Asha smiled. “Me.”
“I thought I had dreamed you. But you’re real. You’re here, in the dark house.”
“It’s only dark at night,” Priya said. “It’s quite bright during the day. Or so I imagine.”
“Hasika, listen to me.” Asha took the woman’s hand. It felt like a bundle of twigs wrapped in old paper. “I have something important to tell you.”
“What?”
“You’re pregnant.”
The words hung in the air. The wind blew, the leaves shivered, the cicadas chirped, and Jagdish squeaked in the dark folds of Priya’s hair.
“That’s impossible,” Hasika said.
“It’s not only possible, it’s true.” Asha rested the woman’s hand on her belly. “You must have been two or three months along when you started eating the fruits and the pregnancy was frozen along with the rest of your body. But the baby seems to be fine. I can hear its heart beating.”
Hasika whispered, “Niraj.”
“Yes. A part of him is still alive inside you.” Asha leaned back. “If you stop eating the fruits, you could recover the same way Niraj did, and the pregnancy should resume as before.”
“But I’ll die,” Hasika said. “Just like Niraj did. And the baby will be alone. He’ll die too.”
Asha arched an eyebrow. “You might die like Niraj did. You might not. But it’s the only way to let the child live. And I never said it was a boy. Sometimes they come out as girls, you know.”
“But I don’t want to die.”
“Most people don’t, but everything dies.” Asha frowned. “You told me that Niraj wanted a normal life with children. He wanted them so much that he stopped eating the fruits, but he didn’t leave you. He stayed here with you, Hasika, waiting for you because he loved you. He could have left, but he didn’t because he wanted to have his children with you.”
“How do you know?” Hasika asked. “How could you possibly know that he loved me so much?”
“Because he stopped eating the fruits. Because he gave up his dreams for you. And he waited for you.” Asha sat back and let her hair fall forward around her face, covering her ears. “So give up the fruits. Have the baby. I’ll help you.”
“But I’ll die!”
“Maybe.” Asha frowned. “But you’re barely alive now as it is. Maybe you’ll die, and maybe not. Maybe the fruits will kill you eventually, too. I don’t know. But Niraj deserves more. Your husband gave up his dreams for you, and you abandoned him. So he lost his dreams, his wife, and his child all at once. You took everything from him.”
“But who would raise the baby when I die? Tell me that!”
“You have a room full of family here,” Asha said. “There’s a village just down the hill, and more villages just a few days’ walk from here. You’re not alone.”
“I am alone, at least here in the dark world. But in the dream, everything is better. The dream is what I want, and it’s my life to live. My life.”
“What life?” Asha swept her hand across the room. “If you were living some sort of life then I might understand you, but look at yourself! Look at your parents and your sisters and your brother. You’ve been lying on a floor for thirty years, alone, in silence. There’s no love here, no joy or laughter, no singing or dancing, no stories around the supper table, no festivals or weddings, no homes, no hugs or kisses, not even a damned sunrise! Just six corpses too selfish to die. That’s the life you want? That’s the life your husband died for? That’s a life more precious than your own child?”
A fresh breeze troubled the trees and a wrinkled fruit thumped into the bowl in the center of the room. Hasika’s yellow eyes darted toward the sound and her hand pawed weakly at the floor. “The fruit. Oh please, help me reach it.”
Asha glared at her. “Help yourself.” She reached across the bodies and turned the bowl upside-down. The wide brim clattered on the floorboards. Again the wind played through the trees overhead and a fruit fell through the hole in the roof. It struck the round bottom of the overturned bowl and bounced away toward the open doorway.
“No,” Hasika whispered. “Please don’t. My dreams!”
Priya reached out. “Asha? Let’s not be hasty. We can talk about this. This is an important decision. She shouldn’t be rushed or pressured. We’re talking about her life here.”
“What life?” Asha packed away her tools and herbs and slung her bag over her shoulder. “We’ll stay in the other house tonight, and we’ll leave in the morning.”
The nun stood. “Maybe we should all get some sleep and discuss this again in the morning. There’s no need to be rash. You should study the tree, study the fruits. Maybe try some different herbs to help them give up the fruits. Perhaps you could make a medicine to prevent them from dying after giving up the fruit. We have all the time in the world to find the best path for everyone.”
“No, we don’t. I barely have enough time to help the people who actually want my help. I won’t waste another day on someone who refuses to listen.” Asha stood and helped Priya to her feet, and then firmly steered her companion outside and into the crumbling remains of the other house. The floor was bare earth, soft and cool. The herbalist spread out her wool blanket, lay down, and slept a dreamless sleep.
When morning came, they went south.
7
Two years later.
“All I’m saying is that going off to fight a man-eating tiger with just your tweezers and a bottle of smelling-salts probably wasn’t the best idea you’ve ever had,” Priya said.
“It seemed to work out just fine,” said Asha. “It certainly worked out better than that night you tried to free those prostitutes from their wrangler by chanting at him.”
“We got them all out,” the nun reminded her. “Eventually.” They walked a little farther up the path and Priya asked, “Are we lost?”
“No, we’re not lost,” Asha said. “In fact, we’ve been here before. I recognize those mountain peaks.” The rocky ridge drew a stark gray line against the pale blue sky.
“But you’ve been hurrying us along awfully quickly over the last hour. You always hurry when you’re lost,” Priya said. “I don’t see what the matter is, really. One place is as good as another, as long as you don’t wake up with a tiger nibbling your leg.”
“We’re not lost.”
“Then why have you been rushing?”
“Because we’re about to pass the fruit house,” Asha said.
“The what?”
“The dried up dreamers. Hasika, the pregnant woman. The family eating the strange little fruits that kept them barely alive. Don’t you remember them?”
The nun nodded. “I remember now. You know, I still don’t agree with what you did there. I can barely understand why you did it, to be honest. It seemed almost cruel.”
“It was cruel,” Asha said softly. “It was a cruel place, a cruel dilemma. The fruits. The fear of dying. I don’t think people are really meant to ever deal with that sort of cruelty. We’re meant for simple problems, like how to cross a river or how to grow rice. But choosing between life and death? Between a mother and child? I don’t think we’re wise enough to unravel those sorts of knots. Or calm enough.”
“You were a little angry.”
“I was very angry. And it didn’t help, did it?” Asha paused. “You were right, back then. I should have listened to you. I should have tried to find another way. There must have been a third way, if I had just taken the time to find it.”
Priya touched her arm. “It’s all right. And I won’t ask you to stop there, but when we reach the house, please give me a moment to check on them. Just for a minute.”
“All right.”
They came around the bend in the trail and Asha saw the house by the side of the road. Just the one. A patch of bright green grass stood where the second, rotting house had been. The remaining house had several fresh planks lashed to the walls, and fresh thatching on the roof, and a small garden beside it full of turnips, beet
roots, and yams.
“Something has changed.” Asha continued forward, slower than before. “Hello?”
A child babbled inside the house.
Asha froze and glanced back at Priya, who merely arched an eyebrow above her blindfold. The herbalist walked toward the doorway where a clean new curtain hung across the opening. “Hello?”
“Hello?” A hand pulled back the curtain to reveal a young woman cradling a fat-cheeked little boy in the crook of her arm.
Asha stared at the woman’s face, her bright eyes and smooth cheeks, her shining black hair and strong arms. “Hasika?”
A sorrowful cloud passed over the woman’s face. “No, I’m her sister. Hasika passed away last spring.”
Asha paused. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. But the child is hers, isn’t it?”
The sister frowned and nodded. “It is. How did you know? Who are you?”
“My name’s Asha. I’m an herbalist. I passed through here two years ago and stayed in this house for two nights. I spoke with Hasika. I told her she was pregnant.”
The sister’s eyes widened. “That was you? Come in, come in.”
Asha and Priya followed the woman inside and found the single room bright and airy. The wind rustled through the clean curtains and the scent of jasmine hung in the air. On one side of the room there was a low bed of blankets, and beside it along the wall were several shiny new pots and cups and bowls. On the opposite side of the room lay four bodies, shoulder to shoulder, all neatly tucked under a single clean blanket.
“What happened?” Asha nodded at the four dreamers. “How did it happen?”
“One night, I woke from my dreams and heard Hasika talking to the others. Hasika wanted to have the child, but she was afraid of dying like Niraj and leaving the baby all alone. So we all discussed it, and eventually we all agreed that when Hasika died, one of us would take her place, caring for the baby. And when that person died, another would take her place.” The sister gently sat the little boy up in her lap. He yawned and stretched and flopped back against her belly with a single-toothed grin. She smiled down at him. “I have six more months with him before my mother will wake up and play with her grandson.”
“What’s his name?” Priya asked.
“Niraj, just like his father,” the sister answered.
Asha frowned at the four sleepers. “And what happens five years from now?”
“My father has family over the mountains. Hasika sent a letter to them last year and they agreed to take in Niraj when he is older. My father will be the last to wake up, and he will take Niraj over the mountains to his new home when the time comes.”
Asha continued to stare at the still and withered bodies of Hasika’s family. “Was it difficult, giving up your dreams? Do you regret it?”
“It was difficult, but no, I don’t regret it. How could I? Just look at him.” The sister kissed little Niraj on the head. “I spent thirty years alone with my dreams. I dreamed of a family for myself, too. But with only one year to live, how could I hope to ever bring that dream to life? My nephew here is more than I’d ever hoped to have.”
Asha and Priya stayed another hour in the house, listening to Hasika’s sister talk and watching Hasika’s son chew on his blanket. Eventually they said their goodbyes and set out on the road again. Priya strode along at Asha’s side, probing the path ahead with her bamboo stick and gently petting the little mongoose on her shoulder. “How sad for them. Such an incredible sacrifice, an entire family for one child. And how wonderful for them, too. Especially for Niraj.”
“Do you mean the father or the son?”
“Both,” Priya said. “I suppose they came to see things your way, eventually. Does that make you feel better?”
“Not really, no. They seem happy though. I guess that’s better than whatever they were before.” Asha looked up. “And at least I know that it was what Hasika really wanted. If you count up the months, she must have kept eating the fruits another half a year after we left. So she didn’t stop because I turned over the bowl. She stopped when she was ready. Good for her.”
They walked on a little farther before Priya smiled a little and said, “So, Asha, how would you describe that house now? Is it half empty or half full?”
“Neither. Or both. Whatever.” Asha poked a sliver of ginger into the corner of her mouth and began to chew. Far behind them at the top of the path, they heard a young woman’s laughter and a baby’s squeal of delight. “Well, if I had to say something, I guess I’d say that house is noisier than it used to be.”
Chapter 5
The Silent Sage
1
It was raining again.
But it was a light rain, a misty rain. And while it left any traveler soaked within minutes, it somehow did not feel oppressive or threatening. Not a storm, certainly. In fact the sky often looked bright and clear between the pale gray clouds. No thunder, no lightning, no raging winds. Merely water falling from the sky. So Asha and Priya finished their meager midday meal of seeds and dried fruit and continued on their way.
The road was wide and no doubt dusty when dry, but now it was a soft carpet of mud dotted with shining puddles. Asha kept to the side where the slick grass offered a firmer path. Priya followed a few paces behind, tapping here and there with her bamboo rod, unconcerned by the treacherous footing. And in her thick black hair among the lotus leaves and blossoms, a mongoose curled warm and dry around her neck, asleep.
“It wasn’t always called Rajasthan,” Priya said.
“What?” Asha didn’t pause or look back.
“It used to be called Gurjaratra, but the Rajputs renamed it when they conquered it, centuries ago.” Priya sniffed, then sneezed. “Maps and signs.”
“What about maps and signs?”
“They’re important. Very important. If you change all the maps and signs, then people are forced to use the new names, otherwise they can’t read the signs and can’t find where to go. Of course, this only works where people can read. So it is strangely unfortunate that the Gurjars were so literate during the invasion, which is why they call themselves Rajputs now. Had they been illiterate, they might still have some part of their heritage intact.”
“If you say so.” Asha kept her eyes on the road ahead, peering through the silvery veils of rain, squinting against the bright glare of the sky reflected in the swampy highway.
They were passing through farmland again, flat and featureless fields stretching away in every direction as far as they could see, over the hills and vanishing into the valleys. Fields of wheat, sugarcane, oilseeds, and poppies, always the same, day after long day on the road. The spectacular vistas of the mountain roads had been ruined by the woods, but there had been a certain intimacy with the trees leaning over them, as though they walked through the endless corridors of a forest god’s house. Not like here. Here they walked on the naked face of the earth, shuffling between clouds and mud.
Somewhere behind them was a village called Mandana where they had found few people in need of an herbalist’s healing arts and no one interested in a nun’s teachings. Somewhere ahead of them was a village called Kasar where they expected more of the same.
There were other people on the road, other rain-soaked travelers clutching hats and scarves over their dripping heads. Some darted and dashed around the muddy puddles of the road but most plodded straight through them.
Asha spotted a young man in the distance striding toward her. He too was walking along the edge of the road in the thick grass, but the shoulder of the road was narrow, sloping away sharply into a low field of oilseed stalks. She frowned for the rest of the quarter hour that it took for them to come together. She dreaded the inevitable awkward moment when they would try to pass around each other without having to step down into the ankle-deep mud. She prayed to Shiva that the man would not try to speak to her, and then she prayed to Buddha on Priya’s behalf just to be certain.
The moment arrived. The young man was only a few paces away. As
ha sighed and stepped to the right edge of the grassy shoulder, but to her surprise the young man stepped off the shoulder entirely, splashing down lightly into the muddy road. He smiled and performed a small bow, gesturing for them to continue on their way.
“Thank you,” Asha muttered.
“You’re most welcome on this beautiful day.”
Asha grimaced.
“It is a beautiful day, indeed,” Priya answered. The nun paused. “I may not have seen the faces of the other people on the road, but I could feel their misery as they passed us by. But you, you are light and free.”
“I am indeed.”
Asha stopped walking several dozen paces away, just at the edge of being able to hear the conversation over the soft, unceasing sound of the rain.
“Have you always been so appreciative of the world, or have you been more recently enlightened?” Priya asked.
“Oh, recently, very recently,” the young man said, nodding and smiling. “Just this morning, as a matter of fact.”
“Really! Tell me all about it.”
Asha rolled her eyes and sighed.
“Well, I was only passing through Kasar on my way to visit my father when I heard about the boy, so I went to see if the story was true, and there he was.”
“What boy?” Priya asked.
“You haven’t heard? The living Buddha! Lord Buddha reborn, they say. Oh sister, you have to go and see him for yourself. It will change your life.”
“How so? What did this boy say to you?”
“Oh nothing, nothing at all. He never speaks and never moves. They say he’s never even eaten a single bite of food!”
Asha groaned and rolled her eyes again.
“He just sits there under the tree, meditating,” the young man continued. “And everyone says that one day soon he will open his eyes and reveal the secrets of the universe to us all. I spent an hour sitting near him with the others, just watching him sit there as still as a stone. No pain, no fear, no worry, nothing but serenity! I wish I could have stayed longer, but I really have to see my father. But I will be back as soon as I can, I promise you that.”
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