by fallensea
Steamers occupied the port, grand vessels built to endure the sweet brutality of the ocean, a brutality I coveted. I longed to be a passenger onboard a steamer once again, to sleep within its maritime lullaby. The steamers brought people, but they also brought commerce, delivering cargo between the continents so that London could have its silk, and the British Raj its luxuries from home.
“Reyansh,” I said, stepping forward, announcing myself to him through the bustle of the port.
“My beloved Sophina,” Reyansh crooned, dropping the fish he held to embrace me. “Your voice is such a beautiful sound. Now, my day can begin. You have awoken me.”
“Sophina,” Sanjay greeted amiably, well used to my presence at the port. He was gracious to me, but he could not hide the war within him when I was around, loving me like a sister I would one day be, but fearing me as if I were a canon that could sink us all.
“How can I help today?” I asked.
Reyansh handed me a knife and led me to a small barrel of fish. “You can take the heads off of these. The new cook at the Sulley Estate does not have the stomach for fish heads.”
“Then perhaps he should not live by the sea,” I criticized, accepting the knife. I sat on the ground by the barrel, using the brine-soaked planks of the docks as my table, and I did as Reyansh asked.
We worked in silence, at peace despite the rumble around us, but our silence was interrupted when a mystic passed by—an elderly man in a soiled tunic and a frayed turban upon his head. He had no teeth, a void within his malicious smile. He threw sticks down beside me, which fell in a clumsy formation.
“You are the daughter of Shiva,” he warned me. “You bring death and pain around you. You destroy all that you love. If you anger the gods, there will be no mercy.”
Reyansh was instantly on him. “Move on, old man!” he shouted, waving a knife at him. “We are not in need of your false superstitions.”
The man spat on the knife, but he left, taking his sticks with him. I watched him leave in silence, feeling the darkness within me grow.
“Shiva is a myth,” Reyansh assured me. “It is not real. The man scrambles for his rice. He goads the fears of others for pity and amusement.”
“I know,” I said, forcing myself to speak. “It is not real.”
I returned to the barrel, believing my own words, but I could not abandon the mystic’s warning. I worked, fighting to stay in control, but it did no good. I stuck my knife into the head of a fish, and I unwillingly imagined it was the arm of a child. The violent thought was not my own. It was the darkness taunting me.
With despair, I dropped the knife and began to shake, unable to get the child out of my mind, feeling the same guilt as if it were real.
Reyansh rushed to me. “It is okay,” he soothed.
“This is not me,” I cried. “This is not who I am. I am good.”
“I know. It will be okay,” he chanted. “I am the sea. The sea is calm. I am the sea, and you are me.”
***
“I will take care of you,” Reyansh pledged as we stood alone between wooden boxes of cargo stacked high within the port, hiding us and hiding Reyansh’s declarations. “Forget your family. Forget your father’s money. We only need each other.”
“Your family needs you,” I reminded him. “We cannot run off. I will not let your family go hungry. I will not let them wear rags and become beggars on the street. I will not anger the gods.”
Reyansh sighed, but he was patient. “We’ll stay here. My family will accept you.” He kissed my hand, uncaring that it was stained with the cold blood of the fish. “You were born in India. You will be my Indian wife,” he teased.
I wanted to be. I wanted everything he spoke of. “My father will find a way to separate us. He is powerful. He will turn you into a criminal. He will plant evidence against you. Is it not enough that we are in love? I will remain a spinster. I will answer only to you. We will be together.”
“But I want you to be my wife,” Reyansh insisted. “It is important to me, because you are important to me. You are the only thing important to me.” He kissed my hand again.
“Then it must be in secret,” I relented. “No one must know.”
Reyansh was euphoric. “So you will marry me?”
“Yes,” I accepted, feeling his warmth. “I will marry you.”
He picked me up and spun me around, shouting out his joy. “You have made me the happiest man in all of India!” he declared.
I was happy too, but in my excitement, I felt the darkness begin to creep in. “Yes, one day, but not today,” I said, trying to ground my thoughts.
Reyansh understood. He joined me in the calm. “One day soon. Will I walk you home?”
“No. I don’t want to raise suspicion. My mother has been watching me closely these days.”
I returned to the busy streets, keeping my scarf tight around my head and my eyes to the dirt, as if I were the servant and all of India were my mistress. I tried to stay calm, but my fears followed me, stalking me through the city. Unable to cope, I needed Reyansh’s reassurances once more, so I turned back towards the docks, where I found him arguing with his brother. Keeping to the shadows, I listened.
“You cannot marry her,” Sanjay declared. “The heaven-born will never allow it. And you are betrothed to another.”
“I am not betrothed by choice,” Reyansh defended. “Priya will understand. We have been friends since we were children. We are good friends. Priya does not want a husband who does not love her. I know she will understand.”
“Priya thinks your friendship means you love her. You will shame her if you break off the engagement, even if it has been arranged without your consent. Think of Priya.”
“I can only think of Sophina,” Reyansh maintained.
“So you will make Priya live in shame?”
“I will give Priya the opportunity to find a man who loves her. It is what all women deserve.”
Unable to listen to more, I fled from the port, away from my love, away from the sea, closer to my despair.
***
My quarters were my sanctuary. They isolated me, protected me from the pursuits of others, and they looked out onto the sea. I leaned against the sill of my window, where I’d been all day, watching the sky turn from blush to oil. Now, I looked out onto the black waters. The sea was always black. The black was its truth, its origin. The sun painted it, but the night tore the paint away.
I was not angry that Reyansh was betrothed. There were worse lies a lover could tell. Reyansh adored me. He was devoted only to me. He meant to make me his wife. He did not want his friend Priya. He wanted me. That was truth. That was black.
I did not weep for Reyansh, and I did not weep for myself, but I did weep for Priya. I did not know the woman. We had never met. I had no personal attachment to her. But I wept for her.
The position of women in India was not too dissimilar from the position of British women. We were slaves to the Empire and to tradition. We were strong and individual, but we were expected to play by rules created by men long ago. Priya would be shamed. Her family would seek retribution against Reyansh, but they would also punish Priya. They would blame her for his infidelity. She would suffer.
I was willing to sacrifice my wealth to be with my beloved, but I wasn’t willing to risk another woman’s integrity, a woman whose integrity far surpassed my own, who was not touched by the darkness, who did not attract sticks at her feet by mystics, who did not bring death and pain.
Chapter Three
The Mountains
“We’ll be leaving for the mountains soon,” I informed Mr. Barlow, approaching him as he stood next to his easel in the gardens, painting an arid desert with his good arm, the landscape parched and desolate.
His attention remained on his art, tirelessly focused. I did not mind. The beauty of my friendship with Mr. Barlow was our ability to be entirely ourselves around each other. “I suspect you will,” he replied when he was ready.
“You are not coming with us?”
“No, I’m afraid not. I am to stay here and mind the house for the summer.”
This was my father’s doing. He was growing wary of my friendship with Mr. Barlow, but he was too noble to forsake his friend, so this was Mr. Barlow’s banishment, sentenced to the unbearable scorch of the summer with the air of cordiality.
“How will you survive the heat?” I protested.
Mr. Barlow chuckled. “I am honored by your displeasure, but it is ill-guided. The penchant to stay was mine. I look forward to the quietude of the summer. It will help me to put my affairs in order. I cannot live off the charity of your father forever. I must find my way. My savings is small. I must invest it wisely, unclouded by the persuasions of those in the mountains.”
“You are brave, Mr. Barlow,” I praised. “I would like to be brave too. I also wish to escape the charities of my father. They are not given without stipulation.”
“He would not dare send you back to England, would he? Your soul will not survive. It belongs here, out in the wild.”
“If he tries, I will run,” I told him. “I will run into the waves and become one with the sea.”
Mr. Barlow smudged his brush against a dab of sienna paint and added a stone to his painting, as parched as the rest. “Or you could marry me,” he suggested without looking up. “I will keep you safe, but I will not ask anything of you. You will be free to move as you choose, to love as you choose.”
“You would do that for me?” I asked, taken aback.
“Naturally. I am a hero, after all,” he said with lightheartedness, echoing my words from the night of the ball.
“You are, Mr. Barlow, but I could not ask that of you. You deserve to share your vows with someone who loves you, who will give you heirs.”
“I do not require heirs. I have nothing my children can inherit, except my charming sense of humor,” he said, laughing once more.
“You are a good man. And one day, you will be a good husband and a good father. Your wife will be very lucky.”
“The offer stands,” Mr. Barlow sustained, setting aside his brush, as blasé as the departing spring. “My happiness is no more, but you can still have yours.”
***
With moonlight upon me, I splashed my face with the waters of the lagoon, Reyansh by my side. The sweltering heat, a heat the water could not wash away, was a sign of my imminent migration. The civil service—the educated elite—fled to the mountains during the summer to escape the fatigue and discomfort of the torrid coastal climate, like herds of elephants migrating for water. In England, there was no heat. In India, there was too much of it.
Reyansh would not be joining us. His duties within my household were finished for the season. He could not leave his family, no more than I could escape mine. It was a blessing. It made ending our affair easier than the torment of having him near.
“I am not angry you are betrothed,” I claimed, settling within the grass of the lagoon, uncaring if it stained my skirt and blouse. “I know it is not your choice, but you have a duty to her, this woman.”
Reyansh would not hear it. “I have a duty to you. Who will calm you? No one else can calm you.”
“I will survive.”
“No,” he said grievously, running his hand down a tress of my hair, which I wore loose, ignoring my obligation to be prim. “I fear you will not.”
He was true. Reyansh was more than my love. He was my medicine, my counsel. I would not survive without him.
“What are we to do?”
“We will marry,” he insisted. “We will let the scandal be ours, not Priya’s. There will be no more secrets. The people will talk of our heresy and our ignorance, they will pray for our cursed children. They will shun us. In doing so, they will feel pity for Priya, and then they will forget about her. They will only speak of us.”
“And what of your family?” I asked. “How will we feed them?”
“Even Untouchables can find work,” he alleged. “So will we.”
It was selfish for us to wed, to risk the livelihood of his family. I tried to overcome my darkness by being good. This was not good. As Reyansh had stated, it was heresy, a desecration of the mandates of our society, but I could not suppress my joy at the thought of being Reyansh’s bride. It was decided.
“Now,” I said. “Let us wed straightaway.”
***
Outside the temple, two pillars of fire casted shadows around us. The temple lacked an exquisiteness, it was a simple stone structure at the edge of the jungle, not far from the lagoon, but I was relieved by its chastity. It was modest and untainted. Calm. I needed the calm.
Accepting the shadows, Reyansh put his thumb into the dirt then drew soft lines across my forehead. “These are sacred symbols,” he explained. “I am declaring my love for you to all who watch over us.”
I wanted to do the same for him, but I was afraid my touch would burn him, as if I somehow channeled the flame, so I instead stood quiet and still as we waited for the priest to join us outside.
Marriage ceremonies did not occur inside the temple. They required the nourishment of the earth. I was barefoot, as was Reyansh, our feet soaking in the authority of the elements around us. We were at the mercy of the elements. We needed their blessings.
“I love you,” Reyansh said, taking my hands. “You are all that is good to me.”
“And I love you,” I returned, glad my hands did not burn his. “I thank God that I was born in India, that I was destined to be with you. This is a night of happiness.”
“You are happy, but you are also afraid,” Reyansh observed. “Do not be afraid. Our love will scare away the darkness. Love is infinite. It is real. The darkness is not.”
“Of course,” I said, squeezing his hands. “Love conquers all monsters.”
“You are not a monster,” Reyansh said, reading my tone. “You are divinity.”
The priest emerged from the temple carrying a red sari, which he presented to me. Without him needing to instruct me, I wrapped the sari around my blouse and over my head. Modesty was expected before the gods. He then handed Reyansh a bronze dish with dried grass in the center, which Reyansh was to light, igniting the sacred fire that would stand witness to the new phase of life we were entering, cleansing us of our former sins.
Reyansh took a stick and moved to a pillar of fire near the temple door, meaning to use the stick as his match, but as he did, the earth began to shake with the force of angry giants, knocking me to the ground.
When the earth settled, angry no more, Reyansh came to my side and helped me up. It had been a short quake, but the cracks within the earth had allowed my darkness to escape. “We can’t do this!” I proclaimed, full of fear. “The gods do not approve. We have been selfish. They will not have mercy on us. The mystic was right. I bring only death and pain.”
“No,” Reyansh asserted. “Don’t think that way. It is only superstition. It is not real. If you want to escape, you have to face the danger. I am the sea—”
“Stop!” I commanded, cutting him off. “I can’t.” I turned to run, but Reyansh grabbed my arm.
“Do not run from me,” he pleaded. “You know me better than to assume I will persuade you closer to your fears. I will wait for the darkness to pass. Until then, let me walk you home. Let me ensure you are safe.”
“It is you who is unsafe. You are in danger when you are with me,” I contended, but I did not resist his chivalry, not when it would be our last moments we shared together as lovers.
***
I would not see him.
In the days that followed the earthquake, Reyansh penned me relentless notes, summons written with fervor and amorous desperation. He left the notes throughout the manor in hideaways where we had previously conspired—the atlas within the library and the plants in the southern corner of the verandah. I searched for the notes because I needed to read them as much as Reyansh needed to write them, but I did not respond nor would I go to
him. We were not destined. He had his duties to Priya and his family, and I had my darkness.
“Have you packed?” my mother asked me, stepping within my quarters as she made her rounds around the manor, preparing for our migration.
“I will tonight, Mummy,” I promised.
“Bring your finest dresses. Your father has invited Sir McKendrick to stay with us at our estate in the mountains. It would seem Sir McKendrick refuses to leave India without you.”
“Then he will never leave,” I said, lashing out. “I will not marry. I have decided. You can disinherit me if you wish, send me to the streets, but you cannot force me to marry someone I do not love.”
My mother was horrified, but not at my brashness. “You think we would disinherit you?” she asked, hurt. “Do you really think so little of us, Sophina? We love you. We will always love you, even if you remain a spinster.”
“But Father said—”
“I know what your father has said. He has said many things, and he will continue to say many things, but you are his daughter. He does wish for you to be married, but not to a man who brings you only misery. You have a choice in this. You always have.”
It was a small but needed kindliness. “Thank you, Mummy. I’ll pack now.”
Hours later, when twilight put the day to rest, I looked out my window. Below, through the loose canopy of the trees, a thin waft of smoke danced from a small sacred fire. It was Reyansh. He was summoning his bride. He wanted to finish what we had started. We did not need a priest to wed. We only needed the truth of the night. The black. Our love existed within the black.
I did not go to him. I watched from my window as the fire burned, slowly diminishing until the last of the flames turned to embers. And then the fire was gone.