She put the girls to bed and returned to the drawing room. Simon was on the sofa near the open fire, flicking through Good Housekeeping while the smouldering logs glowed and crackled, emitting a toasty aroma and spreading a comforting warmth around the room. She sat on a rug on the floor facing him and he passed her a glass of red wine.
“Leila was very excited to see you. I’ve never seen her so chatty.”
“She’s a diamond of a little girl. The real deal. They all are. Take after their mum.” She knew it was a gratuitously flattering comment, but enjoyed it all the same.
“We never got to talk about what happened after you and Leila arrived in Amritsar. You said that you had a girlfriend there … Juneeta, wasn’t it?” Jess tried to make it sound casual and indifferent, that she had struggled to recall the name, when in truth she was already compiling a list that currently featured Juneeta and Theadora. She took a sip from her glass and noticed he was looking at her in that patronising way of his that indicated he could see straight through her.
“Juneeta is not a girlfriend. She is a friend who happens to be a girl.”
“Oh, okay. Whatever.” She shrugged and took another sip.
“She’s married to Opinder and they have four children, Eshan, Navya, Prisha and Vivaan.”
She tried not to react, but he had caught her off guard, again.
“Goodness. You must know them well?”
“Opinder and I served together in the Indian army. Well, I was there as a trainer. So whenever I go back I look them up.” Jess smiled inwardly and struck Juneeta off the list.
“So she helped look after Leila?”
“Yes, I stashed her with them. I didn’t know what to do with a nine-year-old, did I? Anyway, it was all over the news, Mrs Kayani blubbing on the TV about her daughter being kidnapped and her husband threatening severe retribution on the perpetrators, whom he claimed were supporters of his political opponents. Heads were going to roll and throats were going to be cut; that was a given.”
“Oh my God.”
“So, because we weren’t far from the border there were lots of police around the town. Kayani had a fair amount of support in the Punjab, especially from the ruling party, so it suited the authorities to try and help. It meant that we had to keep our heads down for a while.”
***
Rutherford climbed the wooden steps to the Chaudhary apartment on the first floor and rang the bell. Opinder opened the door. Six foot four, lithe, not an ounce of fat, bushy beard and bright blue dastaar tight on his head.
“Simon, sahib. Come in, please.” They shook hands in the short hallway and Juneeta came out from the kitchen area wearing a multicoloured sari, an orange sash over her shoulder, wiping her hands on a tea towel. Simon bent and kissed her cheek.
“How’s my little princess?”
“Oh, she’s fine,” said Juneeta, rocking her head from side to side. “She’s very quiet, though. Her big eyes are always watching.”
“Look, I think it’s time we got going. I can’t impose on your hospitality any longer. You have to think about your own safety.”
“It’s no problem, Simon sahib,” said Opinder, holding both hands up. “Leila is no trouble for us.”
“Yeah, I know, mate.” Simon touched his friend’s arm. “And I’m really grateful. And I am sure her mother will be too.”
“Does her mother know where she is?” asked Juneeta. After all, she was a mother herself, her empathy total.
“I don’t think her mother knows anything. My bosses decided the less she knew the better. To be honest, there’s still no guarantee we can get her home. Look, the town’s teeming with pilgrims here for the festival. There’ll never be a better time to merge in with the crowds and slip away under the radar.”
“But where will you go?” asked Opinder, clearly troubled by the notion.
“Nepal.”
“What? But that’s at least eight hundred kilometres. Why go there?”
“Because I’ll never get her out of an Indian airport. The security is too good. If I can get her to Kathmandu, I’ll be able to use my influence and wangle a passport.”
“You mean buy one?”
“Of course.”
“So when are you leaving?”
“Day after tomorrow. The buses will be heading back east stuffed with pilgrims and we are going to be on one of them. Juneeta, can you do me favour? Go shopping tomorrow and get Leila some clothes: walking boots, fleece, trekking jacket, trousers, you know the sort of stuff. Warm weather outdoor gear, plus a rucksack. Get a selection of shoe sizes and see what fits. You won’t be able to take her with you so you’ll have to try them on here and see what works. Don’t get cheap stuff. I don’t know how far she is going to have to walk.” He handed her a bundle of grubby notes. “Here’s fifty thousand; that should be enough. Keep the change. Can I see her?”
Juneeta nodded and took the money, and Rutherford followed her into the sitting room. The TV was on full blast and Leila was sitting on the floor playing with the two youngest, Prisha and Vivaan. “Leila, honey?” said Juneeta. “Simon is here.” Leila showed no reaction, appearing not to hear. Simon moved over to her cautiously and dropped to his haunches.
“Hey, princess. How are you doing?” But there was still no reaction or acknowledgement. “We are going to go for a bus ride soon. Just you and me. We’re going to see your mum. Would you like that?” Nothing. “Your mum … Jess?” Leila stopped and looked up at him. The name meant something to her. Rutherford put his hand awkwardly on the top of her head and gave her hair a soft rub.
“Will you have some dinner with us, Simon?” said Juneeta.
“Thanks, but no. I have some things to do. I’ll call you tomorrow and fix up timings.”
***
The fire had died down a bit. Jess leant over to the wood basket and threw a couple of logs onto the embers. They began to smoulder immediately. She moved away from the fire but remained on the floor, putting her back to the sofa alongside where Simon was sitting. She reached for her wine and took another sip as the logs caught and new flames licked up around them. Simon sat back, legs crossed, one arm stretched across the arm of the sofa, wine glass in hand. The clock ticked languorously in the hallway.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, and for a moment she didn’t answer.
“I’m thinking. I know what’s coming. I’ve been there. I know how rugged, remote and isolated, how primitive it is and how cold it can get at night. And I’m wondering what’s going through the mind of a forty-eight-year-old soldier with no experience of children, and how he thinks he’s going to transport a nine-year-old across hundreds of miles of inhospitable terrain. And I’m wondering what’s going through the mind of a nine-year-old for whom the last five years have been one nightmare after another.”
“One step at a time.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if you have a mountain to climb or a seemingly impossible problem to solve, you break it down into tiny pieces and you do each of the pieces one at a time.”
“That simple, eh?”
“If you try and think through all the potential obstacles and hurdles and pitfalls and risks, you’ll never get anything done. You’ll give up before you’ve even started.” Jess understood that only too well. She was sitting here now, listening to this incredible story, knowing at the same time that it wasn’t incredible at all, because it was all true; humbled again by the prodigious efforts of all those involved in Leila’s return and realising that she had played her own part. She had climbed her own mountains, taken on the impossible, risked everything to find her own way in the world, and if she hadn’t done that, she wouldn’t be here now.
The warmth of the fire and his company, the all-embracing blanket of security she felt with him there, made her feel soporific and heavy-eyed. Or maybe it was the red wine taking hold. She thought she had better hold back for a while, but she took another sip anyway.
***
Rutherford called and Juneeta confirmed Leila was all ready for travel. He said he would come and collect her at exactly 7 a.m. the next day.
The doorbell rang and Opinder answered it.
“Holy shit!”
“Put your jaw back, mate.” Simon stepped into the hallway. He wore a multi-pocketed safari jacket, khaki cargo pants and heavy walking boots and carried a large rucksack over one shoulder, none of which was worthy of reaction or particular comment. It was the orange dastaar tied tightly around the head, the black eyebrows, tanned skin and black bushy beard that did it.
“Simon, sahib. Have you converted at last to the only true religion?”
“What do you think? Will I pass?”
“As long as you don’t have to say much, you’ll pass. Juneeta?” he called, and his wife appeared from the sitting room. She looked quizzically at the stranger and then put a hand to her mouth in shock.
“Oh, my goodness! Simon?”
“’Fraid so. Simon Singh to you.”
“How … did you …?”
“Film make-up. Backstreet Bollywood make-up artist did it. I figured a young mixed-race girl accompanied by a big white guy was going to look a little suspicious on the bus to Dharamshala.”
“You’re probably right. How’s your Punjabi?”
“I can do enough to get by. Where’s my little princess?”
“Leila!” called Juneeta. Leila dutifully appeared, trussed up in her new outdoor gear, hair tied back, looking subdued and slightly bemused. Rutherford went over to her, knelt down and looked into her eyes.
“Hi, princess. It’s just me. Simon. Do you like my fancy dress?” he asked, trying to sound enthusiastic but getting no response. He tried again. “Are you ready to go for a ride on the bus?” Nothing. He stood and turned to his friends.
“I owe you both.”
“Anytime, my friend. Go safely. I will lend you my God for a while.” The men hugged and he kissed Juneeta.
“Come on, princess. Let’s go for a walk.” She took his hand and they walked out of the apartment and into the swirling masses of Amritsar.
They queued at the bus station along with thousands of other travellers arranged in hundreds of neat lines, as smelly, smoky buses rolled in, filled up and rolled out again. Their turn came, he showed the driver their tickets and lifted Leila onto the bus, taking a seat near the back. He pulled a banana out of his rucksack, peeled it and offered it to her but she wasn’t interested, so he reluctantly ate it himself. He offered her some water but that was similarly ignored.
They’d left the house only an hour ago and it was a four-hour drive to Dharamshala. He wondered how he was going to keep her entertained and found himself praying to Waheguru, the Wonderful Lord, the one and only God, that she would remain calm.
The bus was full both inside and out, the roof stacked three-high with assorted bags and suitcases, chickens in baskets and, inside, even a small goat. It bounced, clattered, grunted and roared its way out of town, and he was relieved to see Leila taking great interest in whatever she could see through the dusty windows. Had he been alone, he’d have spent most of the journey asleep, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off her, observing her watching intently, her lips moving from time to time in response to the things she saw, as if speaking a silent language to herself.
After a couple of hours, the bus stopped and everyone piled off, either to relieve themselves or stock up with provisions from the roadside traders. Rutherford felt he needed to ask, desperately hoping she’d decline.
“Toilet?”
She nodded.
Great.
He took her hand and led her off the bus, leaving their rucksacks on the seat. A queue of women waited outside the toilet block so they joined the end, hand in hand, but he felt awkward and conspicuous. A woman who looked about thirty stood in front of them, and by the time they’d reached the door of the toilet block, he’d rehearsed his Punjabi.
“Madam. Is it possible that you can help my daughter?” The woman turned, looked down at Leila, smiled and said in English.
“Of course. Are you English?”
“Oh. Yes. Is it that obvious?”
“Your accent,” she said nodding and then looking at Leila. “What is your name?”
“Leila. She doesn’t say much,” said Simon, hoping upon hope she didn’t suddenly decide to start speaking. They went inside and he dashed quickly into the gents, then stood outside waiting anxiously, working out a contingency plan if everything went wrong. It didn’t.
The woman brought Leila back out, he thanked her profusely and they got back on the bus. He offered her an apple but she shook her head and pointed to a banana. He started to peel it for her.
“No!” The people in the seats in front turned around and he smiled feebly at them as Leila took the banana out of his hand and peeled it herself. She finished it in four or five huge bites and handed him back the skin, still chewing. He offered her the water bottle and she took a long drink, placing the bottle in the seat netting in front of her. Rutherford smiled to himself. Maybe we’re going to be okay.
The bus pulled into Dharamshala Interstate bus station at three thirty in the afternoon. Rutherford had originally planned to carry on to Palampur and stay there overnight, but Leila was looking tired and a little tearful and he thought it better he didn’t push her too hard on their first day.
He was worried they might look conspicuous but the town was full of tourists, many of them there to visit the Dalai Lama’s residence, so they didn’t appear out of place. He took the little girl by the hand and they walked together down to the Gurudwara Road where he found the taxi service he was looking for. He’d researched the route carefully back in Amritsar and already discovered there was no bus service between Dharamshala and Palampur, taxi being the only available option. They went inside and he booked a taxi to take them to Palampur the next day, then walked up the Gurudwara Road into the centre of town.
In a side street, he found the Suwanna Guest House and took a twin room with private bathroom at the top on the fourth floor. He checked in with Jack on the satphone.
“How’s it going, Si? Have you got the package?”
“Fine so far, Jack. I won’t tell you where I am, save to say I’m making progress and I’m on schedule. Just checked into a hotel and I’m going off for some dinner soon. Anything happening out there?”
Jack had an update on the drama from Pakistan.
“That politician bloke, Kayani, has still got an APB out all over the border and some of his guys have been causing trouble at the opposition headquarters. A few of them got beaten up and one of them didn’t make it, so it’s all getting a bit frantic.”
“Terrible thing, kidnapping. Imagine that poor little girl. She must be frightened to death.” He looked across at Leila who was sitting patiently on one of the beds, watching him.
“The Indians are on the case too, but they seem to be concentrating on the border area, train stations and airports. I don’t think she’s gone anywhere. I bet she’s still in Lahore. What’s the news where you are?”
“Haven’t seen it yet. I’ll check the TV. Call you in a day or two.” He hung up and gave Leila a big smile, but she failed to reciprocate. “Hungry, princess?” Nothing. “Fancy a pizza?” She nodded. Bingo.
Remarkably, they found a Domino’s and he watched her wolf down a Diavola, complete with chilli and pepperoni substitute, all by herself. There was a TV fixed to the wall high up in the corner but it was small and nobody was taking much notice. He saw the story come up briefly, accompanied by a photo of Leila, but it was a poor likeness and she was wearing a brightly coloured shalwar kameez, an ornate traditional dress, a far cry from the bland trekking gear she now wore.
At six thirty he took her back to the hotel but then, with increasing disquiet, wondered how he was going to put her to bed. He removed her jacket and boots and showed her into the bathroom. He gave her a toothbrush and a small tube of toothpaste and a towel, and waved awkwardly at the toilet and basin. She stared up at him blankly and was still staring at him as he backed out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
She reappeared five minutes later.
“Done,” she announced and he sighed with relief, encouraged that she was beginning to respond, albeit in monosyllables. But it was short-lived. He pulled back the bed covers and gestured for her to get in, but she just looked at him. He tried again.
“Are you not sleepy?”
She nodded.
“Well, go on then, get yourself snuggled under.”
She stared at him and he wondered how the dispassionate stare of a nine-year-old could make him feel so uncomfortable. He suddenly got the message. “Ah okay, princess.” He turned his back on her and sat on the opposite bed, picking up a magazine he had bought earlier. After a minute, he heard the light rustle of clothing and the squeak of bedsprings and eventually plucked up the courage to turn around. Her fleece and trousers were on top of the bed and the blanket was pulled up to her chin. He went over to her bed, leant over and touched her forehead.
“Goodnight, princess.” Nothing. She turned over to face the wall and closed her eyes. He drew the curtains and turned out all the lights apart from the one by his bed.
He couldn’t do much about washing his face in case he dislodged the fake beard or smudged his fake tan, but he brushed his teeth and washed his body as best he could. He put his clothes back on, checked the door was locked securely and lay on the other bed. It was only 7 p.m. and he wasn’t tired yet. He craved a beer but he couldn’t leave her, so he read the magazine until he got bored and lay back, eyes open, thinking, planning. It would be a long night.
The next morning, they did the undressing routine in reverse, and when he heard her say, “Ready,” they picked up their things and checked out. He found a local bakery with a café where they ate stuffed paratha and drank marsala chai for breakfast, and by nine they were in the taxi, heading out of town.
“How far to Palampur?” he asked Ranesh, the driver.
“Just one hour,” he replied but he was not the talkative type and Rutherford was just as pleased. He sat Leila directly behind the driver so he didn’t have a permanent view of her through the mirror. He didn’t want to take any chances but he knew that as time went by, they were getting further and further away from trouble.
***
It took them three more days to get from Palampur to the Nepalese border, via Shimla and Srinigar and Almora, each leg of the journey taken by taxis in various states of decrepitude. Leila seemed to buy into the hotel and travel routine, repeating favourite words such as “toilet”, “drink”, “hungry” and, more often than not, “no”, the latter usually indicating displeasure of some sort.
His objective was Dharchula on the banks of the Sarda River, the natural border between India and Nepal, the border crossing comprising a suspension footbridge that citizens on both sides could easily cross without showing passports. The only difficulty he saw, and it was not insignificant, was that, despite the casual nature of border control, he didn’t look like a local, with or without his Sikh disguise.
They checked into the Haldwani Hotel situated on the banks of the river and he had a good view of the border crossing from their room. He’d discarded the dastaar and beard when they got out of the taxi and had done his best to clean off most of the face paint in a local restaurant, but he looked especially filthy, and when she saw him, Leila’s expression confirmed it.
He left her watching TV and had a shower, the first for four days, and, wrapping a towel around himself, returned to find her asleep on top of the bed. Relieved he didn’t have to worry about exposing himself, he foraged around in his rucksack for fresh clothes and got dressed. He watched the bridge and the steady stream of foot traffic and bicycles moving in both directions, and although there were border officials on the Indian side, no one seemed to be challenged or stopped. But he doubted whether a European man accompanied by a young Asian girl would be able to cross unimpeded, not least without some exchange of currency, and he needed to find out.
He called Jackson.
“He’s dead,” came the crackly distorted voice down the line.
“Who is?”
“Kayani. Blown up in a truck. Some lunatic cast his vote early.” Rutherford’s mind flipped into overdrive but his friend had already done the thinking for him. “I don’t think it’s going to help you in the short term. He certainly won’t be looking for you anymore, but just as the story was going cold, it’s right back up there at the top of the news agenda. The accusations are flying around like bullets and it’s all kicking off. I think you need to stick with the plan and hoof it across the border.”
“I think you’re right. Look, I need to go, the phone is about out of charge. Call you when I get across.”
He pulled the phone charger out of his bag, connected the phone and rammed the plug into one of the wall sockets. There was a flash and a bang and he pulled his hand away.
“Jesus!”
He picked up the phone and checked it. It appeared unharmed, but there was no charging icon on display and it showed only one bar. He carefully extracted the charger plug and tried another socket. Nothing. “Shit!” And then he noticed Leila looking at him. “Sorry, princess. That’s not very nice.”
“Shit,” she said. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He rubbed his forehead.
“Pizza?” She nodded with glee.
***
They stayed at the hotel another day and had their laundry done. He toured what few shops there were to try and find a compatible phone charger but without success, so he bought her some comics in the local store and she watched TV while he kept watch on the crossing and eventually formulated a plan.
“Indira?” he asked the girl on reception, Leila next to him, holding his hand.
“Yes, sir. Can I help you?”
“I wonder if you could do me a favour?”
“Yes, of course, sir. If I am able.”
“My daughter would love to cross the river tomorrow and see the Nepalese side. Would you be willing to take her?” Indira looked at Leila and then back at Rutherford, and he could see her confusion. “My wife’s Indian. She’s in New Delhi. I brought Leila here to see some of the Himalayas.”
“But you can take her yourself, sir. You just have to show your passport.”
“Yes, that’s the problem. I didn’t bring Leila’s passport because I didn’t expect us to cross the border. I have to carry mine around with me all the time, naturally.” He waved it in the air. Indira looked uncertain. “Thing is, if I try to take her across, they’ll want to see her passport, but if you do it, no one will blink. I’ll go across separately and meet you on the other side, and then we can have a quick look and come back.” He smiled, as if pleased with himself, which, in a way, he was.
“I don’t know, sir,” said Indira looking uncomfortable.
“Ah, okay, I understand if it’s too difficult.” He looked down at Leila and made a sad face. “Sorry, princess, it’s just not going to be possible.” Leila said nothing. “I know you really wanted to go across and see Nepal, but Indira says you can’t.” Indira shifted her feet and put her pen down.
“Maybe I can do something.”
“We’d be very grateful,” said Rutherford, winking, leaving the girl in no doubt she’d be well rewarded.
“What time would you like to go?”
“Tomorrow morning. About eight?”
***
Indira was waiting for them and was surprised to see them wearing their rucksacks.
“We’ll check out now, if that’s okay? When we get back across we’ll get the bus straight to Pithoragarh. It’ll save time.” He handed over the key and Indira quickly ran off the bill; just under ten thousand rupees. He gave her twenty and she hunted for change. “No – please keep it. And thanks for your help.”
She smiled in gratitude at the extremely generous tip.
“Thank you, Mr Rutherford. Are you ready to go?”
Outside, the weather was cool and misty, so Indira pulled her woollen shawl over her head and tossed the ends over one shoulder.
They stood outside the front door of the hotel where Rutherford could see the entrance to the crossing fifty yards away. There were two border guards wearing military-style fatigues; camouflage pants tucked into shiny black leather boots, baseball caps and, inevitably, pistols on their belts, watching a steady stream of locals crossing the bridge, pushing trolleys laden with goods, children and animals in tow, most people on foot, some on bicycles and scooters. The guards chatted to each other, standing in a slovenly fashion, bored and restless, arms folded.
He crouched down to speak to Leila and rubbed a finger down one cheek.
“Now, princess, we’re going for a walk across the bridge to the other side. Do you understand?” Nothing. He tried again. “Is that okay with you?” Nothing. “Indira here is going to take you and I’m going to follow in a few minutes.” He stood up again and Leila looked up at him as if she was about to burst into tears. She threw her arms around his waist. “Hey, princess. It’s okay. I’ll just be a few minutes, promise.”
“Come on, Leila,” said Indira, clutching her shawl. “Let’s go and look at the river.” Leila released her grip and took Indira’s hand and she led her up the road towards the crossing. Leila looked back, forlorn, and Rutherford waved. To his astonishment, he sensed a lump in his throat. Get a grip, Si! He watched them stroll past guards who appeared totally disinterested in another woman and child amongst the crowds crossing into Nepal. He waited till they were fifty yards across and set off.
The first guard saw the foreign trekker when he was just ten feet away. Rutherford strode up to them.
“Namaste,” he said, not intending to stop, but one of them held out an arm. The other stood, hands on hips, one hand covering the handgun.
“Passport?” He flicked a finger towards Rutherford who feigned confusion and, although knowing exactly where his passport was, made a show of patting and feeling around various pockets until he found it. He handed it over, smiling, and turned his head casually as if to take in the view.
The first guard flicked through the pages, holding up the photo page to check the likeness, rubbing his chin as if he were considering something relevant but saw the Indian visa and handed it back.
“You need visa for Nepal.” He said, pointing at the other side. Rutherford nodded.
“Yes, thanks. I know. I’ll buy one over there.” They all knew no one was manning the Nepalese side so he’d be able to get in without paying, but even if there were, it was a mere formality. The guard waved him on, unsmiling, and he set off at a brisk pace, losing himself amongst the locals.
Halfway across, Indira had noticed that the little girl kept turning round, looking anxiously behind her, apparently concerned about leaving her father. She tried to comfort her.
“It’s okay, Leila, your Daddy will be coming soon.”
They walked on a few steps.
“He’s not my Daddy,” said Leila.
Indira stopped and looked down at her.
“What did you say?” She frowned, but getting no answer, bent over and shook Leila’s arm.
He was fifty yards in but fifty behind Indira and Leila when he saw they’d stopped at the halfway point. Indira was bending over, talking to Leila, and she looked agitated. He quickened his pace and reached them in a few seconds. The bridge