Vanished (23 page)

Neela nodded, still dazed. In the background, Mohan tried to slink away, but with such a large instrument it was impossible. The ticket collector's white-gloved finger shot out, pointing to Mohan. “You, stay put,” he said. Then he snapped his fingers at someone down the aisle and shouted, “Stop the train!” Another conductor nodded and picked up a white receiver at the front of the car. A few moments later, the wheels of the train ground to a halt.

“So, what is happening here?” the ticket collector asked.

“She tried to jump the train,” Mohan said.

“That's not true!” Neela was indignant. “He stole my veena.”

The ticket collector looked at the canvas-covered case behind him. “This is a veena?” he asked.

“It's
my
veena,” Mohan said. “She's obviously a vagabond off the street.”

The ticket collector looked at Neela's Disney World T-shirt. “She does not look like a vagabond to me. Do you have tickets, both of you?”

“Yes,” Mohan said quickly, brandishing his. “I'm a valid passenger.
She
is not.”

“I don't have a ticket, but I was trying to stop him from stealing my instrument.”

The ticket collector looked at them. “Let us settle this on the platform. Out, both of you.”

Mohan protested loudly, but a security guard appeared and forced him off the train with Neela.

“Frankly, I do not care who the veena belongs to,” the ticket collector said, “but we cannot have young girls jumping onto the trains. And while you have a ticket, sir, I dislike you already for not rushing to the aid of this girl. When she was hanging on for her life, why did you not help her?” He glared at Mohan.

“It happened so fast,” Mohan said. “I did not have the chance before you stepped in.”

By now, Lynne, Pavi, and Ravi had joined them.

“Well, you will have to settle this on your own time,” the ticket collector continued. “We cannot hold the train for you.”

“That's ridiculous,” Mohan sputtered. “You have to let me back on the train with my veena.”

“But it's not his!” Neela cried.

The ticket collector shook his head. “Who do I believe?”

“I think I can help you with that.”

Everyone turned in the direction of the voice. A man had appeared from around the corner, accompanied by two police officers. He was thin, with hair graying along the sides of his head. When Neela saw him, she immediately guessed who he was. What was more astonishing was that directly behind him and the two officers were Neela's parents, Lalitha Patti, and Hal.

“Mom, Dad, Patti!” Neela exclaimed.

“Pa,” Mohan said at the same time. “What are you doing here?”

Govindar looked gravely at his son. “The more important question is what are
you
doing here with
that
veena?”

Everyone began talking at once
. Neela couldn't help staring at Hal, who went straight to Lynne. After all these months, it was bizarre to see him…in
India
.

“How did you know we were here?” Neela asked her family.

“Govindar called to say you'd left a message,” Lalitha Patti said, her arm around Neela in a hug.

“We called the police and came here,” Mr. Krishnan said. “Computer games, ha.”

“You're in big trouble,” Mrs. Krishnan warned, her eyes moist. Her glance fell on Ravi. “You too.” Ravi gulped silently.

Behind the group, the ticket collector jumped back on the train. Neela waved at him, because, after all, he had saved her life. He nodded as the rush of the wheels whirred past and the train disappeared into the distance. Mohan was watching the train, too. Neela could tell from his face that he wished he were on it. But it was hard to feel any sympathy for him.

“Mohan, tell me why you're here with the veena,” Govindar said.

“He tried to steal it,” Neela said. “He locked us in the store so he could get away.”

“She's lying.” Mohan's eyes flashed angrily.

“Neela slipped the lock open,” Pavi said. “That's how we escaped.”

“Mohan would have got away on the train if Neela hadn't jumped aboard,” Lynne added. “He even tried to push her off, but the ticket collector stopped him in time.”

“What?” Mrs. Krishnan exclaimed.

Govindar stared at his son. “Tell me this isn't true. Tell me you have more sense.”

Mohan clenched his fists and said nothing. Seeing him with his father strangely reminded Neela of her mother and her. It seemed there were some conversations every family had. This was the one where the parent was suggesting the kid was an idiot. Although Mohan was hardly one. Because if Neela and her friends had come just a few minutes later, he would have been on that train and gone forever.

“I thought you had forgotten about this veena,” Govindar said. “It is just an ordinary instrument, and—”

“But it isn't,” Neela interrupted.

He stopped. “I beg your pardon?”

“It is definitely
not
an ordinary veena,” she said. “In fact, Mohan knows exactly how extraordinary it is.”

Pavi sighed. “Not the curse again,” she muttered.

“No, something else.” Neela pointed to the canvas case. “That's a Guru original.”

Lalitha Patti said, “But we already know that, Neela.”

“Yes, but it's not any Guru original. It's the first one, the
original
one.” Neela saw the shock register on Mohan's face, confirming that what she said was true. She pulled out the book from her backpack. “Professor Tannenbaum told me about the original Guru original. Veronica Wyvern came to India with the hope of finding out if she owned it. She had a hunch; she had heard about the curse, but she wasn't sure if her veena was the first one Guru made.”

“But what's the big deal if it was the first?” Pavi asked.

“It means it's a rare instrument,” Neela explained, “and could be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. So long as it's intact and with all its original pieces.”

There was a silence as this information registered in the minds of everyone.

“So
this
is Guru's first veena?” Lalitha Patti asked.

“Neela, are you sure?” Mr. Krishnan said.

She turned to the bookmarked page. “Guru was the son of a veena maker. He had made many veenas with his dad. But this was the first one he made all by himself. And maybe because of that, he wanted to shake things up, be a little different. So he made the peg box European-looking, and chose a medieval dragon.”

“A wyvern,” Hal said.

When he spoke, a range of emotions played through Neela: outrage, bewilderment, guilt. Why should I feel guilty? she thought. But all she said was, “Yes, a wyvern.”

She remembered then what Professor Tannenbaum had told her. “We can't tell just by looking, though,” she said. “You would need an
expert
, someone to look at the varnish, the markings, and make sure that all the parts of the veena are
original
. But the peg box is a good starting place. Because how many veenas have you seen with a wyvern?” She was proud of herself for remembering so much. She could see from everyone's faces that they were taking her seriously. Even Mohan was looking at her with grudging respect.

Hal nodded. “Ronnie knew right away it was a wyvern.”

“Sorry to be rude,” Mrs. Krishnan said, “but who exactly are you?”

“That's Hal,” Neela said. “Veronica Wyvern's father and Lynne's grandfather.”

While her parents digested this piece of news, Neela heard Lalitha Patti draw in her breath. Surprised, Neela glanced at her, when she suddenly remembered her conversation with Lynne at the store:
He tried, he really did, but your grandmother said no
. Her grandmother had known about Hal. Just how, Neela would find out later.

“We found the book inside a secret compartment of a desk at the store,” she went on. “I suspect the book is Mohan's. That's why he stole the veena and mailed it to the store, using
my
name on the package. He knew the moment he saw it in Lynne's apartment, the veena was the original Guru original.”

“I didn't know right away,” Mohan blurted, then stopped in horror, realizing he had just incriminated himself. Suddenly he looked completely deflated, as if the air had gone out of him.

“It took me years to find that veena,” he said at last. “If you knew who to talk to in Thanjavur—veena makers, vendors, and musicians—they had discussed the possibility for years, that the cursed veena was also the first instrument Guru made. They speculated about the value of the instrument. But no one knew for sure. Then I found that book in a tiny bookstore in Thanjavur, and it contained the first recorded information of Guru's work.”

“What about the photograph of Parvati?” Neela asked.

“That was the other proof I had, which showed her as a performer at the Mysore Palace. It confirmed she was a player and that she owned this same instrument. That photograph came from a friend of a friend who acquires old photos of the Mysore Palace.”

“What were you planning to do with all this proof?” Mrs. Krishnan asked.

“Originally I wanted to get the veena appraised. There are people who specialize in dating instruments. But now it doesn't matter anymore. I just wanted the instrument.”

“Why didn't you tell me all of this before?” Govindar asked softly.

Mohan's voice was ragged. “You would have sold the veena. You did before.”

“But weren't you going to sell it yourself?” Lalitha Patti asked.

“Of course not!” Mohan cried. “Don't you see? It's rare, a one-of-a-kind. It's meant to be played on. I would do that. I would
never
sell the veena.”

“You
play
the veena?” Neela asked in surprise.

“Of course,” Mohan said.

They stared at each other, and for a moment it seemed like there was a strange connection between them. For the first time Neela noticed how young Mohan was.

Just then an announcement blared over the loudspeakers, reminding Neela where they were and what was going on—that Mohan had almost pushed her off a moving train, and that she had forced a confession out of him in front of two police officers. Which was about as bad as it could get, unless, of course, you fell off a moving train. And just like that, the moment passed.

“So if he stole the veena,” one of the police officers said, “are you pressing charges?” He looked expectantly at Mr. Krishnan, who had called them in the first place.

“Charges?” Mohan cried. “For what?”

“Stealing, kidnapping,” Pavi said. “Being a horse's behind.”

“Pavi!” Neela mumbled.

“If I'm getting charged, what about him?” Mohan pointed to Hal. “He stole the veena from Neela in the first place. And let's not forget someone else.” He turned to his father. “Tell them,” he said bitterly. “Tell them about the ‘curse' and the Chennai Music Palace.”

“Mohan,” Govindar murmured.

“If you won't,” he said,” I will.”

“I think we should stop right here,” Govindar said. “I made a mistake, one I regret. But think of all I've done after that, how I've led an honest life as a businessman.”

“That's the trouble with you, Pa,” Mohan said. “You've always been a businessman, and just that. When I was twelve and I asked for the veena, you could have said yes. When I asked for veena lessons, you could have said yes. That day I stole the veena from the customer who bought it, and you found out, you could have done the right thing.”

“And what would that have been?” Govindar barked. “When you have an angry customer in front of you, demanding to know why the veena she paid good hard money for is back in your store, what should I say? My son snuck into your house and stole it? Because he
wanted
it? I used the story of the curse to cover up for what you did.”

“Like she would believe that,” Mohan said.

“She didn't ask for the veena back, did she?” he asked. “She took a different veena home that day.”

“But it didn't end there,” Mohan said to everyone else.

“Mohan, please,” Govindar said, his voice pleading.

“No, the story of the curse attracted everyone's interest,” Mohan said. “We had people drop in, newspapers write about us, and tons of
other
sales. The curse lived on but with a twist—the Chennai Music Palace was cursed, too, because now not only could no one own this instrument, the store couldn't sell it away, either!”

“So you went on stealing the veena from customers who bought it, just to make people think the store was part of the curse?” Neela said in shock.

“No, but my father
lied
to make it seem that way,” Mohan said. “He made up stories about how the veena was sold and reappeared back in the store. He told them to customers, to the newspaper, to anyone who wanted to hear. It was the same curse everyone knew about, only with the Chennai Music Palace built into it.”

“I don't get it,” Neela said. “The Chennai Music Palace
was
always part of the curse. It's the place Guru sold the instrument and—”

“No, it isn't,” Mohan said. “That's all part of my father's lie. Guru never sold the veena to our store. Guru sold that veena to someone else long before—look at the date on that photograph of Parvati: 1903. Guru sold it soon after that. But the veena came to our store only about twenty years ago, from a different vendor. If you ask anyone living in Thanjavur before then, they will tell you about a curse, all right. They'll tell you how gifted Parvati was, how the veena was decorated with her own wedding jewels. They'll tell you she was the darling of the Mysore court, how she turned thin and sickly when she lost the veena, and never forgave Guru. They'll tell you the curse wore on, and no one could play that instrument again. But what they will
not
tell you about is Chennai Music Palace. That part was my father, fabricated and passed on by word of mouth, starting twenty years ago. And the updated curse was such a success that this is the only version you will probably hear today.”

Govindar looked embarrassed. “It was publicity. And it did generate more interest in our store. But I never did anything disreputable. And when Veronica Wyvern came one day to the store and bought the instrument—”

“For a hugely inflated price,” Mohan added.

Govindar glared at him. “After she bought the instrument, we didn't need that kind of publicity anymore. The store was doing just fine on its own. And yes, looking back, I'm embarrassed by what I did.” He turned to Mohan. “But I never resorted to stealing.”

As the two of them spoke, Neela stared at the circle of people standing around her with fresh eyes. Each person here, including herself, and even her parents in their own implausible ways, had engaged in some kind of deception. She thought of how she had lied, spied on people, and broken into a church computer, just for a chance to get closer to the veena.

She looked at the veena case now. It was monstrous, but she couldn't help thinking, just one simple tug at the handle, a few steps back, and she could sneak off with the veena, she could hop on any one of the trains departing around them, just as Mohan had tried to do. She imagined herself as she always did, fast-forwarded in time until she was all grown up. She would be giving concerts in India and around the world. And she would be performing on the legendary veena, famous for being cursed and for being the original Guru original, with its unmatched sound, its haunting tone, and not to mention, its hefty price tag. She and her instrument would be the envy of veena connoisseurs everywhere.

But then, afterward, what would she do when the concerts were over? She would live a life of paranoia, as Veronica had, wondering who might steal the veena next. Or else she'd store the veena away in a bank vault, where it would never be played again.