Chapter Three: Tomorrow
Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters from The Real Adventures of Jonny Quest. They all belong to Hanna-Barbara. However, this story is mine, as are all the characters seen here that did not appear on the show.
Jessie and Hadji talked all through the night, although it was more like Hadji talked and Jessie listened. Once the young sultan got started, he couldn't seem to stop. He told Jessie of the work he was doing to repair the damage that had been inflicted on Bangalore by his uncle and cousin. He felt as though each time he resolved one problem, two more were discovered. He described his daily struggles as the mediator between the ministers of the various government agencies in Bangalore. He had recently appointed a woman as head of the Ministry of Women's and Children's Services, and a few of his very conservative advisors were upset about it. Hadji truly felt that she was qualified for the job, and he saw no reason why women should not hold government positions, but it was difficult to convince the traditionalists. He spoke of the trouble he had sleeping many nights; his bouts of insomnia were becoming more frequent. He couldn't concentrate well enough lately to meditate. Most of all, Hadji talked about his feelings of isolation. Even though he was surrounded by people, he felt as though none of them truly knew who he was. Even his mother, whom he'd grown to love dearly, had missed thirteen of the twenty years of his life. He had a hard time dealing with the fact that he felt so close to her sometimes, but at other times she would be surprised to learn something as inconsequential as the fact that his favorite color was purple. He missed his adopted family every day, but felt his responsibility to Bangalore so strongly that he did not feel like he could visit the Quest compound as often as he would like. That was why it had been so long since he'd traveled to the States, and he was beginning to feel distanced from the family he'd grown up with.
"I just feel so overwhelmed. I am afraid that Hadji is disappearing, and soon only the Sultan of Bangalore will live in this body." He held Jessie a little tighter against him. Somehow during the night, they had gone from facing each other from opposite ends of the bench to sitting side-by-side in the middle. When he'd felt her shivering in the pre-dawn chill, he'd insisted she take the velvet coat he'd been wearing at dinner. If he felt cold wearing only an ivory silk shirt with his linen trousers, he didn't show it.
"You need to have some fun, Hadj," Jessie finally commented. "You can't spend your whole life working." She snuggled up to him a little, her eyes closed.
He pressed the side of his face to the top of her head, observing that her hair smelled faintly of oranges. "That is what my mother said also."
"She loves you. You should listen to her," Jessie replied.
"Yes." He was quiet for a moment then asked her, "What would you like to do while you are here? I arranged my schedule so that we could spend time together. I cannot leave work completely this week, but I do not want you to feel neglected while you are visiting."
"I wouldn't feel neglected, Hadji. I know you have a lot of responsibilities. However, since you made the time…can we go shopping tomorrow? I'd love to go to the marketplace."
"Of course." Hadji smiled, even though he knew she couldn't see it. "Although I think you mean today--The sun is beginning to rise. Look."
Jessie raised her head, and sure enough, the sky was just turning golden in the east. A few wispy clouds turned pink as she watched. "Hmmm…I'm not really sleepy—it's probably only about five p.m. at home. But you must be tired…"
Hadji stood and stretched. "Yes, a little, but I feel so much better now. My heart feels lighter." Jessie had remained seated, so he crouched down before her and took both of her hands in his. "Thank you for listening to my troubles, Jessie. It means so much to me."
Jessie gave him a gentle smile. "What are friends for, Hadji? I was glad to do it, and I'll do it again, anytime you ask me to."
He tugged on her hand and she stood. They walked hand-in-hand into the palace, oblivious to the sidelong looks a few less discreet servants cast their way. As they neared Jessie's room, they ran into Neela, who was always an early riser. The older woman smiled at them, apparently unperturbed by the scene before her: Jessie was wearing Hadji's jacket and had a wilted magenta hibiscus blossom behind one ear. Hadji was holding Jessie's hand and did not bother to release it, even as Jessie blushed and tried to let go.
"Good morning. I was coming to see if Jessie wanted to go for a walk with me, but I can see that you have anticipated me, Hadji." She patted Jessie's cheek. "Perhaps another time." She continued down the hallway and did not look back.
"Well," began Jessie, "you should probably get some sleep."
"If you are not feeling sleepy, would you like to leave here about nine o'clock? The shops actually open about now, but I could use a couple of hours of sleep and perhaps breakfast."
"Are you sure that'll be enough rest for you? I mean—"
"I am sure, Jessie. I must meet with some of my ministers this afternoon. I would like to have some of that fun we agreed I need before I have to deal with them." He smiled at her affectionately, and she beamed at him in return.
"Okay! Meet you at nine at the front door?"
"I will be there." He waited until she was inside her room, then went to his own chambers. He slept deeply and dreamlessly for the first time in months.
Jessie hurried down to the entrance hall later that morning, determined to be there at nine sharp. Since she knew they were going to be doing a lot of walking, she had dressed in blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and comfortable oxfords, put her hair in a French braid, and slathered herself with sunscreen. When she got into the hall, she came to a dead stop. Hadji was dressed the way he used to when they'd all live together in Maine: jeans, a Henley-style shirt that had been washed so many times it was now a soft purple-grey color, and black sneakers; however, what had floored her was that he wasn't wearing a turban! Instead, his long black hair was pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, and on his head was a black baseball cap embroidered with a silver 'Q'.
"Wow…no turban?" she inquired. She could count the number of times she had seen him go out of the house without a turban (not counting going swimming) on one hand.
Hadji grinned at her. "I am too recognizable in a turban. Today I am Hadji the Tourist."
Jessie laughed. "Cool. So where'd you get the hat?"
"Jonny left it here when he and Dad came to visit last summer. I will give it back to him the next time I see him."
"Nah," said Jessie. "You should keep it—it looks good on you."
Hadji only smiled and ushered her out the door. Parked outside was a metallic red Mazda RX-8. The Sultan opened the door for her to get in, and then slid into the driver's seat. As they drove away, Jessie commented, "I'm impressed. This looks like a car my dad would drive."
"Race is the one who suggested I buy it," Hadji replied mildly as he shifted gears, "although I do not get to drive it as often as I would like." They continued to chat idly as they sped down the road. Upon reaching the city, the young man had to slow down considerably. The traffic was just as horrible as Jessie remembered. Cars and motorcycles fought for space on streets that were teeming with pedestrians, bicyclists, carts pulled by various beasts of burden, and the occasional ribbon-and-flower bedecked sacred cow.
Finally, Hadji found a place to park on a shop-lined street called M. G. Road, and as they got out of the car, the odors of exhaust and manure that had only faintly wisped into the car through the air-conditioning vents hit Jessie full-force. She couldn't help wrinkling up her nose for just a second, which made Hadji laugh. "Welcome to downtown Bangalore!" He teased.
Jessie looked around at the asphalt-covered street filled with so many people. Most of them were Indian, of course, but she could see quite a few others who were obviously of European descent. There were no broad thoroughfares here as there were in places like Paris and New York, and one tree-lined street looked much like the next as far as she could see. It was mid-morning, but it was already warm, even in the shade of the trees whose branches reached out into the street. Most of the buildings were only two or three stories high, and they seemed to be crowded together in much the same way that the people on the street were. She caught snips of the conversations of passersby and heard English words and phrases interspersed with the musical sound of people speaking their native tongue. Nearly every sign she saw appeared to be written in at least two, and sometimes three, languages.
She asked Hadji about it, and he said, "You probably know that the official languages of India are Hindi and English." When she nodded, he continued, "Well, those languages were decided upon by the British during the colonial occupation. Every state actually has its own official language that the majority of its inhabitants speak, and Hindi is not as commonly spoken as one might think. Here in Bangalore, in Karnataka, most people speak Kannada. It's quite different from Hindi, and it even has its own alphabet. Most vendors post their signs in at least one of the official languages, and often use all of them."
"I don't think I've ever heard of Kannada. So you speak that, too?"
Hadji shook his head. "Not particularly well. I had no reason to speak it for so many years that I have forgotten nearly all of what I spoke as a child. When I lived in Calcutta with Pasha, he only knew how to speak Hindi and English, and I became rather fluent in Bengali while I roamed the streets there, but I have always been a slightly ashamed that I cannot speak the language of my parents—and my subjects—very well. My mother has been teaching me, but I still feel awkward when I have to use it, so I tend to use English or Hindi whenever I can. I suppose I am fortunate that nearly all of the people I meet with on a regular basis speak at least Hindi fluently."
"Wow. You never told me any of this before."
"It just never came up during our conversations, I suppose."
"I suppose not." Jessie bit her lip thoughtfully, then shrugged. "I guess it just goes to prove how hard it is to know everything about someone, even a close friend."
They strolled up and down the narrow, crowded streets for about an hour and a half, looking into the windows of shops that sold anything from saris of every imaginable color, to musical instruments both Eastern and Western, to American jeans, to any kind of appliance a person might ever need. There were lots of chain restaurants like McDonald's and Starbucks to be seen, and Hadji mentioned that there were several large malls in town, as well, but she wasn't interested in seeing any of them. Instead, Hadji followed Jessie as she poked around in a spice shop full of dusty, aromatic smells, and waited while she tried on several pairs of sandals before deciding that she really didn't need another pair of shoes. He stopped to buy a custard apple from a fruit vendor when she wondered out loud about what the scaly-looking green things were.
Jessie was a little hesitant about trying the alien-looking fruit, but Hadji, who had pulled out his pocket knife to cut the fruit, grinned at the slightly dubious look on her face and said, "I promise that it's safe, Jessie. My mother likes these very much, so we often have them for breakfast." As he split the green skin to reveal the white flesh inside, he commented, "I am rather surprised that you have not yet tasted one." He offered her a wedge of creamy fruit dotted with shiny black seeds, and when she tasted it, she was both surprised and delighted at the smooth texture and vaguely banana-like flavor of it.
The two of them walked along in companionable silence as they shared the custard apple and watched the crowds of people going to and fro, primarily on foot and motorcycle, before ending up inside a shop that sold statues of Hindu deities. Hadji pointed out a bronze statue of a man and a woman standing side-by-side, telling Jessie it was a representation of the god Krishna and his human lover, the cow maid, Radha. "She abandoned her earthly responsibilities—including her parents and her husband—for love of Krishna," he explained. "Their union is symbolic of the relationship between the spiritual and the physical." He leaned down a bit as he translated the Hindi inscription at the base of the statue for her. "'Heart is the symbol of Love. Love is Truth. Love is Power. Love is God. To love God is to love man and to love man is to worship God.'" The Sultan raised his head and looked into Jessie's emerald green eyes. "One cannot exist without the other, just as man cannot exist without woman."
Jessie tore her gaze from his and focused on the statue instead. "I had forgotten how deep you sometimes are, Hadj." She let out a little laugh, but it sounded nervous, even to her.
To relieve the tension between them, Hadji tugged on the end of her braid as he said, "I am ever the epitome of depth, my friend." She laughed again, more naturally this time, and Hadji was pleased.
"I have always loved the stories about Krishna and Radha," said a feminine voice from behind the two friends. "They are all so romantic."
Jessie and Hadji turned to see Hiranmayi and Tungesh standing behind them, apparently admiring the same statue that Jess and Hadji had just been discussing. The minister's lovely daughter was wearing a pale green cotton salwar kamis and she had accented it with a floral patterned scarf. Her hip-length black hair hung in a thick braid down her back, and she wore many bracelets on both arms. Her brother was dressed in black slacks and a white button-down shirt with short sleeves, and he was bareheaded, just as he had been the previous night. They both bowed to Hadji when he turned around.
"Please do not bow," the young man said quietly as the pair straightened. "I do not wish to attract attention," he explained to Hiranmayi, who was staring at the baseball cap he was wearing.
"Hi," said Jessie. "What are you guys doing here?"
"Hiranmayi is shopping, and Father made me come with her," Tungesh complained as he rolled his eyes. Then he grinned broadly in Jessie's direction. "Now, however, I am glad that I came."
"It is still early," said Hiranmayi in her musical voice. "Perhaps we can all go somewhere to have a drink?"
"We passed a chai house on our way here," Tungesh offered. "Let us go there."
"Yes, let us do so," Hadji concurred, although he did not look especially happy about the suggestion. He looked even less pleased when Tungesh took Jessie's arm hastily, but he said nothing. Instead, he politely offered his arm to Hiranmayi, who took it with a little smile.
With Tungesh and Jessie in the lead, the foursome walked down the busy street and waited at the corner for a gap in the traffic. After a couple of minutes, they could see the beginning of a wedding procession coming down the street and hear the musicians playing drums and chimes.
"We must go now," urged Tungesh, or we will be forced to wait for an hour or more!" Without waiting to see if Hadji and Hiranmayi were following, he hurried Jessie across the street. Jessie tried to protest, but Tungesh only tightened his hold on her upper arm and shouted, "Hurry, or we will be run over!" Once they were on the other side of the street, Jessie turned to see that Hadji and Hiranmayi had not crossed. Instead, her friend was helping the young actress to her feet. It appeared that she had tripped just before stepping out into the street, forcing them to stay on the other side. At least she didn't fall in the street, thought Jessie with relief. The procession's musicians began to pass in front of them, and Jessie lost sight of Hadji and Hiranmayi. She turned back to Tungesh, who was frowning in irritation.
"Wonderful. Now we will have to wait here," he complained.
I'm really starting to not like this guy, reflected Jessie. "I don't mind," she demurred. "I'd actually like to watch it, since we have to wait now, anyway. I've never seen a Hindu wedding procession before."
Tungesh cast a dark look her way but said nothing, only folded his arms against his chest. He basically ignored her while the wedding passed by, but that was fine with Jessie, since it meant she didn't have to be polite to someone she was beginning to dislike.
The procession actually took about half an hour to pass, and Jessie enjoyed it, although she wished she could have watched it with Hadji. He would have been willing to answer her questions, unlike the silent teenager beside her. Finally, when the last of the spectacle's followers had passed, Jessie looked across the street, only to see that Hadji and Hiranmayi were no longer on the opposite corner.
Uh-oh, said the little voice in the back of Jessie's mind. "They aren't there!" she exclaimed. Duh, said that same voice sarcastically.
"They probably tried to avoid the procession by going around the block," Tungesh suggested. "We should go the other way and try to intercept them."
"We should stay here," countered Jessie. "The best thing to do when you're lost is to stay in one place."
"I am not lost—"the young man protested, but Jessie interrupted him.
"What am I thinking?" She asked herself aloud as she began to dig in her shoulder bag. "Aha!" She pulled out her cell phone. "I can just call Ha—"
Tungesh lurched into her, apparently shoved by someone on the crowded sidewalk. He slammed into her arm and her phone went flying out of her hand and into the street, directly under the hooves of a bull. Jessie cringed as the bovine stepped on it. As if that weren't bad enough, the wooden cart the bull was pulling ran over the phone as well. When the cart passed, Jessie was infuriated to see what used to be her expensive, color-display cell phone with worldwide calling capabilities in bits and pieces on the street. She yelled at the animal, "You stupid son of a heifer, I oughta make hamburgers out of you! I don't care if you are holy!"
The cart driver turned around and gave her a dirty look, and Jessie clapped a hand over her mouth as she realized what she'd said—at the top of her lungs—in India. It's just a cell phone, Jessie. Calm down!
Beside her, Tungesh was laughing hard. "I hate cows," he said once he'd calmed down.
"I'm beginning to," muttered Jessie.
"Well, shall we continue?" Tungesh asked. He did not wait for her answer but simply began striding away.
"Wait! Where are you going?"
"I am not going to linger here hoping that the Sultan and my sister will find us. We do not have all day. I must have my sister home by two or my father will be angry with me. If I do not leave here within an hour, I will never make it home on time." He slanted a disgusted look at her. "Does that answer your question?"
"What's your problem?" Jessie demanded, marching after him.
"My problem is that I have to deal with a woman who dresses like as a man, does not behave as a well-bred woman should, and asks far too many questions of a man whom she should obey without question!" he threw over his shoulder as he walked.
Jessie was outraged. "How dare you? I can't believe you just said that!" Her cheeks were red with anger as she stormed after him. "I'm not the one who insisted on walking with you! I'm not the one who dragged you across the street!" People were staring at her, but she was too furious to care. She continued to rant, and he continued to walk as quickly as possible away from her, until they were both almost running.
Without warning, something hard slammed into Jessie from behind, and she fell to the ground onto her hands and knees. She heard a soft click and made a desperate grab for her bag as it was pulled away from her. The man who'd knocked her down and cut her purse strap ran past her, and she scrambled to her feet in time to see him hop on the back of a motorcycle apparently driven by an accomplice. She started to run after the thieves, but dodging the many people on the sidewalk slowed her down, and she finally gave up in disgust. She stopped where she was, and as she looked around, it dawned on her that she had no clue where she was. Worse, Tungesh was nowhere to be seen. She was alone on a side street in Bangalore, India with no cell phone, money, or identification. The little voice inside her head sneered, you're in trouble now…
Author's Notes: Yay! Chapter Three is done…Hope you don't mind cliffhangers! Don't worry; Chapter Four is already brewing…
First of all, "!Thank You!" to Echo and Chihuahua, who reviewed Chapter Two, and an extra special Thanks to Echo for pointing out to me that people do change as they get older—one less thing to worry about!
The quote that Hadji reads from the statue: "The heart is the symbol…" is by Sri Swami Sivananda. I found the quote during my research for the story, and it just seemed so Hadji-ish that I had to put it in. Plus, I just liked the sentiment—it speaks to me. And the whole Krishna-Radha love story is pretty nice too, depending on which version you find.
A salwar kamis is a traditional Indian outfit worn by women, and it consists of trousers that fit tightly at hips and ankles (salwar) and a calf- or ankle-length dress or tunic with full- or ¾-length sleeves (kamis or kameej). It is very popular among the younger generations of Indian women because it is comfortable and practical. It is often worn with a scarf (chunni), which is used as a decoration or to cover one's head. If anyone wants the websites where I found my information, please email me and I will be glad to send them to you.
The Mazda RX-8 is my dream car, although I'd rather have a pink one (do they come in pink?), so I thought it would be cool to let Hadji drive one around.
One last thing: I would like to recommend some of my favorite stories to everyone: The Quest Chronicles: Slayer by Chihuahua, The One and Only Jessie Bannon by Akane-Rei, and anything by Debbie Kluge. You can read all of these stories here on
