Follow the Elephant (6 page)

Ben stared out the window. A goddess who demanded sacrifices? India was epic. His thoughts drifted along as the miles passed when suddenly there was a loud bang and the car veered to the right. Gran had fallen asleep and woke with a start. “What’s that? What happened?”

Padam jumped out. “Flat tire. Oh, good golly, we are having a flattened tire!”

Madhu scratched his bald head and peered at the rear tire, which had collapsed over the rim. “No problem,” Madhu said. “We have a spare in the boot.”

Ben had never seen a tire worn so thin; in fact, there was no tread at all. Padam rushed excitedly around, but it was Madhu who calmly jacked up the car and replaced the tire. Ben went over to Gran, who was sitting at the side of the road. “I’m not sure we’ll make it to Agra, Gran. There’s no tread on the new tire either.”

“This five-hour trip is taking all day,” Gran said. “I just want to get there alive.”

It was late afternoon when they finally reached Agra. Madhu stopped at the first hotel they came to. Over the door of the Hotel Rama, flashed a neon sign:
THREE STAR DELUX! AIR-CONDITIONING!

Padam and Madhu offered to stay to drive them back to Delhi, but Gran said it might take several days to find Shanti. She insisted they return to work in Delhi. “Thank you so much, kind friends,” Gran said. “Such a long day for you. It will be after midnight before you get back.”

“Our simple lives are rich-rich for spending this long day with Norah memsahib and Ben sahib,” Madhu said.

Gran passed the money from her fanny pack to Ben so he could pay Madhu. Ben gave Madhu an amount that seemed fair. Without saying any more about it, Gran had started letting Ben handle all their money. The two men thanked them and bowed low in respectful
namastes
. Ben and Gran returned the blessing and watched the small grey car turn back toward the highway.

“It’s sad to say goodbye to Padam and Madhu, isn’t it?” Ben said.

Gran nodded as she shifted her backpack. “That’s the way travel is. You connect with people and never see them again. Every time I think of the Red Fort I’ll think of Padam giggling about Shah Jahan’s wives.”

“Every time I think of that pit for a toilet, I’ll remember this trip,” Ben said.

The Hotel Rama desk clerk lifted his head from reading the newspaper and signed them in. The lobby was shabby, and the room with twin beds wasn’t clean, but they were too weary to care.

“What a day,” Gran said, leaving her smelly runners outside the door. She tossed her socks in the corner and plopped down on one of the beds. “First thing in the morning we’ll look for Shanti’s parents.”

No dinner tonight, Ben thought. He ate two of the leftover bananas. But when he tried to get the television to work, the screen flashed in a scramble of black-and-white lines.

“I’ll see if the man at the desk can fix it. Be right back,” Ben said.

“Of course, sir,” the desk clerk said. “We will be sending up our repair man.”

Ben went to the front door and scanned the street. In the darkness a non-stop crowd of rickshaws and motorbikes sped by. He looked for a sign advertising internet service, but didn’t see one. He’d wait to email until after they’d found Shanti’s house. It would be good to have some real news. Maybe someone would have responded on the school site too.

Ben went back up to the bedroom, and after a long wait, answered a timid knock at the door. An old man stood with a toilet plunger in his hand. “I have come, sir, to fix for you.”

“But it’s the television that’s broken!” Ben said.

The man waved the plunger in the air. “Oh, sir, but I am not knowing about television. In the morning you will be having a man who is the expert.”

Ben laughed with Gran. “Do you suppose he thought we’d use the plunger like an ear trumpet?”

“He did seem sorry he couldn’t help us,” Gran said. She was reading on her bed. “Ben, it’s stuffy in here. That ceiling fan must be what they call air-conditioning. Would you please turn it on?”

Ben flicked the switch on the wall, but the wooden blades didn’t move. “Some three-star hotel!” Ben said. “I’ll try the front desk again.”

I’d better make it clear, Ben thought as he approached the desk clerk. He moved his arms in a circle over his head. “Broken fan. It’s too hot.”

The desk clerk sighed. “Sir, I understand, and now we will be sending our fine repair man up most hastily indeed.”

Another long wait, then Ben opened the door to the same old man, this time with a fly swatter in his hand. “I am here to fix,” he said.

Ben could hear Gran stifling her laughter behind him.

“But it’s the fan.” Ben pointed to the ceiling. “The fly swatter won’t do much good.”

The poor man looked stricken and backed away. “Most sorry, sir. Extremely most sorry.” He rushed back down the hallway, the fly swatter hanging uselessly in his hand.

Gran and Ben lay on their beds and laughed until their stomachs ached.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw a scurry of something moving in the corner of the room. Then another movement. Cockroaches. Better not tell Gran. She’d spaz for sure.

“Look at the sign over the door, Gran.” Ben pointed to a crudely lettered message in a frame.

HOTEL RAMA

It’s more than a hotel, it’s an experience

“They’re right about that,” Ben said as he joined Gran in another burst of laughter. He laughed so hard he forgot all about the long drive and the terrible toilets and how far they were from anyone they knew. He even forgot how much his grandmother had been annoying him.

THE HOTEL RAMA
appeared even drearier in the morning than it had at night. Ben agreed with Gran that they couldn’t trust the empty restaurant near the front door. They crossed the street to another restaurant and ordered what everyone else seemed to be having for breakfast. The parathas turned out to be steaming hot bread pockets stuffed with potatoes and onions. “Better than porridge any day,” Ben said.

As they sat at the table waiting for the server to bring tea, Ben said, “You know, Gran. You’ve been handing the money over to me to pay. Why not let me keep it?”

“I do find the whole money thing a hassle, but I don’t know, Ben.”

“I can do it. I’d like to. You can keep the bank card.”

“I’ve got over three hundred dollars in rupees here, Ben. It’s too much responsibility for a boy your age.”

“I
need
responsibility. I told Mum I’d help you.”

She was so frustrating. A grandmother should know that thirteen-year-olds need to be challenged. How could he persuade her that it would be easy for him to take care of the money? Maybe if he tried to look older.

Gran was watching him. Ben adjusted his expression, putting what he hoped was a serious slant on his mouth, a knowing frown across his eyebrows. He hoped he looked at least sixteen.

Gran smiled. “Okay, Ben, you’re so eager to do it. I’ll let you try being in charge of the money. But you’ve got to wear my fanny pack. It’s the safest place for it.”

There was no way Ben could see himself traipsing around like a geeky kid with a black pouch flapping over his stomach. He pulled his wallet out of his front pocket. “Our money will be totally safe here.” He opened the wallet, folded the money Uncle Bob had given him and tucked it into a smaller pocket. He held open the main compartment. “See, lots of room for that wad of yours!”

Gran had her fingers on the zipper of her pack. “I’d worry you’d be pick-pocketed, Ben.”

“Never! My wallet is a tight fit in the front pocket of my jeans.”

Reluctantly, Gran handed Ben the rupee bills. They were in a pile as thick as a paperback book. Ben packed them into his wallet, fastened the strap and stood up to stuff it in his pocket. He leaned his elbows on the table and grinned at Gran. It was a lot of money, but she’d see, he’d have no trouble taking care of it.

Gran smiled back. “First thing we need to do is take our malaria pills.” She passed a cup of tea to Ben. “Then we go to find the house where Shanti’s parents lived.”

“Got the cash! I’m ready!” Ben said.

“Don’t joke about it, Ben. I’m suddenly feeling nervous about going to Shanti’s old house.” Gran’s hand shook as she put down her cup. “It’s possible that Shanti’s right here in Agra. I’m not sure I’m ready to meet her.”

“Gimme a break, Gran. We’ve flown all the way from Canada, waited for two days at the registry office, travelled a whole day yesterday to get to Agra and now you get cold feet? Don’t back out now!”

“You’re right, Ben. I’m being silly.”

Your words, not mine, Ben thought. Funny how one minute he’d be laughing hard with Gran and the next he’d be totally frustrated and irritated with her. At least he wouldn’t have to watch her fumble with the money anymore.

A constant stream of cycle rickshaws came along the street, each cyclist hoping to be called over. A driver jumped down in front of them, pointing for them to use his rickshaw. He helped Gran get up into the seat and Ben got in beside her.

Gran took the address from her fanny pack. “We need to go to 187B Station Cross Road.”

“Memsahib, I will take you there directly and safely,” said their driver, springing onto his bike. “Though it will not be possible from here to be seeing the Taj Mahal, please do be enjoying the sights of Agra.”

He cycled at a leisurely pace along streets full of shops and crowded with people. He carried on a conversation by turning around in his seat, his legs pedalling steadily. He told them his name was Nabir. “I am the proud father of four sons and one daughter who live with my wife far away in my home town.”

“You don’t live with them? You live here in Agra?”

“Yes and yes-no. For most of the year I live right here in my rickshaw.”

It did look as though Nabir had all his worldly goods with him. Cloth bags and boxes were piled along the sides of the rickshaw, and there seemed to be more stored under the seat.

“My family live over one hundred kilometres to the east, and I visit them every year.”

“You mean you only see your wife and children once a year?” Gran asked.

“Yes, but I am sending money to them every week. That is why I work hard.”

Ben thought that even if you only saw your father once a year, at least you’d know he was coming back. Those kids were luckier than he was. He’d never see his dad again.

Nabir turned onto a street with a tidy row of houses and stopped at 187B. Gran and Ben looked at each other. This could be it. In one minute they could be seeing Shanti. A very wrinkled woman opened the door. Gran said, “We’re looking for someone. Do you speak English?”

The woman shook her head and backed away, leaving the door slightly open. After a short wait, a young man appeared.

“I speak English,” he said. “At least a little. How can I help you?”

Gran explained that the central registry office had given them this address for the Mukherjee family. The young man told them to wait while he asked his grandmother, who spoke only Hindi. He came back to say that his grandmother had lived in this house for thirty years and the residents before her were not called by that name. She thought older neighbours next door may have known the family. He would take them there.

The large house with an overgrown garden had an iridescent red and green parrot screeching at the world from its perch by the front door. Gran and Ben were introduced to the elderly couple who lived in the house.

The old man invited them to sit on the sofa and introduced himself as Mr. Sandhu. His wife was blind, he said, but her hearing was still good. They both listened carefully as Gran told her story.

“Indeed, we do know of them,” said Mr. Sandhu, as his wife nodded. “In fact they were our friends many years ago.”

Ben nudged Gran. At last. Gran had a smile on her face and sat forward on her seat. “How wonderful!”

“They were a lovely family,” Mrs. Sandhu said in a frail voice. “We used to watch the young boy and girl playing in the garden.”

“Was the girl called Shanti?” Ben asked.

“She could have been,” said Mr. Sandhu.

“Yes, Shanti was her name,” said Mrs. Sandhu, smiling. “She wore her hair in long braids. She was a serious girl, always reading.”

Gran clapped her hands together. “That’s Shanti for sure!”

“What happened to them?” Ben asked.

“The boy left to attend medical school.”

“And Shanti?” said Ben. This was getting exciting.

“When she turned ten her parents sent her to a good girls’ school, on the coast, I believe,” said Mrs. Sandhu.

“Yes, I know about the school. I don’t think it’s there now,” Gran said.

Ben wondered if it was time to let the cat out of the bag about trying to track Shanti down through the school site, but Gran had turned to the Sandhus to ask a question. “What about her parents? Are they still living?”

“They retired to Varanasi, east of here, to run a guest house. As far as I know, they are still there. Many tourists travel to Varanasi to bathe in the Ganges River, so owning a guest house there would provide a good income,” Mr. Sandhu said.

“What was the name of the guest house?” Ben asked.

Mr. Sandhu shook his head. “Sadly, I am not able to remember. You see, we lost touch completely.”

“All this was many years ago. My husband and I are close to ninety,” said Mrs. Sandhu.

Ben could see that Gran looked pale.

“Oh, to be so close,” Gran said as she thanked the Sandhus. She and Ben turned down the pathway of the garden and waved goodbye to the elderly couple as they reached the gate.

“Just a minute,” called Mrs. Sandhu. “I’ve remembered that the guest house had the name Vishnu in it. Vishnu, yes … I’m sorry I can’t remember more.”

“Great!” Ben said. “That’s a big help. We’ll find it.”

“There’s an overnight train to Varanasi,” called Mr. Sandhu. “It leaves at ten in the evening and you arrive at five in the morning. Be sure to get an air-conditioned sleeper.”

Mrs. Sandhu added, “Varanasi is India’s most sacred city. Since your train arrives early, you must try to visit the river at sunrise. Then you must find a guest house with the name Vishnu.”

Gran and Ben waved goodbye and started down the street. Suddenly Gran came to a halt. Her eyes scanned up and down the street as though she needed to memorize it. “I’m standing here knowing that Shanti walked on this street fifty years ago. I’ve got goose bumps all over my arms.”

How a person could have goose bumps in such hot weather was beyond Ben, but he knew what Gran meant. They hadn’t found Shanti yet, but they seemed to be getting closer. He felt his pocket to make sure the wallet was there.

Curled up on the plastic seat of his rickshaw, Nabir dozed in the shade. Pleased at their news, he grinned at them, then jumped on his seat and began the long cycle back to the town centre.

Ben punched the air with his fist. “This is a hot lead, Gran. We’ll take that train to Varanasi tonight. It won’t be hard to find a guest house called Vishnu and I’ll bet Shanti’s parents are still there.”

‘You’re more optimistic than I am, Ben. They’d be so old.” Gran seemed to be afraid to count on anything. She sighed and squared her shoulders. “Now I think we should see the Taj Mahal. Maybe we should check out of the Hotel Rama first.”

Going up the hotel steps, Ben said, “It’s just too bad we won’t have their deluxe service for another day!”

Gran gave a weak little laugh.

The desk clerk assured them he had a secure room behind the reception desk for their luggage. “Put your passports and visas in the packs. They will be safer here than in the crowds at the Taj Mahal. You will see,” he said. He put the backpacks in the dark room and made a show of locking the door. “No need for a baggage ticket. I myself will be at the desk all day.”

“Makes me a bit nervous leaving everything here,” Gran said on their way out.

Ben made a face. “Never fear. Nothing can go wrong with Mr. Fix-it on the team.”

This time he made Gran laugh out loud.

Nabir was waiting and gave them a ride to the entrance of the Taj Mahal.

Ben pulled out three hundred rupees for a tip and lifted his eyebrows in a question at Gran. She nodded and Ben handed the money to Nabir. “Maybe you can visit your family a few months early this year.”

Without counting the bills, Nabir tucked them into an invisible pocket in his worn dhoti. “My thanks, and now I see that you will be having good fortune as the queue for the Taj is not so long.” Ben wondered what he meant. The lineup was more than twice as long as a soccer field.

“What’s so great about this Taj Mahal anyway?” he asked Gran, as they took their place at the end of the line.

“It’s said to be the most beautiful building in the world, and it’s special for me because Shanti talked about it.”

After a long hot wait they reached the front of the line and the ticket booth. Ben purchased the entrance tickets and they went through a dim passageway, where a crowd of men waited to be hired as guides.

A man’s voice beside them said, “Welcome, memsahib, and also to you, sir, with the fine Canadian hat. Please let me be your guide to this great testament to love we call the Taj Mahal.”

“It’s all right. We’ll see it by ourselves,” Gran said, turning away.

The guide followed behind and continued talking. “You must know that it was built by Emperor Shah Jahan as a burial spot for his beloved wife, who died giving birth to their fourteenth child.”

Gran said, “I think we’d rather see it alone.”

“Memsahib,” the eager man answered. “I am able to point out the features of the Taj and also to instruct your son in the locations for the best photographs. He has a fine camera I see.” The man had a big smile and the largest ears Ben had ever seen.

“I’m sure your services would cost a lot of money,” Gran snapped.

“At the end of our time together, you may pay me whatever you think I’m worth,” said the guide. “I have a university degree in history, so you may ask me any questions.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Ben said. This guy seemed honest and he could use some help getting the best shots. If the man thought he was Gran’s son, it didn’t matter.

“We can manage, thank you,” Gran said, dismissing the guide, who shrugged and turned away.

“I think we should have hired him,” Ben said. “He’s just trying to earn a living.”

“People like that are after money from tourists, Ben. You and I can see everything on our own.” She stopped by the archway. “Before we go in could you please buy some bottled water at the kiosk?”

The clerk placed the two bottles on the counter and Ben reached for his wallet. The pocket where he kept it was empty. So was the other pocket. Quickly, he searched his back pockets, even though he never put his wallet there. It was impossible, but the wallet was gone. Along with all Gran’s money and his own too, it had vanished. Ben’s face felt sweaty, and his scalp prickled. He always put the wallet back in his pocket. Somehow he must have dropped it. Or left it on the counter at the ticket booth. Yes, it was probably there.