The Cherry Pond

They were in the vast ground playing, raising so much dust that she didn’t see Pa, only heard him call her. He never did that.

“You’re going to Ukkamma’s,” Pa said.

She immediately thought about the cool waters of the cherry pond near Ukkamma’s house, where she and Ma used to have long, slow baths during the summer vacations.

“We need to pack,” said Pa.

She looked up at Pa’s face keenly because of the extra sweet way he said it, like when he wanted her to do something she didn’t like. But she loved going to her grandmother’s and Ma and she used to go down every summer and stay for two whole months. She hadn’t gone last year.

She turned to look at all her friends but they had restarted the game without her. Annu, Manju, Jaggu, Lalli, Mamta and Laljit were all holding hands and running, trying to corner little Jhumpa, without letting go of each other’s hands, but she was slipping away, taking advantage of her size. Pa caught her hand and started walking faster.

“You’re going with Jambu Uncle and Vrinda Aunty,” Pa said. Jambu Uncle worked with Pa. “And from Madras,” he continued, “Mrs Barclay will take you to Calicut. Soori Uncle will pick you up from the station there.”

Pa and Chitra Ma weren’t coming!

When they got back Chitra Ma had a huge new suitcase open on the bed. Chitra Ma had grown fat after she had married Pa, especially during the last few months. The suitcase was half filled with most of Shyama’s clothes, even her sweaters and the giant pink coat Ma had got her two winters ago. She was about to tell Pa she wouldn’t need it, when he gave her a large brown paper bag.

“Open it,” Pa said, sounding extra sweet again. She opened the bag. Books! Kunju and the Vanaras, the entire set!

“But I already have the first three books,” Shyama said. “And it’s NM time.” Which made Pa pat her on the head and ask Chitra Ma to place the books too in the suitcase.

It was the last week of April. Pa used to take her to L. L. Katakwar Booksellers in the first week of every month and she would run to the children’s section while Pa browsed the books for grownups. She loved how the new books smelled and would open a whole lot of them and breathe in deeply. They spent so much time there that sometimes she would finish a couple of books before Pa allowed her to buy one. He bought one for himself too. “NM, kanna,” he used to say, and it was his code for no money. “Only one book a month,” he’d say laughing his quiet, soft laugh. She didn’t mind much because they went to the library.

After Chitra Ma finished packing, Pa made her go to Grandmother’s room and say goodbye. Grandfather was asleep, like he always was, he had never woken up after his fall in the bathroom, but Grandmother held both her hands and said, “Be a good girl.”

#

“She’s no trouble, no trouble at all,” Pa said the next morning when he climbed into the train with her suitcase and helped Jambu Uncle push it under a seat. The train started moving as soon as Pa got down. He waved. She kept waving even after she lost him in the crowd. Tears stung her eyes but she held them back. Pa had said she was no trouble, no trouble at all. From the shoulder bag she was carrying, she fished out the fourth book in the Kunju and the Vanaras series that she had managed to take out from the suitcase. She had also sneaked in Animal Farm, the book Ma had been reading last, in hospital. She knew it was a book for grownups and so she didn’t dare take it out for fear that Vrinda Aunty or someone would take it away. She saw Chitra Ma had packed a bag of potato chips, a large peanut-jaggery bar and a bottle of water.

“Jairam, give the girl the window seat,” said Vrinda Aunty. He got up, frowning at her. They had the section to themselves and Sriram, Uma and Ranju had taken all the other window seats. Jambu Uncle kicked off his sandals and climbed onto the topmost berth leaving Vrinda Aunty to settle all the fights between Jairam and Sriram. Their sisters were busy looking out of the windows.

The train let out a long whistle and gathered speed, spewing a thick plume of black smoke into the hot summer air.

“I want my window seat back. You’re reading anyway,” said Jairam.

She got up and sat down on another berth, away from the windows. She was holding the book in front of her but she couldn’t read. She loved the series but now whatever Kunju did seemed silly and he couldn’t make her laugh. So, when Uma said, “Come let’s play snakes and ladders,” she shut the book readily.

Vrinda Aunty laid down on the other lower berth to read her magazine. When Ma did that, she would snuggle up and lie down with her head on Ma’s elbow, pretending to read all the funny, round letters in the Malayalam magazine, and often fell asleep with the train rocking them gently together.

When lunch-time came, the aunties came around distributing different varieties of eatables they had brought. Ma used to bring kozhukkattas as everyone loved them. One of the aunties had brought a big can of mango juice and it was delicious. She wanted another cup, but Ma wasn’t there, so she didn’t ask. By then they were all coated with a fine layer of coal dust from the engine.

She thought of the cool cherry pond. Ma called it the cherry pond because of the smooth, round, red rock that stood at the centre like a large cherry in the middle of a cookie. From the backyard of Ukkamma’s house, they had to go a long way downhill through thick, silent trees. In some places, Ma had to carry her down. It was a small pond and nobody else ever came there. The water was cool and the place silent and she and Ma would have long, lazy baths in it.

It was late afternoon when the train abandoned their bogie at Itarsi Junction and the uncles and aunties carried all the suitcases, bags and holdalls to the waiting room. When Jambu Uncle lifted her suitcase, and said, “God, why is it so heavy!” Vrinda Aunty said, “She has to take everything, no, she’s not coming back.”

Why did Vrinda Aunty say that? How would she return Swapna’s key? Swapna was best friends with her at school and both of them spent the lunch recess reading from the same book. Swapna’s mother had invited her to their house for lunch on the last day of exams. Swapna had a room to herself and she proudly showed her how she had arranged the entire Kunju and the Vanaras set in her small aluminium school box. Shyama was jealous.

“Oh, you will finish reading before the school reopens but don’t tell me the story. I want to read it for myself.”

“No, rey. I won’t finish even one book. I’m going away to Shimla. We’ll read it together, during lunch recess in school.”

Then, Swapna locked the aluminium box and gave her the key. She now reached into an inner pocket in her bag and touched the key to make sure it was there. How was she going to give it back? Swapna was going to think she had stolen the key.

In the ladies’ waiting room, all the aunties rolled out their holdalls and went to sleep. The Madras train would only come several hours later. Vrinda Aunty asked her if she wanted to sleep and when she said no, instructed her not to wander away. Ma never slept when they waited for the Madras train at Itarsi Junction. She dumped their luggage in the waiting room, and then both of them went to Mr Mohan’s book stall. She always managed to read a few Amar Chitra Kathas while Ma and Mr Mohan chatted about this book and that and Ma ended up buying an armful of books for both of them. When she was sure everyone was asleep, she took out Animal Farm from her bag and smelled the pages. They smelled like the hospital.

When the train steamed into Madras the next day, Jambu Uncle had to carry her suitcase and Vrinda Aunty held her hand tight as the three of them ran all the way to the platform where the train to Calicut stood waiting. They spotted Mrs Barclay at the door of their compartment and Jambu Uncle just had time to lift her suitcase in. She said thank you to them both but wasn’t sure Jambu Uncle heard it. Vrinda Aunty patted her head and helped her climb in.

Mrs Barclay still looked like she always did, wearing a frock which had bright flowers all over, with her hair folded into a pony tail. Whenever she came home she asked if Ma had made rasam. She liked to drink Ma’s rasam in a cup, like it was tea or coffee, and not mix it with rice, during meals, like they did. She called everyone child, even Ma. Mrs Barclay didn’t want anyone to call her aunty. Ma called her Annie. Mrs Barclay had settled in Calicut after Mr Barclay died.

The next day, Soori Uncle was waiting at the platform and she spotted him even before the train stopped. Soori Uncle thanked Mrs Barclay as he helped her into a taxi. He had brought Eeshanan with him and after Mrs Barclay had left, Eeshanan lifted Shyama’s suitcase onto his head, Soori Uncle caught hold of her hand and they walked quickly to the bus stop.

She fell asleep on the bus as it snaked its way up the forested hills of Wayanad, the driver skilfully manoeuvring the unwieldy, red, government vehicle up all the twelve hairpin bends. When they reached Kalpetta, it was pitch dark. Soori Uncle woke her up and she was disoriented and clutched his shoulder thinking it was Pa. The night was so black, she couldn’t see a thing.

Soori Uncle started walking. She clutched his hand even tighter. Pa would carry her on his shoulders, making Ma say, “Put her down, Hari, she’s not a baby anymore.” But now, Pa was far away. When they had gone some distance, someone was coming towards them with a torchlight.

“Shyama! Is that you?” a voice called. It was Minna-Minnie, her aunt, and for the first time in three days, she smiled. “Don’t run, or you will fall and scrape your knee. Hold on to your uncle’s hand.”

Then the torchlight was pointed at her face and she was hugged. She wanted to ask when she would see Pa again, but she didn’t. She didn’t want Minna-Minnie to feel bad. When they reached the house, Ukkamma hugged her and cried, and then she cried too, she couldn’t help it, though Pa had said she was no trouble, no trouble at all.

Minna-Minnie had warm water ready in the small bathroom and asked her to just wash her body and not wet her long hair. Then she fed her delicious tamarind rice with crispy karudaams and gave her a glass of cool buttermilk to drink. She slept in her usual bed, the one she and Ma used to share, in Ukkamma’s tiny room. The bed felt vast and empty.

#

“Open your suitcase, girl,” said Soori Uncle one morning a week later.

She always kept it under her bed. Minna-Minnie had emptied two bottom shelves in the wooden cupboard and told her to put all her clothes there, but she hadn’t. When she unlocked her suitcase, Soori Uncle took out a big brown envelope from a side pocket. It had her report card and a paper which said Transfer Certificate at the top. She hadn’t noticed the envelope till now. She normally opened and shut her suitcase quickly, shoving her clothes in or pulling them out. She hadn’t touched the Kunju and the Vanaras set, but she’d finished Animal Farm. She couldn’t understand many of the things in the book but she liked reading it thinking how Ma had read it lying down on the hospital bed.

“Get the girl ready,” Soori Uncle told Minna-Minnie. And then he looked down at her from his great height and said, “We’re going to your new school to see the headmistress. It’s a nice school. You can go with Vishwa and Bala.”

“Humph!” said Ukkamma and turned her face away angrily.

The night before, there had been a big fight and Soori Uncle and Ukkamma had shouted at each other. Whenever they came down, Soori Uncle yelled at Ma at least once and made her cry. He normally never spoke to Shyama. But when the vacation was over and Ma and she were leaving, he always gave Ma a big hug.

“I’m not going to put the girl in some fancy school just because Ammu wanted it,” Soori Uncle had said last night. “I’m done with Ammu’s ridiculous ideas.”

They were all sitting at the dining table and Minna-Minnie was serving supper.

“It’s not about Ammu’s ideas. Shyama doesn’t know how to read or write Malayalam. She has studied in an English medium school,” Ukkamma said. “And that’s not because of Ammu’s fancy ideas, it’s because of Hari’s frequent transfers.”

Ukkamma had come out of her room and was standing at the doorway, leaning on her walking stick. Shyama always thought Ukkamma stood like a giant number seven, bent at the waist. Ma had told her that Ukkamma couldn’t stand straight because, once, long ago, when Ma was in college, she fell in the bathroom and was sick for a year.

“The girl will learn,” Soori Uncle banged hard on the dining table making all the steel glasses jump. Shyama ate up the food on her plate quickly; Minna-Minnie served her some more, though. Pa never banged on any table. Pa never raised his voice. But Pa was not there.

“And I had a talk with Mary Teacher yesterday and she said it would be a good idea to put her in a lower class. Let her be in class four again.”

She was now in class five, she wanted to say. Sister Angelica had told Pa she was her star student, when they had gone to get her report card.

“There are no English medium schools here. And I can’t afford them.”

“What, can’t afford? Hari is paying for everything. You don’t have to spend a paisa. There is a new English medium school at Mananthavady, I heard.”

Soori Uncle stopped shouting and gave Ukkamma an angry stare.

“Considering that you are shut up in this house all the time, you hear quite a lot. Imagine the condition of this world if you hadn’t had that fall in the bathroom. When he made you fall, actually bhagavan saved all of us.”

“Leave bhagavan out of this. He has enough to do even otherwise. Enquire about that new school in Mananthavady.”

“No, no, no. Even if the girl studies there, who is going to take her and bring her back? No. I’m not having any more of Ammu’s fancy ideas. She brought enough bad name for the family, writing dirty lies about all of us, our very own Madhavikutty.”

“Ma only wrote about fairies,” Shyama said then. “And about the children-catcher who lives on the other side of the cremation ground. Our playground is near the cremation ground where they burn dead bodies. But there is a wall and the children-catcher hides behind it. He can’t come to the playground because the fairies put a spell on the wall.”

She stopped suddenly because the whole room had gone silent and Soori Uncle was looking at her quietly. Ukkamma started sobbing and went back to her room.

#

Minna-Minnie took out a frilly pink frock from her suitcase. While plaiting her long hair neatly on two sides, the way Ma always did, Minna-Minnie said, “It’s a good school Shyama. All of us studied there. Me, your uncle, Ammu, Hari, everyone. Ammu’s name is there on the wall in front of the Headmistress’ office because she was topper in her year.”

Minna-Minnie was always nice, she thought, as she jogged beside Soori Uncle, her hand deep in the pocket of her frock, holding Swapna’s tiny key. But Minna-Minnie sometimes said strange grownup things. The last time they had come down, Ma had said she shouldn’t call her Minna-Minnie; she wasn’t a firefly but her aunt, and Shyama wasn’t a baby. She should call her Meena Mami. They were all sitting in Ukkamma’s tiny room. She was on Minna-Minnie’s lap and Ma was lying down with her head on Ukkamma’s lap. “No, Ammu,” Minna-Minnie said. “She can call me Minna-Minnie always. I feel so special. And you know, one day she’s going to be ours. You can’t keep her always.” And she hugged Shyama tight.

Ma smiled. Shyama wanted to say she was Ma’s but she didn’t want Minna-Minnie to feel bad. And then Minna-Minnie said something strange. “Vishwa may not be much now, but he’ll come around, Ammu.” And Ma said, “I know he will, he’s a good-hearted fellow.”

Vishwa was alright, except when he sometimes gave her his bear hug. Better than Bala who always said mean things. Vishwa was going to class nine and Bala to class eight. Every day, he woke up in the morning and disappeared after breakfast. He only came back when the evening lamp was lighted in the puja room and Ukkamma had made her and Bala say the prayers. Whenever he saw him, Soori Uncle roared, “Cut your hair!” And Vishwa always said, “For sure, for sure, before school reopens.”

When they stood waiting in front of the Headmistress’ office, she saw that there was a huge part of the opposite wall painted black, on which names of the students were written along with years. She wanted to look for Ma’s name but the Headmistress called them inside.

“Good morning, Mary Teacher,” said Soori Uncle. And looked at her, so she too said, “Good morning, Mary Teacher.” At her school, they said God bless you, Ma’am.

Mary Teacher wished them and asked Soori Uncle to sit. He gave her the brown envelope. When Mary Teacher looked at her report card she gave her a big smile.

“She has scored above ninety in all subjects, said Mary Teacher, and hundred in Maths in all three exams.”

“Hundred in Maths,” said Soori Uncle and looked at her as though he was seeing her for the first time.

“Are you sure you want to put her in class four?” Mary Teacher asked.

“I’m in class five,” Shyama said softly in English. “Sister Angelica said that, when she gave my father the report card.”

Mary Teacher looked at her and her smile became bigger and there was a twinkle in her eye. “I will put you in class five, but you should pass in all subjects for the Onam Exam. If you don’t, I’ll put you back in class four. Will you pass?”

“I will.”

This made Mary Teacher laugh loudly and pat her on the back. She then rang a bell on her desk and a man came in and took them to the school office. She couldn’t check for Ma’s name on the wall.

On the way back, Soori Uncle bought her a slate, a packet of slate-pencils and a thin book which had the Malayalam alphabet and small words.

When they got back, he opened the shelf above the sofa in the front room and took out one of the large red books there. Shyama had seen those books but didn’t know if she was allowed to open the shelf and read them, so she had just tried to read their names. “This is the encyclopaedia,” he said. “I bought it for these fools but they don’t even open it.”

“That’s because I have my dance class,” said Bala at once.

“Of course, dear,” said Minna-Minnie.

Soori Uncle showed her how to read the book, how the words were arranged.

“Read it, don’t read stupid story books. Stories are lies, they’re not good for your head.”

Soori Uncle beckoned to Bala.

“Bala, it’s your job to teach the girl Malayalam. Mary Teacher has agreed to put her in class five.”

Later, after lunch, Bala made her bring the slate and the book and wrote the letters on the slate. They all looked the same to her and when she made mistakes, Bala pinched her on the inside of her elbow. “You’re stupid,” she said softly, “you’re going to fail. Bala is the brilliant one, not you.”

She didn’t tell Minna-Minnie about Bala, though she spent most of the time in the kitchen. Once, as she watched Bala and friends playing, a girl came and stood next to her and told her, her name was Chandra. “I’m in Vishwa’s class. I too like to read.” Chandra took her aside and asked her in a whisper, “Did your mother write dirty stories?” After that, Shyama never went to watch Bala and her friends play.

Minna-Minnie was sweet and taught her to do grownup things. She taught her how to wash her own clothes and hang them out to dry. She had only three pieces to wash, but Minna-Minnie had to wash everyone’s clothes and so Shyama sometimes helped out, hanging them on the clothesline. Minna-Minnie talked non-stop while doing a hundred different things in the kitchen.

“My mother died giving birth to me,” Minna-Minnie told Shyama. “Then, my father, your grand uncle brought me to live in the great big house. All of us lived together. Ammu, your uncle, me and many others. Then we came to live here after your grand uncle and Ukkamma had their big fight. One day, I’ll take you to see your grand uncle.”

“Can you take me to the cherry pond, Minna-Minnie?”

“Cherry pond? What’s that?” Minna-Minnie didn’t know of any cherry pond. When she described it to her, she said there was no such pond anywhere.

“Come, help me make chapattis.”

Minna-Minnie praised the way Shyama rolled out the chapattis. Pa had been very angry with Kanchan Aunty for showing her how to roll out chapattis. It was before Chitra Ma came. “What, Hari Saab,” Kanchan Aunty had told Pa, “when I was her age, I could almost cook a meal by myself. My Mamta makes chapattis, cuts vegetables and makes tea. She’s also your daughter’s age only.” Pa had said nothing but told Grandmother not to make her roll chapattis or light the stove. Grandmother didn’t like it at all. “Thinks he’s bringing up a princess,” she grumbled.

Every day after lunch Minna-Minnie went to sleep and Bala called her for her ‘lessons’. One day, Vishwa found her sitting on the washing stone by the well, crying. She had lost Swapna’s little key. She had searched for it in the pockets of all her frocks but it was not there.

“Why are you crying, silly,” he asked and when she said nothing, took her elbow and blew on the bruises. “Bala is a yakshi. She only knows how to do tha thai thaka thai thom.” He imitated Bala dancing. Shyama smiled. “Bring your slate,” he said and when she did, sat beside her on the rear veranda steps. He covered her hand gently with his and together they wrote every letter three times. He showed her the differences between letters that looked almost the same. When she made mistakes, he scolded the letters and called them funny names. She laughed.

“Now, you only need to practice, silly.” He rose to go.

“Did Ma write stories in Malayalam?”

He was quiet for some time. Then he said carefully, “Yes, once our Malayalam master told us in class and he pointed to me and said I was Ammu Subbaraman’s nephew.”

#

Cancer. That was the word she first looked for in the encyclopaedia. She had heard Kanchan Aunty tell Vrinda Aunty that Ma had cancer. She had only read a few lines when Soori Uncle came in. He actually smiled. “Are you working on your Malayalam, girl?” She nodded.

Bala lost interest in teaching her when she stopped making mistakes. Vishwa had quietly given her a torn copy of Poompatta.

“It’s a magazine, silly. It has stories. You like stories, no?”

“Do you know the way to the cherry pond?”

“Cherry pond? What’s that, silly?”

She said nothing. She and Ma had gone there so many times. She would have to look for it herself. She had to find it somehow.

One day, after lunch, it occurred to her that now was a good time to go looking for the cherry pond. Minna-Minnie was taking her nap, Ukkamma too. There was no one else in the house.

As soon as she got down the backyard steps, the trees moved closer, tall, silent and a little scary, like so many Soori Uncles. She stopped and looked up at them, a little doubtful. But there was a path leading downhill, so she walked along. Though it was still afternoon, it was dark and the silence made her footsteps loud. She could hear her own breathing. She walked on, looking up at the trees every now and then. They now crowded around her ganging up with the creepers and the bushes, making the path difficult to find. She continued climbing down, often stumbling, scraping her knees and elbows. Her palms hurt from holding on to roots and barks as she went further and further down. At some point, she lost the path, but she continued walking, not knowing what else to do, close to tears. The trees crept closer and closer and when she looked up, she felt she was in a deep dark well, the sky far away. Her courage gave way and she sat down under a tree, crying, totally lost. Just then, she heard the deep rumble of a bus and stood up. There was a road a few yards ahead. She stepped out. There was a bus stop with a few people waiting. She didn’t know anyone, but they knew her. A kind lady with a huge basket on her head walked her back.

“Hari said you were no trouble at all and look how much worry you caused,” shouted Soori Uncle. “I was about to go to the police station.”

“Enough now,” said Minna-Minnie and took her to the bathroom where she helped her wash her bruises and change her frock. She pushed her gently into Ukkamma’s room, turned off the lights and shut the door.

“We were all so worried,” said Ukkamma, quietly, coming and sitting on her bed, “where did you go?”

“I went to see the cherry pond.”

“What’s the cherry pond?”

She turned towards the wall. Maybe, the cherry pond wasn’t there anymore. Like Ma.

#

Ukkamma called her to her room one day and waved a letter. “You now have a baby sister,” she said. “Have you written a letter to your father after coming here?” She shook her head, no. She had a sister! When they were in class three, Swapna had got a baby sister.

Ukkamma took out a blue inland letter and told her to write immediately. “I’ll ask someone to post it,” she said. She sat down on her bed, used her slate as a board and wrote, My dear Pa neatly. Pa liked neat handwriting. She wrote: Your loving daughter, Shyama at the end because that was what she did when Ma made her write to Pa. “What should I write?” she asked Ukkamma, who was busy writing on another inland letter. “Write what you want,” said Ukkamma. Ma always helped her out. You can write about the games you played or about our visit to Annie, she’d say. Tell Pa about that funny film we watched. She rested her head against the wall thinking of what to write to Pa and fell asleep.

When Minna-Minnie woke her up to have tea, there was no letter on her lap.

She had a new sister. What was her name?

“Your pa doesn’t want you anymore,” whispered Bala, “they have a new baby.” Shyama munched on her biscuit and gulped down her cold tea. She then got up to wash her glass. “Here, wash mine,” said Vishwa. “Mine too,” said Bala. She took the glasses and went to the kitchen to rinse them. She had a sister and she didn’t even know her name.

#

“Come here, girl,” said Soori Uncle one afternoon towards the end of May. He was holding a letter. “Your father has written that you should be admitted to St Joseph’s Anglo Indian High School in Calicut. It’s a boarding school. You can stay in the hostel. Your father says Mrs Barclay has arranged the admission. She’s now a teacher in that school. She’s to be your local guardian. Pack your suitcase quickly. If we start now,” he pointed to a taxi parked by the road, “we can get there before sunset.”

Just then Minna-Minnie came in with her dried clothes. Her eyes were red and puffy. She had been crying. Shyama felt bad for hurting Minna-Minnie though she didn’t know what she had done.

Minna-Minnie watched silently as she put all her clothes into her suitcase. There wasn’t much to put in because she hadn’t taken out most of her clothes. When Minna-Minne went out of the room, she took out the Kunju and the Vanaras set and shoved it into the bottom shelf of the cupboard. She put Animal Farm, Poompatta, her slate and pencils into her shoulder bag.

Ukkamma was crying. “Come here,” she said, and held her by her shoulders, looked deeply into her eyes and said in a growl-whisper, “Don’t come here for any vacation. Stay with Annie for all the holidays. Come back after you finish college and get a job. Ukkamma is going to stay alive and wait for that day. You understand?” She didn’t, but she nodded. She didn’t want to hurt Ukkamma too. Minna-Minnie came back into the room with a bottle of water and a packet of banana chips and put them into her shoulder bag. She didn’t even look at Shyama. Ukkamma hugged her and whispered again, “Write to me, write to your father, every week.”

Eeshanan loaded her suitcase into the dickey and got in beside the driver. Bala was at her dance class and Vishwa had disappeared after breakfast. So, she couldn’t say goodbye. Soori Uncle got in behind the driver and she sat beside him. The car started moving. She waved, but Minna-Minnie turned away and went inside. Ukkamma waved, leaning on her walking stick, still crying.

Maybe, the new school had a library. Maybe, she would find the magazines which had Ma’s stories in them. Vishwa had said they were not in a book. Mrs Barclay might help her find Ma’s stories. She reached inside her shoulder bag and touched her slate to make sure it was there.

The car looked like a small white insect as it glided along the black silk ribbon of a road draped over the Blue Hills. Unknown to the travellers, far above them, over the Arabian Sea, thick dark monsoon clouds were gathering.