India Fortunes: A Novel of Rajasthan and Northern India through Past Centuries

India Fortunes

Book Two of The Mangarh Chronicles

A Novel of Rajasthan and Northern India through Past Centuries

Gary Worthington

Acclaim for Gary Worthington’s India Fortunes

Notable Book Award for the Year

— Writers Notes Magazine

Superbly written, highly recommended.

— Midwest Book Review

An absolute jewel. Ranks with the best of adventurous historical fiction.

— Independent Publishing Review

India Fortunes:

Book Two of The Mangarh Chronicles

By Gary Worthington

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Gary Worthington

All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of each original purchaser only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed are either products of the author’s imagination or, if actual historical persons, are used fictitiously.

Dedications: For Sandra; for Dad; and in memory of Mom.

Preface

I originally wrote drafts of India Fortunes and its companion India Treasures as one long project. But the body of writing became so huge that I divided it into two books, the first one published as India Treasures in America and as The Mangarh Chronicles by Penguin in South Asia.

I wrote each book to be self-contained; however, each novel does enhance the understanding of the events and characters in the other, and India Treasures depicts events happening prior to those of this book.

This novel is intended to be enjoyed as a whole, but the eight individual stories are mostly complete in themselves, so they can be read separately as time permits.

A Character List and a Glossary, both with pronunciation guides, are at the end of the book to help readers unfamiliar with Indian names and words. In the Notes near the end of the book, I discuss the extent to which the characters and events in each story are fictional or real.

My Web site at http://www.GaryWorthington.com has additional information, including some personal tips on traveling in India, and various links.

I’m greatly interested in your comments regarding the book. Please contact me by email through Gary[at]GaryWorthington.com.

Above all, enjoy your reading!

Gary Worthington

Olympia, Washington

Table of Contents

Map of Northern Indian Subcontinent

Map of Mangarh

The Treasure of Mangarh, Part One, 1976

Indira Gandhi’s Emergency

Visits to Tihar Jail, a palatial farmhouse, and an ashram

The search resumes for the Mangarh treasure

The Master Builder, 1623-1642

The Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan

The building of the Taj Mahal

The Treasure of Mangarh, Part Two, 1976

The search continues for the treasure

Shivaji’s Fortunes, 1663-1666

The Maratha King Shivaji

The sack of Surat

The Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb

Shivaji’s legendary sword

The Treasure of Mangarh, Part Three, 1976

The treasure hunt continues

Loyalty, 1698-1704

The founding of the Sikh Khalsa

Guru Gobind Singh

The Treasure of Mangarh, Part Four, 1976

A visit to a temple

The search continues for the treasure

Temples to Shiva, 1858

The Mutiny of 1857 and the British Raj

The Rani of Jhansi

The Treasure of Mangarh, Part Five, 1976

The search continues for the treasure

Reformers in Mangarh, 1938-1939

Mahatma Gandhi

The hazards for reform movements in the princely states

Agitation for the rights of Untouchables

Jawaharlal Nehru

The Treasure of Mangarh, Part Six, 1976

The search continues for the treasure

A visit to a gem trader

Exploring the old tunnels beneath the fortress

Mangarh Jails, 1939-1940

Repression against reformers in the princely states

Terrorism against British rule

The Treasure of Mangarh, Part Seven, 1976-1977

Kaushalya and the Chands are jailed

Vijay faces riots in Delhi

The Emergency ends

The Costs of Freedom, 1947

Indian Independence

Nehru, Jinnah, Mountbatten, and Patel

Troubles at the partition of the Punjab

The end of princely states

A horrifying train ride

The Treasure of Mangarh, Part Eight, 1977

Maharaja Lakshman Singh runs for Parliament

Kaushalya is abducted

A terrifying chase through the old fortress

A conclusion to the treasure hunt

Notes

Character Lists for the Stories

Glossary

Acknowledgments

About the Author

The Treasure of Mangarh, Part One, 1976

List of Characters in this Story

Glossary of Indian Language Words Used

Back to Table of Contents

1

Mangarh, Rajasthan State, 6 January 1976

Kaushalya Kumari hated to make the phone call, but she at last concluded it was unavoidable. She rose from the cushioned platform swing that hung from the ceiling of her apartments in the Bhim Bhawan palace and padded barefoot to her desk. The princess had been out in the hills earlier, so she still wore the traditional Rajput ankle length skirt, though she had removed the odhni from her head, and the long, veil-like scarf now lay on her shoulders. Gopi, her elderly maid and companion, sat nearby in a wicker chair, absorbed in sketching a flock of parrots in flight from the neem tree outside the tall windows.

Kaushalya picked up the telephone, carried it almost to the end of its long cord, and stood gazing at the view over the balcony to the sparse khejari trees on the hillside. She sighed, set the phone on the deep window sill, and dialed the operator for a trunk call. After first trying the Ashok Hotel in New Delhi, she located Dev Batra at his farm in Rajasthan. Princess, how good to hear from you, said Batra through the noise on the line.

She tried to swallow her distaste. I assume your recovery from the bee stings is progressing satisfactorily, Batraji?

He chuckled, obviously pleased she had been forced not only to phone him but to inquire about his health. Quite well. Over a hundred stings, Kaushalyaji! Can you believe it? But I should be back to normal soon.

Too bad, she thought. She said, Now that our treasure has been found, I assume my father will be promptly released from Tihar Jail?

Of course, Kaushalyaji. Why not?

She held her breath. You’ll truly set him free now?

I see no further reason to hold His Highness. After he apologizes to the Prime Minister, naturally, but I’m sure he’ll be willing to do that.

Oh, God, she thought. Her father would never, ever, apologize to that woman.

Kaushalyaji, why are you so quiet?

You—the government—has what it wants now that the treasure is found. Surely an apology to the Prime Minister isn’t really necessary, Batraji.

Oh, yes. Her son would never agree otherwise. Sanjay has said so every time I’ve asked him.

I bet you’ve asked him a lot, she thought. That may be a problem, she said. "My father is stubborn. If anything, he’d want Indiraji to apologize to him."

Then it appears you’ll have to talk with your father, won’t you?

Since when has lack of an apology been a legal reason to hold someone in prison?

Batra gave a harsh laugh. The Emergency’s still in effect, or didn’t you remember? Besides, there was that big arsenal we found. It looks to me like your father might have been a serious danger to state security.

You know those weapons were legal when they were imported in 1947! And there’s no evidence whatsoever they were intended for use against the government.

But the whole matter certainly looks suspicious, doesn’t it? With the press censored so heavily, any publicity about those arms might make it appear quite dangerous to release your father.

She tried to swallow her anger. "We all know he’s not dangerous. Especially with his health so bad. Can—can you talk with Sanjay? Maybe get him to make an exception?"

There was silence. Then: Possibly. However, I’m still most uncomfortable from my bee stings, you know. Anyway, it would cheer me immensely if you could come visit me, to take my mind off the pain....

She clenched her teeth. I’ll think about that.

Good. Another thing, Kaushalyaji. Now that your treasure’s been found, you have a great deal of wealth at your disposal. Maybe you could use some of it to speed up your father’s release. I wouldn’t be interested in it myself, of course, but I might convince others in positions of influence to support your father’s cause.

He was certainly not being subtle. Batraji, you know the government has tied up everything until the amount of tax we owe has been determined.

Of course. But now that you know that you’ll definitely be coming into crores of rupees sometime within the next few years, you should be more free to make use of the assets you do have control over.

She gritted her teeth. You must know from the tax investigation that we have almost nothing left in liquid assets, Batraji. Until the government releases the items from the treasure to us, we’re in a tight bind. We can hardly even pay our servants. Maybe you could help speed the process of determining the tax owed.

Silence for a few moments. I’ll consider doing that. Meanwhile, I do have contacts with buyers who are selling art objects abroad. There is now quite a market in America and Japan and Europe for items salvaged from old buildings in India. I think if some of those palaces in your fortress were, uh, partially dismantled, the profits from selling things such as carved doors and windows and all those marble elephants might be quite impressive.

She was so shocked that for a few moments she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. That fortress is our heritage! It’s not only an historic monument, it’s a masterpiece of architecture! We’d never, ever, agree to anything that harms the buildings!

He was apparently taken aback at her vehemence, as it was several seconds before he resumed. Well, maybe I got a bit carried away, Princess. But as you know, the government’s now claiming ownership of the fort. Maybe I could get the claims dropped if you, ah, reconsidered selling part of it off.

She was too furious to think of anything to say.

Anyway, he resumed, if you came up with some funds to contribute to the cause of getting your father released, it could speed things up considerably. Especially since you seem to be reluctant to meet my other suggestions.

Her fingers hurt from gripping the phone. She shifted it to her other hand. I’ll have to think about it all.

Don’t think too long, Kaushalyaji. Almost no people jailed in the Emergency are getting released, you know.

Two days later, Kaushalya and her brother Mahendra, with Gopi in the rear seat of the jeep, drove to New Delhi to visit their father. In the outskirts of the city, Kaushalya averted her eyes from a big signboard declaring in English:

Courage and Clarity of Vision, Thy Name is Indira Gandhi.

With the State of Emergency continuing, messages to the citizenry were appearing on the busier avenues in New Delhi. Each one was an added annoyance to Kaushalya.

After so many frightening hours as a passenger with her daredevil brother at the wheel of his jeep, she was relieved to arrive intact at Mangarh House. Amar, the old chowkidar, swung open the gate, and they entered the oasis of the tree shaded gardens surrounding the big bungalow. She stepped from the jeep to greet Amar, who stood with his palms pressed together and his head lowered. So good to see you, she said.

Welcome, Princess. You had a good journey from Mangarh?

She laughed, glancing toward Mahendra, who was entering the house, followed by Gopi. Let’s just say I survived. My brother drives quite aggressively, you know.

Amar suddenly turned his head and shouted, No! He glanced back to Kaushalya. Pardon, Princess! He snatched his long bamboo staff and hurried to chase a large, white, humpbacked cow back out to the street.

He closed the gate and returned to Kaushalya. That cow! She’s always hanging around outside, just waiting for a chance to come in and eat all the flowers.

Kaushalya grinned. Well, I’m sure our garden’s safe with you protecting it. I’d better go get cleaned up.

Inside the house, she spoke to Mahendra and they agreed to meet later at the jail for the visit. After checking the cook regarding meals, she went to her own rooms and took a refreshing bath and a brief nap. Then she drove herself and Gopi in the Maharaja’s old Jaguar sedan.

Facing one of the main thoroughfares, a big white billboard with red letters stated:

The emergency provides us a new opportunity to go ahead with our economic tasks.

Smt Indira Gandhi, Prime Minister.

How can we go ahead with our economic tasks if most of us are in jail? asked Kaushalya tartly.

It’s disgraceful to treat His Highness as if he were a criminal! said Gopi. Who could have thought such a thing would ever happen?

They saw that Mahendra was already waiting outside the main gate to Tihar. Gopi remained in the car as Kaushalya walked to her brother. There are more of those disgusting signs every day, she said, not caring if she were overheard by the nearby guard.

Mahendra tightened his lips and nodded. They ducked their heads as, one at a time, they stepped through the small door inset in the larger steel one. Inside the building, at least the filling out of forms went faster, now that the staff recognized the two as regular visitors.

When Maharaja Lakshman Singh was escorted into the visiting room, Kaushalya thought he looked terrible. His thick mustache had gone all gray, and it gave the impression of drooping listlessly. His frame, once so impressive at his original six-foot-two height, had shrunk visibly.

So they found some treasure in the fortress, her father said.

Kaushalya couldn’t resist: Daddyji, why didn’t you tell us about it? Maybe we could have done something.

What would you have done? Told the income tax raiders about it?

Not without your permission, of course, Daddyji. But it could have saved everyone a lot of trouble, and maybe even have gotten you out of here sooner.

He shook his head. It wouldn’t have gotten me released. You know that.

Still, Father, asked Mahendra, why did you feel you had to keep the treasure so secret?

Lakshman Singh coughed several times, hard. When he had recovered enough, he said, I didn’t want this corrupt government to get control of it. For at least three centuries, every Maharaja of Mangarh has preserved that wealth, as a sacred trust for the people of the state. I didn’t want to be the one to lose it.

Bad as the government is, Father, said Mahendra, I don’t think it’ll keep control of the treasure forever. Once the taxes and penalties are paid, we can keep the rest.

Maybe. But the Indian government promised me certain things in exchange when I gave up my throne and turned over the assets belonging to my state. You know I was to receive a pension for life, to keep my title of Maharaja, to keep certain privileges. It was even in the Indian Constitution! And look what that woman did! Do you blame me for not trusting this government with our remaining wealth?

Mahendra and Kaushalya glanced at each other. She said, I do understand, Daddyji.

Lakshman Singh added, And see what they’ve done with my fortress! Claiming ownership now! That fort is clearly mine under the agreement merging Mangarh with Rajasthan. The agitation brought on another round of coughing.

Daddyji, Kaushalya asked, have you seen a doctor lately?

I did just last week. He gave me some antibiotics. He was overcome by another coughing fit.

Kaushalya and her brother again looked at each other. She looked back to her father with pain in her eyes. Are you able to stay warm enough at night with the extra blankets we brought? she asked.

Oh, yes. When the room gets cold— he coughed several times —I just pull the blankets and durries over my head.

Father, said Mahendra, we haven’t given up on getting you out soon.

Lakshman Singh shrugged. I’ve quite resigned myself now. I have so many friends in here. He grinned feebly. I spend much more time with them now than when I was on the outside.

That still can’t make up for it, said Kaushalya.

Their father bent over again in a fit of coughing. When he had recovered enough to talk, he said, hoarsely, You must be relieved that the income tax people are leaving you alone, now that they have found the treasure in the fort.

Yes, said Mahendra, we’re delighted to be rid of them. What a nuisance that was, having them poking their noses into every corner of our lives.

As they left the jail, Kaushalya said to her brother, I can’t believe he’s still in there after all this time. That cough’s going to kill him!

I know, Mahendra said. Unfortunately, I don’t put much faith in the legal system at the moment.

What other choices do we have? Everyone who protests too loudly gets arrested himself.

Mahendra did not respond at first. Eventually he said, I don’t know for sure. But maybe it’s time to do some serious negotiating with the people who are running our country. Give them at least something of what they’re after.

She thought of Dev Batra’s continually trying to seduce her. She’d been careful to keep that from her brother. She eyed him curiously. What more can we give them? Other than an apology from Daddyji, which he’d never do. The treasure has already been found.

Mahendra scowled. I thought of something that might even be better than an apology. But it’s too early to talk about it. I’ll let you know when I’ve worked out more details.

You won’t do anything Father would disapprove of?

He looked away. Let’s not talk about it right now. It’s chancy, anyway.

2

New Delhi, 10 January 1976

Anil Ghosali ambled into Vijay Singh’s office, seated himself, and took out his S-curved pipe. He lit it and began smoking. All without a word.

Vijay was not as annoyed as he would have been previously. With his reputation enhanced by his success in the raid at Mangarh, he was now considerably less worried about Ghosali’s rivalry for the upcoming promotion to Assistant Director of Inspection. He rang the bell for chai. He had just invested in a new china teapot with a matching set of cups and saucers, mainly so he could offer better hospitality to visitors.

Ghosali stared at Vijay through the thick lensed eyeglasses. You must be quite pleased, he said, to have been the one to find the famous treasure.

Vijay shrugged and said carefully, We all found it. Naturally it’s gratifying to have come up with the idea. But you and all the other officers tried hard, too. I was just lucky enough to be the one to get the inspiration.

Ghosali smiled tightly. Very modest of you to put it that way. You remember, he said, laying his pipe on the desk, when we visited the gem dealer in Mangarh? You asked about a number of well-known items of jewelry that were assumed to be part of the hoard.

So that’s it, thought Vijay. He’s realized it too. The most famous of the Mangarh gems were not with the treasure. Naturally, I remember, he said. Those still haven’t been found, of course. So I assume they were probably sold or broken up into smaller pieces long ago.

Ghosali again smiled. You have evidence that the stones were cut up?

No, it’s only the most likely assumption. You know something to the contrary? He wondered what Ghosali was leading up to.

Ghosali shook his head no. Yet, it seems our job was only partially done.

Vijay shrugged. Maybe. But that’s not really for us to say, is it? The tea arrived, and Vijay momentarily busied himself with clearing a space for Ghosali’s cup and saucer on the desk.

Ghosali took a sip of the chai. I also made certain inquiries and cultivated sources of information while I was in Mangarh. There are tales of huge quantities of gold in the treasure. However, only the one small chest of ingots was found.

To most people, that is a huge quantity, said Vijay dryly. Look, even if there was originally more gold, it was probably sold long ago.

Perhaps. Still, there are higher authorities who might be interested in the information. Dev Batra, perhaps, and through him, Sanjay Gandhi.

Vijay tried not to show his irritation. Don’t tell me you’re thinking of stirring things up by mentioning it to them?

Ghosali raised an eyebrow. Isn’t it our duty?

Ghosali was obviously still angling for the promotion, Vijay realized. He was sympathetic to Ghosali’s wanting the increased salary to help pay for the dowries upon the marriages of five daughters. But Vijay wanted it, too, to help fund the school and other improvements he was donating to help the lower castes of his village. Plus, of course, there would be the recognition of his abilities and the increased prestige and responsibilities.

Vijay said, Our superiors seem happy. It was the largest find ever in a tax raid. And the Mangarh royal family’s been harassed so much already. Why not leave well enough alone?

Ghosali again smiled. He leaned toward Vijay and lowered his voice. I rather thought you’d say that. Your hero image would be a bit tarnished if it became known that the job was only half done, wouldn’t it? And it was obvious to everyone that you fancy the beautiful princess. Some conflicting interests there, wouldn’t you say?

Vijay’s tea cup shook in his hand, and he carefully set it down. I think it’s ridiculous to say the job’s half done, just because a few gemstones weren’t found with the treasure. And you’re extremely mistaken implying I might have interests that would impede my work. I never had any kind of personal relationship with Kaushalya Kumari. That would be highly improper with the target of a raid. And it assumes she had some attraction to me, which is absurd, given the differences in social status if nothing else. Besides, I went directly against her concerns when I led everyone to the hiding place, even after the search had been called off. She was quite upset at me.

Ghosali looked him in the eye. Yes, I think your self-interest in promoting your career won out over any personal feelings for the princess. And royalty is indeed a lot higher class of Rajput than you are, isn’t it? He rose. Still, maybe you’ve had some regrets about her that are coloring your views on whether or not to raise the issue of the missing gems. Besides, Ghosali smiled knowingly, I wonder if you had any other potential conflicts. He stared a few moments at Vijay, pushed aside the door curtain, and left.

Vijay felt tied into knots. Ghosali had read him so accurately on every point. And how much did Ghosali really know or suspect about the other potential conflicts?

The Brahmin almost certainly couldn’t know about Vijay’s recent discovery that Maharaja Lakshman Singh had paid for his education, making it possible for Vijay to escape the poverty of his youth. The fact hadn’t stopped Vijay from vigorously searching for and finding the Maharaja’s treasure, but it still didn’t look good to be so significantly indebted to the target of a raid.

And Vijay definitely did not want to return to Mangarh for another search. There was too much risk of someone discovering and exposing the fact that he’d been born a Bhangi, an Untouchable. Ever since he started university he’d pretended to be a Rajput to avoid the humiliations of being labeled as an outcaste. While the fear of discovery probably wouldn’t qualify formally as a conflict of interest, it certainly diminished any incentive to resume the tax raid.

Minutes later, a knock came at the open door. He looked up to see Shanta Das and immediately his spirits lifted. She displayed her usual pleasant smile. Although recently she had taken to wearing the shalwar kameez to the office, today she was dressed in her green sari, the one that he always thought went so well with her dark coloring.

He waved her to a chair, and sent for tea for both of them. She handed him a red-bound book. I thought this might interest you.

He read the title, Indian Memories: The Reminiscences of a Civil Servant. The author was a Stanley Powis.

I happened upon it quite by chance in a used bookshop, said Shanta. I noticed on the dust jacket it mentioned the author had served in a number of Indian states during the British Raj, including as the Political Agent in Mangarh.

He and Shanta had talked previously about the missing jewelry, and Vijay instantly grasped where she was headed. We should have thought of this approach before—and researched what visitors to Mangarh might have written about seeing or hearing of the famous treasure. Hundreds of Englishmen, women too, of course, wrote their memoirs after they returned home.

Right. You’ll be interested in reading the place I marked.

He turned to where the slip of paper was inserted. And read:

I was sworn to secrecy, so I cannot reveal the name of the ruler involved, or, of course, even what state it happened in. But I was greatly privileged to be shown a fabulous treasure held by one of the Maharajas. It was truly stunning. The Maharaja made certain I saw the pride of his collection, an immense diamond, which surely must be one of the largest in the world. Also a huge emerald, used as a turban ornament. And a necklace of several strands of unusually large, matched pearls. There were wooden boxes holding miniature paintings, many of them depicting scenes from the early history of His Highness’ own state.

The ruler also showed me a sword of fine workmanship, which he considered to be the legendary Bhavani sword of the famous Maratha King Shivaji. The weapon was reputed to be inhabited by a powerful goddess, so it was worshiped regularly by the Maharaja’s family. However, for reasons the ruler did not go into, family tradition held that the sword’s existence must be kept secret from the larger world. He could show it to me, he said, only because I was already sworn to secrecy and he trusted me to keep my word.

Aside from the giant diamond, I think what struck me the most was the large number of chests filled with gold bars. I had not expected so many could exist anywhere outside of a Swiss bank or America’s Fort Knox.

The location housing the treasure was fairly obvious, but the trove was well guarded by soldiers personally loyal to the Maharaja, and hence not accessible to anyone other than His Highness and those few persons he chose to honor with a viewing.

Vijay’s excitement grew. That has to be it!

The peon delivered the tea, and they both sipped at it. Shanta said, I thought at first that the treasure Powis mentions could have been the one in Jaipur, or Bundi, or one of the other states where the rulers were reputed to have big hidden troves. But I don’t think so now. I read the whole book, and in a separate chapter it’s clear that Powis had a close friendship with Maharaja Lakshman Singh, right up until Independence in 1947.

Vijay read the passage again, and asked, Would you call the location of the treasure we found ‘fairly obvious,’ as Powis’ says?

She laughed. Hardly. We’d never have found it if you hadn’t had that sudden inspiration. But we know that at one time, the wealth must have been stored in the treasury at the top of the fort. Maybe that’s where Powis saw it.

Hmm. We didn’t find any of the jewelry items he mentions. We didn’t find the miniature paintings. And most of the gold we found was in coins—there was only one box of ingots.

She said, The gold bars and the paintings could have been sold. Like the gems.

Vijay gave a nod. I suppose. We’ll probably never know. He started to hand the book to her, then hesitated and looked at it again. That’s an interesting part about the Bhavani sword of Shivaji. According to legend, Shivaji’s sword was supposed to have miraculous powers. Some persons attributed his success in battles to his possessing it.

You never saw any sign of the sword at Mangarh, did you?

He shook his head. No, there wasn’t a hint of it.

Lots of people would consider finding that weapon even more exciting than finding the treasure.

Yes, and I’m sure some Hindu fundamentalists would be glad to use it to rally their people. He returned the book to her and smiled. Fascinating.

She smiled back. Isn’t it, though. She finished her tea and rose to leave.

He opened his mouth to ask her to stay, then realized he didn’t have a good excuse to keep her there. She stood for a moment, her warm eyes meeting his, as if waiting for him to say something more.

I appreciate your showing that to me, he said, awkwardly.

I had a feeling you’d be interested. She nodded goodbye, and left.

His office seemed quiet and empty now, the files on his desk not very interesting. He needed to make a telephone call to one of the inspectors, but when he picked up the phone, he wasn’t in the mood to talk about work matters.

He replaced the receiver, rose and stood at the window, not really looking at the neighboring office building across the narrow open area with its row of trees. It was ironic, he thought, and regrettable for him, that Shanta came from an Untouchable family of leather workers in Agra. Their converting to casteless Buddhism didn’t really change that. His posing as a Rajput had ironically put his apparent caste so far above hers that it seemed out of the question to consider her as a possible wife.

Pursuing Shanta Das would be just as unrealistic as courting Kaushalya Kumari. The lovely Rajput princess was so far above him in status and wealth as to be unreachable. And his masquerade would quickly be exposed when her family made the mandatory inquiries into his background.

He sighed and returned to his desk, again frustrated by knowing he was almost certainly destined to spend his life unmarried, in a society that valued family above all else.

3

The next morning, when a man with a gun came to the office to take him away, Vijay felt he had little choice but to go. The tall, broad figure appeared abruptly at the doorway, and Vijay looked up from the file on his desk to see Dev Batra’s bushy haired, glowering henchman. The office boy stood behind the visitor, wide-eyed and no doubt worried he’d be blamed for not screening the visitor and warning Vijay.

With no preliminaries, Sen announced in his cold voice, Batra sahib invites you to visit him at his farmhouse.

Vijay quickly shifted his attention from the contents of the file. At his farmhouse?

Silence.

He had always assumed that Dev Batra employed Sen, at least in part, to intimidate people. Right now?

Silence.

Vijay tried not to show annoyance at Batra’s presumption that he should just drop whatever he was doing and leave, much less go somewhere far out in the countryside. I am in fact quite busy, he told Sen. But naturally I’d like to comply with Batraji’s request. Where is this farm house?

An hour from here, in Rajasthan. Sen put his hands on his hips, and the tail of his white shirt bulged from the pistol concealed at his waist. The gun made Vijay vaguely uneasy, even though it wasn’t a cause of worry for him personally.

Vijay gritted his teeth. One hour probably meant a of couple hours each way. He’d be working late tonight to make up for it. I see. Well, I’ll need a few minutes to finish some matters, then I’ll be pleased to accept Batraji’s invitation.

Sen stood silently glaring at him. Vijay gestured toward a chair. Sit if you wish. Would you like some chai? Sen scowled and continued to stand.

Vijay shrugged mentally and took a sip of his own tea. He made a couple of notes, stuck them in the folder, and bound it with the brown string.

At last he stood. He tugged on the lapels of his navy blue sport coat to smooth them and fingered the knot of his necktie to ensure it was centered. Sen abruptly turned and left. Vijay followed him down and out into the sunshine, to where Dev Batra’s white Mercedes with the government license plate was parked. It blocked the narrow street, and the drivers of other vehicles were leaning on their horns even more continuously than usual.

Sen opened the rear door, and Vijay entered and sank into the deep, leather covered cushions. Sen slammed the door, got in himself and started the engine. He ignored the angry honks from the other cars, except to force them to reverse so he could leave. Once free of the congestion, he drove the car as if it were a weapon, shooting down the streets bordering the offices and shops of Connaught Circus, taking the corners fast.

The weather was pleasantly sunny, not uncommon in midwinter in northern India. As long as he had to go anyway, it was a good day, Vijay thought, for getting out of the office and visiting the countryside.

He remembered riding in the Mercedes with Batra five months ago in Mangarh, how the leather smelled so new. The odor wasn’t so strong now, and there was another faint smell, unpleasant, like maybe someone had recently vomited.

At the next traffic circle, a huge sign urged,

Support Prime Minister’s 20-Point Programme.

A green Delhi Transport Corporation bus sped by, spewing dark exhaust, the sign on its side exhorting in capital letters:

WORK MORE, TALK LESS.

How, Vijay wondered, could anyone possibly think propaganda like that did any good?

Despite the background odor, the car was by far the most comfortable he’d ever been in. He realized everyone who saw him in it would assume he was a VIP, so he decided he might as well enjoy the brief moment of imitation status. There was absolutely no chance he’d ever have a car like this to use in his own right. He drew himself erect, but at the same time he squirmed back into the cushions, striving to appear relaxed yet distinguished.

They drove past the edge of a residential colony, and far overhead danced at least a couple of dozen kites of various shapes and colors, flown from the rooftops by people of all ages. It was the beginning of the main season when enthusiasts flew kites with crushed glass glued to the strings and tried to cut their opponents’ lines.

On the national highway they passed Palam Airport, and the number of buildings thinned out. Sen overtook heavily laden lorries and crowded buses, swerving around them quickly. Like every other car driver, he expected anything other than a truck or bus to get out of his way or perish: farm tractors, bullock carts, motor scooters.

They continued through undulating terrain, then the land flattened for the remainder of the distance to Rajasthan. An occasional farmer worked in his field, and women walked alongside the road bearing bundles of firewood or baskets of produce on their head. Camels began to appear, most of them pulling carts and driven by farmers.

Vijay had plenty of time to think about what Dev Batra might want. To express appreciation to Vijay for saving his life and finding the Mangarh Treasure? Quite possibly.

Vijay still could not completely comprehend the extent of the publicity resulting from the discovery. After interviewing him, the Times of India ran a front page story headlined, Tax Raid Finds Maharaja’s Fabulous Fortune. The Hindustan Times printed a piece titled, Huge Hoard of Gold and Gems Discovered by Income Tax Officer. The Indian Express ran a more conservative piece titled How the Mangarh Treasure was Found.

He wondered if Dev Batra had somehow found out that the most valuable, best known Mangarh gems were still missing. If so, maybe Batra also wanted to question him about those.

Well into Rajasthan, they turned east off the main highway and onto a dusty, unpaved road between yellow mustard fields. Sen had to slow to minimize the bouncing and jarring of the car from the potholes.

Near the road were occasional areas where cow dung patties, spread out on rock ledges, were drying as fuel for cooking fires. Other dung cakes were piled into cylindrical stacks. Off to the right, on a knoll, was a small fortress, its towers crumbling into ruins. The car entered a village of mud brick buildings, some with roofs of thatch, and others of rough, handmade tiles. The community was larger than Vijay’s own home village near Mangarh, and Sen slowed even more to thread through the congested little bazaar in the center. Under a huge pipal tree, vegetable vendors sold their produce from handcarts, and a cloth seller had piles of fabric encroaching onto the dirt street.

At the far edge of the village stood a small, whitewashed temple in a compound. Then came a new masonry wall with broken glass embedded in the top, bordering the dusty road and stretching into the distance. After a few hundred meters, the car arrived at an ornate gateway of wrought iron.

A khaki-uniformed guard with a rifle slung from his back ran to swing the gate open, and the Mercedes sped up a long, curving drive of crushed rock toward a two-story building still under construction. Numerous concrete balconies protruded from each side, and the door and window openings were surmounted with arched overhangs. Workmen wearing dhotis and turbans perched in various parts of the bamboo scaffolding covering much of the facade.

It was an imposing mansion, but to Vijay, it didn’t look quite right. The three-story overhang above the main doorway seemed too high for the scale of the building, and the structure as a whole was off-balance, with too many windows crowded onto the wing to the right.

When the car stopped, Batra’s other assistant, the shorter, slender Gulab, appeared and opened the door for Vijay. Gulab wore his usual ingratiating smile, counterbalancing Sen’s habitual dourness. Welcome, sir, he said in his high pitched voice. So wonderful to see you again. Batra sahib is expecting you. The smile appeared even broader than usual, possibly due to his gratitude at Vijay’s saving his boss’ life and hence Gulab’s position. He led Vijay around to the back of the house, to a large covered patio area that appeared more finished than the rest.

There, Dev Batra, dressed in his usual white khadi, lay propped up on a bed, talking on a telephone, a cigarette dangling from a corner of his mouth. His face and hands were still puffy and oddly mottled from the bee stings he’d received at Mangarh. He waved Vijay to a nearby chair of wrought iron.

On the other side of Batra sat a tall, attractive woman with a high forehead and arched nose, probably in her late 20s, wearing a red and yellow shalwar kameez. A lit cigarette in an ashtray and an open magazine with color photos lay beside her on a small iron table. She was examining Vijay with obvious interest, as women often do with handsome men.

Gulab gestured toward a bar and asked, What would you like to drink, sir? Batra sahib has everything. Vodka, Scotch, sherry, ales. All imported, of course.

Vijay would have preferred a soft drink or a lassi, but he always tried to be an amiable guest. Scotch would be fine. Can you mix in plenty of Thums Up?

Of course, sir, said Gulab, showing no reaction to Vijay’s defilement of fine imported liquor with a domestic cola. He moved to the bar and selected a couple of bottles.

The woman nodded at Vijay, adjusted the fall of her dupatta over her shoulders, picked up her magazine, and began rapidly turning pages. It looked like one featuring film stars. Batra was speaking on the telephone in English: I tell you I talked with the Prime Minister only this morning. Indiraji wants it done now! Well, see to it then. Report to me when it’s completed.

An older woman padded out, bearing a tray of refreshments: tiny sandwiches, dishes of roasted cashews and peanuts. Vijay took a cucumber and tomato sandwich.

Batra hung up the phone and turned his attention to Vijay. Welcome to my farm, Singhji! He glanced toward the younger woman and said, in a tone that seemed designed to impress her, You’ve probably seen Income Tax Officer Singh on television! He just found the famous Mangarh Treasure, you know. Not only that, he’s the man who saved my life!

The woman showed renewed interest in Vijay as Batra went on, Urvashi is an actress. You may have seen her in some perfume adverts. I’m helping her a bit with her career. She’s also working with Sanjay on his family planning campaign. Anyway, how do you like my farm? I would show you around, but as you can see, I’m not quite fully recovered. Gulab will do the honors.

How are you feeling, sir? Vijay tried to put a tone of concern in his voice.

Batra waved a hand. Much better. More than a hundred bee stings! Can you believe that? I would have died if I hadn’t been taken to hospital. Of course, if it hadn’t been for you, I would have been killed first by the fall anyway. It’s a long way to the rocks below that fortress wall. He met Vijay’s eyes. I won’t forget you saved me.

Vijay shrugged the matter away and took the drink from Gulab. I’m glad to have helped, sir. But anyone would have done the same.

Batra said firmly, I won’t forget it. Or that you personally found the treasure. In addition to your men finding those hidden weapons. He grinned. My bosses were delighted.

Vijay gave an embarrassed grin. I’m glad we earned our pay.

Batra’s face clouded. If I’d listened to that bloody Ghosali, the treasure would never have been found. He’s got a lot of explaining to do. I intend to bring him here and tell him that.

Vijay failed to think of an appropriate response.

Batra continued, You’ll have to excuse me now. I need to make another phone call. Gulab, show Mr. Singh around. We’ll talk more when you’re done with the tour.

I’ll go, too, said Urvashi, standing quickly.

Vijay finished the sandwich, and glass in hand, followed the assistant. Despite Gulab’s ever-present grin, Vijay had always had an uneasy feeling about the man. It was as if the smile were pasted on to conceal whatever was going on in Gulab’s mind. And anyone who worked for Dev Batra probably had few scruples about following orders, legal or not.

Inside the house were seven bedrooms, each with its own bathroom and its own balcony. Batra naturally had a big suite of his own. There, finely carved wooden window frames leaned against the walls near the unfinished, gaping openings. These look old, Vijay remarked.

Batraji had them taken from a haveli in Shekhavati. These doors also. He is starting a business shipping such items to America and elsewhere, but these are for this house.

Vijay kept his expression blank. Old buildings with character should be preserved and restored, not looted of valuable parts to sell to foreigners.

That Batraji. He has so many schemes going, said Urvashi. I prefer, she added decisively, to concentrate on one activity at a time, and work hard on it.

Like the family planning campaign? asked Vijay.

Exactly. What could be more important to our nation? We simply must bring our population under control, or we cannot make progress in other areas. Sanjay is showing great leadership in this area. It’s high time someone did!

Vijay carefully replied, It’s certainly an issue of major importance. Is there any particular aspect you’re focusing on?

She smiled devilishly at him. Nasbandhi.

Unused to the mention of such topics by a woman, Vijay swallowed. Uh, vasectomies?

Definitely! My goal is to work with Sanjay to motivate every man with two children to ensure he has no more. The vasectomy operation is such a simple and inexpensive procedure, yet it has such profound implications for our nation!

Vijay hesitated, then nodded. I see your point.

And I assure you, I intend to make progress on the matter. I’m not accustomed to allowing obstacles in my way. She stepped toward him, beaming. With Sanjay’s support, there will be no stopping me.

He backed away and took a deep breath. I wish you well with it. He motioned to Gulab to continue the tour. They entered what would become the huge living room, with wide doors opening onto the patio. Beyond, outdoors, a giant hole had been excavated for a swimming pool.

This room will have a disco and a bar,’ said Gulab. The basement will have both, also."

What fun! said Urvashi. I love discos. She said to Vijay, You must come back here when it’s all completed, and we’ll dance.

He had never so much as stepped into a disco. His mouth dry, he replied, I’ll hope to do that one day.

On an upstairs balcony they looked out over the flat fields. A bulldozer was scraping an extremely long, straight area. What’s being done there? Vijay asked, more to get his mind off Urvashi and discos than out of genuine curiosity.

Gulab’s smile broadened. The airstrip, sir.

Vijay mulled this over. Batraji has an airplane?

No, sir. Not yet. But some of his guests will.

Gulab took a huge knife from a pocket, pressed a button, and the blade sprang into position. Vijay had never seen such a large pocket knife before; it must be intended as a weapon, or at the very least to impress people. Gulab bent and speared a big spider that was sitting in a corner. He cast the spider over the railing, wiped the tip of the blade on his shirt tail, closed the knife and returned it to his pocket.

Urvashi, ignoring Gulab’s activity, said, I was up flying with Sanjay only last week. From the air, you can easily see just how much of Delhi is turning into slums. Our capital should be a showplace! But so many people are leaving their villages and coming to the city. All the more reason to quickly get our population under control.

One can’t blame people for coming to look for jobs, Vijay said. But I agree, it’s unfortunate that the cities are growing so much faster than services can be provided.

Urvashi beamed her smile at him again. Exactly right! Maybe, Mr. Singh, you can work with us in our crusade!

Vijay tried to be tactful as he replied, I do wish I had more time to volunteer on important charitable work. Unfortunately, my job takes most of my time and energies at the moment.

Urvashi’s smile vanished. She gave an abrupt nod. Vijay looked out over the view again, at the farmland, wondering if he should mention his efforts to help out in his home village. But she was already moving toward the stairway.

They returned to the ground floor, and Gulab escorted them back to where Dev Batra lay on the bed. At first Vijay thought Batra was asleep, but as they approached his eyes popped open. How do you like my farmhouse, Singhji?

Very impressive, Batraji. It seems to have most everything.

I hope so. I lost all our family’s assets at Partition, you know. We were big landowners in the Punjab. I loved our farm. All my life I’ve wanted another. At last I’m able to restore us to our rightful wealth.

An impressive success story, sir.

Batra peered at him, soberly. I know you don’t like me, Singhji. Don’t bother denying it. There are two types of people in this world: predators and prey. I long ago decided which I’d rather be. But I owe you. Don’t hesitate to call on me.

Vijay was trying to think of an appropriate response to an awkward situation, but Batra’s attention turned toward the direction of the main gateway, and Vijay heard vehicles arriving. Sen hurried into view. Swamiji is here, sir!

Batra’s eyes brightened. He sat upright, his energy seemingly renewed, although he remained seated.

Around the corner of the mansion appeared a rotund, orange robed figure, whom Vijay instantly recognized as the famous Swami Surya. The chubby cheeked holy man, moving fast despite his weight, was trailed by a couple of other men in orange, as well as a man and woman in white robes who appeared to be European.

Batraji! said the swami as he drew near. I came to see if I can help you with some healing energies! He halted and held up a hand. No, don’t get up, no need to touch my feet. You shouldn’t strain yourself. And I see that lovely socialite Urvashi is here, too! I’m doubly pleased.

Urvashi hurried to touch the swami’s feet.

Batra was smiling broadly. He settled back to the bed, but he remained seated upright. What an honor, Swamiji! I thought you were in Europe.

I came back when I heard of your mishap. But how are you, Batraji? I sense your aura is subdued.

Yes, Swamiji, but I’m improving every day. And I can feel your healing powers at work already!

Excellent! I’m so relieved. The swami gestured toward the house. Quite a little bungalow you’re building! I’m most impressed.

Batra’s smile widened. Are you? I’m so glad!

Oh, yes. And are you building the airstrip you promised?

Certainly, Swamiji! It’s under construction this very moment.

It will be long enough for the Learjet to land?

Urvashi squealed, You have your own jet?

Swami Surya grinned at her. It’s only leased, not bought. My good industrialist friend, Mr. Shrikanth, offers it for my use. He shrugged, spread his hands wide, and asked loudly with a broad smile, What am I to do? I don’t care about luxuries myself, of course. But my followers keep showering me with them, and I want to make all my people happy, so I act as if I enjoy these trinkets.

He looked back to Batra and said casually, I must admit the jet is convenient when I visit my followers abroad, but those customs men at Delhi and Bombay can be so annoying, always wanting their payoffs. His tone became more serious: As I’ve mentioned before, Batraji, I prefer to avoid them. The airstrip will be long enough to land here?

Batra frowned. We’ve solved that problem, I think, Swamiji. I’m extending the runway through some neighboring fields. The farmers are, uh, objecting and talking of taking it to court, but they’ll change their minds fast. I’ll see to that.

The swami grinned. I’m sure you can be quite persuasive, Batraji. However, if you have difficulty, merely send Urvashi to unnerve them.

The woman laughed gaily. Swamiji! You’re always such a card.

The swami at last appeared to notice Vijay. You have another guest, Batraji.

Yes, Swamiji. This is the man who saved my life. Income tax officer Vijay Singh. He also found the Mangarh Treasure, you know.

The swami’s eyes bore into Vijay. I’m deeply indebted to you, then! Batraji is one of my foremost disciples.

Vijay touched the swami’s pudgy, sandaled feet and straightened.

The swami waved an empty hand in the air. Ash materialized on his palm, and the swami presented the holy particles to the surprised Vijay.

Swami Surya moved on to precipitate more vibhuti for Urvashi, who received it with her beaming smile.

Vijay gazed at the ashes in amazement. He rubbed them gently between his fingers, feeling the grittiness. He’d heard of such feats being performed by holy men, but he’d never before experienced it.

Batra said, That is only a small example of Swamiji’s miracles. He’s made photos of himself appear, and gold rings, and even this Rolex watch for me! He held up his swollen arm to display the timepiece. All out of the air!

Astonishing, Vijay said, impressed despite his ambivalence about the holy man.

Now then, said Batra to Vijay, I must take advantage of the great honor of Swamiji’s visit by consulting him for an astrological reading. Would you like to stay awhile and enjoy the country air of your home state, or should I have Sen take you back?

I really should be getting back, sir. I left some unfinished business on my desk.

Then goodbye for now.

Uh, one last thing, please, Batraji.

Yes?

Vijay glanced quickly at the swami, who had seated himself and was watching the exchange. Now that we have the treasure, is there any further reason to hold the Maharaja of Mangarh in jail? Couldn’t he be released?

At first Batra was silent. Then he said wearily, but firmly, There are other reasons to hold him. The Emergency, if nothing else.

Vijay decided to press the matter. May I know the particular reasons, sir?

Batra scowled. I don’t see it’s your business to know. But since I owe you, I’ll tell you. Indiraji doesn’t like Lakshman Singh. He insulted her and her father Nehru too many times, or so she thinks. Sanjay sahib doesn’t like him because his mother doesn’t like him, and because he opposed one of Sanjay’s pet projects. If His Highness were released, he’d probably just criticize the Emergency and end up right back in jail.

Vijay hesitated; he had to be careful not to arouse Batra’s suspicions. Batra couldn’t possibly know of the discovery that the Maharaja had anonymously paid for all of Vijay’s schooling. It was probably a conflict of interest for Vijay to try to intervene, even though the raid as such was over. But he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t make the effort. Sir, with all respect, those don’t seem like legal reasons to hold His Highness. Most people would say he’s been punished enough by being in jail for months already, not to mention by our raids and the big tax penalties he’ll end up paying.

Batra stared at him, and Vijay hoped he hadn’t gone too far. He willed himself to remain calm. Batra said, It’s not your call, Singh. Not entirely mine, either, for that matter. I frankly don’t see why you’re so interested.

Vijay’s mouth had gone dry, and he wet his lips. I like to see fairness done, sir. It must be a real hardship for any elderly person, much less an ex-ruler, to be in jail in the winter.

Batra continued to examine Vijay with obvious puzzlement. Then he shrugged. That’s life, Singhji. Sometimes the stars are in our favor, and sometimes they aren’t. He grinned and added, Anyway, I rather enjoy having something to hold over his daughter. I still hope to get that pretty princess into my bed.

After that comment, Vijay didn’t trust himself to speak. Urvashi was staring wide-eyed at Batra, a slight smile curling the corners of her mouth. If she was annoyed, she didn’t let it show. The swami laughed. Batraji, you are such a rascal! And with Urvashi here, too. What am I to do with you?

Batra laughed also. Maybe your presence will reform me, Swamiji.

I hope not! said Urvashi, her smile broader now and her eyes lively. You’re wonderful just as you are, Batraji!

There was silence.

I really must go, Vijay said, his voice flat. He went through the motions of courteously taking his leave.

Back in New Delhi, Sen stopped the Mercedes outside the office building. He opened the door, and Vijay stepped out. Wait, said Sen. He opened the boot and withdrew two smallish but long boxes, wrapped in white paper. Gifts from Batra sahib. He handed them to Vijay.

Vijay reflexively took the boxes, heavy for their size. He opened his mouth to object. Sen was already climbing back into the car. Wait! Vijay called.

The Mercedes shot off. Vijay looked down at the parcels, each of which felt and looked like it probably contained a bottle of liquor.

He walked to the building entry and saw Anil Ghosali standing in the shadows at the bottom of the stairway. Ghosali stared through his heavy eyeglasses and asked, speaking in the English normally used in the office, That was Batraji’s government car, was it not, Singhji?

Yes. He wanted to see me. Vijay almost added more of an explanation, then he decided it was none of Ghosali’s business.

The Brahmin no doubt was still looking for information he could use against Vijay in maneuvering for the promotion to Assistant Director, though it now seemed more likely the upcoming position would be Vijay’s. Ghosali had strenuously argued against searching in the spot where the treasure was finally located. Had his view prevailed, the riches would never have been found. The fact that he’d been proven so wrong made him look rather foolish. No doubt it had hurt Ghosali’s chances for the promotion, which he’d felt was his right as the longest serving of the income tax officers in the Delhi office.

Ghosali glanced down at the boxes and opened his mouth, apparently intending to ask about them, but Vijay moved past and hurried up the stairs.

Back at his desk, he called Ranjit Singh in. I need a witness. He gestured toward the gifts. These are from Dev Batra.

The tall Sikh raised an eyebrow and nodded. Vijay unwrapped the paper on one, then took his letter opener and slit the tape securing the top flaps. He withdrew a bottle of Chivas Regal Scotch.

It’s no doubt genuine, said Ranjit. Considering who it came from.

I’m sure it is. He’s fond of imported things.

I assume Batra doesn’t know you don’t enjoy liquor.

Vijay shook his head. Probably not. I did drink some Scotch at his farmhouse, so I suppose he thinks I like it. Out of curiosity, he was opening the other box. He partially withdrew the bottle and saw it was identical to the first.

Are you going to keep them?

I shouldn’t. Even though he didn’t give it as a bribe, I don’t want to be indebted, no matter how small, to someone like him. It could also look bad if anyone ever heard of it.

So what will you do?

Vijay thought for a moment. Batra has a suite at the Ashok Hotel. I could take the bottles back there, with a note saying I appreciate the thought but explaining why I can’t keep them.

Ranjit grinned. He might be insulted if you returned them. Besides, even though they’re probably worth a few days of our wages, it’s not like he gave you a television set or expensive jewelry. No one could seriously think you’d be corrupted by two bottles.

Vijay smiled back. I suppose I could just give them to someone who would truly appreciate them.

Anyone in mind? Ranjit’s grin broadened.

I thought of you, but you prefer rum in your cola, instead.

Ranjit assumed a look of hurt. I don’t have that much of a preference!

"Oh, all right. They’re