Karma (14 page)

Sandeep!
says Barindra.
What are you doing here? I told you not to follow me. You were to stay home where you're needed!

But I've taken care of that, Pita. Hari is there. If a mob comes he will show them the empty attic. He will even send for the police so Amma and Dadima will be safe.

(The deal with Hari came at a price. A promise to leave Tejal alone. I felt a little bad for the extravagance of my false tears. His sister is beautiful but silly. And doesn't hold a candle to Maya.)

So you have left your duty to someone else? This is how you repay your adoptive mother after all she has done for you? Not good enough, Sandeep! What kind of son are you?

With all respect, Pita, I am indebted to my sister too. I promised Parvati I would watch over Maya. To never to leave her alone.

Ah, a dutiful brother, says Akbar. Something the family can be proud of.

Who do you think you are speaking to?
I say to Akbar.
For a camel driver, you are far too familiar!

Oh, I do apologize. But I feel like we have met.

You see, I know who you are. The famous tour guide, Sandeep of Jaisalmer. The boy who was saved by goats. And though you are a cheeky son you appear to be a thoughtful sibling.
He laughs.

And perhaps a protector of young women too? A Vishnu to Maya's Lakshmi?

I'm glad it's dark so Maya can't see my face burn.

I think you are a complicated boy, Sandeep. With an interesting story.

His deep voice cements me to the earth. A sinking feeling in my stomach.

I turn to my father.
Pita,
I manage to whisper.
I will walk or ride the camel that carries the supplies.

I am determined to accompany you.

Akbar laughs some more.
There's no saddle, Sandeep. You won't last a mile.

I will last, Akbar. I was born in the desert. As you you've no doubt heard.

Ah. Well, Barindra Sahib, this adopted son of yours amuses me. We can take him if you're willing. I have another camel.

Barindra looks pained with the decision.

Both of you have left me little choice. The sun is almost up and our departure will be noticed if we don't leave soon. I have no time to check out Akbar's story. Or drag my son back to his house.

So we will go. Just don't make me sorry.

Akbar bows to Barindra. (What a fake.)

I bow to Maya. (I won't leave you alone with this creep!)

She tugs the blanket over her forehead. But her hand is still.

Go on, Sandeep.
Akbar points at a small furclotted camel.
Moomal is waiting for you.

I'm sure she's happy you're here.

Jerk.

Akbar guides Maya toward the largest of the camels. Brightly coloured tassels and small silver bells hang from the bridle. The animal looks ridiculous. Overly adorned. But I can't help being envious. Mohindra — even the name is grand — looks princely. Moomal resembles an insect-eaten rodent with stick legs.

So, Maya, are you ready? Akbar asks. For real silence?
He puts a hand on her back but she bats it away.
As you wish, princess.
She swings a leg over the leather seat. Akbar slides in behind and puts his mouth near her ear.
Don't worry,
his tongue slithers.
You don't have to speak in the desert. The sand and wind swallow all words and deeds.

Maya shivers.

(Why isn't Barindra saying anything!)

And you, Sandeep. Are you also ready?
Three sets of eyes watch as I struggle with Moomal.
Do you need to know the magic camel word for UP?

Of course not, Akbar! I've been riding since I was a child.

He laughs and puts the whip on Mohindra.
Then try to keep up, little man.

I click my tongue, slam my knees, and wave my tattered whip until Moomal finally drags herself to standing with a loud angry groan. Akbar and Maya are already fading into the darkness.

Farooq would have let Maya ride with me!

We travel with the dawn on our shoulder. The thin line of sunrise crests the horizon. Like a slice of red melon.

Falling from a knife's blade.

Melon! My stomach growls for the sweet ripe fruit.

Will we stop soon for
nashta
?

That depends, Sandeep. Did you bring food? We weren't planning to feed a fourth.

(Is this how it will be? Always made to look the fool?)

No, you misunderstood me, Akbar. At Mool Sagar there is a tree. Heavy with mangoes. We can fill our bellies and a sack for later. It is not so much farther from here.

I remember this tree,
says Barindra.
A good idea, Sandeep
.

You see? I will not be a burden.

I look to Maya. Shrouded like a prisoner. She is leaning forward. As if trying to get as far from Akbar as she can.

I take out my knife and slice the mangoes expertly, like Amma taught.

Two cuts to release the seed.

Flesh scored into cubes.

We eat in silence under the tree.

Maya-bati,
says Barindra.

I look up. Juice dribbles from my open mouth.

Barindra will address Maya directly?

Do you understand that we had to take you out of the city for your own good?

She keeps her eyes down.

This can't go on, Maya, says Barindra. Your silence is dangerous for you.

We have all stopped eating.

We are quiet.

Waiting for her answer.

Suddenly, a violent squawking rattles the tree and loosens a flurry of leaves onto our heads.

Akbar picks up a stone and flings it into the glossy foliage.

Perhaps it is the unknown she is afraid of?
Akbar shouts into the tree.

Maya flinches at the sound of impact.

Or is there something else at the root of every one of us?
He throws a second stone.
A question that haunts our dreams.

A white parrot flies frantically out of the tree.

How do we name our guilt?
Akbar whispers.

Maya's mouth quivers like someone's tugging on her lower lip. I look away. She might as well be naked.

(Help.)

I stand up. Stretch my arms out wide to the empty horizon.
Do not be afraid of limitless possibilities. The desert is infinite to the eye as love is to the heart.

Who taught you that?
Barindra asks.

You did.

Barindra shakes his head.

Well, it's a wise statement,
says Akbar.
Perhaps someone from your mysterious childhood?

I decide to ignore him. I look over my shoulder at Maya. Her fingers are clenched. Red from twisting a scarf in her hands. Was it enough? Did I buy her secret a little more time?

The horizon stretches as we travel west. An elastic band cutting sky and earth in two. The camels mark the terrain with their soft pads.

Like rows of stitches mending tears in the land.

The morning drags on. Into afternoon. Sun climbing, a yellow balloon. The camels lope, the heat beats down, my head nods and bounces off my chest. Spit drools from my mouth like a toothless woman dozing on a bus. Hard to believe I'm the son of a nomad.

I look over at Akbar riding with one hand on the reins and another on Maya's hip. She is leaning against him, her head tucked under his chin, asleep. Has she so easily fallen under his spell?

Akbar looks over at me, grinning.

When the sand hills break through the horizon line with their soft ochre peaks, Akbar calls out,
We'll camp tonight in their shadow.

I glance my whip across Moomal's shoulder.

Shall we race then, Akbar? Last one to the dunes, unpacks the camels?

But you are only one small boy! he calls out.
And we are burdened with two!

I urge Moomal to go faster.

But you are old and skinny, Akbar, already dry like an old tree!

Yes, that is true, little brother with dung beetle breath! And you know what else is true?

What, my wrinkled friend who rides the farting camel?

Moomal is lazy! Like you!

Akbar hits Mohindra only once and the camel gallops past me like an awkward racehorse.

Maya's scarf falls from her head. Her smile cuts me to the quick. Is she lost to me?

This has nothing to do with you, Sandeep.

I've never seen Barindra like this. So decisive. So unwavering. So unsympathetic.

I suppose Akbar knows our destination.

Of course.

But you won't tell me.

No.

And you don't think it's strange that Farooq took ill so quickly? And even stranger that you've never met Farooq's tenth grandson?

I'll watch him, Sandeep. I promise. Now could you please honour your bet and unpack the camels.

The problem with Barindra is that he always thinks the best of people.

After I drive the pegs for Maya's tent into the soft earth, I look for an opportunity to slip her the notebook. What's she thinking? About our guide's wandering hands. And the fact that we don't know where he's leading us.

But Akbar is watching me. Like a hawk and I'm the rodent for his lunch.

And I don't dare take the chance.

Sand like silk under our feet.

Maya and I make our way up the dune slowly.

Heads down, feet sliding back with each step. I watch her make small adjustments with her body.

Straightening her back, bending her elbows, lifting her knees. Soon she is scrambling like a sand crab. And I am right behind her.

When we get to the top I put a leg on each side of the ridge.
Do you see it, Maya? It's the sea!
I point to the horizon, to the air weaving and moving in the heat. It's an old game I used to play when Barindra took us on desert treks.
I'm going to cross that water one day, Deedi. I know you will,
my sister agreed.

Maya, there's something I want to say to you,
I begin.
About Akbar.

But the dune wakes like a shape-shifting beast straightening its back. And the peak crumbles under our feet.

My eyes sting as I'm thrown down the flanks. Hands reaching for something solid to grab. Mouth filling with sand. Oh, if only my ears would fill too, and I wouldn't have to listen to Akbar's taunting!

Sandeep! I don't think that's the way to watch over your Lakshmi! Headfirst!

I come to a stop at Akbar's feet.

Good thing I'm here,
he says.
You keep falling down on your job.

He helps Maya to her feet. She's covered with sand. And her sari has become undone.

Kind of fun, isn't it, Maya?
He speaks to her but looks at me.

But she's not smiling. She's clutching folds of orange in her hand.

The day burns itself out behind the dunes. The last rays of sun piece the ridge like a bloodred crown.

Maya is sitting on the ground beside her tent.

Her palms are turned upward. She lifts them like she's offering something to the sky.

I lean over and place my hands under hers.

The sand runs through our fingers. A soft stream. Into the folds of her sari.

The poem is on my lips without thinking:

“O man, know this to be truth—

The world is a dream,

Any moment it may pass away;

Thou has built a house of sand,

How can it endure?”

Nanak?
Akbar asks.

Yes.

Continue. You have a nice voice.

No, that's enough.

Okay. I think I know the rest anyway:

“How can it endure?

All this is Maya.

O simpleton, why art thou entangled in delusion?

Wake up! Wake up, lest it be too late.”

Akbar and I stare.

Eyes locked like two animals sizing each other up.

Whoever moves first will lose.

The wind blows through the camp and chases the shadows away. The desert is quiet again except for the sound of sand sweeping across the dunes.

I know I shouldn't but I rub my eye. Grinding the grit into my cornea.

Maya puts her hand on my shoulder. Then a fingertip on my eyelid. She holds it closed.

I feel her breath on my cheek. We wait for the tears to fill and carry the grain away.

I wake up.

So, Sandeep, you are finally up
, Akbar calls.
Did you have a pleasant dream? We heard you wailing all night long.

Shut up, Akbar.

Maya is on her knees. Holding a long green cloth in her hands. Akbar is showing her how to twist the cotton and wrap it into a nomad's turban. A thick coiled snake is taking shape on Akbar's big fat head.

Maya,
he whispers.
Maya.

I feel my shoulder tighten like a slingshot. My fist rises. Ready to fire into his jaw, splitting bone and flesh, but then I see Maya's face.

Something has changed since yesterday. Her eyes are flat. Like a light dimming

I try to think of a sharp comeback instead of breaking Akbar's nose, but I can‘t form the words.

My brain has been cut off from my body.

When I lower my arm, all I can imagine is the end of that stupid turban stuffed down his throat.

We travel. We rest. We travel again.
Akbar sings.

Such is the rhythm of the desert dweller. Such is his pleasure and restlessness.

Rumi?
asks Barindra.

No. Those are the words of the great poet, Akbar. He is talented, yes?

(He is an asshole, no?)

Sandeep!
Akbar calls to me.
You will share another poem with us while we ride?

I refuse. To even open my mouth around that man invites ridicule. But in my mind, I silently repeat the words of the Persian poet al-Hallaj:

For your sake, I hurry over land and water

For your sake, I cross the desert and split the mountain in two

And turn my face from all things

Until the time I reach the place

Where I am alone with you.

I glance over at Maya
.
She's staring across the desert.

Not at me.

What did you think, Sandeep?
I scold myself, silently.

That she could read your mind?

I sound like Akbar. Inside my head.