Page 27 of The Secret Keeper of Jaipur

To stop myself from crying out, I slap both hands over my mouth. I can’t speak, but the thoughts run through my head:Vinay! I didn’t want to believe it was you carrying the gold! Why? That’s the very thing we were taughtnotto do: smuggle gold and your family will pay the cost. What will become of Arjun and Sai?Who will keep your sons safe now?

Vinay had always been the dreamer, the one who felt the life he was born to was not the one that he deserved. He always wanted more than he was given. When my father died, as the younger of two brothers he received fewer animals than my older brother, Mahesh. And only sheep; the more expensive goats now belonged to Mahesh. Vinay received less silver, too.

No wonder Vinay always thought life was unfair. When Dev died, and I told my father-in-law that I would stay in Shimla instead of joining our tribe for their migration north, Vinay had uttered something under his breath. I’d pretended not to hear, but his words come back to haunt me now, clear and sharp:Well, you got away, didn’t you?

Was it my departure that had pushed Vinay to forswear his duty to our tribe? To carry gold for racketeers so he could live a life he felt would be superior to the one our tribe could offer him?

I put my mouth against his ear. “Bhai, can you hear me?”

His lips move. Quickly, I untie the sling holding Chullu and lay my son down next to me. I remove the goatskin bag, filled with water, from my waist and hold it up to Vinay’s parched lips with one hand. With my other hand, I lift his head carefully so he can drink. He gulps greedily but most of the water drips down the sides his mouth. I wipe it away with my hands.

“Tell me how this happened.”

No response.

How long has he been lying here? I’m wondering if I can move him, take him back with me to Shimla and the Lady Bradley Hospital?

Now he’s speaking. “Po—t,” he says.

I lean in so close I can smell the staleness of his breath. “We need to get you to the clinic. Dr. Kumar will take care of you.”

Vinay tries to shake his head, but the movement is too painful. He grimaces. “Poc—poc—t.”

I’m trying to think clearly, but my thoughts are jumbled. If his back is broken, I can’t carry him; he’s far too heavy. With the children, it would take me hours to walk back to Shimla. I can’t go on my own and leave the children with Vinay. What should I do?

“Pocket.” He says it with more force this time.

With shaking hands, I rifle through his pockets. He’s carrying his pouch of tobacco, and a few sharpened twigs to clean his teeth. I’m breathing hard, trying not to cry. “Bhai, what am I looking for?”

He tries to point, but he can barely move his arm. “Inside,” he manages to say.

I search until I feel the edge of something solid in the inside left pocket. I turn the pocket inside out and see a tiny home-sewn pouch attached to it. I tug and rip the pocket open with my fingernails and find a matchbox. Bright yellow, printed with an image of Lord Ganesh. I turn it over. I recognize the English script imprinted on the back, but I can’t read it.

“You wanted matches?” I ask, incredulous.

Before he speaks, he runs his tongue along his chapped lower lip. “The go—gold.”

“Vinay, I need to get the doctor.”

“Shee—p.”

I look around, but I see only Neela in the clearing. “I don’t see them, Vinay. Where are the sheep?”

“Keep...” he says. He’s using every ounce of energy he has left to talk. “My sons...”

His lips are moving, but he makes no sound. His body shudders once, and then again, before his mouth yawns open and the breath escapes.

I press my ear to Vinay’s nose, but now there isn’t any breath. Still, the air is thick with his spirit. My children feel it. Chullu starts to fuss. Rekha pulls on my sweater. “Maa?”

I pick Chullu up and stand, taking comfort from his body, from its warmth. I cup the back of Rekha’s head, and she holds tighter to me. There is no need to shield the child from death; we do not do that in my tribe. We want our young to understand that death is as natural as life for man and animals alike, and the sooner they’re aware of that, the better.

“You remember your uncle,bheti?”

She nods.

“He is no more.”

Rekha looks up at me, then back at her uncle’s body on the ground. She puts her thumb in her mouth, a habit she had shaken a year ago.

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