A human mass of dark skin, delicate features, and enormous black eyes swirled around them. Alexander was used to a minimum of twenty inches of private space, the custom in his country. He felt as if he were being attacked. He could barely breathe. Suddenly he realized that Nadia had disappeared, swallowed up by the throng, and he panicked. He began to call to her, frantic, trying to free himself from the hands tugging at his clothing, until after several heart-stopping minutes he saw, some distance away, the colorful feathers she wore in her ponytail. He elbowed his way through the crowd, grabbed her hand, and dragged her in the wake of his grandmother and the photographers, who had been in India several times before and knew the drill.
It took them half an hour to gather their luggage, count the pieces, defend them from would-be helpers, and hail the two taxis that drove them to the hotel—driving on the left, English-style, through nearly impassable streets. All kinds of vehicles were circulating in total chaos, disregarding the occasional traffic lights and police whistles: cars, broken-down buses painted with religious figures, motorcycles with four people astride, carts pulled by buffaloes and rickshaws pulled by humans, bicycles, decrepit vans crammed with students, and even a placid elephant adorned for some ceremony.
They were tied up for forty minutes in a traffic jam caused by a dead cow surrounded by starving dogs and enormous black birds pecking at the decomposing flesh. Kate explained that cows are considered sacred, and no one drives them off, which is why they wander at will through the streets. There was, however, a special branch of the police that collected dead cows and herded live ones to the city’s outskirts.
The sweating and patient masses contributed to the chaos. A holy man with long tangled hair to his heels, completely naked and followed by a half-dozen women tossing flower petals at him, crossed the street at a turtle’s pace, and no one even turned to look at him. Evidently he was a familiar sight.
Nadia, who had grown up in a village with twenty houses, in the silence and solitude of the forest, hovered between fright and fascination. Compared to this city, New York was a wide spot in the road. She never imagined that there were this many people in the world. In the meantime, Alexander was fending off the hands reaching into the taxi to offer merchandise or ask for money through the windows they were unable to close because they would have smothered.
Finally they reached the hotel. Once inside the gates protected by armed guards, they found themselves in a Garden of Eden where absolute peace reigned. The noise of the street had disappeared as if by magic; all they could hear was the trilling of birds and the song of many fountains. Peacocks strutted across grassy lawns, dragging their bejeweled tails. Several bellboys dressed in brocade and gold-embroidered velvet and wearing tall turbans decorated with pheasant feathers, like illustrations in a book of fairy tales, seized their luggage and led them inside.
The hotel was a palace of white marble so extravagantly carved that it looked like lace. The floors were covered with enormous silk carpets; the furniture was made of the finest woods inlaid with silver, mother-of-pearl, and ivory; the tables held huge porcelain jars overflowing with flowers whose perfumes filled the air. Everywhere they saw lush tropical plants in hammered-copper pots, and scores of intricately fashioned cages filled with brightly colored songbirds. The palace had once been the residence of a maharajah who had lost his power and his fortune when India declared its independence from England, and now it was leased to an American hotel chain. The maharajah and his family still lived in one wing of the building, separate from the hotel guests. In the afternoon, however, they often came down to have tea with the tourists.
The room that Alexander shared with the photographers was luxurious and richly furnished. The bath featured a tiled pool and a fresco on the wall depicting a tiger hunt: The hunters, armed with shotguns, were riding on elephants, surrounded by a train of servants on foot carrying lances and bows and arrows. Their room was on the highest floor, and from the balcony they could appreciate the fabulous gardens insulated from the street by a high wall.
“The people you see camping down there are whole families that live and die in the street. Their only possessions are a few cooking pots and the rags on their backs. They are the ‘untouchables,’ the poorest of the poor,” Timothy Bruce explained, pointing out some ragged tents on the sidewalk outside the wall.
The contrast between the opulence of the hotel and the absolute poverty of those people moved Alexander to fury and horror. When he tried to share his feelings with Nadia, she did not understand what he meant. She owned nothing but what she was wearing, and to her the splendor of the palace was oppressive.
“I think I would be more comfortable outside with the untouchables than I am here with all these things around me, Jaguar. I feel dizzy. There isn’t an inch of wall space that isn’t decorated; there’s no place for your eyes to take a rest. It’s too luxurious. I’m choking. And why do these princes keep bowing to us?” she asked, pointing to the men dressed in brocade and plumed turbans.
Her friend smiled wryly. “They’re not princes, Eagle, they’re hotel employees.”
“Tell them to go away, we don’t need them.”
“It’s their job. If I tell them to leave us alone, they’ll be offended. You’ll get used to it.”
Alexander went back to the balcony to watch the untouchables in the street. They survived in abject poverty, barely able to clothe themselves. Upset by such a spectacle, Alexander took some dollars from the few he had, exchanged them for rupees, and went outside to give them to the poor. Nadia watched from the balcony. From her vantage she could see the gardens, the hotel walls, and the masses of poor on the other side. She saw her friend go through the wrought-iron gate protected by the guards, venture out alone among the crowd, and begin to hand out coins to the nearest children. Instantly, he was mobbed by dozens of desperate beggars. The news flashed like gunpowder that a foreigner was handing out money, and more and more people rushed toward him, like an uncontainable human avalanche.
When Nadia realized that within minutes Alexander would be crushed, she rushed downstairs screaming. Hotel guests and employees came running, which only added to the alarm and general commotion. Everyone had a suggestion, but seconds were racing by. There was no time to lose but no one seemed capable of making a move. Suddenly Tex Armadillo stepped forward, and took charge of the situation.
“Quick! Come with me!” he ordered the armed guards posted at the gates of the garden.
He led them straight into the heart of the uproar in the street, where he began throwing punches as the guards attempted to clear a way with their clubs. Armadillo grabbed a weapon from one of them and shot twice into the air. The people nearest him froze in their tracks, but others kept pushing in from behind them.
Tex Armadillo took advantage of the few seconds of confusion to get to Alexander, who had been thrown to the ground, his clothes in tatters. He grabbed him under the armpits and with the help of the guards managed to drag him to safety inside the hotel gates, even rescuing the boy’s eyeglasses, which by some miracle still lay unbroken on the ground. The gates of the palace were slammed shut, as the shouting grew louder and louder outside.
“You are dumber than you look, Alexander. You can’t change anything with a few dollars. India is India, you have to accept it as it is,” was Kate’s comment when she saw her battered grandson.
“Following those guidelines we’d all still be living in the age of the cave dwellers!” he replied, wiping his bloody nose.
“We are, child, we are,” she said, disguising how proud she was of him.
Sitting beneath a large white umbrella with gold fringe on the hotel terrace, a woman had observed the entire episode. She was fortyish—though a very well-cared-for fortyish—slim, tall, and athletic. She wore sandals and khaki-colored cotton slacks and shirt. Her travel-worn leather handbag lay on the ground between her feet. Her smooth mane of black hair, highlighted by a wide white streak at the forehead, framed a face of classic f
eatures: chestnut-colored eyes, thick, arched eyebrows, straight nose, and expressive mouth. Despite the simplicity of her attire, she had an elegant, aristocratic air.
“You are a brave young man,” the stranger said to Alexander an hour later, when the International Geographic group had assembled on the terrace.
The youth felt his ears burn.
“But you must be cautious, you’re not in your own country,” she added in English that was perfect but flavored with a slight Central European accent difficult to pinpoint.
At that moment two waiters appeared carrying large silver trays of chai, an Indian-style tea prepared with milk, spices, and a lot of sugar or honey. Kate invited the traveler to join them. She had also invited Tex Armadillo, grateful for his prompt action in rescuing her grandson, but he declined, saying that he preferred a beer and his newspaper. Alexander was puzzled that this self-proclaimed hippie, who had only a canvas tote and a sleeping bag for luggage, would be staying in a maharajah’s palace, but he concluded that the room rate must be very reasonable. India was cheap for anyone who had American dollars.
Soon Kate and her guest were exchanging observations, and that was how they discovered that all of them were on their way to the Kingdom of the Golden Dragon. The stranger introduced herself as Judit Kinski, a landscape architect, and she told them that she was traveling at the official invitation of the king, whom she had had the honor of meeting recently. She said that when she learned that the monarch was interested in growing tulips in his country, she had written him offering her services. She thought that under certain conditions the bulbs could be adapted to the climate and terrain of the Forbidden Kingdom. The king had immediately requested an interview, and, given the world fame of Dutch tulips, she had chosen to have it in Amsterdam.
“His Majesty knows as much about tulips as any expert. To be honest, he doesn’t need me at all; he could have carried out this project on his own, but apparently he liked the designs of the gardens I showed him, and was kind enough to offer me a contract,” she explained. “We talked a lot about his plans to create new parks and gardens for his people, preserving native species and introducing others. He is aware that this must be accomplished very carefully in order not to upset the ecological balance. There are plants, birds, and a few small mammals in the Forbidden Kingdom that have disappeared from the rest of the world. The country is a nature sanctuary.”
The group from International Geographic thought that the monarch must have been as enchanted with Judit Kinski as they were. The woman made a memorable impression: She radiated a combination of strength of character and femininity. Seen at close range, the harmony of her face and the natural elegance of her movements were so extraordinary that it was difficult to tear one’s eyes away.
“This king is a white knight for the ecology. What a shame there aren’t more rulers like him,” Kate replied in turn. “He subscribes to International Geographic. That’s why he approved our visas and is allowing us to do an article.”
“It’s an extremely interesting country,” Judit said.
“Have you been there before?” Timothy asked.
“No, but I’ve read a lot about it. I tried to prepare for this trip, not only those things that have to do with my work but anything I could find about the people and their customs and ceremonies . . . I don’t want to offend them with my rude Western codes of behavior,” she smiled.
“I suppose you’ve heard about the fabulous Golden Dragon . . .” Timothy prompted.
“I’m told that no one has seen it except their kings. It may be a legend,” she replied.
The subject did not come up again, but Alexander noticed the gleam of excitement in his grandmother’s eyes, and guessed that she would do anything possible to find a way to that treasure. The challenge of being the first person to prove its existence was irresistible.
Kate and Judit agreed to exchange information and help one another, as befitted two foreign women in an unfamiliar region. At the other end of the terrace, Tex Armadillo was drinking his beer with his newspaper folded on his lap. Mirror-lensed sunglasses covered his eyes, but Nadia could feel his gaze lingering upon their group.
They had only three days to act like tourists. In their favor was the fact that many people here spoke English, since for more than two hundred years India had been a colony of the British Empire. Even so, as Kate told them, they would not be able to scratch the surface of New Delhi in such a short period of time, much less understand the complex society of India. The contrasts were extreme: incredible poverty on the one hand, beauty and opulence on the other. There were millions of illiterates, but the universities were producing large numbers of technicians and scientists. The villages had no potable water, but the nation was building nuclear bombs. India had the largest film industry in the world, but also the greatest number of holy men, who doused themselves in ashes and never cut their hair or fingernails; just the thousands of Hindu gods, or the caste system alone, could take years of study.
Alexander was used to the American belief that everyone should be able to do what they want in life. He was horrified at the idea that in India, people’s lives are determined by the caste into which they’re born. Nadia, on the other hand, listened to Kate’s explanations without offering a criticism.
“If you had been born here, Eagle, you wouldn’t be able to choose your husband. You would have been wed at the age of ten to a fifty-year-old man. Your father would have arranged your marriage, and you would have nothing to say about it,” Alexander told her.
Nadia smiled. “I’m sure my father would choose better than I.”
“Are you nuts? I would never permit such a thing!” Alex exclaimed.
“If we’d been born into the tribe of the People of the Mist in the Amazon, we would have to hunt for food with poisoned darts. If we’d been born here, it wouldn’t seem strange to have fathers arrange marriages,” Nadia argued.
“How can you defend this system? Look at the poverty! Would you like to live like that?”
“No, Jaguar, but I don’t want more things than I need, either,” she replied.
Kate took the two young people to visit palaces and temples, and also walked them through the markets, where Alexander bought bracelets for his mother and sisters while Nadia’s hands were being painted with henna, like a bride’s. The design was as intricate as embroidery, and it would stay on her skin for two or three weeks. Borobá, as always, rode on his mistress’s shoulder or hip, but he didn’t attract attention there as he had in New York; in New Delhi monkeys were more common than dogs.
In one square they came upon two snake charmers sitting on the ground, legs crossed, playing their flutes. Their cobras rose from their baskets and stayed erect, swaying, hypnotized by the movement of the flutes. When Borobá saw them, he jumped from his mistress, shrieking, and scrambled up a palm tree. Nadia walked over to the charmers and began to murmur something in the language of the jungle. Immediately the serpents turned toward her, hissing, as their tongues knifed through the air. Four elliptical eyes stared daggers at the girl.
Before anyone could react, the cobras slithered from their baskets and zigzagged toward Nadia. People began shouting, panicked, and ran. Within an instant there was no one left but Alexander and his grandmother, both of them paralyzed with surprise and terror. The snake charmers tried in vain to control the serpents with their instruments, but they didn’t dare go near them. Nadia was composed, with a rather amused expression on her golden face. She did not move an inch as the serpents coiled around her legs and climbed up her slim body as high as her neck and face, hissing constantly.
Kate, bathed in cold sweat, thought she was going to faint for the first time in her life. She slipped to the ground and sat there, pale as death, eyes bulging, unable to utter a sound. After the first instant of stupor, Alexander realized that he mustn’t move. He knew his friend’s strange powers very well. In the Amazon he had seen her pick up a surucucú, one of the most poisonous serpents in the worl
d, in one hand, whirl it over her head, and throw it far away. He assumed that if no one did anything stupid to disturb the cobras, Eagle was safe.
This scene lasted several minutes, until the girl gave an order in her jungle tongue and the serpents snaked down her body and returned to their baskets. The charmers quickly slapped down the lids, picked up the baskets, and ran from the square, convinced that the foreign girl with feathers in her hair was a demon.
Nadia called Borobá and, once he was back on her shoulder, continued her walk through the square as if nothing had happened. Alexander followed, smiling, without a word, highly amused to see that for once his grandmother had completely lost her composure at a sign of danger.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Sect of the Scorpion
ON HER LAST DAY IN NEW DELHI, Kate Cold had to spend hours in a travel agency trying to get tickets on the one weekly flight to the Kingdom of the Golden Dragon. It wasn’t that there were that many passengers, just that the plane was so small. Since she had to make those arrangements, she gave Nadia and Alexander permission to go by themselves to the Red Fort, an ancient landmark near the hotel, which was a must for tourists.
“Don’t get separated for any reason, and come back to the hotel before sunset,” the writer ordered.
The fort had been used by English troops during the time that India was a colony. This enormous country had been the most glorious jewel in the British crown until finally it gained its freedom in 1947. Since then the fort had been deserted. Tourists visited only a small part of the enormous compound. Very few people knew the inner workings of the fort, a true labyrinth of corridors, secret rooms, and underground passageways that stretched beneath the city like the tentacles of an octopus.