stepped in. After that, he made it a point to stop by headquarters whenever he was visiting.
“He always teased me about being a hellion, mostly because I was in the Hell’s Angels squadron, but also because I was a very green eighteen-year-old intoxicated with flying. We had that in common. I’ve never seen a man more taken with aviation.”
“You have known him a long time,” I whispered.
“Yes, I have. We formed a fast friendship. After the war, I returned to the States. Imagine my shock when he found me a few decades later. He looked exactly the same as I remembered him. Said he was recruiting pilots for a new airline company, Flying Tiger Airlines. I didn’t even hesitate. In all that time, that man never aged a day. I always asked him what his secret was, but he never told me.”
I looked up at Murphy, startled and unsure where the conversation was headed, but the kind pilot just laughed and rambled on.
“Oh, I learned long ago not to ask Kadam too many questions. He was a man with secrets, but a more honorable one I never met. I thought my old bones would be laid to rest long before his.”
The more Murphy talked, the more I reminisced about my own experiences with Mr. Kadam. Murphy’s endless chatter seemed to even perk up Nilima a tiny bit, and before we knew it, Ren and Kishan had returned to collect us.
Kishan took my hand and helped me up. He whispered, “The dirt was soft and practically shoveled itself. It was very strange.”
Ren and Kishan carried Mr. Kadam’s coffin, and we walked in a slow procession to the grave site. The first thing I noticed was the old hut. I could see that it must have been beautiful a long time ago. It was connected to another building by a worn walkway that was raised off the jungle floor atop thick tree trunks. Though there were holes in the roofs where birds nested, I could see they had once been carefully shingled.
The small garden was surrounded by mango trees. Monkeys above us chattered noisily. Though dormant for the winter, I saw shriveled melon plants and even found a cluster of overgrown, rotting pumpkins.
The path curved, and I swallowed thickly as we stopped at an open grave. Ren and Kishan had removed the shroud and placed Mr. Kadam’s body in a simple wooden casket. He looked distinguished and peaceful in his suit and with one jolt I realized it was the same suit he’d been wearing the first time we met at the circus. No longer able to look at him, I took a step to the side and brushed my fingers across large headstones. Vines had crawled over the stone markers. The ground was thick with ferns, and the canopy of tall trees shaded the old grave site. It was a peaceful, quiet place. In the shade, the air was cool and a breeze caused the leaves to quiver overhead.
“This is my father’s. Kadam must have put these here recently. The old grave markers rotted into dust centuries ago,” Kishan said, crouching down to trace the Sanskrit writing.
“What does it say?” I whispered as I admired its carved lotus flower.
“It says ‘Rajaram, beloved husband and father, forgotten king of the Mujulaain Empire. He ruled with wisdom, vigilance, bravery, and compassion.’”
“Just like your seal.”
“Yes. The marker is actually a replica if you look closely.”
Kneeling at his mother’s grave, Ren read, “‘Deschen, dearly loved wife and mother.’”
The boys quietly paid respects to their mother while I thought about my own parents. Looking back at the hut on the hill, I wondered if the spirits of Deschen and Rajaram had watched over their old home and their sons all these years. Knowing Mr. Kadam would be laid to rest here in this beautiful place was somehow comforting. He belonged here.
“This is a lovely spot,” I commented under my breath.
“It is,” Kishan answered. “But we did find something odd when we were digging.”
“ Tiger bones,” Ren added softly.
Tiger bones? I’ll need to remember to ask Mr. Ka . . . oh. For the
“He always teased me about being a hellion, mostly because I was in the Hell’s Angels squadron, but also because I was a very green eighteen-year-old intoxicated with flying. We had that in common. I’ve never seen a man more taken with aviation.”
“You have known him a long time,” I whispered.
“Yes, I have. We formed a fast friendship. After the war, I returned to the States. Imagine my shock when he found me a few decades later. He looked exactly the same as I remembered him. Said he was recruiting pilots for a new airline company, Flying Tiger Airlines. I didn’t even hesitate. In all that time, that man never aged a day. I always asked him what his secret was, but he never told me.”
I looked up at Murphy, startled and unsure where the conversation was headed, but the kind pilot just laughed and rambled on.
“Oh, I learned long ago not to ask Kadam too many questions. He was a man with secrets, but a more honorable one I never met. I thought my old bones would be laid to rest long before his.”
The more Murphy talked, the more I reminisced about my own experiences with Mr. Kadam. Murphy’s endless chatter seemed to even perk up Nilima a tiny bit, and before we knew it, Ren and Kishan had returned to collect us.
Kishan took my hand and helped me up. He whispered, “The dirt was soft and practically shoveled itself. It was very strange.”
Ren and Kishan carried Mr. Kadam’s coffin, and we walked in a slow procession to the grave site. The first thing I noticed was the old hut. I could see that it must have been beautiful a long time ago. It was connected to another building by a worn walkway that was raised off the jungle floor atop thick tree trunks. Though there were holes in the roofs where birds nested, I could see they had once been carefully shingled.
The small garden was surrounded by mango trees. Monkeys above us chattered noisily. Though dormant for the winter, I saw shriveled melon plants and even found a cluster of overgrown, rotting pumpkins.
The path curved, and I swallowed thickly as we stopped at an open grave. Ren and Kishan had removed the shroud and placed Mr. Kadam’s body in a simple wooden casket. He looked distinguished and peaceful in his suit and with one jolt I realized it was the same suit he’d been wearing the first time we met at the circus. No longer able to look at him, I took a step to the side and brushed my fingers across large headstones. Vines had crawled over the stone markers. The ground was thick with ferns, and the canopy of tall trees shaded the old grave site. It was a peaceful, quiet place. In the shade, the air was cool and a breeze caused the leaves to quiver overhead.
“This is my father’s. Kadam must have put these here recently. The old grave markers rotted into dust centuries ago,” Kishan said, crouching down to trace the Sanskrit writing.
“What does it say?” I whispered as I admired its carved lotus flower.
“It says ‘Rajaram, beloved husband and father, forgotten king of the Mujulaain Empire. He ruled with wisdom, vigilance, bravery, and compassion.’”
“Just like your seal.”
“Yes. The marker is actually a replica if you look closely.”
Kneeling at his mother’s grave, Ren read, “‘Deschen, dearly loved wife and mother.’”
The boys quietly paid respects to their mother while I thought about my own parents. Looking back at the hut on the hill, I wondered if the spirits of Deschen and Rajaram had watched over their old home and their sons all these years. Knowing Mr. Kadam would be laid to rest here in this beautiful place was somehow comforting. He belonged here.
“This is a lovely spot,” I commented under my breath.
“It is,” Kishan answered. “But we did find something odd when we were digging.”
“ Tiger bones,” Ren added softly.
Tiger bones? I’ll need to remember to ask Mr. Ka . . . oh. For the
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