Paheli: The Spies Who Came In from the Between

Sometimes, when I am walking along a street in a city somewhere, and the skies are the blue of a bruise three days after the hurt was first received, I feel a twinge of homesickness for a place that never existed. When I see people returning home at the end of the day, I, too, wish I had a place to return to. A forever home.

When we return to the hotel after our day of reconnaissance, which yielded far more fruit than I thought it would, it is already early evening. Tired, we call for room service after we finish our ablutions and gather in the living room of the Koh-i-noor suite. The doors to the balcony are open, inviting the warm attention of the night outside. The heat is kept at bay by the air conditioner.

The best thing about being in Agra right now is the abundance of mangoes. They are peeled and diced and, most importantly, they are sweet.

“Are we going to go meet Taraana tomorrow?” Areum asks with a kulfi in each hand. Ooh, the kulfi looks good too.

“No,” I reply, my attention still on the kulfi. I know Valentina’s looking at me. I can feel her gaze boring a hole through me from across the room. “We found out a lot about Baarish, but I feel like there’s still something more we can find out.”

“She was watching a spy movie in Beirut,” Widad whispers loudly to Kamboja. “She had that look in her eyes.” I ignore them.

“Baarish has an estate in Khandari, which is not too far from here actually. I’m going to go undercover as a housemaid,” I tell them.

“Do you fancy yourself Mata Hari?” Ligaya asks, sitting up. Her short hair is sticking out in all directions, making her look like a bristling chick.

“Of course not!” I am offended. “She got caught!”

“What happens if you do?” Valentina demands.

“First, magic is useless against us, and no one can rip the stars from our palms. I won’t remove them willingly, so magic will remain useless against me. Second, like you all, I can scream. Oh, I can also use the invisibility to work for me,” I say.

“We are vulnerable to violence, Paheli,” Valentina reminds me. Ah. Yes. So we are. But I am willing to take the risk and say as much.

“I will go with you,” Widad says suddenly. She squares her shoulders when we look at her. “It’s much better than letting Paheli go by herself,” she says with a sweet dignity that hurts my heart. I don’t know why my sisters think I’m so unreliable, but their nagging is how they express their affection, so I let it go.