They search all thirty rooms during the next three hours, and eventually unearth a cache of currency in the room belonging to Najmi, the bearded poet, who claimed to be a Bollywood songwriter. We are all astonished to discover that our young poet is a part-time bank robber as well. Just goes to show that appearances can be deceptive. Well, I can hardly complain. The outhouse wallahs would be just as scandalized if they found out about my own chequered past!
* * *
Lajwanti has come to my room to offer some crumbly fresh laddoos from the nearby Durga Temple. She is very excited.
'Arrey, Lajwanti, what are the sweets in aid of? Have you got a raise?' I ask her.
'This is the happiest day of my life. With Goddess Durga's blessings, the Sugarcane Officer has finally agreed to marry Lakshmi. My sister will now live like a queen. I am preparing for a wedding to beat all weddings.'
'But what about dowry? Hasn't the groom's family made any demands?'
'No, not at all. They are a very decent family. They do not want any cash. They have only requested some very small things.'
'Like what?'
'Like a Bajaj scooter, a Sumeet Mixer, five Raymond suits and some gold jewellery. I was, in any case, going to give all this to Lakshmi.'
I am scandalized. 'But Lajwanti, this will cost you a packet – at least a lakh rupees. Where will you get this money from?'
'I have been saving up for Lakshmi's wedding. I have accumulated nearly fifty thousand rupees.
And will borrow another fifty thousand from Rani Sahiba.'
'Are you sure she will give you such a large sum of money?'
'Of course. I am the best maid she has ever had.'
'Well, good luck then.'
* * *
I continue to meet Nita, but the atmosphere inside the brothel stifles me. And I hate dealing with that shifty-eyed pimp Shyam. So on Nita's suggestion we start meeting outside. She goes alone to see films every Friday. I join her. She loves popcorn. I buy her a big packet and we sit in the back row of the dark and dingy Akash Talkies. She eats popcorn and giggles when I slip my hand through her thin muslin dress to feel her soft breasts. At the end of the film, I come out of the hall hot and flushed, not knowing whether I've seen a family drama, a comedy or a thriller.
Because I have eyes only for Nita, and I hope that our own story will turn slowly but surely into an epic romance.
* * *
Shankar enters my room crying.
'What's the matter?' I ask.
He points to his knee. It is cut and bruised. I immediately become concerned. 'How did you get hurt, Shankar? Did you fall down?'
Shankar shakes his head. 'X Akc Wqp Hz,' he says.
For once, I wish he could speak sense. 'I am sorry, I don't understand. Why don't you come outside and show me how you got hurt?'
Shankar takes me out and points to where the cobbled courtyard joins the main road. There is a little parapet in the corner, from which the kids in the outhouse are always jumping up and down.
'Yxi Ukj Ozz Pdxp Akc? Dq Wqp Hz Dznz,' Shankar says and indicates his knee.
I trace the direction of his finger and nod in understanding. I reckon that he must have jumped down from the parapet and grazed himself. 'Come, Lajwanti has a medical kit in her room. I will get her to put a dressing on your wound.'
I fail to see the mangy little street dog with black spots huffing on the cobbled pavement just below the parapet, spit dribbling from its sharp white teeth.
* * *
A new year has dawned, bringing with it new hopes and new dreams. Nita and I have both turned eighteen – the legal age for marriage. For the first time, I begin to think about the future and to believe I might even have one. With Nita by my side. I stop lending money to people in the outhouse. I need every penny now.
Today is a Friday, and also a night of the full moon, a very rare combination indeed. I persuade Nita not to go to the movies, but instead to come with me to the Taj Mahal. We sit on the marble pedestal late in the evening and wait for the moon to appear beyond the jets of fountains and the rows of dark-green cypresses. First comes a glimmer of silver through the tall trees on our right, as the moon struggles to break free of the cluster of low buildings and foliage, and then, suddenly, it rises majestically in the sky. The curtain of the night is pushed aside and the Taj Mahal stands revealed in all its glory. Nita and I are awestruck. The Taj appears like a vision of paradise, a silvery apparition risen from the Yamuna river. We clasp hands, oblivious to the hordes of foreign tourists who have paid fifty dollars each for the privilege of seeing the Taj by the light of the full moon.
I gaze at the Taj and then I gaze at Nita. The sterile perfection of the Taj begins to pale in comparison with the flawless beauty of her face. And tears start falling from my eyes as all the love I have bottled up in my heart for eighteen long years comes out in a tumultuous rush. I sense an emotional release like the bursting of a dam, and experience for the first time what Emperor Shahjahan must have felt for Mumtaz Mahal.
