Page 44 of Rising Tiger

It was a Bhut Jolokia chutney. When Harvath asked what he was supposed to eat it with and Vijay said, “Some people eat it all by itself, others put a spoonful of it on naan,” he had a feeling this was the “surprise” dish—the one the yogurt had been brought out for.

“Aren’t chutneys raw foods?”

“This one has been very specially prepared. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you going to have any?”

“After you,” Vijay replied.

That was all Harvath needed to hear. This was therealtest. As spicy as everything else had been, he was now certain that this was the main event. Scooping some onto his plate with his spoon, he took a bite.

The first thing he noticed was the itching in his scalp. Then his nose began to run and his eyes water. It was at that moment that his entire mouth felt like someone had filled it with fire.

He tried to quench the burning with a long swig of beer, but it didn’t even put a pinprick in the pain. Ignoring the laughter coming from Vijay, he helped himself to a massive portion of yogurt.

The only thing he had ever eaten that came close was a Red Savina habañero. This pepper blew that one away.

He washed down the yogurt with his bottled water and then grabbed Vijay’s, opened it up, and drank that down, too.

“Do I need to call a doctor?” the man asked.

Harvath shook his head. “No, I’m fine,” he said, his eyes still watering. “In fact, I think I’ll try some more. This time on a piece of naan.”

Vijay reached out his hand and stopped him. “I think it’s better if you stop now. Trust me.”

“If you insist.”

“I very much insist.”

The waiter brought over more bottled water and Harvath downed another one, along with some more yogurt. “What the hell does Bhut Jolokia mean?” he asked, finally beginning to recover.

“You have the same vegetable in America. It just goes by a different name. I believe you call it a ghost pepper.”

“That was a ghost pepper? Are you serious?”

“I probably shouldn’t have bought such expensive cigars for us,” he said, laughing. “You’re not going to be able to appreciate it now anyway.”

“Oh, no,” said Harvath. “I’m smoking that cigar, whether I can taste it or not. I hope you spent a fortune on it. You’re also paying for this dinner. I don’t care if you bill it to the embassy, take it out of your kids’ college fund, or you need a loan from your mother-in-law. There’s no way I’m going to finance my own torture.”

Vijay laughed even harder.

CHAPTER 25

Once dessert had come—a dish similar to funnel cake called Imarti—and Harvath had asked for a bottle of water to go, Vijay pulled out his credit card and paid for the meal.

They stepped outside the restaurant and stood for a moment on the sidewalk, watching all of the Diwali revelers coming and going.

Everyone was smiling, dressed in their absolute best, and joyously making their way from one friend or relative’s house to another. The intensity of the fireworks seemed to have been taken to another level in this part of town.

“You must wish you were back home,” said Harvath, “celebrating with your family.”

“It’s one of our favorite festivals, so I do miss it a little bit, but I also quite enjoy my job. I don’t know what I would do without it. Retirement from the Indian Police Service very quickly began to drive me crazy. I love my wife and I love my children, but not enough to be around them all the time.”

Harvath smiled.

“How about you?” Vijay asked. “Are you married? Any children?”

It was complicated, but he tried anyway to explain. “I was married, briefly. But my wife died.”

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