Truth Lake by Shakuntala Banaji Read Free Book Online Page A

ambushed him the way fear did in dreams, springing up around him before he was aware, like all the other things on this strange quest. A village of raised stone and wood cabins, layer upon layer stretching around and down the hillside, in clearings made by cutting away trees. A maze of narrow lanes ran towards him in every direction, dizzying and inviting at the same time. He stumbled forward and suddenly became aware of women watching. 
    On doorsteps, old women stood and gazed at him: little girls were on the paths, where they had not been seconds previously, smiling behind their hands or glaring solemnly, pulling their own pigtails and biting nervously at their lips. A hushed but expectant noise – the purring of a multitude of cats – made its way through the village.  Stranger. It seemed to murmur. Stranger.
    He felt the hair rise on the backs of his sweater-clad arms, on his chest, on the nape of his neck. 

5
     
    For several years it had been Antonio Sinbari's habit to go for a pre-dawn jog around the deserted lanes of the exclusive colony that housed his spacious New Delhi home. He believed in keeping fit, in keeping the years at bay. Even when he was a young man travelling from city to city and improving his father’s legacy, he had always taken the time to go running. On the twenty-eight of July he began his run as he always did, with a slight smile on his cleanly shaven face and shades to cover his swollen eyes; he was not an easy sleeper.
    About a mile into the jog, he was joined by Sadrettin. Lithe and handsome in white shorts and a cotton pullover, Sinbari's personal assistant was alert to any small changes in his boss's routine or manner; he noticed the grim lines of fatigue around Sinbari's mouth and the slight stoop of his shoulders as he moved. He knew, however, that their daily briefing which took place during this ritual run could not be foregone on any impulse of his own. So he started to speak.
    'Our foreman at Mahanta Island has quit. I won't bore you with the details of his quarrel with us but he is threatening litigation for unfair dismissal so I thought you'd be amused to know that we actually have his signed resignation on file! Oh and your wife called from Florence about Vincent's graduation. Do you want to call her back or shall I fax her? You're planning on being there? Yes. What's she doing in Florence? Visiting an aunt of yours, she said. You’ll know who she means when I say the word ‘Luisa’. Ah, she was right.' As usual, Sadrettin answered questions that were never put into words.
    He paused occasionally but Sinbari's heavy breathing and the plok plok of their trainer-clad feet were the only sounds to be heard so he continued. 'We have received authorisation to begin construction at Konali, Sir. The truckers are all loaded up and waiting for our signal. The design team is standing by to fly out there, all plans finished, and I thought that if you don’t need me for anything else, I should go with them, at least for the initial period. I had Mrs Pillai telephone to thank Raja Jobal for clearing those wretched labourers off that land. She sent over a bottle of Glenfiddich and something to keep him smiling. Very discreet, as you requested. I'll need clearance to send out cheques to Ma Randhor this week or else we'll be hearing from her lawyers.' The whisper of cloth against flesh muffled Sinbari's response.
    'I beg your pardon, sir?'
    'Pull out of the Konali project.'
    ' Sir ?' Sadrettin almost stopped running. A bird shot up sleepily from a tree and cawed at them, then flopped back down again.
                  'You heard me, son.' 
                  'But . . . but aren't we committed ? Haven't you signed a land reclamation form?  And Raja Jobal . . . ' Sadrettin's voice was rising in pitch. He was normally so calm, so intrepid, that his near hysteria infuriated Sinbari even more than it might have done, coming from another man.
    ' I pay you to look after my