Feeling the Vibes (16 page)

“I’m sorry,” she said in English. “Look, nobody will bother you in here. I’ll bring you something to eat and you can tell me all about it.”

After she’d gone Ravi paced tensely back and forth, looking so increasingly stressed that I started to worry that he was going to do a runner. Suddenly he spotted an abandoned keyboard and his eyes lit up. He tentatively started to play his fave love song from the movie. The lyrics went something like, “If I am the singer, then you are my song.” (It sounds v. romantic in Hindi, truly.)

The door opened and a guy looked in. He was really distinguished-looking in a white Indian-style shirt with designer jeans, and with such a sensitive face, I knew he had to be a star.

“Hi,” he said. “I think that’s my song you’re playing!”

Ravi’s eyes went so huge, you’d think Krishna himself had come shimmering down to Earth. I genuinely worried he might pass out. “You’re - you’re really Mahendra Kalkarni?” he gasped.

Mahendra laughed. “Wow, you’ve heard of me! People are usually too busy looking at Aishwarya’s wet sari to even care who wrote the music!”

Ravi was shocked. “Oh, no, Mr Kalkarni, I worship your music,” he burbled then looked horribly embarrassed. ” I mean - I really respect your work.”

“Thank you,” said Mahendra simply.

Ravi looked up, astonished, and for the first time their eyes met.

“Oh, wow,” breathed Reuben. “Oh, WOW!”

“How did we miss that?” I said softly.

How this moment played for humans I can’t tell you, but for the angels in the room, absolutely EVERYTHING went shimmery.

Obi looked from Mahendra to Ravi and hugged himself with glee. “They found each other again,” he announced happily.

You know when you shake a kaleidoscope and the teeny glass pieces slide effortlessly into a new pattern? That’s what happened inside my brain when the soundtrack-obsessed boy from the slums and the genius Bollywood composer finally met up. Faces and places just shifted into an awesome new pattern.

Past lives, that’s what all of this had been about. Our Indian rollercoaster trip through Time had been for one reason and one reason only.

Obi needed us to help him bring together two souls who had cruelly lost each other in another time, as he had lost them.

It was so obvious now why he’d been compelled to help Ravi. And to be fair to the Universe, it did keep giving us these socking great clues! “You must have been a musician in a past life,” Mr Malik had told Ravi, amazed, that time we sneaked into the school to raise the vibes.

I felt such a huge rush of emotion that I reached for Reuben’s hand before I realised and hastily dropped it again.

It was true. I could feel it inside my heart! Mischievous, talented Amir had been reborn as Ravi.

And now that we were in on this cosmic secret, looking at Mahendra made me genuinely dizzy because I could see all those other humans he’d been before, shining out so clearly through his eyes. The eccentric Englishman who married a Muslim princess. The guru’s gentle driver, Dev. The loving but hard-to-please father who died at the hands of a mob while he searched desperately for his murdered son…

It’s doubtful that Mahendra consciously recognised his lost son in Ravi. But everyone in the room, angels and humans, sensed their totally luminous connection, and it seemed that with the connection came an immediate sense of responsibility.

When Pretty came back with the food, it was clear to Mahendra that something was going on. He sat Ravi down and made him tell him everything that was going on in Deva Katchi: Razak’s threats, the
goondas
‘ violent invasion of their school, the attempts to burn down the family’s home and now the slumlord’s determination to muscle in on the Paradisa Collective.

Mahendra Kalkarni had suddenly heard enough. It took a few calls, but eventually he got hold of the person he wanted. I guess that’s the thing about being a celeb. Once he got started, let me tell you, he was unstoppable.

“The police should have sorted Razak out long ago… No, I could not be more serious… I’m not interested in your lame little excuses. If you don’t get this guy put away… Do you really want the Times of India telling the nation that a sleazy Mumbai slumlord has you completely under his thumb? Elections are coming up, remember?”

Seeming totally unruffled, Mahendra finished his call as his young wife came in with their little girl. They were late for a family party, but Mahendra insisted they had to get Ravi safely back to Deva Katchi.

It felt dreamlike driving back through Mumbai in the limo. It was raining, not monsoon rain, but a sudden crazy shower that sent everyone scurrying for shelter.

I didn’t hear everything they said to Ravi in the car, only that Mahendra seemed keen Ravi should have proper music lessons.

“If Ravi’s mother gives permission,” his wife reminded him firmly. “You really can’t steamroller through other people’s lives, Mahendra!”

I would have eavesdropped some more, but Obi and I were having our own conversation.

“Were you the baby too? Were you Dev and Saraswati’s baby?” I asked Obi.

He nodded. “I didn’t live with them very long that time,” he sighed.

“You did live with him once though,” I said softly. “You lived in a really cool palace and had lots of brothers and sisters. I saw you playing tag with your mum and dad. I just didn’t know it was you.”

Ravi asked to be dropped off before they reached the slum. “Your car will not easily fit down our narrow lanes, Mr Kalkarni; also I think you would attract undesirable attention.”

Before the Kalkarnis drove away, Ravi politely put his hands together. “
Namaste,
” he said with enormous dignity. “Thank you, Mr Kalkarni, for helping the people of Deva Katchi.”

When he walked in, Parvati rushed at him, as if she might possibly be going to kill him herself. “Are you trying to make my hair turn WHITE! WHERE have you BEEN all this TIME?”

Reuben and I were totally caught up in this reunion, but Obi suddenly seemed distracted. Unexpectedly he stooped down and touched Parvati’s feet.

I’d seen Ravi and Asha make this same sweet little gesture whenever they met their mother after a separation. They also did it, I remembered, when they were leaving.

Though we were no longer connected by our cosmic thread, I could feel some mysterious vibe calling to Obi. Something was telling him it was time to go.

Brice had started looking up trains on his phone. I put my hand on his arm. “We have to go outside now.”

Parvati let out a disbelieving shriek. “He’s going to
jail
! You actually put that monster in
jail
!”

I wanted to touch her feet too, I had so much respect for Ravi’s mother, but there was no time.

We stepped out into the familiar smell and din of the slum just as the sun came from behind the rain clouds. Raindrops were still splashing down and everything steamed and dazzled in the heat.

I don’t think people in Deva Katchi often saw rainbows, or not one like this. They were just standing in the street looking up at the sky in awe.

It was the biggest, brightest rainbow I’d ever seen, set so low in the sky it seemed to graze the rooftops of the slum.

Our teachers always insist that cosmic timing is perfect, which is presumably whey the Agency picked that exact moment to fix Obi’s faulty time connection.

In a flash of otherworldly light, he suddenly became one hundred per cent visible to the human world.

Brice gave a low chuckle. “How about that?”

Picking their way through the puddles towards us, under the shimmering arch of the rainbow, were smiling men in orange robes. We were in the totally wrong place, at the totally wrong time of year, yet miraculously the monks had tracked down their
bodhisattva
.

Chapter Twenty

I
called Miss Dove as soon as we touched down in Arrivals, to let her know I’d safely completed her mission.

It was a beautiful evening and I’d planned to pop into Guru on my way back to school to see who was around, but I somehow ended up just going back to my room.

My head understood that I was back home in Heaven, but my heart felt like it had been left behind somewhere along the way.

This can happen after a very special mission and all trainees have their own tried and tested techniques for easing themselves back into life in Heaven. Mine usually involves celestial chocolate in some form and a long heart to heart with Lola. But Lola was still away on her mission, and obviously going to see Obi was no longer an option.

I unfastened the amulet the Deva Katchi angels had given me, hanging it on my bed where I could see it. Then I took off my grubby
salwar kamiz
, leaving a tiny trail of coloured sequins all the way to the laundry basket.

I showered, washed my hair and put on my comfiest PJs. I couldn’t face unpacking yet so I went hunting through my CD collection until I found a Best of Bollywood album.

Putting it on continuous play, I rescued my Indian wrap out of the laundry pile and lay on my bed still clutching it. I needed to be holding something, and it smelled of India.

I shut my eyes and was instantly reliving our long train ride up to the foothills of the Himalayas.

The monks had travelled in the cheaper Indian-style carriages that only have bars for windows. I’d never needed the wrap in Mumbai, but as the train climbed steeply into the mountains and the temperature plummeted, I swathed myself in it totally, even my head.

The monks bought hot tea for Obi from the
chai
man who strolled up and down the train swinging his enamel teapots, calling out, “
Chaia chaia chaia
,” like he was just about to burst into song.

After the train there was a bus. It was jam-packed inside so the monks had to ride on the roof. Obi loved it, but each time the bus swung out over a sheer drop, I quickly closed my eyes. Finally we arrived at a place where no bus or taxi could go because there was literally no road.

At a roadside inn the old innkeeper and his wife were visibly in awe when they saw the serene little child who was travelling with the monks.

After porridge and butter tea, Obi was bundled up in quilts and a strange hat with earflaps and they went into the yard where two sturdy little horses waited, their breath puffing out in white clouds. The youngest monk swung Obi up on to the saddle and jumped up behind him. Two older monks mounted the second horse. The rest of us followed on foot, clambering up paths slippery with ice and snow.

In this pure, wild place, miles from human satellite signals, Brice’s phone burst into life. We all stood around staring at the one line text.

Good work! M
.

Brice had to go off by himself to recover. When you break the rules and get congratulated by an archangel, I’d say your bad-boy days are over for good, wouldn’t you?

We spent our last night in India in a mountain hut. The monks got the stove going and made porridge for Obi and butter tea for themselves. Then they did their devotions, chanting in deep, resonant voices, their orange robes glowing in the firelight.

Obi’s eyelids were drooping, but he continued loyally chanting, until the oldest monk firmly tucked him up by the stove.

On the train this stern old monk had produced, of all things, a Buzz Lightyear doll! The other monks laughed delightedly as Obi pulled the cord and Buzz announced, “I come in peace!” followed by my own personal motto: “To Infinity and BEYOND!”

They woke Obi at first light for the final stage of their journey.

Brice wouldn’t come. “I’m not into big goodbye scenes,” he said, avoiding our eyes. “I’ll wait here.” I think he couldn’t take it. So just Reuben and I went.

After hours of climbing through clinging white mist, the mountain totally fell away and we saw the famous bridge that had given Obi the horrors, looking like a giant’s game of cat’s cradle.

I could make out the monastery across the valley, seeming to come and go mysteriously in the mist. Even from this distance the pure vibes made me tingle all over. Obi would be safe here.

We’d kept our distance from Obi since leaving Deva Katchi. He was supposed to be getting to know the monks. He didn’t need us confusing him.

But seeing him about to walk away into his new life, I forgot all that and just rushed to him. I was all, “Don’t forget you’ve got your angel tags; remember we’ll always be connected. I know you’ll be a wicked
bodhisattva
!” Embarrassing myself basically.

Obi showed no sign he’d heard. It dawned on me that he probably couldn’t actually see or hear his angel big sister any more. Like, I’d got Obi safely to the monastery, helped him tie up all his cosmic loose ends and now the Universe had decided I was irrelevant.

“OK, bye, sweetie,” I whispered. My heart felt like it was being crushed into little tiny pieces, but I knew I mustn’t cry. “See you in ninety-five years hopefully?”

Then Obi did something so grown-up I forgot to breathe. Tucking his hands into the sleeves of his slightly too long robes, Obi bowed to us, just once, very deeply, like a real Buddhist monk, then he followed the other monks across the bridge not once looking back.