When I reenter the room, Nimmi is gazing into the fire. Her hands are clasped under her chin, under her tribal tattoo, her elbows resting on her thighs. I sit down again.
“If Malik does not take to the work of construction and building, he will come back, Nimmi. But I want him to try it. Here in Shimla, he is at loose ends. And I fear he stays because of me.” This draws a sharp look from her. What about me, I hear her thinking. I know he is fond of me, as well.
She says, “My children have grown used to him. They never stop asking about him.”
I hear the sadness in her voice and want to press more candied fruit on her. There is no denying Malik’s attachment to Nimmi and her children. I’ve seen the way his eyes caress her face and light up when he sees Rekha and Chullu. She’s a strong woman, and he has always been drawn to strong women. I take a deep breath, remind myself what I need to accomplish.
I pull out the drawer on the side table next to me. Inside are my eyeglasses and a notebook. With my glasses on, I know I appear sterner, but I can’t help it. I flip through the book, stopping at a page. “March 8, 140 rupees, Nimmi. February 24, 80 rupees, Nimmi.” I turn back a few more pages. “January 14, 90 rupees, Nimmi. December 1, 75 rupees.” I look at her.
Her eyes are blazing now. “What is that?” She points to the notebook in my hand.
“His bankbook. I opened an account for him when he started school here. It’s part of what all smart young men must learn to do.” I put the book back in the drawer.
Her nostrils flare. Her jaw tenses. “Malik offered to help me through the winter months, when there were not enough flowers to sell and not enough tourists to sell them to.” She closes her eyes and clasps her hands together. “Would you just read the letter, Mrs. Kumar?”
I swallow my sigh. I pick up the onionskin pages and begin reading.
My Dear Nimmi,
Jaipur is lonely without you. Manu Uncle and Kanta Auntie have been extremely gracious in welcoming me to Jaipur. Their son, Nikhil, is only twelve years old and almost as tall as I am! They must be feeding him a lot of extra ghee!
Manu Uncle is keeping me busy. The civil engineers on his staff are teaching me about things like impact load and shear stress and beam-column joints till my head spins. Manu-ji takes me to important meetings with building-wallas and to construction sites (the palace has so many building projects going on!). I’m learning about stone and marble, when to use steel and when to use wood, and a lot of complicated formulas about the pressure a column and post can take. Most recently, he told me I would eventually be assisting the palace accountant, Hakeem Sahib. So I will be adding up a lot of figures. Soon I will be bringing back knowledge that will prove how much smarter a man can be than a woman! (That was for you, Auntie-Boss, since I know you’re reading this to Nimmi.)
March is starting to heat up. My shirt is sticking to my back as I write this. I have only been in Jaipur a month, and I have already forgotten how cool Shimla was when I left. Has the snow melted, or did you get one last storm?
Please give the little barrettes to Rekha. I thought they would look pretty in her hair. For Chullu, I have found the most beautiful marbles (which I’ll hold on to for the time being, since he’s liable to eat them). I will teach him how to become a sure shot when I see him next. Just think! By the time he’s two, he’ll be able to run his own marble gambling operation (joke, Auntie-Boss!).
I must get ready for my dinner at Samir Singh’s house. (Did I tell you, Boss, that he has invited me? Not to worry; no one will remember me as the eight-year-old ruffian I once was, scurrying around after you in Jaipur.) Manu-ji has told Samir Sahib to make sure he refers to me as Abbas Malik. Besides, I’m fooling everyone with my English-gentleman act!
Nimmi, you would love the room I’m writing this letter in. It’s the small Palace Guest House, which Manu Uncle was kind enough to arrange for me. I love this tiny bungalow because it comes with a tiny library. (Actually a set of bookshelves, but a man can dream. Auntie-Boss, why don’t we have a library at our house in Shimla?)
Say hello to Madho Singh when you’re at Auntie-Boss’s house. And bring the children to meet him. Madho is pretty contrary, but he loves company even though he pretends not to.
I miss you, Nimmi. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you or Rekha or Chullu. I imagine us hiking up at Jakhu Hill and watching Chullu trying to catch the monkeys or walking along the Mall eating hot chili peanuts.
Now I really must go. Uncle and my stomach are both calling.
Yours,
Malik
At the sound of his own name, Madho Singh starts pacing back and forth on his perch. “Drums sound better at a distance! Squawk!” That clever bird has picked up proverbs that my husband, Jay, and I trade when we’re teasing each other.
I set the letter down on the table and take off my glasses.
Nimmi frowns, as if there might be more that I have kept from her.
Gently, I say, “As you know, my husband is a doctor at the Lady Bradley Hospital here in Shimla. I’m sure Malik has told you that, long before we married, Jay—Dr. Kumar—asked me to establish an herb garden on the hospital grounds so the clinic could offer natural treatments for the local residents who don’t trust manufactured medicine. Since we’ve been purchasing the flowers you harvest, I’ve been telling Dr. Kumar about you, how much you know about the mountain flora and fauna.”
I glance at her to see if she’s listening. She meets my gaze, looking puzzled.
“He thinks it would be a good idea if you could work with me on the Healing Garden. To see if there are more plants you know about that we should grow. Nimmi, you could have work all year around. Not just in the summer months.”
Her eyebrows gather in a frown. “But...what about my stall on the Shimla Mall?”
“You can still run that in the summer months, as you do now. We could also hire a local woman to run the stall while you work in the garden. Spring will be our busiest time for planting in the Healing Garden.”
“You would be my boss?”
I clear my throat. “You’ll be working for the hospital, Nimmi. It’s a way to feed your children, to provide for them, since you are no longer with your tribe.”
She draws a sharp breath, and I regret reminding her of how alone she is. I want to tell her how I made an independent living from my henna designs back in Jaipur—that it was hard work, but it made me realize I could rely on myself, that I was strong enough, clever enough. And how good it felt to know that. But she might think I was bragging, so I merely say, “A job will let you stand on your own feet.”
“You mean so Malik doesn’t have to spend any more money on me?”
The words boil over, like hot milk spilling out of a pan before it can be removed from the flame.