“Do you think, my dear, that you could tear down one of the other columns?”
Auntie-Boss and I exchange a look: What is the dowager up to?
“The other columns?” Samir frowns.
“Um. Just so we can see how they were constructed? I would assume they were all built the same way originally?”
I’ve never known the elder maharani to be agreeable (indeed, she always prided herself in being a contrarian), but she is speaking in such soft, sweet tones to Samir.
The Maharani Latika is looking at her as if she has lost her mind.
Samir is half smiling, half frowning, his glance alternating between the two maharanis. “You want us to tear down one of the other columns? The ones that are fine?”
“Oh, I know it’s a bother. But just so we can stop all this fussing.”
“I don’t wish to be petty, Your Highnesses, but who will pay for the time spent on the demolition and reconstruction of the column that has nothing wrong with it?”
He sounds incredulous. He looks to the younger queen for support. But her face is inscrutable. In private, the two queens may at times disagree, but in public, the queens show a united front.
The dowager smiles graciously, “We will, won’t we, Latika? You see, it’s the only way to solve this disagreement. And I don’t like disagreements, do you?”
Ravi steps forward. He clears his throat. “But, Your Highnesses, it will mean the cinema house won’t open for another week or two! That’s a lot of ticket sales the palace will lose. And the film’s been rented for only a month. The rental fee will also be lost.”
“Pity.” That’s all the dowager says.
An understanding passes between the queens. While the dowager is in residence at the palace, she controls the purse. Maharani Latika signals her acquiescence with a nod to Samir. He and Ravi exchange a look. They are not pleased.
“Let’s hope it’s all tickety-boo,” the older queen says. “If it’s not, we may have to take the whole building apart. And we really don’t want to have to do that, do we?”
As if the matter is now firmly settled, Maharani Indira beckons me with that commanding finger. The next thing I know, I’m escorting her wheelchair out of the theater. We are almost at the lobby exit when she says, her voice much weaker now, “Tell my attendant to come here, will you, dear boy?”
I lean to one side to look at her. She has slunk down in the chair and she’s fighting to keep her eyelids open. She’s not quite as spry as she would like for the assembly to believe; she’s been putting on a brave face.
I notice Auntie-Boss has joined us at the entrance now. She has taken one of the maharani’s hands and is massaging those pulse points, as she calls them.
I whistle at the attendants, who are waiting right there by the car. They come running. The first lifts her from the chair effortlessly, as if she’s as light as a bird; the other collapses the wheelchair and off they go. They put her in the back seat of the second sedan that accompanied the Bentley. The lady-in-waiting climbs out of the Bentley and joins the maharani in the back of the sedan. I watch as she removes a syringe from a medical bag and plunges it into the old queen’s arm. She bundles the old woman in blankets and the sedan speeds away.
The whole scene, so quickly carried out, has filled me with sorrow. I look behind me, inside the dark lobby. The younger maharani is in a huddle with Samir, Manu and Ravi, probably discussing the timeline for knocking down one of the undamaged columns. The balcony will have to be supported while the column is removed and rebuilt. Mr. Reddy and Sheela stand off to the side, as do the engineers and foremen.
We won a victory, of sorts, today. If the other columns have been constructed with substandard materials, we will get what we came for. We may save Manu’s job yet.
But the dowager queen, who once gave me her precious Madho Singh and always appeared delighted to see me when I was a boy and now, today, clearly will not live out this year. And that depresses me in a way nothing has in a long time. It makes me long for Nimmi and the way she looks at me when she knows I need the comfort of her arms.
Last night, when I visited the Agarwals, Boss gave me the number to the convent. When I asked to speak to Nimmi, the novice said she would ask the mother superior. I waited for what seemed like eternity. Then I heard the phone being picked up.
“Please identify yourself,” commanded a sonorous voice. The mother superior. I told her who I was, that I was the former ward of Dr. Jay and Lakshmi Kumar. I gave her the Shimla address where we lived.
“What are the children’s names?” she asked.
“Chullu and Rekha.”
She asked me to wait a moment. I heard shuffling in the background, the murmur of voices and then a long inhale.
“Nimmi?” No answer. I tried again. “Hello?”
“Hahn?”
It was her! My heart sped up. “Theek hai?”
“Hahn.” Then, silence.
“Is something wrong?”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve never used a phone before! Am I doing it right?”
I smiled to myself, charmed. “Zaroor! Lakshmi told me you’ve been having quite an adventure.”
“The doctor has been so good to us, Malik. Now we are with the nuns. It’s nice. Peaceful. I work on their garden. Rekha and Chullu like it here, too.” At the mention of her name, I heard Rekha mumble something. “She wants to talk to you. She watches the nuns use the phone, and she’s been dying to try it out,” Nimmi says.
When Rekha came on, she asked, “Are you bringing me a rainbow? When? Will it be soon? Auntie Lakshmi told me if we live inside the rainbow, we won’t be able to see how pretty it is. Is that true?”
Before I had a chance to decide which question to answer first, Nimmi took the phone from her. “Are you coming home soon?”
“I need to talk to Boss about that.”
“I see.” She sounded resigned. We’ve talked about it before. Nimmi feels that Lakshmi gets too much of me while she doesn’t get enough. I’ve tried to humor her out of her jealousy, but that only seems to infuriate her. “I’ve been thinking, Malik, how much safer I was with my tribe. Perhaps I was wrong to leave them, to think life in town would be better. It has only gotten worse for us.”
This sounded like a different Nimmi, not the one Lakshmi had described. That Nimmi had followed the trail of her brother’s sheep into the mountains; she had brought her brother’s dead body back; she had sheared his flock. That Nimmi had made a life for herself in Shimla, using her knowledge of Himalayan plants, her intelligence and sheer will. She had left behind everything she had known—her tribal ways, her native tongue, people she loved. She had kept her children healthy and well-fed. Yet, how utterly alone she was—akelee.