Rajan inserted his hand into the crevice, but it was too large to slip inside. ‘Yours is the only hand that will fit, Jai,’ he said.

The uncomfortably recent memory of the mouse leaping out at him replayed in Jai’s mind, prompting him to picture an entire battalion of mice pouncing on him. He flinched.

‘Er, I’m hungry. Can we eat first?’ he said, hoping to deflect the suggestion.

‘Come on, Jai!’ said Badi Ma.

Jai sighed and reluctantly slid his hand into the aperture and felt around. His hand touched something cold and hard. He was quite relieved that it wasn’t warm and furry. He tried to tug at it, but it was too far for him to get a good grip. As he pulled out his hand, he spotted the fridge magnet that he’d brought back as a souvenir from a school trip to some boring museum or other.

Holding it with the tips of his fingers, he put his hand in the crevice again. The object clicked on to the magnet. Jai gently drew the magnet along with the object towards the opening and slowly dragged it out.

Jai’s family watched as an old tin box emerged. Jai raised the rusty latch and peered in. Inside was a diary with faded, yellowing pages and a small velvet pouch. Jai looked at the diary. It was written in a language that Jai couldn’t read.

‘I wonder to whom this belonged,’ he said, holding out the diary.

His mother came to his side and took a look at it.

‘Give it to Badi Ma. She can read Urdu,’ she said, squinting at the writing.

Jai handed the diary to his grandmother. Badi Ma opened the little diary and turned the pages. She looked at it for a few minutes in uncharacteristic silence. Her breath seemed uneven and her hands trembled slightly.

‘What’s the matter, Badi Ma?’ Jai asked. ‘Is this yours? Did you hide it a long time ago and forget all about it?’

Badi Ma shook her head.

‘Are you all right, Badi Ma?’

‘Huh? I’m fine, I’m fine,’ she finally uttered, visibly troubled.

Jai looked questioningly at Badi Ma, not used to seeing his grandmother in this suddenly sombre mood.

‘What’s in the pouch, Jai?’ asked his mother.

Jai reached into the pouch hesitantly and extracted something that looked like a brooch—a very large, ornate and dazzling one at that. It was encrusted with gemstones of every kind—diamonds, sapphires, rubies, emeralds—set in an exquisite floral design.

‘Wow. Is this yours, Badi Ma?’

His grandmother shook her head, barely registering the question.

‘Yours, Ma?’ asked Jai, turning to his mother.

‘I wish,’ replied Arathi, taking a closer look at the exquisite ornament.

‘So, if this isn’t either of yours, whose is it and what is it?’ asked Jai.

‘It’s a paasa jhoomar . . . ’ said Arathi, raising the ornament to her forehead admiringly, ‘It must cost a bomb—it looks positively regal.’

‘Perhaps the diary has an address in it to help us locate its owner?’ suggested Rajan. ‘Or it may just be an old family heirloom left for us—you never know,’ he grinned.