The PuppetMaster (39 page)

Uli was answering my question. “Probably shift it to another place where it can be sold to the best buyer. Und this is where it gets frightening. That could be anyone, a terrorist group, though they usually don’t have equipment to complete the refinement. But a rogue country? Iran, North Korea. They might even sell it back to India.”

That seemed preposterous. “You mean to smuggle it outside the country and then sell it back?”

“You would be surprised how often that happens. Remember what Haroon said? The biggest uraninite mines in India are in the next province. Smuggling und re-selling is common. Last year a shipment made its way to Nepal and was sold to Libya or Pakistan. The International Atomic Energy Agency has new cases every week, but think of getting four thousand dollars a kilogram or more on the black market und you see the motivation.”

“Almost four million dollars a ton?”

“Good money, ya?”

“And you remember all this from university?”

She smiled sweetly. “My mind is good for what I read, und I read a lot”

I maneuvered around a pack of unpredictable bicyclists and pulled up in front of Rayan’s Highspeed Internet Café. Some curious university types watched as it took me three minutes to figure out how to lock the doors and set the alarm.

Rayan was good to his word in regards to high speed. What weren’t so up to date were the computers themselves. A bank of machines on the left looked like Tandy 1000s with five and a quarter inch floppy drives. Green screens glowed below woven tapestries. I groaned and asked the bookish-looking associate if there was something a little closer to the current decade.

“By all means, Brother, we’ve got some Dells in the back corner,” He glanced at a crowd of young males huddled around them, a few now gawking at Uli. “But my guess is it’s forty minutes before they become available. They came in just before you.”

I was considering driving to another café, when Uli nudged my backpack. “Aren’t you forgetting something, Lover?” I looked at her. She pointed merrily at the Acer inside.

Three minutes later, with the help of Rayan’s helpful employee, the Acer was connected and open to the desktop. It wasn’t blazingly fast, but it would suit my purposes.

I started where everyone starts. Google. Imperial Holding International. I expected a few hits and got half a million, but none with the name in a single string. In an advanced search I connected them and also got nothing. I added Lucknow to the search. Nothing. Businesses, corporations, LLCs, and every financial entity in existence with the name Imperial Holding. Nothing that even remotely resembled it. After ten minutes of mega searches and Boolean selections, I admitted failure and came to the ugly conclusion that IHI of Lucknow didn’t exist. Or it existed only in the Uttar Pradesh, way the hell out in the middle of nowhere next to our cave. It was just as Haroon’s report had indicated. A ghost. Strike two.

Before leaving I read three articles on black market uranium and scared the hell out of myself. Uli was right, it was far too prevalent. After a small payment to Rayan’s, we left.

I started the engine and said, “I suppose I should have expected it.”

She didn’t comment, and after a deep, hesitant breath asked, “Bhim?”

I glanced at her for as long as the traffic would allow. Intense longing stared back. “Yes?”

“Do you think we could go to Devamukti’s, and then to the villa to make sure Jitka is alright, and then someplace . . . to be alone? Just for an hour? You and me? Would that be alright, just for an hour?” She was almost pleading.

I had obligations to consider, which I did for about a microsecond. The world could wait. Right now my pledge was to Uli and me, and I told her as much. “The universe has turned inside out in the last ten days, and in the middle of it, the only thing that really makes any sense is you. Being next to you. I want years of it, and right now an hour . . . would be paradise. I know a hotel, and if it stretches into a second hour, what the hell…the world can wait sixty more minutes.”

Her arms wrapped awkwardly around my shoulders and the headrest. Her mouth found the side of my mouth. In a throaty voice, she whispered, “Thank you.”

“By the way,” I whispered back. “I wrote . . . a little something for you.” I fumbled my way into a side pocket of my backpack and pulled out a single sheet folded twice.

She didn’t say anything, just unfolded the paper and read. She studied the Sanskrit first and then read the English twice. A tear slid slowly down her cheek to the corner of her mouth.

“Mein Gott, it’s beautiful.”

“Probably because it’s true.”

“Say it in the Sanskrit, out loud” I took a breath and recited the original. She folded the paper and closed her eyes to recite the lines of English she had just read.

“Like warming lips of spring kissing frozen mountain rains

Unfurling wetted leaves and drying wings of bees

Like shameless rays of moonlight pushing blackness from the night

And sighs of gentle breezes tossing chaff into the air

You release me

Like evening birds of love trilling nightly to the stars

And drops of silver dew moisten parched and sleepy seeds

Like eaglets winging upward at dawn into the sky

Your touch has freed my captive heart to let me live again

You release me.”

As she spoke the final line I realized it was true, she had an amazing memory for what she read.

Sixty-Three

Devamukti was perched in his rocker staring silently out the window at the gate. He peered in expectation, as if his old friend might shuffle through at any moment to take tea and enter into a cordial squabble. The rocker pitched rhythmically, mechanically, his thin frame rolling it barely enough to creak on the floorboards. Standing in the kitchen, I watched as he checked his timepiece and then begin to quietly weep. His friend of sixty-seven years would not be coming to visit this morning.

I lead Uli into the parlor and without a word touched my hands to Master’s feet and sat on the mat next to the rocker. Uli sat on a cushion. Seeing her for the first time, he wiped away a tear and whispered coarsely, “Would you like some tea, My Dear?”

I took his hand and offered the simplest of introductions, “Punditji, this is Uliana Hadersen. Uli, this is Sri Jatanaka Devamukti, the greatest pundit in the world, and my teacher.”

Uli, as always, knew what to say. “It is an honor to meet you, Master. Bhim has told me so many beautiful things about you, especially your skills in the great language.”

For three breaths Devamukti did not utter a word, he simply looked at her. Then the pain in his face seemed to ease a fraction and he reached for her hand. “You bless my home, Uliana Hadersen. Your light shines like the goddess Saraswati into the darkest corners. You are most welcome here.”

He looked at me, and the sadness settled about him again. “So, My Boy, C.G. has left us. Did I ever tell you that we knew each other since we were four and five years old? We met in the school in Bhelpur.”

“Yes, Masterji. I remember you telling me that.”

“He was a friend to me even when I didn’t deserve one. Sometimes I think he was the only friend I’ve really had . . . besides Mirabai.”

I interrupted. “Master, You have a world of friends right here in this city. If I may be permitted to say, having a few come to tea on the occasional afternoon might be a good idea.”

He nodded vaguely at that, and then, as if the memory returned to him unexpectedly, said, “Soma will be cremated tomorrow, Bhim. Sunrise at Manikarnika. I had . . . C.G. and I had to quarrel with the priests over the arrangements. They didn’t think giving a low caste widow dahakarana at that auspicious hour was right. Oldfangled imbeciles. I demanded to preside and they relented when we teamed up on them.” That brought a faint smile.

A lot of changes had come to my teacher in recent days, and I hoped the letter that I was about to hand him would ease them somehow. “I brought this for you, Master. C.G. gave it to me to me just before he died.” Without anything else I placed it on his lap.

Master studied the spidery script, and it seemed to bring a flood of memories. He skimmed his fingers along the border, felt the texture and departing touch of his friend. Gently he pried the seal and removed two sheets. I took Uli into the kitchen to introduce her to Mirabai and brew us a pot of tea.

Mirabai emerged from one of the inner rooms and pulled both of us into warm embraces. She had chai already mulling in a small kettle on the stove and poured three cups. I carried one back to the parlor and found Devamukti weeping, but smiling. He took the cup and laughed sadly. “Even from death he chides me. Even now. I should have known he wouldn’t let me off without a last tickle of my old ribs. Couldn’t pass into Vishnu’s arms without a last frolic at my expense.” He handed me the two sheets. “Read.”

I took a sip and read.

My Eternal Friend, Jatanaka,

I hope, as you begin reading, that you are smiling and laughing at some amusing memory. I hope you are recalling a few of the twenty-three thousand days of our friendship, so many of them brought to my own mind as I pen this. I drift in and out now, and know my time has come. As I do so I think of our mischief together, like the day we swam up beneath the bottom and tipped the finance minister’s boat just enough so everyone tumbled into the river. We caught it for that one, eh Devi? It has been a good, long life of such memories and sometime, not too soon, I pray, we shall create more mischief and merriment together in the world beyond.

It is important for you to know how proud I was to call you my friend, to share cups of chai and plates of iddly, and test each others knowledge in lifelong contest of minds. Fine competitions we had, and like far too many things at the end, I wish I had told you more often how brilliant you really are. How good to me you were. I wish I had told you how much I cherished our friendship. We wait too long to say what is in our hearts, and then the chances disappear and we wallow in regret. But always remember that you gave me so much.

Unquestionably, the greatest gift I received from you was the honor of being a godfather to your only child. It was a responsibility I took more seriously than you might know, one I relished every day of my life. Sukshmi has been a jewel the rajah’s would have coveted. She sparkled the moment she emerged from your beautiful Mirabai, and it made my responsibility that much easier.

Her light fills many dark spaces, Jatanaka.

But, my dear friend, I fear you have not looked carefully at that light of late. It is, I suppose, one of the great afflictions of fatherhood. We draft so many aspirations for our children, and too often those aspirations cloud our vision and prevent us from seeing what is true and right in their lives.

I am certain you remember the oath I took as her godfather, her Dharmapita. I believe I have fulfilled that oath quite satisfactorily. Well enough, in fact, to now call upon the old custom-- my final request of you. And being the brilliant pundit and keen traditionalist that you are, I know you remember the observance. I call upon you now to honor it.

Allow Sukshmi to marry whomever her light-filled heart desires. Let her marry for love, Jatanaka. In a world where hatred rises in every shadow, love is a far better reason to wed than ties to traditions. And that, my dear, wise, venerated, old friend, is my request. I deem it undeniable and expect you to honor it. Though it is difficult to make too many demands from where I now walk, it is our tradition to honor such things, is it not?

Be kind to yourself, Jatanaka. Cherish the gifts in your life. You have many.

Perhaps we shall soon share idly and chai once more.

With all my respect and love,

Your friend,

Chamuk G. Chandragupta

Tears streamed down my cheeks now. The professor was gone. His laugh was gone. His petition was not. I wished Uli and he could have known each other longer. They would have laughed well together.

In due course, Mirabai entered and the four of us passed a pleasant, though expectedly solemn, half hour together.

Before we left, Devamukti told us what had been arranged in regards to the translation; a traditional announcement to all the major Sanskrit societies in the country was going out. It included four tantalizing couplets and a full description of our findings. To ensure every group took it seriously, his name, Chandragupta’s, and mine appeared on B. H. University letterhead. Dozens of mailings were being prepared by two of C.G.’s former students, and it would all be finished that afternoon. He had also concurred with Satnam Kangri’s idea of announcing it to the Ayurvedic societies first.

It was beginning.

Sixty-Three

An hour later I checked us into the Clarks Tower Hotel--a deluxe, white layer cake of modern air-conditioning, wrapped hand soaps, soft pillows, lotions, and cream rinse. Before we took to the elevator to our room, I took us through a richly-tiled lobby to an over-priced boutique. Together, Uli and I chose a pair of silk pajama pants for her. They were green and gathered at the ankles. We also found a rose and peach-colored blouse that set her lapis eyes ablaze in contrast.