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Rakesh slipped the office telephone’s receiver back onto its cradle and every tight-wired chord in his body sagged with relief. He hadn’t expected Tanaka to agree to the partnership so quickly. He’d prepared for a barrage of questions, arguments against the partnership, and a possible cancellation of the meeting. Instead, Tanaka agreed to partner with Dhanraj & Son and scheduled a meeting in New Delhi on April fifth to complete all the legal formalities and sign documents.
He flexed the fingers of his left hand. At last! Pieces were falling into place. His attention halted on a photograph of Sheetal and Yash, their cheeks pressed to each other, wide smiles revealing evenly set, white teeth and a sparkle in their eyes. They looked so happy without him.
Chopra.
The name revolved in his head. What were the odds that Sheetal would find Arvind Chopra after all these years? Impossible. Clearly a mistake somewhere.
Adrenaline surged through his veins and he took a deep breath to keep calm. Sheetal didn’t have the gall to skip one Karva Chauth, let alone think of another man. Still, he had to be careful. Stay in control. The Japanese would be watching his every move from now on.
The intercom buzzed.
“Yes?”
“Dr. Chaturvedi is on the line,” Reshma said.
“Who?”
“The principal of Stonewall Preparatory School. You scheduled a call with him.”
Rakesh crossed his legs, lit a Robusto cigar, and waited for the tip to glow. Then he picked up the receiver and pushed a button. “Hello? Rakesh speaking.” He exhaled. Clouds of smoke curled into the air.
“Ah, Mr. Dhanraj,” Dr. Chaturvedi’s voice oozed through the speaker, “how nice to speak with you.”
”How’s the weather in Mansali? Cooler than Raigun, no doubt.”
”Well, of course, it’s very cool up in the mountains, sir. But another month or two until spring. Which reminds me, I hope you’ll attend the annual spring concert on April fifth.”
“Sheetal will be there.” Rakesh balanced the cigar on an ashtray. “I have a business meeting in Delhi that day.”
An awkward silence filled the receiver. Rakesh waited for Dr. Chaturvedi to speak.
“So, I um...assume you want to talk about Yash? Yes?” Dr. Chaturvedi stretched the vowels. “He’s doing well in school.”
“I’m sure you’re aware of that unfortunate accident over the holidays.”
A pause followed by the sound of heavy breathing. “Why, yes...yes. Perhaps um...he still needs a little time to adjust and settle in—”
“Do we need to come?”
“Oh no, no, no. Not at all,” Dr. Chaturvedi said. “I’m sure everything will be fine. If um...there are any concerns, you understand, we notify the parents immediately.”
“Of course.” Rakesh reached for the cigar and raised it to his lips. He chewed on the end, savoring the deep tobacco flavor.
“I am um...assuming this is not about Yash, then?”
“No. It’s about a Mr. Chopra.”
“Yash’s House Master?”
“Yes.”
“What about him?” Dr. Chaturvedi’s voice tightened.
“Tell me everything about this Mr. Chopra.”
“B-but that’s confidential. I’m um...not at liberty to discuss—”
“We’re not discussing him. I just want some information.”
“I’m...I’m sorry. It’s against the rules.”
“Oh come, doctor, bending the rules a little won’t hurt anyone.”
“It would be a breach of trust, sir.”
Rakesh uncrossed his legs and stretched them. “I heard you’re having trouble keeping up with rising costs.” Dr. Chaturvedi held a reputation for perpetually seeking “kind donations.”
Dr. Chaturvedi coughed. The rattle of phlegm in his throat followed by heavy breathing oozed through the pores of the speaker. “The problem um...sir, is that—”
“I’ll have fifty thousand wired to you by tomorrow morning.” He glanced at his watch. He still had to go home, shower, dress, and arrive at the Singhal’s party fashionably late.
“Oh...aah...well, you see....”
“Sixty-five. Better?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Let’s start with the name. His first name.”
“Arvind.”
Rakesh tensed. Couldn’t be. Had to be someone else. “Where is he from?”
The sound of papers being ruffled filled the receiver. “Raigun. He’s a graduate from New Delhi.”
Rakesh crushed the cigar in the ashtray. The fire in his chest burned.
# # #
Rakesh staggered upstairs and paused at the landing. The floor and passageway spun and tilted. He shot a hand to the wall and shuffled down the corridor.
Arvind—eh? After all these years, he comes back.
He focused on the third door. Big mouth Naina must have told Sheetal something and turned her against him.
He turned the knob, swung open the door, and stared into the roiling darkness. “Wake up.” Saliva dribbled down the corner of his mouth. “Come on, bitch. Let’s make your new year happy. Up!” He attempted to brush a sleeve across his chin but brushed air instead.
The room flooded with light and Rakesh raised an arm to shield his eyes. Naina was talking, but the words blurred as much as the dark green of her nighty. Two? How could there be two of her? Rakesh blinked and shook his head. He leaned against the doorframe for support, but the room tilted anyway.
“Out! Get out! ...my room,” she yelled.
Her voice echoed around and through his head. He covered his ears to block her screams, but she was getting closer. Her face, a mass of contorted brown wrinkles, swung left and right and she somehow slipped into the corridor and beyond reach. He opened his mouth. Stop moving! he wanted to shout but the words locked in his throat.
“I’ll call....”
“What did you tell my wife? You told her about Kartik, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t. Promise. I—”
Rakesh pounced, but Naina leapt out of reach. He reeled forward, stopped by a horizontal rod of marble that struck his hip. He grabbed it and leaned over the edge as bile sizzled up his throat. “D’you even know what shit I’m in? My wife hates me ‘cause of you.” He maneuvered himself to face her, but three Nainas appeared and each one raised a hand to cover her nose. “Three hundred and fifty million!” He let go of the railing. “Where’s it all gonna come from? Can you count that high, bitch?”
She stood inches away, all three of her faces covered in ropes of stringy black hair.
“All fucked up because of you. My son, bitch! Nearly died ‘cause of you.”
“It was an accident,” she screamed. “But you made me kill our father. ...over for you. I live with the guilt every day.”
Rakesh struggled to make sense, but she kept shifting out of view.
“You stood behind the curtains, watching. Making sure I gave Papa that tea. How did I know it was poisoned? I was seventeen...threatened. You trapped me.” She approached. “I’m going to tell everyone what you made me do.”
He cocked his head back and laughed.
“Mummy!” Naina screamed.
Rakesh lunged and clamped her mouth shut with a palm. “Shut up!” He pressed hard, desperate to crush the words in her mouth. He tilted her head back, farther, harder, until her eyes bulged and her black pupils shrank to the back of her head. Her chest heaved as she struggled for breath. Adrenaline surged through his body. Squeeze. Suck every rupee out. All three hundred and fifty million. Her skull would snap any second. “Give my money back!”
A burn spread across his cheek. The corridor spun. He reeled away and lost balance. The balcony railings, pillars, and doors revolved. The walls and floor of the mansion tilted. Blood rushed to his head and he slammed against cold marble tile.
“Leave her!”
Pushpa?
Crunch. His mouth warmed.
Everything blurred.
Everything black.