Heading to Mumbai

Aditya walked to the door, then turned back. "One more thing."

"Go on."

"It's a twenty-six-hour train ride to Mumbai. I know you know people there. Receiving goods, storage, onward shipping-I need a local to keep an eye on things for me."

Solomon set down his teacup and tapped his fingers on the table.

"There's a man at the docks called Nayak. A Marathi. He's been a freight broker on Cumballa Street for twenty years. Once you get to Mumbai, go to Cumballa Street and find him. Give him my name."

"What do I need to do to make him willing to help?" Aditya asked.

"Give him three percent of the value of the goods. Not a penny less. He'll help move your goods from the docks to the warehouse, then from the warehouse onto the trucks. He handles loading and unloading, storage, and dealing with customs. If you can't even bear to spend money on him, don't bother going."

Aditya nodded. "Give me the dock address."

Solomon rummaged through a drawer and pulled out an old business card. A Mumbai address was printed on it, with "Nayak" and two phone numbers written in pencil. Aditya tucked the card into his pocket.

"One more thing." Solomon leaned back in his chair, folded his hands over his stomach, and looked at Aditya as he spoke.

"When you get to Mumbai, don't wear a loincloth. Wear a shirt and trousers, and tuck your sacred thread inside. Make yourself look like a young country fellow from Uttar Pradesh. Don't let people spot that you're a Brahmin at first glance."

"Why?" Aditya asked.

"Because when Mumbai merchants see a northern Brahmin, their first thought is 'a charlatan here to beg for alms.' If you want them to treat you as a businessman, don't leave your sacred thread showing."

Aditya glanced down at his sacred thread. Three strands of cotton ran diagonally from his shoulder to his waist, their ends already fraying. He reached up and tucked it farther inside his shirt.

"Thank you. I'll remember." Aditya bowed deeply.

"Enough of the theatrics. Off you go!" Solomon said with a wave.

Aditya left Solomon's house with the five hundred thousand in cash in his canvas bag pressed tightly against his chest.

In India in 1992, particularly Uttar Pradesh, there was no point talking about how bad law and order was. There was simply no law and order at all.

Motorcycle robberies and the like were minor problems. In the northern Indian countryside at the time, guns were everywhere, and group shootouts erupted at the drop of a hat.

Had he not been a Brahmin, Aditya would never have been so careless. This was India, after all, and Uttar Pradesh, India's poorest state, at that.

Daring to parade through the streets in broad daylight with five hundred thousand rupees in cash was practically like a beautiful woman stripping naked and going out at night-and with no surveillance cameras around, either. Those hungry Indian bros would show no mercy. They would swarm over her and fiercely...

Aditya's sacred thread kept the lower-caste passersby from daring to look too closely, and the journey went very smoothly.

When he got home, his uncle Madan was waiting in the courtyard. Seeing his nephew enter, he immediately came forward. "How did it go? Did you get it?"

"I got it." Aditya waved the canvas bag in his hand.

"How much?"

"Five hundred thousand."

Madan's mouth opened, then closed again. He rubbed his hands together before asking another question.

"When are you leaving, then?"

"August fifteenth. Tomorrow."

"Where to?"

"Mumbai."

Aditya had to make a trip to Mumbai. He needed to buy a large quantity of fertilizer, and Mumbai was the only place that sold it. He had no other choice.

Aditya recalled his memories of his previous life. As he remembered it, Mumbai in 1992 had been the "main floodgate" for India's fertilizer imports and its largest distribution hub.

Behind this journey lay a crucial fault line in India's economy at the time.

In 1992, India's fertilizer imports relied primarily on the Port of Mumbai. Anyone who wanted imported fertilizer had to go through there.

As India's "Shanghai," Mumbai drew all the major importers, wholesalers, and capital.

Only there could Aditya find merchants sitting on stock who urgently needed cash to keep their businesses moving.

Aditya also had to draw on Solomon's connections. Solomon's network was concentrated among Mumbai's Jewish merchants, and Aditya had to go in person to turn those connections into money.

As he recalled all this, Aditya walked toward his room.

Madan stood where he was for two seconds, then caught up with his nephew. "I'll go with you."

Aditya turned to look at his uncle. Madan's expression was conflicted; it was hard to say whether he wanted to help or feared that the five hundred thousand would go down the drain.

"Are you sure you want to go?" he asked.

"I can carry your bag. When you're inspecting goods and signing contracts, I'll stand behind you. When you use the toilet, I'll watch the bag. Two people are better than one. It's Mumbai, after all! It'll be the first time there for both of us. We can look after each other on the way, uncle and nephew." Madan thought it over and spoke earnestly.

Aditya had actually visited Mumbai in his previous life, but that had been more than a decade later. He was not sure what Mumbai was like now, either. After considering it for a while, he said:

"Pack your things. We leave first thing tomorrow."

Raju had been squatting at the foot of the wall and had heard the whole conversation. Now he stood up and said, "Young master, let me come too."

Madan turned to him. "You too? What would you go for?"

"Sirs, it's chaotic out there. I'm very good at fighting. If anyone on the road doesn't know who they're messing with, I can beat them off. I can also run errands and carry things for you."

Aditya looked at Raju's muscles, then at his uncle Madan's frail body and his own, and fell silent for three seconds.

Right, this was India. This was India. This was India. Aditya repeatedly reminded himself not to underestimate this wondrous country. He nodded and said:

"Go buy three clean outfits, the sort of shirts and trousers city people wear. We'll wear new clothes when we leave tomorrow."

"Yes, young master."

Raju asked no questions and turned to go buy them.

That night, Aditya was very excited. His first major decision since his rebirth would officially be put into action tomorrow. He lay tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep.

His hands wandered aimlessly, grabbing here one moment and there the next.

This made things difficult for Dipali, who lay quietly beside him. Dipali had also learned that her Baba would be leaving on a long journey tomorrow, and naturally, she could not bear to part with him.

Before it was even dark, Dipali had made the bed and packed Baba's luggage, setting it to one side. Then she bathed and fetched hot water for Baba.

When the night grew late and quiet, she and Baba finally lay in bed together. Dipali's heart thumped wildly. She had just worked up the courage to turn toward Baba when she suddenly felt a coolness against her abdomen.

Dipali clenched her teeth, forcing herself to endure the discomfort, though little whimpers still escaped her from time to time. She forgot her plans and forgot what she had wanted to say to Baba.

"Baba, can I go with you?" Dipali murmured softly, her breathing slightly quickened.

"No." Aditya refused without even thinking.

Dipali was about to speak again when she suddenly felt a coolness against her chest, and she could not help trembling.

A long time passed. Dipali let out a soft moan, her toes curling as she raised both hands to cover her cheeks.

A wave of jasmine fragrance washed over them both, the scent seeming to carry the damp breath of the Ganges.

Aditya pressed his fingers against the bedding and casually wiped them twice, then embraced the softness beside him. Before long, he fell asleep amid the floral fragrance.

Dipali's eyes were unfocused, and she felt no sleepiness at all. She did not know how much time passed before her consciousness slowly melted, flowing onto the pillow.

Early the next morning, the three men stood at the courtyard gate.

Aditya wore a gray shirt and trousers, his sacred thread tucked beneath his clothes where it could not be seen. He carried the canvas bag in his hand, with five hundred thousand in cash inside.

Madan wore a new white shirt that was a little too large. He had rolled the cuffs twice before his wrists showed. His trouser legs were too long and ill-fitting, dragging on the ground. He bent down and rolled them twice before they looked a little neater.

Raju carried a noticeably larger backpack, stuffed full. He wore a new shirt too, a dark blue one-the first new shirt he had ever worn in his life. Standing there, he did not know what to do with his hands and kept tugging at the hem.