Sniffer dogs roam the lanes.
Soon there’ll be a torrent of luxury cars. Now there’s only the black Land Rover going the other way.
The guards salute as it approaches, run to open the gate.
Tinu speeds through and turns south toward the Police Outpost. When he nears, he slows, beeps once, turns into one of the back lanes.
The van with Ajay follows.
They both park. The engines ticking and cooling. And Ajay is led out, uncuffed.
He watches Tinu climb out of his Land Rover, walk around to the passenger side door, open it, and beckon him in.
“Go on. Enjoy yourself,” his guard says.
* * *
—
“Have you eaten?” Tinu asks. Ajay sits beside him in the Land Rover as Tinu examines the man, notes his empty eyes, the hardened flesh. He’s a soldier now. Or a shell.
“Why am I here?” Ajay asks.
“What I want you to do,” Tinu replies, “is take rest.” The Land Rover is ushered inside the mansion gate. “Enjoy the day. Feel at home. You’re our honored guest.”
They sweep up the drive to a vista of lawns and statues and fountains and flower beds. At the very end, the mansion itself, seventy rooms, three stories high.
They pull up at the gravel entrance. Tinu cuts the engine and climbs out.
Ajay climbs out too, doesn’t wait to be told.
A staff driver runs to take the Land Rover away.
“What can I get you?” Tinu asks, when the car is gone. “Chai? Pani? Cold drink?”
“A cigarette,” Ajay says.
Tinu considers this response with a faint smile, offers him a Classic Mild. He takes one, pulls the filter off, stares out evenly over the lawn to the side, the tables of food and drinks, the stages, the fairground rides. As Tinu lights it for him, Tinu’s phone rings. An important call. “Why don’t you wait over there,” he says, pointing toward the first set of tables. “Eat something, have chai. I’ll be back soon. Don’t go far.” Tinu hurries toward the mansion, hand cupped around the mouthpiece of his phone.
* * *
—
Is this a test? Ajay walks across the gravel to the lawn and looks down. Green, green grass. He removes his loafers, his socks. Takes a long, long drag of the cigarette, smoking it through his balled fist, prison style.
What am I doing here?
They’re watching him, he knows.
He wanders onward, stands among a bunch of workers, fancy people, even some foreigners. Stuffing themselves with samosas, pakoras, sandwiches, pizza slices. Drinking from cans of cola, bottles of mineral water. Pouring cups from giant thermoses of coffee and chai. There are three ice buckets full of Heineken. A foreign guy smiles at him expectantly.
“Could I have one of those?”
But he’s soon unnerved by Ajay’s motionless stare.
And the realization, upon closer inspection, that this young man isn’t as servile as he thought.
Still, Ajay grabs a bottle. Opens it with his teeth, passes it to him.
Walks off with a bottle of his own. Looks out at the woods in the distance, the old villa with the pool. Stops and opens the beer and pours it down his throat, eyes closed.
Curls his toes into the grass.
Feels the gentle breeze, the winter sun on his face.
Soft, perfect, alien.
Numb.
* * *
—
His reverie is disrupted by a tide of applause: the wedding convoy has arrived.
Ten black Audis snake up, four come to a halt outside the mansion, six peel off along a lane cut through the lawn, cruise toward the guesthouses a quarter kilometer away near the modest zoo. Ajay keeps his eyes fixed on those four that sit outside the Wadia home. From the first two, bodyguards in black suits and shades emerge and disperse, their job done. From the third comes Bunty, alone, in his Armani and shades. He stops to light a cigarette, which is dwarfed by his huge hands, his bearded face. He looks around at his world with all the time it affords, then heads up the mansion steps. From the fourth car, the happy couple emerge. First Farah, still laughing, still joyous, waving at the gathering staff and workers, rushing up the steps to catch her father-in-law. She whispers something in his ear and Bunty laughs too. She lays a hand on his lapel, for all to see. Her claim staked, she turns and skips down the steps with catlike grace, dances across the lawns, drawing delighted gasps as she goes. Bunty watches her go, then turns and disappears inside the mansion.
And that black car is left on the gravel alone.
Ajay watches it, with what in his heart?
And finally, he steps out.
Sunny Wadia.
Impenetrable behind his shades.
He stands a lonely figure.