26. JAAN
JAAN
Andhra Pradesh, India
“Can’t be! It simply can’t be!”
Uriah paced around his office, his jaw clenched.
“The boy is doing all right,” the doctor said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He sustained many injuries. There is an infected wound on his leg. He will recover. But it is…”
He fell silent until Uriah stopped pacing and glared at him. “It is what ?”
“It’s his face I am worried about. The wounds will heal, of course. But the scars will be for life and very”—he sighed wearily and with pity—“very prominent. Unfortunately.”
He was dismissed, and Uriah resumed his pacing around the office.
Alfred sat behind the giant wooden desk with his feet crossed on top of it, another drink in his hand. He chewed on the end of his mustache and observed his brother with unusual interest.
Uriah didn’t feel sorry for the boy but was furious, nevertheless. At himself for the fact that the whole enterprise with Rakshasa hadn’t worked out and had put Drasko out of work for weeks. And, more importantly, at that little monster, Alfred’s daughter, who was still well and alive.
“Tsk-tsk-tsk, what have you done, brother?” Alfred’s quiet words turned Uriah around in confusion.
His face bloated from whisky and sleepless nights, his cunning eyes locking with Uriah’s, Alfred undoubtedly mocked him. Alfred couldn’t possibly know Uriah’s part in that. Yet Uriah hated that knowing gaze of his.
It was a failure! Even Alfred’s liquored mind could sense it.
“I am taking the boy to London,” Uriah stated, pouring himself a drink. “It’s time for him to learn the Western side of the business.”
“Planning on flashing your loyal dog around? With those scars? A monster?”
Uriah’s own scars reddened with rage as he walked up to the desk and leaned over to stare his brother dead in the eyes.
“Yes, a monster. A pair of us,” he hissed. “He and I. We will take over that pitiful hole called London. And if I ever hear anyone say that word again, I shall personally put the nails in their coffins and bury them.”
He straightened, his malevolent smile at his brother widening, making Alfred look away in unease.
“That goes for you too,” Uriah said, “brother,” he added with a scowl, turned on his heel, and marched toward the door.
Abruptly, he came to a halt. “And I’m taking your daughter with us.”
“Why?”
“ Why do you care? She is a bad omen. I shall put her in private school or something.”
He left then, “or something” lingering in his mind with a much more sinister plan.
He went to see Drasko. Alone in his room, the boy lay sedated on a bed, his torso wrapped in gauze and cloth, more gauze on his face, a compress on his forehead.
“An Egyptian mummy,” Uriah muttered as he stepped closer and cocked his head, studying the boy. A smile curled his lips. The pair of us. Drasko was becoming just like him. Good.
Something shifted by his side, and Uriah’s smile disappeared— her again.
Like Drasko’s guardian angel, the little girl stood next to Uriah and gazed at the bed. Her long hair was loose, falling onto a white chemise. She looked like a little angel, only five years old but already so pretty.
A deliciously atrocious thought crossed Uriah’s mind. Only thirteen years until her legal age, and he, Uriah, could?—
No. That would indeed be revenge. But Uriah’s hate at the sight of her trumped the twisted idea that had just bloomed in his head.
No. No. She had to go.
“It’s a pity,” he said as he studied sleeping Drasko. “He will look”—for the first time, Uriah savored the word and had a hard time concealing a smirk—“like a monster , don’t you think?”
His eyes shifted to the little girl, who craned her neck to look up at him. He chuckled at the spite in her eyes and her little hands balled into fists.
She didn’t respond, only walked up to Drasko and took his big, bruised hand in both her little ones.
Uriah turned on his heel and stomped away, grinding his teeth. Even looking like a monster, the boy was still loved.
Two weeks later, Saint Catalina sailed off the Indian shore, Uriah, Drasko, and Alfred’s daughter on board among others.
Drasko was seasick and feverish for the first week of the travel. And when the bandages were taken off, he looked at himself in the mirror and winced at the disfigured face that stared back at him.
When little jaan knocked on his door, he tried to cover his face so he didn’t scare her off.
“I don’t want you to see me like this,” he said.
But she sat next to him on the berth, took his hand in both of hers, and smiled. “You killed a beast. Like a knight.”
He snorted.
“ I am a monster.” He gritted his teeth.
She furrowed her little brows then. “In fairytales, a monster turns into a prince.”
He shook his head. “In fairytales, jaanu , in fairy tales,” he replied, gritting his teeth.
Another week later, still at sea, she fell ill.
“Seasick,” the doctor said.
“Some sort of infection in her stomach,” that same doctor said another week later.
She turned for the worse. Her fever remained. She grew weaker by the day.
“A poisoning?” The doctor was at a loss.
“What is happening?” Drasko asked Uriah.
But Uriah only shrugged, his cold gaze on the horizon. “We shall see, we shall see.”
Drasko’s wounds were healing, though he still wasn’t used to the scarred face staring back at him in the mirror.
He spent all his time looking after little jaan .
When she was too weak to walk, he carried her to the top deck and sat her down.
The ocean winds would ruffle her long hair and make her cheeks rosy as she nestled in the crook of his arm.
And he told her sea stories about grand adventures and a beautiful country called England and a splendid city called London.
“Is that where we are going?” she asked weakly. She never smiled anymore.
Drasko nodded, though he didn’t remember London. An eerie feeling gathered inside him at the sight of her in pain.
When they finally reached the English shore, she got worse, delirious as they finally stepped onto English soil.
They settled in Uriah’s London house, and Drasko was right away whisked to a business meeting, then another. When he didn’t find little jaan at the house that very night, he asked Uriah.
“She is under the doctor’s observation. She is not well,” Uriah said, a menacing glint in his eyes.
And he kept Drasko occupied for days, as if distracting him.
“Do not worry about your scars,” Uriah said when Drasko noticed the gaping stares at himself when they walked around London. “This city doesn’t care about looks anymore. It cares about money.”
The city was magnificent! Busses pulled by horses. Monstrous locomotives. Electricity everywhere! Photographs. Opulent buildings and the marvels of architecture Drasko did not remember from his childhood.
If only little jaan could see it!
“She is about to have surgery,” Uriah said two days later when Drasko demanded to visit her.
“Surgery?” Dread crept inside him at the word, at the casual way Uriah said it. “I want to be there.”
“And I”—Uriah snapped—“need you to do what we came here to do—business.”
Diamonds, diamonds, diamonds.
Drasko got so used to the words that became a mere trade coin. And he wanted to disappear in the city that swallowed one whole, turned people into ants, and drowned with its permanent noise his own grim thoughts.
The next day, Uriah told Drasko the morbid news. “She passed…”
Drasko shook his head, not understanding.
Who?
“Alfred’s daughter,” Uriah said simply. “She had complications during the surgery. She passed.”
It was the day the world went dark.
They simply called her choti , a little one.
Drasko simply called her jaan .
She was five years old. Drasko was fourteen. And no human had ever loved him like she did. Nor would there be anyone like her.
He broke down on the streets of London, broke into tears he couldn’t control. For the first time in his life, he roared and wept, mourning the loss of the only person who mattered, who brought him joy every day and was now gone. And he was left a monster.
“It’s your fault!” Drasko shouted at Uriah, blind with rage, his bowler hat on the ground, coat flapping in the wind, his facial scars wet with tears. “You never liked her! You did something, didn’t you? Just like?—”
Uriah’s eyes flashed with malice. “Go on, boy?”
Drasko wanted to spit out the harsh words but swallowed his hate. “I want to see her body.”
“No,” Uriah snapped, his cold gaze unmoving. “She had a disease, some sort of virus. You shall not jeopardize your life or mine?—”
“I have the right!”
“You don’t have anything, you fool! And she was growing up to be another skirt who would?—”
Drasko’s punch came so fast that Uriah’s knees buckled as he fell back against the carriage parked at the curb.
Drasko’s strong hands fisted the front of his coat, eyes burning with madness an inch from his.
“Don’t you dare talk about her like that,” Drasko snarled into his face.
A monster, truly —Uriah only smirked in Drasko’s face contorted in fury, his scars crimson from anger. The boy had grown up tall and muscled, much bigger than Uriah and fearless, though Uriah knew he would always have a way to control Drasko.
“Another slur against her,” Drasko growled, “by God, I will rip your tongue out with my own fingers.”
Amused, Uriah pushed him away. “So, the dog grew teeth.” He fixed his vest and coat.
“Has it ever crossed your mind that you’d be nothing without me?
One of those”—he gestured at the beggar on the corner—“or worse. And look at you now. Wealthy.” He nodded toward Drasko’s coat.
“Educated.” He tapped his temple with his forefinger. “Smart.”
“I paid you back with my work,” Drasko gritted out.
“True.”
“I made you a lot of money, with mining innovations and all. The deals with the Indians?—”
“All true. Yet you still don’t understand what power is. I have learned a lot in this life. And you are only a speck of what I am.”
Drasko spat on the ground and picked up his hat. “And I regret I bear even a speck of a resemblance to you. I wish I was nothing like you. Goodbye, Uriah.”
Drasko disappeared into the streets of London.
Days spent roaming the streets, marveling at the new world that was so different from India.
Nights spent in taverns, drinking himself into oblivion.
He went to the Port of London, then to the East End, searching for Zeph, his best friend, who would be unrecognizable, save for the bright burgundy birthmark above his right eyebrow.
No such luck. Zeph could be dead by now, the usual fate of homeless children.
Drasko got drunk for days, mourning little jaan ’s death. He went to a dingy opium den, traded a diamond for the poison that made him forget, and got high.
Five days later, Uriah found him in a small tavern in Whitechapel.
“How did you find me?” drunk Drasko mused, secretly relieved to see the only person he knew in the city.
Uriah shrugged off his coat, took off his gloves, and, taking a seat next to Drasko, ordered a whisky.
“I have people,” he said simply, checking his diamond pocket watch like he had more important business to attend. “I need you to come back to India with me.”
Drasko had money now. He’d brought with him a pouch of diamonds, worth a small fortune that he’d earned. Perhaps he could start his own business.
“I know you can sell those diamonds and get rich quickly. How long would that last you?” Uriah asked, reading his mind.
Right now, Drasko wanted to drink himself to death. Right now, he despised Uriah more than ever.
But he had reasons to go back. He wanted to understand why Uriah’s hate ran so deep. He wanted to have more connections. He wanted to “have people” just like Uriah did.
More importantly, Drasko knew there was much more to learn.
Despite his black soul, Uriah was the smartest man Drasko had ever known.
And now fourteen-year-old Drasko had an agenda—he wanted to learn everything he could about the business.
He didn’t want to be like this monster. One day, he wanted to be a whole different man, powerful enough to avenge little jaan and destroy Uriah.
A week later, they were at sea.
Three months later, Drasko was back in business.
Asha cried when she learned about the little girl’s fate.
“The saddest thing in the world is a child’s casket,” Rupesh said grimly.
The most heartbreaking thing was not being able to say goodbye. So, Drasko grieved in silence.
By day, he threw himself into work with unseen-before dedication. By night, he learned the ways of grown men, with liquor and women and fights. And later, in his drunken dreams, he prayed for the soul of his little jaan .
It was a single event, the first of many, that taught him a simple truth. Despite the enormous wealth and the power it brought, what truly gave life meaning were human emotions. The happy moments, but even more so, the tragedies. The tragedies were what made men who they were.
“The more you acquire,” Rupesh said one night, “the more you have to lose.”
But if what you had was soulless, it didn’t matter if you lost it at all.
Diamonds didn’t have a soul. There were plenty. And Drasko wanted one—the Crimson Tear.
He didn’t know that at the end, years later, when he found it, he would be on his knees, his heart breaking into pieces as he wished it had never existed at all.