Vanished (20 page)

Neela gave a start, then tried to keep her voice steady. “Why would that be wrong?”

Her mother made a face. “It's just not something to talk about with normal, sane people.”

“What are you saying? We're not normal, sane people?”

“No, I meant the story about the curse is not normal or sane. And frankly, I'm not too keen on hearing about it. I'd like to think about something else, like our trip and seeing our family, not some creepy curse about a veena looking for a dead wife.”

“That's
not
the story.”

“Even so.”

Meanwhile, a rage was building in Neela. “What if the veena did have something special about it, wouldn't you want to know? What if we went to the Chennai Music Palace and it was there, like the story says? Isn't there a part of you that—”

“No,” Mrs. Krishnan said. “Not one little tiny part. Actually, I don't want to ever see that veena again. Let who ever has it, keep it. We'll get a brand-new veena. Without any curses.”

Neela clenched her fists. She had been so close to telling her about what she knew. But now she was glad she hadn't. Her mother would never understand or try to help Neela get the veena back. It was clear—whatever Neela would do when she got to India, it would be on her own.

When the day of the trip arrived
, it came on one of the most blustery stretches of bad weather Boston had experienced in a long time.

“Drive slowly,” Mrs. Krishnan warned, as they made their way down the slippery roads toward the airport. “They haven't plowed the streets yet.”

Outside, soft, billowy flakes fell from the sky, landing on the car windows. Neela watched the snow with a mixture of excitement and gloom. Here they were, at last going to India—possibly to see her veena again—which would be the most thrilling adventure of her life, if only they could make it to the airport.

“We should have left an hour ago,” Mrs. Krishnan announced, as if saying that could be useful to anyone.

Mr. Krishnan's eyes were glued to the windshield. “If anyone talks to me now, I'll crash the car.”

After an hour of more snow and Mr. Krishnan's threats, the car pulled into Logan International Airport. Then, just as final boarding was announced, Neela and her family arrived at the gate, out of breath but all in one piece.

“What took you so long?” Pavi wanted to know. In spite of the bad weather, she and her family had arrived at the gate more than an hour earlier and were waiting dutifully. How did they do it? Neela wondered if they had ever been late to anything in their lives.

Neela said to her father, “Can I buy some chips?”

Mr. Krishnan looked at her as if she were insane. “The plane is leaving in three minutes. We don't have time for chips.”

“Rats,” Neela said.

“I have two boxes of Cracker Jacks in my backpack,” Pavi offered.

“Cracker Jacks?” Neela repeated. “Man, that sucks,” she muttered under her breath.

They hurried onto the plane after showing their boarding passes to the flight attendant. Once Neela and Pavi were seated in a row away from their parents, Pavi asked, “So, are you getting cold feet?”

Neela looked at her in surprise. How did Pavi always know what she was thinking? “Did I tell you who Hal was?” she asked.

“Only a million times. I don't get it. Who cares who he is?”

“Don't you see?” Neela said miserably. “He's the
father
. Of someone dead.”

“Look, I'm not trying to be an evil person,” Pavi said. “But even if that veena belonged to Veronica, it still was your grandmother's, too, and then it was yours. And it's not just any veena—it's a Guru original, and it's got a cool story behind it.”

Neela was about to interrupt, but Pavi held up a hand. “I get that you feel guilty about Hal being Veronica's father. But she's dead. And he's not going to play that veena. He's going to put it in some corner of his apartment, maybe light a bunch of candles, or I don't know. But he's not a musician. And instruments—you have to play them. You will.
He
won't.”

Neela considered her friend's words.

“Besides,” Pavi went on, “if that veena meant so much to him, why didn't he call you and ask for it? Why did he steal it? And throw a rock at your house later? That makes him a creep in my book, no matter who his daughter was.”

“It's just that I don't want to do the same thing,” Neela said slowly. “I don't want to be…dishonest. Does that make sense?”

“But you never stole the veena from anyone. All you're doing is going to Govindar's store and asking for the veena back.” She clasped her hands. “I mean, don't you want to see if the veena is in the store? Aren't you, like, dying of curiosity?”

Neela grinned. “Actually, yeah. It's killing me, not knowing.” She sat back in her seat. Suddenly she felt better, as if a dark cloud that had been hanging over her had passed. “I guess, then, all I have to figure out now is how to get to the music store without my parents knowing.”

“I'm coming too,” Pavi said. “Since you don't have your boyfriend to help you.”

Neela stared at her. “What are you talking about? Do you mean Matt?”

Pavi sniffed. “Why else did he go with you to the church? You didn't even ask me.”

Neela sighed. “Because you don't live in Arlington. There was no way you could come with me after school.” Then she added, “And he's not my boyfriend.”

“Hmm,” Pavi said.

Neela opened her backpack and pulled out the magazine from Elizabeth Bones. She had brought all her “clues” with her: the magazine, the printout from the computer, the note that had been attached to the rock, and the photocopy of the wyvern embroidery. She figured the magazine would give her something to do until Pavi simmered down.

“What are you looking at?” Pavi asked gruffly, in spite of herself.

Neela held back a smile. She knew the magazine would do the trick.

“
Boston Living
,” she said. She turned so Pavi could look at it, too. As they read, Neela came to a quote by K.R. Mohan, who was described as a leading expert on South Indian instruments:
The veena is one of India's oldest and finest instruments. If one talks about the music of India, one must start with the veena.

And if one talks about the vanishing veena, Neela thought to herself, one must start with the Chennai Music Palace. And just like that, an idea popped into her head on how to get there.

“You hungry?” Pavi opened her backpack and handed Neela a box of Cracker Jack.

Neela looked inside the box of caramel-covered popcorn and peanuts. “What's this?” She pulled out a shiny packet.

“It's a prize. Don't you know anything about Cracker Jacks? Every box has one. That's why they're so famous.”

Neela opened it. “Baseball cards,” she announced. “Just what I need.” Then she saw Pavi's face. “Thanks, anyway,” she finished meekly. She realized she was being a pain.

The girls chewed on their Cracker Jacks, each thinking about their trip as the plane cleared the runway.

One stopover, two in-flight movies, several meals, a nap, and thirty hours later, Neela, Pavi, and their families landed in Chennai, India, sometime after the stroke of midnight.

The air was balmy
as Neela and her family stepped outside the airport building and were greeted at the curb by Ravi, her grandparents' driver. He led them to the car, and they set off for home. The streets were bumpy and crowded with motorcycles and lorries, even in the middle of the night. Neela stared out the window as they drove past darkened stores and the silhouettes of coconut trees framing the night sky.

Neela's grandparents lived in a bungalow on a quiet, tree-lined road in the heart of Chennai. Their house had been built more than three decades ago, but it had been updated over the years with screened windows, a new fridge, microwave, and washing machine. In the bathroom, her grandparents had even installed a ceramic bathtub, something unheard of in their neighborhood, to make the house more comfortable for Neela and Sree.

It was strange to arrive at her grandparents' house without Lalitha Patti there to greet them. Instead it was just Thatha, Neela's grandfather, who waited at the door as the car pulled into the gated driveway. He helped them with their beds, and without much talk, everyone fell asleep until morning.

At breakfast the next day, the family sat at the table while Thatha served
idlis
, or rice dumplings, and coffee. Neela's father asked him why he didn't go to Arun's wedding with Lalitha Patti.

“I went for the first half of the celebrations and came back. Someone had to be here to let you in when you arrived. Besides, weddings are too much noise and confusion for me.” Since his stroke last year, Neela's grandfather declared himself “good as new.” Still, he rarely went out of town for more than a day or two.

“When is Patti coming back, Thatha?” Neela asked.

“This evening,” he said. “Soon.”

Just then, Neela heard the sound of the front gate opening. At last! She had been waiting for that sound all morning. While everyone was talking, she slipped outside, the address to the music store tucked in her hand.

As it turned out, Pavi's family was staying only about twenty minutes away in an area of Chennai known as Royapettah. The good news was that the Chennai Music Palace was in the same neighborhood, only a few streets away from Pavi's house. And now the way to Pavi's, as well as to the store, had just arrived. Sure enough, Ravi was out front near her grandparents' car, with a bucket and sponge. He beamed when he saw her.

“Already up and about?” he said in Tamil. Ravi dipped his sponge inside the bucket of soapy water, the suds running onto the cement. He had been the driver for her grandparents for as long as Neela could remember. She wanted to talk to him the night before, but it had been impossible with her parents there.

“I like being here,” she replied in Tamil. Behind them, the morning traffic droned with the sound of car horns, rattling bullock carts, and people. It seemed as if there was always traffic in Chennai. Neela watched as a vegetable vendor, several women carrying water jugs on their heads, a few stray dogs, and a group of schoolgirls with their hair in neat braids walked by. She decided there was no other way but to ask directly.

“Ravi, I need you to do a big, big favor for me.” Neela showed him the address to the music store. “Could you take my friend and me there? Please?”

He glanced at the address. “Of course. Find out from your parents when to go.”

“You don't understand.…” She stopped. She realized that Ravi would never take her anywhere without her parents' permission. “I have to go without them,” she said slowly, “because…it's their wedding anniversary…and I'm surprising them with a gift.”

Ravi shook his head. “Neela, what would they say with me driving you around by yourself? I would get sacked from my job.”

“But it's just to my friend's house and the store down the street.”

Ravi was firm. “I cannot risk upsetting your family. They have been so good to me.”

Neela frowned. There had to be a way to convince him. He was her only hope unless she took an auto-rickshaw, which sounded scary, especially when she didn't know her way around the city. Or wait. Maybe that was it. “If you can't take me, maybe I can take an auto-rickshaw. I've never done it before, but how hard can it be?”

Ravi looked alarmed. “Don't! You don't know those auto-rickshaw drivers. It isn't safe for a young lady, and they'll spot you as a foreigner immediately.”

Neela tried to look crushed. “If you can't take me, I don't have any other choice.”

Ravi scowled. “Don't think I don't know what you're doing. I should tell your parents right now.”

“Please don't,” Neela begged. “It's a short ride. I'll be done in an hour.”

“But what will you tell them?”

“I'll say I'm going to the neighbor's to play computer games. I'll be back before they find me gone. And they'll be so surprised with the gift I'm bringing home.”

Ravi scowled even more, but at last he relented. “It better be an extra-special gift.”

Neela thought of the veena. “It is,” she said.

On the way to Pavi's house, Neela trembled with excitement. She had felt awful lying to her parents and grandfather. Her parents had barely looked up to say yes to the neighbor's house. Little did they dream that their daughter was actually heading down a dusty road to Royapettah.

When Neela had phoned Govindar, he sounded as if he was expecting her call.

“When can I come?” she asked, her heart thudding in her throat.

“Four o'clock. The same time as the other gentleman. You must resolve this problem together.”

“Of course,” she said. But she decided to go an hour early.

If she could talk to Govindar, she might convince him to give the veena to her. After all, all the things Pavi had said were true: Neela was a musician who would play the veena, not Hal. And wasn't Lalitha Patti a good friend of Govindar's? Didn't he owe something to their friendship? The important thing was to get him on her side. Then maybe he would let her take the veena home before Hal even got to the store. Because Hal was the last person Neela wanted to see. She wasn't sure how much resolve she would have if she looked into his eyes and saw them filled with the memory of his dead daughter.

Ravi turned down a narrow street lined with coconut trees and houses on either side. Neela peered out the window until she spotted her friend standing outside a pale green house. “There she is,” Neela said to Ravi.

Pavi climbed in after the car came to a stop. She was wearing a lemon-colored kurta-pajama set with a thin, gauzy veil wrapped around her neck.

“What did you tell your parents?” Neela asked.

Pavi hesitated, looking at Ravi.

“He doesn't speak English,” Neela said.

“I said I was taking a nap. They never check up on me when I'm sleeping.” She readjusted her veil.

Neela yawned, starting to feel the effects of jetlag. “What's with the outfit?”

“Well, you know the saying: When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” She eyed Neela's Disney World T-shirt and jeans. “Your clothing screams ‘foreigner' to me.”

Neela let out her breath. “Pavi, we're not going undercover. Govindar
knows
we're coming.” She clutched her backpack, in which she had brought her “clues.” She wasn't sure she needed them, but it was comforting to have them just the same. She had also brought her passport, in case Govindar asked for proof of who she was.

Outside, Ravi pulled onto a busy commercial street with shops. At the end of the street, between Meera's House of Saris and an auto-rickshaw stand, they saw it. The sign for the Chennai Music Palace was done in big, decorative writing. They were really here.

“We'll be back soon,” she said to Ravi in Tamil. “Thanks for taking us.”

Ravi glowered. “You both hurry. If Thatha finds out, I'm a dead man.”

Neela resisted the urge to hug him, because he would get embarrassed. So instead she smiled and thanked him again as she and Pavi shuffled out of the car. Outside, the air was heavy with the smell of exhaust fumes and the sound of engines puttering noisily from the auto-rickshaw stand.

“Ever heard of mufflers?” Pavi muttered as they walked by. The auto drivers peered back curiously at the sight of two young girls alone on a busy commercial street.

The ground was littered with candy wrappers, scraps of food, old cigarette butts, and a stray animal or two. “Watch out,” Neela said as Pavi almost stepped on the tail of a dog sitting next to the store. They walked up the front steps, past a window display of violins, veenas, flutes, a set of drums called mridangams, and a few instruments that looked like inverted clay jugs.

“How does anyone wear this?” Pavi grumbled, readjusting her veil.

“Here, give it to me.” Neela took it from Pavi and stuffed it into her backpack. As they were about to go inside, they heard another car door slam behind them. Neela turned around. Just a few feet away, a car pulled away from the curb as a girl made her way toward the shop. She stopped when she saw Neela.

“What are you doing here?” Neela blurted.

Pavi turned to Neela. “Who's that?”

“
That's
Lynne.”