The rumor was indeed that the Maharani’s emeralds were bad luck; each person who had owned them never lived long enough to really
enjoy them.  They were beautiful, though, and close to priceless.  Originally they had been brought over from South Africa, the property
of an English duchess.  The story further went that the jewels had also survived a trip on the ill-fated Titanic.  The duchess had died of
malaria at the age of thirty.  Her family, remembering the curse, had disposed of them at an auction.  The jewels made the rounds before
they finally ended up with the Maharani.  It is not known how long she had them; eventually they were sold when her estate was being
liquidated.  

At that time the emeralds were bought at great price by Homi Rustomji, a wealthy entrepreneur.   He certainly did not believe in all the
“superstitious rubbish” about curses and bad luck.  He presented them to his daughter Roshan on her wedding day when she married Kal
Greenwood, an American math professor, from a small town in Indiana.  That certainly was quite a very lucky day for his spinster
daughter!
It was rumored that the necklace had cost close to a million dollars.  At least (another rumor stated) that is how much Homi Rustomji had
paid to insure the baubles.  This was a small fortune in India – far beyond the reach of most people.  The emeralds on the necklace were
flawless, each like a perfect little green marble.  

Roshan wore the emerald necklace for her wedding, glowing, as a bride should.  But she guarded her precious gift, moving aside from
inquisitive hands that dared come too near to examine it.  The closest anyone came to seeing it was in the huge photograph that appeared
in the newspaper the next morning.  Kal was the only one, besides Roshan’s father, who actually got to hold it in his hands.  In fact he was
the one to remove it from Roshan’s neck later that night, to place it in safekeeping in the vault in their bedroom.  Kal was still in awe with
the knowledge of all the wealth that was now his – the necklace was like rich icing on the cake.

Professor Kal Greenwood had been in Darjeeling for almost a year.  He loved it and wanted badly to spend the rest of his life in that
enchanted little town.  He mingled easily in the community.  Neighbors and friends were always ready to help and befriend, their homes
always welcoming and open to visits.  You could drop in any time to share a meal, definitely a nice cup of tea.  He belonged in India, it
was in his blood.

He began making inquiries, trying to pull strings, doing whatever he could to get a permanent resident visa.  The chances were slim to
non-existent.  Kal was well liked and would have been a real asset to any institution.  He was a model teacher, mild mannered and polite.  
He was good looking with sandy blonde hair, and baby blue eyes.  People were attracted to Kal.  He reveled in this popularity and sense
of belonging but none of that would qualify him for a permanent resident’s visa.  When the time came, Kal would have to return to his
home in Indiana.  The rules were very strict.  His colleagues felt genuinely sorry for the fellow.  His chances of remaining in India were
slim indeed.  

One evening Kal was introduced to Roshan Rustomji, a rich young woman who was still single.  A series of surgeries on her leg had left
her with a slight limp.  She had also suffered from numerous allergies all her life and appeared frail and fragile.  Despite the vast family
wealth, including offers of a large dowry, her father had not succeeded in finding her a suitable husband.  There were many suitors of
course, but all inappropriate.  Roshan’s mother, Rosemary, had been a beautiful woman from a prominent Anglo Indian family.  Roshan
had not inherited her beauty but she did have her mother’s sweet nature and happy laughter.  Sadly Rosemary died when Roshan was just
an infant.  Homi had loved his wife deeply and after her death devoted himself to raising his children.  Roshan despite her plain features
and delicate health, was the apple of his eye.  She was brilliant with a keen mind for the family business that she controlled.   Homi relied
heavily on her help with important decisions.  She loved her work passionately, it was her whole life.  Until she met Kal.

Roshan was attracted to the handsome teacher right from the start.  She began to single him out whenever she saw him at the club.  They
quickly became good friends and after a few weeks almost inseparable.  One evening (who knows how these things happen - maybe it was
the wine, maybe it was the soft lights of the club, or perhaps because he was in the last few weeks of his tour) Kal proposed.  He didn’t
stop to ask himself if he really loved Roshan and how she felt about him!  But he enjoyed her company immensely.  If she accepted,
Roshan was his ticket to stay.  

The wedding was, of course, a grand affair.  Everybody who was anybody was invited; the guests were some of the most prominent
people in the community.  Besides an exceptional wardrobe and an expensive assortment of rings and gold chains, Homi Rustomji gave
Kal a generous bank account of his own – in gratitude for marrying his daughter.  To Roshan, now Mrs. Kal Greenwood, he gave a very
special gift – the Maharani’s priceless emerald necklace.

Kal was really a simple-hearted fellow.  He had lived most of his life in poverty. Only in dreams had he imagined what it would be like to
be just rich, not filthy rich!  When he had first laid eyes on the Rustomji family house, he was astonished.  Not just a house in the
ordinary sense of the word, it was a majestic mansion, nestled beautifully in the mountainside, in an exclusive part of Darjeeling.  

One suite lead into another, each one was lavishly furnished.  The house had nine bathrooms, a magnificent garden in the front and what
looked like a park in the back.  There were cars, motorbikes and even a horse drawn carriage.  The house was run by a capable group of
servants who had served the family for years.  They knew and catered to the family’s every whim, their every need.  

Suddenly Kal was no longer a simple-hearted professor of mathematics.  He was one of the richest men in India with millions at his
disposal.  He had importance, and status but, most of all, a permanent resident visa.  Roshan and her family had powerful connections.  
No one would be able to lay a hand on him or send him back to Indiana.  The visa clerk would fill out the necessary paperwork, stamp his
passport, give Kal the okay to stay, then bury the file in a boxful of discarded papers and that was that.  No one would ever bother Kal
Greenwood again.

Gimi too had come from the same orphanage as Kal.  But there had been no lucky breaks for him.  Life’s hard knocks had turned him into
a thief, a master thief who was obsessed with stealing those emeralds.  He made his way to the Greenwood’s mansion.

It was not visible from the main road.  An unpaved path, lined by large shady jacaranda trees led him to a gigantic iron gate.  To Gimi’s
surprise the gate was slightly open.  Beyond it stretched another cobblestone path lined with colorful flowerbeds.  And then … he could
see the mansion far beyond the gate.  It took Gimi’s breath away.  How he ached to get indoors and check it out.  But he knew there was a
sophisticated alarm system that would alert guards and sentinels if he dared to go any further.  If he found a way to get in he was positive
he could get to the emeralds.  There had to be a way.  There was always a way.  He would find it and soon those emeralds would be his.