Chapter 1

India

This is the story of my sister Lakshmi. She is two minutes older than I am.  The story starts on a chilly morning in early January, and we were high up on the ramparts of the great Merangarh Fort. I will never forget the day. That was the day Lakshmi met Boaz. The fort is of burnished pink rhyolite and stands four hundred feet – more than 120 metres – above the city of Jodhpur. The fort is haunting, majestic, invincible; it is the greatest sight in all of Rajasthan. Once you have seen it, you will never forget it.  I grew up looking up to the greatest manmade building there is.

It has three palaces; it is filled works of art and is the ancestral home of the famous Maharajahs of Jodhpur. It is colossal, it is beautiful; as Kipling said, it is

“The work of angels, fairies and giants…built by Titans and coloured by the morning sun.”

Indeed, it is a spectacle to behold.

I do not blame my sister. I have always looked up to her, and tried to be protective the way a brother is to her sister.  How could she resist him, being impulsive and the romantic she was?

He was tall, light skinned, with the palest blue, almost grey, eyes. He had broad shoulders, and was laughing, a deep throaty, infections, loud laugh, and had the widest smile. He looked English, but his accent was different – he was talking to some other men, who did not seem pleased at all. But he had a gentle confidence, a kind look, that so few men possess. And he was surrounded by unpleasant, and ominous-looking men. The contrast was remarkable.  He was calm, nice-looking; noble, even – and yet surrounded by really bad-looking types. And yet he was so self-possessed.

My sister is stunning. She is medium height, slim, and with a medium brown skin colour, and the typical, full, long, dark hair of an Indian girl. She is an inch shorter than me; but some 25 kilos lighter. Her face has straight, chiselled features – even her eyebrows are nearly straight across. That day, Lakshmi had dressed the way she always does. That means quite dressed up, more than the relaxed, casual dress of my two sisters, and I. We just wore Western dress. She usually wore clothes that were “over the top”, so to speak. That day, she was wearing flat shoes, black fishnet pantyhose, a black, pleated, short skirt, a black turtleneck, and a black, lightly quilted, jacket the – ‘winter’ attire for Jodhpur. Both the jacket and the skirt were shiny, with only the elastic wrist and waist of the jacket being matte. She looked the most beautiful model in the world. Yet, if you looked at her face, you could see determination, independence, and a strong will in her face. She was unique. The rest of us are humble and plain. That day, as usual, the rest of us were wearing running shoes and Western garb. It was, after all, a family holiday outing. Except for mum, she wore a traditional kurta [1] – but with running shoes. Our Lakshmi would always be different; and we all loved her completely. Lakshmi always won – she would just wear you down – but her eventual triumph was always capped with a lovely smile and gentle hug or pat.

I saw the moment their eyes met. Even then I knew it was love. They stood transfixed, staring at each other. Lakshmi, legs a little apart, a little off balance, arms by her sides, her jacket open, stood still with the wind playing with her skirt pleats coyly, while at the same time brushing her hair lightly over her forehead. He was caught, momentarily, in mid-sentence, and stood with his mouth slightly open. They just stared at each other. I caught it; my heart quickened. It was the start of the ultimate romance.

I don’t think others noticed their eyes the way I did.

My father was trying to organize a family photo, and, sure enough, the tall gentleman, with Lakshmi’s eyes following closely, offered to take the picture of our family. He was soon chatting to my dad and mum. Mum was soon beaming.

After the ritual of the family posing in front of the famous blue city below the fort, he smiled at the thanks offered by mum and dad and acknowledged us by waving. And then he was gone with his companions. I looked at Lakshmi as he walked away. She looked resolute; and over to dad she went.

“Dad, what did that man say to you?”

“He introduced himself and offered to take the picture of our family. He was classy, a real gentleman.” He looked down at his Japanese 35mm camera – of which he was very proud – and said “I hope he took a good picture! He said nice things about your mother, too.” Mum was still smiling from the compliments.

“I liked him; a good foreign man,” chimed our mum. “You are good children.”

“I’m an adult,” corrected Lakshmi, and, continuing, “You said he introduced himself? What did he say?” Lakshmi wanted the goods. But dad was now talking to mum.

“Dad, what was his name?”

“Boaz, he said his name was Boaz.”

“Boaz? What sort of name is Boaz?”

***

On the way home in our car, Lakshmi turned to me, and said “Boaz is going to be my would be [2].”

“You don’t know; he’s probably married!” I replied.

“He wasn’t wearing a ring; a conservative Westerner like him would be wearing a ring. He’s eligible.” She continued: “I need your help. I’m calling all the hotels to find out where Boaz is staying.”

It was the sort of thing she would say and do, I thought. I replied, “You can’t, there’re thousands of places he could be staying…”

“No, there’re not. You saw him. He had good quality shoes, but no fancy Rolex gold watch – just normal shirt with buttons and cheap polyester-cotton pants. He won’t be staying at the Umaid Bhawan Palace [3] – not his style – nor at a dharavi [4] or Jhopadpattis [5]. He’ll be staying at a boutique, nicer, private, smaller place. There can’t be too many of them. Isn’t he gorgeous?”

“You’re nuts.  You know nothing about him.”

“Exactly, that is why I have to meet him. When we find where he is staying, you’re coming with me to stake out the place. Mother promise [6].”

That afternoon, Lakshmi disappeared, only returning at dinner.

After dinner, and while the others were washing up, Lakshmi announced, proudly, to me, “He’s staying at the Ratan Vilas Hotel. We go tomorrow morning, all day, if necessary. He could be leaving at any time. I’m wearing my linen aqua-green Anarkali kurta; can you dress up please and wear something formal?  Or should I wear my pink chanderi [7] set?  I would look good in that! We want to look as though it isn’t planned; we are just out shopping. But we want to catch his eye…We wait there until we meet him. Mother promise.”

“We can’t!” I objected.

***

However, the next day, the tuk-tuk [8] dropped us off there, mid-morning. It is a lovely hotel. We sat outside, ordered tea and I explored inside the hotel. It is lovely place. I think it is still owned by a cousin of the Maharajah, and he and his wife live upstairs in what was the Zenana, the ladies’ quarters. All sorts of pictures of the family are in the corridors. It is a small boutique hotel. I told the front desk we were waiting for Boaz to return. I saw a parcel for him on the counter, too. They expected him “at any time.” Lunch time came, and we went inside the restaurant for a nibble. They gave us a nice table with a view of the check-in counter; I had soup, but Lakshmi was too excited to eat anything. Come to think of it, soup may have smudged her lovely bright red lipstick. When we returned to our outside spot by the large unlit brazier, Lakshmi said to me, “That man over there is a spy or a hitman. Since he arrived, he has been watching us.”

There was a short, athletic, young, white man that indeed seemed to be watching us.  I said “Lakshe, any man is going to watch a nicely dressed girl. He is young. We are out in the open, and everyone knows we are waiting for Boaz.”

“I tell you he is no ordinary tourist. Tourists come here to see the palaces, museums, and fort. They don’t come to sit in hotels and look at a girl.”

“The hotel doesn’t seem to mind him.”

“Here he comes!” A minibus was pulling up. How she could see inside the minibus was beyond me. “Oh, go and take a pic of him from the steps while I try and catch his eye on the way in.”

Obediently I walked over to the front steps, fumbling with my father’s camera. I did not like the way the athletic man was watching me intently. Boaz was getting out of the minibus. He was good looking. He was walking down the path and would walk right past Lakshmi. I’m a guy and even I was excited. If I was excited, what was Lakshmi’s heart doing? Then, all at the same moment I pulled the camera out, I felt the athletic man move too close to me, I didn’t like it, I heard Boaz exclaim “Are you staying here?” and I, like a fool, jumped.

It was the athletic man that frightened me. If Lakshmi hadn’t said he was a hitman, I would not even have noticed him. My sudden jump distracted everyone. Everyone looked at me. There was a silence. I felt terrible, and of course Mr. Cool started laughing. He seemed to guess what was up. He laughed and waved to us, saying “Mike, bring our guest down here. He can have as many pictures as he likes. But we should be taking their pictures, you are both nicely turned out!” Turning back to Lakshmi, he repeated, “Are you staying here? I had no idea…” Lakshmi was at a loss for words. She wasn’t prepared for my derailment of her plans…so I jumped in, to try and make amends.

“No, we were out shopping and just happened to stop here for tea.”

“Have you had lunch? Can I get you lunch? Mike, grab a chair.” Turning back to us, he continued as though meeting us on the steps of his hotel was normal and expected, “This is a pleasant surprise! I didn’t expect to see you here!”

“We can’t stay for lunch,” said Lakshmi.

“But you can for a drink?” At that moment an attendant brought the package that had been on the counter for him. “Ah, my jodhpurs [9]! Now you have to see me model my jodhpurs”, giving a tip he continued, “I haven’t got the right boots here, but you must tell me how they look on me.”

Lakshmi was all smiles and starstruck.

I turned to Mike, “I am sorry, you startled me, and I jumped.”

Mike seemed much more relaxed. “Ya, sorry, too, I shouldn’t’a approached you the way I did. I didn’t know who you are, and it is my job to worry about these things.”

“What are your names?” smiled Boaz. “And how on earth did you find me?”

“I phoned around – I’m Lakshmi and this is my brother Arjun. I wanted to learn who you are. Is Boaz your first name or the last name?”

“My name is Boaz Dunston. Well, I am impressed you found me!” (Clearly, he wasn’t falling for my story of tea after shopping). “I should hire you. How did you find me? How much time do you have? Waiter, this gentleman and lady would like a drink,” turning back to us with an inquiring look, adding, “and a menu, too?”

He was a cool dude and I even started to like Mike as I listened and watched my sister and Boaz chat. Their conversation became more animated as time passed. I remember parts of the conversation; it was the special time that happens only once; that special time when a tsunami of information overwhelms you all at once and yet you have more and more questions and you want more and more answers, all at once, and the avalanche of knowledge and facts joyfully makes you giddy…and yet you want more.

“What do you do?”  Lakshmi was usually direct.

“Gemstones. My family has been in the business for a thousand years. There are many pretty stones in northern India.  I’m off to Jaipur tomorrow.”

“Lakshmi likes sapphires” I interjected.

“I like opals. A FIRE opal: a stone with a heart of fire,” said Lakshmi, correcting me. Her eyes shone like a fire opal. Boaz was captivated by her beautiful face; it was obvious.

“You two are characters. I still don’t know how you found me.”

“And Mike is your bodyguard to carry suitcases full of them?”

“Our job isn’t that exciting, I assure you.”

“Those gentlemen you were with yesterday didn’t look happy.”

“We have to pay a reasonable price. Some people are greedy.  Tell me about your family. Are you two still at school?”

“We passed out [10] last year and am working this year so I can do graduation [11] at the Urdang Academy in London, starting this September. It is for dance, founded by Leonie Urdang from South Africa…”

“Oh I know Urdang; it is in Golders Green; that is the heart of Jewish London…”

“…and I am going to be a dancer.  I have saved up money to go, and Arjun is coming to, aren’t you, Arjun?” – I nodded – and she continued “he is going to keep working for our uncle…but how do you know Urdang, it is small, not many people have heard of it?”

“Well, we will be neighbours in September. I live in Golders Green, practically across the street from the Church Hall where you will dance…

“No!” exclaimed Lakshmi.

Even Mike smiled at this revelation.

“We can dance across London together…you’ll love the city,” smiled Boaz.

I thought poor Lakshmi was going to die on the spot at the excitement of possibilities. Oh dear, I thought, the relationship can only go downhill from here.

“Oh, and you are Jewish? With a last name like Dunston? You don’t look Jewish? Is Mike Jewish?”

“Mike is Canadian; Italian-Canadian, from little Italy in Toronto, aren’t you Mike?” asked Boaz as he turned towards Mike, who, looked now as though he was uninterested, or preoccupied with something else. Mike looked at his watch and said something about a meeting. Boaz turned back to us after saying good-bye to Mike.

“Mike has to leave for a meeting; we will still chat ourselves. Tell me about your family – who are the three other siblings I met yesterday?”

“There is dad, Om Bhatti; mum, Ritu Bhatti; Lakshmi, me, I’m 19 – nearly 20; Arjun, my twin; Amithi, 17, and my little sister, Armati, who is 15.  We look after our nani [12], Surabhi, too. We don’t live far from here.”

“What does your dad do?” continued Boaz.

“I like to think our family is unique. But maybe it is not. We are Marwadi, a type of Rajasthani, and we live over there, in the suburbs. Dad used to be an agricultural lorry [13] driver with his own Ashok-Leyland Comet. He was immensely proud of his lorry and did all the maintenance himself. We never stopped hearing about it. Like a good Marwadi, he is a trader. But our uncle told him about a job in Dubai – the one who lives in England – so dad went there, and he hasn’t looked back, actually. I’m not sure what he does there but I think he helps with a fleet of hundreds of lorries. He has gone from running a business out of his cab, visiting farms, to being a supervisor of an empire of big, wheeled things. He has hundreds working for him now. Usually, we don’t see him for months at a time.  It is lucky you met him yesterday. I think the firm he works for carries things like blades, drill bits, sanding discs, things like that. I think it is better money than loads of vegetables were. Arjun, what do you do?” I smiled as she turned to me, and said nothing, and I let her motor on at a hundred miles an hour.  She continued, “Arjun is coming to England with me to work for our Uncle Jacob – he’s a Thomas Christian [14] – there while I go to school. Dad never stops working. Mum is traditional, but she has taken a position now that we are older as a secretary. Not quite sure what she does; either, but we are all convent-educated [15], and the costs mount. We look after Nani, our grandmother, too. And, of course, I am saving to go away to England! Tell me, are you married?”

Boaz laughed again. “No, I am not married. I travel a lot and work a lot. And sometimes it is dangerous. Very dangerous.”

Before we knew it, the hotel men had brought us blankets as the sun dipped behind the building and they had lit the brazier. Not only did the brazier warm us, but I watched the light from the fire reflect off my sister’s face. She looked even more beautiful. They hadn’t stopped talking.  Then the lilting music of the ravanahaththa began, our ancient precursor of the violin. The player sat where I had stood to take the picture of Lakshmi meeting Boaz, and the scene with the music, the setting sun and rapturous conversation was complete.  It was, in fact, divine.

Then suddenly I remembered dinner…and our parents!  I jumped, causing them to jump, too.  “Lakshe, look at the time! Dad will freak and mum will be worried sick!”

“Oh dear; this is my fault. Let me drive you; I have a driver; I can explain to them,” Boaz said getting up and eyeing us up and down, then saying, as we stood up, “Goodness, you are beautiful!”  I think Lakshmi was about to swoon….

Boaz waved his key at the waiter, the waiter nodded, and we walked out towards the parking lot. We had to cross a small turning circle before we got to the lot, and two ominous figures appeared from the shadows on the side.

Boaz suddenly tensed up, stopped, and said “Stay here; do not move”. We stopped. Two thuggish men approached, and they looked threatening.

Boaz took a few steps toward them. One was clearly the boss, as he had a large gold necklace, and the threatening guy hung back. This other one pulled something out of his pocket; I heard a click and saw a blade flash.  Surely Boaz must have seen it!

“You got a pretty paturiya [16] there, Boaz. You don’t want something bad to happen to her, do you, Boaz? Is the boy a launda [17], or your business-boy [18]? Or maybe you just agree to let me enjoy her first?” the man with the gold chain leered.

“Javed, don’t start to play Gabbar Sholay [19] to me. Don’t threaten me, or my friends. You really don’t want to do that.” Boaz’s head momentarily twitched as he saw the muscled man moving around behind him, and at same time the boss moved closer to intimidate Boaz, and Boaz himself moved closer to him – clearly to show he was not intimidated. This terrified us, as now the muscleman was in front us and Boaz was surrounded….

“Oh ya? Why do say that? You’re a tough guy?” taunted the bossman.

The muscle had now moved behind Boaz, and moving quickly, putting the spearpoint knife against the small of Boaz’s back.  This all happened so quickly.

“For this reason…” began Boaz, and, while speaking, in one movement, almost without moving his feet, he swung 180 degrees, using his right forearm to strike hard and fast the wrist of the muscle man behind Boaz. The knife flew off to the left. Still turning, Boaz’s left hand grabbed the muscle’s right wrist, and his now freed right hand clenched into a fist and swung back hitting the muscle’s face with a loud, sickening crack. The muscle stumbled back and fell backwards towards us with a shudder and a cry. This was all in a fraction of a second. We were in awe of the speed and the result. Boaz turned back to the boss, who looked shocked.

“OK. So you know Krav Maga [20], Boaz.” Trying to overcome how startled he was, the gold-chain man stepped back and tried to sound tough. “Next time, a bullet is faster. I’ve warned you.”  The unshaven man looked at the fallen man, who was on the ground, holding his bloodied nose and jaw, and making no effort to stand. He then turned to leave, leaving his man, now vainly trying to stand up with one hand.

“You forgot your knife” rejoined Boaz.

“Keep it. You’ll need it, dirty Jew.”

Boaz turned to us and said calmly, as though nothing had happened, “Now let us get you home.”

We saw that the driver of the minibus had been hiding in the bushes. Now that the coast was clear, he came running out, with great praise for Boaz’s courage. Boaz seemed to ignore this, gave him directions to our house, and we climbed aboard. We were quiet on the way home. I looked out of the window and saw the full moon rising above Mehrangarh Fort. Lakshmi’s soft hand touched my hand on my lap. I turned towards her, and she smiled, and then mouthed a really big “Thank-you.”

As we turned down our modest street, Lakshmi asked softly, “Have you ever killed a man, Boaz?”

He was in the front seat, beside the driver, and we were in the back middle seats.  He turned, and said, “Sometimes; I try to be cerebral about it.”

“I didn’t know diamonds were so dangerous” Lakshmi replied.

Boaz laughed, “Oh I didn’t mean to frighten you. Those men were from a real estate deal in Bombay. Nothing to do with gemstones. I am helping a family who are being harassed by property developers. The family members are all old and none have any money but their land they own. Those were bullies we just met that like to talk big. Not to worry.”

We pulled up at our house with its naked, flickering, florescent light, and mum, dad, nani, Amithi and Armati all came out at the sound of the approaching minibus…

“My apologies, Nani Surabhi, Mr. and Mrs. Bhatti. It is my fault I delayed your children…” began Boaz.

“Look who we met while shopping, mum – the nice man who took our picture yesterday,” interrupted Lakshmi.

“You have been gone all day!” wailed mum, crying with joy, hugging both of us.

“All day?” asked dad, clearly not believing our story, and looking suspiciously at his camera that I was carrying (and trying to cover with my hand) – without his permission.

“Your children were very kind, Mr. Bhatti. My driver took us to Ramdev’s Tailors, and their speaking Rajasthani got me a good price on jodhpurs, which we waited for while they made it for me…”

“Dressed like that, Lakshmi went shopping?” whispered Amithi to me. “Where did you two really go? Who is this handsome man? He smells nice!”

“…and you needn’t have worried, Arjun is strong, grown-up and a gentleman.  You have wonderful children, Nani, Mr. and Mrs. Bhatti,” continued Boaz, buttering up my grandmother, parents and me quite effectively.

“And we got attacked by robbers, and he rescued us!” added Lakshmi.

Dad seemed both alarmed and grateful. “Please come in Mr. Boaz. Thank-you for bringing them home safely. I have some English gin…”

Although Armati seemed to be scowling more than she usually did (she is the smartest of all of us siblings, and is always thinking and scheming about possibilities), Boaz did join us for a supper and he continued to charm and impress us. He just knew how to ask what our family members thought and felt – he was a charmer. Lakshmi barely touched her food. I slipped a little note to her “remember to get his address in England, silly!”

After dinner, we sat in our little sitting room and Lakshmi gave nani her insulin shot.  Boaz seemed impressed.  “You are an accomplished young lady, Lakshmi. You are going to be a dancer, you find my hotel when even my driver couldn’t with the address, and now I see you give injections like a registered nurse. Is there anything you can’t do?” he joked.

Dad replied, “We are proud of our Lakshmi, too” – while mum smiled some more.  Everyone’s eyeballs seemed to grow larger when Lakshmi and I talked about the robbers, and then even larger when Boaz changed the subject to ask about Dad’s lorries.

When it came time for Boaz to leave, Lakshmi’s tears removed any doubt anyone might have had about the whole day. Lakshmi slipped a small, seated Ganesh [21] into his hand, one she had had for years. He looked down at it, smiled with his head a little tilted, and then I saw him bend forward to give her a little kiss before he climbed into the minibus. It was such a perfect kiss. He came towards her proffered lips, slowed as he approached, and kissed gently, before carefully backing up, stopping to look into her face. What a gentleman he was! What a heart throb!

Then we all waved goodbye, and he was gone. Lakshmi, with red, wet eyes, stared after the disappearing vehicle…We all stood quietly, while a tear ran down from mum’s eye (she is too sentimental herself!), and dad’s arms reached out to hug his eldest daughter. After a pause, we walked back into the house, with the only sound coming from the closing door.

Over the coming months we were to hear, time and time again, how Lakshmi felt about that little kiss!

*** 

“Arjun, dear Arjun, help me write to Boaz. I don’t know what to say. If I say what I think he will think I am demon-obsessed….if I say anything less I am not being true….and he may have forgotten me anyway. He probably has.”

“You must state the truth; he may know you already more than you think, dear Lakshe. Let me see what you have written so far.” Lakshmi handed her note to me.  I read it quietly:

            “Dear Boaz, I am a world of emptiness and loneliness. I fear you have forgotten me.  There is no sound, no dream, there is no world without you.  I cannot dance or sing. I am alone, in pain and silence.  I long to see you again. Please write to me!  Soon!”

“If I got this, I would think you’re a demon-possessed, rather than one obsessed, dear Lakse.” But I as the narrator did expect this. “Boaz may have already written to you, you know.”

“I can’t wait for that. And he might not write at all. Why would he, anyway? I am sure he has rich girlfriends. I’ll never see him again.”

Mum had come in from the kitchen, and looked at us. “Why don’t we send a note from the family, saying how much we enjoyed and appreciated his company, and how we are looking forward to seeing him again, and how we hope he can help you settle at school in September?  Make it from all of us, including Lakshmi, to make it sound as if we are a normal family”, added mum. “Of course, you enclose your note inside a sealed envelope.,” she said, smiling, at Lakshmi.

Lakshmi jumped and ran to mum, kissing and hugging her.

[1] long tunic, worn over loose trousers.

[2] fiancée.

[3] The royal residence of Maharajah of Jodhpur, part of which is now a hotel.

[4] an infamous slum of Mumbai (Bombay).

[5] urban slum of tents and lean-tos.

[6] promise based upon the love you have for your mother.

[7] a fabric known for its sheer texture, luxurious drape, often of silk, with woven embellishments.

[8] three-wheeled motorized rickshaw.

[9] riding trousers loose at the thigh and tight at the ankle.

[10] graduated.

[11] a programme which will lead to graduation on successful completion.

[12] grandmother.

[13] truck.

[14] the oldest Christian denomination in India, with roots to St. Thomas the Apostle in the 1^st century AD.

[15] good private school, run by a Christian religious order.

[16] female prostitute.

[17] effeminate of a lower caste.

[18] male prostitute.

[19] a noted film with brave characters standing up to adversity.

[20] Israeli Defense Force street fighting art.

[21] statute of the son of Lord Shiva and Goddess Parvati, an elephant-head god bringing good fortune.