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.
“What fun!” I hear her say. It’s as if she’s treating this meeting as a Sunday outing. Chances are she hasn’t had many of those recently.
The maharanis and I lead the procession on the red carpet. Everyone else follows us into the lobby and then the theater itself. I hear Auntie-Boss exclaim in awe at the lobby’s grandeur, which has remained intact; the destruction was to the theater space inside.
I want to turn and say to Boss, “Isn’t it exactly as I described it to you in my letters?”
And, as I often have on other occasions, I think of how wide Nimmi’s eyes would grow taking in all this finery. But for the first time, I also think: Would she be comfortable amid all this glamour?
The engineers and foremen form a tunnel through which the maharanis travel. They’re directing us to the far entrance doors where the theater shows no signs of destruction. They all bow as the maharanis go past.
“My, my!” The dowager says when she sees the size of the cinema screen, the graceful fall of the theater curtains and how the orchestra seats angle down as we get closer to the stage so everyone has a good view of the movie. With her illness, I doubt she’s had a chance see the cinema house before today.
She glances at Ravi. “A touch of the Pantages, eh?”
He blushes, pleased that she recognized the architectural reference.
I push the wheelchair farther down the aisle to the stage and then turn it around so we can examine the ruined balcony. Everyone follows except Samir, Ravi and Sheela, who remain standing at the theater entrance.
Something’s wrong. Everything has been replaced. The balcony has been returned to its original state. The columns have been replastered. The mohair seats in the balcony and down below are in mint condition. So is the carpet. It’s as if the accident never happened.
Samir is running his thumb across his lips, his eyes downcast, as if in apology. “We weren’t aware that you would want to see the column in its original state. We’ve been following an aggressive reconstruction schedule. The final plaster went up yesterday.” He looks at the younger maharani. “Your Highness had instructed us to get the cinema house up and running as quickly as possible.”
He holds his arms out. “I’m sorry if there’s nothing to see.”
I leave the wheelchair and walk up to the column that had collapsed. I rub my palm on the cool plaster. Turning toward the group, I look at Auntie-Boss, who looks as surprised as I feel. Manu and Mr. Reddy also wear the same dumfounded expression. While we were still putting the damage estimates together at the facilities office, Singh-Sharma must have been working day and night to repair the damage. Or did they accomplish all this since yesterday evening, when they learned the maharanis were coming to inspect the premises?
It’s the dowager queen who speaks as if nothing is amiss. “What a marvelous job you’ve done, Samir. Every detail. So elegant. So appropriate. Don’t you think, Latika?” Her voice echoes in the empty theater.
The Maharani Latika nods her assent. She opens her mouth to speak but the dowager interrupts her. The older woman turns her gaze on Samir.