Chapter 9 – Not Nearly Enough
Smith was an artist to his bones. Illustration, stage design, photography—he dabbled in it all.
One of his biggest goals in coming to India was to sketch the country's people and customs by hand.
So of course he wouldn't miss the temples and caves. Over the past three days, Rohan had shepherded him across Mumbai, from one landmark to the next.
Hindu, Islamic, Jain, Buddhist—it didn't matter. Whatever Smith wanted to see, Rohan could take him there.
Naturally, every tourist spot had its vultures.
Smiling men with cameras would invite you to take a picture. Accept, and suddenly you'd owe them money.
Others clutched wads of cash, offering to "exchange currency on the spot." Some sold trinkets, brass polished to pass for gold, or worse.
If not for Rohan and Anand watching his back, Smith would've been fleeced down to his underwear.
"Rohan," Smith said one evening, his tone heartfelt, "a proper guide in India isn't just helpful—it's essential."
"I'm glad you think so, sir. I'll take that as a compliment."
"Of course, of course. Here—my card. If any of my colleagues or friends come to India, I'll insist they hire you."
Smith's time in Mumbai was nearly up. He'd been in the city five days already, and tomorrow his itinerary would carry him onward to Goa.
"I'd honestly suggest you fly instead," Rohan said as he handed over his own contact information. "The trains here… aren't exactly ideal for someone like you."
Smith chuckled. "You forget—we first met at a train station. I'll be fine."
"Well, in that case I'll book your ticket myself. Just remember—when you buy tickets on your own, always look for the ones marked AC. Only those compartments have proper air-conditioning."
"Thank you—that's very useful."
Smith paused, then leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. "Before I leave… could you help me exchange some more rupees? I doubt I'll find such a good opportunity in Goa."
Rohan and Anand locked eyes. Then, as one, they nodded without hesitation.
"Of course."
The rest of the day split neatly in two: Smith stayed in his hotel, calmly packing his belongings. Rohan went to book the train ticket, while Anand disappeared into the alleys to arrange another round of black-market rupees.
The game wasn't over yet.
Not nearly enough.
By their agreement, the partnership with Smith ended there.
But the next morning, Rohan and Anand still made the trip to Victoria Station to see the old gentleman off.
"God bless you!" Smith said warmly.
"Thank you, thank you!"
In a foreign land, being cared for like this by two locals touched him deeply.
"It's time for me to go."
"Goodbye."
The whistle shrieked, the train lurched forward, and as it pulled away the three of them waved until they were out of sight. A chapter closed.
"Rohan…" Anand's face was strangely wistful as he stared after the disappearing train.
"What is it now?"
"Do you think we'll ever find another fat sheep like that one?"
Rohan rolled his eyes and ignored him.
"Wait—what's that in your hand?"
"Oh, this?" Rohan lifted a paper bag with a grin. "Two bottles of Scotch whisky. British import. Smith's parting gift."
"Why don't I have one?" Anand's eyes bulged.
Rohan burst out laughing but offered no answer.
"I knew it! The old man hated me—he was biased!"
"Fine then. To celebrate the job well done, let's have a drink."
At the mention of alcohol, Anand immediately trotted after him like a puppy.
They had no cups. After some effort they begged a single disposable one from a station dispatcher. It would have to do.
Rohan twisted open the bottle and poured a measure. Just as he raised it to his lips, he caught Anand staring with hungry eyes. With a chuckle, he passed the cup over.
"Thank you, Rohan!" Anand's round face shone with gratitude as he tilted his head back and let the whisky pour in, careful never to let the cup touch his lips.
Not because of hygiene—but because he was Dalit, and Rohan was Brahmin. A Brahmin would never use something touched by an Untouchable. Extreme ones wouldn't even tread where a Dalit's shadow had fallen.
Some Brahmins went so far as to employ only Brahmin cooks, refusing to eat anything prepared by lower castes.
Rohan didn't care much for such rules. But Anand never forgot who he was. Even now, his heart still carried that ingrained reverence.
"Magnificent! Johnnie Walker—the finest!" Anand's eyes crinkled with joy.
"Have a little more if you like."
"Just a sip more—thank you!" Anand gulped again, and again. "Ah! Sorry, sorry. It's just too good. I couldn't help myself!"
"If you want it that badly, keep it. I've got another bottle."
"Really?!" Anand's smile froze, turning into a pained grimace.
"What's wrong? You don't want it?"
"I do! Of course I do! But if I'd known it was mine, not yours… I wouldn't have drunk so much so quickly!"
Rohan roared with laughter. "Drink all you like. Take the other bottle too—I'm not much of a drinker."
"Truly?" Anand's grin bloomed again.
"I'm far more interested in rupees than whisky." Rohan handed over the second bottle.
"Too right. Earn money first—then buy the drinks." Anand cradled the unopened bottle like treasure, tucking it against his chest.
Rohan leaned back, eyes thoughtful. "Now that the fat sheep's gone… I need to think carefully about what comes next."
"No need to rush," Anand said dreamily. "These last few days, I've made more than I did in an entire year."
As a rickshaw driver, a good month earned Anand maybe five hundred rupees. Yet from Smith alone—between black-market commissions, the handicraft scam, fares, and tips—he'd raked in over seven thousand rupees. It felt like a dream.
And Rohan? He had pocketed even more.
The first day alone, he cleared 5,000 rupees in commissions, plus a guide's fee and Smith's twenty-pound tip, more than 6,500 rupees total.
The foreign-exchange job later brought in 7,700 rupees more. Split with Anand at seventy-thirty, Rohan's share was hefty. Add in guide fees and generous tips, and his stash now exceeded twenty thousand rupees.
By ordinary standards, he was flush.
But to Rohan, it was nowhere near enough.
"Anand," he said suddenly, "do you know how to register a company in India?"
Anand blinked. "No."
"Then do you know someone who can… make problems disappear? The kind of person who gets things done?"
Anand jerked his chin toward the distance. "Sure. Right over there."
Rohan followed his gaze. A policeman loomed nearby, clutching a heavy wooden stick, his face full of menace.