APRIL 11, 2021
EPISODE 9
It does not necessarily follow, Sisters, that sophisticated structures are more effective than simplistic ones. To our eyes, this mission to enter Falaknuma Palace and hide the ring for the occupant to later discover may seem a bit farcical. So let me put your mind at ease and tell you that Pallavi and Krishna’s plan was ultimately a success.
Indeed, it was a success despite some serious failures in intelligence:
Firstly, Farhad had no sister. He had plenty of almost-sisters but none wore burqas and none lived in Hyderabad.
Secondly, Krishna’s conviction that Raghav Rao visited his casino every evening was also erroneous. He visited the casino like he did everything else in life—when he felt like it. That means that Pallavi and Raghav meeting at the casino last night was a matter of coincidence and not certainty.
Finally—and perhaps most significantly—Raghav Rao was more charming than earlier reports had indicated.
***
“I’m Farhad’s sister. Is my brother available?” Pallavi asked the man who answered the doors of the main entrance.
In the middle of speaking she felt she ought to disguise her voice. The burqa left only her eyes visible but it was best to not risk any degree of detection. So her voice suddenly deepened into a gravelly tone mid-sentence.
Of course, as Pallavi had anticipated, the doorman regretted that Farhad was not available and not expected until much later.
Pallavi sighed with feigned disappointment. “May I please trouble you for a glass of water?”
“Of course,” he bowed, “please come this way.”
He led her down a white marble colonnaded corridor to what appeared to be a sort of reception room. At the center was a fountain gently bubbling with scented water. Orange blossom.
“Please,” he said, showing her to a velvet tufted sofa.
Raghav Rao’s staff were superbly trained, she mused. It’s a shame that their fine manners had not redounded upon him.
The moment the doorman left her, she jumped up and scanned the room for an appropriate place to hide the items. It occurred to her that she only had to hide the ring.
Indeed, it would be more convincing to give the doorman the jacket. It would match the story she had given at the palace gates.
There were an abundant number of places to hide the ring in the room. But where?
Tucked between two cushions? No! Too easily lost.
Inside a vase? No! What if someone decided to arrange some flowers this evening?
The statuary around the water fountain could afford a hiding place. But what if the ring fell into the water and drained away—
“Hello?” came the question from somewhere above her.
It was Raghav Rao’s voice.
Pallavi froze.
He was meant to be at the casino at this hour. How dare he stay at home?
She lifted her head tentatively in the direction from where the voice came. He was marching down the staircase.
As he approached, the doorman came through with a tray.
“Annah,” he said, “come and meet our Farhad’s sister.”
Raghav came to stand before her. “Farhad doesn’t have a sister,” he said, with coldness.
The doorman looked to Pallavi for an explanation.
She had to speak. Silence would be self-condemnation.
In her newly acquired deep voice, and with her eyes lowered, she managed to gulp out, “I’m his cousin-sister.”
She could sense Raghav’s eyes trained on the top of her head. “From Lucknow?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Do sit,” Raghav urged.
Pallavi’s knees were begging her to sit, so she did.
The doorman poured her a glass of water.
Raghav admonished him. “Surely we can do better than water, Reddy.”
Reddy—the doorman—said, “Of course. May I bring some coffee? Tea? Or perhaps something cool?”
In a mad giddy moment, Pallavi imagined herself echoing her request from last night: I’d love a glass of champagne. It struck her as so funny she had to choke back a laugh.
Clearly a case of hysteria brought on by panic.
She received the glass of water and said, “Water is fine. Thank you.” Taking in a small sip, she returned the glass to the tray, came to her feet and said, “I really must be going.”
“Wait,” Raghav stopped her. “It’s inauspicious to drink water and leave immediately. That’s what Farhad always says.”
“Yes, he does,” she said, feebly, and sat back down.
She did not sit down for this reason alone. She recollected she had yet to hide the ring. She had risked this much so far—she had to complete the task before escaping.
“I’ll have coffee, Reddy. And some for our guest—” Raghav said.
“—No, thank you,” Pallavi protested, lifting her eyes to meet his for the first time.
His eyes widened slightly at the first contact. He held her gaze as he said to Reddy. “Two coffees.”
Reddy left the room.
“I’m Raghav Rao,” he said.
“I know.”
“What do they call you?”
“They?” she asked, momentarily confused by the question.
A smile touched his lips. “Do you have a name, Farhad’s cousin-sister from Lucknow?”
And thus—for the second time in twenty-four hours she found herself ill-prepared to provide this man with a name.
“Sana,” she blurted out. Sana was Krishna’s friend from whom they had borrowed the burqa. As she was wearing her burqa, she may as well wear her name.
“Farhad is out on some important work, but he should be back later this evening. You are welcome to wait for him.”
She said, “I can’t. I’ll call him later.”
Now—what to do with the ring?
She decided to at least divest herself of the jacket. Retrieving the package from her bag, she placed in on the side table. “Would you please forward this to him?”
He nodded.
She realized she had better stand and move about the room. With her seated and him towering above her, she was virtually imprisoned. She would never be able to hide the ring confined as she was.
Pallavi slipped her hand into her bag, found the tiny pouch holding the ring, and removed it in such a way that it was hidden in her fist. Now she could leave it discreetly on some surface and then depart.
“This is a beautiful room,” she said, rising to her feet and moving away.
“Did Farhad tell you about our plans for the Palace?”
She shook her head to indicate he had not.
Raghav said, “May I show you?”
Pallavi couldn’t resist saying ‘yes.’
It wasn’t simply curiosity—though she was curious—but it was, she admitted, a desire to see more of him in this mood. He was making an effort to be a good host.
This must be owing to his regard for Farhad. He was being gracious because he cared for Farhad. And this exceptional hospitality was an extension of that affection.
He led the way down the corridor and through a set of doors entering a large room with a bank of windows overlooking the courtyard.
He hit a switch on a panel and the room flooded with warm light.
It was clearly his office. An imposing desk. Maps of the city pinned to the wall. Rolls of blueprints resting on the various flat surfaces—and at the opposite end of the room—on an enormous low table—there was a model of the palace and the grounds.
Pallavi forgot to be inconspicuous—she gasped, and stepped closer to it, lowering herself so she was at eye-level with the buildings.
He was standing above her, and reaching over her head, he lifted the roof of the model to reveal the intricately designed interiors.
Those of us who spent countless hours as children decorating doll houses with miniature elements can imagine the pleasure this revelation gave Pallavi.
She tilted her head back and looked up at him, sighing the single word, “Magnificent.”
Edited by JalebiJane - 3 years ago
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