A Beautiful Lie (7 page)

‘How are you, Bilal? I enjoyed visiting your class today. I’ve found that all over this land there are bright boys just like you.’

I mumbled thanks and looked at my feet while another man came and rather vigorously shook the prince’s hand. Looking out into the crowd, I saw mostly grim faces.
Something doesn’t feel right
.

‘We don’t need any more princes,’ said a voice in the crowd.

‘Go back to your kingdom, prince.
The people don’t need you any more,’ shouted another voice.

‘Let the people govern themselves.’

‘You’re bleeding the people dry . . .’

The crowd was becoming boisterous and began to push forward. Standing up, the mayor held up his hands and asked for calm but was drowned out by the shouting. The big manservant stepped in front of the prince and put his hand on his hip. He was wearing a long coat.
Does he have a revolver?
Other members of the committee now also stood up. Glancing around nervously, I noticed there was an alley behind us. From the other side of the square I could hear tramping feet and whistles.
Police
. The crowd was really pushing forward now and the prince’s manservant reached under his coat.

‘Wait!’ I shouted. The prince turned to me and stayed his manservant’s hand.

‘What is it, Bilal?’ he asked.

‘I can get you out of here. Don’t shoot anybody,’ I replied, looking at the big man.

The police were almost here and in a few seconds it was likely to turn ugly. The prince weighed up the situation and stood up.

‘OK, young man. Lead the way but we will not run,’ he said calmly.

With the manservant covering our retreat, we walked into the alleyway just as the police arrived, diverting the crowd’s attention. Walking briskly, I composed myself as Bapuji had taught me to do and waited for the prince to talk.

‘We are in your debt, Bilal. I have heard many good things about your family from Mr Mukherjee and about the work they have done to make this market town so successful. I have also heard that your bapuji isn’t well, which I’m very sorry to hear.’ He looked straight at me when he said this and although I tried to meet his gaze, I couldn’t. Instead I blurted out the first thing that came into my mind.

‘He’s dying. I’m supposed to carry on the family tradition but he won’t be around to teach me what I need to know.’

‘I am truly sorry that your bapuji is dying, Bilal, but you will learn what you need to know all the same.’

‘How? He knows so much, more than anyone I know.’ The prince looked sideways at me and smiled.

‘My own bapuji died suddenly when I was fifteen years old. I was shocked – we all were. He was so strong, so energetic. I thought he would live for ever but just like that he was gone. No goodbye. Nothing. I went from playing with my wooden soldiers to ruling a kingdom and being married all in the space of a week.’

It was my turn to look at him. ‘It was a confusing week then,’ I ventured. He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Incredibly confusing! All I wanted to do was play with my wooden soldiers but instead there I was ruling a kingdom. I hated my bapuji.’

I looked at him in surprise.
Hate?

‘I hated him for leaving me, for making me take on a responsibility I wasn’t ready for, and for not being there to teach me what I needed to know.’

I didn’t hate my bapuji. I couldn’t hate him, no matter what. But he was leaving me and I needed him more than ever and he wasn’t going to be there.

‘Do you still hate your bapuji?’ I asked.

‘No, and I realised that I’d never really hated him. I had learnt what I needed to because I had to and because I was his son.’ We stopped walking and he turned to face me. ‘You will too – because you have to and because you’re his son.’

I nodded my head and forced a weak smile. We continued walking until we were far from the market square and had found a shaded alcove in which to sit. The prince sent his manservant to fetch some cold drinks.

‘Your bapuji, he sounds like an extraordinary man and I’d like to meet him. Do you live nearby?’

My stomach lurched and I stood up far too quickly. All the blood rushed to my head, making me stagger. The prince set me down and waited for me to recover.

‘Bilal, what’s the matter? At the mention of your bapuji, you turned pale. What is it?’

I waited for the spots in front of my eyes to subside and blinked my eyes rapidly.
The prince stood over me looking both concerned and confused.

The prince lives miles away. It doesn’t matter if he knows, does it?

In the next instant I’d told him everything. About the oath and the system of deterring people from visiting and how determined I was to make sure Bapuji never found out the truth.
The prince paused momentarily and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. I gathered myself and looked him straight in the eye but whereas before there had been strength and resolve in the prince’s eyes, now there were tears. I looked away quickly in case I embarrassed him and inwardly cursed myself for being such a big-mouthed fool.

‘Bilal, no one should have to take on this burden. Will you not reconsider? The truth may give him peace.’

‘No,’ I said firmly and shook my head.

He looked at me again then nodded.

‘I wish I had your courage, Bilal. I’d still like to meet your bapuji. Don’t worry though. Your secret is safe with me.’

I nodded. The big man came back with the cold drinks and we set out.
As we turned the corner, Manjeet, Chota and Saleem were already there, nervously loitering outside my front door.
They’d obviously seen me from the rooftop, unable to guess what was going on, but they were still here standing with me, no matter what. My heart jumped knowing they were my friends. The prince smiled at them.

‘So these must be your eyes and ears, Bilal? A steely-eyed bunch, if ever I saw one.’ Turning to me, the prince said, ‘I’d like to talk to your bapuji alone. Please trust me.’

I looked at Saleem then Manjeet and Chota, then turning back to the prince, I nodded my head slowly. ‘I trust you, prince,’ I replied and opened the door.

When the prince re-emerged, we all stood up and I approached him nervously, my heart rattling like a drum.

‘He is very feverish and couldn’t talk for long but what a memory he has! Such knowledge and curiosity set any man apart – and any boy,’ he said, smiling at me. ‘I sang him a song my mother used to sing to me when I was a child, about the Himalayan peaks and the ascent of the lords of the high rises, the majestic eagles. I hope it gave him peace for a little while. He also spoke about you, Bilal, and confirmed for me what I have already learnt about you in such a short time. I must go now, child, but you have reminded me of a few things I thought India had lost.’

Handing the talwar to his man, the prince positioned himself in front of us and bowed gracefully, his turban almost touching the ground. We all shuffled our feet, confused as to what we ought to do in return, but Manjeet stepped forward and returned the bow which, if not as graceful, was a good attempt. Chota almost fell over in his attempt to bow but righted himself with Saleem’s help. The prince and the manservant watched us, big smiles on their faces. Blinking my eyes, I took another photo – of the strange sight in that narrow street of a prince bowing, dust swirling around us.

Chapter 14

I promised to meet Chota on the rooftop later and went to see if Bapuji was still awake. The darkened room always soothed me and I grabbed my stool and set it down next to Bapuji’s bed. He looked as if he was dozing but I couldn’t be sure so I leant in close to listen to his breathing.

‘Boo!’ He sat up suddenly, almost making me jump out of my skin. ‘Ha! Got you, didn’t I?’

‘You really did, Bapuji. Just take it easy.’

‘Bah. I’ve had enough of taking it easy, Bilal. I need some excitement to keep this heart ticking.’

He slipped me a sidelong glance. I sighed. He clearly wanted to say something but was waiting for me to speak. Smiling, I folded my arms across my chest. I knew what was coming next.

‘What?’ I asked, grinning.

‘What?’ Bapuji said, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly and throwing his arms in the air. ‘A prince of Jaisikander visits me and sings me an old song of the eagles and the mountains and you say what? Ha!’

Shrugging my shoulders, I shoved another pillow behind his head. I felt his forehead with the back of my hand and he caught me frowning.

‘Stop your frowning, Bilal. Now, tell me where and how did you meet a prince and how on earth did you convince him to visit me?’

‘OK, I’ll tell you the story if you promise to take your medicine now and lie back down. You’re burning up, you know.’

Bapuji sighed and signalled for the medicine. I quickly moved to get some water with which to wash it down. He made gurgling sounds as he reluctantly drank the medicine. I made sure he drank one more spoonful while he glared at me but he then visibly relaxed and settled into the pile of cushions. Bapuji loved the ritual of storytelling almost as much as the story itself so I made sure to take my time using all the tricks he’d shown me – dropping in dramatic pauses and exaggerating some of the actions, filling in the gaps with colours, sounds and smells. Bapuji closed his eyes and rocked ever so gently, a little smile lifting the edges of his mouth. I finished the story and went to refill the glass with some water. I hadn’t realised how thirsty I was and I drained the glass and sat back down. Bapuji struggled to keep his drooping eyes open. The medicine worked extremely quickly.

‘The prince spoke of you. What did you say to him?’ asked Bapuji.

‘Just the usual, you know, about the market and us. I may have mentioned Grandfather a few times but nothing else.’

I began to fuss around the bed making sure Bapuji was covered properly. He narrowed his eyes but the medicine was taking effect and any suspicions he might have had were fading fast. Closing his eyes, he began to breathe deeply.

‘He was very impressed with you, Bilal. If I didn’t know any better, he’d snatch you up and take you away to work in some far-off kingdom. Would you like that?’

I watched his face and stood up.

‘Is that what you spoke about? Me going away?’

Bapuji opened one eye slightly and pulled a face. ‘Now, now, you only just stopped frowning – there’s no need to start again. We were only talking. He was so impressed with you I just thought, you know, that you could make a life with him.’

The room was spinning and I had to steady myself.
What on earth is he thinking? I won’t leave here. How could I?

‘Why? I don’t want to go anywhere with anyone. My whole life is here. This is where we come from, isn’t it? You, Ma, Bhai and me.’

Bapuji turned to stare at his wall of books. He slid deeper into the bed and pulled the covers closely about him.

‘I wasn’t trying to get rid of you, Bilal. He was so impressed with you, I just thought . . . or I didn’t think.’ Bapuji smiled sadly. ‘It’s hard to think at the moment.’

Sighing, I settled back down on the stool.

‘You know Grandfather always said you acted first and thought later . . .’ I teased.

Bapuji made a face and pretended to look outraged. ‘You’re lucky I can’t move else I’d have cuffed your ear by now.’

Lifting the covers I slid in next to him, attaching myself to his arm. He pushed the hair from my face and began gently stroking my hair. In the next instant I was asleep.

Chapter 15

It was a long time since we’d played cricket and Mr Mukherjee was reminded of his promise at least ten times a day by ten different boys, so the following Tuesday he announced that we were to play that afternoon. The build-up to a cricket match was always boisterous with notes in barely legible writing being passed around the classroom about the batting order and who had put themselves forward to bowl. This would of course be hotly disputed and the notes would be circulated with more urgency, each time collecting insults and threats as to what would happen if such and such were to bowl and so on.

Manjeet nudged me and slipped me a note from Saleem, which said:
What about Chota?
Chuckling, I shook my head. It was amazing how many times Saleem and I thought the same thing at the exact same time. The thought of Chota spending too much time on the roof was worrying me even though he appeared to be happy. We visited him every day after school, bringing him food to eat and relieving him to go home to see his family. Stubbornly, he would try to convince us that nobody at home actually noticed whether he was there or not but we still made him go. Saleem turned round, pointed to his chest and mouthed, ‘I’ll do it.’ I nodded in reply and settled back down. Saleem didn’t like playing cricket anyway and could sneak off when no one was looking.

Mr Mukherjee held up his hands and asked for silence. He had a quick look at his pocket watch and smiled.

A loud cheer erupted from our little classroom.

‘OK, boys, it’s time. I need some volunteers to carry the bats and wickets. I’ll bring the ball.’

Twenty hands shot into the air and Mr Mukherjee picked a couple of boys from the front. He seemed even more nervous than usual. I slid next to Saleem and nudged him.