I peeked at Ren in the backseat. He seemed to be napping, so I decided to start by telling him about the hunt first, and then I back-tracked and talked about everything else. Well, almost everything else. I didn’t talk about the kissing thing. It wasn’t that I thought Mr. Kadam wouldn’t have understood; in fact, I think he would have. I couldn’t trust that Ren was actually asleep in the back, and I wasn’t ready to share my feelings yet, so I skipped that part.
Mr. Kadam was most interested in hearing about Kishan. He’d been shocked when Kishan walked out of the jungle asking for more food for me. He said that Kishan hadn’t seemed to care about anything or anyone since his parents had died.
I told him about how Kishan stayed with me for five days while Ren was hunting and that we talked about how he met Yesubai. I tried to keep my voice quiet and whisper about her so I didn’t upset Ren. Mr. Kadam seemed puzzled at my need to encode everything I was saying, but he indulged me anyway. He nodded, while carefully listening to my com-ments about you-know-what and the thing-that-happened-at-that-place.
I could tell he knew more and could have filled in a few blanks for me but he wouldn’t divulge information loosely. Mr. Kadam was the type of man who kept confidences. That characteristic worked both for me and against me. Ultimately, I decided that it was a good thing and changed the subject to Ren and Kishan’s childhood.
‘Ah. The boys were their parents’ pride and joy – royal princes with a knack for getting into trouble and charming their way out of it. They were given anything they desired, but they had to work to earn it.
‘Deschen, their mother, was unconventional for India. She would take them out in disguise to play with the poor children. She wanted her children to be open to all cultures and religious practices. Her marriage to their father, King Rajaram, was a blend of two cultures. He loved and indulged her, not caring what anyone else thought. The boys were raised with the best of both worlds. They studied everything from politics and warfare to herding and crops. They were trained in the weap-ons of India, and also had access to the best teachers from all over Asia.’
‘Did they do other things? Like normal teenager stuff?’
‘What types of things are you curious about?’
I twitched nervously. ‘Did they . . . date?’
Mr. Kadam quirked an eyebrow curiously. ‘No. Definitely not. The story you told me about,’ he winked, ‘you-know-what is the only time I have ever heard of either of them having a romantic escapade. Frankly, they had no time for that, and both boys were to have arranged marriages anyway.’
I rested my head against the seat back after tilting it back a little. I tried to imagine what their lives were like. It must have been difficult having no choices, but then again they were privileged when others had much less. Still, having freedom of choice was something I treasured.
Soon, my thoughts became foggy, and my tired body nudged me into a deep sleep. When I woke up, Mr. Kadam handed me a wrapped sandwich and a large fruit juice.
‘Go ahead and eat something. We’ll stop at a hotel for the night so you can get a good night’s rest in a comfortable bed for a change.’
‘What about Ren?’
‘I picked a hotel that’s near a small section of jungle. We can drop him there and pick him up on the way back.’
‘What about tiger traps?’
Mr. Kadam laughed softly. ‘Told you about that, did he? Don’t worry, Miss Kelsey. He’s not likely to make the same mistake twice. There aren’t any big animals in this area so the townsfolk won’t look for him. If he keeps his head low there shouldn’t be any trouble.’
An hour later, Mr. Kadam pulled over near a dense part of the jungle at the outskirts of a small town and let Ren out. We continued on to a small town that was bustling with vibrantly dressed people and colorful homes and pulled to a stop in front of our hotel.
‘It’s not a five star,’ Mr. Kadam explained, ‘but it does have its charms.’
A polished square convenience store window displayed sale items. On top of the store, I saw a giant sign supported by a wood frame. It was painted pink and red and announced the store’s name, which I couldn’t read, and featured an old-fashioned cola bottle, which was universally recognizable no matter what language was printed on it.
Mr. Kadam approached the hotel’s front desk while I wandered around, examining the interesting products for sale. I found American chocolate bars and soda products mixed in with unusual candies and frozen popsicles in exotic flavors.
Mr. Kadam got our keys and bought us two colas and two popsicles. He handed me a white one while he took the orange one. I pulled off the wrapper, warily smelling my frozen treat.
‘It’s not something like soy bean and curry is it?’
He grinned. ‘Take a bite.’
I did and was surprised to find it was coconut flavored. Not as good as Tillamook Mudslide, but not bad at all, I mused.
Mr. Kadam bit off a hunk of his popsicle, held it up with a grin, and said, ‘Mango.’
The two-story, mint-green hotel had a wrought iron gate, a concrete patio, and flamingo pink trim. My room had a full-size bed set in the middle of the floor. A colorful curtain hid a small closet with a few wooden hangars. A basin and a pitcher of fresh water as well as a couple of earthenware mugs rested on a table. Instead of air conditioning, a ceiling fan circled lazily overhead, barely stirring the warm air. There was no bathroom. All tenants had to share the facil-ities on the first floor. The accommodations were sparse, but it still beat the jungle, hands down.
After seeing me settled and giving me my key, Mr. Kadam said he would come retrieve me to take me to dinner in three hours, and then he retreated, leaving me to my privacy.
He was barely out the door when a small Indian woman wearing a bright orange flowing shirt over a white skirt came to launder my dirty clothes. In no time at all, she returned with my washed clothes and hung them on the clothesline outside my door. They flapped quietly in the breeze, and I drowsed listening to the soothing domestic sound.
After a short nap and sketching a few new drawings of Ren as a tiger, I braided my hair and tied it with a red ribbon to match my red shirt. I’d just finished putting on my sneakers when Mr. Kadam knocked on the door.
He took me out to eat at what he said was the best restaur-ant in town, The Mango Flower. We took a small motorboat taxi across the river and walked to a building that looked like a plantation house that was surrounded by banana, palm, and mango trees.
He led me around the back, and we walked on a paved stone path that led to an amazing view of the river. Heavy wooden tables with smooth polished tops and stone benches were placed all around a patio. Decorated iron lanterns were set on the corner of each table and provided the only light. A brick archway to the right was covered in white jasmine that perfumed the evening air.
‘Mr. Kadam, this is lovely!’
‘Yes, the man at the front desk recommended it. I thought you would enjoy a good meal since you’ve been eating army rations for a week.’
I let Mr. Kadam order for me since I had no idea what the menu said. We enjoyed a dinner of basmati rice, grilled vegetables, chicken saag, which turned out to be chicken cooked with creamed spinach, a flaky white fish with mango chutney, vegetable pakora fritters, coconut prawns, naan bread, and a kind of lemonade made with a dash of cumin and mint called jal jeera. I sipped the lemonade, found it was a bit too tangy for my taste, and ended up drinking a lot of water instead.
As we started our meal, I asked Mr. Kadam what more he’d learned about the prophecy.
He wiped his mouth with his napkin, took a sip of water, and said, ‘I believe what you are seeking is called the Golden Fruit of India.’ He leaned in a little closer and lowered his voice. ‘The tale of the Golden Fruit is a very old legend forgotten by most modern scholars. It was supposedly an object of divine origin given to Hanuman to watch over and protect. Shall I tell you the story?’