And Thereby Hangs a Tale

“Where to, sahib?” asked the driver cheerfully.

“The High Court,” Jamwal said without emotion.

“Why are we going to the High Court?” asked Nisha.

“To get married,” Jamwal replied.

Nisha’s mother and father held a more formal ceremony on the lawn of their home in Chanakyapuri a few days later to celebrate their daughter’s marriage. The festivities had gone on for several days, and culminated in a large party that was attended by over a thousand guests, although not a single member of Jamwal’s family attended the ceremony.

After the newly married couple had danced seven times round Pheras, the final confirmation of their wedding vows, Mr. and Mrs. Rameshwar Singh strolled round the grounds, speaking to as many of their guests as possible.

“So where are you spending your honeymoon, dare I ask?” said Noel Kumar.

“We’re flying to Goa, to spend a few days at the Raj,” said Jamwal.

“I can’t think of a more beautiful place to spend your first few days as man and wife,” said Noel.

“A wedding gift from your uncle,” said Nisha. “So generous of him.”

“Just be sure you have him back in time for the board meeting on Monday week, young lady, because one of the items under discussion is a new project that I know the chairman wants Jamwal to mastermind.”

“Any clues?” asked Jamwal.

“Certainly not,” said Noel. “You just go away and enjoy your honeymoon. Nothing’s so important that it can’t wait until you’re back.”

“And if we hang round here any longer,” said Nisha, taking her husband by the hand, “we might miss our plane.”

A large crowd gathered by the entrance to the house and threw marigold petals in their path and waved as the couple were driven away.

When Mr. and Mrs. Rameshwar Singh drove onto the airport’s private runway forty minutes later, the company’s Gulfstream jet awaited them, door open, steps down.

“I do wish someone from your family had attended the wedding,” said Nisha as she fastened her seat belt. “I was hoping that perhaps your brother or sister might have turned up unannounced.”

“If either of them had,” said Jamwal, “they would have suffered the same fate as me.” Nisha felt the first moment of sadness that day.

Two and a half hours later the plane touched down at Goa’s Dabolim airport, where another car was waiting to whisk them off to their hotel. They had planned to have a quiet supper in the hotel dining room, but that was before they were shown round the bridal suite, where they immediately started undressing each other. The bellboy left hurriedly and placed a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door. In fact, they missed dinner and breakfast, only surfacing in time for lunch the following day.

“Let’s have a swim before breakfast,” said Jamwal as he placed his feet on the thick carpet.

“I think you mean lunch, my darling,” said Nisha as she slipped out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

Jamwal pulled on a pair of swimming trunks and sat on the end of the bed waiting for Nisha to return. She emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later wearing a turquoise swimsuit that made Jamwal think about skipping lunch.

“Come on, Jamwal, it’s a perfect day,” Nisha said as she drew the curtains and opened the French windows that led onto a freshly cut lawn surrounded by a luxuriant tropical garden of deep red frangipani, orange dahlias, and fragrant hibiscus.

They were walking hand in hand toward the beach when Jamwal spotted the large swimming pool at the far end of the lawn. “Did I ever tell you, my darling, that when I was at school I won a gold medal for diving?”

“No, you didn’t,” Nisha replied. “It must have been some other woman you were showing off to,” she added with a grin.

“You’ll live to regret those words,” he said, releasing her hand and beginning to run toward the pool. When he reached the edge of the pool he took off and leaped high into the air before executing a perfect dive, entering the water so smoothly he hardly left a ripple on the surface.

Nisha ran toward the pool laughing. “Not bad,” she called out. “I bet the other girl was impressed.”

She stood at the edge of the pool for a moment before falling to her knees and peering down into the shallow water. When she saw the blood slowly rising to the surface, she screamed.

I have a passion, almost an obsession, about not being late, and it’s always severely tested whenever I visit India. And however much I cajoled, remonstrated with, and simply shouted at my poor driver, I was still several minutes late that night for a dinner being held in my honor.

I ran into the dining room of the Raj and apologized profusely to my host, who wasn’t at all put out, although the rest of the party were already seated. He introduced me to some old friends, some recent acquaintances, and a couple I’d never met before.