He signaled to one of the guards standing just inside the cave, and the man whistled. A boy came running carrying an LED lantern, his bare chest pale as a ghost, his feet clad in sandals made from discarded tires pilfered from a distant dump. The boy and his kind had never seen the sun for more than a few hours at a time; the lion’s share of the population were confined below ground, with only a fortunate few allowed above to tend to the gardens that fed the rest.
Suri didn’t question the arrangement, nor his part in it. He was simply following his master’s orders and was well rewarded for his obedience.
As his father had done before him.
And as would his oldest son, eventually, he was sure, when Suri became too old for his responsibilities.
Exploiting his fellow human beings and dooming them to short lives of misery was just the way things worked, and he didn’t judge the morality of it any more than a crocodile hesitated before snapping its jaws tight on a fish. It had always been that way — the strong conquered the weak, and to hope for a different world was foolishness he didn’t engage in. Suri was a pragmatist and understood that if he wasn’t directing operations at the camp, someone else would be.
The boy waited motionless as Suri entered the cave, and then turned and led him along a path polished smooth by generations of feet, deep into the earth, into a hell that was the only reality the child would ever know.
Chapter 39
Drake pushed his spoon around in his bowl and grimaced at the slop that was the main course for dinner.
“This smells like diarrhea,” he complained, making a face.
“It’s lentils with some sort of spice. It doesn’t taste that bad,” Allie said.
“I can’t believe you’re eating it.”
“A vegetarian diet is good for you.”
He took a morose look at the goop. “I don’t need to live that long. Besides, I eat cows, and they’re vegetarian, so I’m getting a concentrated vegetarian diet already.” He looked around the dining hall. “I wonder if they sell Snickers bars in the store?”
“Not unless they have Swami Baba Raja’s face on them.”
Drake laughed. “You see the toilets in our rooms? Mine’s a hole in the floor.”
“It’s a squat toilet.” She paused. “Do we have to discuss this at dinner?”
He raised his spoon and allowed a glob of lentils to drop back into the bowl. “Don’t know what reminded me about that.”
Allie put her spoon down. “You’re angry I’m doing this, aren’t you?”
“I understand why.”
“But you’re angry.”
“Not at you. At him.”
“It’s the perfect opportunity. I thought we might be here for days.”
“God, no. Does your room have toilet paper?”
“I thought we weren’t going to discuss that.”
“The only reason I ask is because I only bought three pairs of socks at the store, and they’re all in a locker right now.”
“I’m sure you can ask at the reception area. But they use water in most places, so don’t expect a lot.”
“Hope springs eternal.”
Allie checked the time and finished her bowl. “You ready for your errands tomorrow? I got working in the kitchen. Probably because I’m a woman. Not that the swami is sexist or anything.”
“Of course not. I got cleaning crew. Probably put me on the latrines. This is like a waking nightmare.”
She rolled her eyes and stood. “So much drama.”
“How will you contact me after your pillow party tonight?”
“There isn’t any security in the dorms, just guards at the gate and walking the grounds to ensure nobody jumps the fence and robs the place. So I’ll come by your room.”
“That won’t look suspicious?”
“You’re my brother. Plus, I don’t think there’s any rules about comingling. Nobody told me anything, at any rate. You?”
“No. Just that it’s lights out at ten.” Drake eyed Allie. “Which I hope doesn’t mean they actually cut the power. That would suck big time. Especially if I’m mid-squat, or rinse, or whatever.”
“We’ll soon find out. Gotta run. Will you take my bowl back to the kitchen when you’re done?”
“Sure.”
Drake watched Allie walk away with a sinking feeling, and it took every ounce of self-control he could muster not to tear after her and take her in his arms, never to let her go.
Allie slowed as she reached the elaborately carved doors of the swami’s residence, where two attendants waited with four other young women — two locals, the Portuguese girl from earlier, and an Asian-American who introduced herself as Patty from Connecticut. All had arrived within the last few days, and all were excited to have been invited to the special devotional meeting.
Jadhav swung the doors open and invited the women in with a small nod of his head, his expression unreadable.
“Welcome, welcome. This way. As you are aware, inclusion in the Holy One’s night meditation is a high honor. It takes place in his inner sanctum, and everything that occurs is to be treated as confidential, is that clear? He is protective of the higher forms of devotion, which have important symbolic and spiritual significance, and only bestows his attention on the worthy. He feels you are all ready to accept his gift and move to the next level of consciousness.”
“Yes, of course,” they all said, Allie nodding along with the rest.
They reached a marble-floored room with hundreds of candles flickering in wall sconces, two golden vessels resting on wooden tables next to towels reflecting the light. Jadhav offered a bow to the women and a small smile. “The swami will be out shortly. Please, sit, make yourselves comfortable. There is fresh fruit set out for you in those bowls, and nectar in the pitchers. Eat and drink your fill — it is part of the swami’s bounty, which he would like to share.”
Jadhav left and the women took the offered seats, hesitant to touch the fruit or the copper goblets before them. Allie settled into her cushion and was about to reach for an apple when the doors at the far end of the room opened and the swami stepped out, trailed by a cloud of pungent incense.
“Greetings, my special guests,” he said as he approached them. “It is wonderful to see you in this more private setting. Please — I have had my staff select the most perfect specimens of fruit, the sweetest juice, for you. Consider it my most humble offering. Pour yourselves a measure, and enjoy nature’s gift.”
He sat at the table and smiled warmly as one of the locals poured them each a cupful of crimson liquid before topping up her own cup. The swami toasted and everyone drank, except Allie, who noted that the swami only pretended to, before setting down his cup and rising. He moved to a stand and lit an incense cone, and then flipped a switch. Soft music filled the room. When he retook his seat, his eyes roved over the women before settling on Allie.
“This is a joyous time. We are on the earth, savoring each other’s company, brought together by Fate. You are each miraculous in your own way, a perfect creation of the universe, and there should be no shame or hesitation in recognizing such. Part of moving to a higher state of consciousness, of awareness, is a symbolic baptism, the anointing of the chosen with warm oil, which symbolizes rebirth in the spirit eye, closer to godhead.” His eyes drifted to Patty, who seemed entranced. “Please, drink more. The nectar is sweet, is it not?”
The women did as instructed, Allie again pretending to sip, and after five more minutes of blather, the other women’s eyes appeared glassy, their looks faraway. When the swami stood and touched each of their foreheads with cool fingers, Allie did her best to mimic the hypnotized stare and stoned expression.