Where the Lotus Flowers Grow (19 page)

The guidebook said they dated back to the seventh century. Unfortunately, many of the formations were ruined by the Portuguese, who used the sculptures for target practice. We stood, a moment of silence passing between us as we mourned the damaged sculptures. “Do you think they saw the figure in the rock first, or created the figure from the rock?” I asked.

“Both. Isn’t that what a true artist does? Sees the image within the blank space.”

We stopped at the three-headed rock-cut statue of Shiva. It was perfectly intact, unmarred by Portuguese bullets, preserved through the perils of time and natural disaster. Liam was in his element, a mixture of appreciation and awe on his face.

“Shiva,” I whispered. “The destructor. I never understood why destruction was worshipped.” I shivered against the image.

“I do,” Liam said. “How can you create something new without destroying the old?”

“I suppose.”

Liam’s eyes widened at the nude of Parvati. “Who is this beautiful girl?”

“Parvati, the second wife of Shiva.”

“For a Catholic, you sure know a great deal about Hinduism.”

“My grandmother was Hindu. She taught me all about the deities. It always fascinated me. Parvati and Shiva had a fierce love. Her love for Shiva transcended everything because she was, for all purposes, Shiva’s other half. They were incomplete without each other. She was his strength, his power, and his calm.”

“Every man should be so lucky.”

His expression reflected appreciation as he took in the intricate statue, all the while his fingers twitched.

I unzipped his backpack, searching for the items I’d put inside that morning.

“What are you doing?”

“Here,” I said, holding them out to him.

He stared at the sketch pad and artist’s pencils. “Where did these come from?”

“You said I could buy whatever I wanted at the bookstore. I figured they were a bit better than a legal pad and mechanical pencil.” I held them higher, pushing them into his chest. “I know you want to draw her.”

“Why did you do it?”

He held me with his gaze, and the answer tumbled out before I could analyze the words. “I like to see you happy, Liam.”

A look of gratitude flickered across his face. It flashed quickly, but it spoke volumes. He cupped my cheek and pressed his lips against my forehead.

“Come on,” I said, clasping his elbow. I pulled him toward a stone step opposite the statue. While the other visitors snapped pictures, Liam captured the image on paper.

“You sure you don’t mind me sketching? Maybe you’d care to go shopping while I do this?”

“I’d rather sit with you. Although I am a bit jealous you’ve found a new subject.”

He pulled me close. His lips brushed against my hair. “I appreciate her beauty, but you, Mary Costa, are my one and only muse.”

I had no response. I sat, almost as still as the statue, watching him fill the blank paper. Lines turned into shapes and shapes into a figure. As he shaded, the two dimensional form turned into three.

“It’s beautiful, Liam.”

He kissed my forehead. “You’re beautiful.”

He stood, brushing off his jeans before holding a hand out to me.

After we’d had our fill of the humbling magnificence of Elephanta caves, we dashed down the stone steps.

“I should buy a souvenir for my secretary,” he said, jerking his head toward the market stalls.

Under tarps of blue and gold, we walked along the vendor’s stalls, each salesperson aggressively begging for Liam’s attention. A white man was a rare and lucrative sight. He stopped to examine a few miniature replicas of the cave carvings.

“How much?” he asked the old woman running the stall.

She quoted a price much too high. I moved in front of him, switched into Hindi and haggled on his behalf. At first she refused to yield. I took Liam’s hand, leading him away.

“What are you doing? I wanted to purchase that.”

“Just wait,” I said, pulling him along.

“Wait for what?”

“Come back, come back,” the women said, standing from her stall. If we’d given her another minute, she would have chased after us.

“Impressive, Mary. I could use someone with your talent for negotiation.”

“Liam, most prices in India are suggestions, and they are three times higher for you because you’re a foreigner. You’d do well to remember that.”

“I shall try my best.”

We walked back to the table. As he paid her, something caught my eye. I touched the cool, smooth beads of the necklace. I held it up to see the stones against the light.

“You fancy that, Mary?”

“No.”

“It’s similar to a pearl, isn’t it?” he asked, taking it from me.

“They are moonstones. I had one when I was little, but I lost it.”

The lady clucked her tongue. “Very bad luck to lose a moonstone.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Mine was similar to this, but much larger. It was flat on one side with flecks of blue and yellow in it. It had an M engraved on the flat side.”

“M for Mary?” he asked.

“M for Marco. It originally belonged to my grandfather. My
dadima
gave it to me on my sixth birthday when she came to visit us in England.”

“Dadima?”

“My granny.”

He held up the necklace. “It’s a little plain, but it will look beautiful on you. Let me buy it to make up for the one you lost.”

“You buy this for her and the lady’s
luck go up, up, up,” the woman said, her thumb pointed to the sky. “Way way up.”

I took it from him and handed it back to the vendor, wishing I’d never picked it up. “I don’t want it. I was only looking.”

“Stop being silly.”

I shook my head. “No really, I don’t want you to buy it.”

“I insist. Allow me to make you happy.”

“Not this, okay?”

“Why not this? It’s the only thing that’s caught your interest since we’ve been here.”

“We should head back. The ferry’s leaving.”

The woman chimed in, not missing an opportunity to make another sale. “Yes, yes, rare and expensive, but I give discount. Special stone to”—she clasped her hands together—“join as one forever.”

Exactly why he shouldn’t buy it. He took out a bill from his wallet. I pushed his hand away before they made the exchange. “I don’t want it, Liam!” It came out hysterical and high-pitched, causing the other vendors and tourists to stop in their tracks.

I hurried toward the dock. His longer strides caught up to me quickly. The back of his hand brushed mine.

“Do you always overreact when a man wants to buy you jewelry, or is it just me?”

“No other man has ever tried to buy me jewelry.”

The ferry wasn’t as crowded on the way back, and we sat together on a bench. The sea was calm, the sun setting over Mumbai Harbor.

“Was it the expense? Because I promise you, it was nothing for me. Or is it your pride again?”

I didn’t answer.

“Are you planning to ignore me?”

“It wasn’t the expense or my pride.”

“Then what was it?”

“Didn’t you hear what the lady said to us?” Did he not understand we were a fortnight, not a forever? “Do you really want to tempt fate?”

His deep rumbling laugh mocked me. “Seriously, that’s your reason? I don’t believe in charms, or talismans, or any of that rubbish.”

“I believe in them.” My feelings for Liam were tangled and messy. I could barely understand them, and I had no desire to invite fate into the convoluted equation.

“It’s a stone mined from the ground. It has no special powers.”

“Those carvings chiseled into rock had no meanings either then?”

“That’s different.”

“I disagree. And I know how powerful the moonstone is.”

He placed his hand under my chin and tilted my face toward his. “Convince me then. Why is it powerful?”

“Originally, the moonstone I had belonged to my dadaji. He gave it to my grandmother.”

“Forgive me. I’m still confused how that explains anything.”

I sighed. “There’s more to the story, but it’s nothing you’d be interested in.”

“You’ve never been more wrong, Mary. I am very interested in everything when it comes to you. Tell me.”

His long fingers threaded through mine. His face looked so earnest, I found myself telling him the story my grandmother had told me years ago in a chilly flat in London.

“He was on leave from the army and in Bombay for just one day. Dadaji…Marco decided to go for a walk on the beach before the night of debauchery he’d planned with his pals. He stumbled upon the saddest, most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Her name was Savitri. You see, her parents had arranged for her to marry a man twenty years her senior, a man with a reputation for cruelty.”

I stopped the story, a small surge of emotion welling up for my dadima. He tightened his arm around me.

“Anyway, the two of them strolled the beach until day turned into night, each voicing their fears of an uncertain future. Marco’s mother had given him the stone when he enlisted, saying it would protect him in any battle. It was the only thing of value he owned. That night, he gave it to Savitri.”

“He didn’t believe in it?”

“On the contrary, he believed with all his heart. He gave it to her because he was more concerned for her safety than his own. There is a legend surrounding the moonstone they both knew of.”

“What legend?”

“If a moonstone is given with a pure heart under the light of the full moon, it binds you to the other person. It’s a connection that can never be severed, regardless of time or distance.”

“I take it they ran off and married each other?”

I bit my cheek. “Not as easy as that. They went their separate ways. It was an impossible situation. He couldn’t abandon his post and was due to leave for Kashmir the next day. She would not go against her family’s wishes and be casted from her home. Dadima said fate could be beautiful and cruel. They had seen both sides of it.”

“But they got together eventually? I mean, obviously they did. Him being your grandfather and all.”

I was surprised how vested he was in the story, a story I’d only repeated to Hannah who never had the years with our dadima as I did. “Not for a long time.”

“They kept in touch though?”

“They never exchanged any information. They married other people and lived miserably for a great number of years. She kept the moonstone, though, and made the same wish upon it every night.”

“For them to be together.”

“That would make sense, but her mind wouldn’t even work that way. She wished for his good health and happiness wherever he was in the world. Can you imagine how unselfish it is to wish the person you love most a happiness that doesn’t include you?”

“What I really can’t grasp is that they fell in love in one day.”

As a child, I devoured the story, hanging onto every word, begging Dadima to tell it to me again. But as an adult, I, too, had become cynical and suspicious of it. “She said it wasn’t just her reaction to him, but how he made her feel about herself.”

“How did they find each other again?”

“They were both scarred by their lives. Marco lost his wife in childbirth. His son died soon after. Meanwhile, Savitri’s husband blamed her for not producing an heir. He punished her by splashing acid in her face, disfiguring her for life.”

“Are you serious? Please tell me he got what he deserved.”

“Liam, you’re missing the point. This isn’t a revenge story. It’s a love story.”

“Sounds like a tragedy to me.”

“Well, if you’d let me finish, you’d see.”

“Sorry. Please continue.”

“After that, her family finally stepped in and helped her secure a divorce. Not an easy task. Although she was free, she couldn’t come to terms with the image in the mirror. She built a shelter around herself, never leaving the house in the daytime. At night, Savitri would walk the same stretch of the Arabian coast where she’d met Marco so many years before. She clutched the moonstone in her hand during these walks. That’s where he found her, ten years later, under the light of a full moon. He’d returned to the same spot himself, trying to reclaim the memories of that night. She wore a scarf across her face. He would have missed her if it wasn’t for the shining stone in her hand. When he approached her, she ran from him, believing she was hideous. He didn’t give up, though. He waited for her to come back to the beach. After many nights of waiting, she did. This time he wouldn’t let her run. He begged her to let him see her face. When she finally lifted the veil, he took her in his arms and told her she was the most beautiful girl in the world. You see, the stone worked its magic.”

“A moonstone can cure acid burns?”

“No, Liam, nothing can do that. Her face was damaged beyond repair. But Marco wasn’t in love with Savitri’s face. He was in love with her soul. He didn’t care what packaging that soul came in. Whatever scars they’d suffered, whatever time had lapsed, whatever distance had kept them apart all disappeared. Fate had tested them in the worst ways, but their love never died.”

“They got married and lived happily after?”

“Eventually, but it took a while. He courted her, appearing at her house every single day. He made friends with her father, who was not the sort of man to approve of his daughter having a second marriage, much less to a Christian. But Marco had a strong will and the kind of personality that won people over. Savitri started believing in the possibility of a future. When she married Marco, she made a decision to never cover her face after that. She saw herself the same way he saw her. When I was a child, I always thought people darted out of our way because my dadima was so tall and regal in her elegant silk saris. It wasn’t until I was older I finally recognized the looks of disgust and fear in their faces. It occurred to me why I had never noticed before. It wasn’t just because I was a child. She ignored those cruel people and walked with an air of dignity. To me, she was always the most beautiful woman in the world. Whatever had happened on the outside never concealed the deep beauty and strength inside her. She had this incredible wisdom that blossomed in the shadow of deep tragedy. Do you understand?”

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His attention hadn’t wavered since I started the story. “Completely. It’s a beautiful story, Mary. Thank you for sharing it, love.”