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Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  4. PART ONE
  5. CHAPTER ONE
  6. CHAPTER TWO
  7. CHAPTER THREE
  8. CHAPTER FOUR
  9. CHAPTER FIVE
  10. CHAPTER SIX
  11. CHAPTER SEVEN
  12. CHAPTER EIGHT
  13. CHAPTER NINE
  14. CHAPTER TEN
  15. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  16. CHAPTER TWELVE
  17. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  18. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  19. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  20. PART TWO
  21. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  22. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  23. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  24. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  25. CHAPTER TWENTY
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  35. CHAPTER THIRTY
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  39. PART THREE
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  46. CHAPTER FORTY
  47. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  48. CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
  49. CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
  50. CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
  51. CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
  52. CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
  53. CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
  54. CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
  55. CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
  56. CHAPTER FIFTY
  57. CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
  58. CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
  59. CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
  60. EPILOGUE
  61. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  62. BOOK CLUB DISCUSSION GUIDE

Of course, I’d have to convince Frank Muller that an exclusive with JP Narayan was an opportunity too good to waste. His man in Delhi—Chuck Kohlner—could go back to Pattaya or Bangkok or Phuket. For all I cared, he could go to hell. I was flying to Delhi to interview the Lok Nayak and earn my stripes.

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WEDNESDAY, JUNE 25, 1975, 6:27 P.M.

Frank Muller’s head nearly exploded when I told him what I’d done. He couldn’t very well deny it was the right decision. But he was seething behind the veil of smoke. I worried he might fire off a telex to Kate to demand she take me back. He stubbed out his cigarette and promised me he’d fire me and send me packing if I ever pulled a stunt like that again.

He cooled down, but not before he’d kicked me out of his office. A half hour later, he appeared above me and dropped a packet of fresh and not-so-fresh ten-rupee notes on my desk.

“Reimbursement for the ticket,” he said in a calm voice. “And here’s your hotel reservation.” He handed me a teletype confirmation from the travel agent. “One night. Make the most of it.”

CHAPTER FOUR

THURSDAY, JUNE 26, 1975, 4:09 A.M.

I waited in the lobby of Sagar Darshan for the car our office manager, Girish, had arranged to take me to Santa Cruz Airport for my flight. As the minutes ticked by with no sign of the driver, I worried something had gone wrong. Or was about to. I had no way to contact him, no access to a telephone. And even if I’d had, I didn’t know his number.

The liftman watched from his seat in the elevator as I fretted. A durwan—doorman—and a sweeper lay on the stone floor in the dim fluorescent light, sleeping as soundly as if on a bed of goose feathers. No use asking them where the driver was. How would they know, even if I could make myself understood? I decided to rouse one of the black-and-yellow taxi drivers who parked at the President Hotel across the road.

I grabbed my overnight bag and briefcase and stepped through the folding security gate into the night. The rain had stopped for the moment. Gone was the pungent odor of dusty smoke I’d smelled when I arrived at the International airport six weeks before. Now the air was heavy and wet.

I hurried toward the marg, the main drag at the end of our narrow cul-de-sac. Across the road, barely a hundred yards from my door, the President Hotel was asleep. But I knew there would be taxis.