Chapter 29

  

“That’s it,” I said. “The MP Craft Emporium on Anand’s map.”

Lane and I rushed to the front of the store. A man with young eyes and a wrinkled face stepped out of the shop to greet us, the sound of small bells ringing above the door as he stepped through it. He wore a white dress shirt and a long white lungi. A taqiyah cap covered the top of his head.

“May I interest the lady in some jewels?” he asked, extending his arm toward the shop.

“Perhaps in a moment,” I said. “I wanted to ask a question about this shop.”

“Anything for the lady,” he replied.

“How long has this shop been here?” I asked.

“My great-grandfather opened it to sell his sculptures with the inlaid jewels.”

“He was a sculptor?”

“Yes. Very famous sculptor in his day.” I glanced at Lane.

“We have many souvenirs,” the proprietor added. “Many items. You come see.”

I followed him into the Marikayaer Paravar Craft Emporium, Lane trailing behind me.

The shop was filled with intricately carved statues, some wood and some stone. A giant stone Shiva, the destroyer god, was the centerpiece of the high-ceilinged room. Shiva had a staff in one hand and a cobra around his neck.

More my style was the wood carving of Ganesha playing the tabla. Too bad it was over six feet tall and would never fit in my suitcase, let alone my apartment door. Ganesha was the remover of obstacles. I could have used some of his powers right about then.

“Smaller items are along this wall, miss,” the proprietor said, ushering me toward the items that would fit into a suitcase.

“This may sound like a strange question,” I said, “but do you know anything about a man named Anand Selvam Paravar, who had something to do with this shop a hundred years ago?”

“Anand Selvam Paravar?” the man repeated.

“Yes,” I said, “the same as one of the family names of the shop.”

“Yes, yes,” the man said, rocking back and forth on his feet. “I have not heard that name in many years.”

“You know of him?”

“When I was a boy, I was told he had the Heart of India.”

“The Heart of India?” I repeated.

“The statue my great-grandfather carved when he was involved in the Indian Nationalist movement. The elephant statue was carved in this studio by my great-grandfather, with the help of many other men. The Paravars provided their most precious pearl to be held in the trunk of the elephant. Our families worked together for many years.”

Lane swore under his breath. The man glanced between us.

“Of course,” Lane said. “The pearl.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Didn’t you say you were a Paravar? You’re a terrible Indian, Jaya.”

And thus continued the story of my life, even with Sanjay 10,000 miles away.

“The Paravars operated pearl fisheries,” Lane continued. “They found pearls that became famous in Indian art. The most symbolic piece of the Heart of India was that pearl.”

“I know all about the Heart of India,” I said tersely. “Anand supported the Indian Nationalists who made the statue as a symbol of a unified Indian national pride. But it was lost when it was swept out to sea. That’s why I didn’t think of it.”

“That’s what the official story was,” Lane said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There were rumors it was stolen,” Lane said. “I should have thought of it. The Heart of India disappeared at exactly the right time. It’s a huge treasure—and one that your uncle was involved in. It makes sense that someone would kill over this.”

“Excuse me, miss,” the proprietor said. “You say you are a Paravar?”

I nodded.

“I have not thought about it in so many years,” the man said, a wistful expression coming over his face. “I am Abdul.”

I introduced myself and shook Abdul’s hand. His skin was rough and wrinkled but his handshake was strong. I was again struck by the fact that I couldn’t remotely guess his age.

“Though I have not thought of it in many years,” he said again, “Now that you are here, asking about the Heart of India… Wait here one moment.”

He hurried to the back of the shop, disappearing behind a curtain. I heard the sound of drawers opening and closing as Lane and I looked quizzically at each other. Abdul reappeared seconds later. He held an envelope that was worn with age.

“My great-grandfather, Faruk Marikayaer, received a letter from a member of your Paravar caste, a friend of his called Anand.”

I stared at Abdul.

“Anand was my great-granduncle,” I said.

Abdul smiled. “This letter is for you, then.” He handed me the wrinkled envelope. “My great-grandfather told his sons to save the letter. His friend Anand wrote to him that if he failed in his quest, his brother Vishwan might need his assistance with the Heart of India. Anand asked Faruk to help Vishwan in whatever way he could.”

“What happened?” I asked, my voice shaking. I had never heard any of this. Had my grandfather kept this from my mother?

“Vishwan never came to my great-grandfather,” Abdul said. “Faruk did not know where to find Vishwan. He was told Vishwan would find him. My grandfather kept the letter, and asked his sons to see to it that Anand and Vishwan’s family should have whatever help they needed when they did come.”

Abdul bowed. “I am your humble servant. The Heart of India—the pearl of freedom, purity, and Indian identity, under the protection of the elephant—disappeared in 1906. Is it your wish that we rescue the Heart of India from the magic that has made it disappear?”

“You mean it really was stolen?” I asked. “Not swept out to sea?”

“No, miss,” Abdul said. “It was not stolen. Nor was it taken by the sea. It disappeared.”

“How did something so big disappear?”

“Insha’Allah.” The proprietor raised his hands to the sky. “Magic.”