Karma (23 page)

Yes. Even Bapu thinks so.

Returning son of India

We walk slowly to the riverbank. The urn wrapped in Mata's sari. My father's head is bowed. His footsteps are slow like he's considering every step.

Bapu's guilt has worn him down. And his anger too. It's not in his nature to spill such hatred, such vitriol. In some ways, that has cost him more than anything.

On Saturdays, I used to walk into Elsinore to watch my father work. I'd hear the whispers. The ones he had grown used to.

It's the mechanic's daughter. Must be time for her weekly oil treatment. How else do you get hair that black and shiny?

Ignore them,
Bapu said.
Racism isn't always hatred. Sometimes it's just confusion and fear. It's their own hearts they're not sure about. Not ours.

I learned to walk on like my father.

Wearing skin like an armor.

Carrying my shadow.

There were times I liked how my skin kept me separate. No one could see in. Not that anyone tried very hard. Except Helen.

Your skin's like polished wood, Jiva. And your eyes dark as obsidian. You're so lucky. No one else in a hundred miles looks like you.

It's funny. I don't fit here in India any better.

Postcard

I wrote to Helen yesterday. It took seven drafts to find just the right words. Warm but not pathetic. Inviting yet not desperate. Intriguing, mysterious. Just a note to suggest I miss her. Maybe we could become friends again? I may never forget what she did but I don't think it's right that we let a boy come between us.

Dear Helen,

I'll be home in two days. Before you even get this postcard! This is a picture of the Taj Mahal. If you can believe it, I never got to actually see it! There's lots to tell. Hope you'll want to hear it all. Oh, one more thing. I've cut my hair short. Will you really kill me?

M-J

Forgiveness

Bapu finally told me what he said to keep Sandeep away:
Choose your heartbreak, boy. If I ever see you near my daughter, I'll have you both killed.

There are many things my father must ask forgiveness for. He says it will take a lifetime to make peace with his conscience.
How can someone as sinful as me. Dare to hope for a place in heaven?

In spite of waking up to a knife at my throat, I want to trust that my father never meant what he threatened. But Sandeep must have heard the pledge of vengeance and believed him.

I can still see the grief in Sandeep's eyes as he backed away down the hallway. He had done what he promised. Brought me my angry father. But the price was for us to be kept apart. The space in between filled with cruel longing.

Missing

I looked for him. Every time I left the hotel with Bapu at my side. I followed the trail of marigolds. The crushed and beautiful.

But I never saw him. Like a desert fox.

I wrote to Sandeep every night. Tearing narrow strips of paper from my diary. Copying lines from poems. Begging him to show his face. I lied and said I was all right.

On the streets I dropped the crumpled notes like bits of garbage. Undetectable in the dirt. Unless someone was looking.

One afternoon I saw a child pick one up. She looked at it. She couldn't read but she understood it was something important. I put a finger to my lips and she smiled. She knew what a secret was.

I don't know if Sandeep found my words. And I guess it doesn't matter. The universe and a child know I love him. Maybe that's enough.

One last note

Live as a witness, O Friend!

The world is a magic show, a dream;

– Shri Bodharanya

At the river

Bapu holds the urn out in front of him. Shows it to the rising sun. Kiran helps him take the top off. His hand on my father's elbow. Holding up his friend.

I watch how Bapu looks at Kiran. Is there something in my father's eyes? A lack of trust? I've worried that this friendship might become collateral damage too.

But I'm wrong. Bapu kneels before him. He places his palms on Kiran's naked feet. In India, this is the profoundest gesture of respect. Kiran puts out his hand and rests it on my father's head.

I follow Bapu's example and kneel before Kiran. Without him, we wouldn't be here.

It was Kiran who returned to the Rama Hotel and carried the urn out.

Nothing else was left in room 12 G.

No shoes.

No clothes.

The suitcases missing.

He never mentioned the hair.

The soft black rivers.

The urn was still on the bureau where I forgot it.

For all the hatred anger uncontrolled destruction for all the beatings burnings and unholy defilements no one had touched the vessel.

No one had dared spill the ashes of a departed soul.

No one wanted such karma.

Ashes

My father pours the ashes into the Yamuna River.

They fly into the morning light.

Stars returning to heaven.

All things are on fire, my father sings.

The eye is on fire.

The heart is on fire.

And the body is on fire when we return it to the earth.

For the sins of my soul, Leela,

I beg for your forgiveness.

Our daughter has asked me if love is enough. Compared to what? To no love at all? I think she wants to know what happens when love is gone. I will tell her that love is always here. Carrying us throughout eternity.

I kneel down and touch Mata's sari to my father's feet.

I finally understand:
“To love each other is also to love the Divine.”

Imagine

We stand wordlessly in the light.

Amar.

Kiran.

Me.

The first rays of dawn.

Bursting through the horizon.

I imagine Sandeep is close by too.

Like the man further down the riverbank lighting a ghee lamp floating the leaf plate for a soul.

I remember Mata's wish:

If I'm lucky, Maya, your wind will carry me away one day.

Sometimes I imagine it happened differently.

A bee trapped between the windowpanes

taps taps taps.

Mata closes the piano mid-sonata listens to the house quiet as a tomb except for a bee wanting to fly through glass.

She opens the window the buzzing gone but invites in the cold autumn wind.

She wraps the
pallu
over her shoulders across her neck.

Just to get warm.

That's when she sees me coming up the lane.

Hurry, Maya! Hurry! I've missed you today!

I've missed you too, Mata.

Alone

After the ceremony, I walk alone along the shoreline. Bapu trusts me to return within the hour. I have promised.

I listen to the sound of India's voices for the last time. Laughter ripples like water. A prayer is a single note held long. There is so much life here. And too much death

I feel a soft breeze caress my face and I look up. An orange ribbon is floating through the air. In India, it's easy to see the wind.

Maya!

I look around.

Maya!

A tall man emerges from the water like a charging buffalo.

I have something for you!

He holds a brown-paper package above his head.

His mouth is grinning.

His ears stick out just a little too much.

I watch him approach. White shirt clinging to his chest. A garland circling his neck like groom's. Marigolds!

My hands reach for him without thinking.

A chance

When he steps out of the muddy shallows, I fight the desire to fall into his arms. For I am dressed as a girl now.

I watch Sandeep flick his head back. The hair throws tiny prisms of water across my shouders. I want to laugh but I must show all decorum in this public place.

You're soaked, Sandeep! Don't you think it's a bit cold to sip in these waters?

I wanted to cleanse my soul before I saw you, Maya.

You knew I'd be alone?

I didn't. But I've been watching, waiting for the chance. And suddenly it was here. And I took it.

Marigolds

He lifts the necklace of orange blossoms and lowers it over my head. These are for you.
Sorry, they're a bit wet.

Oh, I don't mind.
I can't stop smiling!

I have something else for you. A gift to take home. He puts the brown-paper package into my hands. It's my journal.

Oh, Sandeep. Are you sure?

I am. I want you to have it. It was always intended for you.

But it's your story, Sandeep. Your life.

And I offer it to you, if you want it.

I take the book into my hands and cannot speak. Within these pages is the story of my silence. And my terrible fear. And my love.

And one more thing, Maya? Don't cheat and read the last page first.

I laugh. It's good to laugh with your best friend. Especially while you're crying.

The future

I'm leaving tonight, Sandeep.

Oh. Well, part of me is glad.

Why?

Because now I know Amar isn't marrying you off to a widower with five bratty children.

You're right. That is good news.

Are you looking forward to going home? Getting out of this crazy country?

Looking forward to leaving you? No. A thousand no's. But I can't stay. And you can't come.

Not yet, Maya. But we're young. Our futures aren't set yet. Anything can happen. I could finish high school. Wouldn't Amma be pleased? I may even go to university. Become a doctor like Parvati. Does Canada need doctors?

It will take ten years, Sandeep!

And by then will you be too old and ugly to marry? Or just too smart?

How will I live without him?

My gift

I take Mata's sari from around my shoulders.

I have a present for you too, Sandeep.

I hold one end and give him the other. We fold it in half. Eyes meeting, unblinking. Then half again. Fingers touching. Our bodies step closer and closer with each new fold. When we are done we hold a perfect square of orange between us.

I place the sari in Sandeep's hands. He bows deeply to me. His tears falling onto the silk.

I know we're not supposed to touch but my hand reaches for him. Across the space between us. The sorrow in my skin lifting and carried away by the wind.

Her skin smells like mint,
he whispers.

Her mouth tastes like lemon and a cool river.

Her tongue is round like a pebble in my mouth.

She quenches all of my thirsts.

I touch his forehead with my palm.

I live here, Sandeep. Forever.

And here too,
he says. He kisses my fingers and holds them to his lips.

Not yet

It is the moment to say goodbye. But we stand. Not moving. Unable to part. Tears stain our cheeks.

What will you do? After today?

I was thinking of going to look for Akbar.

He's going to be furious that we sold Moomal.

He's pretty furious about a lot of things. But he's my brother. And he did save my life.

You remembered.

Yes. I worked it out. I remembered why he was holding your sari. Please forgive me, Maya.

It was a day we both wanted to forget, Sandeep. And we did.

Do you think there's more? More that we've forgotten?

There's only one other thing I wish I could remember. But it never happened.

We both know what I'm talking about. The moment in the hotel when he stopped me from undressing.

We kiss on the river's edge but keep our hands at our sides. There's no sense in calling more attention than necessary.

We've learned restraint.

December 17, 1984

Home

As the plane lifts off the ground I look over at my father. His eyes are closed. His legs stretched out. He has no paper-wrapped carry-on for this flight.

He wears his turban. The long length of navy cotton that I watched him twist and fold in an act of focused meditation. I have a feeling it will remain on his head for the long trip home.

Will you write to me?
I asked Sandeep before we parted.

If your father allows it.

It'll be all right. Bapu's faith requires him to seek forgiveness for his sins. And he believes he has wronged you.

Then I shall write. And promise to find you, again,
meri jaan.
Here. There. Somewhere in between here and there.

I lean down and pull out Sandeep's gift from under the seat in front of me. Untie the string and remove the thick waxy wrapping.

On top of the notebook is a small piece of paper.

A hand has smoothed out the wrinkles.

The words are barely legible.

Smeared from the oblivious crush of a thousand Indian feet.

But I know what they say.

I wrote them:

We cannot see how our lives will unfold.

What is destiny and what is accident?

And how can one ever be certain?

– M.

Last page

I can't stop myself.

I open the notebook from the back.

Flip the pages until I find Sandeep's final entry.

December 4, 1984

(written on December 15)

Akbar!
I call to him.
One more thing I need to know.

What?
He pulls on Mohindra's powerful neck. Turns the animal so he can face me.

Tell me my real name.

See? You are curious like me.

The name?

Little brother, on the night you were born our mother had a dream about Mohammad going to the Seventh Heaven. She called you Miraj after the Prophet's great journey.

And is Akbar your real name?