Trail of Broken Wings

by Badani, Sejal

  “They’re not as close as they used to be,” Michelle begins, almost apologetic. “We haven’t known how to approach you about it. Amber mentioned the girls don’t spend as much time together anymore.”

  It was the last thing Marin expected to hear. She could admit that she didn’t keep track of Gia’s social life the way she did her academic one, but she just assumed Gia remained friends with the group she had always been with. Amber was one of her closest. “I don’t understand. Did they have a falling out?”

  “Amber never said. Just that Gia and she weren’t friends anymore.”

  Marin searches her brain for a reason, an explanation that makes sense. She knows girls at this age are prone to form cliques, to decide based on arbitrary reasons who belongs and who doesn’t. Marin herself had been kept out of all the popular cliques when she was in high school. Her speech still heavy with an accent, in addition to her secondhand clothes bought from Goodwill, Marin was the easy choice for an outcast. When her father forced her to take extra classes during the summer so she could graduate high school early, she had welcomed the decision. It allowed her to attend university sooner, which proved to be much more welcoming and inclusive than high school.

  “Gia never mentioned it?” Robert asks, searching both their faces.

  “No,” Raj answers, his face troubled. “Was there anything else that Amber said?”

  “I’m sorry, no.” Michelle seems to search for the right words. “I don’t want to pry, but would you feel comfortable telling us what’s going on? We’ve known Gia since kindergarten. If there’s anything we can do to help—”

  Before she can continue or Raj can answer, Marin interrupts, “She’s fine, thank you. We really appreciate your time.” Marin stands, her action directing Raj to do the same.

  “If there’s anything,” Robert says, both he and Michelle seeing them out, “don’t hesitate to ask.”

  Raj gets in the driver’s seat, while Marin settles into the passenger side. Just as Raj starts the car, the front door of the house opens and Amber runs out. She stands on the steps, under the light of the front porch, watching them. Marin, noticing her, immediately unbuckles her seat belt and opens the door. “Give me a minute,” she instructs Raj. Rushing up the steps, she reaches the girl in seconds. “Amber, how are you?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” She is smaller than the other girls in the class. Her hair is in a braid, and though some of the girls have started to wear makeup, she is free of any. “My mom said you came over to talk about Gia?”

  “Yes.” Marin tries to rein in her anxiety. “I had no idea you two weren’t friends anymore.”

  “Yeah,” Amber says, shrugging her shoulders. To Marin she still seems like the young girl who used to come over for sleepovers and would cry for her mom in the middle of the night. The girl who Gia swore was her best friend for life. “It sucks.”

  Marin nods, unsure how to move forward. Since this situation began, everything has felt new, without a roadmap to guide. “Gia is not herself. I was wondering if you knew anything about that,” Marin says, trying not to reveal too much.

  “Is she in trouble?” Amber asks, her eyes wide.

  “No,” Marin says, her nerves fraught. “Why aren’t you two friends anymore?”

  Amber clearly fights telling her the truth. Her eyes dart away, staring at the trees swaying in the front yard. She still has on her school uniform. She plays with the pleats of her skirt, thinking. “The boy Gia is dating . . .”

  “Gia’s dating a boy?” Marin steps back, trying to keep the shock out of her voice. She pauses, staring at a space above Amber’s head. “Who is he?”

  “I don’t know him that well. He’s new.” Amber’s face falls. She is hedging, not telling Marin the complete truth, Marin is sure. “I think that’s why we aren’t friends anymore.”

  Thanking her, Marin heads back to the car. Raj backs out of the driveway and turns onto the main street before asking, “What did she say?”

  “Nothing,” Marin lies. A vine, stripped of its leaves, wraps around her, binding her arms and legs, paralyzing her. As she takes a breath, seeking strength to free herself, it tightens around her throat and face, cutting off all access to oxygen. With a life built on a foundation of lies, adding one more is seamless. “She just asked us to say hello to Gia for her.”

  RANEE

  Most of her hours she spends alone now, though she never imagined she’d prefer it that way. Raising a houseful of children makes you forget what your own time means. For some couples, when the children leave home and start their own lives, it is a blessing. More time to spend with your spouse, to rekindle the romance that was lost through the years. For Ranee, it simply meant increased loneliness. Alone with Brent in the house, she used to daydream about leaving. It mattered little where or how; she just wished to be gone.

  Ranee often wondered if Sonya was happier far away than she had been with them. So many times, she picked up the phone to dial her daughter, only to lose her nerve and replace the receiver. She knew she had no right to seek advice from the daughter she betrayed. The one who escaped because Ranee had failed to offer her a haven.

  Since she had married, Ranee prayed twice a day. Every morning, she repeated the Nimantran, a mantra of verses asking for forgiveness, protection, and humility in life. She added her own words afterward. Specifically, requests of guidance for her daughters, forgiveness for her lack of action, and kindness from her husband. At night, lying next to Brent, hearing his breathing, she only had one prayer: that she and her daughters would survive to see another day.

  When she was young, her parents took the family on a pilgrimage to Palitana, eight hundred and sixty-three temples atop Mount Shatrunjaya. Over seven thousand feet above sea level, it took a full day to climb. People from all over the world came to pay homage, believing it to be a place of victory, where one conquers enemies. Pilgrims offered gold and silver in return for blessings of good health, marriage, and security.

  Ranee took a train with her parents and siblings from their hometown and arrived at nightfall. Staying with friends, they all slept in one room on the floor. Ranee curled up next to one of her brothers for warmth. The next morning, her mother woke them while it was still dark to get dressed. They packed naan and chevda—a mix of spicy rice flakes, lentils, and nuts—for the trek. Ranee was shocked the first time she saw chevda being sold as Hot Mix in grocery stores in America.

  The sun was just rising over the mountain. Even from far below, Ranee could hear the bells tolling and smell the incense and roses wafting down the grassy hill. Hundreds of Dalits, untouchables, working in pairs and dressed in loincloths, carried those too old or feeble on dolis, swing chairs, up the stairs. After about an hour of climbing steps in the heat, Ranee yearned for the luxury. When she innocently asked her mother if she could sit in one for the rest of the journey, her mother laughed and told her it cost a thousand rupees per person. They were not about to spend that money on her because she was tired.

  Chastised, Ranee continued climbing with her brothers and sisters. Along the way, they stopped to drink the fresh coconut water sold at regular intervals. After punching a hole through the hard skin, they tipped the coconut and let the water drip into their mouths. Afterward, Ranee’s dad broke it open so they could feast on the milky white meat inside.

  The memory of the temples that awaited them still takes Ranee’s breath away. Carved from solid stone with marble pillars, the open temple was filled to capacity with well-wishers. From every walk of life, people stood side by side in saris and salwar kameezes, gently swaying to the songs sung by the gurus. The lyrics paid tribute to the marble statues depicting the various gods the temple enshrined. Lord Shiva, Goddess Parvati, their son Ganesha, and his daughters Lakshmi and Sarasvati were among the dozens of life-size figures.

  The pillars served as the only enclosure, leaving the wall-less temple open to the warm breeze from nature. Ranee closed her eyes, letting the music and the wind wash over, cl
eansing her innocent soul. In that moment, Ranee was one with a being she had never met. Loved in a manner she had never known, and assured of her life in a way that no matter how hard she tried, she could never be certain of again. She made a promise to herself that day, one that haunted her since, to always remember the message conveyed—the world was waiting for her to live.

  Ranee arrives at the gathering of the Indian community on time. A family has requested a puja—often commissioned for auspicious occasions—to celebrate the building of their new house. In a puja, the gurus spend an entire day in prayer and then call friends and loved ones of the family to join in to bless the occasion. Ranee has attended hundreds of them over the years. The pujas also serve as an excuse to socialize and enjoy dinner together while the children play. It is common in the community to meet every weekend for dinner, to play cards, or to watch a movie at the house. Any excuse to spend time and to make the memories of loved ones left behind in India less stinging. A surrogate family built by those who came from the same homeland.

  “Ranee!” Nita, the host and a good friend, comes over immediately after spotting her. “How are you?”

  “I am well.” Ranee slips off her shoes at the entrance of the celebration. The temples in India required everyone to leave their shoes outside before entering; people believed that they could feel Earth’s vibration through the structure’s floor, transmitted via the feet. The practice was centuries old. They followed the ritual in their homes too, since nearly every Indian had some form of a shrine within the house. “How are you?”

  “I think of you every day.” Nita offers her a hug. “I stopped by to visit Brent last week. My heart is breaking for you, my friend.”

  “Every day I pray,” Ranee says, dropping her head, never having revealed their secret to anyone. “But God does not always hear our prayers.”

  “No,” Nita agrees. A number of women join them. “He is mysterious in his ways.”

  “But we have no choice but to keep asking,” another friend interjects. “If we do not ask, then how will God know our requests?”

  They all murmur their agreement. “It is always the strongest and best that suffer,” Nita says, clasping Ranee’s hand in her own. “As if God knows that you have strength the rest of us lack.”

  A polite way of explaining her heartbreak, Ranee thinks. Nodding her head, she accepts their condolences with graciousness. A common belief among Indians is that if you spend too much time around someone experiencing bad luck, their energy can transfer to you. Their bad luck may become yours. If you are invited to a wedding and have an unexpected death in the family, no matter how distant, you must decline the invitation. It was why her decades-old friends came to visit but never stayed. Before Sonya came home, friends made sure there was dinner waiting for Ranee at the house. In the mornings, another friend would bring breakfast. A carousel of meals constantly available but no one to share them with. It was why Ranee never revealed her truth to any of them—if they knew her misfortune, they would cease to be her friends.

  “It is with the strength of your friendships that I am able to continue every day,” Ranee returns, offering each of them a warm smile. “Without all of you, where would I be?”

  The guru starts to ring the bell, motioning for everyone to gather around. The men take their seats on the floor on one side, while the women sit on the floor on the other side. The genders refrain from intermingling while in prayer to keep the air pure. Once everyone is seated, the guru begins the prayer.

  “We are here to bless the new home of our friends Nita and Sanjay,” he says, adding melted butter to the small fire in the pot. Over a small statue of Lord Ganesha and Lord Shiva, he pours milk and water, following it with a sprinkle of rose petals. “Let there only be happiness in this home, prosperity, and great health. Let God smile on this home and its owners. No one deserves it more.”

  The mantras continue, the guru calling on each deity to bless their home and to repel any misfortunes. Ranee wishes it were so simple. So often, she longed for a simple prayer to change her course in life. If only the deities were all-powerful—like a child with a simple request, she could ask them to bequeath the gift of a perfect life. But Ranee knows it is not so. Helpless to offer her daughters the childhood they deserved, she acknowledges there is no magic wand or prayer to erase the mural of her life.

  With that knowledge comes her acceptance that to have the life she wants, she has to repaint the painting. Redefine the rules and reject all the beliefs she had been raised with. She has no need to honor the husband who dishonored her. To continue fearing the rejection of her community means living the life they accepted. But since it is all a lie, what does that make her if not a liar?

  Ranee closes her eyes, allowing the memory of standing atop the mountain in India and the songs of the gurus then to intermingle with the songs being sung now. The same incense smell, decades apart, brings tears to her eyes. Surrounded by strangers, then and now, she welcomes the knowledge that she belongs because of who she is, not what they need her to be.

  She used to have a recurring dream after she married—one where she fell out of the temple and down the mountain. It was a free fall, past the thousand steps and everyone climbing them. She kept falling and would awake with sweat covering her body. After Brent’s admission into the hospital, she had the dream again. This time, she landed in someone’s arms. When she turned to thank the person, she came face-to-face with herself.

  As the fire burns and the smoke billows around them, Ranee smiles. Hidden by the haze, she is secure in the knowledge that she is finally living and somehow, she is sure, the world is watching.

  SONYA

  I spent four months in a gang-infested neighborhood for my first assignment as a photographer. I watched as young boys were initiated into their new families at the age of nine, some even younger. Each one trained in warfare before they reached puberty. They carried guns like appendages, and shot their weapons with the expertise of those who had been shooting their whole lives. Infractions as simple as crossing the wrong street could be cause for execution. Boys who had once been friends now fought like archenemies.

  One of their leaders was hunted down for taking out an opposing leader. A hit was put out on him with a reward for the first one who could offer his bullet-riddled body. When he was cornered, two of his underlings stood in front of him like a shield and took the bullets instead. The leader escaped the carnage and hailed the two boys as heroes. At their funerals, their mothers laid themselves over their caskets and begged for an explanation. None came. As I stood in the procession of mourners, I wondered why children so easily accepted it as their place to absorb the sins of their elders, even if it meant losing themselves in the process.

  I arrive at the hospital with my portfolio in hand. Pictures from all over the world. I find the Human Resources Department easily, and wait to meet the department chair. I interviewed for the other two jobs first. Both wanted to hire me, but the work was only for a week or two. I needed something longer. When I told Linda the news, she bit her tongue and notified the hospital immediately that I was interested in getting more information. No promises I would accept, she warned them. They set up a time for us to meet. In the meantime, I researched as much as I could on photography as a means of therapy; there was not much to be found. But bundled in with other creative endeavors, such as music and even video games, it had shown promise in helping patients increase their endorphin levels and help fight the illnesses invading their bodies.

  When I drive into the parking lot, it feels odd to be here for a job rather than for my father. My need to see him wanes with each day. There is nothing I want to say to him; I know if he was awake, he’d have no desire to see me. My only purpose in remaining is for Trisha. Once she no longer needs me, I will move on.

  The Human Resources Department is large and fills an entire wing of the hospital, with people in and out of offices. Everyone here is dressed in suits, not the hospital scrubs and white coats
you expect to see on the floor of the hospital. “Sonya? I’m Sean.” A tall gray-haired man approaches me with his hand outstretched.

  “A pleasure to meet you.” His grip is firm, filled with warmth.

  “I have to tell you,” he says as he motions me into his office, “when I received the call from your agent, I was floored. Someone of your caliber being interested in this position—well, I don’t have to tell you what a coup it would be for us.”

  “Thank you.” I have never gotten used to the praise my work elicits. When Linda receives feedback, she forwards me the e-mails or letters. I usually delete or trash them without reading the words. The few times I tried, it proved impossible to believe they were talking about me. “I would love to hear more about the opportunity.”

  “Our board just passed a budget for out-of-the-box therapy.” He hands me documents to review. I glance at the glossy brochure about the hospital, touting its achievements. “Innovation in health care. We, of course, have art therapy, music, even video games in Pediatrics. But photography has made headlines recently, and since our hospital is always on the leading edge in health care, we decided to see what we could do.”

  “What would the position consist of?” Returning the documents to him, I lean back in my chair. I am unsure about this step. More than just about the decision to stay, I worry about working with people. All my assignments before have been me, alone, behind the camera.

  “Working with patients, teaching them about photography. Our first focus will be on Pediatrics. Children may benefit the most from it right now. Usually they haven’t had much exposure to cameras, prints, the entire process of photo-taking. We hope it will open another world to them in a very simple way.”

  That’s the beauty of photography. One picture, taken a thousand miles away, can make viewers feel as though they are standing in the same place. Their imaginations can take them on a journey without ever leaving their house. A collage of photographs can create a whole new experience, and allow people to enter places they couldn’t have imagined going. I have never underestimated the power of a picture.