“I’m sorry, sister. What to do? Nobody is allowed in without permission—the order comes from Bhim kaka himself.”
“So if Devi ma herself came, you wouldn’t let her in either? What if I fetch her now and see what your Bhim kaka says?”
The guards look down sheepishly. Although they hold their ground, Bhim’s name confirms this is his den. “Devi ma would burn you to ashes if we reported you for this,” Guddi calls out as I pull her away.
GUDDI WANTS TO GO complain to Devi ma and return with reinforcements, but I nix this idea, since it would alert Sarita about my lead. “Devi ma’s already been so generous, let’s not trouble her anymore. Let’s try to get in ourselves.”
So instead of returning through the metal gate, we duck behind a hedge and circle back to the annex. The entire ground floor is wrapped in concrete, with the occasional window, sealed and brooding, embedded as an afterthought. I’m struck by the bunker-like look of the building—hardly a design to appeal to tourists. A recessed side entryway leads to a door which, in addition to a card reader, bears a sturdy, old-fashioned padlock. We discover two more doors in the rear, similarly secured.
I’m wondering how we can create a diversion and slip in past the guards when I realize there has to be another entrance: the doors we’ve seen are all much too narrow to get beds and other large furniture through. Could there be another level beneath us? I draw Guddi back to the rear of the building and pull myself up chin-high to peer over the wall that runs past. Sure enough, we’re at an elevation—a driveway down below cuts toward us through a small compound. Unfortunately, I don’t see any steps—jumping seems the only way down.
What to do about Guddi? Certainly, I don’t want her by my side when I find Karun. But leaving her behind presents its own danger, since she might go back and report my whereabouts. The wall decides for us: raised on a diet of village parathas since birth, Guddi is unable to hoist her four-foot-ten body to the top. “Stay here until I return,” I tell her, hoping she’ll obey for at least an hour. I jack myself up all the way on my arms, then swing a leg over to straddle the wall.
“Gaurav bhaiyya,” Guddi yells, just as I lower myself on the other side and hang by my fingertips. “Gaurav bhaiyya, Gaurav bhaiyya, we should have brought Shyamu along. Then he could have lifted me up in his trunk and sat me on the wall.” She pauses for a second. “Would you mind if I go check how he’s doing? I promise to return by two.”
What an excellent idea to keep her out of trouble! I assure her there’s no need to hurry back, she can spend as much time with Shyamu as she wants. “In fact, why don’t you try to sneak him out to the beach again?—I’m sure he’d like that.” As Guddi squeals in appreciation, I yell goodbye and release my grip on the wall.
14
I ONCE READ A BOOK CONSISTING SOLELY OF A CHARACTER’S thoughts as he fell from a cliff. Apparently, in the time it takes to hit the ground, an entire lifetime can be relived. Being airborne reminds me of my own unlaunched memoir—what a perfect interlude to dissect my childhood this would have been! I could lay bare the vulnerability of the Jazter soul, recap my great and poignant love for Karun. The last primarily for my own benefit—to remember again why I’m so witlessly hurtling down to my doom.
So here I am, moonstruck lover turned action hero—Superman plunging through the air, Jaz Bond dropping into the villain’s lair. (Perhaps I could write my Jazternama as a comic strip, ensure the first bestseller after the apocalypse.) For a moment, I lie stunned on the ground. Not from the fall, but from the sight of the two vans parked in a bay under the wall. The first has its back door open—a stack of boxes lies beside it on a pallet. It’s the second one, though, that leaves me agape: white and compact, a blue stripe runs across its side, as sharp as a laser ray.
Ever since Colaba, I’ve had to keep my doubts tightly bottled, accept the notion of finding Karun as an article of faith. I allow myself a moment of jubilation at this evidence I’m closing in. More good fortune: wooden crates prop open the large metal doors of the loading bay. I slip inside—almost immediately, another door blocks my way. This one isn’t padlocked, it just bears the familiar electronic locking mechanism. Will the Devi’s powers work so far from her domain?
I swipe the card through the slot. Not much happens. The lock makes an anemic whirring noise, which quickly fades.
I try again, with a silent prayer to my Laddoo Queen, showering her with all the sweets in the world. This time, the lock whirs more enthusiastically and opens with a click.
A bare bulb illuminates the passage. Boxes of supplies line the walls—I tear a few open, and find bottles of water, tins of baked beans, tomato soup, fruit cocktail. There’s no can opener, so I take some deep swigs of water to try to cure my sudden hunger pangs. (All I’ve been offered since morning is the glass of “nectar” I turned down.) A large chamber ahead houses even more boxes, containing not only foodstuff, but also such essentials as blankets and medical kits. I count at least a dozen small doors, all identical, built into the walls—metal-forged and tightly sealed, they resemble the hatches in a ship. The one I try opens when I pull down and twist the lever handle, which is fortunate, since just then, the sound of someone wheeling a cart comes from the corridor ahead. I barely have enough time to scoot through the door and squeeze it shut.
Groping around the wall, I find a light switch, which turns another naked bulb on. The room around me, little more than an alcove, is crammed with so many boxes that I almost don’t notice the steps leading down. The level below turns out to be much more rugged, like a cave shoveled out of the ground. Chunks of rock protrude right through the roughly slapped-on plaster in spots. A central opening leads to a multitude of peripheral pods, ones in which any attempt at finish or décor has been abandoned, and a burrowing animal might feel quite at home. Most contain cots, complete with mattresses and pillows, a few the odd table or chair. In one, I even spot a television set sitting unplugged on the ground.
Could this be a post-apocalyptic colony, for survivors to wait out the nuclear winter? A fine crush of dirt drizzles down on me as I walk around. I try not to make too much noise, lest I bring the whole place (and with it mankind’s future) crumbling down.
I retreat to the safety of the upper alcove. There’s no way to tell if the person I heard still lurks outside the heavy steel door. I turn the lever, count to three, and cautiously poke my head out. The chamber is deserted. I hop out, then continue along the passageway, until it ends a short way down at the double doors of an elevator. I blow on my card and rub it between my palms, hoping the Devi’s magic hasn’t been all used up. I’m in luck—a single swipe, and the doors part, as if the elevator has been waiting patiently for me on this floor all along.
Judging by the buttons numbered all the way up to twenty, the construction has an ambitious way to go. The “G” level surely swarms with Khakis, so the choice is between the numbered floors. I decide to start at the top and push four (will the elevator pop out of its sleeve since the building ends at three and a half floors?). The doors close and we begin to rise—how ironic that I was falling into danger just a few minutes ago. I try to channel the steeliness of Superman, the sangfroid of Bond. If only I’d made some excuse to stop by Guddi’s room and retrieve my gun.