie-Boss seems determined not to make eye contact with him.

Kanta must have made Manu shave, bathe and cut his hair for this meeting. He looks thinner, but a lot more presentable than he has since the collapse. He even has a hopeful air about him, a child waiting to see if he will be granted a present for Diwali.

Maharani Latika’s Bentley arrives. Her Highness is behind the wheel. To my surprise, the dowager maharani is in the passenger’s seat. A lady-in-waiting sits in the back. The Bentley is followed by another sedan from which two attendants emerge to assist the older queen. One unfolds a wheelchair; the other lifts the dowager out of the seat and settles her carefully into the chair. Maharani Latika walks slowly beside the wheelchair as one of the attendants pushes the elder maharani.

The dowager’s face lights up when she spots me. “Malik! My boy. Come here, young man.”

The old queen is the only one who has not been instructed to call me Abbas. Automatically, I glance at Sheela. She removes her sunglasses and stares at me, as if she’s hearing Auntie-Boss calling my name all those years ago. Does she finally recognize me as the boy she spurned? I turn away.

I catch a glimpse of Ravi’s frown. He looks at his father as if to ask how I could possibly know the queens of Jaipur so well. It’s a small satisfaction, and I feel a deep pleasure as I approach Her Highness.

Auntie-Boss has prepared me for the diminished state of the cancer-ridden queen, but it is still a shock to hear her robust voice coming from that shriveled frame. I hurry to touch her feet. As I straighten, the older queen puts her hands on either side of my face and peers into my eyes. Her smile is wide and joyous. She looks at Auntie-Boss and says,“Shabash!”I can tell Boss is pleased with the queen’s assessment, if a trifle embarrassed. For my part, I’m touched—and impressed—that she recognizes me from a past when I paid more attention to her talking parakeet than I did to Her Highness. When I was eight, Madho Singh fascinated me far more than royalty. At twenty, I’m honored to be in the dowager’s presence.

Everyone else in our party takes their turns touching the feet of both queens. The younger queen greets Sheela, who was a first-rate student at her private school, warmly. The elder queen fawns over Samir and Ravi, telling the father how absolutely his handsome son takes after him, chastising them both for not paying her a visit. She smiles graciously throughout.

Now the younger queen casts a critical eye over the assembly. “Let’s be clear about what we are here to accomplish today. We’ve been hearing rumors about low-grade materials being used for the construction of the collapsed balcony columns. We need to verify if that is the case. If we can verify it, we will determine how or why they were purchased or used. What matters most to the palace is the trust of the public. We built this structure for public enjoyment. It’s important that their trust in us is warranted and we can guarantee their future safety. I understand all parties have agreed to cooperate?”

There are a few nodding heads. Ravi’s eyes are focused on the carpet below his feet.

“Malik,” says the dowager. She crooks a finger at me and then behind her. Evidently, I am to push her.

When I place a hand on the back of her wheelchair, she reaches behind with her clawlike hand and pats it. I see now that Auntie-Boss had decorated it beautifully with henna.

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