Several birthday greetings from her friends popped in at the inbox. Sonia was surprised at the way people remembered birthdays. She hadn’t seen some of these friends in years but they always remembered each other’s birthdays. She clicked on the last card absently, then froze. The animated e-card opened with a sunrise, then turned into a heart. On the musical notes of the birthday song, a message appeared on the screen:
Happy Birthday, Dearest Sonia,
My Glowworm…
The sun will shine…
And you will be mine…
You look gorgeous in your red dress!
Thinking of you,
Varun
Sonia stared at the words on the screen, her heart thudding painfully. Like a wave, Varan’s presence seemed to fill the room, and for a moment she panicked. She whipped around. But there was only Jatin, fiddling with his tiny TV set, switching channels. Turning back to the Computer, she replayed the e-card, and despite herself a surge of pleasure replaced the panic. His glowworm… Only Varun called her that… And his favourite poem… How in heavens had he known her birthday? And how did he know what she was wearing? Could he be keeping an eye on her? Following her? She had absolutely no hint of where he was and what he was playing at. Shaking her head in frustration, she shut down the Computer. Varun would drive her crazy one day!
The ambience of Mula Retreat, the restaurant by the river, never failed to please Sonia. The rustic atmosphere, the waiters in traditional uniform, gave the hotel a kind of snug and welcoming warmth. Mohnish sat across the polished wooden table, relaxed and cool in a white T-shirt and beige trousers. The glint of appreciation, as his eyes had moved from Sonia’s red outfit to the glossy swing of her shoulder-length hair, had satisfied her that she appeared fine.
“Happy Birthday, Sonia,” he said softly. “You look lovely!”
“Thank you,” she replied with a pleased smile.
“Should we order?”
After the waiter had taken their order, Mohnish unwound his long form from his cane chair and regarded Sonia with a keen look.
“Has something happened? You seem sort of flushed and excited,” he observed.
His perceptiveness surprised her. She had absolutely no intention of filling him in about Varun’s emails. Both he and Inspector Divekar would pounce at any hint or information, however remote, which might help them catch the international crook. Yet Sonia had no clue what it was that was keeping her silent. All she knew was that she was reluctant to volunteer any information on The Owl or to give up on Varun Thakur. Perhaps because of her very own personal agenda?
“It’s just the knowledge, I guess, that I am older and - I hope - wiser by a year,” she answered.
“I don’t know about wiser, but you’re certainly prettier!” Sonia blushed. “Is that my present for the evening? Compliments for my birthday?”
“Yes… along with this… ” Mohnish placed a wrapped square packet on the table. “Open it.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to… I mean, I was just joking… ”
“Open it,” he commanded gently.
Sonia removed the loosely wrapped paper and uncovered a white cardboard box. She lifted the cover and stared in surprise at the photo frame inside. The photo was a close-up of herself, deep in thought. The glow of sunlight illuminated her face. But the rest of the photo had multiple images of her trailing into a horizon. It was a classic example of what electronic imaging could do to a simple photo. She had never looked more glamorous nor more mysterious.
“It’s wonderful! That is me, isn’t it?” Sonia teased.
“Of course it’s you!” Mohnish laughed. “Dreamy and caught unawares. And the rest of the effect was done by a professional in Mumbai. A friend of a friend of mine. Lokesh is really skilled in photography - he experiments without distorting the looks or the mood.”
“It’s perfect,” Sonia acknowledged warmly. “Thank you so much. But where did you get hold of this photo of me?”
Mohnish grinned. “Some secrets have to be kept from smart investigators,” he replied. The waiter arrived with the food and as they tucked into the bhakri and spicy bharli vangi - stuffed brinjal - Sonia glanced around at the other diners. A group of friends at a corner table was particularly rowdy. One of boys, dressed in a khadi kurta and jeans, rose and recited poetry in Urdu, stroking his beard as he did so. There was an appreciative applause from his companions as he took his seat again.
“Sonia, I’m glad I could finally persuade you to join me for dinner this evening,” Mohnish broke into her observations. “Though I admit I had to slog real hard to get you here!”
This time, Sonia did not return his infectious grin. Instead she said, carefully, “There’s a reason why I did not wish to go out, Mohnish. It’s because I don’t normally treat this as a special day. As a child, my parents pampered me, insisting on throwing kid parties, but ever since I grew up and had some say in the matter, I’ve stopped celebrating my birthday.”
“But why?”
Sonia took a deep breath. She didn’t know why she was revealing her lifelong secret to him. A secret which had been embedded into her soul with inerasable ink. Which scorched her mind every time she thought of it. She had never mentioned it to a soul. Except her parents, of course. But today some force seemed to be propelling her to communicate and divulge her innermost feelings to him.
“I had a younger brother,” she began uncertainly. “Sarang was two years younger than me. When I was six years old my Mother took us to the circus. I remember how excited I was because I loved animals. Halfway through the show, one of the clowns invited some children in the ring. I was very shy but Sarang was an attention-seeker. He loved to be the centre of attention and Mother encouraged him to join the clown. There
